ᥫ᭡ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ~ student debt, utilities, rent, groceries. it all piles up and doesn't give you or ellie room to breathe with no prospect of a career in front of you, no matter how hard you've been working during college. until one day the solution comes along with quiet silences and lingering glances that will turn something meant for audiences, into something that's only for the two of you.
ᥫ᭡ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ~ 6.4k
ᥫ᭡ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ~ gf!ellie x camgirl!reader, established relationship, swearing, porn-making, hyperfeminine!reader, struggle with money, pet names (baby, babe), insecurities, kinda perv!ellie (veeeeeryyyy kinda), i guess cam girl with a twist tho (idk you tell me), maybe needy!ellie?, SMUT, masturbation (reader), edging, rough sex, tit play, minor tribbing, fingering (r!receiving), strap-on sex (r!receiving), hair pulling, praise kink, afab!reader, men and minors dni.
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One thing no one ever told you was that life after college would have been this heavy.
You were expecting job offers on your doorstep summoned just by the fact that your grades had always been better than anyone else’s, that you had graduated with honors and relied on your professors’ words when they had told you that you were the kind of person that would have gone places. Stunning ones. So you made the mistake of resting on your laurels and placed all your hopes on the fact that you were good. The best, even.
And that didn’t prepare for this kind of heavy. Not the one that crushes all at once, but the slow, persistent kind. Like the sound of the upstairs neighbor’s leaky sink dripping through the walls in intervals you can’t predict.
You still have your degree at least, although folded into a cardboard box with old notebooks and dried-out highlighters. You have your tiny apartment that always smells like vanilla from your diffuser, your closet full of soft things, like satin bows, tulle-trimmed camisoles, pink mesh panties that feel more like decoration than protection. At the end of the day, if you can’t adorn your life with fancy job titles and bonuses that you were promised so feverishly you can still make yourself feel better by looking pretty.
But—most importantly—you have Ellie.
Ellie, whom you’ve met in your first year of college and never quite were able to get rid of. Not that you wanted, of course. She makes everything feel tolerable: the hard days you spend crying on your shared bed because it’s not fair that you’ve busted your ass off for four years just to end up with a nothing of fact other than an old, now dusted piece of paper you keep tucked away like it doesn’t mean anything anymore. Ellie, who’s always made you laugh so hard with jokes that you once snorted your coffee out of your nose during breakfast, no matter how dumb you like to call them. Ellie, who anticipates every single one of your thoughts, kisses you slowly and loves you deeply, as if she's always known every secret you tried so hard to keep and how to make it feel less heavy.
The only thing that you miss? Money.
No matter how many late shifts Ellie does at that grimy, little bookstore together with filling the rest of her days half-heartedly applying to internships she doesn’t really want. You freelance on and off, commissions when they come through your Etsy shop—because you had to keep at least one hobby alive before losing your mind—and edit essays for other students who still have to graduate and who beg for your help in your DMs.
But it’s never quite enough.
Rent is always due way too soon, Spotify is threatening to cancel your student account, utilities prices have gone over the roof and when you buy groceries you’ve started putting things back, which you don’t tell Ellie but something tells you she already knows.
You were sitting on the bed when it hit you, scrolling in bed with Instagram open in one hand and the other deep down inside a bag of chips. It wasn't so much a lighting bolt idea, but more of a slow unraveling, like a ribbon slipping loose from your hair. The kind that comes wrapped in shame, but also—inevitably and undeniably—in glitter. Maybe struck by the picture glowing before your eyes of this girl you knew from one of your classes and that you remember talking to her friends while you were hunched over your notes waiting for the professor to walk through the door. Except now she wasn’t dressed with jeans or a sweatshirt and complaining about the class you were in and how college would’ve never given her anything but a “stupid title” she would’ve never used, but was dressed in pretty lingerie with a caption that said see you tonight, boys. 👅
You scrolled through photos she posted in baby blue lingerie, grainy clips with soft moans and prettier lighting than porn ever deserved. In some sort of way, it was art. And that was what made that seed of a thought root securely in your brain.
A cam site. For girls. Only girls. Mainly because the mere thought of undressing for a man makes you want to throw yourself into traffic.
So you dropped your phone beside you, dusted off the crumbs of chips from your fingers to grab your laptop and did your research just like you did not even a year ago when you used to spend your days either at the library or holed up in your dorm and it didn’t matter if your eyes were burning and you were awake only thanks to an elevated quantity of energy drinks. Except instead of looking for scientific proofs that could be used on a paper or your thesis and using them to argumentate your stand, you were now looking for something that would allow you not feel like you were drowning in student debt and the pressure of a career that felt only like a mirage in the desert and—more specifically—somewhere you could take your clothes off without showing your face.
Turns out you could and that were entire websites where women performed for other women, no men allowed, the whole thing wrapped in pink fonts and blocky privacy disclaimers and curated profiles made to feel like a secret, a sisterhood, an indulgence. A small rebellion.
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, the hum of your laptop fan filling the room as you started typing out the form. You gave a fake name, uploaded a photo—one that you remember sending to Ellie on an early morning after she had left for work. Something tame, just a peek of thigh beneath a silk robe, your lace-covered chest cropped right below the chin. You listed your interests, added a few details and clicked save. Suddenly, your mind started picturing it: tips piling in, late-night streams in your sheer white knee socks and you being finally in control of something, able to give room to breathe even to the girl you loved and that at that moment was probably cursing customers under her breath behind a counter surrounded by returned books and a register that didn’t work more than it did.
The same girl who called you just as you were closing the tab.
You answered in a hush, guilty for no real reason.
“Hey,” Ellie whispered through the phone, voice rough and low like she was halfway between a cigarette and a sigh. “What’re you up to, baby?”
You swallowed. “Just… watching YouTube.”
She hummed, didn’t push, just vented a little about this guy who swore he bought a book from her shop when in reality his receipt clearly stated otherwise. When she hung up, you stared at your screen a moment longer, your reflection caught in the black mirror: lips parted, cheeks pink, your camisole slipping off one shoulder.
You weren’t even sure at that moment if it was worth telling her. At the end of the day it was supposed to be temporary, just until things stabilized and you caught your breath. It’s not even sex anyway: you don’t let people see you safe or talk to you like they own. It’s just you, your body in the soft glow of your bedroom. Performance, pretending. Nothing more.
So you didn't tell Ellie at first. Not when you created the account, not when you picked your name, not when you bought your first new set of lingerie, the one with the white lace and the tiny pink ribbons and the matching bra.
Eventually—though—she found out. Not in the way you feared: there was no fight, no explosion, nothing of that sort. She just came home early one day and the when the door creaked open she found you still smoothing your thighs in front of the camera, smiling to the screen while moaning something sweet and high-pitched, toes curling against your desk chair and wearing a pair of panties she had never seen on you before.
She didn’t say anything in that moment, not on the spot and not even for hours later. The only thing she did was just staring at you for a long second that felt like hours and closed the door behind her while muttering something about preparing dinner. But you saw the look in her eyes: not anger, not even jealousy. Just… something that maybe neither she was able to word right.
It’s been four months since you told Ellie everything and there’s something different about her lately.
She’s quieter, restless, she touches you more and has started staring too long when you’re getting dressed. Sometimes, you caught her scrolling something on her phone just to close it the second you glance over.
It’s not loud or obvious, though. She still kisses you good morning when you shuffle into the kitchen with your eyes barely open; still makes your coffee first, always remembering how you like it—too sweet, barely any bitterness, oat milk frothed like a cloud—and she still curls up next to you during movie nights, legs tangled with yours under the blanket, head tucked in the crook of your neck like nothing’s changed.
Except it has.
It’s in the way her fingers graze your hip when she passes behind you, too gentle to be accidental but too fleeting to be sure. It’s the way her eyes linger on your thighs when you wear that tiny sleep set—the one with the ruffled shorts and the satin ribbon bow right at the waistband, the one you bought for streams but now somehow always slip into when you’re around her.
Even the way she looks when she thinks you’re not looking has changed: not the relaxed, head-in-the-clouds kind of look she always has when she’s home and the world seems to be giving her a moment to forget about all the things she has to do just to keep herself afloat. Now, her gaze is sharper, brighter in a way. Like there’s something boiling in her that she’s trying very hard to keep contained.
But it’s slipping.
And it finally does on a perfectly normal Tuesday, exactly the same as any other would be.
It’s the kind of day where everything feels too quiet, like the city itself is nursing a hangover. Ellie’s off work, which means you’re both home with the curtains drawn halfway against the pale sun that stubbornly tries to peek from behind the clouds outside the window. You’re down on your knees sorting colors from the laundry basket that’s currently overflowing in front of the bed while Ellie sits on the edge of it with one leg tucked underneath her and the other outstretched in front of her, calloused fingers smoothing over satin while folding each piece of clothing like it’s sacred. Maybe because this load was mostly full of your stuff.
She’s never complained about doing this, never rolled her eyes at your pile of pastel, at the tiny bows sewn into the waistband of your underwear. If anything, she lingers too long on them.
You’re probably halfway somewhere else completely—lost between the repeated monotony of folding each corner of fabric towards the middle on one side, then the other, then in half again—becuase when Ellie’s voice fills the room, quiet and low, it almost startles you, your head whipping up to look at her with your brows high.
“You like doing it?” She blurts out.
It’s careful how you place a pair of shorts from the floor onto the pile right in front of you and next to the basket, almost like doing it too aggressively or even casually might disrupt something you can’t quite name. After a second, which feels more like an hour, you finally answer with a quiet, “What?”
“The shows,” she shrugs, green eyes locked down onto her portion of clothing as her hands keep moving. “You like ‘em?”
Your answer takes a little too long to come through, too busy assessing every single expression on her face like that will give you the key to truly understand what she’s really asking for and in that maybe you’ll also find the reason why your girlfriend has changed so much in the past few months.
“I like that it helps,” you answer eventually. “That we can breathe a little easier now.”
Finally, Ellie looks up at you again, her tongue poking the inside of her cheek while her hands fall down in her lap. “That’s not what I asked,” she breathes.
Leaning back on your hands, legs coming up with your knees bent, you let out a long sigh, the kind that doesn’t hide how much you’re being careful in weighing your words. “Yeah,” you admit, looking down, eyes fixed on your thighs. “I do. It’s… fun, sometimes. Makes me feel powerful.”
The silence that follows is deafening, more than any questioning would probably ever be. Because that’s the thing. Ellie has never made you feel like you should’ve hid it, not even when she found out at first and fell silent for hours. It was never about judgment, never about being jealous or possessive, but rather about something you—even after so many years spent together through exam seasons and thesis and barely managing to keep your heads above the waters at the end of every single month—can’t quite understand. Doesn’t matter if you’re one of the few people who can confidently say to know her like the back of your hand. So silence, in this case, only seems like proof that this is a part of her you can’t quite reach.
But then—
“I’ve been watching ‘em.”
Your head snaps up, legs falling onto the fall beneath you once more as you straighten up. “Ellie—”
“I needed to,” she cuts in, voice quieter now, but lower, almost guttural. “I was going insane not knowing.” Another breath in, another breath out, finally meeting your eyes. “You’re so different in ‘em. The stuff you do there it’s not what… we do.”
“I—” you whisper, but the words don’t come out. They just stay stuck in your throat, locked up just like your whole body is. And you don’t really understand if she’s saying all these things because she’s hurt somehow, or because she hates it, or because god knows what else. Whatever it is, you don’t seem to be able to exactly pinpoint it.
“You don’t have to explain why,” she continues, almost breathless as she twists the strings of her sweatpants like maybe she’s able to find the right words by pulling cotton and elastic. “It’s just—we’ve been together for years and I—I never let myself go there with you. I was so careful. I didn’t want to mess it up. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. You’d get all shy and I didn’t wanna push. I thought—thought soft was good. And it was, babe, it was.” She leans forward, elbows on her knees, and you swear your pulse echoes in your ears. “But now I see you on that chair doing all that thing for strangers and all I can think about is why you won’t do them with me.”
That’s the moment something inside you breaks loose. Have you thought about it before? Of course. Have you ever dared to even suggest doing all of that with Ellie instead of just in front of the camera? Absolutely not. Because no matter how well you know someone, no matter how many times you’ve seen them with or without clothes before, no matter if you’ve shared with them things you would’ve never thought of sharing with anyone else… there’s always going to be something stopping you from sharing certain things. The most intimate ones, the ones you’re afraid are going to be criticized. So you kept quiet, refrained from even thinking about putting them on the table and reserved them for a corner on the internet where nobody knows you and no one will judge you for them. So you kept being soft, because that’s what you thought your girlfriend needed.
And in doing so—maybe—you’ve actually made it worse.
“Of course we can do them,” you murmur, mouth dry. “We can do anything you want.”
“Then why do they get to see you like that and I don’t?”
Silence follows like you’re being punished for all the things you’ve been keeping for yourself, for all the things you didn’t share. All that you can do is just stare at her with your hands fidgeting restlessly in your lap and breathe in and out like every single molecule of oxygen coursing through your nose is requiring way too much effort for something that the body should do on its own.
And Ellie can only take advantage of it by finally saying the things she’s been keeping for herself too.
“I wanna see it,” she adds, her eyes glued on yours while you keep looking up at her through your lashes from your spot on the floor in front of her. “All of it. Wanna see you getting ready, what you do when you’re trying to make them beg. I want you to show me what you do for them—” she stops for just a second, enough to straighten up a little and mask the way her pulse is jumping beneath her chest. “But you’re gonna do it for me.”
There’s another deep exhale coming from you, but it doesn’t last long. You only bite the inside of your cheek and lean forward a little. “Now?”
“Yes,” Ellie replies. “Now.”
The air in the bedroom seems completely changed. Charged in a way that it’s never been, not even during drunk nights coming back from the club when neither you or Ellie could keep your hands off each other. The clothes are back in the basket, some folded, some tossed in a rumple with little to no care at all, lights are low—just the soft, orangy glow that comes from the salt lamp on your nightstand—and the only sound filling the space around you is the one of you moving around the room and the impatient tapping of Ellie’s fingers on the armchair she’s sitting on, legs only partly spread.
You’re taking your time getting ready and not because you’re stalling, not exactly. It’s something else. Something warmer, heavier, sinking slowly in your stomach as you stand in front of the dresser with Ellie’s eyes burning the side of your face, watching every single movement you’re making like it’s the most important thing she’ll ever do today, maybe even the most important she’s done during her entire week. Her eyes trail over the curve of your spine as you lean down to skim out of your shorts, your fingers brushing delicately along the skin of your thighs. You don’t know if it’s all in your head or not, but you swear you actually feel her tensing beside you.
It’s like she’s never seen you naked before, like sex under the stream of your cramped shower has never happened and you’re both back in the darkness of your dorm room trying very hard to be quiet while she was whispering constant check-ins with her fingers inside you. And maybe—to some extent—it is the first time she’s seen you naked, bare in a completely different way than just the matter of skin.
You keep moving though, because this type of intimacy—letting her see what you were the most scared of sharing—is something far more intoxicating than any other substance would be. So you take off the rest of your clothes, fold them messily on the top of the wood in front of you and choose something delicate, almost innocent: white lace with pale pink bows and soft cups that barely cover your nipples, little embroideries sewn where the straps meet your shoulders.
When finally—after a quick look in the mirror and a few adjustments to your hair—you finally look at Ellie, you don’t struggle too much to find the green in her eyes. She’s already looking, already taking in everything like she’s done for the past few minutes and she looks like she’s barely holding in from saying something, or rather… doing it. But instead of addressing it, of asking if she really wants to do this, you just sit on the edge of the bed, right in front of her, hands on your knees and head barely tilted to the side.
“You like it?” you murmur, hands slowly trailing up to skim from your navel to the underside of your tit. “Picked it a few weeks ago…”
Ellie’s throat bobs visibly, hands gripping the edge of the armrests like it’s the only anchor she has and the only thing stopping them from moving to the spots on your body your fingers are grazing over. “Yeah,” she manages.
You tilt your head, lips curving a fraction. “Just ‘yeah’?” You pout, legs spreading excruciatingly slowly as your hand fully cups the swell of your right breast. “Gotta gimme a little more than ‘yeah’, baby. Or I’ll think you don’t like it that much.”
It’s not clear if what comes from the auburn-haired is a scoff or the sound of someone aching, pleading maybe, her eyes fixed somewhere between your collarbone and the way you’re now tracing over your knee. “It’s really fucking pretty on you.”
A hum. “What you like about it?”
“That—uhm—fuck—” Ellie clears her throat, the freckles on her cheeks blending with the flush blooming there. “The way it looks on your tits? And—uh—the panties are pretty, too.”
You huff a small chuckle, finally spreading your legs more, one outstretched, foot arched and barely touching one of her knees to gently spread them as well. “Show me, then,” you encourage. “Show me how much you like it.”
