cw — mdni, reader is ellie's gf, vi is kinda mean, strap usage, brief spanking, hair-pulling, squirting, nerd!cuck!ellie...? anyone...?
"fuuck, look at her .."
vi laughs, her calloused hands gripping your waist as she continued her merciless pounding into your cunt. there was nothing but the sound of vi's hips colliding with your ass and the obscene squelching of your wetness filling the room as she fucked you deep into the mattress. this was all occurring right in front of your girlfriend, ellie, who had been made to watch the entire thing with her hands tied behind her back.
you were nothing but a moaning, drooling mess. sweat dripped off both of your bodies and your hair was a tangled mess from being constantly manhandled. the embarrassment of getting wrecked in view of ellie had long left your body; too drunk on the dizzying feeling of vi's thick strap hitting that sweet spot over and over again.
"you see this shit? thaat's how you make your girl feel good," vi tosses a glance at ellie, who had been subtly rubbing her thighs together for some form of friction in her dampening pants, "bet you've never gotten her this wet 'nd needy before, huh?"
vi reached down and grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back enough so you could properly look at ellie, who was gazing back at you with just as much patheticism.
"c'mon, look at your girlfriend .. let's show her the mess you're gonna make all over my dick, yeah?" vi murmurs against your ear, giving your ass a firm spank with her free hand. you let out a small, pained yelp from the impact as your noisy cunt tightens around the silicone, your orgasm rapidly approaching.
"o-oh god, ngh .. ! ellie, please .. !" you whined, your vision all watery as you tried your best to keep your eyes on her. ellie bit her bottom lip at your needy display, wanting nothing more than to break out of her restraints so she could touch you too.
"tsk, i'm the one fucking you dumb and you've got the nerve to moan her name?" vi scoffs, her thrusts somehow getting rougher. her hand comes down to rub tight circles around your aching clit, which spurs on louder moans from your throat. "go on .. look at ellie in the eyes as you cum. let her know who's making you feel this good."
you fall over the edge not long after — your cunt spasming around the strap as you squirted all over the bedsheets and vi's thighs. exhaustion immediately took over as your twitchy body melted into the sheets, too weak to hold yourself up anymore.
"h-holy shit ..." ellie murmurs in awe, watching with labored breaths as your body trembled from the intensity of your orgasm.
vi slowly pulls out of you, the base of her fake shaft covered in a ring of cream. she takes a moment to catch her breath before sitting back and leaning against the headboard, pulling your worn-out body against hers. with your back now pressed against her chest, she reaches for your thighs and spreads them apart, giving ellie the perfect view of your spent cunt that still leaked with your juices.
"get over here, ellie. gotta teach you how to eat your girl out properly, too."
warning: engaging with this post may cause her to appear unannounced. she knows where you sleep.
✶ part one ⋮ 18+ ⋮ desperately, pussy achingly in need of a feralwife!ellie who:
౨ৎ mumbles shit like “you’re such a good girl” under her breath while you’re doing regular domestic shit. could be folding towels, loading the dishwasher, or even watering the little succulents on the windowsill. the art of watering plants. yup, she finds that shit attractive.
౨ৎ gets all twitchy when a toddler hands her a flower. claims, “i don’t like kids,” but keeps the flower in her sketchbook like it’s a signed autograph from caitlin clark.
౨ৎ holds a baby once at a family function, and the second it stops crying in her arms, she won’t shut up about it for the next week. “d’you see that? she liked me. babies fuckin’ like me, babe.”
౨ৎ gets awfully quiet whenever she sees you holding someone else’s baby.
౨ৎ gets all weird when she sees a my first pride onesie at the thrift store and shoves it in your face aggressively. “hah. imagine. that’d be... gay as fuck.”
౨ৎ starts picking baby names out of nowhere, like, you’re in the middle of grocery shopping and she goes, “that’d be a sick name if we ever had a kid,” then refuses to explain further. “not sayin’ we should. just sayin’... plus, s’not like i’d be a bad mom, right?” then crashes face-first into the doritos aisle when you actually agree.
౨ৎ suddenly starts leaving her sketchbook out, hoping you’ll find the little doodles she’s been doing of you. ones where you’re asleep with your hand on a pregnant belly you don’t even have, or you holding a baby she hasn’t told you about yet, as a silent “if you’d ever want one, i’d want one, too” she doesn’t have the heart to utter, mostly out of fear. because what if you don’t want it? even though you said a long time ago that you were open to it, things change, and so do people. that’s enough to scare her into silence. unbeknownst to her, she’s been knocking on a door that’s already pretty much unlocked.
౨ৎ floats subtle ideas like getting a dog, casually throwing out a shy, “just to see if we’d survive having a creature that needs us, like, a test run! a baby but with less trauma, y’know?” or testing the waters with offhand comments “you’d be such a good mom,” pretending she hasn’t been carrying that shit in her chest this whole time. but eventually, she grows a pair.
౨ৎ blurts out “would you ever wanna… y’know. do the baby thing? with me?” mid-makeout, while you’re straddling her, cheeks of a deep cherry-red as if she just asked you to try out a new position (you lowk have tried them all by now, but that’s besides the point.)
౨ৎ reads all the parenting articles you send her after saying yes. she’s got whole tabs open on her ipad titled “gentle parenting for anxious people” and “how to not fuck up your kid when you’re gay and traumatized.” #ipadkidcore
౨ৎ talks with you for hours about the different options, like real adults and real partners, because she’s serious about this and wants to be ready. timelines, genetics, your job, her job, who would carry, health considerations, etc. all of it etched right next to a half-completed drawing of you in an unfairly serene slumber.
౨ৎ nods to every word that comes out of the doctor’s mouth on your first appointment. he’s explaining how reciprocal IVF works and ellie’s can’t shut the fuck up for more than 6 seconds (you were keeping track.) you think her questions are silly, but to her, they are highly significant and totally life-altering.
“can she still eat gas station sushi, or is that a bad mindset for implantation?”
“does stress really lower fertility because she gets stressed when she looks for parking—” you smack the shit outta her.
౨ৎ cries as soon as you walk out. her legs feel so weak that she has to lean against a wall, eyes all glassy, trembling hands braced on her knees. you even start to worry, already convinced she’s about to backtrack and change her mind after dropping three grand, just like that one time she impulse-bought wonder woman curtains from tiktok shop because ‘they matched the living room vibe’ and regretted it instantly. typical ellie behavior.
“ellie? what’s wrong?”
“it’s just— the idea of… you carrying something that’s half me?” she sniffles, looking away ashamed, “i didn’t think i’d ever get something that good.” only option, really, is to kiss her dumb. what else could you do?
౨ৎ suddenly develops a huge breeding kink out of nowhere. 6 inches in and she goes, “fuck, yeah. just like that. takin’ me so good. my girl’s gonna get full off me, huh? gonna carry our baby.” you try to remind her how insemination really works and all you get is a defensive, “shut up. it’s my fantasy.”
౨ৎ slaps your ass around the house every time you bend over. “that’s a breeding ass, babe.”
౨ৎ takes the donor selection process way too seriously. at first, at least. the intention is there: notebook draped over her laptop keyboard, highlighter cap clenched between her teeth type of serious. she writes things down, circles relevant stuff; even makes a pros and cons list like it’s a fucking job interview.
but no one’s good enough. she’s actively roasting these dudes like they personally disrespected her entire bloodline. “his name is braxton,” she reads out loud, squinting at you sideways. “nope. immediate red flag. he absolutely says ‘epic’ unironically. instant pass.” click. “liam. i just know he got arrested for tax evasion and called his mom to cry about it.” click again, without even giving you time to react. “why does his smile look like he knows what crypto is.” click. “babe, i swear i’ve seen this one dude on the dark web before,” she stabs at the screen of her laptop with her finger. click. “absolutely fucking not.”
she’s scrolling fast now, flicking through profiles like she’s on tinder with way too much repressed rage, commenting it all—height, hair color, childhood photo, medical history tabs she pretends not to care about while still reading every single one with a judgmental heart.
the clicking eventually comes to a stop. “what. the. fuck.”
your eyes land on the name and you can’t help but snort. “who the fuck names their kid… elliot jackscum?”
click. click again. then goes back and clicks on the profile.
