✮ bsf dad!toji fucks you in your mini skirt while his son is away.
it didn't start out on purpose.
your mom told you that some new neighbors — a father and a son — moved in next door and said you had to go make friends. you didn't feel like talking to anyone, but you did what you were told — you grabbed an apple pie and headed over. but some lad your age didn't open the door, an older man did.
a hot older man with biceps bigger than your head.
"were you lookin' for someone, sweetie?" he asked while you just stared at him without blinking.
from that day on, your skirts got shorter, your tops got way more revealing, and somehow his son became your best friend — just so you could drop by their house whenever you wanted. and you did. you leaned over the table way too far, accidentally spilled milk on your chest, and licked your yogurt spoon like you were auditioning for a porn.
of course he noticed.
so he hit you up through his son's computer, inviting you over because you needed to work on a biology project.
you didn't even have biology. you should've known — and you did. but who were you to say no to a little extra credit?
you showed up in that same trashy top that showed off your nipples and a pink mini-skirt that barely hid your ass.
you were totally ready for an anatomy biology lesson.
next thing you knew, your face was buried in his sheets and your ass was hiked up high. "teased me all fuckin' month, didn't you?" his voice vibrated right over you, followed by a loud, wet smack on your cheek.
he didn't even take your skirt off. you whimpered and tried to cover up, but he swatted you again and spread you open with his fingers. "don't you fuckin' dare hide from me," he growled. "you begged for this when you walked around in those tiny-ass skirts."
you pushed back against his hands — you were already soaking your inner thighs, and the cold air hit your wet skin, making you gasp. "h-hngh! t-toji!"
he let out a short, raspy laugh and slapped your red ass again. "look at you," he said. "leakin' like a little slut for your friend's dad." then he gave your clit a sharp smack — your body arched, your ass jerked up, and you let out a loud moan. "yeah, scream so your parents hear how much of a needy slut they raised."
he shoved three fingers inside you all at once, no prep — cuz you flirted way too much with the neighbor kid yesterday and it pissed him off. "it’s — it’s too much!" you whined. "mmngh!... i can’t..... i can’t!" but he didn't care. he moved his fingers fast and hard, stretching you out like no toy ever did. "is this what you pictured when you touched yourself?" he whispered with a smirk. "me rippin' your little pussy apart with my fingers?"
you gasped for air and nodded aggressively making him laugh, then suddenly rip his fingers out, making you sob from the emptiness. "toji... i want..." but you just got another smack, and then he pulled down his sweatpants and settled behind you.
he rubbed his hard cock against your folds, slowly, with pressure, grinding against your clit in circles. "i'm gonna fuck this attitude right out of you," he spat. "is this what you want?"
you didn't have time to answer — he slammed into you all at once, no prep, no condom. "ha-ah! wait... toji, you’re without a... mmh!" you breathed out, and he leaned on his elbows, pressing his mouth to your ear. "if you’re gonna act like a slut, i’m gonna fuck you like one."
the sound of his balls slapping your clit echoed through the whole living room, your pussy squelched loud and filthy - wet, and the couch under you was soaked through — it would need a professional cleaning. "want me to put a baby in you?" he whispered, slamming even deeper. "so young, and you’re gonna be full of my seed. you wanna give my son a little brother?"
he ripped you apart from the inside, his bicep crushing your neck while your hair stuck to your sweaty temples. any other day you would've actually processed what he was saying — but right now, with his huge cock that deep? you were just a wreck whining under him. "y-yes!" it ripped out of you like it wasn't even your own voice. "i want it so bad, toji… please… m-mnh… i want your baby… ha-ah!"
he picked up the pace and swatted your ass. "gonna make you a young mom, huh? is that what your sweet little pussy wants? for me to blow a load deep inside?" you tried to talk back, but he shoved two fingers in your mouth — and right then, the orgasm hit like a freight train. you came hard, clinching down on his cock and sobbin' around his fingers. he yanked them out of your mouth and sucked 'em dry himself. "that's it, baby. cum all over my cock while i put a baby in you."
he hammered you into the mattress — shifting between wide circles and pulling almost all the way out just to slam back in with one heavy thrust. you bucked your hips to meet him every time 'cause even after coming, you were still starving for it.
at the last second, he pulled out — just in time, 'cause you were still way too young and he didn't give a single fuck about dealing with your parents having a goddamn meltdown.
more?
! took the art from pinterest, couldn't find the artist — lmk if you know. sparkle cr: @kthice
soft dom!ellie, sub!reader, 18+, nsfw, lesbian sex (very passionate), scissoring/tribbing, short fic/les smut, i wrote this because it was requested once and i really really love lesbian sex
"fuuuuck. baby. right there," ellie growls as you grind your bare cunt against hers. a film of sweat covers her freckled skin, her hips twitch under your hand.
"please," you whimper, cheeks flushed with arousal. ellie plays with your nipples, her hand leaves your breasts to slide between your legs. she smirks, breathless. "please what princess?" ellie tucks your hair behind your ear. "please. please baby. i need you." you exhale, shaky, so fucking horny. so fucking wet. "you literally have me angel, don't you?" she rasps, her voice thick with unbearable desire. you could feel every. fucking. twitch of her soaked cunt. your clits met just right. your hips jerk towards her. "i n-need more," you stutter. a moan escapes, your head tilts back. ellie starts to rub directly on your overstimulated bundle of nerves. "god you're so fucking hot right now. i wish you could see yourself right now. your pussy. you're so sexy. you have no idea." ellie mutters against your neck.
her fingers and hips move faster. your sweet sounds fill the room. she rambles words in your ear. her fingers grip your thigh to hold it in place. you can't stop your hands from sliding up to her shoulders, you dig your nails into her. "baby. oh my god. i am so close. please. please don't stop. faster," you beg her, your voice cracks, mind fuzzy with the overwhelming sensation. a gasp tears out of you. she humps your wet pussy. her hips and movements are fast and almost rough. "cum for me angel. fuck. cum. now." you whine out as you orgasm. wrecked sobs fall from your lips. ellie sucks your skin, her fingers wander over your hips and thighs. your swollen clit is sensitive after your orgasm but ellie moves faster. her body contracts, her hips twitch again. "fuck. i'm cumming." she growls. her eyes fall shut as she rides out her orgasm. you're both breathing heavily. you look between your legs where the proof of your release is on the sheet beneath you and on your pussies. thick, sticky cum. ellie leans forward to kiss you. she dips a finger in your cum and licks it off. your head drops to lean on her shoulder while you press soft kisses on her skin. "we're not done yet baby. i still want you to sit on my face and ride it until you cum all over it." she whispers in your ear. "and then we eat the rest of your birthday cake. it tastes almost as sweet as you do."
“god, you’re such a slut- bet you love sneaking around like this, don’t you?” she grunts beside your ear, her free hand coming up to tug on your hair, forcing you to look in the mirror above the sink. her other hand is between your thighs, fingers rapidly moving in and out of your cunt, curling them in a way that makes your head spin.
a moan nearly spills from your lips, and ellie notices, her hand moving from your hair to your mouth, palm pressed against your lips to prevent you from making any noise. this makes your eyes flutter shut with pleasure, hips rocking against her.
ellie bites her cheek and shakes her head in disbelief at how pathetic you look, but speeds up her movements, unable to take her eyes off of your reflection in the mirror. that is until a knock on the door interrupts you and both of you completely freeze. immediately your eyes snap open with panic, your whole body rigid and still, hands grasping onto the countertop, fingers glued to the marble.
your dad calls your name, asking if you want any veggies with your dinner. ellie holds back a chuckle while moving her hand away from your mouth, instead resting her calloused fingertips against your neck. she raises an eyebrow at you as if waiting for you to respond to him.
“y-yeah-! su-“ you yell back, biting your lip to stifle a moan as ellie dangerously resumes her motions, pushing two fingers back inside your soaked pussy, “sure! i-i’ll be 2 secs!”
ellie’s fingers are relentless and your knees nearly give out, arousal and adrenaline burning hot through your veins, making your stomach tighten uncontrollably. you hear your dad respond with a slightly confused ‘okay’ and listen for footsteps thudding until they’re inaudible.
ellie grips your neck a little tighter, and her name falls from your lips in a needy, hushed whimper, your eyelashes fluttering. she mutters something, but you don’t hear, brain foggy and practically turning to mush from her torturous movements.
“yeah.. that’s it- fuck..” she groans, feeling you clench around her tightly. her moans tip you over the edge and time slows for a second as your muscles tense, back arching against her. ellie watches with a satisfied grin, her fingers slowing down slightly as you ride out your high.
once you catch your breath, ellie removes her digits with a wet squelch and lifts them to her mouth, cleaning them off. her eyes stay locked onto yours the whole time, taking in your rosy, warm cheeks and pouty lips. after a second or two, she takes her fingers out, now glistening with her saliva.
“dinner’s ready,” she teases, a cocky smirk tugging at her lips as she dusts both her hands off on her jeans, before unlocking the door and walking off.
hurriedly, you tug your panties back up along with your skirt and fix your messy hair in the mirror, unable to meet your own gaze in the reflection.
when you head out the bathroom and into the kitchen, you’re greeted with the sight of ellie and your dad dishing up dinner. she glances back at you, that same cocky smirk still playing on her lips.
“please, pleasepleasepleaseplease-“ ellie whined desperately against the soft skin of your thigh, each plea that left her lips spoken like her own personal prayer.
her lips kissed along the already spit coated skin, shiny and swollen, as she gazed up at you pleadingly, rendering you nearly unable to think.
“ellie, we can’t.” you said shakily, voice so uncertain it was basically asking to be proven wrong. “we have work tomorrow and you’ve literally already made me come, like, thrice-“
“just one more, please? babe, please, i promiseeee.”
“ellie-“
“please, please. i promise i’ll make you feel so good.”
the view of ellie was so perfect you wished you could take a picture, engrave it in your eyelids, save it somehow and tuck it away in some corner of your brain to keep forever.
there she was; brows knit and swollen lipped, eyes gazing up at you with inexplicable need as she clung to your thigh like it was her only lifeline.
you’d have to be some sort of monster to say no.
a small whisper of “just one more.” falling from your lips was all the invitation she needed before she was back on you, lapping you up like a woman starved.
you threw your head back at the sudden contact, letting her groan into your cunt, “mmh-ffuckkk,”
your hands found purchase in her hair as your fingers wove themselves through those short, auburn locks, already thoroughly mused from your prior ministrations.
“god—fuck, ellie.” is all you can get out before your brain shuts down. suddenly all you can focus on, all that matters, is the feeling of ellie’s tongue fucking you stupid.
