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fuck me eyes is fanfic bait
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watching the 1975 at glasto is making me romanticise the mental health issues i had at 13
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I don't care if she commits atrocities, bro, she's justified by the narrative
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just a little psa: my next fic might be a bit delayed, i’m thinking by a week or so, as i’m feeling pretty drained at the moment + there are certain things i need to focus onnnn!!!
i have my driving test coming up and there’s a lot of prep i need to be doing, my job is picking up quite a bit, and on top of everything else i need to be making sure i’m get waaay more sleep than i have been recently 😭😭 i’m like a zombie atm
i hope you guys understand, i promise i will deliver in the end!!! i just need a bit of patience 🫶🏼
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jesse detor is my gf
#°˖✧˚ fernbruises' thoughts#she is so gorgeous#her MUSIC makes me CRAZY#and her tiktoks ugh i’m in luv#kinda wanna gatekeep her but likeeee???
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ok heres my hot take: women can make whatever fictional content they want i trust them to still be normal irl. men are mentally fragile, easily influenced and should not be allowed to read
#this is so fucking funny to me#nah men can’t have any fun because they ruin it#women are so demure in their horny ass fanfiction#PREACHHHH
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𓂃 ⁺ ₊ slow downˊ˗



⭒ synopsis ᵎ 〜 headcanons for dealer!ellie x good girl!reader in a college setting. enjoy ;) ⭒ content ᵎ 〜 mdni top!ellie, bottom!reader, fingering (r!receiving), strap-on (r!receiving), mention of weed, degradation, dacryphilia, mirror sex ⭒ word count ᵎ 〜 1.1k ⭒ notes ᵎ 〜 some short headcanons as an apology for being away
⁺ you’re the kind of girl who colour codes her notes and religiously says “thank you” to bus drivers. you would’ve never even dreamed of smoking weed, but here you were. texting a dealer, on your own, because your friend had convinced you that ellie’s weed would calm your nerves. everyone who’s anyone knows ellie williams. strap god, weed extraordinaire, chaotic lesbian. the epithets pile up. but to you? ellie’s warm, charming, and a demon in bed (but everyone knew that, too).
⁺ ellie shows up to your dorm smelling like weed and oil, guitar case slung haphazardly over her bare shoulder and licking sugar off her thumb from the gas station rock candy she had bought on the way there. it was weirdly seductive. she knows you're innocent from the moment her murky half-lidded eyes met your own blown-out ones. the way you introduced yourself only reinforced her idea that you had definitely never done anything like this before: “hi… i’m __, i think i texted you?” as if she might say no. “yeah, sweetheart, y’did. you usually this nervous?”
⁺ when you tell her you’ve never smoked before, she goes soft. not sweet, by any means, but interested. next thing you know she’s rolling up a new joint with the weed she brought and making you take the first hit, coaching you through every movement. “don’t hold it too long. there you go, nice n slow. i got you, baby” then, “you ever kiss someone?” she’s asking while leaning into you, barely giving you time to even process her question before her lips are moving against yours with a fervor that could scare the gods.
⁺ after that, you’re all she thinks about. not the girls who beg her to eat them out at frat parties. you, with your pink lipgloss and apologies and virginity she wants to destroy.
⁺ ellie talks you into coming over to hangout for a “smoke sesh”. promising a genuinely chill night and bribing you with the opportunity to see her play her guitar (something nobody’s ever gotten to see). the chill doesn’t last long. it’s not ellie’s fault, really. who could keep their hands off of you when you’re smiling so pretty and your eyes are falling closed after only two hits? she’s touching you slow, her hand building up your thigh and ghosting over the heat radiating from your cunt. “anyone ever touch ya here?” you shake your head and she’s suddenly grinning like a devil. “want me to be your first?” you nod this time, and her smile grows impossibly wider. you don’t even realize your rocking into her hand until you hear her chuckling into your ear, breath hot on your neck, “i’ll take care of you, baby.”
⁺ she goes so slow. kissing down your stomach and latching onto your thighs. she pulls your panties down with her teeth, just to be able to see the blush grow across your cheeks.