“…why does he lowkey look like me though.” you both frown, exchanging looks, “that’s me in the upside-down.”
now you’re both dead silent, fully locked in, reading every detail that actually matters. the medical history is clean, genetic screening clear. education is something arts-related, a personality similar to ellie’s (not that that holds much importance, in your opinion.)
you sigh, studying her face before murmuring a “we should pick him, shouldn’t we.” less a question, more a i know that look.
ellie sinks into the couch, blowing out a resigned breath through her nose as a calloused palm drags down her face. “god fucking damn it.”
“…yeah.”
“jackscum wins.”
౨ৎ starts hormone injections for egg retrieval and instantly becomes the most disgusting, horniest version of herself.
౨ৎ shrugs it off at first, saying it’s whatever, that she’ll get used to it. but it doesn’t level out; if anything, it escalates. gradually, but surely. suddenly she’s spooning you tighter at night, her hands wandering way more than usual, past the waistband of your underwear, up your shirt, cupping your breasts, kissing the back of your neck like you’re the dinner she didn’t get to eat because she got sent to bed early, grounded and starving.
the sex dreams start happening almost every night. sometimes she even moans in her sleep. all you know is you’ve caught her humping her pillow more times than you care to count. you bend over for half a second to pick something up, and she’s there, fake banging you from behind like a dog in heat—except she very clearly wishes it wasn’t fake at all. then she starts begging. for neck kisses. for head. always pulling you into her lap or groping your ass at the most random times. sometimes all while dirty talking to you in a low rasp, her mouth at your neck, her breath caressing your baby hairs deliciously. it makes your head spin.
౨ৎ starts with hints before she actively starts begging. you’ll be eating and she’ll just stare at your mouth and go, “you could do something else with that mouth.” or “how bout you kiss my thighs and see where it goes?” still, not so subtle, but at least she’s cute about it.
౨ৎ other times she straight up whines about it, every time using the same old excuse when you dare call her out. “you don’t understand. i feel like a greek fertility goddess right now. it’s a medical thing—what happened to feminism anyway? girls having each other’s back and all that shit.” does she make any sense? absolutely not, but you hold her hand through it and keep her thighs open when needed, mouth where it matters, patience in your praises and your tongue on her swollen clit. <3
౨ৎ wakes you up in the middle of the night to announce how unwell she’s feeling.
you feel her shaking you like a cocktail while you’re chasing some distant, juicy slumber of your own just to whisper, nearly panicked, “babe. emergency.”
“what,” you mumble, half asleep, half groan, half annoyed.
“i had a dream you ate me out while i was crying and then gave me a juice box. and i woke up horny and thirsty. it’s a sign. please.” she shakes you again, more urgently this time.
“mkay…” you don’t fully register any of it. your half-conscious brain assumes she’s hungry or something, she’s woken you up for less. “go drink water,” you reach for her blindly, eyes still closed, meaning to pat her on the shoulder, except your hand lands right on her tit and her breath stutters like you just hit a wounded nerve.
“it’s not the same,” she sighs, pouting a little at the ceiling.
౨ৎ jokes about dying if you don’t suck her tits and moans way too loud when you actually do.
from there, things derail fast, because somehow you end up between her thighs, slurping on a clit that’s never throbbed so angrily against your tongue. she’s so wet you almost feel bad. between the constant horniness, the random mood swings, the cramps, the snapping, you figure your girl genuinely needs the extra attention.
except she’s greedy about it.
she yanks at your hair harshly, sucking in a breath, moaning like a pornstar. freckles scattered over pink skin, growing impatient beneath you, looking so fucking pretty it physically hurts. “babe… please,” she begs in a voice so feeble, so high-pitched, “please, please—fingers, please.” seconds away from a full mental breakdown even as you’re eating her out.
it’s never enough for ellie. doesn’t matter if she’s going to bed with an orgasm count of five or thirteen.
you pull away with the filthiest smooch, lips abandoning her completely. “doctor said no internal stimulation.” your huff lands directly on her cunt, making her shiver. “you’re lucky i’m even doing this.”
of course, she argues. “i’m literally not gonna die from one knuckle—”
“ellie.” you glare at her through your lashes and she swears she’s gonna squirt just from that.
“this is the worst oppression i’ve ever experienced—oh my god, keep going, keep—oooh fuck, fuuck!—” she comes gasping into the crook of her elbow, all whiny and twitchy, actively trying to argue even as she rides it out on your tongue.
“you still gonna complain? i’m fucking you to sleep at this point.”
“i’ll give it a six… could’ve been better with your fingers.”
you wipe your mouth and snort. “you’re lucky i didn’t call the doctor mid-orgasm and tell him exactly what you were asking me for, you little bitch.”
౨ৎ wakes you up the next morning with breakfast in bed: a cute, wooden tray with a japanese cherry blossom tree painted on it (by her), heart-shaped pancakes, chocolate-dipped strawberries and a tulip very obviously stolen from someone’s garden two blocks away—plus… a thick envelope?
still blurry-eyed and half unconscious, you press a lazy peck to her lips, mumbling a sleepy thanks as you squint at the envelope. not that ellie isn’t a love-letter type of girl, but this is… not that.
“NOTICE OF NOISE COMPLAINT – UNIT 3C” written across it in threatening red sharpie, you frown. “huh… what’s this?”
you shift the tray over your thighs and tear the envelope open, barely looking at her as you pull the letter out. the mattress dips when she climbs back into bed, knee knocking into yours under the covers. you grab a chocolate-drenched strawberry, take a big bite and unfold the paper one-handed.
“looks like we got our first official citation,” she says casually with a slight bounce of her shoulders. “we’re on record.”
your eyes skim the page, the words making your frown deepen, “ellie… this is not… a good thing.” a masterpiece of overly formal language explaining that someone yelling “oh fuck, faster—” at ungodly hours has apparently disrupted the recycling schedule.
“the old lady next door told building management that unit 3c films amateur porn at ungodly hours and traumatized her grandkids. she kept tabs on us too… even submitted a whole report with timestamps. timestamps, babe.”
the pride in her voice makes you look back at her in disbelief. not because of the notice itself, but because she isn’t even a little ashamed that half the building now has a rough estimate of how many times a week she comes. “what. the. fuck.”
the concern is unmatched, she’s beaming by this point. “i know, right? you’re that skilled with your tongue. we should frame it and put it in the living room,” she lifts her hands to frame an imaginary golden plaque in the air, eyes all dreamy. “bachelor of arts in making your wife scream.” bumps your shoulder with hers. you snort, barely. more amused than anything. genuinely just shocked it didn’t happen sooner, back to when she used to fuck you stupid with her beloved strap every night before bed, period or not, because “your body didn’t get to cockblock her like that.” her words.
“should be fucking proud, babe. not even kat—”
your eyes narrow at the mention of her ex. “say that name again and you’re out of the fucking house.”
౨ৎ sits through the egg retrieval process like a real champ. all cocky in the car, all “guess i’m donating to the cause, huh?” but the second she gets in the gown and hears “you’ll feel a little pressure” she asks the nurse for “just a minute” at least five times before anyone gets to lay a finger on her.
౨ৎ something in her sick brain rewires the second she learns her eggs are fertilized. “that’s it, this pussy’s full of me already—ride me like you wanna make another.” science sure is an opinion to her.
౨ৎ goes fucking insane when the clinic clears you for a natural transfer cycle—which means no suppression, no medicated estrogen protocol, just monitoring, timing and a whole lot of hope. they explain to you that transfers are usually more controlled, with generous doses of estrogen and progesterone scheduled down to the hour, but your stubborn ass wanted to try option b instead. what they don’t explain is that this would apparently include ellie tracking your ovulation on THREE different apps and bothering you about it. constantly. and that’s on you, really.
“hydrate, mama. cervical mucus loves hydration.”
you could be brushing your teeth and she’s leaning against the doorway, “so… how’s the mucus lookin’ today?”
or it’s her prophecies. “according to clue, you ovulate in 15 days. according to flo? 14. but babe my gut says 13.5. trust.”
౨ৎ wakes you up every morning with fertility facts she studied the night before, after lying awake next to your snoring ass. the moment you open your eyes, the first thing you hear is shit like, “mornin’... apparently, when you sleep well, implantation chances go up.”
“I HAVEN’T EVEN OVULATED YET.”
“yeah, but you will soon… my perfect little incubator.”
౨ৎ checks the cervical mucus so seriously it becomes scary. you drop your underwear to pee and she’s already leaning over your shoulder to take a peek. “hmm. fertile window approaching.”
