freddiemercuryscat

[freddiemercuryscat]

Yesyesyesyesyesyyesyesyeysyeys

࿐𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃 - 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥.

⚢ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆— Actress!Ellie x Actress!Reader

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

⊹ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓— 5,7k

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

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⭒࿐

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

“𝐈𝐟 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐈 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞

𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞.”

← 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑒 →

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

𝐅reshman year was a letdown. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

But had one thing.

One bright, shining, indestructible thing: acting.

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

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

To be there. To make people feel something.

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

“I want to be an actress.”

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

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

And she never really got it.

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

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

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

“Sarah’s studying for her MCATs.” 

“Caroline made homecoming court.”

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

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

And then a girl walked in.

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

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

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

Everyone groaned.

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

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

“Um. I’m—uh—I’m…” you stammered.

“Louder, please,” Mrs. Dalton prompted.

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

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

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

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

And that was it.

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

You squeezed her hand, just slightly.

“Nice to meet you, Ellie.”

You early noticed that Ellie was like nobody else. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smiled, eyes soft. “Did it work?”

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

“Yeah,” she said. “I think it did.”

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

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

Then smiled like maybe she didn’t mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because someone finally believed in you.

Not out of obligation. Not out of kindness.

Just because she did.

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

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

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

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

She then blinked at you through her glasses.

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

Your voice cracked on cool.

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

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

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

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

And still—you reached out.

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

You leaned in without even thinking.

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

Silence. Total, all-consuming silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You told yourself it was nothing.

You didn’t like girls. Right?

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

Unlike you, Ellie had always known she liked girls.

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

But when it came to you? It was different.

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

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

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

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

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

You swallowed. “I…I don’t think so.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You rolled your eyes. “You look fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stepped toward her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Silence.

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

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

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

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

“Ellie.”

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

“Ellie.”

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

“I think I’m in love with you too.”

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

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

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

You snorted.

She blinked, like she needed to reboot again. 

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

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laughed. “You’re not gonna die.”

“I am. But like, in a good way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A pause stretches. The interviewer leans forward slightly.

 “And… how did it end?”

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

“Uh…”

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

“Can we… change the question?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what happened?”

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

And when she finally finds her voice, 

“I’d rather not respond.”

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

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐌 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓— @talyaisvalslutsoldier @miajooz @andieprincessofpower @mayfldss @sunflowerwinds @coastalwilliams @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 @2against3 @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 ࿐

[freddiemercuryscat]

Obsessed

not one of the bros

ellie williams x masc!reader

cw: party hookup, banter, awkward oblivious ellie, smooth flirty reader, smut, oral sex (e!receiving), dominant!reader, top!reader, bottom!reader.

a/n: wrote this for all my masc baddies (myself included) because where are all of the masc!reader x ellie fics??!!

the house smelled like sweat, vodka, and someone’s cheap cologne that hadn’t been updated since 2014. you were halfway through your second drink and already debating if it was time to ghost through the side gate and pretend you never came.

it wasn’t the party’s fault, necessarily. the music was okay, some underground house mix you vaguely recognised from someone’s tiktok set, and the crowd was exactly what you’d expect in east la: too cool to care and too high to notice anyone who wasn’t already verified online. but you weren’t here for the ambiance.

you were here because cat invited you. which in retrospect, was mistake number one.

you leaned against the grimy counter in the kitchen, fingers curled around your red cup, while cat talked at you. she had that lean-in thing going on, fingers just barely grazing your forearm, head tilted like you were in the middle of an intimate confession instead of her oversharing about some girl she matched with and never messaged back.

her knee brushed yours.

you shifted away slightly, but she didn’t seem to notice. “you look good tonight,” she said, licking at her straw like it owed her rent. “missed seeing this face.”

you raised a brow. “you ghosted me the second you came.”

she laughed, unbothered. “i was busy.”

“with what, haunting other girls’ lives?”

that earned a smirk. “you love it.”

you didn’t. not anymore.

before you could respond, a ripple in the energy of the room made your eyes flick toward the hallway. and there she was.

ellie fucking williams.

messy auburn hair. gray tank top. one arm tucked into the pocket of her jeans while the other held a solo cup like she was auditioning for a levi’s ad. her expression was unreadable as she stood half-listening to some tall guy with a beanie, nodding vaguely while her eyes wandered.

and then they landed on you.

there was a pause, just long enough for your pulse to skip, before she lifted her cup slightly in acknowledgment.

you grinned. not because she waved. because she looked again.

“ellie’s here,” cat said beside you, suddenly cooler. her voice took on a casual sharpness. “didn’t think she’d show.”

“ellie?” you echoed, not looking away.

“my ex,” cat said, and then like it was some cautionary label: “she’s intense.”

you tilted your head, letting your smile grow a little. “yeah?”

“she draws stuff. real quiet. weird in relationships. can’t read her.”

you hummed, taking another sip. “sounds hot.”

cat blinked. “what?”

you finally turned to face her. “she’s your ex, right? so hands off?”

cat scoffed. “she’s not even your type.”

“sure about that?”

before cat could formulate another territorial rebuttal, you were already moving - slipping through the crowd, drink in hand, heartbeat thumping a little faster for reasons that had nothing to do with the bassline.

ellie clocked you a few seconds before you reached her. her eyes darted over your outfit; loose button-up, rings, baggy jeans, that cocky half-lidded smirk you always wore when you were feeling yourself.

“hey,” you said smoothly, leaning against the wall beside her. “you look like you’re two eye-rolls away from leaving.”

ellie huffed. “i hate parties.”

you sipped your drink, tilting your head. “yeah, you seem like the brooding type.”

she turned slightly toward you. “you were talking to cat earlier?”

“trying to,” you muttered. “didn’t realise i signed up for a monologue.”

that earned a smile. not full, but real. “yeah, she does that.”

you looked her over, slower this time. “you’re ellie, right?”

“how do you-“

“i’ve been warned about you.” you grinned.

ellie raised an eyebrow. “oh yeah? what was the verdict?”

“that you’re emotionally unavailable and intense.”

she shrugged. “not inaccurate.”

you chuckled, sipping your drink again. “i like intense.”

there was a pause. ellie blinked. then gave you a polite, tight-lipped smile. “right on.”

you blinked back.

oh my god, she thinks i’m just being friendly.

there was a beat of silence, and you decided to double down.

“you dating anyone right now?” you asked casually.

ellie shrugged. “nah.”

“damn,” you muttered. “what’s it like to have people leave you alone at parties?”

that made her laugh - a short, surprised one. “i wouldn’t know. you’ve got cat following you around like she wants her name tattooed on your thigh.”

you rolled your eyes. “yeah, i’ve been turning her down.”

ellie glanced at you. “why? thought you two had a thing.”

you tilted your head, letting the silence stretch just long enough. then, you sighed - loudly, dramatically, eyes cast upward like you were asking the ceiling for strength.

“i haven’t been laid in, like, weeks, ellie.”

she blinked.

you gave her a deadpan look. “do you think i’d be out here suffering if cat was doing it for me?”

ellie stared at you, jaw slightly slack.

your mouth twitched upward. “jesus, do i need to spell it out for you?”

there was a full beat before her eyes widened.

“oh,” she said slowly.

you didn’t move. just looked at her; calm, amused, and deliberately not saying anything more.

her lips parted again. then pressed together. then opened a third time. “…oh.”

you gave her a smug little nod. “there it is.”

“you were flirting with me?”

you raised both eyebrows. “ellie.”

“i thought we were like…y’know. bros.”

you deadpanned. “do you flirt with all your bros like this?”

she flushed. “no, i-fuck, okay.”

you laughed softly. “you’re cute when you realise things three drinks later.”

ellie took a long sip from her cup. “you’re dangerous.”

“only if you let me be.”

she licked her lips, glanced down the hall, then back at you. her gaze dipped to your mouth. you didn’t miss it.

“i’m not gonna lie,” she said. “i kinda wanna kiss you.”

you smirked. “what’s stopping you?”

ellie glanced around, then tilted her head toward the hallway. “bathroom. two doors down.”

you were already reaching for her hand.

the bathroom door clicked shut behind you, muffling the party to a dull throb. it smelled like someone’s vanilla hand soap and weed. you didn’t care.

the second the lock turned, ellie was on you; hands gripping your open flannel, mouth slanted over yours like she’d been waiting weeks. you pushed her gently back against the sink, kissing her deeper, slower, just to savour the way her hands trembled when she touched your waist.

“you still think i wanted to be your bro?” you murmured against her lips.

ellie huffed, breathless. “okay, okay. i get it.”