⁺ she eats you out like she has all night. you’ve never been touched like this before, and every whimper and squirm only fuels ellie’s fire more. her eyes are gazing up at you when she slips her finger in for the first time. she relishes in the feeling of your core, the way you squeeze around her whenever she hits just the right spot and the sound of your gasps when her tongue brushes against your puffy clit.
⁺ ellie was known for hitting and dipping, but for some reason she just couldn’t shake you. maybe it was the way her hands carved into your hips so perfectly, or the way your whimpers sounded so sweet in her ear when she was plunging her fingers knuckle-deep into your sopping cunt. whatever it was, ellie knew she couldn’t let you go. you’re her favourite thing to ruin.
⁺ she won’t stop texting you. ‘you up?’ ‘wanna come over and let me make you cry again?’ ‘miss your thighs around my head’ once she knows what she wants, she’ll do anything to get it. you’re officially ruined for anyone else. you walk through the campus glowing, thighs sore, deep-purple marks hidden beneath your classy turtleneck. no one suspects that the quiet good girl with a pastel tote bag gets fucked into the stratosphere three times a week by ellie fucking williams.
⁺ she starts bringing her guitar when you two meet. she plays songs that no one’s heard before, ones that are clearly about you. she’ll sing to you in between rounds, with your head in her lap and your panties somewhere across the room.
⁺ ellie gets territorial. your hers, and everyone needs to know that. she makes you sit on her lap everywhere, hand always on your waist and a nasty glare directed at the frat boys who try to talk to you. she loves to mark you up, leaving hickeys all over you. especially in places only she’s allowed to see. she’ll lend you her clothes and beg you to wear them into class. you do, one day, draped in her oversized red flannel. everyone recognizes it and the whispers are insufferable. ellie loves it. “ya look good in my clothes, baby. gonna look better out of ‘em later.”
⁺ she is most definitely a service top with a bit of a domination kink. she loves to corrupt you, have you falling apart on her strap and making you say filthy things. “c’mon, sweetheart. you gotta use your words or i can’t touch you.” she makes you beg, and once you do (breathy and soft, hands covering your reddening face) a huge grin takes over her entire face and she fucks you harder than ever.
⁺ ellie is skilled with her strap, there’s no arguing about that, but she for sure prefers to watch you come undone on her fingers. something about feeling you clench and gush around her knuckles just gets to her.
⁺ she’s a mirror sex fanatic. everything about it makes her crazy for you. holding your chin up between her pointer and her thumb, forcing you to watch the tears stream down your face as she pounds you from behind. “you’re so fucking pretty when you cry f’r me, y’know that?”
⁺ she definitely likes to delve into degradation every once in a while, particularly after she’s dealt with a rude customer. “look at you, dick drunk already huh? act like such a good girl at school and then take me like this? fuck.”
⁺ and, after putting you through the filthiest sex you could imagine, ellie wraps you right up in one of her clean hoodies and tucks you against her chest. “did so good, baby. so perfect, all f’r me.” she’s soft when it counts, rough when it turns you on.
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i have an unhealthy obsession with dealer!ellie

#°˖✧˚ fernbruises' thoughts#u guys write her so well icl#i want her to smoke me up#and then eat me OUT#ellie williams x reader
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what have you been up to lately?
between working, learning to drive, and writing?? mainly just dealing with this heatwave the uk’s currently having!!!
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i miss you :( waiting for your new fic!!
it’s coming, i promise!!!
it’s a long one too, so hopefully it makes up for the wait 😭😭
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hii how are you?
waves
i’m good! hoping to post my new fic in the next couple of days 🫶🏼
how are you?
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another edit!!! really really wanted to do something in this kind of style it was so fun :) ellie is so mmmgggfggggg yum i need to be sedated
i promise i'm gonna write something soon but i'm just in my Visual Creative Mode rn
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so, um, guys!!! my cramps are currently killing me but i promise you a long fic is on the way
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just took the cuntiest passport photo known to man
#°˖✧˚ fernbruises' thoughts#no makeup and a hoodie and i STILL ate that up#my dark circles are so GAGGY
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Reader asking Ellie to record them fucking, and Ellie ends up getting really into it (love your writing btw!! 💋💋)

say hi to the camera ─⭑.