Her brows shoot up suddenly the way they usually do when she’s caught off guard and her brain is a mush of thoughts she can’t quite decipher herself. “Isn’t it… supposed to go the other way around?” She asks, almost innocently.
“Usually,” you shrug, leaning back on your hands. “Trying to make it special for you, though. Don’t you want special?”
There’s a short pause, the kind that tells you clearly she’s finding herself in a battlefield she’s never seen before and that she doesn’t know if to hold her ground or run the opposite direction. So the only thing you can do is giving her a soft smile—something close to reassurance, encouragement—and pull back enough for her to beg for more.
“I’ll give you a head start, hm?” You whisper, voice thick.
It doesn’t take you long after that to retreat further back on the bed, slowly laying down until your back hits the mattress but only for a short moment—enough for you to lift your hips and drag your panties down your thigh with the slowness of someone who knows exactly how to tease, how to make the other hang by a thread until they’re breaking. When the fabric finally reaches your calf, you sit back up again, taking it into your hands and making it dangle mid-air, watching Ellie’s eyes follow them like it’s a prize she’s not allowed to have yet when you finally drop them at her feet.
“Should I lean back?” You ask sweetly. “Use my fingers? Or… should I come sit on your lap?”
It only takes Ellie a minute before her hands finally move, leaving the armrests with a shaky breath that sounds more like a surrender than anything else. “C’mere,” she pleads, voice low and rough around the edges, the kind of tone you’ve only heard in the middle of the night when she thinks you’re already asleep. “Please.”
You don’t make her ask twice. Instead, you slowly crawl from the bed, the lace of your bra brushing against your skin with every shift as you pad towards her, thighs glistening under the soft glow of the lamp radiating from the corner of the room. You take your time settling in, straddling her lap, hands on her shoulders, leaning in until your breaths mingle and there’s only an inch of space left between the two of you.
Ellie’s hands land on your hips as soon your skin meets the fabric of her sweats, gripping onto your skin as if she still has to understand if this is reality or yet another one of those nights she’s spent with the blue light of the screen of her phone glowing against her face, the nail of her thumb caught between her teeth and your moans loud in her ears through her headphones.
“You’re so fucking hot,” she mumbles, looking up to you with her mouth only slightly parted.
“Yeah?” You chuckle, watching her nod quickly as you give your hips a slow roll, a quiet little sound slipping from your throat.
The space between you closes for only a second, the time it takes you to catch her lower lip between your teeth and making her shudder, whimper so close against your mouth that it warms up your skin, One of your hands falls down from her shoulder, making its way towards her tits from above her hoodie, light as a feather, a torturous game of giving, but never enough. That, until you finally leave the fabrics covering her body to touch yours, skimming down as your eyes stay locked on hers, watching every swallow, every sharp exhale, every instinct she’s trying to keep under control as your fingers finally part your folds, gathering the slick between them and drag it along your slit.
“Eyes down, baby,” you breathe as you start rubbing your clit in lazy, circling strokes.
With a hard swallow, Ellie’s eyes finally drop like she was just waiting for your permission to do so, like it’s taken everything in her to not just watch the spot where your core meets the cotton now slightly damp underneath you. You feel her hands tightening where they’re still resting on your hips, only for them to travel down your thighs, holding firmly between each time she kneads them, leaving red marks on her way enough to pull you closer, guiding your movements so you’re grinding down with more pressure that that only makes your breath hitch in your throat, brows pulled together, mouth hanging open as your forehead comes to rest against hers.
For a long minute, those are the only sounds that fill the room: your moans against her mouth, the chair creaking beneath both your bodies with her roll of your hips against your own hands and Ellie’s ragged breathing that’s growing faster every single time your middle finger grazes your clit.
Until—just as you feel that familiar heat coiling, bringing you closer and closer to the edge, just before as your muscles tense and your back arches while your other hand is digging into her shoulder—you stop. Abruptly and unexpectedly, lifting your hand from your centre and laying it lightly at her waist.
Ellie’s eyes shoot up immediately, pupils blown like she was getting off only by watching you like that sitting in her lap. “Why’d you stop?” She asks quickly. “Please don’t stop.”
You press a soft kiss on her jaw, laughing softly against her pulsepoint as you trail lower. “Not yet,” you tease, breathless. “I told you I was just gonna give you a headstart.”
Slowly, but surely, you climb off her despite her best efforts to desperately keep you there although her hands fall uselessly at her knees as you step backwards with your lips twitching upwards—one of them caught between your teeth—until the back of your legs hits the bedframe behind you. And Ellie? Elie just stares at you like you’ve just deprived her of something sacred, like stopping in that moment took away from her something she had been fantasizing for months and she was so close to finally hold between her hands. Something you’ve snatched away like she hadn’t been fantasizing about this moment since she saw you on that chair with your fingers deep inside you in front of your laptop and that had only felt like she would’ve never got to have.
And you did it easily, like it was part of the game. Maybe for you it was.
Which is exactly what makes the last thread inside her snap. Visibly, in how quickly her hands clench against her legs, how her eyes darken and how—before she probably even realizes it—she stands, taking one step closer, than the other, before there’s once more barely any space left between the two of you and you can hear how sharp her breathing is. But it doesn’t last long. Because before you can even realize it, her mouth is crashing on yours, tongue parting your lips before stroking yours with the kind of intensity that makes you dizzy, molten, a surprised whimper falling from your lips as you fall back onto the mattress.
Ellie follows, quickly, frantic, like there’s little time in the world for her to actually touch you like she truly wants to. Her clothes come off in a rush, discarded on the floor like they carry no importance when she has you beneath her and her hands are back on your body, reaching behind your back to take off the last thing that’s between her and feeling you entirely.
“Take this off,” she pants, fumbling with the clasps of your bra as her knee presses more firmly against your centre. “Need to see you. Please, baby.”
You reach behind with a soft, breathless laugh, arching your back just enough to help her. The lace slips down your arms and she doesn’t even wait for it to hit the sheets: her mouth is on you the second your tits are bare, lips wrapping around one nipple while her hand palms the other, making your back bow off the mattress further, a quiet moan spilling from your lips as your fingers thread through her auburn hair, holding her there.
Ellie groans against your skin, sucking harder, teeth grazing just enough to send sparks down your spine while her free hand slides between your bodies, two fingers dragging through your folds, gathering the slick that’s been building before she pushes them inside you. It’s slow at first, then deeper, curling perfectly, exactly the way she knows you like to fall apart.
You gasp, thighs falling open wider around her as she starts pumping her fingers in a steady rhythm, her palm pressing against your clit with every thrust. At the same time her hips roll against your thigh, heat sliding along your skin, leaving a wet trail that makes everything feel slick and messy as her breaths come in hot little pants against your chest, each one shaky with how desperately she’s grinding down on you, chasing friction.
“God… you’re so wet,” she mumbles against your breast, voice thick and rough, barely pulling her mouth away long enough to speak. “You’re mine, right, babe?.”
You nod quickly, a broken sound escaping you when she adds a third finger, stretching you open just right. Your hips buck up to meet her hand, one leg hooking around her waist to pull her closer, feeling every roll of her hips against your thigh, the way her clit catches against your skin with every desperate movement.
Ellie’s mouth switches to your other nipple, sucking and licking like she can’t get enough, her fingers never slowing. The room fills with the wet sounds of her hand working between your legs, your quiet whimpers, and the creak of the bed beneath you both. You can feel how close she is already: the way her hips stutter against your thigh, the little tremors running through her body every time she grinds down harder.
Then—without warning—she pulls her fingers out.
A whine leaves your throat at the sudden emptiness, but Ellie is already moving, strong hands gripping your hips and flipping you onto your stomach in one smooth, urgent motion, your cheek pressed into the sheets as she settles behind you, knees pushing your thighs apart. You hear the familiar sound of the nightstand drawer opening, the soft rustle of straps and then the quiet click of the harness being fastened.
Ellie’s hand smooths down your back, almost reverent for half a second, before her fingers dig into your hips again, pulling you up onto your knees until you feel the cool silicone of the strap press against your entrance, teasing, sliding through your folds once, twice, coating itself in your wetness.
“Tell me you want it,” she breathes, voice low and strained, the head of the strap nudging insistently against you. Her chest is pressed to your back now, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Tell me you want me to fuck you like this.”
You push back against her, needy and aching, fingers twisting in the sheets.
“Please, yes, Els…” you whisper, voice trembling with how badly you need her inside you. “Fuck me.”
She doesn’t make you wait any longer.
With one slow, deep thrust she pushes inside, filling you completely, a shared groan falling from both of you as your walls clench around the thick silicone. Her hips stutter for a moment, like she’s trying to hold herself together before she starts moving—deep, steady rolls that make the harness press perfectly against her clit with every thrust, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room along with your muffled moans into the mattress and Ellie’s desperate, breathless curses against your shoulder.
But steadiness and softness don’t last for long.
Ellie’s hand slides up your back, fingers twisting into your hair until you’re arching back, making the strap sink even deeper, the thick head dragging against that spot inside you that has your fingers scrambling for purchase in the sheets.
“Fuck— Ellie,” you cry out, the sound of it getting lost into another moan. “Feels—feels so fucking good. Keep going.”
She answers with a low, broken sound and snaps her hips forward harder, sharp and sudden, the pace turning ruthless almost instantly, each thrust punching the air out of your lungs and despite how the base of the strap is catching just right against her clit in a way that’s making her whimper behind you, she doesn’t slow down. If anything, she fucks you harder, one hand gripping your hip so tightly you know you’ll see traces of them tomorrow, the other still fisted in your hair for leverage while every thrust jolts through your whole body, your breasts press into the cool sheets, nipples tight and sensitive from the friction, while the silicone drags along your walls.
Ellie fully leans over you, chest flush against your back, her breath hot and ragged against the nape of your neck as her forehead presses against the back of her hand, the other snaking now underneath you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, relentless circles that match the rhythm of her hips.
“You’re so hot like this,” she pants, voice wrecked, lips brushing your skin with every word. “You’re taking it so well, my good girl.”
A broken moan tears from your throat as she angles her hips just right, the strap hitting that perfect spot over and over until your legs start to shake, the pressure building fast and overwhelming, your walls fluttering wildly around the silicone as your fingers twist tighter in the sheets, knuckles white, mouth open in a silent cry as the coil in your stomach winds tighter and tighter as her fingers on your clit never falter, rough and perfect, pushing you closer to the edge with every circle.
“Come on, baby,” she breathes, voice strained and desperate, teeth grazing your shoulder. “I know you’re close. Let me feel you.”
The words—raw and hungry—tip you over.
Your orgasm crashes through you hard, sudden and blinding, muscles clamping down around the length of the strap as pleasure rips up your spine. A choked sound spills from your lips, body shaking beneath her as your hips jerk back against her, riding out every wave while she keeps moving through it, dragging it out until you’re trembling and oversensitive, mumbling soft curses into the sheets as her breathing grows more ragged, broken little whimpers falling against your neck while the edge of the strap catches against her clit.
“Fuck—I’m so close,” she gasps, voice cracking, her movements turn erratic, shorter and harder. “Shit—”
One final, deep thrust and Ellie comes with a guttural moan, hips grinding desperately against you as her whole body shakes. You feel every pulse of it through the way her thighs tremble against the backs of yours, the way her fingers dig bruisingly into your hip as she rides it out.
For a long moment the only sounds in the room are your shared heavy breathings and the faint creak of the bed as Ellie’s weight slowly settles over you, both of you slick with sweat and trembling. She presses a soft, almost reverent kiss to the back of your shoulder, lips lingering there as her breathing slowly evens out. Her hand slides up your side, gentle now, tracing lazy patterns over your ribs like she’s reminding herself this is real, that she’s still allowed to touch you like.
Eventually, she pulls out carefully, the loss making you both sigh before she finally slips the harness off, tossing it carelessly back inside its drawer. One moment later, and she’s collapsing beside you on the mattress, tugging you against her chest without a word with your leg draping over hers as her fingers thread through your hair, still slightly damp at the roots.
After a minute of quiet, her chest vibrates with a low chuckle. “So…” she starts, voice hoarse and amused, “that was supposed to be my private show, huh?”
You tilt your head up just enough to catch the lazy grin spreading across her freckled face, one eyebrow raised like she’s proud of herself for the pun.
You huff a tired laugh, burying your face back into the crook of her neck and nipping at her skin in retaliation. “Private show, my ass,” you mumble against her pulse, smiling. “Next time I’m charging you double for the live audience participation.”
Ellie snorts, the sound turning into a soft groan as she pulls you closer, pressing one last kiss to the top of your head. “Deal. It’ll go into shared groceries either way.”
It’s with another laugh that you nuzzle closer, finally closing your eyes again. And who knows, maybe next time those shows can become something shared. And maybe the tiniest bit less private.
a/n: sooo, hi, hello. i know i said i would've posted it last night but i got a migraine and couldn't finish proof reading this. i kinda wanted to write this for a very long time lmao, this idea lived rent free in my head for months and it's finally out of the drafts. it's slightly out of my comfort zone if i gotta be honest but we all gotta experiment at some point i guess. also, this story in my head had to go in a completely different direction but ended up being the way you've just read it lmaoo. anyway, i hope you enjoyed, lots of love <3
i would love a one shot with subtop ellie who’s super needy and whiny, like constantly asking “am i doing it right?” during it 🫦
sub!ellie truthers… my blog is the blog for u
i was gonna get to requests after i finished my fic but this one was too good to ignore
wc: 2.3k
cw: smut below the cut! ellie x afab!reader, established relationship, drinking, 'mommy' is said twice sorry if you hate that, loser!ellie (my baby)
men and minors dni
Ellie’s hands are all over you the second the front door closes. “Fuck. I’ve been wanting to do this all night.” She whines, pressing you against the wall in the foyer, not wasting a single second as she presses sloppy, drunken kisses down the side of your neck.
“Yeah, baby?” You tease. You’ve always been the one in charge, but she is so eager to please you tonight after a few tequila sodas.
She kisses up your neck, biting your earlobe gently. Her hot breath in your ear makes you shiver. “Let me take care of you.” She whispers, her voice deep and sultry.
Ellie whines as you pull her closer and press her hips into yours.
“You gonna take care of mommy?” You ask, teasing her. She stops her kisses on your neck, you can feel her smile against your skin.
Ellie pulls back to give you a drunken, cocky little smirk. Her cheeks are burning red from your teasing. “Yes, mommy.” She laughs before kissing your lips softly, slowly, like she has all the time in the world.
She unbuttons your top with ease as she kisses you, sliding it off your shoulders and letting it hit the floor. She pulls back from the kiss to look down at you. “Oh my god.” She groans, bringing both of her hands up to squeeze your breasts over your lace bra. “You wore this for me? So fuckin’ pretty.” She murmurs, breathlessly.
You smile at how pathetic she gets every time you undress, like she hasn’t already seen you naked a thousand times before. “I didn’t tell you to stop.” You say, sternly, already missing the feeling of her lips on your skin.
“Mnh, so mean.” She jokes, bringing her lips down to your collarbone, leaving small bruised spots along your skin as she reaches to unclasp your bra. She takes a moment to pull back and quietly, drunkenly admire your bare chest. She gently rubs her fingertips over one of your nipples, watching it harden. “You’re perfect.” She whispers. You blush.
Ellie slowly sinks to her knees at the sight of you half undressed for her. Her breath catches in her throat as your legs naturally start to spread. “So beautiful.” She praises, grabbing your legs and placing a firm kiss on your inner thigh.
You run your fingers through her hair. “I like you on your knees for me.”
She leans into your touch like she’s desperate for it. “I’ll stay here as long as you want— ‘til you tell me to stop.” She says huskily, reaching up your skirt and hooking her fingers around your lacy thong, pulling it down slowly, carefully, like she’s unwrapping an expensive gift. She’s drunk and flustered and you still make her so fucking nervous.
She helps you step out of your panties, shoving them in the pocket of her pants with a smirk. Her hands slide up your skirt again, whining at the sight of you bare for her. “Can’t believe you’re all mine. Don’t know what I did to deserve this.” She mumbles against your thigh, leaving soft kisses.
Your legs twitch under her touch. “Don’t leave me waiting.” You say, pressing your back harder against the wall for support.
Ellie’s hands slide up to your backside, squeezing. A whimper escapes her lips as she finally leans in to taste you. “So fuckin’ good.” She mumbles against your aching core, before dragging her tongue against you again. The pleasure of your sweet and saltiness on her tongue makes her dizzy.
You nearly double over at the feeling. “Ellie—“ you moan.
“Am I doing it right?” She asks, shyly. Her thumb replaces her tongue, rubbing soft circles against your clit as she looks up at you to speak.
“Good— keep going.” You choke out.
“Just good? I can do better than good.”