“say it.”

she rolled her eyes. “you were flirting.”

you grinned. “there we go.”

your hands slipped beneath her tank, fingers brushing soft skin. her breath hitched.

ellie pulled back, pupils blown wide. “you gonna let me top?”

you leaned in, lips grazing her ear. “do you really think you’re gonna top right now?”

ellie exhaled. “i could.”

you stepped back, dropping to your knees in one slow, deliberate motion. “not tonight, baby.”

she cursed under her breath, her voice gone rough as you tugged her jeans down, boxers sliding with them. your hands gripped her thighs, thumbs brushing goosebumps along her skin. ellie leaned back against the sink, biting her lip like she might explode just from being seen like this.

you kissed the inside of her thigh, slow and warm. “tell me what you want.”

ellie shuddered. “fuck-just… touch me.”

you didn’t waste time. you licked a slow stripe up her pussy, then circled her clit with your tongue, steady and focused. she let out a choked moan, hips stuttering forward. you sucked, gentle but insistent, and slid two fingers inside her at the same time.

“oh-fuck-” she gasped, clutching the counter. “you-jesus…”

you curled your fingers just right, lips never leaving her clit, building a rhythm that made her thighs shake around your shoulders.

ellie’s breath hitched. “don’t stop, don’t-fuck, don’t-”

you didn’t. you held her through it, mouth and fingers working in sync, until she broke with a gasp and a trembling moan, legs buckling as she came hard against your mouth.

you stood slowly, wiping your chin with the back of your hand, and kissed her again. ellie grabbed your face, kissing you like she needed to recover through you, breathing hard and laughing softly into your mouth.

“i hate how smug you look right now,” she muttered.

you grinned. “still think i’m your bro?”

she groaned. “shut the fuck up.”

perm taglist: @yasmilks , @frosttbitten , @lovemiraamira , @ellies-real-wife , @wewerewildandfluorescent , @jullsii , @eyesttokill , @dmenby3100 , @bunchogravie , @oneinameliann , @intheshadowofthestars , @pariiissssssss , @vanpalmertruther , @madsxh1022 , @rbnvrnxoxo , @firefly-ace , @alyaserrax , @silly-pigeon69 , @glassofgreenteapls , @pearlsiie , @aj0elap0l0gist , @sincerelyherz , @imsiriuslycool , @0phantom0 , @ggutpunch , @leeidk87 , @mikellie , @celiacallsitcasual , @gurlbownerr , @l0veylace , @bluminescent-moon , @oatmatchalatte , @hitmehardmommy , @iadorefineshyt , @jksevendays , @liztreez , @clemrules , @yourl0caltrash , @rootytootymeow , @thebadwritersposts , @vanillacigarettes777 , @soltwent , @softqirls , @lesbian-useless , @lovewitchss , @abigail-andersons-wife , @valeisaslut , @ssijht , @meow4510 , @vixenkii <3

[freddiemercuryscat]

AHHHH PERFECTION

── friendly fire

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

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

word count: 2.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

you blinked.

oh. that’s cat?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

pastaluvrrr: 😐 i’m literally right here

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“say that again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ellie whined—actually whined—and you smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[freddiemercuryscat]

Yes more of this with everyone

i NEED ellie with a strong headed reader bruv

like i’m sick and tired of seeing reader as soft and hyperfem. make that bitch tall. make them loud and unapologetic. make them vulgar and flirty. make them a frequent in bar fights with guys twice their size and make them able to handle themselves without help. make them hard to argue with and cocky. make them a gym rat. make them an artist. make them a metal head. make them punk. make them goth. make them a rave kid. let reader be fun and messy. i have no problem with hyperfeminine reader but c’mon dude let’s have a little variety.

that might js be a me thing tho idk

[freddiemercuryscat]

Omg pls be more of this 💅🏻

── stream sniped

a one-shot about streamer!ellie falling for a random influencer who wants nothing to do with her (except she actually does).

content: streamer!ellie x influencer!reader, modern au, strangers to lovers, ellie's down bad, so is reader you’re just better at hiding it, twitch chat/discord sever/titkok comment antics (that were a bitch to write ngl), MDNI 18+, fingering (r!receiving), oral sex (e!receiving), there's like a splash of meta during the smut that made me giggle when deciding to include it, reader described as having a clit

word count: 5.6k

author's note: so this is where i reveal myself as having quite a bit of knowledge about streaming/gaming/chronic online-ness in general. also, does this count as loser!ellie? am i part of the gang?! anyways, i hope you enjoy!

twitch.tv/smellie — LIVE: we're soooooo back 😤 !discord !drops

“alright, alright,” ellie muttered, dragging a hand down her face as she leaned toward her second monitor. “let’s do today’s discord submissions. i’ve been skipping out on them because you guys have been fucking weird lately, so... don’t make me regret this.”

her camera’s a little off-center—she obviously just rolled out of bed, the unmade sheets still visibly rumpled in the background, and her hair's clearly unbrushed beyond probably a haphazard comb through with her fingers.

ghostpeekr: !!!!!!!! tryqt: BE NICE ELLIE elliesdischarge: i just sent a pic of my cat meow for her rn whiffytiffany: is she playing with chat members for fortnite tonight???? elliethrows4me: dude make your bed.

ellie sighed, already regretting everything. “i never make my bed, you guys know this by now” she grumbled, clicking into her discord anyway. the #stream-submissions channel lit up immediately. “alright. what are we working with today…”

she scrolled through hundreds of chats, stopping at the ones with the most reactions. first up was a photo of someone’s dog.

she squinted. “this is your… dog?” it’s a tiny, wet-looking chihuahua wrapped in a blanket like a human baby.

“that’s—okay, listen, i’m sure she’s very sweet. but she looks like kind of like a maggot? why the fuck are her eyes doing that.”

lootsluttt: LMFAOOOO v4nitymirror: SHE’S MY BABY ellieclips: you’re the maggot-looking one actually. princessp3ach: UR GOING TO HELL

she kept scrolling.

“okay, next up—dinner pic. we’ve got noodles, veggies… chicken? that’s chicken, right?” she tilted her head. “yeah, okay. this looks gas. eight out of ten. presentation is questionable, but i’d eat it.”

nerfventure: W DINNER flick_n_trick: it’s pad thai dumbass ecam96: NOT U CALLING IT UGLY NotElliesAlt: u’d eat anything tho

ellie glanced at chat and snorted. “okay, but i’m a growing girl, i’ve got a big appetite!”

elliesdischarge: i got something you can eat message deleted by a moderator. dusty_diamond: RATE MY SETUP PLSSSS I JUST POSTED IT sandydunez: okay so where’s the growing part tho?

next post. it was a tiktok.

she paused. “okay, wait. is this gonna get me banned like the last time?”

the video started playing anyway. one of those dramatic thirst edits. saweetie’s my type blasted in the background, and a slideshow began: a list titled in giant capital letters:

“THE HOTTEST WOMEN ON THE PLANET — RANKED.”

ellie raised a brow. “mmmkay. hot women, my specialty. let’s see who made the cut.”

#5 was some instagram model. she nodded approvingly. “valid…”

#4 was a streamer she knew—kind of annoying in real life. she wrinkled her nose. “mid. there’s better streamers out there, you know. ones that might be on your screen. like…right now. i dunno, just saying.”

#3 was that girl from a CW show that everyone insisted was underrated.

#2 was a picture of asami from nickolodeon’s the legend of korra.

she looked at the camera. “okay, but, like…deadass, why am i not on here? this one’s not even a real person?”

leilaniiii: GIRL BE FR nonbinarybullets: 💀💀💀 elliesyumyum: ur like top 17 at best tima0911: not everything is about you smelly.

she flipped off the camera, a grin tugging at her mouth. “you guys have no taste.”

and then—#1.

the music swelled. the tiktok cut to a clip of you.

it was casual, not even a thirst trap—just you in a tank top and sweats, talking to your chat, laughing at something off screen. it was one of those clips where someone was effortlessly attractive without trying, and ellie immediately leaned closer to her screen.

she blinked. “who even is that?”

whiffytiffany: NO WAY mikuirl: THAT’S MOTHER maybemaddie: HER @ IS pastaluvrrr NotElliesAlt: ELLIE BE SERIOUS

ellie’s brows pulled together, genuinely confused. “i’ve literally never seen her in my life. also her user is literally pasta lover. i’m supposed to be impressed?”

usuallylurkin: L + RATIO + SHE'S HOTTER THAN U ellieclips: ur username is smellie btw paine_45: she's like famous famous slaystation_: SHE’S SO GFFFF

she waved a dismissive hand and clicked off the video.