“ELLIE WILLIAMS. GET OUT OF THE BATHROOM.”
“just saying, babe. it looks… promising.”
the craziest thing is that all her guesses weren’t even half wrong. the clinic confirms everything with ultrasounds and blood tests.
౨ৎ comes home after a long day of work and instead of greeting you with bouquets of flowers like she used to, she’s always carrying something that could benefit your health. vitamins, teas, supplements, all bought in ridiculous amounts. she even leaves little notes on them, the kind that used to come tucked between baby blue roses, baby’s breath and lavender.
✉︎ “𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘦 ˙ᵕ˙ 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘥.”
౨ৎ holds your hand through the entire embryo transfer, somehow more anxious than you are. the nurses nearly kick her out for interfering too much. she keeps stopping the doctor with stupid questions, insisting he double-check everything, even get another doctor in the room, just in case. she finally behaves after a few very firm warnings. (no pegging for a week.)
౨ৎ treats you like a fragile little fawn for the next two weeks. you’re not allowed to lift anything heavier than a bobby pin. “my wife’s got a belly to grow.”
౨ৎ constantly tucks blankets around you, shoving her own pillow under your legs, sleeping like a starfish without one ‘cause “science says gravity helps.” if you dare suggest she’s making that shit up, or that reddit isn’t reliable, “science IS reddit.”
౨ৎ sits on the bathroom floor two weeks later, shaking like a wet chihuahua while you take a pregnancy test. after peeing gracefully on the stick, you place it on the counter face-down. “please… please… please…” two minutes in, “why’s this shit takin’ so long? oh my fucking god.” four minutes in, “swear to god, if she gets pregnant i’ll go to church every sunday.” spoiler: she lied. she’s not even religious.
౨ৎ when the pregnancy test finally comes back positive, she doesn’t react like a normal person. sure, she kisses you hard and gets a little emotional, but she’s mostly praising herself.
“I DID THAT. I KNEW I NUT GOOD.”
“you didn’t even nut.”
“emotionally i was balls deep. let me have this.” + endless kisses to your nonexistent bump<3
౨ৎ is a nervous wreck the day she has to tell your family. and her dad.
it’s a sunny sunday, barbecue smoke filtering lazily through the open windows, the neighbors’ kids are shrieking outside, their laughter piercing straight through your skull. a dog down the street barks furiously at bees hovering over its bowl, while the grumpy man across the road yells at the kids for kicking a ball across his precious patch of grass.
and ellie is absolutely shitting her pants. quite literally. she’s excused herself to pee at least three times in a row. she always gets like this when she’s anxious. by the time she comes back the fourth time, your mom is setting a cherry pie down in the middle of the table.
ellie refuses to sit, impulsively blurting it out, “i got her pregnant.”
the crust of pie lodges straight in your throat as you launch into a coughing fit, hand pounding the table. “y—yes,” you manage between coughs. why is she like this. why does she have to make it weird. “a doctor got me pregnant,” you quickly correct her.
ellie turns to you, offended, waving it off. “my egg. her womb. our baby.” she finishes with a small shrug and a smug grin, “jackpot.” claiming it’s all thanks to her because she ‘manifested that shit.’
౨ৎ orders a mug that says ‘world’s best breeder’ that she claims is “a joke” but uses it every fucking day.
౨ৎ stares at your belly when it really pops and ellie looks like she’s just seen a leprechaun. “i gotta process this. it’s happening. you’re big. (you’re not) i did that. i did that. holy fuck.”
౨ৎ starts giving you weird ass pet names, “my little transport truck full of baby” or “my stacked fridge.”
౨ৎ immediately leaves a positive review on the clinic google page “$14,000 to breed my wife. money well spent!!!”
౨ৎ won’t let you walk anywhere alone. you don’t get privacy or independence, not anymore. you stand up to get water and she’s like “nonono—sit down. i’ll get it for you.” you sneeze once and she’s looking up: “can sneezing effect early pregnancy??” you lay on your stomach and she gets anxious about it, “what if you pop a tit?? will the baby feel it?”
౨ৎ has absolutely no idea how to act when she’s horny anymore. like, yeah, she’s still wildly attracted (obviously), but she’s also scared as fuck. she’ll kiss your belly, trail her mouth down your neck, press slow kisses to the inside of your thighs, then freeze like she’s committing a felony, two seconds away from an actual panic attack. “is it okay if i—? wait. is that safe? are you comfortable? tell me if you’re uncomfortable. actually… no sex tonight. nope. abort mission. i need to research.” she lasts exactly three hours before she’s straddling you again, phone carelessly tossed somewhere in the sheets, eyes gleaming in the dark like a cat’s. “okay,” she grins sheepishly, “i researched. turns out we can. can i ride your thigh now or no.” all that unnecessary stress just for her to end up leaving snail trails on your thigh. disappointing to say the least.
౨ৎ turns aggressively protective and insists on coming with you for every errand.
grocery store? someone bumps your cart with theirs and ellie’s already stepping in front of you like she’s shielding the president. “watch where you’re going, for fuck’s sake,” she snaps so loud your face burns and you suddenly become a stranger three aisles away. “can’t you see she’s pregnant?” she gestures toward you like a crazy woman. you’re barely a few weeks in, nothing is visible yet, not even a hint. you honestly don’t even blame the guy for looking at your wife like she’s insane as he quietly wheels his cart away, terrified. little does she know, next time he’s bringing his wife with him because women terrify him.
your first checkup? she nearly starts a riot in the waiting room because no one offers you a seat. again—absolutely no one can tell you’re pregnant. but ellie insists she can feel your shoulders tensing, your poor spine straining and your body working overtime.”
౨ৎ treats you like actual royalty. she brings you snacks but won’t make eye contact while doing it, drops them off all awkward, without mumbling a single word (loser ellie nghh)
౨ৎ kisses your bump goodnight and gets shy if she catches you watching her.
౨ৎ sticks little anxious reminders on your nightstand on mornings she has to leave early for work.
“𝘱𝘭𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳!!! 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘪𝘵!!!”
“𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘴 >:(”
“𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 + 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘳𝘺𝘰 ♡”
౨ৎ narrates everything to the baby. you eat strawberries and she talks directly to your stomach, rubbing it gently, “hear that? mama’s feeding you antioxidants.” later, you’re watching zootropolis together, a fox plush tucked against your side and she adds, “see, kiddo? absolute cinema.” like the baby can actually see through your eyes. she’s convinced it can.
౨ৎ thanks you out of nowhere, because not only you’ve chosen her as your forever partner like swans do, but you’re also building a family with her. “hey, thanks for doing this with me.” then she kisses your shoulder and immediately pretends she didn’t just get emotional, stomping away before you can catch her tearing up like a way-too-chalant lesbian she swears she’s not.
౨ৎ cries over baby clothes, you’ll be walking in walmart and other places and she’ll be crying as if she’s the one pregnant and a walking ball of stubborn, unpredictable hormones. “babe it’s so fucking small—look—wait, hold it against your belly again—oh my god—that’s OUR kid—”
you swat her hand away. “kid? ellie, it’s barely an embryo.”
“bite your tongue. that’s our fucking heir.” she’ll promptly hiss every time you remind her. swear to god she’ll make you apologize like you just said the worst thing imaginable.
౨ৎ checks your pregnancy app every morning before she even pees. you wake up to her perched in bed with her glasses on, “holy shit… the baby’s a blueberry today.” then she turns to you, grinning like a dork, “babe. you’re a blueberry mom.”
౨ৎ will clock that you’re sick before you even admit it.
౨ৎ cancels plans without even telling you because if her girl needs her, everything else can die. the world could literally collapse and crumble to the core of the underworld and she wouldn’t budge. you don’t even ask for her presence, ‘cause she’s already there like a sickening little parasite.
౨ৎ feels genuinely guilty when the morning sickness gets worse. you rush to the bathroom and somehow she beats you there. already kneeling behind you, holding your hair in a gentle fist and shielding your forehead from stubborn strands while you puke your soul out. rubs reassuring circles into your back with her palm, “’m sorry, baby… i’m so sorry you feel like this…” and she means that shit with her whole heart, like it’s her fault. “you’re doing so good. your body’s doing so much right now… i know it sucks ass, i know…” and the one that melts your insides every time, “my poor girls.”