“Y-yeah. Fuck. Bedroom. Now.” You say, your eyes squeezed shut, trying to keep control, but the sight of her all needy and eager to please between your legs is making you lose composure.
Ellie stands up, still unsteady on her feet, grabbing your waist for balance. “Whatever you say, baby.” She slurs playfully, pulling you towards your bedroom. She slides her hands under your skirt again as she guides you, still drunk and stumbling but too turned on to care.
“How do you want me?” She asks, used to you being the one calling all the shots.
A smirk creeps onto your face. “You tell me. You’re in charge tonight, remember?” You tease, sliding your hands under her shirt.
Ellie shivers, flustered by your words and all the control she has. She guides you down gently onto the edge of the bed. “Want you just like this. On your back.” She stands between your legs, sliding her hands over your body possessively. She lets out a strangled sound, something between a groan and a whimper, as she looks down at you all laid out for her, only in your miniskirt and heels.
She swallows thickly, almost speechless at the sight before her. Until she finally manages to speak. “Jesus, baby. I need you to keep those on for me.”
You giggled at how visibly flustered she is. “You like?”
Ellie nods as she kneels for you again, putting your legs over her shoulders. “I love.” She says, pushing your skirt up even higher. She’s trying to play it cool but her ragged breath gives her away. She kisses up your thigh before licking a firm, long swipe against your folds.
You cry out as your back arches off the bed immediately, she yanks you back down against the bed by your thighs, her fingers dig into your skin to keep you where she wants you. She groans as her tongue circles over you. The sounds you make have her glancing up at you through her eyelashes, hungry for more.
“Fuckkk, listen to you.” She rasps, before taking your most sensitive spot between her lips, sucking lightly. You let out a long, low moan.
She starts to tease you with just the tip of her tongue. You push yourself further down, grabbing her by the hair, practically begging for more. “Don’t fucking move.” You whine, grinding yourself against her tongue.
It’s almost dizzying how fast she can go from confident to obedient again. She does exactly what you say and freezes, letting you work yourself against her tongue.
Her hands grip your thighs tighter, she wants to move so badly but she’d do anything you asked if it pleased you.
She sounds coming out of her are filthy— like she’s the one getting off on this.
“My perfect girl.” You choke out, almost at the edge of your orgasm as she lets you ride her face obediently.
The praise goes straight to her head, her muffled moans cause a vibration on your clit, causing you to finish. You pull her hair even harder as you come apart on her mouth. She takes control again, working you through it slowly, helping you ride it out.
The feeling of your thighs squeezing her head as you finish is heavenly.
“That was good?” She asks, still looking for validation from you as she pulls away, her chin is glistening with your release before she wipes it with the back of her hand.
“Perfect.” You say, breathlessly. “C’mere.” You reach your arms out to her as she climbs over you on the bed, straddling you. She leans down to kiss you again, her tongue slides into your mouth, letting you taste yourself. She can’t help but grind against you, needy for any kind of friction.
You loosen her tie before unbuttoning her shirt. Her chest rises and falls quickly beneath your touch. She sits back up to remove her shirt, tossing it aside.
“Keep the tie.” You smirk, pulling her closer by it. You can feel the heat pool in your lower stomach again as she looks down at you with those swollen lips and hungry eyes.
“Still wanna take care of you.” She mumbles in your ear, still rolling her hips against yours to show you how worked up she is.
“I like you like this.” You whine, rolling your hips along with hers, increasing the pressure.
Ellie lets out a ragged laugh. “Fuck.” She breathes into your mouth before placing one soft, shaky kiss. “You like me like this?” She asks, still drunkenly grinding against you, seeking her own pleasure. “You like me desperate? Then keep me like this.” She whispers.
She’s still drunk, but the way she moves proves how much she loves this. Loves you. Loves watching you get off by taking what you want from her.
“Want you to fuck me.” You whisper.
Your words make Ellie shiver. “Yeah.” Her voice is rough. “Anything you want.” She says, slowly climbing off you to grab the toy. “Just tell me and I’ll do it.”
Ellie takes her time removing the rest of her clothes, besides the tie, of course. She’s still distracted by your heavy stare as you’re lying there looking like a fucking supermodel.
She climbs back on the bed slowly, like she has to think about not stumbling. She kneels on the bed, tightening the harness around her thighs. The sight of her has you clenching around nothing. “Tell me how you want it.” She whispers, lubing the strap.
You back up against the pillows, spreading your legs for her. “Like this.”
“Yeah?” She says, crawling over to you.
“Wanna see your face as you fuck me.” You tease. Her cheeks immediately turn pink.
Ellie positions herself between your legs, lining up the tip of the strap at your entrance.
“Want you so bad.” You mumble, getting desperate and impatient as she takes her time.
“You have all of me, baby. You ready?” She asks.
When you nod she starts to slide the tip in. She moves slow and carefully, leaving a tender kiss on your forehead. “You tell me if it’s too much, okay?”
“Mhm.” You moan, taking more of her length.
Ellie groans as she pushes in slowly, her hands squeeze your hips, lifting them so she can get in deeper. “So tight, feels good?” She asks. “Can I keep going?”
You gasp at the fullness. “Don’t stop— please—“ you whine, throwing your head back onto the pillows.
Ellie’s skin is burning at the sight of you and the sweet sounds you make. She lets out a soft whine as she fills you completely. She starts moving in and out, slowly, carefully. She presses another kiss to your forehead, your cheek, your nose, anywhere but your lips, knowing she’d get too lost and too distracted in it.
She brings her hands up above your head for more control, moving deeper— faster. The control overwhelms her, she buries her face in the crook of your neck, almost embarrassed, until you start moaning louder, and she knows she’s doing something right. “Fucckkkk.” She mumbles into your skin.
“Look at me.” You demand, sensing her getting shy on you.
Your soft, demanding tone has her head snapping up at your order. Her face is pink and blushed, her eyes are dilated and she’s totally fucking gone for you. “Yes?”
“Look at me when you fuck me.” Your words are a command. There’s nothing soft about them, Ellie always does what she’s told.
Her gaze is hungry as she keeps her pace steady, although the pleasure in your expression has her completely wrecked already. “Look at you, so beautiful.” She whines, slamming her hips into yours. “I need you. I need— need you.” Her thrusts are getting more aggressive as she gets more desperate for the friction of the strap on her clit.
You reach up and grab her hips firmly. You guide her movements to be even harder, even faster. Her thighs tremble as she tries to keep up with the pace you’re setting. “F—fuck.” She cries out, getting way too worked up at the sight of you using her for your pleasure. “Baby— I—“
She can’t even think straight, she just lets you take what you need while desperately trying not to fall apart.
You’re so close. It’s written all over your face. She knows that look.
“I’m gonna—“ you start, dropping a hand from her hip and bringing it to your clit.
“Fuckkkk— yes baby. Let me watch you touch yourself.” She moans, still pounding into you.
“Fuck, baby— I’m gonna—“ You try to speak but the build up of heat in your core is overwhelming. You cry out loudly— too loud. You inhale sharply as your orgasm takes over, your entire body shakes and stiffens with pleasure before relaxing again.
Ellie is still inside you, moving slowly now, touching you like you’re something fragile. “You’re perfect.” She whispers, kissing your collarbone sweetly. She sits up and pulls out of you slowly, careful not to hurt you. “Was I good?”
You smile. “Of course. You’re always good for me.” You say, putting a hand between your legs, getting your fingers wet.
Ellie knows the routine by now. She lays her head on your lap like the obedient girl she is, her lips part as you bring your fingers to her mouth, pushing in slowly. Her eyes flutter closed, she moans at the taste of your release against her tongue.
She sucks on your fingers as you move them in and out of her sweet little mouth.
“That’s my good girl.” You praise her as you pull your fingers out, kissing her forehead. “Always so fuckin’ good for me. You’re so beautiful.” You murmur, admiring her.
“Anything for you.” She blushes.
notes: requests are open! feedback is always appreciated xx
Notes: I had this idea after remembering Ellie in Jackson, the face of someone who doesn't know anything (forgive my spelling mistakes).
Content: Friction, first time, oral sex, female reader, inexperience, fingering, changing positions, hickeys, sucking breasts, +18
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You and Ellie had been dating for a few months, but you had never had sex, not because you didn't want to, but just the thought of it made the air tense; neither of you could take the initiative.
Despite that, your relationship was great. Ellie was extremely needy, she always had been, since the beginning of the relationship, and you really liked that.
On weekends, Ellie would go to her house so they could spend time together, watching movies, playing games, or just cuddling in bed until dawn.
At those moments, Ellie would try to get closer by placing her hand on Ellie's thigh or even your butt, but it wouldn't go any further than that.
One night your parents went out to dinner, leaving you and Ellie alone at home. You were comfortable, she wasn't wearing a shirt because you had stolen it from her body, so now she was just wearing a sports bra and sleep shorts. You watched some movies and ate some junk food before going to your room and lying down to talk and laugh about random things, as always.
After talking for a few seconds, you two stared at each other for a few seconds before kissing. The kiss lasted a few seconds before being broken to broach the dreaded subject.
"Ellie, are you attracted to me?" You decide to break that silence mixed with doubt that has lasted for months.
"Of course, you're beautiful and I love you," Ellie replies, caressing my hand on the bed.
"No, she really desires me...sexually." You decide to be clearer, noticing Ellie's freckled cheeks take on a slight reddish hue, standing out against her pale skin.
"You know that..." Ellie says, moving closer and touching her waist. "I just... well, you know me better than anyone," she says shyly. You understand.
Ellie has never been with anyone before, that's okay, because you haven't either.
"If you want...we can try, together," you suggest, swallowing hard afterward. You were trying to take the lead, but you were just as scared as she was.
"Look, my love, you don't have to if you're not ready, we can wait a little longer and..." Ellie was saying, but was interrupted by a kiss from him, almost a silent leap of courage.
"I want to," you whispered between kisses before climbing onto her lap and kissing her again.
Your kisses traveled down to Ellie's neck where you left a few hickeys, faint at first due to lack of experience, but they soon took shape as Ellie's hands explored your thighs.
The kiss ended, and you took the opportunity to remove your blouse, smiling and beginning to grind your hips against it in a friction hindered by the thin pajamas.
Ellie looked at you with a dark, lustful gaze, holding your waist and urging you to go faster. "Ah...fuck!" she said as she sat up and took off her sports top, exposing her her breasts exposed to the cold air of the room.
You both moaned in sync before she threw you onto the bed, getting on top of you and trailing kisses from your mouth to your neck, to your breasts, looking at you before removing your bra and he throws it into a common corner of the room.
Her mouth didn't stop, nibbling at each of your breasts, always looking at you, seeking approval, which was given in the form of moans.
"Ellie...keep going...keep going down," you pleaded between moans as Ellie trailed kisses down your stomach and navel, reaching where you wanted it most.
You could feel her hands on the waistband of your pajama shorts, pulling them up your legs until they were off your body.
Her hands slowly parted her legs, and you could see her breathing become ragged and her pupils dilate as she gazed at her intimate parts.
"Damn, you're beautiful," Ellie says almost voicelessly before bending down and scattering kisses along her thigh, slowly moving up to the center of her legs. You gasped when you felt her breath against your intimate center, and then gripped the sheets when you finally felt her mouth.
"Ellie!...ah!" You felt the soft mouth and warm tongue exploring you in the most explicit way, leaving you exposed but making you feel completely good.
Her tongue slowly, almost provocatively, explored the entire opening, tasting her arousal while her fingers parted her intimate lips and her mouth began to suck on her clitoris.
"You have such good taste, darling," Ellie says, and despite her lack of experience, she seemed to know exactly where to touch to please.
Her moans grew louder and her legs trembled, threatening to close as you drew closer and closer to your limit, but she stopped, smiling.
"Not yet, my love, I want your first orgasm with me to be with my fingers inside you," Ellie says, smiling and positioning herself between her legs, guiding her fingers to her wet center and screaming for an orgasm.
Her fingers teased her slit, stimulating her clitoris with circular motions before plunging one of her fingers inside her tight vagina.
You felt a pain at first, a pain that was quickly distracted by her mouth, which resumed sucking on your breasts, waiting patiently while your insides yielded and adjusted to her finger.
Ellie looked into his eyes before starting to move her finger, seeing in real time the moment his eyes rolled back in pleasure as she curled her fingers inside him while kissing his body.
By this point you could only moan incoherent words, feeling like you were on cloud nine when Ellie added her second finger, increasing the rhythm with each moan in response.
Her toes curled and her body arched slightly from the bed as her belly fermented.
"I'm going to cum!...don't stop! ah!..." That was one of the only clear sentences you managed to say during the act.
You wrapped your legs around her waist while your nails dug in and slid down her back, leaving your trademark.
And then you had an orgasm, your moans mingling with the creaking of the bed springs. Ellie removed her fingers from inside, bringing them to your clitoris, prolonging your orgasm.
Your vision was blank, your body felt both cold and hot at the same time, but you were savoring every second.
Ellie kissed your flushed cheeks, smiling proudly for having given her pleasure. "Are you okay?Did I hurt you?" she said, her voice hoarse from the intense pleasure she had neglected while she focused on his
Ellie managed to be cute even in a moment like that.
You shook your head and could see the relieved smile on her face before she kissed you intensely.
You return the kiss and, even with your legs trembling, you use a push to guide her down onto the bed, leaving you on top while she supports herself on her elbows.
His fingers slid down to her pajama shorts, pulling them off along with her panties, leaving her completely naked; shame was no longer an issue now.
Ellie gripped the sheets in anticipation as her mouth descended to her breasts, leaving light, wet, and private kisses while you moved down to between Ellie's legs.
You didn't know how you were going to do it, but you let yourself go, running your tongue along the slit first, observing her reaction. When you noticed her throw her head back in a drawn-out moan, you felt the The motivation I needed to know I was on the right track.
With that, you plunged your mouth into her wet pussy, exploring its folds near her clitoris.
"That's it, dear, you're my downfall," Ellie says slowly, running her hand through her hair and looking you in the eyes without any shame.
It wasn't long before you'd slide your fingers into her pussy, penetrating her while sucking on her clit. You could hear Ellie's drawn-out moans as her insides contracted against yours fingers, damn, how tight she was
Her inexperience gradually faded as you moved your finger in and out of Ellie while she got used to it.
Her mouth didn't stop, exploring his pussy as he penetrated her; she was loving it.
Ellie brought her hand to her head, guiding your movements as you inserted your second finger, making her shudder.
"Oh shit! This is fucking good!" Ellie curses, moaning without restraint; the neighbors would clearly have something to talk about for the rest of the week.
At that pace, you felt her insides contract; you knew she was almost there, so your mouth rested on her clitoris while your fingers curved inside her, bringing her to the edge.
"Oh! Fuck!" She groaned loudly, her head falling back as you tasted her in your mouth.
You watched her slowly come down from her orgasm as you gradually moved your mouth and fingers away.
You didn't know what to say; it was normal, both of them were affected by the orgasm and breathless, but happy.
"Did you like it?" you asked, and she looked at you, still blushing with dilated pupils.
"Are you seriously asking me that?" She lets out a soft laugh that makes you laugh too. "It was amazing, I'm glad it was with you."
Ellie approached you, kissing you tenderly, caressing your body in a loving way; she always knew how to make you feel loved.
You two hugged and settled under the sheets, leaving any worries for tomorrow.
"I love you." Ellie whispers in his ear.
"I love you too, Ellie," you reply, and with her, you've never been so sure of anything in your life.
⊹ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬— You’re drowning in finals week stress, but your roommate Ellie has a unique method for improving memory retention.
⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭— 4,8K
⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬— college!au, law student!reader x astrophysics student loser!ellie, switch!ellie x switch!reader, fingering (r!receiving), oral sex (e!receiving), edging, overstimulation, praise, stress, burnout, legal terminology (fully nerded out this one LMAO reader is me) sleep deprivation, AFAB!reader. minors and men DNI.
Finals week transforms the dorm into a battleground.
It’s 2:43 AM, or maybe it’s 4:00 AM—you ceased glancing at the clock three hours ago because the math was simply disheartening. The air is thick with the scent of stale coffee and the electric smell of a laptop that has been working tirelessly for sixteen hours straight.
Your timetable is merciless and inflexible: you study until your eyes burn, collapse into a coma-like slumber for precisely four hours, wake up, consume enough caffeine to incapacitate a medieval child, and repeat the cycle. The sun is merely an idea you cannot afford to entertain. Seven days slip like that unnoticed, the only time you consult the calendar is to ensure you can squeeze in an extra hour of sleep tonight.
You’re slumped over your desk, your posture in ruins, your hair resembling a rat’s nest more than a messy bun, encircled by a fortress of open textbooks and a graveyard of crushed Red Bull cans. You’ve been struggling with the same paragraph for twenty minutes, the words dancing on the page as if mocking you. Your highlighter cap has vanished for the fifteenth time this evening and the back of your hand is entirely smeared with ink you’re too exhausted to wash off.