“goddamn,” she cursed into you, voice muffled by your cunt, never once pulling away to speak, to breathe. “why d’you always taste so fucking good?”
she emphasized the last two words with two deep thrusts into you, somehow leaving you even more wrecked than you were just a moment ago.
sure, the view from up there was great, no doubt about it. but the view from down here ellie was? fucking unrivaled.
this was one of the best parts of eating you out—in her humble opinion; watching the way you tossed your head back, your hand on her head grasping desperately at something—anything—to cling onto while you lost yourself entirely.
and your face? god, your face. so obviously lost in pleasure, in her.
fuck if she didn’t feel the exact same way.
this? right here? this was exactly where she wanted to be.
the coil in your stomach was beyond beginning to tighten when you felt ellie’s grip on your thigh do the same. her pace was relentless as you babbled out a warning. “el-els-?”
“mmh, i know, baby, i know.” she hummed into you, little vibrations only serving to push you further to the edge. “hey, hey, look at me? yeah, mhm.”
you looked like you were barely there as you peered down at her, eyes glassy from the constant waves of pleasure ramming into you.
she held your gaze as she mumbled into your cunt.
“be a good girl and come for me, yeah?”
a pathetic little nod is all you can manage before you lose yourself completely.
your eyes rolled back, back arching as you moaned into the air, uncontrolled and unrestricted, vision going white as you reached your peak.
ellie just groaned into your pussy, arms working overtime to hold your legs open, as she fucked you through your high.
whispering sweet little “mm, that’s it, baby”s and muddled strings of “thankyouthankyouthankyou-“s you’re just too fucked out to hear.
she continues despite, and only stops when you mange to peel her off, letting one shaky hand comb through her tousled hair, gently coaxing her out of her daze.
you’re left panting and breathless as you lean back on your sheets, sweet and sensitive from your now waning orgasm, as ellie watched from below.
she rests her head against your thigh once more, eyes never once leaving you, as she watched the steady rise and fall of your chest, patiently waiting for your breathing to even out.
you’re already shifting off the blankets to tuck yourself underneath when you realize her grip on your leg hasn’t loosened.
not even a little bit.
“ellie, let go.” you whine out the order.
to your horror, and unbelievable delight, she bit her lip and looked right up at you, hunger in her eyes restored as the familiar poles left her lips. “just one more?”
. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ . ݁ 18+ | satoru using his infinity to pin you to the bed while he breeds you
“hah fuck… stop tryin’ to run, sweetheart,” his voice is a rasp, eyes blown wide, grin feral and crazed. his blindfold hangs around his neck, hair mussed.
you don’t know what got into your husband, but it was barely a few seconds before he had teleported the two of you to bed once he got home. a mess of clothes being torn off and your legs being spread apart, his lips on yours, messy and hot. depraved.
and now, he’s inching his aching cock into you from behind, stretching you out so deliciously with each second that goes by, shovelling his tip through your insides and kissing your deepest spots so sloppily.
you gush around him, whining his name, fingers grabbing at the sheets desperately as your walls spasm around him. he delivers, deep, harsh thrusts. so full of determination. charged with something completely different to all the other times he’s fucked you. his groans are rough, breathy and ragged, chest heaving with effort as he drives into you.
“‘t-toru… oh god,” you moan, muffling your cries into the bed as he doesn’t relent, hips snapping into your ass. “slow down-- mmph fuck…”
your body subconsciously tries to crawl up the ridiculously expensive and large bed, trying to get away from the overwhelming pleasure. a mix of pain and bliss from his merciless thrusts that make your eyes roll back.
then, suddenly you feel yourself getting pushed into the mattress by a force. not your husband’s sweaty body. his hands are grasping at your waist but they aren’t holding you down. no, it’s something else entirely.
his body follows yours, chest flush against your back and he’s moaning in your ear. his thrusts are simultaneously sloppy and calculated. bludgeoning each and every sensitive spot but he moves his hips like an animal in heat, rutting into you.
“s-satoru… what--” you cut yourself off with a soft gasp, when you turn your head to look behind you, energy buzzing around him, his eyes glowing.
“i said stop running, wifey,” he pants against your neck. “just take it, take it, fucking take it.”
he flips you over onto your back, immediately pushing your legs up into your chest, folding you as he pleases, treating you like you weigh nothing. you’re still pinned to the bed with the help of his cursed energy, unable to do anything but squirm and cry out his name until he reduces you to a mess of slick and tears.
you claw at his back, eliciting a soft grunt from him, as he drives deeper and deeper. the sharpness of his pelvis rubs against your twitching nub just right each time his hips meet yours, and you coat his cock in fresh slick, drooling all over him and the sheets.
“so fucking wet f’me. bet this sweet little pussy wants to be bred, huh?” he mutters, trailing hot kisses down your neck and to your chest, teeth grazing your skin. “wanna give me an heir, wife?”
you choke out a moan, back arching, when the curve of his cock caresses that spongey spot. and again, again, again. you half believe that he’s using six eyes to keep drilling into it, but you’re barely coherent at this point.
you nod dumbly in response to his question. “wanna-- fuck, ‘toru… wanna give you an heir. w-want you to fill me up,” you babble through whines and pitched mewls.
and his grin somehow widens. the way he pushes his hips into yours becomes more desperate, eager. your words egging him on. “yeaaahhh, that’s it. my sweet girl. gonna take it alll for me, aren’t you?”
“please, ‘toru, want it so so bad.” you clench around him at the thought and he groans, cock pulsing within the confines of your plush walls.
“you want it so bad, huh? awh, don’t worry, ‘toru’s got you. just lay pretty for me, ‘kay?”
a/n: i literally wrote this so fast thanks to this idea 🫶🏽 (not proofread hazel is sleepy goodnight)
an: loooving the goofy banner personally. this was all inspired by rhea ripley and nina drama and i was giiiiggling writing this 🤭
JACKSON SAVAGE VS THE WOLF. The biggest WWE fight of the year, just a couple of days away.
Their long-standing rivalry (all for show, of course) was a keynote in WWE’s cast and dynamics, and hyped beyond belief as two fan favorites.
All this to say, you found yourself in an empty ring with a tiny mic to interview Jackson Savage herself. Ellie Williams.
This was your first interview outside your cute little set your fans came to know and love. You still felt like a newbie, despite your well-earned spot among the holy grail of celebrity interviewers alongside Emma Chamberlain, Amelia Dimoldenberg, Brittany Broski, and that bald guy from Hot Ones.
Ellie lounged against the ropes inside the ring, all broad shoulders and muscles in a WWE hoodie with the sleeves cut off. Her cheeks were flushed and her bangs stuck to her forehead, fresh from training. You’ve interviewed Charlize Theron, Billie Eillish, and practically every other queer girl’s wet dream without so much as a stutter despite your brain overheating. This though? This’ll be hard. The cameraman counted down to rolling, but Ellie didn’t spare it a glance. She stared you down.
“Three, two…” The cameraman silently pointed at you to signal rolling. At that moment Ellie licked her lips, not taking her eyes off you, and you giggled. Mortifyingly. With the camera already rolling. Knowing your editors, it’s making the final cut.
You cleared your throat, facing the camera. “Hi y’all!” Finally, Ellie gave you a break– a single, sorry second acknowledgement of the camera. Then she was back on you like magnets. “You are lookin’ at the number one fighter in North America, and Ellie Williams ay-kay-ay Jackson Savage is here too.”
Ellie smiled, canine teeth revealing themselves slowly. “I didn’t know you were funny.”
You cleared your mind to lock in but Ellie’s voice was so fucking attractive. Raspy, almost boyish. This show was too important to you to deliver an unfunny episode because your interviewee was too fine. You blinked at her. “Are you Amish?”
She paused to think. “It calls me sometimes.”
“You’re called to the Amish life?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Did you know the Amish find buttons too sexy, so they keep their clothes in place with safety pins?”
Ellie tilted her head, considering, then she so obviously checked out your tits it might as well have made a noise. It wasn’t the first time someone checked you out on the show, but they did it comedically, before and after giggling for the joke’s sake. You knew your blush was reading too well on camera, especially with your director laughing behind her hands. “Why are buttons too sexy?” She asked with a mockingly professional tone.
And she wouldn’t stop looking at your tits. Holy shit, you had to keep it together. “To the Amish?” Ellie nodded affirmingly, and seemingly gathered enough damn data to look you in the eye again. “Buttons are too easy to remove, so it’s more like, the potentiality of easily achieved nakedness is too much to bear.”
“Mmm. I see.” She smirked. A beat passed. “You got a lot of buttons on that little top.” You choked on your spit mid-swallow.
“Most tops do.”
Ellie shrugged. “I like your buttons better.”
“Uh– mhm!” You tried, but it sounded more like a squeak. She simpered wolfishly -- ironically. You gave the camera a helpless look, then narrowed your eyes at Ellie. Challenging. Time to switch gears. “Answer my questions and we can go on and on about my buttons, yeah?”
Ellie’s eyes widened a morsel. Her posture straightened as she left her rest against the ropes to step just a little closer. “Yeah.”
You broke into a smile. This is definitely unlike anything you’ve done in the show, but the viewers are definitely gonna love it.
“You were once a baby. Your first word was 'there.”
Ellie, brow furrowed in amusement at the deep cut. “This is correct.”
“What was over there?” You questioned, entirely genuine.
She twisted her lips, like she was trying not to laugh. “Oh wow. Probably, uh, north.”
You nodded in full seriousness, the corner of your mouth threatened to tug. “I really love south, actually. I love south and left.”
“Left is so underrated.” Ellie confirmed, smiling wholly now.
Next question. “We all love your Jackson Savage persona–”
“You love it?” Ellie interrupted, voice buttery smooth all of a sudden. “What do you love about it?”
You blinked, then nodded. “Very capable. Formidable.”
“Big word, baby.”
You swallowed, taking it as purpose to go without flinching. “I passed the SAT’s.”
Ellie ignored that, leaning her side against the ropes, bringing her closer to you. “Does it mean you think I’m scary?”
Nope. Nope! No ma’am, get it together. You straightened yourself out, like you were in a Navy Seal lineup. “No one scares me.”
“I think I could scare you.” She murmured casually. Like she just told her her favorite color.
Ignoring her entirely– "Wrestling's been famously compared to drag, the way the persona is truly her own entity separate from who the performer is, separate from who Ellie is.” Ellie nodded along. “How well would Jackson Savage do on Drag Race?”
Ellie snickered. “Hah, I like that. I don’t think she’d win, I think she’d be her season’s lipsync assassin. Maybe get far along her Allstar’s season. She would absolutely kill at reading challenges.”
“Does Jackson Savage know how to read?”
That made Ellie laugh. A real girly laugh. You beamed, proud. “You know what? I think she’s just memorized a lot of words.”
You both giggled. Your director made a wrap up gesture to signal moving on to the next question. “Before your WWE debut you were a children’s riding instructor for three years–” You trailed off, because Ellie started running her knuckle up and down your sleeved arm, the pastel cardigan you had on. You got very warm. Very fast.
“I like this, baby.” She was still petting you like she had a right to, tugging at the cardigan a little. Your mind wiped blank. “Soft.” You slowly turned to the camera– no, you looked to Freddie the cameraman for help because you felt under attack here! “So, what about horseback riding?” She asked, testing you with a gleaming, evil look.