౨ৎ goes down a rabbit hole about acupressure after reading somewhere in a facebook article dina sent her that it can help with nausea. the next morning you’re hunched over the sink complaining that you feel sick again and she’s already reaching for your wrist, “hold on, hold on, don’t move.” she presses her thumb on your wrist, right between your tendons, squinting back at you for any sign of improvement. “internet said this one’s for nausea.” when you tell her it actually helped a little, she sits back on the toilet lid looking waaay too proud of herself. “see? basically a doctor now.”
౨ৎ turns into a doberman about smells. you hate garlic, vinegar, anything sharp or fermented, so now she goes around sniffing the air like a bloodhound. “what the fuck is that? i said. no. funyuns. i told you the smell makes her gag. what the fuck is wrong with you?” and just like that, your friends are forever banned from your house.
౨ৎ sleeps lighter than ever when you’re feeling off. if you so much as shift or groan, she jolts awake like she’s just fallen into a void. “hey, hey… i’m here. what do you need?” even if what you need is just to complain.
౨ৎ refuses to complain herself, even when she’s exhausted, even when you keep her up all night because the nausea won’t leave you alone. she doesn’t say a word, doesn’t blame you, doesn’t take her stress out on you. even with dark circles under her eyes and all, she still rubs your shoulders, still makes you food, still reassures you. if you dare apologize, she shakes her head, shutting you up instantly. “don’t. you’re growing our baby and you’re sick. bare minimum. least i can do.”
౨ৎ cannot stand when men so much as glance at your bump or say anything remotely sweet to you. “that’s how it starts. smiling. then asking what school the kid goes to. next thing you know, he’s trying to be the father that steps up. not on my fucking watch.”
౨ৎ cries at your first ultrasound because the baby has her nose. honestly, you were glad. but then she says weird shit, “look at that shrimp spine. head’s huge as fuck, babe! definitely got my brain in there. my swimmers were built different.” the nurse looks at her weird.
౨ৎ prints out an image of your ultrasound, laminates it and keeps it inside the back of her phone case just to peek at it when she’s having a bad day :(
౨ৎ has a completely blank sketchbook she plans to fill only with baby drawings.
౨ৎ spoons you extra gentle at night, with one hand over your bump and her mouth in the curve of your neck, “you smell different,” when you ask her to elaborate, you feel her shrug behind you, “like… mom energy. sweeter. ripe. i dunno.”
౨ৎ is suffocatingly obsessive the entire pregnancy—waking you up at 3am to make sure you feel okay or if you need to pee. sometimes, you have to sleep on the couch just to get away from her. when you wake up, she’s passed out on the carpet right beside you. you even accidentally step on her the first time. arghh.
౨ৎ starts rearranging the entire house in the middle of the night to make sure the closets are neat and everything even remotely dangerous for a baby shoved out of the way (despite the fact that you’re barely a few months in).
౨ৎ keeps calling the baby “big sister” as if having this one in the incubator somehow means you’re already open to more kids.
“babe, she’s not even born yet.” (utterly irrelevant to ellie)
“doesn’t matter. mentally preparing her. she’s gotta know she’s not gonna be an only child.” she’s so excited it physically pains you to demolish that delusion of hers. “also i ordered matching onesies that say ‘1st round’ and ‘2nd round’—” and the cherry on top, “fuck it, let’s go full lesbian duggar family.”
“ah hell naww. i’m divorcing you.”
౨ৎ lowkey gets horny when hormones start fucking you up hard. you don’t cry, you’re just mean as fuck… to ellie it’s foreplay. she blushes and her pussy starts throbbing in about 0.34 seconds. immediate reaction.
“i said no fucking pulp.” you narrow your eyes, pissed as fuck. all because she got you the wrong type of juice. “fucking useless piece of shit.”
she wishes you were like this 24/7. snapping, mean, reminding her how stupid and pathetic and useless her existence is.
she doesn’t argue. can’t. actually, you catch that fucking loser stifling a groan—maybe a moan, you’re not entirely sure. all you know is she’s drooling between her legs. “right. yeah. i’m so sorry… wanna spank me? i deserve it, ma’am.”
౨ৎ the mornings are consistently tragic. she wakes up, unfortunately—that’s her first mistake. the rambling starts before her eyes are even open, words spilling out as her legs swing off the bed like her brain never truly powered down overnight.
you’re at the table, swirling your cereal, already soggy and sinking depressingly to the bottom of the bowl. she won’t stop pacing, won’t stop fucking talking. you check the clock more than once. ten full minutes of this and you’re at your limit.
“—in addition to that, i was reading that hedgehogs—”
your spoon clinks sharply against the porcelain. “oh. my. fucking. god.” she blinks, genuinely startled, thinking she’s missed a cue you never gave her. confusion seems to shut her up, granting you a sacred moment of momentary peace. your irritation, however, keeps growing. “do you ever shut the fuck up?” you snap, “do you have a switch? or did you wake up with an eminem up your fucking ass?”
ellie has always known that the normal response would be to get offended. to shut down, perhaps. cry. maybe even to snap back. only she knows how many times she’s wished that she could be normal about this. because unpredictability gets under her skin in the worst ways and she never knows which version of you she’s waking up to. way to keep the marriage alive!
౨ৎ spends actual hours tracing your stretch marks with her tongue before head time, “fuckin’ marked by me” like she’s proud of leaving permanent scars on your temple of a body (which is every other night because she claims orgasms keep the baby healthy.)
౨ৎ fucks you with a strap when you’re in the second trimester and gets anxious as hell. it starts before even getting you naked. you’re doing chores and randomly huff, frustrated, telling her you need her inside.
“oh! okay. yup. happening. bedroom. now. careful—let me hold you—no, don’t walk that fast—babe slow down—BABE YOU’RE PREGNANT.”
when she gets on top of you it’s even worse. she’s rocking the strap into you at the pace of a fucking snail. no cocky shit, no dirty talk, just a super focused look on her face like she’s scared of giving you an abortion with her strap.
you wrap your legs around her hips, the heel of your foot pressing into her butt as some type of encouragement. “ellie... faster.”
she tries to mask the nervousness with cockiness. doesn’t work. “…yeah?”
“yes. faster. please.” you pant, restless and impatient and worked up, watching her through a blur as she hesitates and deliberately keeps the same pace, dragging the slow strokes out like it’s a punishment. “are you—” you claw at her shoulder, visibly losing it. “what the hell is this? you fuck me slower than the wifi at my grandma’s.”
she’s offended, maybe even tries to defend herself, “i’m—m’not slow.”
“it’s awful. i’m pregnant, not a fabergé egg.”
“‘m just… savoring it, y’know?”
“oh my god,” you smack her hand off your tit, “you’re scared you’re gonna hurt the baby.”
she legit freezes mid-thrust. “…no?”
“ellie, the baby is in my uterus, not hanging out in the hallway waiting to get hit.”
still doesn’t speed up, stubbornly sabotaging your orgasm. “yeah, but… what if she’s, like, right here?” her hand drifts to the underside of your stomach.
you actually laugh at that and smack her hand away once again. “right where? in my fucking cervix? do you seriously think your strap has prenatal combat abilities?”
“i just don’t wanna bonk her in the head or somethin’.”
you cover your face with both hands, in disbelief. you aren’t sure if you find this hot or embarrassing. “ellie,” longest sigh she’s ever heard from you, “i am so close to flipping us over and doing this myself.” you threaten.
“oh my god. are you seriously pissed at me for protecting our child?”
“from silicone?!”
“from reckless parenting!—fetus cost me over ten thousand dollars, ma. think i’m about to knock it loose ‘cause you’re horny?” all of it punctuated by yet another slow thrust, “no thanks.”
“that’s not even how–”
“gotta protect the investment, bro.”
“call me bro again and you’re dead.”
in the end, you flip her over and grind down slow and deep. you don’t stop, not even after you’ve already come, not even when her fingers clutch at your hips in an anxious attempt to stop you. you had to. next time, you’re tying her to the headboard so you can fuck her properly.
౨ৎ keeps a tally on the fridge called “times she let me touch the belly” when you start getting self-conscious about the stretch marks on your body, about how different you feel in your own skin. some days you can’t even bear to let her rest a hand there, let alone kiss it. you erase the tally every time you see it, feeling embarrassed and completely overwhelmed. but she’s more stubborn, more determined. she starts it over every single time, even adding smiley faces to the days you let her kiss it, repeating every day “you’re even prettier like this” without fail, until it finally absorbs.