“never heard of her,” she muttered, already loading up fortnite. “anyways. queueing up squads. if you stream snipe and don’t let me win, you’re getting banned.”

it took approximately four hours.

four hours between ellie squinting at your face on stream and someone from her chat catching her lurking in your comment section.

the tiktok in question wasn’t even that serious. you’d filmed yourself in your bathroom mirror, hair half up, wearing one of those off-the-shoulder baggy t-shirts, mouthing along to some audio.

and right there, in the comments section, was ellie’s account:

@ smellie: “wait she’s kinda bad tho”

of course, one of her viewers immediately took a screenshot before ellie even had the chance to delete it. not that she would’ve. but still.

by midnight, the screenshot had already gone viral.

a photo post popped up on for you pages everywhere, featuring a zoomed-in screenshot of the comment with saweetie playing again in the background (naturally). the caption read:

“i think ellie figured out who she was.”

it had 70k likes within the hour.

and, of course—you reposted it.

the comments on the post immediately flooded with:

“OMG SHE REPOSTED” “not ellie switching up so fast” “ellie back up SHE’S MINE”

meanwhile, ellie’s discord exploded.

#general was moving so fast, the mods were genuinely worried:

smelly mod #7: sooooo @ smellie we saw the tiktok 😭

within minutes, ellie herself was typing.

smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: GUYS chill out omg smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: you’re literally blowing my street cred smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: also there was NOTHING wrong with what i said. she’s fine asf. i was simply making an observation

naturally, no one let her breathe.

ashieee: street cred????? wizard bupple: what streets u live in wyoming cuh ellie's gf #real #actually: remember when u didn’t know or care who she was

ellie attempted damage control.

smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: okay FIRST OF ALL, wyoming can get scrappy. i have plenty of cred. smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: and SECOND OF ALL. y’all clipped me out of context smelly mod #2: you literally said “who even is that” allyson.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱: in 4k babe. we got u in 4k

at some point, she just gave up.

smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: i hate all of you smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: ok but if someone made very hot, sexy romantical edits of us tg i’d probably hate you a little less smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: #otp?! 🥺

smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: new drop just landed. ur welcome 😎 tiktok.com/smellie

it was… a thirst trap.

or her version of one, which meant it was shot in her kitchen with bad lighting and camera half-tilted, lip-syncing to some dumb audio while wearing a backwards hat.

before her regulars could even start roasting her for it, someone had already forwarded the message from #announcements to #general with a reply:

pastalover: nobody’s watching ts 🤣

the server went feral.

laffey ʚɞ: HELLO???? marisol (she/they): EXCUSE ME??? ellie's shift key: you mean to tell me she has been here the whole time??? smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: YOU’RE IN HERE??????

ellie immediately direct messaged you.

smellie: you’ve been lurking like a freak smellie: you didn’t even say hi smellie: and THAT’S what you break the silence with??? pastalover: be grateful i even watched it enough to know it was cringe

and then, a day later, you went live.

a rare event. your streams weren’t regular—more like when you were bored and felt cute. your overlay was minimal. just chat, a little corner cam, and non-copyrighted lofi in the background.

you were doing a get ready with me stream, mid-eyeliner, when you glanced over at chat and smirked.

"yes, i saw ellie’s most recent tiktok. yes, i wish i hadn’t.” you said, voice lazy with disinterest. “she’s, like, obsessed with me.”

topnoodle44: MY OLD MARRIED COUPLE 🥰 0ping: BE SERIOUS ellieuseslightmode: ellie’s gonna faint altaccnumber26: she’s in chat rn btw iclutchforpastalover: she’s BEEN in chat

you paused.

“oh.” you looked at the camera with a raised brow. “she’s here? figures.”

ellie’s username popped up in chat two seconds later.

smellie: looking so good bestie 😳 smellie: drop the lip combo smellie: or come here and kiss me so i can try it on smellie: wait who said that-

you rolled your eyes. “i use a revlon lip liner in the shade mauve and then the elf lip oil in the shade jam session. not that these words would mean anything to you.”

smellie: blah blah blah. proper name, place name, backstory stuff.

you scoffed. “you’re unserious.”

mikuirl: just admit you kinda like her flirting maybemaddie: WAIT I LOVE THE ELF LIP OILS WE’RE SO TWINNINGGGG NotElliesAlt: ellie barely remembers chapstick LMAO chousey203: i can’t tell if you curve her bc you hate her or bc you like her

“actually, i’m doing a public service. her ego needs balance.”

smellie: my ego’s doing fine. it’s my heart that’s in danger.

laughing, you leaned into the camera. “see? she’s like… weirdly committed to the bit.”

smellie: this isn’t a bit 🧍‍♂️

you stared at the chat, deadpan. “sooo, yeah. back to the tutorial. mods, can someone time ellie out for 300 seconds.”

smellie: WTF message deleted by a moderator.

the entire interaction was timestamped, clipped, and in about 15 different tiktoks within minutes.

twitch.tv/smellie — LIVE: carrying @ pastaluvrrr in fortnite

“okay,” ellie said confidently, leaning so excitedly forward into her mic her voice came out slightly fuzzy and bass-boosted, “fortnite is all about communication. precision. teamwork. and—most importantly—aura. follow my lead, you’ll be fine.”

“don’t you literally die first in every match?” you replied, sipping your drink without looking at the screen.

ellie scoffed. “i—okay, first of all, that’s slander. second of all, my KD ratio is… hold on…”

there was a pause as she scrambled to look it up.

“…okay, next topic” she mumbled after a beat. “ready up for me.”

ecam96: girl she gagged u elliesdischarge: ur trash but ur hot so it’s fine jmattsz: you’re both gonna get clapped in 2 minutes besosss: SHE SAID FOLLOW HER LEAD 😭

“wait,” you said as you readied up, “how do i do the little dance?”

ellie gasped. “oh my god. you don’t have any emotes.”

“i don’t play this game!”

“yeah, no kidding,” she muttered. “hold on. i’m gonna flex real quick.”

your screen suddenly showed her character cycling through a ridiculous line-up of skins—spider-man, ariana grande, peely in a tuxedo.

“i cannot believe you spend real life money on this shit,” you said flatly.

“hey! some of them are gifted, okay?”

“your chat literally hates you, babe. who is gifting you anything?”

“HEY.”

slaystation_: did i just hear "babe" 👀👀👀 macetotheface: she’s negging her ON STREAM ellieclips: ellie FIGHT BACK.

the game loaded in and she yelled at you to thank the bus driver like you had any idea how to do that or what she even meant. she picked some obscure landing spot and said “trust me” like she hadn’t already proven herself deeply untrustworthy.

you landed. broke open a chest. got a shotgun.

then immediately got shot in the back.

“oh my god,” you groaned. “ellie. help.”

ellie was halfway across the town, looting.

“you’re downed already?! hang on, hang on,” she said. “i’m coming. hey, don’t crawl away—wait.”

her character—bruno mars, she’d finally settled on—stood over you uselessly as the timer for the revive slowly ticked down.

“what are you waiting for, get me!”

“say please.”

“the fuck?”

“say 'pretty please with a cherry on top my most gracious streamer and fortnite carry god, ellie.'”

a beat.

you rolled your eyes, then smirked at the camera, clearing your throat and lilting breathily into your mic, “puhleeease, ellie?”

ellie stopped moving entirely, the tips of her ears going red in her grainy facecam. her character continued to stand there, unmoving.

“hello?” you prompted. “ellie?”

“sorry,” she said quickly, nervously tucking her hair behind her ears. “uhhhh.. got distracted by something.”

v4nitymirror: KEEP IT TOGETHER. looten_scooten: ellie.exe has stopped working elliethrows4me: she’s in love ur honor

she revived you with shaking hands and zero cover, getting absolutely lit up right after by a sniper.

“WHY DID YOU MAKE ME SAY THAT IF YOU WERE JUST GONNA DIE?”

“i panicked!!”

you cackled as the enemy finished her off, her reboot card popping up with all her loot (a grey pistol and a fishing pole).

and then—something strange happened.

as you ran to hide behind a tree, fully expecting to die immediately, two other players—clearly stream snipers—ran up to you. instead of killing you, they dropped guns. medkits. ammo. one of them started building a small base around your body like a protective little guard dog.