You huffed. Bottom lip finding itself between your teeth. “You were a riding instructor for three years.” Ellie finally released you from her touch, humming. You needed to get her back. “How much would I have to pay for a riding lesson?”
Ellie choked, mid-inhale. A beat. Then she smiled. She smiled like she didn’t have you unprofessionally pressing your legs together. “Two billion dollars.”
Your jaw dropped. “Two billion dollars?”
“One-point-five.”
“What if I saved a horse?”
Ellie blinked. You softly sang the chorus to that one Big & Rich song, hardly enunciating the words.
“Lalala… ride a cowboy.” Finally, it seemed like you stumped her. “How much then?”
“One drink.” She said, face suspiciously blank.
“One drink?” You murmured in that voice you know girls love, taking the time to check her out yourself.
Ellie, bluntly. “I’ll pay.”
You giggled. Ellie rubbed her mouth, maybe hiding a smile. “So, what calls to you about the Amish, Ellie?”
“I like it when you say my name.”
You rolled your eyes. “The Amish don’t accept flirts.”
“I’m not a flirt.” Ellie said, shrugging.
You gawked. “You have been sexually scrutinizing me–” Ellie chortled. “This whole time!”
Ellie shrugged as her laughter slowed. “I have not been doing… whatever-that-was to you.”
“Gaslighting.” You quipped.
“...Nuh uh. You’re just pretty. Maybe I’m in the mood. You don’t like it?” You sighed, avoiding her and the camera’s eyes– because you couldn't say no. As you looked away, you missed how Ellie shamelessly checked you out from head to toe, something the viewers, and maybe even the editor (you wouldn’t put it past Spencer to zoom in), will take no time in pointing out. “Hate it?” You wordlessly shrugged. She dipped into your space a little closer, not unlike the way she taunts her opposers during a fight. “Need it?”
That got you glaring. “Your right to the conversation about my buttons has been revoked.” She pouted. “Now I’m gonna ask you a boring question.”
“Fine.”
“What’s your favorite way to take someone down in the ring? Not like, most technically polished or the most advanced move you know. What do you have the most fun doing to take a match?”
She clicked her teeth, rhythmically tapping the rope beside her in thought. “How ‘bout I show you?”
Cut to you and Ellie at the center of the ring, facing one another, approved with a nervous thumbs up from your director and a quick call with your producer.
“Square your stance for me.” Ellie brought her hands to your shoulders, thumbing the blades to straighten your posture.
You sucked in a breath. “Are these my last moments of having a straight spine?” Ellie faux-gasped.
“How dare you underestimate me.”
“Considering you’re a fighter, I’d say being certain of your ability to destroy me is a massive compliment.”
Ellie tsked. “Alright. But just know there’s only one way I’d destroy you, babe.” And she punctuated with a wink and an obnoxious click of her teeth. But she fumbled her delivery, sounding a little too grave, a little too much like Robert Pattinson in the last Twilight.
Ironically the least sensual and flirtatious Ellie’s been the entire interview.
A moment passed with you exchanging stares. In perfect sync, you extended your looks of regret to the camera. Laughter burst. The kind that leaves your forehead red and your abs hurting.
“Holy shit,” Ellie groaned, finally flustered with pinkened cheeks. “Joel, if you see this, I’m so sorry.”
You, sniffling your giggles away. “Guess you aren’t a flirt.”
“I told you.”
“You were good at it for a second.” You admitted.
Ellie’s eyebrows quirked. “Really?”
A lighthearted scoff left your lips. “Like you didn’t know! You and your… ‘baby’-ing!” You blundered.
Ellie gave the camera another look. Mostly reminding herself it’s still there. “If I don’t break your spine… Can I get you that drink after this?”
Your chest fluttered. “I accept.” She grinned, freckles rearranging with the squint of her smiling eyes. “But if you do, I will boo at your match tomorrow. And wear The Wolf’s merch.” You were haughty about it, teasing her.
Ellie’s smile twirled dangerously. “Cheat on me with Anderson?”
You sighed playfully. “It took you thirty minutes to commit, so…”
“Tuck your chin down to your neck.” She suddenly ordered.
You quickly complied, confused. “Wha–”
You were taken in Ellie’s arms, hoisted up and spun, before you felt the pull of the floor. Ellie’s forearm, resting against your head on the platform floor, took the fall. Leaving you completely unharmed. Suddenly, both your hands were pulled into one of hers, held together and pinned above your head, as her free hand maneuvered your hip so that both legs would be resting over on the left side, one on top of the other, and that hand took your ankles captive too. Her groin rested respectfully on the flesh of your hip. But there nonetheless.
The number of thoughts running through your head was slim to none. One of those few, though, was loud and clear – this can’t not be a sex position.
You, breathless. And, like, definitely horny. “Th-this is your favorite takedown move?”
Ellie, equally breathless, but not from exertion of effort. “Nope. Just thought of it now actually.” Her eyes, normally light green, were darkened, black saucers taking up all the color. She huffed, chuckling, a small smile tugging at her lips before she slammed her hand down on the platform “That’s pin, you lose.”
You were pulled up, standing with her now in a quick flash that had your low iron spinning. Ellie smiled at the camera, expecting the outro and reminding you that you were employed.
You cleared your throat. Trying to look less petrified and gay-panicked. “Catch the Jackson Savage versus The Wolf fight this Friday, Eight PM Eastern Time! If my word’s got worth, I’d tell The Wolf that Ellie’s a menace who’s set out to demolish innocent, well-meaning, women. Such as myself. So watch out.” You attempted a laugh, hoping to sound more put together. “I hope you had a good time, Ms. Savage. Is there something you wanna tell people?”
“I had a super time, Ms. Pretty, and something I wanna tell the people is-- I got a smoking hot date and you don’t. So, suck it.”
You grinned. “Suck it.”
Before the camera could cut, Ellie took you by the hand to get you both out of the ring and into the nearest bar.
❥ Butchfemme!Abby stands behind you while line dancing. Holding your hips against hers, she likes when you wear those jean shorts because of the friction:). Soon when your tipsy, she take you to the family bathroom right then and there. (dw she rubbed your feet when you got back home<3)
❥ Butchfemme!Abby find you doing your makeup, before you know it your legs are propped up on your vanity and shes finger fucking you like crazy. She makes you look in the mirror, Whispering praises in your ear.
"Your doing so good."
"Look at you...so pretty for me."
"Fuck, you drive me crazy." She leaves kisses after,,,,(¯ ³¯)♡
❥ Butchfemme!Abby eats you out you out til’ your body goes limp. She praises you and your body, looking up at you when the most sluttiest noises come out of your mouth.
“Such a good girl, aren’t you? Your doing so well. “ while your whining her name and pushing her head away
❥ Butchfemme!Abby shows you off, she lets everyone know you're hers. Gropes your ass at the back of the club when you're standing next to her, slightly rising the dress for her and the old man across to stare at. She often gets in trouble for PDA but they’re old grandmas, she doesn’t care.
❥ Butchfemme!Abby cant help herself when you watch a film with anything sexual in it. Everything riles her up, Even the shortest kissing scene. but the movie y'all were watching when you had to babysit your niece had the nastiest, longest sex scene. Good thing your niece was sound asleep in her room, Abbys hand started around your shoulders...so innocently. Next thing you know shes kneading your full tits and teasing your clit through your thin, cute, hello kitty pajama shorts.
author’s note: english is not my first language. soooo i saw this video and i couldn’t help myself! maybe i’ll turn this into a smau idk.
warnings: reader is shy! loser!ellie coded. ellie just start to kiss r! during live and they’re the cutest ughhh. reader is called wife, sweetheart, babe and babygirl.
you and ellie had been dating for over two years but only recently she started to post and talking about you. it was your choice. you were very afraid that people would judge you. so when you told ellie she was good to post you, the girl was delirious.
every chance she got, she did it. her instagram feed was practically only pics of you and you two together. and she started to talk a lot about you on her streams, like A LOT.
she was playing the sims because EA sent to her a invite to promote the last expansion pack. she usually would play more dynamic games. she was making herself and she started to playing:
“guys this is not right…my wife is not here with me.”
“this count as cheating? like if i’m going to a club without tell her?”
“fuck i’m going to call her.”
and her fans met you through the speaker:
“hi baby.”
“hi sweetheart, so if i would go to a club alone, without telling you, you would be mad?”
“all alone?”
“yep.”
“i would be worried babe. why are you alone in the club?”
and she started laughing so hard that you couldn’t help yourself too. the chat just kept laughing more adding the funniest comments. this little moment went viral. her fans found your socials, the next day you had 5k new followers.
after this, ellie talked more and more about you and sometimes you would even appear on her lives, only to say hi to the chat really fast and maybe answer some questions. but they always wanted more. they wanted to get to know you! you seem to be a cool girl, your instagram showing how pretty you were and how you have a great life, they wanted to know how ellie pulled a baddie.
a little after insistence, you complied to participate. you both would answer some questions, react to some tiktoks memes about your relationship, nothing very complicated.
someone asked about your makeup and you were answering, “…you know the mac’s pallete? the new one, yeah! i know it’s pretty expensive but looks so good!” you got closer to the camera to show your eyeshadow. and while this, ellie was enamored with you, looking at you with two bigs red hearts on her eyes. “y’all can see? it’s so so so pretty!” you readjusted yourself on your seat and answered more about your makeup, but mid sentence ellie grabbed your face and started kissing you.
you were smiling so hard while ellie attacked your face with kisses. your blood rushing to your cheeks when you remembered you were on live. with thousands of people watching you. you tried to escape but ellie just hardening her grip.
“i love you so much babygirl. so so so much. you look fucking adorable talking. you look adorable doing anything, fuuuck, i need to marry you.” she said very softly, only for you to hear, but the good mic picked all.
this little moment of you blew up. like, she posted the clip on her tiktok and it got 16 million views. and apparently, everyone liked you.
ellie's breathing hard, chest heaving, the base of her knuckles coated in a thick, milky ring while the length of her fingers shine with her own release. she's still shaking when it hits her — the obsession with putting a baby in you.
you're still twitching, body limp and splayed open for her, soft whines leaving your lips as your cunt clenches around nothing, purely soaked and needy.
"shh, baby," your girlfriend murmurs, catching your wrist and gently pulling your hand away from your pussy. you whine, broken and empty, hips rutting like you're chasing the edge she's already helped you fall over. "i know, i know," she coos, and then her milky, slick fingers are pushing into you — deep, slow, deliberate — pressing her cum into your velvet walls.
"gonna get you pregnant. fuck, you want that?" she whispers, lips brushing kisses along the shell of your ear while you mindlessly hump your puffy clit against the warm cradle of her palm. she pushes deeper, fingers curling just slightly, pulling a tender whimper from your raw throat.
"s'okay, baby," she mutters, settling her fingers snug inside your pulsing walls. your mind is foggy, everything is sticky and hot. "just gotta make sure it takes, yeah?" she's flushed and glazed over, staring down at you like she's never seen anything so perfect.