⭒ word count: 3.6k 𖥔 ݁ ˖
⭒ content warnings: film student top!ellie x sub!reader, oral sex (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), strap-on (r!receiving), pussy slapping, hair pulling, filming kink, AFAB!reader, cursing, pet names, rough sex, degradation + praise, MEN AND MINORS DNI, likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖
࿐not part of the collide au (rip my absolute queens... this actually hurt my SOUL but hey sometimes we gotta go out of our comfort zone and get feral for... the craft)

you said it as a joke.
but it landed like a command.
it happens halfway through straddling her on the couch, your body already buzzing from the way she’s kissing you—slow and deep, like she’s trying to memorize your mouth. her palms are hot under your shirt, fingertips dragging slow up your ribs.
you lean back just enough to catch your breath, grin sharp as ever.
"you should record this next time."
her lips pause at your throat. she stays there, a little shocked, mouth barely grazing your skin, and then—voice low, amused:
"you want me to record you while i fuck you?"
you shrug, all fake casual, even though your pulse jumps.
"i mean… why not? could be hot."
ellie pulls back just enough to look at you. blinks once. and then she grins—all trouble. her hands drag down your sides, deliberate now, like she’s already directing the first shot.
"you want a sex tape, baby?"
your smile widens. "just for me. like, when you're gone late working on a project and i’m in bed missing you."
she groans. like, actual full-body groan. throws her head back against the couch, rubs a hand over her face like you’ve just ruined her life.
"jesus fucking christ. you’re evil."
you tilt your head. "you love it."
her gaze snaps back to you—darker now, her pupils blown wide, her lip caught between her teeth.
"i will story-board the fuck out of it. lighting. blocking. sound. i'll give you a score."
"you’re such a nerd."
“and you’re the one asking a film major to make a porno, so who’s the real nerd here?”
you laugh, leaning in to kiss her, grinding down on her lap.
“bet you’d narrate the whole thing like, ‘scene one—fucking my girlfriend. interior. night. single cam. practical lighting.’”
she chokes on a laugh, then groans, fingers digging into your hips. “shut the fuck up.”
“no, seriously—‘fade in: slut on couch. extreme close-up. one long take. raw as hell.’”
“i’m gonna ruin you,” she growls, and this time it’s not a joke—rough, all threat and promise.
you just smirk, mouth barely brushing hers.
“yeah, but make it auteur.”
she doesn’t bring it up again for a week. you think she’s forgotten, or maybe it was just talk—a shared fantasy that slipped between the couch cushions and the memory of her mouth on your neck.
but then it’s saturday night. you’re fresh from the shower, hair damp and clinging to your neck, skin still warm, still smelling like her soap. you’re wearing her old gray t-shirt—soft, stretched, worn in the best way—and nothing underneath.
ellie’s already in the bedroom. the lights are low, shadows moving slow across the walls. deftones plays from the speaker—just enough to feel in your ribs, not loud enough to distract.
when you step into the room, you freeze. she’s sprawled out on the bed in a black tank top and boxers, one knee bent, and a camera aimed straight at you.
not her phone. not some propped-up, shaky little attempt at homemade porn. a real camera—matte black, compact, handheld, with a flip-out screen angled toward her face and that unmistakable red recording light already glowing steady.
the kind of camera that says she’s thought about this. planned it. maybe even fantasized about how she’d frame you, light you, direct you. and now you’re here. standing in the doorway, already caught in the first shot.
“wait,” you say, blinking. “are you for real?”
she doesn’t even flinch. just looks up from behind it and grins, wide and wolfish.
“oh, i’m for real,” she says, voice warm and smug.
you snort, tugging the hem of your shirt down instinctively, "with a real fucking camera?"
"yeah, wanna see it in 4K" she responds, tilting it, lens still trained on you. "why? don’t get all shy on me now, babe. you're the one who said record it."
“yeah,” you arch a brow. “i just didn’t think i was dating a one-woman a24 production crew.”
“you’re not,” she says, adjusting the zoom. “you’re dating a visionary.”
you try not to laugh but fail.“you look like a lesbian scorsese.”