౨ৎ doesn’t ask questions when you’re upset or crying, because she’s aware hormones don’t always make sense, like that one time you sobbed over giraffes not having proper shelter during storms. she’ll disappear for a minute and come back with one of those microwaveable lavender plushies because she’s read somewhere—deep in a reddit thread full of other pregnant women swearing by it—that lavender and chamomile help calm the nervous system. aromatherapy. figured it was worth a shot. ever since that precious discovery, the routine’s been the same. she settles behind you in bed, tucking the warm plush against your chest and wrapping herself around you like a safe blanket. no talking, no trying to cheer you up at all costs, just warm lavender filling your nostrils and quiet reassurance. if you start crying anyway, she rubs slow circles into your arm, “yeah, i know, baby. hormones are evil.”
౨ৎ screams when your water breaks, not a cute gasp, not an excited “oh my god,” but something ugly. high-pitched, even. straight out of a horror movie. she even notices before you do. she’s mid-sentence when her eyes drop to your lap and goes dead silent for half a second before it dawns on her. “uh.” her breath stutters, “uh.” the scream that follows makes you flinch. “IT’S HAPPENING.”
you’re still processing, barely feeling any pain, and she’s already sprinting down the hallway like the house is on fire. drawers are slamming, cabinets are opening, she’s grabbing the hospital bag she packed three weeks ago at 2am, your phone charger, her wallet, your pillow(??) and somehow a random framed photo from the nightstand. as if you’ll need it. as if that’ll make the pain more tolerable.
౨ৎ keeps dropping things because her hands are shaking so bad. the keys hit the floor several times, the suitcase tips over at least twice. she tries to carry all of it at once and looks like a raccoon stumbling out of a 7-eleven, caught stealing whiskey.
you waddle after her, annoyed and contracting at the same time, clutching at your belly. “ellie. calm. down.”
“CALM DOWN?” she shrieks, “WE TRAINED FOR THIS!”
she barrels toward the front door, flings it open with way too much force and makes it halfway down the stairs before you realize something. “ELLIE YOUR FUCKIN’ SHOES. PUT YOUR SHOES ON!”
she freezes mid-step, looks down at her star wars socks, then looks back at you. “FUCK. FUCK. SHOES!” she glitches in place, like a badly programmed 2000s npc lacking any real sense of awareness, turning left, then right. “WHERE ARE MY— I HAD THEM— I—” she runs back inside, collides with the wall, then trips over the edge of the carpet, moving too fast for her own coordination. she yanks her converse on without untying them, nearly falling again as she tries to shove her heel in, hopping around on one foot like a deranged baby chimp.
౨ৎ has absolutely zero skills under pressure. she backs out of the driveway without checking the mirrors, knocking over your lined-up trash cans and the neighbors’. she honks at a random pedestrian who was literally just walking, screaming, “HOLY SHIT— THE BABY— THE BABY—” she nearly runs a red light and kills you both.
౨ৎ tries so hard to be supportive in the delivery room, letting you demolish her hand, stroking your sweaty hair, kissing your feverish forehead… until she makes the mistake of looking directly between your legs mid-push. she goes pale in 000.11 seconds, “oh my god—s’that—s’that supposed to— oh, fuck— OH—” and then she collapses to the floor.
౨ৎ wakes up and tries to pretend she didn’t faint even with a confused medical student fanning her, sitting up like, “i’m fine, i’m fine.” gets up again, pushes the nurse out of the way, “keep going, ‘m so proud of-” looks between your thighs again and… lights out.
౨ৎ fully wakes up at last, when the baby is already out of you, crying on your chest. she’s missed the entire thing and will forever hate herself for it.
౨ৎ follows you around like an anxious golden retriever every time your daughter makes any noise, “babe???? is that normal? do they always breathe like that??”
౨ৎ insists on taking the night shift so you can sleep, rocking the baby in the dim lit living room, “hey, baby girl… mommy’s tired. let her rest, ’kay? i gotchu, i gotchu…” when the baby finally drifts off, she tiptoes back into the bedroom and tucks the blanket around you with the same dedicated care.
౨ৎ always makes sure the bathroom cabinets stay stocked with extra diapers for the baby and extra postpartum pads for you.
౨ৎ becomes so domestic in the most adorable way your heart aches, doing everything she can to make postpartum easier, even if she looks like she’s two seconds away from passing out every day. she washes bottles, folds tiny onesies with crazy precision, brings you snacks and water without being asked, and holds the baby while you shower. sometimes she’s the one passing out on the couch from exhaustion, and you have to tuck her into bed again :( poor baby.
౨ৎ is understanding at first when, after birth, your body and its healing process don’t really leave space for intimacy. she’s supportive, loving, so patient it almost hurts, “you’ve been through so much, babe. just rest. i got you.” she gives you extra love and attention, takes care of you, makes you food when you forget to eat, rubs your legs when they ache from walking back and forth to the bassinet, and your tummy when you get cramps. because she loves you.
౨ৎ starts to get grumpy once you’re cleared to have sex and actually try to initiate it, only to get cockblocked by your own daughter. like, extremely bitchy. she folds laundry with too much force, cabinet doors no longer experience gentle closing. you swear you even hear her mutter “fuckin’ blue-balled in my own house” under her breath while warming a bottle.
౨ৎ the first time you ride her again after birth, she’s laid out flat on the bed, arms limp at her sides, eyes a little dazed like she still thinks she’s dreaming. it happens after the baby has finally fallen asleep in her crib (handmade by joel), you close the bedroom door like you’re planning a louvre heist.
“you’ve got fifteen minutes before she wakes up again,” you’d said and ellie makes it her side quest.
no strap this time, claiming she needs to feel the warmth she’s been missing for so long. she’s too overwhelmed just watching you hover over her, your tits bigger, fuller, your hips rolling slowly against hers, your stomach soft with loose skin and marked with lines she loves so much it makes her dizzy.
she just lies there with her mouth slack while you ride her slick cunt, so slippery you nearly struggle to anchor yourself against her. the wet sounds are louder than they should be in a quiet house. at one point, you lean over her, moaning into her mouth as your tits bounce and one leaks directly onto her throat. an accident that makes her whole body jerk like she’s been tased, clawing at your hips. she doesn’t think, doesn’t speak, just breathes heavily, letting out a strangled, wet “uhnngh—” that sounds like her soul leaving her body and something else taking over—a succubus, perhaps.
she’s already close when you grope your own chest, milk spilling over your fingers as it drips slowly down your wrist. that’s what truly breaks her. she whimpers like a kicked dog, rocking up into you, desperate, mindless rolls of jerky hips while she pants through a red face and damp mouth, “fuck—baby, you’re dripping. m’gonna cum—don’t stop—keep making a mess, fuckfuckfuck—”
౨ৎ googles “is it safe to breastfeed your wife” after accidentally licking your nipple clean earlier with the brightness all the way down. blueprint forever ruined.
౨ৎ genuinely starts tweaking when your tits leak through shirts and tank tops. even buries her face between them, motorboating you, greedy hands everywhere, mouth trailing down between your thighs, not giving two shits if you’re moaning into the baby monitor or how many times you try to push her head away. “she won’t remember this. shut up and take it.”
౨ৎ conveniently starts wearing a strap under her clothes like it’s a uniform. when the baby is finally out cold, she sneaks up behind you and starts palming you real slow, intentions clear in the greediness of her palms. “could just slide it in real quick. five minutes, tops—two if you’re loud.” if you try to protest, she has her answer ready. “hey, m’not tryna force it, baby, just sayin’. you’re dripping. math is mathing again.”
౨ৎ sends you texts from across the room while your family is over to see the baby.
“your tits look heavy. come sit on my face after they leave.”
“leak on me and i’ll build you another kid.”
when you look at her, she’s pretending to listen to whatever your aunt is saying about swaddling techniques, nodding and smiling all politely, while your phone lights up again in your lap like she’s not two feet away, acting completely normal.
౨ৎ gets ridiculously turned on when you whine “my tits hurt,” pacing around the house in one of her tanks while it slowly soaks through at the nipple. eyeing you from the couch, manspreading, she offers to help relieve the pressure with her mouth like it’s a public service, hoping the throbbing in her sweats will disappear if she lets her intrusive thoughts win. “that sucks, babe… do you want… me to, uhh… do something about it…?”