"okay," you answer, only caring about how good it feels to be right there under her. ellie leans in to press a damp kiss to your forehead, voice full of admiration. "i've got you, baby."
𐙚⋆.˚ there’s been some confusion for, you see, my roommate is…
Contains: hyperfem!reader, obliviously spoiled!reader, grumpy!ellie, fem!pov, college au.
🫧 as soon as Ellie saw you enter her astronomy class, she decided she loathed you. for what reason? you’re everything she hates. what makes it worse? you’re her new roommate.
Ellie didnt think twice when hearing that a new student would arrive. Honestly, she doesn’t bother herself with being social enough to care. She’s at school to learn, and thats it.
Well, thats until she saw you walk in. All frilly and pink and proud… and everything she hates. She doesn’t know why, but girls like you make her face flush and pulse rush. It annoys the living shit out of her, makes her know she hates girls like you. Your loud heels piss her off, drawing her attention to you no matter how hard she tries to deny it. Your perfectly styled hair makes her wonder how long you spent on it. Out of spite. Obviously.
You stand out obscenely against the crowd of the class, the few lazily dressed geeks and nerds, including herself. A casual hoodie and jeans thrown on last minute this morning.
She’s not sure you’re in the right place to begin with.. Astronomy? Really? Perhaps you’re meant to be in fashion studies.. or something more “girly”, she doesn’t know.
She contains her judgement, though, glad you chose to sit on the opposite end of the classroom. She doesn’t want to deal with a prissy pink princess like you.
The day goes by quickly for you, your classes seemingly breezing by. The work seems easy enough, and everyone is super kind and welcoming. Some people even complimented your outfit!
Sitting in your last class of the day, a lady you’ve spoken to on the phone, Miss Anne, pulls you out. She explains that they’ve found a dorm for you to stay in, and you practically jump from joy. Since you are new, they weren’t sure they’d have room for you to stay on campus. But of course, you always get your way.
You decide to move in asap. Today, you’d pack up all your things, and tomorrow you’d drive to school super early in the morning, so you could move in and still get to class.
You hadn’t exactly thought about your roommate, though, with this plan.. until now.
Exactly 5:00 am, you’re standing in front of your new dorm, suitcase in hand. It dawns on you that your roomie is probably sleeping.. exhausted from yesterday’s classes. Great. Just what they need.. some girl walking in making noise moving all her stuff in. But.. you have nowhere else to go.. so you decide to just do it. You have to put yourself first!
You knock on the door, quietly, at first. No answer. To be expected. You knock again, louder this time. No answer again. You sigh, looking around, not wanting to wake the neighbours up. You knock again, and wince at how loud it was. You wait for a moment, before hearing faint steps and grumbling. You quickly smooth your hair down, and your brace yourself as the door opens.
“What the hell?” A rough, tired voice spits out. You’re met with the face of a girl.. a girl you swear you’ve seen before. She’s wearing a visibly worn space themed shirt, that’s too big for her frame, and grey sweatpants, much like your own outfit. A white fitted spaghetti strapped tank with a deer on it, and light pink oversized sweatpants. Your favourite lazy day fit. Her eyes are puffy, her hair is messy and she has a frown on her freckled face.. it’s oddly attractive, you think.
“What do you want?” She questions, tone accusatory. She crosses her arms, leaning to one side as her eyes struggle to stay open.
“Hi! Miss Anne told me this would be my new dorm.. and I would room with you! Did she not tell you?” You try to sound friendly, but you think you overdid it. Sounds like you’re talking to a baby.
“You’re my new roommate?” She groans, running a hand down her face in despair. “Lord help me..” She mumbles under her breath.
“Are you sure you got the right room?” She tries to reason with herself that this was a mistake. You just nod several times in response. “This cant be happening.” She shifts uncomfortably.
“Have we met before?” You ask, tilting your head to the side, all doe eyed. You have no clue why she seems so upset.. Yeah, it’d make sense if she was upset at you for waking her up. But this seems.. oddly personal.
“I mean kinda.. you’re in my astronomy class.” She mumbles.
“Oooooohhhh.. that makes sense!” You nod dramatically, like you’ve just realized a revelation of the century. She stares at you, unamused, tired. You remember now, in class glancing briefly in her direction and thinking she was cute. You don’t know how you didn’t remember, its rare to find yourself attracted to someone!
“Well, sorry for being here sooo early.. I had no other time to get here and move in my stuff..” You sway bashfully.
“Whatever. Just don’t bother me.” Despite herself, she lets you in and shows you to your room. Only because she’s required to.
“Well actuallyyy.. I need you to help me carry some stuff up here..” You don’t ask, you tell her to do it.
She just stares at you. A stare that makes you believe theres no thought but unbelief behind her eyes.
“You cant be serious.” She asks bluntly. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. You’ve never had anyone not jump at their feet to help you. You thought people just did that for everyone, to be polite?
“I am!! I can’t carry all my stuff… and I have some heavy stuff too! You’re strong, right?” You pout, looking up at her with big pleading eyes.
“Fuck” She swears under her breath, looking away from your eyes. “Im strong..” She grumbles in defence, hoping this conversation will be over with as soon as possible, so she could stop feeling these weird things in her chest that make her so angry. And confused.
You squeal, selfishly taking her answer as a yes. You grab her arm to drag her to your car. She sighs in defeat, following reluctantly, grabbing her keys and closing the door behind her. It’s way too early to waste time arguing, especially with you of all people. Plus, a part of her, that she’s trying so hard to push down, wants to prove her strength to you.
You two make many runs to your car and back to your dorm, setting down your obscene amount of stuff on the ground of your new room. She wonders how on earth you have so much energy at this hour.
“The hell is all this stuff anyways?” She questions, setting down a heavy box.
“Mostly clothing! Lots of trinkets and accessories, my steamer, my limited edition bags, my favourite makeup, my shoe and heel collection, books, my luxury hair tools and hair care, oh my massage gun too. That one was needed for sure. Oh, and my limited edition sanrio collection, my perfume collection, my nail care, my skincare, my stuffed animals, my ipad, my laptop, my video game collection, my two monitors, and my chromebook. Oh, I also brought my vanity and bookshelf that we will have to build. That kinda stuff, just the bare necessities. I have more stuff to move in tomorrow!” You shrug and smile at her.
“Thats your necessities?” She gawks, raising her brows. It would make her angry.. if she wasn’t in utter disbelief. How spoiled are you?? The dorms are already fully furnished with many accommodations, so most people just bring their clothes, sanitary items, and things necessary for school.. and that’s all they can afford. Ellie’s room is so bare, it almost makes her embarrassed. Almost.
“Yeah! Why wouldn’t they be?” You tilt your heads, looking up at her in confusion once more. Is that not what people bring to their dorms? You wonder.
She just sighs, this is useless. She was right, she thinks. You are spoiled, so much so you don’t even realize it.
“Also, I didn’t agree to help build a fucking bookshelf and vanity for you.”
What a liar Ellie is. All you had to do was ask her if she had the abilities to build things, and suddenly that itch to prove herself to you is back. All previous self control she’s known for is thrown out the window- and she has to scratch that itch.
You sit there, on your bed, watching her sit on the floor of your room figuring out what goes where. You watch her hands twist and screw things into place, her eyebrows furrowed in pure concentration. She fumbles occasionally, sheepishly groaning something bitter.
You’re there for moral support, to sit there and look pretty while she works away. Your idea- of course. However, from Ellies perspective, you’re just being a lazy bum. Who does happen to be pretty and make her stomach feel weird. And that makes her angry.
You talk her ear off about classes and life before college, asking her about her own life. You hear her grumbling under her breath, something about a “princess..” and how it’s “too early for this shit”, before giving her own single worded answers. She sounds so tired! And so very hot. You don’t mind, though. It is too early to be building you a whole vanity. But you’re grateful she’s doing it for you! What a gentleman. ♡
“Who’d you live with before going to college? Do you want to travel after? Oh, oh, do you have any pets?!” Your words are coming out so fast, she can barely process all of them. You move forward on the bed, practically hovering over her.
“Jesus lady, one question at a time. Is this an interview?” She mumbles, hunching over herself to screw one of the vanity’s legs into place.
Ellie actually doesn’t finish building the vanity by the time you two start getting ready for school. Even though all that needs to be done is putting the pieces together, she’s about halfway done. Maybe she overestimated herself. Or maybe you’re too distracting. Your presence confuses her. And that makes her even more upset at you.
She lets out a grumpy complain before telling you to start getting ready, or else you’d be late. “Not that I care.” She made sure to add in.
She definitely does care.
lil idea ab confused Ellie inspired by wicked’s what is this feeling. its confirmed, i hate this. but imma publish it anyways
ellie had been crushing on you since the first day you sat next to her in class. everyone knew it, too. she wasn’t slick about it—cheeks pink every time you leaned close, fumbling her pen when you borrowed one, glancing at your lips when you spoke. she’d stammer if you teased her, scratch the back of her neck, act all cool but ruin it by tripping over her words.
you’d gotten used to it—her hovering, her shy little smiles, the way she always volunteered to help you with homework just so she could spend more time near you. it was cute, endearing, the way ellie was so obviously down bad. sometimes you caught her staring when she thought you weren’t looking, a soft blush creeping over her cheeks as she quickly looked away. other times, she’d make some small excuse to brush against your arm or sit closer than necessary, and you’d feel your chest tighten a little, secretly enjoying the attention she didn’t even realize she was giving.
but tonight was different.
you’d dragged her back to your room under the excuse of “studying,” except you weren’t really studying. the textbooks were scattered across the bed, papers in disarray, because all your attention was on her. not when you kept leaning closer, watching her face instead of the notes. the lamplight cast her in soft shadows, hair falling into her eyes as she scribbled something in the margin of your notebook. her lips pursed in concentration, fingers twisting nervously around her pen.
“you’re not even paying attention,” ellie muttered, frowning down at the mess of words in front of her.
you hummed, dragging your finger absentmindedly across a margin of her notes. “maybe i just like watching you.”
she froze. her ears went pink, and she ducked her head like she could hide the smile tugging at her mouth. “s-shut up. you don’t.”
“oh, i don’t?” you pushed, tilting her chin so she had to meet your eyes. her pupils blew wide, lips parting as if she had something to say but couldn’t find the words.
for a long moment, neither of you spoke. just her breathing—shaky, uneven—her fingers flexing nervously where they rested on the open page. the faint sound of her pen scratching against paper filled the quiet room, punctuated only by the soft thump of your heartbeat in your chest.
then, softer than a whisper, ellie said, “don’t mess with me like that.”
your chest warmed. “i’m not messing with you.”
you watched as she swallowed hard, eyes darting to yours then quickly back to her notes, but her concentration was fake. she couldn’t stop stealing glances, the blush on her cheeks deepening with each look. her lips trembled slightly as she murmured, “you’re… impossible.”
you leaned closer, the space between you shrinking until you could feel her warmth radiating through the thin fabric of her hoodie. “maybe i am,” you whispered, “but i like being impossible with you.”
ellie’s fingers twitched over her notebook, and she pressed her palm to her mouth to hide the small gasp she couldn’t hold back. her body shifted, inching closer to you as if drawn by some invisible force she couldn’t resist. the corner of her mouth lifted in a nervous, almost sheepish smile, and her eyes sparkled with a mixture of embarrassment and longing.