“and you look like the hottest thing i’ve ever filmed,” she says, voice thick, thumb adjusting the focus. “so maybe be nice to your director.”
you stay where you are for a second. let her film you standing still. let her zoom in the curve of your thighs, the way the shirt clings to your chest, the outline of your nipples through the fabric. the tension builds between frames, between your breaths.
“you’re actually committing to this?” you ask, voice softer now, a little breathless, as if the heat in the room just kicked up a notch.
“baby,” she says, adjusting the focus without even looking away, “i’ve been storyboarding this in my head since before we even spoke.”
her voice is calm, almost sweet—like it’s not the filthiest thing she’s ever admitted.
“freak,” you mutter, but you’re smiling, laughing again—breathier this time. your body already giving in. you step closer, hips loose, eyes locked on hers.
ellie lifts the camera a little higher, tracks the shift of your body as if she’s afraid to miss a second.
“show me,” she whispers, tone low but teasing. “come on, give me a show.”
and you give her one. you lift the hem of the shirt slowly. not for her—for the lens. you know exactly how this is going to look in playback. the glow of your skin in this light. the way your body starts to reveal itself, line by line.
you pull it over your head and let it drop to the floor, nipples stiffening in the cold air. your stomach tenses under her gaze, and you don’t try to hide the shine between your thighs.
she makes a noise—somewhere between a sigh and a curse—and the camera dips for half a second, like her hand twitched. you see her throat bob as she swallows.
you know that look. she’s not sure whether to keep filming or drop the thing entirely and fall to her knees.
and god, it turns you on even more.
"still rolling?" you ask, voice sugar-laced, cocky.
ellie nods once, "yeah. fucking hell, yeah."
you step closer, slower this time. not acting. not pretending. this isn’t performance—it’s instinct. it’s power. the way she’s looking at you, mouth parted, eyes glazed behind the viewfinder. you know she’s turned on before she’s even touched you.
“you better not cut the part where i called you a pervy little director,” you tease, all teeth.
ellie lowers the camera just enough to meet your eyes, flushed and slightly out of breath. hand still holding the lens like a lifeline.
“cut it?” she says. “i’m putting it in the trailer.”
you grin. shift your weight, your thighs brushing.
“turn around,” she says next, and it’s not a suggestion.
it’s gravel and gravity, all command. her voice has slipped into that other place—firm, sure, focused. all director mode.
you smirk but do what she says. slowly, hips swaying. your hands drag down your own waist as you pivot, and when your back is to her, you arch slightly—just enough. let her see the full curve of your ass, the slick glinting between your thighs.
behind you, there’s a sharp exhale.
"jesus christ," she mutters. then the soft mechanical buzz of her adjusting the zoom.
you don’t need to see her to know she’s locked in. her eyes drinking in every inch, the red light on the camera the only thing keeping her from touching you already.
you glance back lazily. “so, you gonna keep filming, or are you gonna fuck me?”
and that’s it.
the camera dips. her body snaps to attention like it’s muscle memory.
you’re pulled back towards the bed in one smooth movement—no hesitation. the backs of your knees hit the mattress and you drop, your body folding back on your elbows, legs parting without a hint of shame.
ellie stands over you, camera raised.
“holy shit,” she mutters.
she brings the camera lower, letting it drink you in, between your legs, over the slick. the way your chest rises and falls, nipples peaked, skin glowing.
“look at you,” she says. “you’re already dripping, just from being filmed.”
you shift, thighs tightening, and she catches the movement.
"such a fucking dirty girl," she mutters, one hand ghosting over your stomach.
she places the camera down on the nightstand, still rolling, still angled at your spread legs and heaving chest. her focus is so fucking precise it sends a wave of arousal through you all on its own.
and then ellie kneels between your legs like it’s her altar.
angel starts playing low in the background, slow and dark.
has she even prepped the soundtrack? you wonder for a second, half-laugh, half-moan.
(of course she did.)
she starts with your knee. presses her mouth there, slow and warm, a kiss that lingers just a second too long before she trails it upward. her hands follow—one curling firm around your thigh like she owns it, the other gliding up the center of your stomach, dragging heat in its wake.
she slips her palm higher, sliding between your ribs, under the soft weight of your breast.
her thumb brushes over your nipple and you gasp, chest lifting into her hand like you’ve forgotten how to do anything else but respond.