And then, there's Ellie.
She lies stretched out on her bed, her back resting against the wall with her knees drawn up to cradle her laptop. She's wearing glasses, because she's that person now. The auburn haired insists they’re "blue light glasses" meant to alleviate eye strain, yet you’ve caught her wearing them while playing Mario Kart, so who knows? Ultimately, they give her the appearance of a sexy librarian, nibbling on the tip of a stylus as if it were a snack.
The thing is, Ellie used to be a morning person. Back in September she was the type to wake up at 7:00 AM, annoying and bright-eyed, talking about "solar apexes" while you were still trying to find the will to live.
But somewhere around midterms, she warped her entire circadian rhythm to match your descent into madness. She claimed it was because "the observatory data is better at night," but you know that’s bullshit. She did it so you wouldn’t be the only light on in the building at 3:00 AM. She did it so she could be the anchor when you started drifting.
Now, you suffer in tandem.
It’s a comfortable, gross kind of intimacy. The silence between you is heavy, broken only by the aggressive clacking of your keyboard or her occasionally groaning and dragging a hand down her face.
And her study schedule wasn’t the only thing that changed after you became roommates.
You’d fought for this setup—literally spamming the housing coordinator with polite (borderline threatening) emails until they finally caved and assigned you both to Room 707.
It was the only logical conclusion to a lifelong alliance. You and Ellie had been a package deal since kindergarten, a contract signed in crayon and enforced through scraped knees and swapped lunches.
You were the Earth: grounded, sharp-edged, a law student fueled by deadlines and caffeine. She was the stars: chaotic, messy, an astrophysics major who smelled like old library books and space dust.
By October, you had developed routines that were so intricate they stopped feeling like choices. Ellie’s boots in the hallway, your textbooks migrating to her desk, and the silent agreement on whose turn it was to buy groceries.
But then there was the other routine.
The routine that started three months ago, stumbling back from a Delta Sig frat party. You were both drunk on cheap vodka, shivering in the autumn air, arguing about something stupid because banter was your love language. But when you reached the dorm door, the argument didn't fizzle out—it ignited. Ellie had pinned you against the wood, her eyes a shade darker than pine and pupils blown wide, and kissed you like she’d been waiting for permission since you were five years old.
It was supposed to be a drunken mistake.
Then it happened again the next Tuesday. And the Friday after that.
Now, it was another programme as solid as your class schedule. There were rules, of course: no talking about feelings, no talking about labels, and absolutely no acknowledging it when the sun was up. Tension lived in the dorm like a third person, turning every accidental brush of shoulders into a spark.
You were best friends. You were roommates.
And you were both liars.
“I hate physics,” she mutters suddenly, voice rough from disuse. She doesn’t look up from her screen. “I hate gravity. I hate the moon. I hope the moon explodes.”
You don’t look up either, just turning the page of your casebook. “If the moon explodes, we all die, which means I don’t have to take the exam. So, honestly? Rooting for you.”
Ellie snorts, a small, tired sound. “You’re dark, attorney.”
“I’m tired, Williams.”
“Take a break,” she says.
“Can’t.”
She watches you for a minute in that quiet way she does when she thinks you don’t notice.
“You’ve been staring at the same sentence for twenty minutes.”
You finally spin your chair around, and the movement makes your head swim. Ellie is watching you over the rim of her laptop, her eyes dark and heavy-lidded, her hair a chaotic auburn half down that hasn't seen a brush in two days. She looks exhausted. She looks beautiful.
“I’m processing.” you lie.
She raises an skeptical eyebrow and closes her laptop. Then, slides her legs off the bed, her socks hitting the floor with a soft thud. “You’re dissociating.”
“Same thing.”
She walks over to your desk—a slow, sleepy shuffle. She invades your space with the ease of habit, leaning a hip against the edge of the wood, knocking a stack of index cards askew.
“You're done,” she murmurs, reaching for the neon stack.
You groan, letting your head fall back against the chair. “Ellie, no. I have to finish this unit.”
She picks up the cards, shuffling them with a dexterity that draws your eye to her hands. Long fingers. Short nails. A smudge of pen ink on her thumb. “You’re gonna fry your brain and then start crying over like… the Commerce Clause.”
You glare up at her. “I don’t cry.”
Ellie’s mouth twitches. “You absolutely cry.”
You open your mouth, ready to argue, because that’s your default setting, but Ellie is already moving your flashcards into a neat stack with the kind of care that makes your chest do something stupid.
“Come on,” she says. “Quiz time.”
You lean back in your chair, rubbing your eyes. “Ellie, I don’t have time for this.”
“Yeah you do,” she says, sitting on the edge of your desk. “Because if you keep ‘studying’ like this, you’re gonna enter the exam hallucinating the Constitution as a sentient dinosaur.”
You blink at her. “What.”
Ellie brightens, because you’ve accidentally hit her favorite intersection: you being stressed and her being a nerd about it. “Think about it,” she says, animated now. “Like, okay—what if the Constitution was a dinosaur? Like a really old one.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense,” Ellie argues, pointing at you with one of your cards. “Old. People argue about what it meant based on fossils—”
“You are not calling the Founding Fathers fossils.”
Ellie shrugs. “If the powdered wig fits.”
You laugh despite yourself—small, reluctant, the sound cracking your stress like ice. Ellie’s eyes flick to your face as if she did it on purpose, as if that was the point.
“Okay,” she says, “Let me help. I’ll do flashcards. You answer.”
You straighten in your chair, resigned, and Ellie flips the first card.
“Okay,” she says, squinting at your handwriting. “This one says… ‘Statute of limitation.’”
“A law that sets the maximum time after an event for legal action to begin.”
Ellie nods, eyes sparkling with approval. “Okay, slay.”
You roll your eyes. “Don’t say slay.”
“Why? I’m supportive.”
“You’re embarrassing.”
Ellie smiles, flips another card. “This one: strict scrutiny.”
“Highest level of judicial review,” you recite, taking a sip of cold coffee and immediately regretting it. “Government must prove the law is narrowly tailored to achieve a compelling interest using the least restrictive means.”
Ellie’s eyebrows lift. “Okayyy, Harvard.”
“Don’t—”
“Yale?”
“Stop.”
“Princeton?”
“Ellie.”
She laughs, genuinely pleased with herself. “Alright, alright. Another one. ‘Consideration.’”
“Something of value exchanged,” you say. “A bargained-for detriment—”
“Okay, but why are lawyers like vampires,” Ellie interrupts, frowning at the card. “Like it’s always ‘give me your firstborn child and I’ll hand you… a paperclip.’”
You crack a smile. “It’s not my fault you’re illiterate.”
“I’m not illiterate. I read,” Ellie says defensively.
“You read… about stars.”
“And dinosaurs,” Ellie adds, offended you’d forget. “Which, by the way, objectively had better government than us because at least they didn’t invent finals week.”
You stare at her. “Dinosaurs did not have government.”
You laugh again, louder this time, and Ellie looks pleased—like watching you crack is its own kind of award.
She keeps going, card after card. Your brain warms up, slipping into rhythm as her voice becomes a metronome. You answer, correct yourself, argue with her when she mispronounces a Latin phrase on purpose just to annoy you.
At some point, you stop noticing time.
At some point, you start noticing her.
How she’s sitting closer now—no longer perched on the desk, but in your chair’s arm, leaning in to read your messy handwriting. How her knee keeps bumping yours, and neither of you moves away. How she smells like clean laundry and cedar, resembling autumn air.
Ellie flips another card. “Okay. ‘Hearsay.’”
“An out-of-court statement offered to prove the truth of the matter asserted, which is usually disallowed as evidence.”
Ellie pauses, looking impressed. “Damn. That was hot.”
You look at her. “What?”
“What?” Ellie echoes, innocent, and you narrow your eyes because she’s lying with her whole face.
You attempt to concentrate on the upcoming card. You genuinely do. But she continues to gaze at you in that way—like she’s harboring a secret joke in her mouth, with your name caught between her teeth.
You knock out two more answers. Then three. The legal definitions are finally clicking into place, forming a coherent structure in your brain instead of a soup of Latin and panic. You feel almost capable.
Then the adrenaline dips, and the weight of the last sixteen hours hits you all at once. You exhale, a long, shaky sound, and drop your forehead into your hands.
"God," you mutter, the words vibrating against your palms. "When is this actually going to end."
The shuffling of the cards stops.
It’s not a loud silence, but it’s a heavy one. You feel Ellie’s eyes on you before you even look up. When you do, the shift in her expression is immediate and visceral.
It’s the look of a door creaking open that you both usually pretend is locked.
"It ends," Ellie says, her voice dropping into that low register that always makes the hair on your arms stand up, "when you earn the reward."
"A reward?”
Ellie tilts her head, studying you like a particularly interesting data set. "Yeah."
"Since when do we do rewards? Usually your version of support is just bullying me until I succeed."
Ellie’s mouth pulls into a lazy, crooked grin. "Call it an experimental variable."
She flips the next card but doesn’t read it yet. She just holds it between two fingers, tapping the corner against her bottom lip. She gives you the look—not even trying to be subtle anymore. It’s the look from the frat party. The look from last Tuesday. The one that says routine. The one that says I know you. The one that says you can keep lying to yourself, but your body is already talking to me.
You shift in your chair, suddenly hyper-aware of how small the room is.
"You want it?" she asks softly.
You swallow, your pulse kicking up a notch against your collar. "Ellie, I’m studying."
"Yeah," she says, and her gaze drops to your mouth, then back up. "I can see that."
You scoff, because you’re terrified and sarcasm is the only shield you have left. "Okay, what is it? A gold star? A dinosaur sticker? Are you going to let me look through the telescope for five minutes?"
"The reward is," Ellie says, leaning forward until her knee presses firmly, intentionally, against yours, "whatever I decide you need."
You roll your eyes, but your breath hitches. "You’re insufferable."
Ellie smiles like she loves that you said it. She finally glances down at the card—too composed for someone who is currently burning a hole through your self-control.
"‘Burden of proof in a criminal case.’"
“Beyond a reasonable doubt.”
“Good,” Ellie murmurs.
She flips another. “‘Mens rea.’”
“Guilty mind,” you answer, fighting to keep your voice level, though it comes out a little thin.
Ellie hums approvingly. Her hand, which had been tapping a rhythm on her own knee, drifts. It lands on your thigh, idle at first, just a resting weight, but your body reacts like she’s plugged you into a socket. The nerves under her palm sing, drowning out the definition of mens rea.
You freeze, your eyes flicking to her hand before forcing them back to the innocent, neon-pink flashcard. “Ask the next one.”
“Okay,” she says, her tone entirely too innocent for the way her thumb has started to stroke your skin. “‘Elements of a valid contract.’”
“Offer, acceptance, consideration, capacity, legality,” you recite. You say it fast, a frantic spill of words, as if speaking quickly enough allows you to outrun the fact that she’s moving.
The air shifts as her shadow falls over the desk. You can feel the heat radiating off her, the solid presence of her body looming at your back. She leans down, her chest just barely brushing your shoulder blades, caging you in between her body and the desk.
“Good,” she whispers, her mouth so close to your ear that you can hear the wet click of her tongue. “You’re doing great.”
You let out a shaky, breathy laugh that sounds more like a plea. “You are literally the worst study partner.”
“I’m the best study partner,” Ellie corrects, and her hand on your thigh slides—imperceptibly at first, then with terrifying intent—upward. “I’m motivating you.”
“This is not motivation.”
“Sure it is.”
She reaches over your shoulder to flip another card with her free hand, but the questions are becoming static noise. What you are actually aware of is the sensory overload of her. The smell of her shampoo—woodsy and clean—filling your nose. The warmth of her front pressed against the back of your chair. And that hand.
“Next one: Defendant.”
“The... the person or entity accused of a crime in... criminal prosecution,” you start to wander, your head falling back against her shoulder as her thumb finds the hem of your skirt. “Or the person against whom some type of civil relief is being sought.”
“Excellent phrasing.”
Her fingers slip underneath the fabric.
The contrast is blinding—the cool air of the dorm room followed immediately by the scorching heat of her palm. Her hand is rough, calloused from tinkering with telescopes and soldering irons, and the friction against the soft skin of your inner thigh makes your breath hitch in your throat.
“Next,” Ellie says, her voice dropping a fraction, rumbling against your back. “Tort.”
“A... a civil wrong,” you stammer. Her hand is moving with agonizing slowness now, sweeping back and forth, claiming territory inch by inch. “That causes a claimant to suffer loss or harm...”
“...resulting in legal liability,” she finishes for you, whispering the words right against the sensitive shell of your ear. Her hand slides higher, pushing the skirt up as she goes. She traces the seam of your inner thigh, her fingers dancing dangerously close to the center of you. “You missed the end there, Counselor. Don't get distracted.”
“I'm not—”
“Next question.” She presses closer, her other hand coming down to grip the edge of the desk, effectively trapping you. “What’s the difference between a rebuttable and an irrebuttable presumption?”
“A rebuttable presumption...” Your voice breaks. Her fingers have reached the top of your thigh. She finds the edge of your underwear, her thumb hooking beneath the elastic band to brush against the sensitive skin there. The air in the room feels suddenly thin, insufficient to keep your lungs working. “Can be challenged.”
“And the irrebuttable?”
She pushes her hand flat, the heel of her palm pressing against your pubic bone, not in yet, but there—right there.
“It… it can’t,” you gasp, your hips bucking up instinctively into her touch.
“Even if you have proof it’s false,” Ellie repeats softly, her voice dropping to a register that vibrates against your ribs. Her fingers dip lower, skimming through the slick evidence of how much you want this. “Iure et de iure.”
You jolt in the chair, your spine snapping straight. Your hands grip the cheap plastic armrests so hard your knuckles turn a skeletal white, anchoring yourself because the sensation of her touch is threatening to pull you under.
She hums, a rumbling sound of approval that bypasses your brain and goes straight to your nerves. “Wet for me?” she teases. “Is that part of Unit 40? Do they cover this in Civil Procedure?”
“Shut up,” you gasp, your head falling back against her shoulder.
“Make me.”
She slides one finger inside you.
It isn’t fast. It is agonizingly, deliberately slow. The intrusion is startling, a sudden stretch that fills the empty ache in your belly and makes a gasp escape your lips. She presses in past the ring of muscle, testing the give, her finger curling upward to graze the ridge-like texture of your internal wall. Your hips buck up off the chair instinctively, chasing the friction, but she presses her free hand down hard on your shoulder, keeping you seated.
“Next card," she commands. Her breath is hot against your neck, her voice thick as she reads the next card like nothing is happening. “Negligence. Give me the four elements.”
“Duty, ah—” you pant, your eyes rolling back as she begins to move. She establishes a rhythm—fluid strokes that drag a whimper from your throat. In. Out... In. “The defendant... owed a legal duty...”
“Mhm.” She adds a second finger, stretching you wider, filling you up completely. The sensation is blinding, the slick, wet sound of her movement against you is loud in the quiet room. “And?”
“B-breach,” you choke out. She twists her wrist, angling her hand so her knuckles press against you, creating a delicious, unbearable pressure. “The... the defendant breached that duty...”
“Keep going.”
“Causation!” you whine, the word breaking in the middle. Ellie picks up the pace, her thumb coming down to press hard on your clit at the exact same moment her two fingers thrust deep inside. A bolt of white-hot pleasure shoots through you, causing your toes to curl inside your socks. “Fuck—Ellie—please—”
“Finish the list,” she demands, relentless. She snaps her wrist with a mechanic’s precision, knowing exactly how to work you. Squish. Slide. Rub. She hits that internal spot slowly, turning your brain into static. “Finish it.”
“Damages!” you cry out, your eyes squeezing shut as the pressure builds in your lower belly. It’s winding tight, a coiled spring being twisted to its breaking point. “Damages! Actual injury! Jesus–!”
“Perfect.”
She speeds up, abandoning the slow torture for a frantic, maddening rhythm. She pumps into you, her fingers scissoring inside while her thumb circles your clit with consistency. You’re unraveling. The law definitions are melting away, replaced by the friction, the heat, the sound of your own ragged breathing and the noise of her fucking you right there in the desk chair.
“One more,” Ellie breathes against the shell of your ear. She nips at the sensitive skin of your earlobe, sending a fresh shiver down your spine. “You get this right, and I let you come. I know you’re close. I can feel you clenching around me. You’re so tight.”
“Please,” you beg, your hands leaving the armrests to reach back, grabbing her shirt, bunching the fabric in your fists to anchor yourself. “Just ask it. Ask it.”
“Okay.” She thrusts deep one last time, hitting that perfect nerve-ending that makes you see stars, dragging a moan from your throat that sounds like a choked sob. She holds the pressure there, burying her fingers inside you, suspending you on the jagged edge of the cliff.