౨ৎ starts pulling little tricks. it always begins with an innocent shoulder massage, hands working the knots out of your tense muscles before her fingers disappear under the hem of your shirt when you’re most distracted. “i just wanna feel you,” she’ll claim before pulling your nursing bra down in one quick tug, pretending to be shocked when you leak. “oh nooo. oops.” the proud little smirk that follows genuinely makes you want to split her skull in half.
౨ৎ you find a folder on her phone named “ᴍᴏᴍᴍʏᴍɪʟᴋᴇʀs” and it’s just videos of you leaking through your shirts or nipple play.
her search history is worse, though.
⌕ “lactation kink + pornhub”
⌕ “is it normal to nut from taste of breastmilk reddit”
⌕ “wifey boob.fullplease help”
⌕ “www.betterhelp.com”
the kinkshaming goes crazy. “the fuck are you on. it’s not a kink, it’s just objectively hot. and you leaked on me last night, so that’s on you.” she’s just devoted like that. how dare you kinkshame your wife for worshipping you.
౨ৎ drags you into the backseat after grocery shopping and fucks you there with the diaper bag half-open beside you, its contents spilling out haphazardly. in broad daylight, in a walmart parking lot. the two car window sunshades barely hiding your naked lower half, your pants bunched around your ankles, shoes still firmly in place like shackles. her fingers plunging deep into your dripping pussy, her mouth stealing every moan from you. all because she couldn’t wait until nightfall, when the baby would finally surrender to a sweet slumber.
౨ৎ can’t sleep unless her hand is under your shirt and cupping one leaking tit. tries to be chill about it but whimpers a little every time you shift away ;((
౨ৎ goes through real grief when you stop lactating, wandering around the house sighing like a tormented spirit that never found the light, “miss ’em heavy.” she’s mourning</3
౨ৎ talks to your daughter like she’s an adult who just happens to be gnome-sized.
౨ৎ lets her “help” with everything, even if it makes the task ten times longer. even if it includes your kid handing her socks one by one while she’s folding laundry. even if your baby is just standing on a chair stirring absolutely nothing in her bowl. ellie never rushes her nor complains ‘cause—“we’re doing it together, that’s the whole point.”
౨ৎ never misses bedtime routine. she reads the same damn book every single night because your daughter insists and ellie reads the same lines she read the night before with the same excitement in her tone, switching between all the voices anyway, even when she’s exhausted. and if you dare suggest skipping a page or skipping reading before bed, ellie gives you a look, as if you’d just suggested abandoning your child in the woods with no water, no food, no caretakers. she’s a dedicated mom and you couldn’t be more proud.
౨ৎ lets your kid sit on the counter while she cooks. “this is garlic… it smells insane—don’t touch it,” she warns gently as the toddler’s finger wanders toward it, eager to poke it. when she touches it, ellie simply sighs but doesn’t get mad. “okay. now you know.”
౨ৎ tries to get the kid to say “mah-mah” again, but the first word that comes out of her mouth is a very firm “noh.” ellie bites the inside of her cheek, trying not to laugh in the baby’s face. “strong boundaries. we love to see it.” later on, she tries again, crouching in front of the little gremlin and tapping her own chest. “say… love you. loh-ve you,” the kid squints, thinking very hard, then proudly produces a clumsy “wah-yoo.” ellie grins like she just won the lottery, her heart practically bursting. “yeah. wah-yoo too, kiddo.”
౨ৎ becomes the kid’s personal elevator. every five minutes, the toddler waddles up to her on unsure feet, arms stretched straight up, bouncing like a little spring because she barely knows how to walk yet. “UHP! EH-YEE!” (a gibberish version of her name) ellie sighs like she’s completely exhausted with the life she chose, but bends down to scoop her up anyway. “yeah yeah, uhp. i gotchu, bug.”
౨ৎ accidentally teaches her sarcasm before manners. you’ll hear your toddler drop her toy and dramatically exclaim, “oh great!” ellie grins proudly at you from across the kitchen. “what? she used it correctly.” she’s ellie’s daughter.
౨ৎ is weirdly gentle about scraped knees. you’ve never seen her panic over your daughter tripping or getting small cuts. instead, she’ll crouch down, inspect it like a professional and blow on it after disinfecting it. “okay. that sucks, i know, bug.” she applies my little pony band-aids and kisses all her boo-boos. done. that’s it. the kid immediately stops crying.
౨ৎ saves every drawing your daughter makes. every scribble, every half-ripped, crumpled piece of misunderstood art. you always find them tucked into her sketchbook, her wallet, or even her jacket pockets—the latter usually discovered after you’ve shoved the jacket into the washing machine and the drawing comes out soggy and ruined. when you ask why she feels the urge to collect them all like pokémon cards, she’ll say: “they’re important.”
౨ৎ teaches her music early. hands her headphones that are way too big for her head and lets her pluck the strings on her guitar. she nods proudly and pretends it sounds good. “you’ve got rhythm, peanut.”
౨ৎ never says “because i said so.” ever. because she doesn’t want to be like her dad. she’d rather overexplain everything, even when she’s tired as hell.
౨ৎ packs her lunch every damn morning before kindergarten. sandwiches with little faces, tiny cupcakes ellie bakes just for her, star-shaped pieces of fruit she meticulously cuts with tiny cookie cutters.
౨ৎ gives her adult reassurance in tiny doses. “hey peanut, it’s okay to be bad at things. that’s how you get good.” it makes you wanna rip your hair out. in a good way.
౨ৎ lets your kid tattoo her or color over her already existing tattoos with washable markers, then forgets to wash them off before going out.
౨ৎ teaches her that asking for help is normal by doing it herself. now, she’s the first to hate relying on other people, but she wants to set an example. “hey babybug, help me open this?” your daughter beams, a gummy smile with barely a few teeth on display and uses all her strength. ellie thanks her like she just saved her life, boosting her tiny confidence straight through the roof.
౨ৎ has a secret handshake with her that changes weekly (mostly because your daughter keeps forgetting it) and no one else is allowed to learn it.
౨ৎ goes insanely overboard for the kid’s third christmas. sometime after midnight, you wake up to noises in the living room, only to find ellie crouched on the floor with a bag of flour, making tiny snowy footprints across the floor from the window to the tree, like santa broke in like a cheap burglar and walked around the house. she even takes one of your boots and lightly stamps it in the flour to make it look ““realistic.”” when your toddler wakes up in the morning and waddles into the living room, she freezes in awe and points at the floor excitedly, “sah-nah! sah-nah he come! mama, look!” big, dreamy green eyes look up at you, tugging at your pajama pants, “he WALK!” and ellie’s standing behind you trying so hard not to laugh, shoulders shaking, covering her mouth as she nudges you gently in the ribs, “holy shit. it actually worked.”
౨ৎ gets two bouquets on valentine’s day, one for each of her fav girls. your toddler’s is mainly a tiny bundle of plush flowers tied with a pink ribbon, a little rainbow dash tucked in the middle because ellie knows it’s her favorite pony. yours, meanwhile, is an absurdly massive bouquet that barely fits through the door or into a vase. roses, peonies, every fucking flower she was able to find in the store. when you raise a brow at her, she goes, “she’s my valentine,” she nods toward the gnome-sized, freckled mess of a kid proudly clutching rainbow dash and zooming around the living room. “but you’re my wife. there are levels.”
౨ৎ keeps snacks in every pocket of every hoodie for every eventuality. when your toddler asks for one, ellie pretends to be surprised every time she happens to find snickers tucked in her pockets. “woah! how did that get there?” your kid genuinely thinks ellie is a magician.
౨ৎ thanks your daughter for the smallest things, it’s either “thank you for trying,” or “thank you for telling me.”
౨ৎ on nights your toddler falls asleep between you, ellie brushes your hair out of your face and mumbles “you’re such a good mom,” eyes full of pride, gratitude making her heart throb.
౨ৎ becomes that parent with the camera roll. your phone has maybe ten photos of the baby. ellie’s has thousands. blurry ones, mid-yawn ones, ones where the kid’s just staring at nothing like a confused potato with not a single thought behind her irises. at some point, it genuinely starts to feel like she’s documenting a rare species.
౨ৎ sets one of her favorite girls as her lockscreen: your kid asleep on your chest, drooling on your shoulder and her tiny hand clutching your shirt.