“ummm,” you said slowly, “are these… fans? what’s happening here”

“what the hell?” ellie said from the death screen. “they literally murdered me and are now… escorting you?”

one of the players' characters emoted and blew a kiss to you.

you laughed so hard you snorted a little. “babe. i think i have a fan club.”

“this is fuckin’ rigged,” ellie muttered. “i die first and you get princess treatment?”

you turned your character in a circle, doing a default dance in return for their affection.

“okay,” she said, “they’re banned. all of them. from chat. for life.”

boostedbytenshi: THEY’RE PROTECTING HER 😭😭😭 ayayayaim: reveal yourselves in chat this is too funny elliebutinallcaps: jealous!ellie i fear sandydunez: actual carrying. ellie could never.

you made it to the top five before your guards were finally overwhelmed and killed. you screamed as you got sniped out of a bush.

“so close,” you groaned, slumping back in your chair.

ellie sounded smug. “see? told you you needed me.”

you raised a brow. “i outlived you by, like, eight minutes.”

“semantics.”

twitch.tv/smellie — LIVE: IRL OVERCOOKED w/ baeee (pastaluvrrr)

ellie’s kitchen wasn’t exactly equipped for a baking stream. one of the cameras was actually just her laptop with a built-in cam propped up on a couple of books, the $19.99 two-pack of cheap amazon microphones left much to be desired, and someone—ellie—had forgotten to actually buy half the ingredients before you flew in.

nevertheless, the chat was buzzing at the concept of seeing you and ellie actually interacting together, in-person.

“okay,” ellie said, clapping flour-covered hands together despite the recipe not even calling for flour, “welcome to my kitchen. today we’re making… brownies.”

“from a box,” you added.

“from the heart,” she corrected, nudging your hip with hers.

NotElliesAlt: “brownies” is code for sesbian lex isn’t it usuallylurkin: HELLO? THAT HIP BUMP elliesyumyum: when are y’all just gonna make out

you glanced at the recipe on the back of the box and back at the counter.

“you didn’t preheat the oven.”

“i—” ellie looked down. “i forgot.”

“ellie.”

“i got distracted.”

“by what?”

she looked at you. you stared back.

chat was going a mile a minute despite being on slow-mode.

“riiiiight,” you said slowly, turning to grab a mixing bowl like your pulse wasn’t suddenly doing backflips. “anyways. dry ingredients.”

ellie poured in the bagged mix way too fast, a cloud of dust puffing out from the bowl making you both cough.

"careful, ellie."

she laughed, leaning in to read chat, her face taking up half of the camera.

"holy jumpscare, could you get any closer?"

ellieuseslightmode: back up WE'RE SCARED topnoodle44: where are her sweats from theyre so cute :00 elliethrows4me: can we start a prediction on whether or not they'll burn the brownies

she just laughed, her eyes continuing to skim through the messages. "where are the sweats from?" she leaned back, moving to tug on the waistband of the pants you were wearing, "these are actually from my highschool, funny enough."

you pressed your lips together in a thin line, giving her a look. you hadn't exactly planned on letting chat know you were wearing her clothes and they were about to have a field day with the information.

there was a pause. then she cleared her throat, turned back to the camera, and grinned, "and my shorts are from nike!"

"alright. moving on. can we actually bake now?" you opened a cabinet, scanned it. “where are the chocolate chips?”

“should be in the pantry.”

you walked over and gave the pantry a brief glance-over. not there. “can’t find it.”

“lemme help,” ellie said.

she followed you off-camera, into the pantry.

which would’ve been fine.

except you were really close in there. the shelves were shallow, the door was half-closed, and neither of you had thought to flip the switch outside that turned the lightbulb on.

“what are we looking for again?” she asked, a rustle of plastic punctuating her words.

“chocolate chips. i literally said that ten seconds ago.”

you glanced up as she pushed further into the pantry beside you, her shoulder bumping yours. she didn’t move.

“you found them yet?” she asked, not really looking at the shelves anymore.

“no,” you said, quieter than you meant to.

she turned her head. now she was looking at you.

you swallowed. “getting distracted again?”

her lips quirked into a small smile. “yeah.”

you nodded. "me too."

and then she kissed you.

it was sudden—soft and unsurprisingly clumsy, her hand brushing your waist as her other arm bumped into the baking powder and nearly knocked it off the shelf. your back hit the wall with a dull thud as she licked into your mouth.

and your clipped-on microphones were definitely still recording everything.

NotElliesAlt: HELLO??? tima0911: WHAT AM I HEARING RN tryqt: LIPS. ARE. SMACKING. elliesdischarge: holy makeout elliebutinallcaps: THE MICS ARE ON YOU IDIOTS

when you came back into frame, cheeks flushed and mouth definitely more swollen than it had been before, ellie trailed behind you with the chocolate chips in hand and the cockiest little smirk on her face.

you avoided eye contact with the camera.

“soooooo,” you said, voice slightly higher than usual, “we found them!”

“yep,” ellie said casually, “took some digging. but we got there.”

v4nitymirror: TOOK SOME DIGGING IS CRAZY jmattsz: i can't believe i said i'd gift 20 subs when they finally hooked up and it actually happened on stream.

you coughed. “oven’s ready.”

you leaned over the sink, dabbing at the last of your eyeliner smudge with a cotton round. your reflection stared back—cheeks still hot, lips a little too swollen.

behind you, ellie was half-sprawled across the bed, scrolling idly on her phone.

“you always take this long to wash your face?” her voice was soft. teasing, but not unkind.

you met her eyes in the mirror. “yes. i've made multiple tiktoks about my routine. and i know you've watched all of them.”

she laughed and didn’t deny it. just rolled over onto her back, one arm slung behind her head. “will you do some skincare on me?"

you flicked the faucet off and reached for a towel. “what am i, your servant?"

“you’re sleeping in my bed,” she pointed out, lazily. "you ought to be nice to me."

you turned, towel pressed to your chin. “you invited me.”

“i did,” she agreed. the look she gave you was unmistakable—open, fond, a little reverent.

you padded over and tossed the towel onto your overnight bag. the air between you crackled. ellie’s gaze tracked you the entire way.

she scooted over. you climbed in beside her.

there was a pause. your shoulder brushed hers. then, her fingers found your wrist under the covers, a gentle tap like a question.

you turned to face her. “you gonna be annoying if i kiss you again?”

her smile was slow and stupid and something close to relieved. “probably.”

you kissed her anyway.

this one lasted longer. and the next, even longer. not rushed, not frantic—just deliberate. exploratory. like neither of you were in a hurry now that the door had been opened.

her hand found your thigh. your knee nudged between hers.

she pulled back slightly, her forehead resting against yours. voice low, barely more than a breath: “i really like you.”

you blinked. something in your chest cracked open.

“yeah?” you whispered.

she nodded, eyes searching yours. “yeah. like… not just for streams or clips or whatever. i mean it.”

you smiled, soft and crooked. “good,” you said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. then to her jaw. “'cause i kinda really like you too," you muttered, continuing to press wet, open-mouthed kisses down her neck.

she let herself sink back into the pillows as you shifted to straddle her, hands coming up to rest on your waist. "t-that's.... that's good. perfect. ideal, honestlaaah fuck—" the grip she had on your hipbones grew tighter as you sucked at a particularly sensitive spot on her collarbone.

"you've got such a way with words, smellie."

"fuck off," she breathed out. "don't bring up stream shit when you're in bed with me."

"whatcha gonna do about it?"

she grunted, sliding one of her hands in between both of you to wiggle it underneath your sleep shorts. you gasped, feeling her fingers press up against the wet cotton of your underwear. "that. i'm gonna do that."

you reached down to grip her wrist and re-direct her hand so she was actually touching you beneath the fabric, "well, do a little more."

she groaned, her fingers sliding through the slick that met her there. "fuuuck, that's hot. guiding my hands 'n shit."

you huffed out a laugh that melded into a moan as her fingers fell into a quick pace, tight circles on your clit. "why are you— oh shit justlikethatyeah.." you gulped in a breath before continuing, "why are you fuckin' narrating our hookup right now?"

the angle was a little awkward and she could feel something in her wrist clicking with every swirl of her fingers but she would rather keel over and croak than stop right now.

the pain was irrelevant. especially when you were sitting up slightly to slide your t-shirt up and off and grab desperately at your own tits, manicured thumbs flicking nipples gone taut from the sudden temperature change.

and when you whined out a "fuuuck, ellie!" all tight and wiry and even better than she'd imagined on countless nights alone in that same bed with her hands shoved beneath her boxers, she couldn't help but nuzzle her head clumsily at your chest, nudging your hand away from your right breast with her forehead so she could replace your tugging fingers with her mouth.

your hips jerked forward and the now-free hand latched onto her shoulder for balance as you cried out, her lips pulling and teeth nicking just slightly before she soothed the peak with soft laps of her tongue.