“Res Ipsa Loquitur,” she reads against your neck. “Literal translation and legal application.”
You open your mouth. You try. You genuinely try.
But your brain is offline. It’s just white noise and the overwhelming, blinding sensation of her hand occupying your body. Your lips part, but no words form. You just stutter, a pathetic, broken noise escaping your throat as your hips jerk helplessly against her hand.
You are completely fucked out of your mind.
“Res...” you whimper, head lolling to the side, drool gathering at the corner of your mouth. “Res... ipsa...”
“Come on,” Ellie urges, curling her fingers inside you, teasing the orgasm that is right there, just out of reach. “I need the definition, babe. Tell me.”
“I can't,” you sob, tears pricking your eyes from the sheer frustration and the sensory overload. “I can't—Ellie, please—I need—”
“Wrong.”
She pulls her hand out.
The loss is violent. It’s a physical blow, a sudden freezing absence where a second ago there was fire and fullness. You gasp, your eyes snapping open, your body empty and aching for completion. You look up at her, dazed, flushed, expecting her to finish it, expecting her to kiss you, expecting mercy.
But she just stands there, breathing a little heavy, looking down at you. She wipes her slick, glistening hand on the thigh of her jeans. She looks at you—shaking in your chair, wet, and desperate—and actually has the audacity to smirk. Then pushes her glasses up her nose and tucks the flashcards into her back pocket.
“Cognitive failure,” she diagnoses, shaking her head with mock disappointment. “If you can't handle basic Latin... you clearly aren't ready for the reward.”
She turns her back on you.
“Maybe try studying harder next time.”
She starts walking back toward her bed, the sound of her socks on the carpet the only noise in the room.
Something inside you snaps, a rubber band that has been pulled past its physical limit. The exhaustion of finals week, the caffeine jitters, the humiliation of being denied, and the ache thrumming between your legs—it all coalesces into a single point of absolute rage.
"Oh, no," you say. Your voice is low, vibrating with a dangerous kind of calm. "Absolutely not."
You catch her by the waist before she makes it two steps. Spin her around, using her own momentum against her, and slam her backward against the side of her twin bed. The metal frame groans in protest, a harsh sound in the quiet room.
"Whoa—hey!" Ellie yelps, her eyes going wide. She tries to brace herself, but you’re already moving.
You shove her by the shoulders, hard, pushing her down onto the mattress. She lands with a bounce, sprawling on her back, looking up at you with genuine surprise.
"You wanna speak Latin?" you hiss, crawling over her. You pin her legs down with your own, looming over her like a storm cloud, trapping her in the space between your thighs.
"I..." Ellie swallows, her Adam's apple bobbing. Her hands flutter uselessly against the sheets. Her bravado is flickering out, replaced by the realization that she pushed the predator too far.
"Cunnus lingere," you enunciate, the words sharp as a blade. "Cunnilingus."
You grab the waistband of her sweatpants and the soft grey cotton of the boxers she wears underneath. You are past the point of negotiation, yanking them down to her ankles in one rough, fluid motion.
Ellie gasps, her hips lifting instinctively.
The sight of her hits you like a physical blow. Her thighs are pale and trembling, opened wide for you, and there, nestled between them, is a thick patch of auburn hair—darker than the mess on her head, a deep rust color that looks like fire against her skin. It’s glistening already, soaked with her own arousal, the scent of her arousal hitting you in a heavy, intoxicating wave.
"Fuck, wait—" she stammers, her voice jumping an octave as you loom over her. "I was just messing with—oh my god."
You bury your face between her legs, pressing your mouth hot and wet against her.
You lick a broad, flat stripe up her length, parting the auburn curls, tasting sweetness of her skin. She tastes like Ellie. You find the swollen bundle of nerves she keeps hidden under all that sarcasm and denim, and you attack it. By sucking hard, creating a vacuum seal over her clit, she arches her back violently off the mattress.
"Fuck!" Ellie cries out, the sound torn from her throat. Her hands clamp onto your head, fingers digging into your scalp, not pushing you away but holding you there, anchoring herself. "Okay! Okay, you win! Jesus!"
You ignore her surrender. You use your tongue to tease the sensitive skin around the hood, flicking rapidly, relentlessly. You know her better than she knows the stars. You know that if you hum against her right there, the vibration travels straight to her brain and shuts it off. So you do.
"Please," she whines, and the sound is music. It’s a desperate, high-pitched noise that belongs to a girl who is completely at your mercy. The smug physics major is gone; this is just Ellie, unraveling. "Too much—it’s too sensitive—don't stop—"
You slide two fingers inside her, mimicking what she did to you, but with none of the patience. You thrust into her, hard and fast, curling your fingers to hit that spot on her anterior wall while matching the frantic rhythm of your tongue.
Ellie is a mess beneath you. She’s sobbing, her head thrashing side to side on the pillow, her glasses knocked askew and hanging off one ear. Her hips jerk, trying to get closer, trying to escape the overstimulation, she doesn't know.
"I’m gonna—fuck, I can't—" she babbles, her thighs quivering against your cheeks. "I’m gonna die—I’m gonna—"
You keep going. You push her over the edge without mercy.
Ellie screams—a muffled, broken sound as she bites her own arm to stifle the noise. Her body goes rigid, bowing upward, vibrating with the force of the orgasm ripping through her. She clamps her thighs around your ears, trembling violently as the waves hit her one after another, milking your fingers, soaking your chin.
You stay right where you are, feeling the aftershocks flutter against your tongue until she finally collapses back onto the sheets.
The room is silent except for the harsh, ragged sound of her breathing and the radiator hissing in the corner.
Slowly, you pull back. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and crawl up her body. Her lips are swollen, her cheeks are flushed a, blotchy red, and she’s staring at the ceiling like she’s trying to remember her own name. Her boxers are still tangled around her ankles, her legs splayed open, totally defeated.
You lean down, hovering over her face until her eyes—dazed, glassy, and blown wide—struggle to focus on yours.
"Res Ipsa Loquitur," you whisper, your voice rasping. "The thing speaks for itself. A doctrine that lets a court infer negligence from the mere occurrence of certain types of accidents, even if the plaintiff can’t point to the exact careless act."
Ellie lets out a shaky, wet exhale that might be a laugh or might be a sob. She reaches up, her hand trembling violently, and clumsily fixes her glasses.
"Correct," she croaks.
"Good," you say, breathless. You roll off her, landing on the carpet with a thud. "Now get up and pull your pants up. We still have thirty cards to go."
"I hate you," she whispers, though she is already reaching for your hand to pull herself up, her palm sweating against yours.
"I know," you smile, squeezing her hand back. "Routine's a bitch, isn't it?"
Synopsis: Ellie is jealous of you dancing with Jesse.
Note: Sorry for disappearing, the end of the year is always confusing for me, Please excuse any spelling mistakes.
Content: jealousy, post-fight sex, fingering, sex in public, secret girlfriends, moans, jealous sex, female reader, provocations, stimuli, +18
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It was supposed to be a quiet night at the bar, drinks flowing, people dancing and having fun, everything would have been going well if it weren't for Ellie's gaze piercing you like bullets from the other side.
The reason was simple: you had agreed to dance with Jesse, and to make matters worse, you seemed to be having a lot of fun doing it.
It might seem like a silly and childish reason, but Ellie was incredibly possessive and jealous, even though their relationship wasn't public.
Ellie bit her lip and gripped the glass tightly until her fingers turned white and the glass cracked as she watched you dance with someone else.
She didn't know how much longer she could endure seeing that, but she didn't need to think much because you headed towards the bar where she was.
"Aren't you going to come dance? The dance floor is great!" You said, sweaty and breathless from the lively dance with Jesse.
That almost made Ellie grit her teeth.
"So you're asking me to dance now? I thought Jesse was entertaining you," Ellie said rudely, taking a sip of her drink.
"Jealous of Jesse? Seriously, Ellie?" You rolled your eyes.
"I'm sorry if I got upset because a guy asked my girlfriend to dance right in front of me," Ellie says, feeling her anger rising just remembering the two of them together.
You stared at her for a few seconds and then turned your face away.
"I'm not going to discuss this with you here." You tried to end the conversation, but a suggestive smile appeared on Ellie's face.
"Great, I wasn't planning on resolving this right here." She smiles, he takes a last sip from his glass, then grabs your arm and drags you outside to the back of the establishment.
You didn't know what Ellie was planning, but you knew two things: that her ego was hurt and that she wasn't going to let it go unnoticed; she never did.
Upon reaching the back of the dimly lit establishment, Ellie threw her against the wall, trapping her; the arm with the moth tattoo surrounded by ferns looked far more attractive now in the the light was low. Loose strands of her hair swayed slightly in the cool night breeze as she gazed at you with those piercing green eyes.
You were definitely screwed.
"You know..." Ellie began, "I hate sharing what's mine." She said, leaving wet kisses on her neck at first
You could feel Ellie's lips leaving wet kisses on your neck while her other hand caressed your arm, giving it a few possessive squeezes.
"I've been holding back ever since Jesse grabbed your hand, that guy asked you to dance, something in my mind tells me you were just trying to provoke me." Ellie stepped back slightly just to look at his face. "Should I believe this?"
The way she stared at you was intense, almost as intense as the gaze at the bar, but now you could feel her warm body close to yours, very close to yours.
Ellie waited a few seconds for an answer she knew wouldn't come; it made her smile, she loved being right.
"Your bitch." She smiles and attacks your lips all at once, guiding you into an intense kiss that you quickly reciprocate.
Ellie's skillful hands slid down your body, squeezing you in places that sent shivers down your spine; you almost forgot where you were.
"Ellie, not here, someone might see," you said breathlessly after breaking the kiss.
"Who would see? Jesse? Oh God, how I want him to see this!" She smiled as she unbuttoned your pants; you didn't dare stop her, nor did you want to. "You have no idea how much I want him to see and hear me reclaim every single piece of you."
Ellie's warm words in your ear distracted you from the moment she slipped her hand inside your pants, stimulating your clitoris through your damp panties, making you grab her shoulders and open your mouth in a silent moan.
Ellie smiled, looking pleased with her reaction as she teased her clitoris.
"Imagine what a disaster it would be if... Jesse hearing you like that ??" Ellie teases, even though it's impossible for Jesse to hear you with the loud music inside. "Try to keep this a secret."
With that phrase, she plunged her fingers inside her panties, penetrating one by one until both were inside her, not waiting to move them in and out at a provocative and torturous, yet no less pleasurable pace.
"Tell me what I want to hear." Ellie whispered, staring at you moaning, "Tell me before I make you scream louder than that damn song in there."
Ellie's fingers curved inside you, hitting your sensitive spot and making you see stars for a few seconds.
"I-I'm sorry...I'm s-sorry for agreeing to dance with Jesse to tease you..." Her words came out almost as a choked gasp, unable to hold back a moan as Ellie slid her other hand inside her shirt.
Her hand traced a path down her sweaty stomach, which contracted against the movements of her fingers, and up to her breasts.
"Don't worry, you'll go back inside." She slips her hand inside your bra, squeezing your breast with a hint of something you loved. "But she'll only go back there when she's had an orgasm and soaked her panties with her pleasure."
With that, she increased the intensity of her movements, making you almost stand on tiptoe, moaning against her shoulder, your hands moving up to her hair and holding it almost ruining her hairstyle
"That's it, Ellie, I'm going to come, I can't hold back!" You gasped, letting out a pleasurable cry as you felt her begin to press your clitoris with her thumb, continuing the movements with her other fingers.
You tried to hold back, but the three stimuli were too much, causing you to have an orgasm on her fingers while she continued to move them slowly, stimulating and prolonging your orgasm.
"I hope you've learned your lesson," Ellie says, looking at you breathlessly as she slowly removes her fingers from inside you and her hands from your breasts.
Ellie pulls you in for a kiss, this time more tender but still intense, while she straightens her clothes—a stark contrast to her personality from seconds ago.
""I hope we don't have another disagreement tonight, or we'll have more conversations." Ellie smiles provocatively and brings the two fingers that were previously on you to her mouth, tasting them. "Let's go back inside, you owe me a dance."
She kisses your forehead while you smile and intertwine your hands with hers.
a/n : just a little something to keep you guys going while i go pull another few hours of a study sesh 😞
“Oh my god! Your face—” you cut yourself off, staring at your new date’s face with your eyes wide.
Her face was puffy. You glanced at the food.
“Shit, was there something you’re allergic to?”
“I’m— oh gosh, I gotta go, I’m so sorry!” She grabbed her jacket off the back of her chair and within seconds she was out the door, not even footing her side of the bill.
You looked down at the food, then at the empty chair she’d left behind, “oh, goodness…”
You raised a hand to flag down a waiter, “hey, I’m sorry, but was there any paprika in this soup?”
His eyes shifted to her notebook and he shook her head, “no, ma’am. I do remember you mentioned that your partner was allergic to it, am I right?”
“Yes, you are… she still did get an allergic reaction, that’s a bit strange, isn’t it?”
The waiter stared at you for a while as if you’d grown two heads. Then he pocketed his notebook, and corrected his posture, “I’m afraid that’s not possible… I’ll check with the kitchen right away.”
You nodded, “please do, thank you.”
This happened way too often. It couldn’t all have been a coincidence. Especially considering that your last interaction with Ellie hadn’t really been the best. The setting was at her apartment when you were just moving out. Ellie said— “you’ll never find someone more suited for you. No matter how fucking hard you try. It’ll always just come back to me. I’m the one for you.” You genuinely thought she was gaslighting you but it didn’t feel that way anymore.
You swallowed thickly.
The waiter returned, “I am so sorry about the mix-up, I swore I placed a note but the chef seemed to have lost it… we’ll compensate for your meal, again we’re so sorry about this.”
“It’s alright.” You tried to smile but it was half-assed.
Ellie… the girl was insane for shit like love. You knew that. Yet, you’d moved out and broken up your relationship worth a year and seven months only because she was getting too dependent on your relationship with her— it’s like she knew nothing but you and you only. It was starting to creep you out and eventually chased you out of the relationship.
In the moment, however, she seemed like the only person you could turn to. You hated it, hated the mere thought of dependency but you’d be lying if you said you and Ellie hadn’t been friends before dating and that was something you could never forget— regardless of how she was as a lover, she still was a great friend, and maybe the dating and breakup didn’t fuck it up— you prayed.
You’d driven to her place in such haste you didn’t even care to fix up your hair and makeup a little.
The moment Ellie opened the door you jumped into her arms, cheek pressed against her chest as you just gave her the tightest hug ever. Ellie stumbled back a little before her hand landed on the small of your back and she rubbed a slow soothing circle.
“Oh, sweetheart, she dumped you?”
Her voice was slow and smooth. You couldn’t tell for sure if that’s what she’d been manifesting for but you just needed her company in the moment.
“No… but every date I keep having— it fucks up.” You tried not to sob right there, but it was hard.
“Oh, dear,” Ellie pressed her lips to the top of your head for a bit, “let’s get you inside. It’s freezing out today.”
You didn’t know how you both ended up like this.
You’d come here seeking comfort and now under the steamy water of the shower, Ellie left kisses down the side of your neck, her lips rough from lack of nourishment.
“You’ve gotten prettier since the last time I’ve held you,” Ellie whispered, “you’re always pretty. My perfect woman.”
“Ellie… we really shouldn’t be doing this,” you mumbled.
“Yeah? Mmm, bet it’s heavy on your conscience, your date’s probably crying her eyes out because she looked like a puffy idiot in front of you,” Ellie whispered.
“How’d you know her face swelled up?” You asked, voice shaky when Ellie pressed a kiss to the centre of your throat.
She hummed. “Lucky guess.”
“Bullshit.” You pulled her closer, “Ellie, did you do this?”
“Would you slap me if I said yes?” She stared right back, eyes half-lidded, hands on your hips.
“You dumb fuck.”
Ellie let out a small moan at that, making you almost crack a smile. Ellie pushed you against the cold tile wall, the warm water cascading down her frame and glistening on her abs. You glanced down— shit, she looked so good especially with her happy trail and untamed bush and— she positioned herself above your thigh and rubbed down her wet cunt on you.
“Shit, Ellie, you’re dripping,” you gasped, cheeks flushed.
“It’s for you, mamas.”
“I can see that,” you raised your eyes to make eye contact with her again, your hand moved down to rub her clit in slow circles.
Ellie let out a small moan, “I can’t bear to see you with anyone else, I’m sorry.”
“You don’t mean it,” you whispered, pinching her clit and flicking it.
Her breath hitched, eyebrows furrowed. She looked dazzling— “no, I don’t,” she admitted, “because I love you. Only you. And you’re only mine.”
“Possessive,” you hummed softly, “I like it.”
“No, you love me.” Ellie said, her hands coming up to grope your tits.