౨ৎ loves motherhood far more than she ever expected, but more than anything, she loves seeing you round, glowing, growing an entire human inside you. she loves the ugly parts of it, too—the stress, the anxiety, the sleepless nights, the excitement that sits in her chest like it might burst into tiny sparks, but would you want to go through it again the way she would?
you’ve been out with friends all day when she finally finds the courage to bring it up. funny enough, they’d just had a baby. a newborn. ellie had held him for a while, rocking him gently while he fussed, nose pressed to the crown of his head, which smelled faintly like cinnamon. it made her chest ache with nostalgia, holding something that tiny again, she realized she missed it.
it comes up later at home, while you’re both getting ready for bed. “what if she had a sibling,” ellie mumbles suddenly, after spitting toothpaste into the sink, looking at you through the mirror while you brush your teeth, shoulders bumping together. “like, one that’s just as annoying. that’d be kinda cute, right?”
“you mean another baby?” you question, already clocking the look on her face, watching her slide the hair tie off her wrist and gather her hair into a messy, low bun.
she hums casually, “one more can’t hurt.” for a second, you think she’s talking about gummy bears.
“i dunno. we already have our hands full, el.” you sigh. “babies take a lot of time—we barely survived the first one.”
she shrugs, already committed to the idea, determined to put the idea into your head. “you’ve already been pregnant once... what’s one more?”
you don’t answer. you just leave the bathroom and crawl under the comfort of your blankets, hoping silence will kill the conversation, but nothing ever dies with her. she’s sliding into bed a second later, scooting closer like a clingy koala. “we already have one kid,” she continues, “might as well go for the dlc.”
“dlc is crazy,” you smile despite yourself, “go to sleep.”
“huh. g’night, ma.” she presses a kiss to your shoulder when you turn into her arms, facing the wall. “...sleep on it, though.”
nsfw thoughts, mdni, +18. reader gets passed around by her sorority sisters vi, abby and ellie! fingering, oral, strapping (all reader receiving).
a sorority initiation. that’s all it’s meant to be. y’know, some sororities play harmless pranks, focus on its values and pledging process.
but no, the one sorority you decided to join has a very… non-traditional welcoming ceremony.
vi’s the president. you would have never guessed she’d be the type to join a sorority, let alone be the one in charge of it. if you had any doubt about how well she could lead and control the group of girls, you trusted her completely now that she was strapping you in front of them.
“you’re taking me so well, pretty girl,” she’s holding one of your legs over her shoulders, gaze locked on how perfect your pussy is taking her bright pink dildo in. “i had to… hmph… fill this pretty hole myself first”
“v-vi… ah…”
she grins, eyes flicking to your scrunched up face. one hand comes up to grab your neck, her pace faster than before.
“god, you’ve got the prettiest pussy,” she mumbles under her breath.
“make her cum already,” abby, the vicepresident, crosses her arms over her chest to hide her already hardened nipples. “your turn was over like 2 minutes ago”
“fuck off,” vi barks back, but her thrusts start going deeper after the comment. your eyes roll to the back of your head, and she chooses to focus on making you feel well instead. “hear that, pretty girl? they’re all dying to fuck you too, but i’m… shit… i’m the one breaking you in”
the familiar feeling of an orgasm hits you out of a sudden, and you moan as your legs instinctively close around vi’s hips and pull her closer.
a whimper escapes your lips as you feel vi pull out of you.
“wait don’t— oh fuck!”
abby practically jumps at you, her mouth latching onto your nipple as her fingers quickly slide inside you. she doesn’t waste any time, curling them and finding that sweet, spongy spot inside you.
“shit, baby, you’re so fucking wet,” abby groans, teeth nibbling your nipple carefully as she starts pumping her fingers in and out of you.
“a-a-abby! fuck,” your back arches, but abby is quick to grab your hips and push you down onto the mattress again.
“stay still,” her hands holding your body tight enough to leave a mark. “i’ve barely started and you’re already screaming out my name, baby. imagine what i could do with a third finger”
as if on cue, she introduces a new finger inside you.
“be fucking nice,” vi slaps abby’s back, but she can’t help staring at the way her fingers disappear into your pussy.
abby doesn’t even listen to her. her lips are parted as her own clit pulses in desperation, loving the wet sounds you’re making, how tight you feel around her fingers.
you cum for the second time just a minute later, body shaking as abby helps you ride out your high.
you open your eyes at the abrupt coldness of her absence as you feel her fingers slip out of you, but they get immediately replaced by something wet, plump and soft.
you glance down and are met with the beautiful sight of ellie, the newest recruit who has barely spoken throughout this whole ordeal, lapping at your pussy as if it was her last meal.
she looks up at you just as she takes a slow, teasing lick at your folds, her hands coming up to grab your thighs softly before she dives back in.
“i-i can’t,” you try to push yourself up onto your shoulders, but your body betrays you with a slight tremble.
“you’re not leaving ellie out of all the fun, are you baby?” abby smacks your left tit, making you whimper in response.
vi pushes your hair out of your face, her hand settling down at your jaw as she grabs it firmly. “you can take one more, pretty girl”
ellie’s tongue starts circling your clit, and she has no self-restraint as her fellow friends. the heat becomes unbearable for her, she can feel her own underwear covered in slick, and she starts humping the edge of the bed looking for friction.
when you come undone for the third time, your fingers tangle themselves in ellie’s hair and push her forward against your entrance. it’s the hair pulling that does it for her, and she moans against your pussy while she cums right after you.
“good job,” vi caresses your cheek, a lopsided smirk on her face. “welcome to the phi vixens”
“we’re going to make a great team,” abby gives your nipple a last pinch.
ellie lifts her face from your pussy, eyes half-lidded as she sighs, “i call first dibs tomorrow”
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ellie williams likes it when you beg. it all started one fateful night—a typical tuesday; you bent over the bathroom counter while she plowed her strap into you from behind, savoring each and every one of the fucked out moans she elicited when she pushed back in. soon enough you hit your high. and that’s when she heard it. a “please, ellie.” falling from your pretty pink lips. she swears she almost came from just that.
the memory practically haunts her, so clear and vivid it’s impossible to ignore. so much so that, every so often, when your nights were long, when she was all alone, she’d slip a shy hand past the elastic band of her boxers and replay the memory; your fucked out face in the mirror, your angelic voice, your lips in the shape of that desperate little word: please.
she makes it her mission to hear it again the next time she’s with you. and she’s relentless. this time she has you on all fours—arms shaking as she pulls out for the millionth time. “fuck-ellieee” you whine in frustration, your orgasm ripped from your grasp once more. “what the fuck?” you could tell she wanted something, but she just wouldn’t tell you what.
then, nothing but an accident really, the magic word finally slips past your lips. “ellie, can you please just fuck me already.” you’re too heady to notice the way her grip on your hips tightened, the way her jaw locked at the sound, so you’re taken by surprise when she grants you your reward of entrance. you moan loud when she pushes back into you without warning, whispering a soft “that’s all you had to say, baby.”
you learn quickly what to say to get what you want, and ellie thinks she might be in heaven. every “ohmygod ellie, please don’t stop” and “please keep going els i’m so close” only sent her further toward her own high, her own moans joining yours in the hot air, just as wanton, voice high and cracking as the pressure in her abdomen built. “yeah, you like that, baby?”’s and “tell me how bad you want it”’s graced your ears with every thrust, making your eyes roll back, your arch deepen.
your orgasm is mind-numbing, and you make sure ellie knows it. your moans leave your lips loud, shameless, tipping ellie over the edge as she fucked you through your high. a broken “f-fuck-” is the last you hear before her hips stutter behind you.
you bring it up once she’s cleaned you up, tucked you both into bed with you nuzzled close to her chest. “i didn’t know my voice was that hot.” you tease. she scoffs, feigning nonchalance though you can sense the subtle shyness. “get over yourself.” “ellie, you came from my voice.” you give a satisfied smile when she rolls her eyes in response, too flustered to think up a quip.
“might just have to start recording shit for you.” this time you don’t miss the shift in ellie’s face, eyebrows raised almost hopefully as if to say ‘seriously?’ “would you actually?” she asks, and you just giggle in response, “maybe,” you say sweetly, reaching up to press a chaste kiss on her nose, “if you say ‘please’.”
summary: pervy nerd!ellie is really needy for you as she invited you to her room for the first time, and good thing you are just as needy.
dom!ellie, sub!femreader, fingering!
it’s noon when you check the notification from your phone, your body glued to the sheets of your uninteresting room. you see a text from Ellie, your newly girlfriend who’s always texting you about something random. this time it’s an invite, begging for you to come over, smiling to yourself reading each word.
while getting ready, your eyes meet with the lonely push up bra sitting on your comfy desk chair. you decide to put it on, with of course perverted intentions.
after a rushed twenty minutes spent on makeup and hair, you feel like you might be ready to go as you stare at yourself for the thousandth time, feeling that kind of adrenaline you wish would never die out.
time passes as you enter her room, Ellie’s eyes already glued to the cleavage peeking at her. “uh um… hey”, her body language is awkward, accompanied with the subtle fidgeting of her limbs. clearly affected by your presence, more so your beauty.