“you really are the worst,” she muttered, voice low, almost shy, but there was a tremor there that betrayed how much she actually liked it.
you smiled, tilting your head, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. the contact made her freeze for a moment, her breath catching in her throat. “worst in the best way,” you teased, letting your thumb graze her cheek lightly.
her lips parted again, smaller, more hesitant than before, and she looked down like she was trying to steady herself. “you’re… so annoying,” she whispered, but there was no real heat in her words—only the fluttering nervousness of someone on the edge of something they’ve been waiting for forever.
you leaned in slowly, giving her time to pull away, to protest, to say no—but she didn’t. she stayed there, her eyes wide, pupils dilated, chest rising and falling unevenly, hands still resting on the notebook but no longer writing. when your lips finally brushed against hers, she shivered violently, as if the kiss itself had surprised her.
her fingers twitched, gripping the edges of the notebook, then your shirt, as she pressed closer, testing the warmth of your body against hers. the kiss deepened slowly, awkwardly at first, soft and uncertain, her lips timid against yours, exploring, learning, tasting. every hesitant moan she let slip made your chest tighten, made your pulse race.
pulling back just slightly, you rested your forehead against hers. “you okay?” you murmured.
ellie’s breath hitched, eyes fluttering closed, cheeks still flushed. “yeah… i think so,” she whispered, voice trembling, barely audible. “fuck… i’ve been… dreaming about that.”
you smiled, brushing your nose gently against hers. “good,” you said softly. “i dont want to stop.”
you shifted closer, straddling her lap carefully so her hands instinctively went to your waist. ellie froze for a moment, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling unevenly.
“uh—wait—are you sure?” she whispered, voice trembling.
“i’m sure,” you murmured, tilting her chin up so your lips could meet hers again. she leaned in, shivering against you, lips parting with a soft whine that made your chest tighten.
her hands were hesitant at first, brushing over your sides, fumbling at your shirt, tugging at the hem like she didn’t quite know how much to touch. every touch, though, was desperate, needy, like she couldn’t get close enough.
“you’re so soft,” she breathed, voice cracking as she pressed against you. her fingers wandered lower, tracing your hips, sliding beneath the waistband of your pants, hesitant but bold.
you groaned softly, tilting your head so her lips brushed your neck, and she shivered again, biting lightly at your collarbone. “i’ve… wanted this forever,” she confessed, low and ragged. “so bad.”
you guided her hand, letting her explore, letting her feel how much she was driving you wild. her fingers were clumsy at first, slipping and circling, unsure, but when you encouraged her, she pressed harder, sliding inside with a small gasp.
“oh—fuck,” she whispered, eyes squeezing shut, lips trembling. “you’re so… tight. i—i don’t know what to do.”
“just like that,” you breathed, rocking your hips slowly against her hand. she moaned, pressing closer, trembling against you, her blush deepening as her lips brushed yours in messy, eager kisses.
she began to move her fingers inside you with a desperate rhythm, slow at first, then faster, sloppy, clumsy, but filled with want. every whimper, every soft gasp, every shaky “oh my god” made her bolder, more frantic.
“you’re mine,” she whispered suddenly, forehead pressed against yours, voice shaky but possessive. “only mine right now. fuck, i’ve wanted this… i’ve wanted you.”
you groaned, gripping her hips, pulling her closer, letting her feel how badly she had you. she kissed you frantically, teeth and lips clashing against yours, tongue pushing, tasting, exploring, her whole body trembling with need.
her free hand tangled in your hair, tugging you closer as she whispered, “don’t stop… please… oh my god, don’t stop.”
and when you finally came undone, fingers slick with her heat, she shivered violently, pressing against you like she couldn’t let go, like she wanted to memorize every shudder of your body.
her lips found yours again in a soft, desperate kiss, murmuring between gasps: “so good… so fucking good… i—fuck… i’ve wanted you forever.”
even when the trembling slowed, even when your breaths evened out, she clung to you, cheeks flushed, hair mussed, still whispering apologies and soft confessions: “sorry, i’m messy… sorry, i can’t—i just—fuck, you feel so good.”
you cupped her face, brushing hair behind her ear, letting her cling to you as she calmed, feeling the warmth of her body still pressed against yours, realizing just how desperate and eager she’d been, and how much you wanted to keep her like this, trembling, soft, and completely yours.
♱ content warnings: country!ellie x preacher’s daughter!reader, switch!reader x switch!ellie, oral sex (r!receiving), tribbing, religious guilt/blasphemy, nipple play, use of southern accents/drawl, internalized shame, heavy misogyny, toxic family dynamics, arranged marriage, AFAB reader. MEN AND MINORS DNI, likes, reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖
header edited by my beloved @satellitespinner <3 ilysm. also, i highly recommend listening to hozier — my emotional support poet — while reading. it truly elevates the experience.
the dress feels like a noose as you drag it down your body.
stiff, pale, a fabric that doesn’t breathe, doesn’t give. you stand in the mirror for too long, brushing a palm over the faint sting where ellie’s fingers pressed into your skin the night before. the marks aren’t gone. they’re still there, blooming dark and sinful on your hip.
a rosary rests cold and delicate at your throat, its beads brushing the hollow of your collarbone. your hair is brushed, styled, molded into obedience. the reflection stares back at you like a stranger, a saintly ghost you can’t recognize.
downstairs, your father’s voice hums from the dining room, wrapped in scripture, politeness and the sound of silver clicking on porcelain. you draw a breath — shaky, sharp — and walk down the stairs.
the room goes quiet when your heel finds the last step.
the dining room is a shrine. a long table groaning under the weight of a meal your mother spent all afternoon making, sweat staining the apron she refused to remove until moments ago. bowls of mashed potatoes, roast chicken still steaming, slices of cornbread lined up like offerings. your father didn’t lift a finger to help — never has. he presides at the head of the table like a statue, hands resting on the wood as if he built it, as if he earned the right to occupy it.
every surface hums with judgment. a cross on the wall, a framed verse hanging slightly askew, amen stitched into cloth and laid across the mantel. it's a house that doesn't murmur or beckon, nor offers absolution — it proclaims.
you find yourself at the threshold, suppressing the sharp sensation rising in your throat. aware that this room was designed to remain oblivious to any word you speak tonight — and even if it does hear, it will not heed your voice.
because there he is.
austin.
older than you by nearly a decade, a boy your father picked the way he’d pick a calf for sacrifice. crisp shirt pressed, sharp as a blade, hair meticulously combed as if for a sunday sermon, and a smile that never truly reaches his eyes. a handshake that is excessively firm, lingering too long, like a claim being staked. you recall every reason why you can’t stand the way he looks at you, as if you were a deed awaiting signature, a piece of land he already aims to call his.
“evenin’, darlin’,” he says, rising halfway like it’s some display of courtesy. “you look…well.”
“thank you,” you barely mumble, voice tight.
your father motions towards the empty chair, and you settle into it as if you were a condemned thing.
meanwhile, the table hums with talk that doesn’t need your voice.
your father takes a long sip from his glass. “we were just talkin’ about the wedding. might be a spring one, if austin here has his way.”
austin grins like a boy with a toy. “sooner the better, reverend. i reckon the lord likes a house that’s in order.”
“indeed.” your father’s voice softens, silk draped over a dagger. “ain’t no sense in lettin’ a good girl sit too long, might as well make her a wife. build a family.”
your mother chimes in, voice resembling the sound of a gentle, caged bird. “have y’all talked about a date? perhaps after easter services?”
austin rests a hand on the table, palm big and flat. “that’s about when i was thinking, it gives us enough time to settle things before summer.”
each word lands like a stone, both sharp and weighty, punching the air from your chest. you open your mouth, breath poised to voice a protest. “i—”
“perfect.” and your father doesn’t even glance your way. “that’ll give the church time to plan. we can have the ceremony right after morning service, so the lord can witness it all.”
“...have you talked about children?” your mother asks.
“of course,” your future husband replies smoothly, brushing an invisible crumb from the table. “reverend, i was raised to provide and lead. my father gave my mother five beautiful children, and might be the lord has a similar plan for us.”
the lie that statement holds is enough to make your stomach turn — you’ve never spoken of children, never spoken of anything beyond polite nods and practiced smiles. and that is truly the last straw.
you let your fork fall just hard enough for the sound to slice through the air, every eye snapping toward you.
“what about what i want?”
your words slice through the air in the room like a whip, sharp and stinging.
but your father remains unresponsive, unyielding, not even looking at you. he simply takes a long sip from his glass, his voice rising in volume when he finally chooses to speak.
“you don’t get a say. this ain’t about what you want, it’s about what’s right. a woman’s place is to obey, bear children, and walk the path a man sets for her — and the lord will save the rest.”
the words land like a hammer blow. you flinch, swallowing hard as a sting blooms behind your eyes. you drop your gaze to the ground, lashes quivering, trying desperately to blink the piercing sensation away before it can spill down your cheeks.
austin’s voice softens then, rehearsed and too-sweet. “honey, this is a blessing. we’re just making sure your future is secure. you’ll be taken care of. you’ll be…happy.”
happy.
the word itself tastes like ashes, resounds like deceivement. you sink back in your chair, struggling to force down the bitter bile rising in your throat.
they carry on as if you hadn’t spoken, as if you weren’t breathing, weren’t shaking, weren’t burning with the memory of a red bandana cinched tight at your wrists. of a low, smoky laugh brushing your ear. of hands that molded themselves to every scar you’ve ever tried to forget.
your mother doesn’t speak either. she just nods, a tiny, brittle tilt of the chin before looking down at her plate, like it’s all she knows how to do — like this was always her fate too. she’d walked this same path, sat at this same table, sat in this same silence when she was your age.
here, you’re a silhouette, an ornament polished and placed just so. holy words spill forth from holy mouths, binding you tighter than any rope ever could.
you glance down at your hands resting in your lap, faint red marks sitting across your skin.
and across the table, austin grins like a boy about to inherit the world.
but inside, deep down, you’re already gone. gone to a hayloft where holy means burning, gone to hands that pray a different kind of prayer. gone to a place where silence doesn’t mean obedience.
but still, you pick up your fork.
still, you force a smile.