She cupped them, squeezing them a little before she leaned down to suck on one nipple, neglecting the other almost entirely.
She looked up, her mouth still latched onto your mound. Your head tilted back, water running down the centre of your chest and your throat making you look ethereal in the bathroom’s warm light.
Ellie slowly sunk down to her knees on the shower room floor, her entire body already soaked to the bone. “Lean back,” she said, and you held the wall the best you could as you obliged.
Ellie’s mouth hovered over your pussy— then her tongue darted out and she gave your clit a teasing, testing lick.
“Oh!” Your hips bucked forward, chasing the friction and yearning for more instantly.
You were easy.
Touch starved and needy.
Ellie chuckled, “no one ever gave you head this good, huh?”
With both thumbs, she pulled your lips aside to reveal your soaked entrance and folds. She sucked on your folds, her tongue teasing past them to reach your slit. Even when she did that, she didn’t fully insert her tongue inside because you both were aware she was teasing you— a soft punishment for leaving her in the first place.
“You’re mine, you always were,” Ellie mumbled, shoving her tongue in.
Her hands held your thighs in a hard grip, so hard that you were sure you had bruises and marks by now. She didn’t stop, she knew you liked it. She knew that the more pressure she applied, the wetter you’d get.
You moaned, low in your throat, “Ellie, please… you make me feel better than anyone else.”
“That’s ‘cause I am better than everyone else.” Ellie said matter-of-factly.
She tilted her head to get better access.
Her tongue touched you in longer strokes now, revelling in the taste of you. Your pussy was starting to get creamy— nectar mixing with the shower water and trickling down Ellie’s chin, mixing with spit. Ellie closed her eyes to avoid the water getting in them.
“No one will ever know your body more than me,” Ellie said, but her words were so terribly muffled by your pussy you barely understood a word.
Your thighs shook, clamping around her head to keep her there as your orgasm slowly approached.
Your abdomen tightened— closer and closer— Ellie pulled her tongue over your slit, folds and then— she flicked your clit.
With a loud moan, you squirted everywhere.
It soaked her face entirely— then quickly washed down by the shower water.
Ellie remained there seated on her knees, then she let out a deep breath and opened her eyes, grinning. “See, in the end you’re in my bathroom getting eaten out by me.”
SUMMARY: After a disastrous match, Ellie is dragged by her friends to a party she wants nothing to do with, where she meets you. One look turns into a slow, dangerous pull, and before she knows it, you’re in her lap, kissing her breathless. For the first time since everything fell apart Ellie feels something she actually wants, and she’s forced to decide whether she’s ready to take it or not.
WORD COUNT: 9,5k
CWs: drinking, vaping, ellie is going through it and feels miserable at the function, reader has long hair and is described as thin, making out in public, emotional burnout, mentions of past breakup. if theres something that should be tagged missing, please let me know. a/n at the end!
Ellie sank further into the couch, legs stretched out until her feet knocked against the low table. She had staked her claim on the couch the moment they’d walked in, back in the far corner, close enough to the big windows but far enough from the heaving crowd.
Her friends were lost in there, screaming along to the lyrics of a pop song she couldn't even hear properly. Kat and Mackie were dancing like they didn’t just lose. Like Ellie and her stupid red card didn’t just cost them today's game.
Honestly, she couldn't figure out how they still had the energy to be doing all that. She could barely keep her eyes open, her body sinking heavier into the couch with every beat
She sighed. Mackie had practically shoved her into this outfit as soon as Ellie opened the door. “You’ll feel better if you go out,” she’d said, and Ellie hadn’t argued much, too tired to.
So now she was here. Alone and drinking something Nina had shoved into her hand as soon as they walked in. It was disgusting. But she didn't feel like getting up to get something else, because moving meant an effort she didn't have.
Her legs still felt heavy from the thirty minutes she’d played earlier, though “played” was a very, very generous word for the shit show she pulled earlier.
She would have liked to say that she just had an awful day, but the truth was that she had been off all year. Her passes were loose, first touch clumsy, legs heavy.
Her eyes roamed the room without much interest. The crowd shifted in waves, bodies moving together in some rhythm she couldn’t feel. The DJ, Kat's friend, was grinning like he was changing lives or something, while people shouted into each other’s ears, laughed too loud, their hands everywhere.
Ellie felt outside of it. Like she was watching it from another room through a pane of glass. There was this emptiness in her chest she couldn’t fill, not with noise, not with drinks, not with movement.
It was the worst season of her career, that's for sure.
It had been bad from the very beginning. The breakup with Dina already had her feeling depressed, and then on top of that, the pitch stopped being her safe place when Karina left and the new manager arrived.
Under his system, she was mostly playing out of position. Not feeling the ball at her feet the way she used to, which led her to second-guess every touch. And when her confidence cracked, playing started to feel different. Passes that used to be instinctive to her suddenly looked like risks. She started to hesitate more and more and began to make mistakes more often.
Then the bench became her new home.
The captain of Arsenal WFC was spending more time on the bench than on the pitch, watching most games from the sidelines while her team fell apart. And the worst part was that she didn't even have the energy to do something about it.
How embarrassing.
She had been captain for six years. Lifted trophies. Played in finals. Carried the team through injuries and rebuilds. She bled for the badge. She wanted to retire at Arsenal. Be a one club player.
But she was not sure if that could happen anymore.
Technically, she was still the captain, but half the time she was on the bench. The only reason she still kept the armband was because, deep down, he knew she was the only one who could bridge the dressing room. She was the one who smoothed over tensions and kept morale from totally collapsing. Even though she had been doing that less and less recently.
She was barely holding herself together, let alone everyone else.
Across the room, Sophia was dancing and jumping with Nina like they’d just won the league instead of limping toward the top four. Mackie and Kat grinned at them like it was contagious.
Ellie couldn't even imagine summoning that kind of joy.
Every so often one of them came back, shouting something like “Come on, let's dance!” over the music. Every time, she shook her head. Sometimes she didn’t even looked at them when she said no, just gave the smallest shake of her head. Absolutely not.
The bass from the speaker made the empty bottles rattle faintly against each other, low and heavy enough to thrum up through the couch cushions and into Ellie’s spine.
She really should’ve stayed home. But the girls had shown up at her door with a look that didn’t leave room for refusal.
She knew why, of course. Because she had been avoiding people. Not them or her teammates exactly, she still did her part as a captain, but everything outside of that. No dinners, no birthday celebrations, no late night texts in the group chat. Just her house and never ending silence.
Sometimes it felt like she was preserving herself, but other times, it felt like she was vanishing.
Since they wouldn't take no for an answer, Ellie just told herself that she could handle this. She’d drive, she’d stand in some corner, she’d sip whatever drink they handed her and then she’d leave.
That was the plan.
Ellie was in the middle of zoning out again, her gaze drifting across the blur of moving bodies without really seeing any of them.
Until her eyes set on someone in the crowd.
It wasn’t even on purpose. Just one of those glances that landed somewhere it shouldn’t and refused to move.
At first it was just movement caught in her peripheral vision. A flicker of sequins, then the curve of a bare shoulder. She didn't even turned her head right away, but something pulled her attention.
Maybe three or four meters away from where she was sitting, two women were holding hands while spinning. The two fit together easily, like they’d been dancing all night with their hands catching each other's as they turned in the narrow space between people.
But it was you who caught her attention.
There was something magnetic in the way you moved, unbothered and loose, like you were the one setting the pace of the room instead of following it. It made her eyes linger for way longer than they should.
And you were pretty, too.
She told herself that she was just watching you dance because you were right in her line of sight. Because you and the other woman kept crossing back and forth in the crowd, every few seconds in perfect view.
Ellie’s mouth pulled tight. She took a slow sip of her drink to hide the fact that she was still very much looking at your direction, her eyes dragging from the swing of your hair to the sharp line of your jaw.
Ellie watched the exact moment your head tipped forward to rest on the blonde’s shoulder, your hair swinging to curtain your face before you threw it back and laughed. It wasn't a polite or careful laugh, it was loud, open, and it made the other woman's grin even wider.
The music was still so loud, but Ellie still swore she could hear you over it, rich and unselfconscious.
Something inside her twisted hard at the sound. It wasn't just that. It was the way your body shifted with it, the way you leaned into the blonde woman without hesitation. Like joy was easy.
She shifted in her seat, leaning an elbow on the armrest as if angling her body away might break the spell.
It didn’t.
Her gaze kept flicking back, tracking the way your every move. When you laughed, she noticed. When you brushed a strand of hair behind your ear mid-step, she noticed. When your skirt hitched just a little higher, she definitely noticed.
Jealousy, she told herself. That was all it was. She wasn’t watching because you were beautiful, or because something about you and your laugh made the air feel warmer on her skin. She was watching because she wished she could be like that, so at ease in her own skin, so utterly unbothered.
She had once felt like that too, but it seemed that it was too long ago now.
And yet, when you caught her eye mid-turn, her insides tightened in a way jealousy didn’t explain. She looked away quickly, fixing her attention on someone behind you, but the low and uneasy pull in her gut stayed.
Like the ringing in her ears, it didn’t fade.
Ellie took another sip of her drink and forced her gaze to stay somewhere else. Whatever. I don't care.
Half an hour later, she’d almost forgotten about you.
She was still on the couch when the others had joined her, their faces flushed and hair sticking to their foreheads. Ellie was letting their chatter wash over her, nodding occasionally while her fingers toyed absently with the straw of her drink.
It was sort of comforting having them close again. At least with them near, she could loosen up a bit. Or at least try to do so.
They were loud in the way only people mid-party could be, talking over each other between gulps from their drinks, breathless from laughing at something Ellie had missed.
She had just started to relax when a few minutes later, a loud, high pitched voice interrupted the conversation, then a man appeared in front of them. Kat almost jumped from where she was sitting. “Jack!”
“Kat! My friends wanted to meet you!”
While they hugged, Ellie’s eyes flicked up automatically when she noticed the two women standing beside him, and that’s when she noticed.
It was you. Again.
The same you she’d watched earlier, only now up close. And up close was… worse. Or better. She couldn’t decide. Your features were sharper here, every line and angle framed by the low lighting, a faint blush in your cheeks from dancing.
You looked weirdly familiar, like Ellie had seen you before, but she couldn't remember where.
The hem of your skirt was higher than she remembered, your sheer top revealing… Well, a lot.
You were clinging to the other woman’s arm like you’d been attached there the whole walk over, smiling and looking around the group. When your gaze skimmed over Ellie, it stopped for just a beat longer, just long enough for her to notice.
He introduced the blonde girl at your side first, Camille, all smiles and perfect hair, the one who apparently begged to meet Kat and Mackie. And then he turned towards you, clearly ready to say your name.
You cut him off with a laugh when he was about to speak, voice low and smooth, patting his shoulder. “I can introduce myself, Jack. Thank you.”
You leaned forward into the little cluster without hesitation, moving to greet each of them.
The first cheek-to-cheek was with Mackie, light, quick, and accompanied by a bright, Hi! Nice to meet you. It made Mackie squeal-laugh in surprise. Her eyes went wide for a split second before she laughed it off.
Then it was Kat's turn, then Sophia, then Nina. You repeated the gesture with each of them. Nina beamed like it was the funniest, most charming thing she had ever heard. We do it like this in my country! you explained, and Ellie felt her jaw tighten.
And then it was Ellie’s turn.
She didn't even realize that you turned your attention to her until there was the faintest smell of perfume wrapping around her like smoke. It hit her all at once. You smelled nice. Sweet and citrusy, like oranges and something musky she couldn't place.
You were bending down towards her then, steadying yourself on her shoulder. Your palm felt warm even through the fabric of her overshirt.
Your name fell from your lips again, offered straight to her this time, your voice honeyed. The second your cheek brushed hers, her whole body went stiff.
She managed to rasp out her own name, clipped and awkward, then making a sound that might have been nice to meet you, but it came out low and rough, like her voice didn’t trust her. Ellie gave you the smallest nod when you said it back.
The whole thing lasted maybe two seconds, but it still left her gripping her cup like it was the only solid thing in the room.
And then you were upright again, turned toward Kat, moving on like it was nothing. You slid besides her, dropping down in the space between her and Nina like the seat had been waiting for you all along.
Sitting there with her knees spread lazily, Ellie was suddenly too aware of herself, of the way her overshirt hung loose over her shoulders, the warmth on her back.
Ellie tried to pretend she wasn’t listening to the way you laughed, that easy, unbothered sound that made something twist inside her an hour before.
You giggled at something, and Ellie caught herself staring again before she ripped her eyes away, fixing them in the coffee table like it was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen.
She tried to listen to Kat, who was already in the middle of retelling the story of the match they lost earlier, trying to explain why it was a matter of life or death. She was waving her straw around like a pointer stick, her grin way too easy for the kind of humiliation she was about to drag into the open.
“…So, he said that she pushed her, which, okay, yeah, but she was holding the ball—”
You were nodding along with a little smile that said you were letting Kat talk purely for entertainment, because you clearly had no idea of what the fuck she was talking about.
“...And then Ellie here—” She pointed the straw at her. Great. That meant everyone’s eyes flicked toward her for a second, including yours. “Got a yellow and lost her marbles. She cursed the ref right on his face, just like that. So we were one player down, running around looking like headless chickens—”
Everyone laughed. Ellie, though, only rolled her eyes, lips pressing flat. Now, a different type of warmth was crawling up her neck.
Her heart dropped with the reminder. It wasn’t funny. Not to her, at least. Not when she knew tomorrow the headlines would be on her again, like they had been all fucking season, circling like vultures, calling her hot-headed, reckless, a captain who cracked under pressure.
Her chest hurt. Not sharp, but that dull, hollow ache that had been sitting there all day. All year, even.
Ellie wasn’t sure how long had passed. She flund herself half-listening to you and Nina. You were angled toward her, one arm draped lazily across the backrest. Your voices bent easily toward each other. Camille was hosting you, apparently, and from the way you spoke it sounded like London wasn’t home. You were saying something about staying in London for some time, until Fashion week, and it finally clicked.
She almost laughed to herself. Of course. That explained why your face felt familiar, why there was this strange sense of recognition when Ellie looked at you, like she’d seen you before. She probably had.
She told herself not to look at you. Not to. She locked her eyes on the coffee table again, on the scratch that ran down its center, like she had to memorize it.
But the thing about telling herself not to look was that it made her want to look even worse.
Her eyes—god, her fucking eyes—then betrayed her. When she finally, stupidly, let her gaze flicker up for half a second, she nearly choked on her own spit.
You were there. Sitting so in front of her, the fabric of your top slipping and clinging all at once. Her traitorous eyes dipped lower and shit.
Your top was basically transparent. No bra. Silver glint catching the light in places her brain absolutely didn’t need to be cataloguing.
For half a heartbeat her brain emptied itself out completely.
Jesus Christ. What was she, fifteen again? Staring at tits like it was the first time she’d ever seen a pair?
Her first mistake was looking. And the second was not looking away fast enough.
It had been one second, maybe two, and yet it felt like her stare had been a spotlight in a dark room. And of course you’d noticed, how could you not?
You didn’t call her out, though. Just tilted your mouth into the smallest, almost knowing smile, like you were letting her get away with it. Then, effortlessly, you kept talking to Nina.
She straightened in her seat like she’d been caught doing something worse, like she’d been a kid caught stealing, not just a grown woman being… a fucking idiot.
Whatever. She wasn’t interested. Sure, you were drop dead gorgeous, any idiot with functioning eyes could admit that, but not her type.
Did she even have one anymore? Maybe… Maybe someone like Dina. And you definitely didn’t look like her. For starters, you were way too skinny, built like the wind could knock you sideways, and you were—
Fuck. No. She wasn’t going down that road. She wasn’t going to sit here comparing you, a total stranger who hadn’t even addressed her directly, to someone she shouldn’t be thinking about at all.
She wasn’t sure if she was trying to stop thinking about you, or Dina, or herself. All three felt tangled in the same knot she didn’t know how to untie.
She wanted to leave, badly. Wanted to get in her car, drive home, and forget she’d ever been dumb enough to agree to come here in the first place. She could be at home right now, lights off, headphones in, maybe sulking in bed. It wouldn’t be fun, but at least she wouldn’t be sitting here, hyper-aware of every shift you made.
You kept exhaling the smoke to the side so it didn’t blow in Kat’s face. You were relaxed, maybe too relaxed, one leg crossed over the other in that slow, careless way that made her jaw tense.
And still, she swore she wasn’t interested.
Yeah. She wasn't. Maybe the twin glint on your chest burned straight into her retinas, but it was difficult not to look, considering that your top might as well have been an optical illusion designed to test her willpower.
When you glanced at Ellie again, she looked back
Because what — she was supposed to not? To glance away like she’d been caught staring again? No. Screw that. No flinch, no awkward darting of her gaze. If you were going to look, she’d look right back. She wasn’t going to lose a staring contest to you just because you were absurdly hot.