"you feel that?" she murmurs, voice low, like it’s just for you even though the camera’s still blinking red. "your heart’s beating so fucking fast."
you open your mouth to say something smart, something flirty, but then she’s kissing up your thigh again and the thought dies on your tongue.
she reaches your stomach, then your sternum, then your collarbone—and instead of diving down immediately, she pauses. tilts her head. looks at you.
and kisses you.
hot and deep, all tongue and teeth. one of those messy, all-consuming kisses that steals the breath right out of your lungs.
you moan into it—she swallows the sound greedily. her fingers are already moving again. one circling your nipple, the other caressing your side.
she pulls back just enough to speak, her lips grazing your cheek, then your jaw.
"you're perfect" she says, kissing beneath your ear, down your throat, impossibly reverent.
your hips roll up involuntarily, and she smiles against your collarbone.
"getting impatient, baby?"
"ellie—fuck—"
she chuckles. not unsympathetic—just pleased. her mouth finds your nipple next, tongue dragging over it slow, flicking, then sucking it into the heat of her mouth. her other hand moves to your other breast, squeezes gently, then rougher, thumb teasing over the tip until you whine.
"god, these tits," she mumbles against your chest, "camera’s not even doing them justice."
your back arches when her palm lands flat on your stomach, sliding lower, past your hip, fingers teasing the edge of your thigh.
"ellie," you gasp again, helpless this time.
she lets your nipple go with a soft, wet pop. looks up at you from your chest, mouth slick, green eyes lit up with that impossible mix of her—tender and ravenous, as if she wants to worship you and devour you in the same breath.
she shifts downward, dragging her tongue along the slope of your breast, down your stomach, until she’s eye level with your pussy. you’re throbbing, already wrecked, thighs trembling just from the anticipation of her mouth.
she glances at the nightstand, double-checking the angle like it matters. then brings her fingers to your folds, spreading you open with both thumbs, totally entranced by the sight.
“say hi to the camera, baby,” she teases, looking up at you.
and then, without warning, her tongue drags a slow, devastating stripe from your entrance to your clit.
you moan—loud, raw, helpless, trying to lift your hips but her free hand is already there, pressing you down into the mattress.
"f-fuck!" you whimper, voice cracking.
"that's right," she murmurs, licking again. "let it hear every fuckin’ sound."
she starts working you in earnest now—tongue circling your clit in tight, practiced spirals, her mouth warm and greedy. she moans against you, like the taste of you is enough to drive her insane. you can feel every vibration down to your toes.
your hands are tangled in her hair, thighs wide open, whole body arching into her mouth. she slips one hand between your legs and slides a finger inside—curling just enough to make your spine seize.
"holy shit," you gasp. "oh my god—Ellie—"
"more," she whispers against your clit, sliding in a second finger "let it see how messy you get for it."
and then she reaches back—without stopping—grabs the camera from the nightstand with her free hand, flips the screen toward you, and holds it low between your bodies. the image blinks into view—a live, unfiltered shot: your pussy stretched around her fingers, your mouth agape and brows furrowed, your thighs shaking with every thrust.
“you seeing this, baby?” she mutters, eyes flicking between you and the viewfinder. “fuck, look at you.”
and god—you do. you watch yourself fall apart in real time, every wet sound, every twitch of your stomach from overstimulation, every pump of her fingers, every gasp on full display. like it’s art, like it’s proof.
and it’s probably the filthiest, most turned on you have ever felt in your life.
its holy and obscene at the same time—your body laid bare, her fingers deep inside you, your face twisted with pleasure, and all of it immortalized in perfect footage.
you can’t look away. neither can she.
"ellie—please—I’m gonna—"
"do it," she growls, "come f’me, come for the camera."
you come with a cry that splits the room, loud, shaking. your thighs squeeze around her hand and your back lifts off the mattress, body wrung out like a rag.
she doesn’t stop, just slows her pace, works you through it. you’re trembling when she finally pulls away, kisses your thigh, and sits back with the camera resting on her bent knee. she lifts it, points it at your face.
you’re flushed, sweaty. lying in a wrecked halo of your own making.