"you like 'em played with, huh?" you could feel the vibration of her mumbling against the flesh of your boob.

"stop fucking talking, ellie. this is sex, not one of those slutty fanfictions people have been writing about us." you punctuated your words with fast firm rolls of your hips, now grinding your puffy clit into her palm as she fucked two long fingers steadily into you.

"yeah, well there's gonna be a whole lot more of those after that little stunt we pulled on stream earlier."

"i thought you said no stream talk in bed— ohhh, oh god. shit— fuck, 'm close."

"yeah? you gonna cum for me?" she was panting, damp puffs of air against your nipple interrupted occasionally by a haphazard suck or nibble. her wrist—aching by now—swiveled as her began to curl her fingers inside of you with purpose, the heel of her hand rubbing firmly against you.

"keep goin'— fuck keep talkin' to me. please don't stop."

"thought you wanted me to shut up? thought you said this wasn't some smutty one-shot, huh?"

the hand gripping her shoulder slid around to the base of her neck. you grabbed purchase on the short hairs there, tugging as she whimpered into you. "ellie if you don't talk me through it right now i sweartogod—"

"alright, alright! i gotcha, baby. cum for me. thaaaaat's it."

a loud moan punched out of you. “shit—fuck— 'm cumming.” your other palm left your own chest to clasp over your mouth in an attempt to muffle your sounds and she quickly moved the hand that was urging your twitching hips to grab your wrist and pull it away.

"hey, none of that. talking is encouraged now, remember?

"shut up." you gritted out through a groan, your hips jerking as your teeth caught on your bottom lip.

"alright, nevermind. not encouraged. copy that."

you tugged on her hair again to mash your lips together, effectively silencing her and sagging bonelessly against her as you came down from your high.

when the both of you finally parted, you looked down to see her mouth slack, head tilted back, and eyes so hazy you'd think she was the one who just came.

she blinked blearily up at you. "you're even bossier in bed than you are regularly. it's so sexy."

"if i hadn't told you to shut up so many times already, i would say it again."

she laughed out loud at that and you couldn't help but giggle back.

"how about i shut you up instead, yeah? put that mouth to work?"

you learned very quickly that she tended to be kind of squirmy when she was on the receiving end. it was as if she was unable to sit still in the onslaught of pleasure. honestly, it modeled how she was normally, always kind of twitchy and buzzing with energy.

you knew on future nights, you were going to revel in the experience of holding her down, pinning bucking hips to the mattress or firming your grasp on shaking thighs to keep them spread apart.

tonight, instead, you basked in the push and pull, chasing her with your mouth when she wriggled away and groaning in pleasure when she tugged you closer by your hair.

and when you slipped into a particularly good rhythm, hollowing your cheeks with every perfect pull of her clit into your mouth and lashing your tongue at the swollen nub, her hands scrambled to find purchase on something. anything. your sex-mussed hair, unraveled from the neat up-do you had put it in to prepare for bed. your bare, sweat-damp shoulders. and, finally, the perpetually messy sheets below her.

her left leg kicked out and she dug her heel into the mattress for leverage to thrust her hips up and up and up into you, her lower half rising so high you had to pull her by her bony hipbones back down so you could maintain the suction.

"fuuuh– ah, shit. i think i'm gonna—" she was propped up on her elbows now, fluttering eyes focused on you with a desperate gleam to them.

you worked her over with your mouth earnestly, keeping steady eye contact as she lifted a trembling hand, moving as if she was going to pull your head closer, bury your face even deeper in her.

but then those same eyes rolled back into her skull as she flopped back down, the hand falling to grip the sheets once again.

"fuck'mgonnacumbaby" she garbled out and the sight of her chest arching up made her tits look so pretty under her thin white tank top, you wished you had a free hand to reach up and tweak a nipple.

she let out a high-pitched, whispery whine that petered out into silence.

for a couple seconds, all that could be heard was the slurps as you lapped at her, and the hum of the fans from her pc in the corner of her room.

and then—

muffled groans as the strength of her closing thighs finally broke the grip you had on them and pressed against your ears. she wasn't good at staying still, but, apparently, she was even worse when she came, her body folding in on itself as she jerkily fucked her hips up into the heat of your mouth.

you let her fuck your face, your blunt nails dragging red lines down the sides of her thighs. the slight sting of pain grounded her, helping her ride out the waves and stopping her from getting too overwhelmed in the throes of an orgasm.

pulling your head back slightly, you alternated between soft, sticky kisses to her inner thighs and kitten licks at her entrance, cleaning her up and soothing her at the same time as she caught her breath.

"fuck. c'mere."

trembling hands cupped your face as she weakly tugged you toward her. you let her, shifting to settle into her side and throw a leg over her own. she sighed, wrapping her arm around you, pulling you even closer.

"whaaat?" she whined, craning her neck to glare when she felt you giggle. "why’re you laughin' at me?"

"because i know you’re about to try and convince me to go to sleep without washing my face again. and you know i can’t do that."

she didn’t answer — just flopped her head back on the pillow and shut her eyes tight, fake snoring loudly.

"ellie," you warned.

"can't talk. too busy snoozin'."

"my face is a mess, ellie. my hair too.”

"yeah, well. maybe you should've thought about this before you made me cum so hard i couldn't breathe. i absolutely can not move now, let alone clean up!"

you sighed, pushing yourself up off the bed — or trying to. the arm she had wrapped around you tightened in protest.

“ellie, seriously.”

“you can’t move either! i want you to stay. please? pretty please with a cherry on top my most gracious streamer and fortnite carry god?”

you shot her a glare and she grinned, clearly sensing how flimsy your resolve was.

“just five more minutes. then we’ll get up. wash our faces, brush our teeth. hell, i’ll even floss for you tonight, baby. bought those little sticks you’re always ranting about in those hygiene haul videos and everything.”

you huffed. wiped the back of your hand across the bottom half of your face like it would do anything. huffed again.

“fine. but seriously. five minutes. then we’re going.”

you woke up the next morning with a sticky face, ellie drooling on your collarbone, and your phone nearly buzzing off the nightstand from the amount of notifications you'd received post-stream.

twitch.tv/smellie — LIVE: eating victory crowns for breakfast 🥱

she was streaming fortnite the next morning, acting like nothing had happened. hoodie up, drawstrings pulled tighter than usual to ensure the hickeys you’d sucked into her skin the night before were thoroughly hidden.

she was focused—well, pretending to be—talking about the latest installment of some comic she was obsessed with while looting in-game and ignoring the onslaught of questions in chat.

elliebutinallcaps: WHERE IS SHE?? NotElliesAlt: so you’re avoiding the MASSIVE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM? elliesdischarge: she’s kneeling under the desk, be honest message deleted by moderator macetotheface: she’s prob busy making breakfast in ur hoodie altaccnumber29: blink twice if ur post-nut right now message deleted by moderator

“okay, so—” she was mid-rant when she paused, squinting at the chat. “jesus. y’all are crazy today. can we just play the game?”

messages were flying so fast her eyes couldn’t keep up:

ellieuseslightmode: BRING HER BACKKKKKK ellieclips: we literally heard the makeout. you cannot gaslight us. v4nitymirror: wait did she leave?? is she even still there 😭 maybemaddie: GUYS WHAT IF THEY FOUGHT AFTER. what if it was a drunk kiss and now it’s awkward.

she was sorting through her load-out after an intense fight she nearly lost against a surfer jonesy when it happened:

pastaluvrrr: hiiiii girlfriend 😽

she froze.

the click of her mouse stopped mid-action. the corner of her mouth twitched like she was trying not to react, but the flush across her face betrayed her instantly.

“oh my god,” she mumbled, shrinking into her hoodie. “why are you like this.”

chat, consequently, blew the fuck up.

elliesyumyum: GIRLFRIEND????? GIRLFRIEND. tima0911: please say this vod will be on youtube. PLEASE. elliethrows4me: NOOOOO SHE TOOK MY BITCH tryqt: not the hard launch via twitch chat LMAOOOO ayayayaim: SOMEONE CLIP THIS ellieclips: OH MY FUCKING GOD???

ellie tilted back in her chair, red spreading all the way down her neck. “i dunno why she’s lurking in chat when she’s literally downstairs,” she muttered, trying (and failing) to sound unbothered.

on cue, soft footsteps padded into the room. then came your voice, faint off-screen:

“i was making a matcha.”

the camera unfocused and refocused as you leaned into frame and planted a wet kiss on her mouth.

no warning. just one hand on her shoulder, the other still holding your drink. it was passionate, unashamed, and unnecessarily long.