The corner of your mouth twitched like you were holding back a laugh, and she couldn’t tell if it was at her or with her.
She hated that she cared which, but she refused to back down.
She held your gaze, steady and challenging, like she was daring you to blink first. The little twitch at the corner of your mouth told her you weren’t going to.
It was lazy, the way you were looking at her. Not sharp, not even questioning, just there. Like you had nothing better to do than watch her.
Were you… mocking her? Testing her? Flirting? Fuck if she knew. But the way your eyes lingered didn’t feel casual.
Ellie dropped her stare for a second, more for self-preservation than defeat. Meanwhile, you kept hitting your vape between sips of whatever the hell was in your glass.
Her skin prickled like someone had opened a window in winter. The music was pounding through the walls and floor, but all she could hear in her own head was God, you’re pathetic.
She kept her eyes on you anyway, letting her lashes lower just enough to take in the sweep of your hair over your shoulder, the way it fell down your waist. You didn't flinch. You didn’t even fidget.
And that made her want to look away even less.
She could feel her pulse on her neck. Her skin was warm everywhere. On her cheeks, the tips of her ears, even under her loose shirt.
Sophia’s voice finally cut through, breaking the loop. She and Nina were standing, Mackie already halfway to the bar with Camille and Kat.
“I guess you’re not coming. Want another?” Sophia asked, lifting her empty glass toward Ellie.
“I’m good,” Ellie muttered, leaning back into the couch like the decision was final.
Then you spoke, your voice sweet and calm, casual. “I’m good too. My feet are killing me.”
Fuck.
Ellie didn’t let it show, but she felt like someone had just tugged the rug out from under her. The others drifted toward the bar, and in seconds, the noise of the place swallowed them.
It was just you and her.
She stayed silent. It wasn’t because she had nothing to say, it was because her mouth was dry and her head was running the risk of saying something she'll regret.
It was too quiet. Or maybe it only felt that way because Ellie was too aware of you. She was trying to be relaxed, casual. But she could even feel her pulse in her palms.
You didn't even seem to notice. Or maybe you did, and that was worse.
Either way, you didn't say anything. Just took another slow drag, exhaled without looking at her this time, then glanced back, like you were checking if she was still holding your gaze.
She was.
Her pulse skyrocketed when you got up to sit beside her. The couch suddenly felt way too small, the space between you was just close enough for her to catch the faint scent of your perfume again.
Her thighs tensed without her meaning to, and she shifted, trying to look comfortable. If anyone looked over right now, they’d think the two of you were in the middle of something you couldn’t name out loud.
“Bad day?”
Ellie blinked, slow to process, “…What?”
“You’ve been brooding all night." Your tone was easy, teasing without crossing over into being mean. “Did they drag you here?”
There was a barely noticeable smirk on your lips, just enough to make it unclear if you were teasing her or being genuinely curious.
For a second, she considered lying, saying no, she wanted to be here, she was having a great time, thanks. But you were still looking at her, head tilted, and something about it felt like you’d see right through her lie anyway.
“Yeah. Something like that.” She gave the smallest shrug, “They can be very persuasive.”
A little smile curved your mouth, and Ellie hated how much she liked it.
“So… What’d you say to him?” You tilted your head, hair slipping over one shoulder, eyes sparkling bright with mischief, the corner of your mouth twitching like you were biting back a laugh.
Ellie felt heat creep up her neck again. Jesus Christ, you were gorgeous. And charming. And not helping.
Ellie swallowed. Then she said flat and clipped, "Fuck you.” She smirked just enough to play it cool, leaning back into the couch. “Not my proudest moment.”
You laughed. It was an honest, delighted sound that punched through her chest and made her shoulders tense. “Oh. So you do have a temper.”
Ellie’s lips twitched before she could stop them. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I’m not,” you shot back, clearly amused. “You’ve got a lot of tells, you know that?”
Ellie’s jaw flexed. “Yeah?” she asked, tone low and dry, the kind of delivery she hoped sounded like amusement and not the fact that her pulse had just jumped.
You hummed, your eyes flicking toward her as you tilted your head slightly. “Yeah.”
Ellie raised a brow, fighting the heat climbing her neck. “And you think you’ve got me figured out from across one night?”
“Maybe” You didn’t blink, didn’t even hesitate. Just said it like a fact, and then you smirked, turning back to your vape. “Want?”
Ellie huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. “No. Thanks. I don’t smoke.”
“Mmm. I figured.” You flicked it off, setting it and your empty drink on the low table in front of you. And then you fully turned, so that your knee brushed against the side of her thigh, your whole attention was locked on her.
To her surprise, your hand came up, light as a feather at first, nails tracing slowly over the ink at the side of her forearm.
Ellie’s body went rigid before she could stop it.
Her sleeve was rolled halfway up, her tattoo peeking out under the dim lights, leaves curling around the moth on the soft inside of her arm. You traced the fine linework of the leaves, fingertips barely there, but hot enough that her skin raised
She caught herself watching your hands, how deliberate you were, how you lingered over the ink like you had all the time in the world.
“Pretty,” you murmured, almost like you were saying it to yourself, eyes fixed on the moth. “What’s the story?”
Ellie’s mouth was dry. She forced her eyes off your hand, up to your face, but that didn’t help. Your expression was calm, curious, but there was this glint in your eyes like you knew exactly what you were doing to her.
Every scrape of your nails was a slow, steady burn that worked its way up her arm and settled in her insides. She told herself to keep it casual, to keep her voice even.
She swallowed, trying to sound unaffected. “No big story. Just… like the way it looks.”
You hummed, tracing one last slow path down her forearm before resting your chin in your hand, elbow propped on the back of the couch. “Looks good. Fits you.” Instantly, though, your other hand was on her arm again.
The air between you shifted. It was almost worse than when you’d been locked in that staring contest earlier. Back then, she could convince herself it was just a game, now it was… This, which was somehow so much worse.
Too much. And not enough.
She told herself it didn’t matter. It wasn't like she was going to hook up with you or something. She’d have a nice time, maybe laugh a little with you, and then go home to her empty place where the silence was so thick she sometimes had to put on old football commentary just to fill it.
The thought made her chest ache, so she shoved it aside fast.
She cleared her throat, her eyes finding yours. “Are you always this nosy?” It came out light, teasing, like she was throwing the ball back at you.
You didn’t miss a beat. “Only when it’s worth it.”
The way you said it made something coil tight in Ellie. She gave you a soft scoff, leaning in just slightly. “Watch it, or I might start thinking you’re into me.”
You just blinked slowly, lips quirking. “Might?”
Ellie just watched you. Then she let herself lean toward you a little more, just enough that your hair brushed her arm. “Alright,” she murmured, voice low, “you’ve got me curious now. What’s your deal?”
“What do you mean, my deal?” your grin widened, hand slid just slightly higher on her arm, nails tracing idle shapes. She could feel her skin heat under your touch, that faint electric prickle traveling up past her elbow
She held your gaze, tilting her head, to the side. “You just sit at parties picking out random people to mess up with?”
You pretended to think for a moment. “Umh.. not random,” after a second, you got closer, almost like you were about to share a secret with her. Then you whispered, “I pick the broody ones.”
That dragged a real smirk out of her. “Lucky me, then.”
Ellie saw it land. Saw your brows lift up just slightly, the way your lips pressed together in a small, amused curve, like you’d just been issued a challenge you fully intended to take.
Ellie didn’t even notice that her own hands had tightened on her thighs until the warmth of your breath hit her ear.
“Lucky me,” you countered, low enough that it felt like the words were meant for her body more than her brain, and Ellie swore you said it softer, like you were letting her have the choice in what this meant.
Your voice shouldn't have hit her the way it did. It was smooth, low, almost like a purr. She felt something in her chest shift, the familiar instinct to keep herself locked down faltering and cracking rapidly.
Then your hand moved slowly up her bicep and shoulder, until your fingers were in her hair, brushing at those fine little hairs falling out of her bun, barely grazing the skin at the nape of her neck.
Your expression didn’t help. That small smirk you’d been wearing all night was still there, but softer now. And your eyes were softer as well. She couldn’t decide if they were more dangerous when they were fixed on hers or when they dropped to her mouth.
Ellie let her eyes drop. All the way. Slow and deliberate, over the line of your throat, the bare skin showing at the neckline of your lacy top, the star-shaped metal on your chest. Then back up.
When she looked at you again, your smirk had deepened.
She wanted to say something, anything that would put the ball back in her court. But when she opened her mouth, ready to throw something back at you, your breathy laugh hit her ear again, and nothing came out.
Her pulse wasn’t just in her throat anymore, it was everywhere. In her fingertips. In the small of her back. In the slow, coiling burn that had been building all night and was now starting to feel like it might actually tip her over.
When she finally turned to look at you, you straightened in your seat, getting up and pulling away.
Ellie felt it like a cold gust after a rush of heat. Her thigh suddenly cold where it had been pressed against yours. Her skin tingled at the place where your breath had been seconds ago
“I’m getting a drink,” you said casually, glancing down at her. Ellie swallowed, her voice still. “Fancy something?”
She should have said something. Yeah, sure, whatever you want. But all she could do was nod. The movement felt heavy, ungraceful. You just tilted your head, smiling in that infuriating and easy way. You didn’t seem to mind, just turned away and walked towards the bar.
Then you were swallowed up by the crowd, and Ellie was left alone with the pounding bass and the raw, sudden emptiness in the space beside her.
That’s when it hit her. She had to actually think.
Did she even want this? Whatever this was?
Because, fuck, she’d been fine, more than fine, before you leaned in and dropped that whisper in her ear. She’d been playing the game, keeping it light. But the truth was, she hadn’t felt that pull toward someone in a long time.
And now it was there, in the pit of her stomach, and she didn’t know what to do with it.
It didn’t make her uncomfortable, the opposite. It flattered her in a way she wasn’t used to anymore. A girl like you, the kind of woman who turned heads just by walking into a room, actually wanted to aim any of that at her.
But it also felt weird. Weird because she hadn’t even untangled herself from Dina in her head.
She was still carrying around that weight, that ache. That stubborn, bruised part of her that hadn’t healed. It sat right behind her ribs and made her feel breathless every time she thought too hard about their last real conversation. Or about the one before that. Or the one before that.
Her brain was suddenly split in two.
One half wanted to keep that wall up, the one that kept her safe, the one that made sure no one got close enough.
The other half was starving. For touch, for closeness, for anything.
Sophia’s voice from earlier cut in, blunt and irritatingly logical:
“Ellie, you need live a little,” She sang from the back seat, voice far too cheerful. “C’mon, Dina moved on. You need to do the same. Just saying. Find someone to make out with or something, you’ll feel better. Trust me.”
Maybe Sophia was right.
Lately even football, probably the only thing keeping her upright and grounded most days, felt more like a burden than a salvation.
The frustration was eating at her, match after match, until even the thought of getting up for training made her want to bury herself under the covers and stay there.
For months she’d been carrying all that around, a weight she didn’t have the energy to set down.
But here you were.
Gorgeous. Close. Wanting her.
She wasn’t stupid, of course. She knew it wouldn’t fix anything. Wouldn’t bring Dina back. Wouldn’t make her love her job again.
But right now, with your fruity scent still lingering in the air, she’d take temporary over nothing.
If a few hours with you could smooth down that jagged edge inside her, why the hell shouldn’t she take it?
Ellie's eyes scanned the bar until she found you again. You were waiting for the bartender, your posture lazy but purposeful, the faintest curve to your mouth like you were still thinking about her.
Ellie decided she wasn’t going to dance around this anymore.
By the time you got close again, the rest of the group was already back.
Kat and Sophia sliding next to Ellie, and across from them, Mackie and Camille were glued together. They had gotten real comfortable.
Which meant, of course, that there was no free seat for you.
Instead of hesitating or waiting for someone to shuffle over or make room, you just sat down.
Right on Ellie's lap.
“Mind?” You asked, but the words were nothing more than a formality. You were already there, settling in before she could even think about answering.
Ellie went stiff. In a good or a bad way, she wasn't entirely sure. Probably both.
This was not her territory. Truth is, she doesn’t remember the last time she had to figure a situation like this out.
In fact, she never had to. She had met Dina when they were teenagers, and had been together ever since. So there was no need for Ellie to learn how to flirt with strangers, the blurred lines between dancing and kissing and leaving together.
She hesitated for a second before letting her hands move until they found your waist, her fingers curling just enough to feel the shape of you, but not enough to drag you closer.
Your head turned at her touch, thin brows raising just a fraction, a small glint of surprise in your eyes. Ellie caught the corner of your mouth twitching before you extended one of the drinks toward her.
“For the lady,” you said in a playful tone, your hair brushing her jaw when you tilted your head closer, and she had to fight the impulse to just breathe you in.
Ellie took it, brushing her fingers against yours on purpose, not hiding the way her gaze lingered on your face.
The two of you started talking again, but the words themselves weren’t important at all.
Every time you spoke, you moved enough for your shoulder to brush hers. Ellie barely heard you. She was listening, but she was too caught in the way you smelled, your pretty facial expressions when talking. The subtle scrunch of your nose when you laughed.
Every time she replied, her hand pressed lightly into your waist, just to remind you of where you were. Ellie was laughing low at whatever you just said when her fingertips started gripping your a bit tighter, her mind starting to run again.
She probably was being so bad at this, at hiding the fact that she was out of her depth. She knew she was.
And you knew what she was thinking. Ellie could see it in your eyes, that subtle glint of someone clocking every micro-expression, every twitch in her mouth.
There’s no way. Ellie thought, going still for a second.
There’s no way a girl like this is into me.
But that was quickly shoved aside the instant you moved again, your arm curling around the back of her neck, like it belonged there.
“You’re thinking too much again,” you murmured in her ear, and it wasn't even a question.
Then your nose skimmed the side of her neck, just a warm, barely there nuzzle that made every hair of her body stand up. She felt you breathing her in, slow and deliberate, before speaking again
You where saying something about Mackie and Camille, about how the two were practically glued together, but Ellie barely heard it despite you whispering it right in her ear.
Her heart was doing backflips. And she was so, so aware of every place you were touching her — your arm behind her neck, your lips brushing her ear, your weight draped across her like you had already decided she was yours for the night.
Ellie couldn't decide if she was about to combust from nerves, lust, or sheer disbelief. Probably all three.
Her hand tightened at your hip without her permission, grounding herself on you.
“So,” she tried, fingers flexing over your hip, eyes fixed somewhere on the rim of your glass. “How long are you staying in London?”
You looked at her like she’d asked something stupid. Or funny. A grin curved your lips as you tilted your head, biting the straw of your drink. “Really?”
Ellie frowned. “What?”
“Oh, come on,” you teased, leaning closer, voice dipped low again. “You’re acting like you weren’t listening to everything I said before.”
Ellie stiffened, heart jerking in her chest. Was she that obvious? “I… wasn’t.”
You blinked slowly. “Liar. You so were.”
She shook her head, fighting the heat of embarrassment threatening to climb her throat. “I wasn’t.”
“You were—”
Ellie’s jaw worked, like she might argue again but instead, she lifted her glass. Before you could react, the cool glass pressed suddenly against the warm strip of skin bared between your top and skirt.
You gasped sharp, the sound catching right by her ear, and your whole body jolted, stomach clenching tight. She smirked, trying to look smug even as her pulse hammered so fast it hurt.
“Told you, I wasn’t,” she muttered, though her voice was low, shaky in a way she hoped you wouldn’t notice.
“Okay, you weren’t.” You rolled your eyes, though they glimmered with mischief as you lifted your own glass. Then, slow and deliberate, you pressed it to the edge of her jaw.
She froze. The chill of the glass biting into skin that felt like it was on fire. Her breath hitched, almost betraying her, and your grin deepened.
“Just staying a few weeks until London Fashion Week. Then I'll leave for Milan, then for Paris…”
She huffed a small laugh. “Sounds exhausting.”
“It is,” you agreed. “But fun, when there’s… distractions.” Your eyes catch hers, and there’s no way in hell she can pretend she didn’t catch the implication.
Her stomach flipped violently, but she masked it by leaning down and setting the glass on the low table. The movement made you curl your arm behind her neck tighter, her own hand gripping you so you wouldn't slip.
Feigning nonchalance she didn’t feel, Ellie asked, “What kind of distractions?”, voice dipping lower, like maybe she was teasing.
You didn’t let her get away with it. “I have one right in front of me."
Her breath stuttered, almost painful in her chest, and suddenly she was convinced everyone in the room could hear her pulse hammering.
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
You—fuck—don’t mess this up, don’t be weird, play it cool. Breathe.
Her hand drifted lower without her even thinking about it, thumb slightly grazing the edge of your hipbone. You didn’t flinch. If anything, you pressed in just slightly.