“so damn perfect like this” she mutters, voice a rasp. "you want more?"
you nod, chest heaving.
"words."
"yes," you whisper. then louder, like she needs to hear it. like the camera does, too. "yes. fuck, yes. please fuck me."
and she grins like the devil.
she tosses the camera onto the nightstand—still recording, angled just right, lens slightly askew—but it only makes it hotter, messy, real. something she’ll watch for hours with her hand down her boxers.
she doesn’t say anything as she crosses the room, opens the drawer, and pulls out the harness. it’s not slow or performative. it’s practiced, casual. she straps it over her black boxers with one hand, the other slicking lube over the thick purple silicone cock. it gleams in the low light, catching the flash of the camera’s red recording dot.
you’re already moving, your body shifting on instinct—onto your hands and knees, face buried in the sheets, ass high in the air like it’s muscle memory.
ellie looks at you and lets out a sound from deep in her throat. almost a laugh, mostly a groan.“stay just like that.”
she climbs behind you, smooth and silent. spreads your cheeks with both hands and groans when she sees how soaked you are.
"fuck, baby. you made a whole fuckin' mess back here."
"ellie—"
she leans down, kissing the small of your back, then bites your ass, playful and sharp. one hand grips your hip, the other slides between your legs—and she slaps your pussy once, just enough to make you jolt and whine. it’s wet, loud, dirty.
she groans at the sound. "jesus. dripping."
then she drags the head of the strap between your folds, slow and heavy.
"you ready for it?"
you nod frantically, pressing your face into the mattress.
“say it.”
“please fuck me. please, i want it. i need it so bad—”
she wanted to draw it out—make you beg, make you squirm—but she’s just as wrecked as you are, barely holding it together. when she finally thrusts in, it’s with one deep, steady stroke that knocks the air straight out of your lungs.
you gasp, choking. “jesus christ!—”
“god, look at that,” she breathes, pulling back, watching the way you stretch and suck her back in with the next thrust. “you’re fuckin’ swallowing it.”
her hands find your hips. she sets a brutal rhythm, dragging you back onto her cock with every thrust, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing off the walls. the sound of your moans, the slap of her thighs against your ass, the headboard slamming the wall—it’s filthy.
she leans forward, chest pressed to your back, and wraps one hand around your breast, squeezing, pinching your nipple hard enough to make you whine. her other hand tangles in your hair and yanks your head back.
“you like getting fucked like this?” she hisses in your ear. “like a toy on display?”
“yes—fuck, yes—”
“touch yourself.”
you obey instantly. one hand between your legs, circling your clit in frantic, desperate little motions while she fucks you from behind like she’s trying to split you in two.
you notice that closer is softly but steadily playing, and the camera’s still rolling, capturing everything. the curve of your ass, the tremble in your thighs, the way your body jerks every time she bottoms out.
ellie groans like she feels it too—because she does. she’s grinding against the base of the strap, hungry and relentless, chasing the friction like she’s starved for it. the harness is soaked, her boxers nearly translucent with how wet she is, and every time she thrusts into you, the base rubs right against her clit.
“you gonna come like this?” she pants. “gonna soak my dick like a good little slut?”
“yes—yes—fuck, ellie, i’m gonna—”
“say it.”
“i’m your slut,” you cry out. “i'm your fucking slut—”
and right then, without missing a beat, she grabs the camera off the nightstand, angles it behind you. the lens catches the mess of your ass bouncing against her hips, the wet slap of skin on skin, the slick sound of your cunt stretching around her the purple silicone.
and then she slaps your ass, hard. loud enough to echo through the room.
"fuck!" you yelp, back arching, legs shaking violently.
and you come like a landslide. body seizing, muscles locking, then breaking all at once as you scream into the mattress. it rolls through you in waves, loud and long, your thighs trembling, fingers still working yourself as you ride it out.
you feel it when she starts to lose it—her rhythm falters, hips stutter, breath hitching into short, high little gasps. her fingers dig into your waist and she presses forward, deeper, harder, her chest flush to your back like she’s trying to crawl inside you.