“of course.”
the house goes quiet long after midnight. long after the low hum of conversation has dried to silence, after austin goes home, after the dishes are clear, after the holy portraits have gone dark and the lamp in your father’s study has winked out.
you’re in your nightgown — soft, lavender silk brushing your thighs — perched on the edge of your bed, listening to the slow drum of your own heart. your fingers brush the crisp, white coverlet that feels like a shroud.
through the window, the moon spills a long, silvery line across the floorboards. you watch it move, slow and languid, as if it carries no worries in the world. as if it chose to stay silent too.
it’s a room that doesn’t feel like yours, if it ever did. pale walls, too clean, too bright, lined with crosses and saints that judge you from every angle. a row of pressed dresses hanging in the closet, a golden rosary resting on the nightstand, a bible lying open on the desk, pages dog‑eared from hands that weren’t your own.
and you can't help but wonder how long you can bear this. how long until your voice fades completely, how long until austin transforms from a mere man to your... husband. wonder how will be like to feel a ring resting on your finger and him beside you in bed, a presence that still feels unbearable even from miles away. a man you will never truly love.
a man who will never be — not even half — of her.
and here, in the silence, in the pale glow of the room, your condemnation settles like a spectre.
hours feel like days when you can’t sleep. you can't think, can’t do anything except stare out the window, at the velvet black of the fields beyond. and somewhere deep, deep down — under godly walls and godly rules, under the sting of a night that won’t end — you whisper a prayer.
and just like if the sky itself answered, a faint tap at the glass snaps your spine straight. you rise, bare feet brushing the floorboards, and move to the window. when you slide it open, your breath catches.
ellie.
she's there, leaning against the house like a shadow. lopsided grin dancing on her lips, auburn hair tousled, flannel half-tucked. her freckles are barely visible in the glow of the moon, but those piercing green eyes flicker like a match in the endless night.
and you don’t hesitate— you never did. you lean down quickly, tugging her by the hand until she’s hauling herself through the window and into the room, brushing dust from her worn jeans like she hasn’t just risked falling ten feet for you.
you stare at her for a moment, shocked, voice shaking. “oh lord, you…you can’t be here. if my daddy finds out—”
“i know,” ellie mutters quietly, brushing hair from your cheek with a hand that still carries the sting of work. “i just… fuck, i just wanted to see you.”
you swallow hard, brushing your nose along the sharp curve of her jaw. “you’re gonna get yourself killed, ellie.”
she grins, low and soft, brushing her thumb across your lip.
“maybe,” she rasps, leaning closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “but i don’t give a damn if i get to be with you.”
you draw in a shaky breath, brushing your hand down the worn fabric of her shirt like you can’t bear to let go. “you’re crazy, you know that?”
and ellie just tips her head, brushing her nose to yours like she can quiet the sting in your chest with a single breath.
“then let me stay tonight, baby,” she breathes, voice gone soft. “even if it’s just for a minute.”
and when her mouth finds yours, when her hand cradles the back of your neck and draws you closer like a orison answered, you don’t ask questions anymore.
her hand presses the small of your back, hauling you closer like gravity itself can’t bear to have space between your bodies. her mouth finds yours, urgent and burning, a kiss that tastes like midnight air and belonging. it’s deep, hungry, desperate.
you whine quietly when her hand skims down, brushing the thin fabric of your nightgown, the press of calloused fingers making sparks race down your spine. you tug her closer, swallowing the sound of her low groan. the room shrinks down until it’s just the two of you — breaths and brushing hands, tangled threads that don’t request permission.
ellie’s hands bracket your waist as she guides you backward until your knees bump the bed. she eases you down onto the mattress carefully, like she knows your father’s shotgun could be at her throat in any moment, and decides you’re still worth the risk. every breath. every bullet.
you sink down, arching as her mouth finds your throat, brushing along the curve of your collarbone, the thin strap of your nightgown falling down your shoulder under the tug of her fingers. the sting of it brushing the marks she left makes you shiver, your voice breaking into a breathless gasp.
“ellie…”
“shh,” she whispers, brushing the sush across your skin like a kiss, your fingertips finding her hair. “i’ve got you.”
her hand slips down, brushing the bare skin of your thigh, the soft fabric rising with each languid stroke. she’s shaking too — brushing a hand across your jaw, cradling it like the precious thing it is.
and then she’s kissing you again like she means it, like she needs it — deep, commanding, but tender in all the ways the world has never been for either of you.
the room holds its breath. you can feel the weight of the crosses watching, the saints framed in gold leaf and dust, their painted eyes casting down in judgment from every wall. the moonlight spills across the floor, glinting off rosaries, off the edges of the little silver crucifix above your bed. the air hums with the kind of rigidity that makes your pulse stutter in your throat.
but everything ceases to matter when ellie’s hands are on you — slow, sure, shaking just enough that you know she’s been waiting for this as much as you. she ghosts her fingers over the hem of your nightgown, eyes locked on yours, asking. you respond with a single, sure nod.
she lowers the fabric inch by inch, slow enough to feel the cool air kiss your skin, slow enough to feel your breath catch in your chest. the garment pools at your feet, forgotten, and you lay bare in front of her in the pale glow, skin warm and trembling under her gaze.
ellie draws in a breath, reverent, as if she’s seeing you for the first time all over again. her hands find your ribs, tracing the soft lines of you with fingers roughened by rope. then she peels off her brown flannel, pulling it over her head in one swift motion, leaving her freckled chest bare to the night, to you.
your hands find her before your mind catches up — tracing the dip of her collarbone, the slope of her shoulder, the faint scar that cuts across her side.
you caress her gently, like she’s the last spark of joy you’ll ever know, and maybe she really is. her skin is warm, solid beneath your palms, and she shivers under the weight of your strokes.
“fuck, baby,” she whispers, voice fraying at the edges. “you gotta stay quiet for me, yeah? can’t have anyone hearin’ us.”
you nod, swallowing hard, the heat of her words making your insides go weak.
you tilt your head back, breath caught as she kisses a path down your chest, her hand slipping up to part your thighs. her mouth finds the swell of your breast, taking your nipple between her lips, sucking deep, tongue flicking over the sensitive peak.
the heat of it shoots straight through you. you arch up into her, one hand fisting the sheets while the other buries in her hair. you have to bite down on a gasp, remembering her warning.
she moves to the other breast, lavishing it with the same attention. her free hand roams down your body, mapping every inch, every dip. her touch is greedy and kind all at once, fingers sinking into the soft flesh of your hips as she kisses lower, leaving a trail of heat in her wake.
“so fuckin’ beautiful,” she mutters against your stomach, voice thick with want.
you can’t look away. the sight of her — wild and flushed in the pearly somber, freckles dark against her skin, her mouth trailing fire down your body — makes your head spin.
then she’s on you.
her tongue parts you slow, savoring every slick inch like she’s starving and you’re the first thing she’s been allowed to taste. she doesn’t rush — not at first. she drags the flat of her tongue through your folds, slow and purposeful, as if the shape of you is a language only she knows how to speak.
you whimper, low and broken, and she moans in response — the sound vibrating against your cunt, sending a jolt up your spine that makes your back arch, your thighs twitch. she presses you open with her palms, firm and unrelenting, pinning you down.
you bite your fist, hard, trying not to cry out. tears prick the corners of your eyes from the sheer force of it — the mess, the pressure, the way she devours you like she’s trying to undo every ounce of pain this house ever put in your body.
it’s wet, obscene. you can hear it — the slick, slow drag of her mouth, the desperate breaths through her nose, the low hum of approval she gives every time your hips stutter under her touch.
the saints above your bed don’t blink, the crucifix on the wall doesn’t move, but you swear you can feel the weight of their gazes.
and ellie? she doesn’t even pause. she buries her mouth in you like she’s trying to climb inside, like if she could live between your legs, she would — and maybe she already does.
your body starts to tremble, your thighs twitching under the strain of holding still, of remaining silent. your whole being narrows down to the wet heat of her mouth, the swirl of her tongue, the way her lips suck your clit just right — over and over and over until your stomach tightens, breath caught, vision gone white behind your lashes.
you come with a soft, strangled sound, clenching around nothing. your teeth sinks into your knuckles to keep you from screaming, a metallic taste following in your mouth from the force. it rips through you like fire, like grace, like a hymn too big for your chest.
and ellie moans like it’s happening to her. she holds you through it, lets you ride her mouth through every aftershock, every broken little sound you can’t quite bite back.
when you finally collapse against the bed, damp and panting, she pulls back slowly, chin slick, lips swollen, pupils blown wide with something close to worship. she leans up on her elbows, breath catching on her words.
"you're mine."
still catching your breath, you shift — thighs slick and trembling, the pulse behind your ribs pounding like a warning bell.
you reach for her jaw, grip firm, thumb pressing into the hinge. her breath catches — sharp, needy — and you draw her up by it, eyes locked the whole way. your mouth finds hers halfway, no grace, no patience, tasting yourself in her lips. it’s teeth and tongue and breathless heat, your kiss all demand, all hunger, all response to her words. i'm yours.
ellie groans into your mouth, her hands twitching at your waist. but she doesn’t take back control.
“get up here,” you whisper, voice cracked and gritty against her lips.
and she listens.
her knees slide through the sheets, jeans half-off, boxers already damp and bunched around her thighs. you take care of it — quick, eager fingers working her out of them, dragging denim and cotton down to her ankles, stripping her bare.
she's slick and flushed, her cunt glistening in the silver glint, the soft auburn bush above it dark with want. the sight makes your stomach twist tight, breath catching hard in your chest.
you stare. you let yourself.
“ellie...” you murmur, voice dark. “you’re soaked.”
ellie’s face burns. “can’t help it,” she mutters, breath short. “you—fuck—you do that to me.”
you hum, hand dragging slow up the inside of her thigh. “then come here, baby.”
she starts to shift forward — but you don’t let her. your hands catch her hips, steady and sure, guiding her back down, easing her until her spine hits the mattress with a soft thud.
she gasps, sharp and breathless, her eyes wide as her hands catch your waist, like she wasn’t expecting to give up the ground so easily.
you crawl over her slow, the weight of your body pressing her into the sheets as you settle on top — your thigh sliding between hers, your mouth already hunting the soft line of her jaw.
“my turn,” you whisper, voice low and full of heat. “you just lay back.”
“fuck,” she whispers, hips jerking. “i—need you. need all of you.”
you shift again, slotting your thigh beneath hers, angling your hips so your cunt presses right up against hers, heat meeting heat, slick on slick. the friction is immediate, maddening. you both gasp, shoulders curling in.
you roll your hips once — a slow, grinding drag that sends a full-body tremble through both of you. your clits catch, nerves lighting up like wildfire, and ellie buries her face in your neck, breath hitching hard.
“stay quiet,” you whisper. “or we’re both dead.”
“then kill me,” she breathes, hips grinding down. “don’t care. fuck—feels so good—”
you take the rhythm, force it slow and brutal, hand gripping her hip so tight you’ll leave bruises. she follows, your slicks smearing together in sticky, messy bursts of pressure, each stroke hotter than the last, each one dragging another broken moan from her throat.
you drag your teeth down her shoulder, your hand slipping between her body to press against the space where you meet — hot, swollen, pulsing.
“feel that?” you whisper.