“does that answer everyone’s questions?” you asked, eyebrow raised.

ellie blinked at you, dazed. then turned to chat—

only to see her character had died while she was busy making out with you.

“awesome,” she mumbled, cheeks ruddy. “you got me killed. hope you’re proud of yourself.”

jmattsz: holy tomato face mikuirl: THEYRE SO GROSS I LOVE THEM looten_scooten: i just took so many screenshots im out of storage iclutchforpastalover: MAMA Y PAPA

you breezed out of frame again like nothing had even happened. ellie cleared her throat. “okay. uhhhh, alright... so!”

chousey203: any day now…. elliebutinallcaps: SPIT IT OUT GIRL ecam96: 100% just creamed her pants message deleted by a moderator slaystation_: DUDE UR SO RED

“mods please,” she begged, hiding her face in her hands. “put chat in emote only. i’m not doing this.”

topnoodle44: 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈 boostedbytenshi: 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 usuallylurkin: 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩💓🍑🍆💦 ellieuseslightmode: 😘😘👁️👁️

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

[freddiemercuryscat]

Yesssssss 🙌 a

:¨ ·.· ¨: `· . 𐙚𝟔𝟗 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐌𝐞 𝐁𝐢𝐭𝐞.

warning: Ellie’s biceps mention. please proceed with extreme caution. you have been warned. (very rushed piece of garbage, forgive me.)

“Sit down, please.” You stood before the couch, laptop in your hands. Ellie froze mid-chew, her thumb hovering over her phone’s screen, squinting in confusion.  

“I’m already sitting,” she said through obnoxious bites.  

You looked at her with a deadpan before plopping down beside her. Her eyes fixed on your laptop’s screen.  

“May I have two minutes of your attention?”  

She furrowed her brow, eyes returning to your computer screen.  

“What’s this?” she asked before taking a larger bite of her protein bar.  

“I made a PowerPoint.”  

“Uh—okay?”  

“Ready?” Your brows lifted at her, and she hummed. You hit your spacebar, and the blank front page revealed the real front page: bold white letters on a pink, sparkly background reading, “69 Reasons Why I Should Be Allowed to Bite You (a serious presentation by: your girlfriend).”  

She stared at you for a full second, chewing with a deep, confused frown taking over her scrunched features.  

“Okay, so hear me out,” you started, eyes flicking between her and the screen as you pressed the spacebar again.  

SLIDE ONE: Look at your arms.  

You nodded as she slowly read the words, gesturing toward her bicep. “Tell me they’re not succulent. You’re lying.”  

Her nose scrunched up like it always did when she was trying not to laugh, choking on whatever last few bits of protein bar had gotten stuck in her teeth.  

“Alright, dramatic reaction—slide number choo.”  

She read aloud this time: “You’re my girlfriend. I should have bite privileges. That’s in the constitution.” 

She looked at you again, trying to keep a straight face. “Pretty sure that’s illegal in most states—”  

Irrelevant, so you proceeded with the third one.  

This slide, though, was actually a blurry photo of her asleep, her shirt half-off her shoulder. Captioned: “This part of you specifically,” with a red circle drawn around her collarbone that you tapped at promptly. “You knew what you were doing, don’t even look at me like that.”  

She snorted, covering her mouth. “Is that—when did you take that? Do you take pictures of me in my sleep?”  

“You left the window open. That’s on you.”  

“Christ.”  

The next slides consisted of a simple gathering of scientific proofs you had thoroughly selected the night before.  

One was about historical evidence: “Cavemen probably did it, and they were in love.”  

Then it was a pie chart labeled “How Much I Want to Bite You (spoiler: it’s 100%).”  

Then a piece of rushed poetry you’d written: “Teeth yearn for arms just like heart yearns for blood. Carnivorous romance.”  

Lastly, it was a screenshot of a DM you sent her last week that just said, “Can I gnaw gently on your forearm like a hamster with a chew toy?”  

By slide 42, she’s barely breathing, purple in the face for laughing too hard.  

It was a picture you’d secretly taken of her from behind, stretching after an intense workout, wearing nothing but a sports bra.  

Caption: “If I’m not allowed to bite this trapezius, then why is it shaped like a meat snack?? Explain.”  

Slide 52:  

Scientific research (from Wikipedia) titled:  

“Mammals that bite their mates as a bonding activity.”  

You pointed dramatically at the screen. “You see? Love. Science. God wanted this.”  

“Oh my god—” she laughed into the palms of her hands.  

“Splendid. Now wait till I get to 69.”  

“Wait till I get you in 69,” she wiggled her brows.  

“Unfunny, overall mediocre,” you deadpanned, hitting the keyboard violently.  

Slide 56:  

It’s Ellie’s own texts, screenshotted, where she once said, “You’re so cute I could eat you.”  

You zoomed in. “So who’s the real criminal here?” You stabbed at the screen aggressively.  

She cracked up. “That’s not what I—”  

“That’s a crime, you know.”  

Slide 58:  

Photoshopped fake news article headline:  

“Local Girl Hospitalized After Denying Girlfriend Bite Rights – Regrets Everything.”  

“Wow, this is—”  

“Yup, tragic, I know.”  

Slide 69:  

“You let me once. And you moaned.”  

A mic drop animation played before the screen went black, and she looked more offended than ever.

“Okay. First of all—fuck you. That was taken out of context.”  

You didn’t even say anything; raising your brow was enough to make her go on.  

“That wasn’t a moan; that was like... a grunt. A bite grunt. Like a reflex. Like when you hit your knee and it kicks.”  

“I’m going to hold your hand when I tell you this...”  

“NO. I’m defending my honor. That was not a moan. I don’t moan when you bite me.”  

You just snickered. “You literally arched into it!”  

“I HAVE A CURVED SPINE!”  

You lost it. She threw a couch pillow at your head, didn’t even aim, just rage-launched it while refusing to make eye contact.  

“So can I bite you?” you then asked.  

Ellie groaned, flopping backward onto the couch, one arm draped across her face. “You’re obsessed with me. It’s actually insane. You need help.”  

You crawled on top of her, hovering. “That’s not a no.”  

“It’s a cry for help.”  

You poked her cheek. “Still not a no.”  

She peeked out from under her arm. “Bite me and I swear to God—”  

Your open mouth, awaiting contact, inched closer to her arms.

She gasped. “NO ’CAUSE IF YOU DO I’LL—” She didn’t even finish the sentence before she shrieked-laughed and kicked at you, completely red.  

“OH MY GOD—” she screamed at the harsh bite, yelling through laughter. “YOU NEED TO BE FUCKING STUDIED.” 

[freddiemercuryscat]

𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 - 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢’𝐦 𝐬𝐡𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐰𝐤𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝,

𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞, 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞…

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧: oodles of fluff, gay pining, smut, angst, wlf abby, medic reader, meddling best friends, shy/anxious reader, canon tlou universe with some divergence, references to disordered eating (binging/overeating), body insecurities, violence, homophobia, drinking/drug use, fatphobia, mentions of comphet & too many tropes to count!

𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬!

𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬:

⦻ 𝐢. 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫

⦻ 𝐢𝐢. 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞

⦻ 𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐢 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[freddiemercuryscat]

"i don't have a type!" i say, adding another big, buff woman to the collection of women i like

[freddiemercuryscat]

IDC IF ITS A STRAP!!! I SAID NUT IN ME.

IDC IF ITS A STRAP!!! I SAID NUT IN ME.

IDC IF ITS A STRAP!!! I SAID NUT IN ME.

IDC IF ITS A STRAP!!! I SAID NUT IN ME.

IDC IF ITS A STRAP!!! I SAID NUT IN ME.

[freddiemercuryscat]

[freddiemercuryscat]

[freddiemercuryscat]

[freddiemercuryscat]

house tyrell baddies

[freddiemercuryscat]

Sevika is not a ‘hear me out’ she’s a hold me back. Scariest woman of Zaun but she would be more in danger around the girls on tumblr than at any time in her life

[freddiemercuryscat]

I very much claim this energy, YES M’AM!!

Sure I like Sevika fics where she's depicted as younger / college age / 20s. Those are fine and good.

But when I try to picture what a younger Sevika might've looked like I get a little stumped tbh. Like I have an idea but no real execution.