“fuck—fuck, baby—i’m—”
her voice cracks, and then she whines—high and helpless, the kind of sound you didn’t know she could make. desperate and slutty and fucking perfect. her whole body goes taut, then shudders, her thighs shaking as she ruts through it. she comes with her face buried in your shoulder, teeth clenched, breath shivering.
the base of the strap is slick and messy between you now, but she grinding against the harness like it’s not enough, never enough. she groans into your skin, broken and dazed, and you can feel her heart pounding against your back.
and when she pulls out, it’s slow and careful, hands suddenly tender where they'd just been rough. she leans forward and kisses your spine—once, then again—her breath hot and uneven against your skin.
“you okay?” she murmurs, palm sliding up your back in soft, grounding strokes.
you nod, barely able to form the word. “better than okay.”
she laughs, quiet and breathless, into your shoulder. a little dazed, wrecked herself.
she rolls you onto your back, her hand never leaving your skin, and collapses beside you. the room is humid with sex, thick with sweat, heat and the echo of everything that just happened. the air itself feels heavy, slow.
in her hand, the camera is still rolling. its red light blinks steadily, casting a faint glow over the two of you.
ellie flips the screen towards herself, then turns the lens on you—zooming in dramatically on your wrecked face.
“say hi, baby” she teases, still catching her breath.
you blink up at the lens, dazed. hair a disaster. lips kiss-bruised. eyes glassy like you’ve just returned from the dead.
“hi,” you mumble, grinning like a fool, “i just got fucked into the stratosphere.”
ellie then pans the camera to her own face—sweaty, flushed, hair sticking to her forehead—and raises both brows like she’s in a documentary.
“filmmaker. method actor. strap goat. i do it all.”
you burst out laughing, weakly swatting at her.
she grins, crooked and proud, turning the camera back to you. “and you just won best actress in a leading role, doll.”
“so, what’s the title?” you ask, giggling into the pillow.
ellie snorts—eyes gleaming like she just won an oscar and knocked someone out in the same damn night. she adjusts the angle, tilts the camera so you’re both in the frame: flushed, sweaty, radiant, completely ruined.
then, with the most serious voice she can manage, she deadpans to the lens—
“the slut and the lesbian scorsese.”
you wheeze. “shut the fuck up.”
“already submitted to sundance, actually.”
“you’re insufferable.”
“director’s cut drops next week.”
you try to slap her but miss—too sore, too high on her, too in love. she just laughs, smug and glowing, and zooms in one last time on your face.
“five stars,” she murmurs, “would absolutely fuck again.”

⭒ perm taglist (tysm for supporting, hope you enjoy <3): @talyaisvalslutsoldier @miajooz @andiemiaswife @mayfldss @sewithinsouls @coastalwilliams @hotpinkskitties @ssijht @pleasejoel @pariiissssssss @liddy333 @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 @imunpunishable @elliewilliamsloverrrrrrrr @bambi-luvs @maru0uu @mikellie @gold-dustwomxn @nramv
࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ omg… first fic NOT set in the collide au in literal MONTHS and it feels SO weird but soooo good to write something different omfg 😭 rockstar!ellie and popstar!reader yall still haunt me everyday. my favorite lesbians for the rest of the eternity. i’ve missed this kind of chaos. huge love and tysm to my gorg mootie who sent this amazing request before i even started collide—you live in my brain rent free forever bby!
i might play around with a few more fics + requests before launching the next big series i’ve been outlining (👀), so stay tuned babes. ily all dearly ♡
Please leave a comment if you’re interested in being on my perm taglist!
credits for divider: @cafekitsune <3 – images from pinterest - edited by me
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#°˖✧˚ fernbruises reblogs#BANGS MY HAND ON THE MF TABLE#if i hear any of you say bella ramsey isn’t beautiful i’m going to smack you#they are so gorgeous omfg
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sooo i made this extended version of just your doll the other day and subsequently hallucinated this entire edit while in the car
i really love how this turned out, i was kinda going for how i think abby exists in ellie's head. i honestly miss a little bit wayyy back when i first played the game and was going through ellie's seattle portion, knew nothing about abby and she was still this terrifying, mysterious character constantly looming over the narrative. it was fun to tap back into that :)
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