“fuck—yes—yours, all yours—”
your hips snap forward, and she shudders violently, clinging to your body, mouth parted in a silent scream. you’re dripping now, slick pouring down your thighs, soaking into the sheets, the friction loud and obscene in the stillness of the room.
and you give it to her, you give it all. every scrap of rage, every drop of want, every buried ache they taught you to swallow. every ounce of your fury, your desire, your powerlessness, your love.
you grind down harder, deeper, fucking her into the mattress with nothing but your cunt and your will, chasing something raw and wordless between her thighs. your bodies tangle, slick and trembling, no space left between you, no light — just the wild rhythm of it, until you don’t know where she ends and you begin, until it feels less like fucking and more like melding into her. and if you could, you surely would.
her hands clutch at your back, head tipping back, whole body arching. and when she comes, it’s a wreck — twitching, gasping, wet, a mess of breath and heat and muscle. she’s soaking you, her slick coating your thighs
you’re right behind her.
your body locks, hips stuttering against hers, a moan slipping past your lips that you barely muffle in the crook of her neck. it rips through you — bright, electric, endless — your cunt clenching and spasming against hers as wave after wave crashes down.
you stay there, buried in the chaos, trembling and shaking as the adrenaline courses through your veins, sweat pouring down your face and body. the scent of sin hangs heavily in the air, an aroma you have grown to love more than anything else in this world.
a sensation that seems more heavenly than heaven could ever be.
and when ellie finally speaks, her whisper is wrecked.
“i think my soul just left my body.”
you grin against her throat, breath shaky. “and went straight to hell.”
she shifts just enough to look at you, her face flushed and glowing. “worth it.”
you brush her sweaty hair back from her face, hand trembling. “you’re insane.”
“for you?” she murmurs, leaning in to kiss you again — slow this time, filthy-sweet. “always.”
the air has gone thick and slow again.
your skin is still slick with sweat and salt, your thighs sticky where they pressed against hers. ellie’s chest rises slow and steady against your back, her breath warm at the nape of your neck, one arm draped heavy over your waist, fingers threading through your hair in lazy, reverent strokes— as if she’s trying to memorize the shape of you, the feel of you, the weight of you in her arms before the sun comes and the world steals you back, before she has to slip into the dark again.
she hums something quiet under her breath — no melody, no words. just sound, just presence. her lips press against your shoulder once, then again, softer the second time. she buries her face in the curve of your neck, and for a moment, it feels safe here.
“still with me?” she mumbles, voice gone hoarse.
you nod, barely.
her hand drifts down your back. her fingers follow the ridge of your spine, lingering at the dip of it. another kiss, placed gently between your shoulder blades.
and that’s when your chest cracks.
it’s quiet, at first. just a hitch in your breath, a tremor you try to swallow. your lips part, but no sound comes. only tears — sudden, hot — slipping from the corner of your eye and landing on her forearm, where her skin is still warm from where it pressed into yours.
you try to stay still, try to breathe through it, but it rises anyway — thick and unbearable. and suddenly, it’s not just the night catching up to you. it’s everything.
the dinner table. the weight of your father’s voice naming your future without asking for your permission. austin’s hand reaching for yours like it already belonged to him. your mother’s silence. your own reflection in the mirror — pretty dress, quiet mouth, no way out.
and now here you are, wrapped in the arms of the only soul who has truly gifted you the feeling of freedom. the only person who ever let you be more than decoration, than duty, than daughter, than property.
and it hits you all at once —this is the last time.
the last time you feel her hands on your skin, the last time her breath curls against your neck, the last time you get to feel her heartbeat pressed into your back.
because you’ll be someone else’s. you’ll walk down an aisle you didn’t choose, toward a man you can’t stand, and you’ll spend your life pretending that the night in this bed — her mouth, her voice, her love — was just a dream you were lucky enough to wake up from.
you feel the future closing in.
a door slamming, a lock turning.
and that’s when your breath breaks.
you don’t mean to make a sound — but you do, just the tiniest whimper.
and ellie hears it. of course she does.
she lifts her head fast, already alert. “hey,” she whispers. “hey, baby—what’s wrong?”
you turn to bury your face in her shoulder, shaking your head, but the tears keep coming, unstoppable now. she reaches for you — palm at your jaw, thumb swiping at your wet cheeks, her own breath starting to fray.
“darlin’,” she says, accent drawn low. “what is it? what happened?”
your voice breaks on the first try, then again. and then, finally, it comes out.
“they want me to marry him.”
you feel her whole being go still.
a few seconds pass, but you have to keep going. your weak voice wobbles through the air.
“he came over tonight. austin. sat right at our table, talkin’ to my father ‘bout rings and church dates and kids, like i wasn’t even there.”
ellie blinks, slow. “...kids?”
“yeah.” your throat closes again. “five of ‘em, if he gets his way. that’s what he said. sat right there, talkin’ ‘bout fillin’ up a house, makin’ me a wife.”
you let out a breathless laugh that sounds nothing like laughter.
“he said i’d be happy, said the lord made me for it, and i just sat there... because i can’t say no. i ain’t got no money, no way out. i’m stuck, ellie. i’m so—” your voice cracks, helpless. “i’m so fuckin’ scared.”
you expect silence. you expect her to gather her clothes without a word, slip out the window like a secret, leave nothing behind but the ghost of her hands on your skin. you expect her to look at you different now — not with longing, but with loss. with hurt. you expect her to let you go, to decide you’re not worth the trouble. that loving you isn’t worth staying.
instead, ellie pulls you into her.
her hands cradle your face, holding you steady as her eyes search yours in the dark. and when she speaks, her voice is deadly steady.
“run away with me.”
you blink, breath caught.
“what?”
“run,” she mutters again, this time firmer. “come with me. tonight. right now. fuck this house, fuck their prayers, fuck austin and your daddy and every last person who thinks they get a say in what you do with your life.”
your heart kicks like a drum against your ribs.
“ellie—”
“i’m serious.” her hands are on your cheeks now, fingers trembling. “i’ll take you far from here. i’ll carry you if i have to. i swear to god, baby, no one’s gonna put a ring on you unless it’s the one you choose.”
your lip quivers.
“i got nothin’, ellie.”
she shakes her head, fierce and wild and unwavering.
“you got me.”
“and where would we go?”
“don’t know, and i don’t give a shit. i’ll find us somethin’. i got people, i'll find work, we’ll sleep in the truck. we’ll make it.”
you press your forehead to her, your hands fisting the sheets. you can feel the weight of the saints above your bed, the moonlight splitting the cross on your wall. every breath you take now feels like rebellion.
“they’ll hunt us.”
“then let ‘em.” her voice is steel. “they ain’t ever gonna touch you again, not while i’m still breathin’.”
you close your eyes.
and you believe in her.
you feel the promise of her in every inch of your skin, in every kiss she left there. in the ache between your legs, in the sting of your throat, in the beat of your heart that only ever felt right when it was beating next to hers.
“i can’t lose you.”
“you won’t.”
you lie there for a long time, breath tangled. her thumb brushes your cheek again. you press your lips to her shoulder, aching. she whispers something bitter under her breath.
“should’ve taken you sooner,” she mutters. “should’ve known they’d try to take you from me.”
“you didn’t know.”
“still, i should’ve. you ain’t built for their world, sweetheart. you’re too—” she pauses, searching. “too alive. too much.”
“and you are?”
she huffs a breath, her nose brushing yours. “hell no. but i’m mean enough to fight it.”
you laugh, cracked but less broken than before.
“and what happens if i say yes?”
she pulls back just enough to see you — all of you — eyes shining with something reckless.
“then i kiss you again, i help you pack, and we don’t look back.”
you stare at her. then you take a breath, long and deep.
“okay,” you whisper. "let's run"
you say it, and something shifts.
not in the room — it stays still, judging, stubborn — but inside you. deep in your chest, under your ribs. a weight lifts, a door creaks open.
and for the first time in your life, the world feels wide open. you can finally breathe.
ellie watches you like she’s waiting for you to take it back, but you don’t. you just nod, slow and sure, and whisper it again, steady this time.
“let’s run.”
what happens next, happens quiet.
the floorboards know your feet by now, and you know theirs — which ones creak, which ones threaten to give you away. your wear a simple black dress pulled from the back of the drawer. it doesn’t rustle, it doesn’t snag.
she’s waiting by the window now. one boot braced on the roof, one hand curled around the sill. the moon paints her collarbone silver, and she turns to you with eyes sharpe— the same look she wore the night she kissed you behind the grain silo. the night she first pulled her name out of your mouth.
you hold the letter tight in your fist. the paper’s torn from the back of your bible — the page where the genealogy used to be, listing who belonged to who.
you wrote over it.
don’t come after me. this life isn't mine. i’m not sorry, and i won’t be.
— your daughter
you fold it once. then again. lay it on your pillow.
and then you give the room one last good look. crosses nailed on the wall, saints with dust in their eyes, bed you were meant to make children in. a bed that only ever held pressure and silence—until her.
you breathe it all in, then you go.
you climb through the window and fall straight into ellie’s arms. your breath hitches, caught somewhere between fear and freedom. but you don’t fall. she's there to catch you.
“got you,” she murmurs against your hair. “always.”
and then you run through the grass, wind slicing through your hair, breath ragged in your chest. you don’t look back. not at the house, not at the porch light, not at the second-story window where your life was folded into someone else’s idea of salvation.
you only look at her.
the truck waits at the edge of the field, tucked under the trees. the night holds its breath around you. ellie yanks the passenger side open for you and circles the front, her boots hitting gravel. she slides in, hands on the wheel, mouth tight.
“you ready?” she asks.
you glance at her, freckled, flushed. glowing from the fire you lit in her.
“i been ready.”
she nods once, turns the key, and the truck rumbles awake. the tires crackle, gravel spinning under the wheels.
and just like that — you’re gone.
you end up in a town with no name. somewhere south of where they’d think to look, two states from home and a lifetime away. you rent a trailer that leans to one side when it rains, with a screen door that sticks and a front step that creaks under your weight. wildflowers grow in the ditch just past the yard. sometimes, you pick them and leave them on the windowsill.
you work mornings at the diner. ellie picks up whatever she can — oil changes, hay bales, fence posts, odd jobs that leave her knuckles bruised and her shirts stained. no one asks for more than your first names, no one cares who you were before.
you don’t have much — a bed, a radio, a coffee pot that sputters before it pours — but you’ve got quiet. you’ve got a place to touch her without hiding. you’ve got a truck that takes you down dirt roads with the windows down and her hand resting easy on your thigh.
on good days, you both wake before the sun. sit on the porch with bare legs, her head resting against your shoulder, the sky bleeding soft colors above the trees.
on bad days, she holds you close in the dark, rocks you slow, tells you over and over: “you’re safe. you’re safe. you’re safe now.”
some nights, when the air’s too thick to sleep, you strip down and pull her on top of you. let the fans blow hot air across your damp skin while she fucks you slow, both of you too gone to pretend it isn’t perfect. you don’t hide your sounds. you don’t cover your mouth.
after, she lies heavy on your chest, the sheets kicked to the floor. her fingers draw shapes on your belly, and her mouth finds that spot under your collarbone where you keep your leftover fear.