THAT WAS UNTIL I FOUND THESE

You fucking sims 4 girlies are saints truly.

These are by @koooreu / Relia on Pinterest who actually popped tf off with the cc on this sim!

Link

[freddiemercuryscat]

Yes… no notes 👌

18+ MDNI . Lesbian sex in an alley, post-fight adrenaline sex, mutual fingering, (pining, mentions of canon violence and fucking girls, voyerism), they/them character, everyone is afab.

The Monster and the Chaos

SEVIKA x RAN = friends-with-benefits loyalty kink ♡

SUMMARY: The history of how Ran grew up to burn through Zaun alongside Sevika. The work, the fucking around, the loyalty. Up until five years ago, when finally, just fucking. It took Ran until 24 before Sevika could see it. (Age gap 24/36.)

NOTES: First half backstory, or scroll down to ✿✿✿ for the alley smut scene. Start of a series, which is somewhere between friends-with-benefits porn and a rough-edged love story.

AO3 link • 3.1k words

~20 years ago: Sevika 21 | Ran 9

The first memory Sevika has of Ran is from the days when she is still clawing her way up the ranks of some gang.

Sevika is already capable of being a mean, dangerous thing when the city turns bad, and in Zaun, things always do. She smokes too much, fights too much, and fucks pretty girls like it’s a way to stay alive. Clearly not someone a kid should idolize.

But one does.

This scrawny, relentless kid from the Lanes keeps showing up. They are never scared of her, which she finds surprising. They also never shut up.

This kid trails after her, talking about street rumors, Zaunite music, pitfights, the weird glowing moss and insects in the old mines, and how they’re going to fix everything wrong with the city. The kid asks questions or lectures her. 

“Did you know that if you tap the pipes, you can tell what’s in them? The ones with air hum and clang, kind of like music. Waste pipes go dull, and sometimes gurgle, like they don’t like you touching them.”

“If you stab the joint here, they can’t lift their arm again.”

Sevika mostly grunts and smokes, and pretends not to listen. The kid is annoying and loud, but also sharp and sometimes funny. And since they don’t expect her to say too much, she often lets the kid hang around a while and talk.

Without meaning to, Sevika learns their name.

Ran.

* * *

~16 years ago: Sevika 25 | Ran 13

This one night Ran is just pacing. They slip through the back halls of the gang they so want to be part of, not wanting to go home yet. It’s one of those nights when half the crew is too drunk to stand, and Ran maybe just wants to watch and learn. Not quite sure what, really.

And that’s when they see Sevika with the girl.

Sevika is pressed into a corner in the hallways with some beautiful woman clinging to her. Sevika is young, tall, and handsome, and in Zaun strength is a currency. She’s used to getting offers. But this is something more. So Ran freezes without meaning to, half-hidden behind a doorway, holding their breath.

The girl is soft and so graceful. Eyes wide and clutching Sevika’s neck like she really cares.

Then Sevika kisses her. Hard, yes. Demanding, yes. But gentle too, with hands steady at the girl’s waist, not groping. Sevika is careful, like holding something breakable. Ran has never seen her like that. In Zaun you’re supposed to be only tough.

The kiss is slow, long and unbroken. Something clearly meaningful, not stolen or bought.

Heart hammering, Ran watches as the girl slips her fingers into Sevika’s hair, the short ones at the nape of her neck, and they can feel how Sevika relaxes into the touch.

Without thinking, Ran touches their own neck. Then slips away into the shadows.

They never forget.

* * *

~13 years ago: Sevika 28 | Ran 16

Sevika is in Vander’s crew, moving up, trusted with important, mean work suited to her, when Ran grows into a reckless, cocky teenager.

Ran is always getting into fights, pulling scams, flirting with the wrong people, but still showing up all the time to talk to her. Still moving like they can’t stop. Still grinning like nothing can touch them.

One month Ran shows up with a buzzcut, running their hand over it again and again. Next month it’s bleached hair and a bigger grin.

Sevika actually bursts out laughing, that rough, crackling sound, when Ran offers to do her piercings with a block of ice and a needle, like they pierce themselves. Ran is pleased. It doesn’t matter if it’s the piercings or the laugh. Either one feels like winning.

Sevika suspects a crush once or twice, but Ran never flirts with her. They flirt with everyone else though. And they are shameless about it, with an endless supply of one-liners and praises.

Ran is constantly talking about kissing girls in alleys. Only girls. Soft girls, wide-eyed girls with easy smiles. They have that half-cocky, half-insecure bravado teenagers wear like armor.

“You hear about me and that girl from Greyrat Street?”

“She said my mouth was a problem. Still kissed me though. You think she’s hot? She laughs nice. I think she really likes me.”

Sevika mostly huffs, lets Ran talk and tries not to smile. Just another damn kid trying to survive the only way they know how.

Ran’s always getting into trouble. Sometimes Sevika grabs them by the back of the collar, hauls them out of a fight, and shoves them toward safety. Gruff orders and rough hands holding them still until they settle enough not to go right back in.

“Get your shit together.”

* * *

~10 years ago: Sevika 31 | Ran 19

Sevika moves up to become a solid core fighter under Vander’s leadership. The streets are tense but organized. She’s known for her power, and her readiness to do whatever needs to be done for Zaun. 

Ran finally narrows their chaos into something sharper. They train constantly, and their energy gives them an edge. They’re still not as big as Sevika and never will be, so they learn to be fast, smart, and tactical.

It’s Sevika who suggests the two blades and it suits them. Hit fast. Move faster. Cut deep. Disappear.

They’re good. Good enough that Sevika starts letting them tag along on real work. Good enough that Ran slides into the crew like they were always meant to be there.

Always near Sevika.

Sevika doesn’t think about it much. Just figures Ran is loyal and dependable.

Ran still talks about girls too much. Constant stories that are often true, if you believe them.

“She had this tattoo here, and when I got her shirt off, just had to trail it with my tongue.”

“She laughed like I was trouble, then whispered if I’d ever been with a cop’s daughter.”

“Told her so many times she was cute, she wouldn’t let go. She bit my lip, so I think it counts as a date.”

It’s partly a smokescreen. Sevika doesn’t notice, genuinely doesn’t. Ran’s been around so long they’re just part of the background now. The familiar chatterbox handy with the blades. They’re still that damn kid in the back of her mind, now grown up enough to be useful.

And there’s this one girl Ran can’t shut up about for weeks. The one who first kissed them for making her laugh. Ran babbles about a breakfast in bed, even though it’s a mess of crumbs, jam, and juice spilling over. Every time Ran talks about it, it’s with this stupid, wide grin, like they can’t believe it keeps happening. Like they’re a little bit afraid if they stop talking about it, it might stop being real.

* * *

~8 years ago: Sevika 33 | Ran 21

Then things start going bad.

Sevika grows frustrated with Vander’s pacifist stance toward Piltover. Vander promised change, but it’s not happening. The city rots slower, but that’s all.

Sevika starts to believe any cost is acceptable if it means freeing Zaun. So she leaves Vander’s crew for Silco’s, and many follow her. Ran, of course, is one of them.

The night Vander’s kids try to get him back from Silco’s hold, Jinx’s bomb explodes. When Sevika is in, she’s all in, so she loses her arm saving Silco.

She doesn’t remember much after the blast. Just pain.

But Ran is there. Wrecked inside but strangely calm, they keep talking through it.

“This’ll turn out fine.”

“The mechanical arm’s gonna make you even stronger.”

“You’re still the biggest bitch in the streets.”

Ran stays close through the whole messy recovery, even when Sevika is an ass, lashing out from the anger of her loss. They spar with her endlessly. Help her force the new mechanical arm into something fierce and useful. 

They also make sure everyone on the streets knows she’ll be back soon, and worse for it. Sevika tells herself it’s loyalty and friendship. She won’t forget it. Not ever. Trust is the most important thing in the world to her.

And the arm? She really is a weapon now.

* * *

~7 years ago: Sevika 34 | Ran 22

A year after losing her arm, Sevika is Silco’s second when Ran loses their hand. It’s nothing extraordinary, only bad odds on one bad job. One bad move, and the fingers are gone.

Ran doesn’t scream. Doesn’t cry. Just stares at Sevika in the bloody street, bites down, and survives it the same way she did. Refusing to fall.

Sevika sticks close this time. She makes sure Ran gets fitted with the best mechanical replacement and they spar through the pain and the frustration. Ran gets faster, smarter, and meaner. Gets back to work.