Her legs shifted under you, knees spreading just enough to fit you even closer, whether it was to get comfortable or to feel more of you, she didn’t even know.
She didn't mean to lean in, but she did anyway, close enough that her breath stirred the hairs of your wispy bangs, her body language shifting without her fully realizing, until she caught the way your eyes dropped to her mouth and back to her eyes.
Ellie was not prepared for how badly she wanted to kiss you. She wanted it so badly that her own lips had started to tingle.
“You know,” she said, voice lower now, rougher, “you’re kind of distracting.”
You hummed, your heels clicking lightly together as you swung your legs in a slow, lazy rhythm. “That's the point, isn’t it?”
The way you said it, the way your mouth hovered just a little too close to hers while you did it… Ellie didn’t stand a chance. Her heart was pounding so loudly she swore you could probably feel it through her chest.
You were right there, close enough that your soft breath was against her lips, thumb tracing small circles over the steady thrum of her pulse. She couldn’t even bring herself to blink.
Before she could even think of getting closer, your lips were on hers.
For half a heartbeat, she just froze, every muscle in her body locking because holy shit, she's kissing me. And then it hit her, the warmth of your mouth, the faint berry taste of your lip gloss, the way you didn't rushed it, just pressed in like you had all the time in the world.
The party around you hummed with noise of laughter and clinking glasses, voices rising and falling, but it all turned into background static as soon as your lips were over hers. There was no Mackie, no Kat, no laughter from the other end of the couch.
Nobody was looking. Nobody cared.
It was just you, and her, and the feel of your lips moving against hers in a way that unraveled her from the inside out. You were kissing her, and she let you, giving herself over to it. Ellie didn't even try to steer it or control it, she just let you do what you wanted with her.
It was soft, unhurried, but deep, and it made every nerve in her body light up. You were pressing close and slow, with that steady push-pull that dragged her deeper without her realizing it.
The knot in her chest loosened just enough for heat to flood in its place. It made her want to pull you even closer, bury her hands in your hair and forget about everything that came before this exact moment.
Ellie wasn't thinking anymore. Not about Dina, not about the year she’d wasted licking her wounds, not about what this meant. Just you and your mouth. The quiet mmm you let out against her lips that almost made her groan.
There was a tiny flicker, a half-formed thought of you’ll regret this later, but it got buried by something hotter, heavier, that had been sitting in her chest all night, since she saw you dancing.
Her head moved without thinking, chasing the kiss and letting your tongue stroke slowly against hers. She could still feel the way her pulse hammered in her throat, and your thumb was still on it, like you were keeping count.
Ellie felt it instantly, the way your weight left her thighs for a fraction of a second before you swung a leg over and settled down completely on top of her.
She felt all of you. Your knees bracketing her hips. the low rise of your skirt sliding further up with the move, the heat radiating from you through her jeans, heavy and close. And over it all, your mouth over on hers, still kissing Ellie like there was no one else in the world.
It was insane. Absolutely insane. Because she knew exactly where she was. She knew Kat and Nina were right beside you two. She knew Mackie was within full view. She knew the air around you was charged enough that anyone paying even a scrap of attention could see what was happening.
Ellie didn't care. Every time your tongue slid against hers, it was like you were pulling yet another piece of her restraint out by the root.
She wasn't thinking anymore. Not weighing consequences, not considering the eyes in the room, not even hearing the low hum of conversation around you both. Her inner voice, the one that had been whispering don’t, stop, you can’t for the past year was silent.
She caught herself gripping you tighter, the hand on your lower back pulling you even closer, until there was no space at all between you, your stomach pressing into hers, chest brushing her collarbone.
You were completely unfazed by the audience. Effortlessly calm. Like it didn't matter that her teammates were sitting within arm’s reach, or that your friend was probably seeing every second of this.
Then you moved against her, the slow grind of your hips subtle enough to pass for shifting in her lap, but Ellie knew. She felt it. Every tiny move you made sent a ripple of sensation up her body, making the coil of heat in her gut almost unbearable.
She kissed you harder, almost out of spite. A small, desperate part of her wanted to take some control back. But you were too good at this, too steady, too sure. Every time she thought she caught up, you tilted your head, deepened the kiss, or pressed closer in a way that made her breath stutter. She had to bite back a low sound that was dangerously close to a groan.
Her hand moved without permission, tightening around your thigh. A hard, possessive squeeze that had your breath hitching.
She wanted more. She wanted all of it. All of you.
But then, somewhere at the edge of the fog, Mackie’s voice cut through. “Get a room,” she called, smirking over her drink, Camille giggling at her side.
Ellie blinked. Blinked again.
Right. Right. People. You were at a party. On a couch. In public.
You broke the kissn laughing softly against her mouth, before hiding your face in the crook of her neck. She barely heard your laugh, the sound muffled and breathy and so stupidly cute Ellie didn’t even care that she was dying of secondhand embarrassment.
“You good?” Ellie asked, voice low and a little hoarse.
You nodded against her throat, but didn’t move, lips grazing Ellie’s jaw. “Mhm. More than good.”
One hand stayed splayed on your thigh, her thumb tracing slow circles over bare skin. The other one on the small of your back, shifted even lower, her fingers spreading wide so she could feel every slight movement you made, like if she let you go for even a second, the moment might dissolve.
Ellie leaned back against the couch, pretending to track the conversation going on, but the truth was that she was barely catching words. All she was aware of was you, of your lips brushing her skin as you breathed her in.
It pulled a low laugh out of her, the sound rougher than she meant it to be.
“What,” she murmured, like she just caught you doing something ridiculous. “Do I smell good?”
Your answer comes warm in a muffed noise against her neck, "Yeah, you do."
It knocked the breath right out of her — the directness, the way you didn’t even sound embarrassed about it. She was still trying to recover from that when you pulled back to be face to face.
Her eyes flicked down first to your mouth, the lip gloss you had on all smudged and probably on her own mouth, then back up to the look you were giving her.
Jesus, that look. Slightly narrowed eyes, glinting like you were having too much fun, and that faint but constant curve of your mouth that made it seem like you could burst into a laugh at any second.
It was infuriating. It made her want to kiss you again.
Then both your hands were on her, cupping either side of her head with a gentleness that somehow made her pulse spike again. You leaned in, not for another kiss, but for something far more lethal: a series of small, damp kisses at the corner of her mouth. They were maddeningly slow, each one close enough that if she just turned her head a bit, she would have your lips on hers again.
“Have you made up your mind yet,” you murmured, voice dripping with that same playful heat you had been carrying all night, “or do I have to keep seducing you?”
It felt like a punch, the words hanging in the air between you two, heavy, teasing, and just begging for Ellie to bite. A spark went straight down her spine, so fast it was almost embarrassing. There was no good comeback, no cocky remark ready on her tongue.
Ellie laughed low, the sound almost a hum, and shook her head just enough that your hands shifted with her. “No need,” she said, voice dropping without her meaning it to, and she saw the way your grin curved wider.
Your hands were still on her face, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones in slow, steady passes that made it impossible for her to think about anything else. There was something disarming in the way you held her there, like you just decided that she was not allowed to look away.
“Usually it doesn't take me this long,” you said, so casually it was almost cruel.
Her mouth curled. “Then you must like me a lot,” she murmured, leaning just enough into your touch that it was obvious she was baiting you. “Haven’t stopped looking at me all night.”
She did not know where the hell that line came from. Maybe it was the lingering warmth from the drink you shoved into her hand earlier, maybe it was the cloud of your sweet perfume every time you got closer, maybe it was the sheer insanity of you straddling her in the middle of a room full of people.
Whatever it was, it was loosening something in her she didn’t think could be loosened.
For the first time in the whole night, you blushed. Just a faint pink barely there, but Ellie saw the way your breath hitched, felt the slight stilling of your hands against her face. It was enough to send a little jolt of satisfaction through her chest, the kind she had not felt in so long that it almost startled her.
Gotcha, she thought, but she didn't say it out loud. She didn't have to.
“Fuck off,” you mumbled, and she didn’t even get the chance to throw something back before you were leaning in again, closing the last inch between you.
The kiss was instant, your fingers still cradling her face like she was something worth holding onto.
Ellie didn’t even realize she was the one who changed the kiss to something deeper, messier, almost frantic, tilting her head to fit her mouth more firmly against yours, chasing you every time you try to draw back for air.
Her tongue slipped against yours and she felt your fingers flex against her jaw, holding her in place like you didn't want her to go anywhere.
The thought sent a sharp pulse low in her stomach.
One second she was following that soft rhythm you started, and the next it was like her mouth and hands had made the decision before her head caught up.
The one at your lower back slid up and pulled you in with a sharp little tug, pressing you against her until she felt your breasts flatten into her chest. You made a small noise into her mouth, and Ellie felt the temperature in the room spike ten degrees.
She was delirious, honestly. Her head was spinning from the alcohol, from the music, from you.
When you got away, both of you were breathing harder. Ellie tried to ground herself by keeping her hands on you.
Then you said it.
“You know, I'm staying with Cam but I think she already has plans for tonight,” you said, quiet and sweet but somehow deadly. “so I can’t really invite you over…”
Ellie swallowed hard. She felt like a deer in headlights.
“…but if you want to take me to your place, I won't mind.”
Ellie’s soul left her body a third time. For a second, she thought she heard you wrong. Then her brain caught up, and it was like every coherent thought shattered.
She blinked. Stared straight ahead. You were still straddling her. Still looking at her like that. Still close enough that she could see the slight flush on your cheeks from the kisses you shared.
Her stomach dropped, and the air suddenly felt hotter. A sharp, electric current running just under her skin.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Ellie didn't reply right away. She just sat there, still holding you, the taste of you lingering on her lips. Her heart was beating so damn loud she was sure you could feel it through her chest.
She knew she had to say something, but her mouth was dry, her tongue heavy, and all she could do was look at you, her hand gripping your thigh unconsciously.
For a second, she thought of saying no.
But her head, traitorous as hell, kept circling back to you. The way you had burned through that constant loneliness she had been carrying since Dina left.
It was not just the memory of her, it was the weight of it. The house they used to share, the life they used to have. The idea of bringing someone new into that space would be dangerous. Wrong.
But then she thought about how it felt to have you close, about how that hollow space in her chest didn't feel that unbearable.
It had been months since she let herself have anything. Months since she felt wanted like this, since she let herself be close to someone just because she wanted to, not because she was lonely and desperate — though she was that, too.
The ache twisted tighter, until she almost felt sick with it.
She should say something definitive. She could pull back.
But she was already thinking of the slow, deep drag of your mouth against hers, the way your fingers curled in her hair, the way her whole body had gone hot all at once.
The decision came all at once, the same way she made bad tackles on the pitch. Impulsive, irreversible, all in.
“I—uh—,” Ellie breathed. “Yeah. I mean—yeah. Of course. Yeah.”
Her chest was tight, and she caught your mouth again, her hands moving up your sides, holding you too firmly.
The kiss stretched, heat building, your mouths moved together like you were trying to drag the moment out forever.
Then you moved your hips. Just a small move, but it had Ellie bitting your bottom lip without thinking
Her brain turned off the second you moaned into her mouth. Half-muffled, dragged out of your throat like you couldn’t stop. A little ragged, shaky, like you didn’t expect it either.
Ellie's knuckles went white. “If you keep doing that,” she said, voice shaky, “we’re not gonna make it to my place.”
“Surely you can behave.” you whispered, lips barely an inch from Ellie’s.
“No,” Ellie breathed. “No, I really can’t.”
Your smile widened, fingers pulling her hair slightly. “You gonna kiss me again when we get there?”
Ellie let out a sharp breath, finally pulling into her street. “I’m gonna do more than that.”
You almost laughed at the urgency. “Then let 's go. Before I lose my mind.”
That was it.
Ellie blinked. Her body moved fast, adrenaline and lust hijacking her nerves. You moved off her lap, adjusting your skirt with one hand while tossing back the last of your forgotten drink with the other.
Then you leaned in, kissed your friend's cheek, whispering something Ellie didn’t hear. She was still besides Mackie, who gave Ellie the kind of knowing look that made her want to flip her off and grin at the same time.
Ellie’s knees barely cooperated. She stood fast, so fast it was almost clumsy, her hands moving before she thought, picking up your ridiculously small purse from the table without thinking.
While you were still saying something to Camille, Ellie was already slinging the bag over her shoulder, already half-turned toward the door.
She didn’t say bye to anyone, didn't even look at them when you two clasped your hands together and headed towards the door.
You glanced at her over your shoulder as you walked in front of her. There was a little smile on your lips, eyes flickering with anticipation.
hi!!! i’m back!!! 😭 it’s been way too long since i posted the teaser
tbh i almost didnt post this at all, i had soooo many problems with it. i wanted it to be perfect (spoiler: it’s NOT), so i wrote and deleted it like 4 times. initially this part was going to be from the readers pov but then i started writing ellie’s and i liked it way more?
also i still don’t really understand how tumblr works bc i joined recently 😭 so if i mess up tags/cws pls bear with me. #trust i’ll add them, it might take me a while tho bc idk what i’m doing yikes
soo here it is. i’m kinda anxious bc i’m such a perfectionist, but i hope you guys like it
reblogs, likes, and comments are all super appreciated of course 🤭
pt 2 will be here much sooner than pt 1 (i swear!!!) maybe smutty, maybe not… who knows...
btw, english is NOT my first language (that doesn't mean this will be any good) so there are probably lots of tense and grammar mistakes—sorry in advance. ill check again later and fix them!
that's all i think ...
thank you for reading 🥺💌 besitos besitos mwah mwah,
I can request a fic w/ a needy reader getting off on Ellie’s thighs/ humping Ellie. But it gets to the point where it makes both reader and Ellie cum in their panties. The setting is Ellie’s room and she’s at her PC playing a game and reader just keeps GOING.
𖹭 tags : gamer!ellie , humping , cumming together
“Ellie, I miss you,” you stood behind her chair, waiting for her to acknowledge you only she didn’t, then you spoke up again, “you’ve been glued to that thing for hours.”
“I’m sorry, baby, just this round and I’m putting this darn controller down, and we can get food together— I promise.” Ellie said, voice laced with urgency as her fingers danced over her controller, eyes hyperfocused behind her glasses.
You huffed and pulled the chair back a little. Ellie didn’t question. She knew you liked to sit on her lap here whenever you missed her too much. Ellie had the habit of playing continuously for hours whenever she got the hang of the controller and often you needed to remind her to take breaks or to stop. Every time you did her answer was always the same— “just a bit baby,” and she always meant it though.
That didn’t mean you didn’t miss your girlfriend, of course.
It wasn’t new for you to sit on her lap while she focused on her game with your face buried in either her chest or the crook of her neck. You liked feeling her warmth against your body, regardless of the fact she wasn’t really paying you much attention at the moment.
You didn’t realise what your body did at first.
“I’m here,” Ellie gave you a brief kiss to the side of your head.
“You almost missed,” you giggled, burying your face in the crook of her neck again, absentmindedly moaning into her skin, “you’re so warm, mmm… when’s the last time you had water?”
“Maybe an hour ago,” Ellie replied, not looking at you.
“You’ll get water after this round?”
“Yes, baby, I will,” she gave you another kiss.
You didn’t realise when you’d started to roll your hips back and forth, your crotch was praised snuggly against her thigh and your face was against her sensitive neck which made her mouth open, no words or sound coming out yet. Your clit rubbed the seam of your pants, you clutched her a little tighter.
Ellie glanced, “baby, you okay?”
You nodded, “mmhmm… focus on your game,” you answered, cheeks red, ears redder.
After you were sure Ellie wasn’t focused on you, you started again. Slow rubs of your cunt against her, clit throbbing and soaking up your panties as you tried to be subtle about it but it wasn’t the easiest when you were trying to get off at the same time. You couldn’t help the small whimper that you let out and Ellie glanced down.
“Shit, baby, you’re really— alright… let’s do this,” she wrapped her arm around your waist, trying to focus on her game while you were rubbing yourself on her.
You moaned, throaty, “Ellie, Ellie— I love you, baby, I love you…”
Ellie couldn’t help it, she let out an animation play while she stole a quick kiss from you. You gasped, grabbing the front of her hoodie with both hands as you kissed her back. Your lips moved against her slowly, pussy grinding hard on her thigh making Ellie moan into the kiss.
Your thighs clenched up, “Ellie— mmmfgh!” She pulled you in for another kiss, you couldn’t even tell her that you were about to cum— and—
When you orgasmed, Ellie’s body went rigid too.
She thumbed a button on the controller, and the winning bgm filled the air. She grinned in the kiss as if she’d act all smug about her victory in the game, but the wetness of her boxers was a clear giveaway.
“You just came too, didn’t you?” You giggled, relaxing in her arms.
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