“can’t get enough of you,” she says one night, voice thick, lips brushing warm against your skin. “not now, not ever.”
you card your fingers through her hair, gentle.
“you won’t have to,” you whisper. “i’m yours ‘til the end."
and that way, months pass, seasons shift, nothing spectacular happens — not in the way the world expects. but still, things bloom. inside your body, and inside hers.
you learn to grow things, she learns to fix things. you stop jumping when the phone rings, she starts singing while she washes dishes.
but one night, it happens.
you’re sitting at the table. it’s small, uneven, a little wobbly on one leg. dinner’s done, her hands are still greasy from fixing the truck. the fan hums in the corner, blowing auburn locks into her eyes. she looks at you, quiet for a second.
then she reaches across the table and takes your hand.
“i wanna marry you, proper or not. don’t need a preacher. just need you to say yes.”
your heart falters. you remain silent for a moment, just smiling, warm and full of every mile you’ve traveled to get here.
and then, like a whispered prayer, you say it.
“yes.”
࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ WOW OKAY I DID NOT EXPECT TO WRITE THAT MUCH 😭 but god, i genuinely loved every second of this concept — i’ve always wanted to write something like this and it shows. mia said “write riding country!ellie” and my brain immediately went “religious trauma and running away from an arranged marriage.” maybe my favorite drabble i’ve written to date. hope you all enjoyed it, lovesss <333
content warnings : teasing. oral stimulation over fabric. sub loser ellie. spit usage. ellie cums fast .·°՞(っ-ᯅ-ς)՞°·.
lying between your girlfriend's thighs as she plays fortnite, your head rests against the jut of her hipbone. heat radiates from her skin, seeping through the cotton of her boxers and warming your cheek.
both her extended and bent leg twitch as she mutters quiet curses under her breath. she's completely absorbed in the gameplay, not even sparing you so much as a glance.
you watch her with quiet yearning, fingers absentmindedly toying with the scrunched-up hem of her boxers, grazing the soft, familiar cotton, waiting for even the tiniest sliver of attention. "els?" you whisper, voice soft.
a distracted "yeah, yeah, babe," is all you get in return, her eyes glued to the screen, thumbs moving in sharp, practiced circles around the joysticks. no glance. no pause. you frown.
"baby," you murmur, this time hooking a finger under the waistband, tugging lightly before letting it bite back into her skin. still, nothing more than a low mumble— unintelligible and half-hearted.
rolling your eyes, you shift slightly. she wants to ignore you? fine. you can play along. you push her bent leg outward, then press a kiss just above the seam where her clit would be. that gets her attention. her hips jolt, a quiet groan slipping from her throat, "babe." her hips give needy ruts toward your mouth, her concentration finally cracked.
you smirk up at her, smug. "nuhuh, focus," you tease, voice low. "didn't wanna pay attention before, don't start now."
"but-" she huffs, only for her protest to be cut short by the soft smack of your palm against the meat of her thigh. she lets out a whimper, hips twitching as if to chase the heat of your palm.
you lean in closer, letting your breath fan over the fabric. the scent of her, faint and heady, is already making your mouth water. "play the game, els," you redirect, lips ghosting over cotton.
ellie nods, throat tight. "y-yeah.. okay.."
she tries. really, she does. but her hands are tense on the controller, her focus hanging on by a thread. you exhale slowly, then spit.
a generous glob lands dead center on her boxers, seeping into the fabric and darkening it instantly. you use your tongue to spread it around in slow circles, dragging the wet cotton right over her clit until it clings to the poor bud like a second skin.
"fuck—" she gasps, hips bucking, the controller nearly slipping from her grasp as her eyes flick down. you hum, pleased. "eyes on the screen," you remind her, your voice both sweet and cruel.
she swallows hard, trying her best to listen. but once you drag soft kitten licks along the fabric, she loses herself. it barely feels like anything separates you from her anymore— just a thin, drenched scrap of cotton, molded to every ridge and pulse of her clit.
the texture only adds to her pleasure tenfold, the friction catching just right, making each and every lick feel impossibly sharp. every swipe of your tongue has her legs twitching and her grip faltering.
you suddenly pause, pulling back just enough that your breath ghosts over the cool, damp fabric, hitting her clit but offering no relief. she lets out a soft whine, hips chasing your mouth.
"play the game right, or i'll stop," you warn gently. she whimpers, desperate, fingers squeezing the controller handles before letting out a shaky breath and trying to refocus. "i can't— can't focus," she stammers, eyes flickering between the screen and the ache between her thighs.
it's no use. her coordination slips, she hits a wrong button, missing a crucial shot. the screen flashes her match placement.
the controller falls to her chest with a dull thud, her thighs snapping shut around your head like a reflex. "please," she gasps, voice cracking with need. "no more teasing— just… ohfuck— please? i'm sorry."
you press a kiss to the soaked fabric clinging to her clit, then another. "yeah?" you murmur, lips brushing the sensitive spot through the cotton. "what're you sorry for, els?"
ellie breathes hard, eyes fluttering shut. "for ignoring you," she chokes out, the words catching in her throat. "i didn't mean to.. i-i won't do it again. please?"
"fuck," you mutter, more to yourself than to her. you dip down again and spit directly onto the fabric, watching it spread and cling even tighter to her clit. she jerks, tears brimming in her eyes, all words dying in her throat.
without warning, you seal your mouth over her through the boxers, sucking hard. ellie cries out, tears actually rolling down her cheeks from finally getting the attention she needs. "oh— fuck, fuck, i'm gonna—"
you hum against her, not letting up. every tiny lick, every pull of suction drives her over the edge. her eyes go hazy, thighs clamping tight around your head as she cums, shaking through it, her voice breaking on a raw moan of your name.
you don't stop until her body is done twitching, her hands scrambling for something to bring herself back down to reality. her breath comes out in shallow gasps, her skin flushed and hot.
you laugh, soft and warm. "jesus, els," you mutter, grinning as you press a kiss to her inner thigh. "can’t even hold yourself together for more than two minutes, huh?" ellie groans, one arm draping across her embarrassed face. "shut up."
every summer since you were fourteen was spent in Ellie’s family ranch. your mothers are best friends, which only made it harder to understand why you and Ellie were never even friends. or maybe the question isn’t about friendship at all.
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“Shut up. It's not like I want to do anything with her. I just... just wanna talk to her, you know.” You rolled over your bed for what felt like the ninth time, phone pressed to your ear, your voice low and a little breathless.
“Get along with her. It's just weird that every summer I've been here since I was fourteen, and we aren't even friends...” You sighed, glancing toward the left where your unpacked bags still sat like they had no intention of moving.
“Oh, please. I'm your best friend, remember? I know you more than anyone else,” she scoffed through the line, the smugness in her voice grating. “Just admit it. You want a hot makeout with her after crushing on her for years.”
“Shut up!” you hissed, scrambling upright as your heart started pounding. You stood and began pacing, your feet brushing across the wooden floor.
“Shut up, okay? Her room's literally across from mine.” You dropped your voice to a whisper, as if the thick old walls of Ellie’s house might suddenly melt and spill your secrets into the hallway.
You bit your lip hard, willing the intrusive image of Ellie’s lips on yours to go away. You could almost feel your best friend smirking through the phone.
“I don't like her that way. I just want us to be friends. Just friends,” you said, your voice a little too sharp.
“Yeah, yeah. Friends who do stuff,” she sighed dramatically. “Anyway, I gotta go. Summer class is brutal. Catch up again tomorrow?”
You exhaled, trying not to sound as deflated as you felt. “Yeah. Goodnight. I miss you.”
“Not more than you miss her, I know. You’ve been waiting for summer all year.”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. After the call ended, the silence in the room felt heavier than before.
You tossed your phone onto the bed and padded barefoot out of the room. The house creaked in that familiar way, every floorboard carrying memories of summers past. The kitchen lights were dimmed low, just enough to see your way through. You were wearing an oversized shirt that barely reached your thighs, loose and soft from years of wear.
You grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and leaned over the counter, taking a slow bite.
The crunch echoed softly.
Then you heard footsteps.
She appeared from the hallway, and for a moment, you froze.
Ellie.
She looked different. Her auburn hair was shorter now, pulled into a lazy half bun, some side bangs falling across her face. She had grown taller, her frame broader, shoulders straighter. She wore a crisp white button-up with the sleeves folded at her elbows, and cream-colored trousers that made her look older than the last time you saw her. More like a woman than a girl.
Your lips were still on the apple, but your eyes were locked on her.
She didn’t say anything. Just walked to the fridge, opened it lazily, and peered inside like it was a ritual. She didn’t even glance your way.
The fridge door closed with a soft thud.
A beer was now in her hand as she moved to the other side of the counter and leaned on her forearms, her face cast in the soft yellow light of the overhead lamp. Her eyes stayed on the counter at first, the beer bottle pressed to her lips.
You swallowed and shifted your weight, suddenly all too aware of your bare legs against the cool wood cabinets.
“Hi,” you said, quiet and awkward, biting your bottom lip after.
Her gaze lifted slowly. From the floor to your thighs to your eyes. She took a long sip from the bottle before finally responding with a simple, “Hey.”
Her voice had changed. It was lower, more grounded. Less of the lazy, teasing tone you remembered from a few summers back.
“You weren’t here when I arrived,” you said, trying to ease the tension knotting up in your chest. “I thought maybe you were out in town or something.”
Ellie didn’t answer right away. She twisted the bottle in her hand, watching the condensation roll down the glass.
“Had stuff to do at the stables,” she said finally. “Didn’t know you were coming today.”
That stung, a little.
“Oh.” You glanced back down at your apple, realizing you hadn’t taken another bite since she walked in. “Your mom said she told you.”
“She might’ve. I didn’t check my phone.”
The silence after that stretched again, a bit too long. You glanced up from your apple to find her eyes fixed on you — no, not your face.
Your breath hitched slightly.
Her gaze was on your thighs, barely hidden beneath the hem of your oversized shirt. She didn’t even flinch when you caught her.
You straightened up, the air between you crackling with something you couldn’t name.
“What?” you asked, softly, almost challenging.
Her eyes flicked up, meeting yours without shame. She shrugged.
“You’re taller,” she said, tone unreadable. “And louder.”
You scoffed lightly, the heat creeping up your neck.
That made something flicker across her face. The corner of her mouth twitched like she was holding back a smirk or a retort.
“You still talk too much,” she muttered, but there was no bite behind it.
You leaned forward on the counter again, the apple back at your lips, if only to keep your mouth busy. Your heart was thudding hard, and you hated how easily she made you feel like you were back to being fourteen again.
“Nice seeing you too, Williams,” you said dryly, but your voice cracked just slightly at the end.
She laughed under her breath, low and tired. Then she tilted her beer bottle toward you in mock salute.
“Welcome back.”
It was the first thing she said that actually felt like it meant something.
And it scared you just a little, how much you’d been waiting to hear it.
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