But sometimes, after jobs that should’ve killed them both but didn’t, they make it back laughing. Sevika buys the first drinks. Ran steals the seconds. And for a while, Zaun doesn’t feel like it’s trying to kill them.

Somewhere in the middle of it, Ran starts flirting with Sevika. Very casual, like it’s nothing. Just their usual grin and swagger.

“You know, if I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were my type too. Big, mean, and hard to get.”

Sevika laughs it off. It’s entirely Ran. They’ve survived too much together for it to mean anything. That’s what they are. Banter, loyalty and familiar heat. 

They know each other’s bodies well from fighting side by side, from bandaging each other’s hard-to-reach cuts, and from sparring between jobs. Ran clinks their metal fingers against Sevika’s arm.

“Together, we’re a full set.”

Sevika huffs, and pushes them harder in the next sparring round. She doesn’t see it. Doesn’t see that Ran isn’t quite kidding.

Anyway, she figures they both just want to burn through reckless girls. Women who want Sevika to do whatever she wants to them. And she wants control, without question. Lovers who want Ran to play games, talk shit, tease and touch until they are begging Ran for more. Same needs, different styles.

No reason to look closer.

* * *

~6 years ago: Sevika 35 | Ran 23

It’s a messy couple of years.

They work well together, but it’s cruel work in a cruel world, and they’re built for it. Both of them survive by distracting themselves. Too much drinking and too many girls, but slowly, they settle into what they are.

Crew is the only home they have. Zaun is the only cause that matters. Work is a shitty means to an end they’re not sure will ever come.

Women come to Sevika, looking for safety in her gruff demeanor and status. They say they like the scars at first, and listen to the gravel in her voice. They want the weight of her body in bed, the way she takes control. But then they start asking for softness, expecting her to sweet-talk and make grand promises. Sevika doesn’t have that. Not in her nature. Soon they can’t accept the monster she carries in her, even though it was the monster that first drew them in. The monster she looks more and more like with every year.

Ran, meanwhile, enters full fuckboy mode. All swagger and smirks. A blade on each shoulder and a pretty thing on every street. They want Ran’s touches, the teasing whispers, the fast hands. But then they try to slow them down. Try to handle Ran’s chaos. Their constant need for action, movement, shit talking, the heat they thrive in. But Ran isn’t built for slowing down.

So, fuck feelings.

Fuck romance.

Just fuck.

Sevika stops even pretending to date. It’s easier to pay. No mind games or pretending. No asking for things she doesn’t have. No heart left to try for real. She needs the quiet more too.

But Ran can’t stand the thought of not being really wanted. They never pay. Ran teases, dares, and wins pretty things over with a charming smile and a filthy mouth.

And what Ran really wants is different. 

They find girls who want the danger of Sevika and them both. The wild ones. The brave ones.

Ran smoothtalks pairs of pretty girls. Picks the bold one who doesn’t flinch from Sevika and presses her under Sevika’s arm with a smirk. Then kisses the other girl until nobody is breathing evenly. So they end up in the same rooms fucking different girls. 

Ran watches, when they think Sevika won’t notice. Watches Sevika kiss a girl slow. Watches her pin wrists back against a wall. Watches the brave one cling, asking for it, until Sevika fucks her hard enough to make her cry out. Watches the way Sevika steadies the girl’s hips after. Not sweet, but something close to careful. There’s still something careful left in Sevika.

And Ran listens. Listens for the low rough sound Sevika makes when a girl touches her, makes her come.

But Sevika knows.

Neither of them says anything. Not ever.

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

CHAPTER 2: The First Time

~5 years ago: Sevika 36 | Ran 24

Sevika is thirty-six and the scariest monster on the streets. Ran is twenty-four, the fast, deadly, unstoppable chaos. Zaun isn’t a nice place. It respects them.

A moment ago, things almost went bad. It was just the two of them, and a lot more of some rogue chemlord’s gang than there was supposed to be. Now it’s the familiar taste of blood in the air. All that blood under their boots, soaking the alley. Those bodies will never move again.

Ran paces. Too much adrenaline. Laughing too loud.

“Fucking hell… did you see that? Did you see that one with the mask?” They ramble. “I thought I was dead. I thought you were dead. Shit, you’re not dead, right?”

“Still moving,” Sevika grunts and shrugs.

Ran stops and looks at Sevika. At her steadiness and realness. Her power.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” they go on. “Thought you were done for, with so many closing in. Thought I was gonna finally die.”

Sevika stays calm, like she always does. The worse it gets, the tighter her control. “You hurt?” she asks.

Ran keeps on rambling, wild-eyed, unable to stop moving. “The size of that guy, probably on shimmer, and you just…”

”I asked if you’re hurt?” Sevika huffs, annoyed.

Ran glances at her and breathes out hard. “No. Don’t think so.”

They stop pacing, lean their forehead against the brick wall and kick it hard.

“Shit. Damn, I need to get off,” Ran mutters. “Need to fuck something.”

It’s not a flirtation, just true, the way Ran works shit out. It’s just fuckboy logic.

Sevika grumbles under her breath. Ran’s clearly bleeding. She grabs their shoulder, turns them around, checks the bruises and cuts quickly and roughly. She takes Ran’s chin in her hand and tilts their head, checking the cut above their ear on the shaved side.

“Looks nasty,” she says. “But it’s not deep. You’ll live.”

Ran chuckles, voice still shaky. “Always do.”

They’re both raw and ragged and have that burning under the skin they always carry after a kill.

With the adrenaline, Ran is even cockier than usual. They are pushed against the wall from Sevika’s rough medical check, so they take hold of her waist, running their thumb under the waistband of those low-slung pants, tracing the line that always drives them crazy, whether Sevika knows it or not.

And like always, there are the jokes. “You gonna take care of me, nurse?”

Sevika huffs but for some reason she doesn’t let go. She keeps Ran pinned against the wall and looks at them. Such a pretty fuckboy. What would be the harm, right? They both need to burn off the adrenaline anyway. Wouldn’t mean anything.

Ran sees the look and almost manages to hide the way their breath catches.

They risk it.

They hold her waist tighter and pull her ever so slightly closer. Ran slips their thumb a little lower, following that deep crease at her hip.

Sevika presses in, heavy and hard, bracing her metal arm beside Ran’s head, chest to chest. She’s bigger, older, meaner, and testing if Ran will flinch. But the noise Ran makes isn’t protest.

It’s want.

They grin like a challenge. Ran’s cold metal fingers dig into her hip. Warm fingers slide even deeper under her waistband.

“Knew you had something under here worth breaking for,” they whisper.

No kisses. No stripping. Just a scramble of belts and tight pants shoved down far enough.

Sevika’s fingers find Ran’s clit first.

They moan, trying to hold down a shiver, and Sevika smiles crooked, already rubbing tight, brutal little circles.

Ran gets to her right after.

Sevika growls down against their neck, breath hot, voice wrecked,

“Fuck. There. Stay still.”

But Ran doesn’t.

Sliding two fingers down, one on either side of her clit, up and down, jerking her off rough and fast, grinding into her hand at the same time. Both of them are pushing, chasing that burn.

Ran knows exactly what Sevika needs. They’ve strapped girls in the same rooms when drunk so many times. They’ve seen Sevika shove girls’ hands into her own pants after. Heard her giving orders, gruff and direct. And Ran has listened every time.

And Sevika’s fingers, fuck, her fingers have the experience. She knows exactly how to respond to every hitch of Ran’s breath.

It’s rough.

No rhythm.

All drive.

They come nearly at the same time. Growling. Shaking. Panting. 

Sevika swears, like she always does when it’s good.

Time stills for a while.

Ran’s face presses into Sevika’s shoulder, hand still shoved in her pants, not wanting to let go. Sevika’s head drops against theirs, mind blank for a rare, relieving moment. The air stinks of sweat and blood and sex.

And for a few seconds, they just breathe together.

Then it’s Sevika grunting, “Fuck.”

Ran chuckles, like it’s nothing. 

Both of them shove their pants back up, buckling belts with hands still shaking from it. Sevika lights up a cig, sticks it between Ran’s fingers. They take a deep drag. Neither of them looks at each other, but it’s not uncomfortable. Not really.

When they walk out of the alley, Sevika goes first, broad shoulders cutting through the ever-burning lights of Zaun. Ran follows a step behind.

Right before they hit the street, Ran lifts their fingers, inhales deeply. Just in case this was a one-time thing. They want to remember what she smells like.

Sevika tries not to think.

She liked it. 

She liked it too much.

They never talk about it. But the next time, it’s easy. Like it’s supposed to happen.

♡

[freddiemercuryscat]