“I love your room”, you take in the furniture surrounding you both, posters and trinkets you have no knowledge of. your eyes catch on to the little video game setup by the tv, studying each little detail with interest.
Ellie nervously grabs a random plushie from her pillow, hiding it before you find out, “you wanna sit on the bed with me?” she hastily offers, trying to distract you from your exploration.
“um yeah sure”, you sit next to her on the soft cushion, your hand merely touching hers. you take a peek at Ellie, soft auburn strands framing her flushed face, her expression also empty as her eyes stick to the ground.
“so… tell me about you room, i wanna know you more ellie” your knee nudges hers, subtly begging her, desperate for some kind of conversation. Ellie can clearly sense your persistence, leading to feelings of guilt.
“sorry um, yeah I can show you my uh”, her eyes then trail to all the books about outer space, dinosaur figures, superhero comics, so many nerdy things she refuses to mention out loud, she scratches the back of her neck.
“ellie you know I don’t care right? seriously just talk to me”, you rub her bicep for some sort of comfort, she flinches slightly, her body heating up with every move of your fingertips.
“fine… you wanna ask about my video games first?” her eyes slowly light up as you agree without hesitation, her hand resting against your thigh as she begins to tell you.
as she rambles on about each passion, her hand travels across your body, you begin to shiver when her fingers reach under your long white lace skirt. her touch embellished over the valleys of your soft skin, her fingertips tracing little shapes over your thigh.
your breath hitches as she starts to squeeze, still hearing her ramble on like she isn’t torturing you at the same time.
“Ellie…”, you softly whimper uncontrollably, her eyes immediately turning towards you.
“you ok?” she asks, her face contorted with confusion, so unaware of her actions that it makes you whine out of desperation.
“you keep… touching there, go further.. please” you beg softly, ellie’s hand complies as her fingers crawl closer to your inner thigh, already feeling a little moist from the heat growing inside you.
you feel her touch against your clothed pussy, shaking when she applies more pressure. meanwhile her gaze lives within your cleavage, eager to paint with bruising hickeys.
ellie still takes time to really process what’s going on, all she did was innocently massage your thigh, she guesses you took it as an act of lust. ellie smirks a tiny bit, your mind in a whirlwind of perversity as you feel her fingers creeping your panties off, inserting her long middle finger deep inside.
the foreign feeling of your wet walls swallowing her makes ellie feel dizzy, you cry deep into her sage eyes, whining for more as your folds sob after each hard thrust.
“feels good?” ellie begins to reek of self doubt as she asks, poor ellie, so desperate to please you. her other hand focuses on your clothes, almost every garment fleeting to the wooden floor. you nod rapidly, crying out at the feeling of her ring finger joining in so intrusively.
the sound of your soft pretty moans soothe ellie into a state of inner hunger, blood rushing through her veins as her lust controls her every move. your finger nails bite her freckled skin as she curls her fingers, hitting that spot you’ve never felt before.
your begging words begin to slur, her fingers so deep it makes your soul fully numb. her cute nervous demeanor thrown away at the sight of you like this, all wet and open for her.
the only piece of fabric remaining on your sweaty body was your skimpy push up bra, she tried to pull it off, but was too preoccupied with the squelching sounds of your pussy. her hand only able to pull the cups down, your nipples greeting her as she fixates on them.
your body twitches from her overflowing need for you, her touch engraved around each crevice of skin, it’s all too much. as you climax, you gaze upon her wild pupils, fading into softness slowly.
she holds you by your waist, her arm clung as she kisses you tenderly, thumb rubbing against the soft skin of your torso. eventually you catch your breath, slowly your eye lids open up to her pretty face.
“did I do a good job?, I hope it was because to be honest i didn’t really-“ you kiss her softly to shut her up, only craving to feel her warmth consuming you entirely.
ellie sat on your vanity table, pencil in hand, calculator in the other. she shifts uncomfortably on the tiny stool she's on, as her leg bounces up and down.
"you sure i couldn't do this on the dining table? i mean, you don't even have a desk. for studying, was what i meant.." ellie murmurs, voice going smaller as she goes. she stays silent, her eyes roaming around the expensive makeup and perfumes that line the corners of your vanity.
you sit on top of your mattress, feel kicking the air as you tossed over an old fashion magazine. "nope. mom's having guests over..and besides. you make for really good eye candy."
ellie's cheeks flush, but she doesn't turn around. she forces her brain to power through the last couple problems, which isn't really a problem for her. its you that's kind of making this whole thing distracting.
she knows you're on top of that bed, barely anything covering you except that sheer linen slip on you wear to bed. most nights...well, only really tonight because you have her over. "..are you done?" you chime in, voice sweet as cherries and ellie can't help but shut her eyes, her self control wavering.
"mmhm. i just have to...finish these ones up. then i can move on to your history paper. if that's fine with you?.." her voice is unsure. always tedious around you. mostly because she doesn't want to say the wrong things around you.
you toss your feet over one another, standing up on your fluffy carpet. ellie can hear you shuffling around her and for once this entire night, she takes a tiny peek over her shoulder. she feels entranced. almost mesmerized just looking at you in such an intimate way. the dim candles making everything feel so close to one another.
your hands slide over the pads of her shoulders, and you dip. dip just enough that she can feel your breathing on the side of her head. she doesn't take her eyes off you. she looks at you with such easiness and vulnerability that makes her look like a dog.
you ruffle her hair, and she unconsciously nuzzles into your hold, your hands feeling like utter warmth that can spread across her. "...did i do...good?" she whispers. she won't hide it. won't hide the fact that she loves when you praise her for things. it's the only reason she agrees to do your homework. just for those few 'you did so good baby. you're so smart.'
"you're doing so, so good. you're just so good at these types of things." you coo.
"for you."
"hmm?"
"i'm good. for you." she says softly, lips parted in an almost pathetic way, eyes glued onto yours as she shifts to the side, facing you. "i''m good for you." she repeats.
you kiss her temple, your hand coming up to the back of her neck, making ellie shiver. her body unconsciously nudges into yours, seeking the comfort only you could give her. the tips of her fingers slip past the little fabric that covers you.
"tch. baby, you know what i said. finish it first" you repeat.
"i know. but i'll be able to finish it much quicker if you give me something to look forward to."
you can't fight off the smile on your lips as her fingers draw closer to the lining of your underwear. she leans on your stomach, her chin propped up as she waits for your answer, her eyes pleading as she gives you tiny, reassuring, yet desperate nods.
"..fine. but just five minutes." you say. her fingers waste no time in tugging your panties down, pen and calculator forgotten as she wraps her other arm around your waist, pulling you over to your bed.
"just five minutes okay? a tiny..tiny break." you repeat.
summary · you and ellie are just friends. you're just friends when she always insists on spoiling you, driving you home so you don't have to do it yourself, you're just friends when you cuddle together for hours every day, and you're definitely just friends when her cock is plowing into you.
watch out · fem!reader, bsf!ellie, lemon, no ai used, nsfw, strap-on usage (reader receiving), not related to bella ramsey or the live action version of ellie williams, all characters are eighteen year old high school seniors and not "aged up," work of fiction
"you want me to drop you off at your house or at mine?" ellie asked, hazel eyes flicking to yours then back to the road as she pulled out of her parking spot.
"mmm..." you thought for a second, "yours."
she smirked.
"knew it."
"you always have to make it a thing," you giggled, leaning your head against the window. she didn't reply, opting to shake her head and start driving.
the ride to her house was quiet except for the hum of her truck, and whatever was on the radio, the music loud enough to hear but too low for you to make out any words. it was nice out that day too, so every now and then a bird would chirp or squirrel would chip or dog would bark.
the scent of ellie, cologne, cigarette smoke, and something fresh smelling, almost lulled you to sleep until the car ceased to a halt, the large two-story joel'd bought years ago standing tall in front of you.
you sat up and started rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. ellie readjusted her mirror, checked her hair in it, then shoved her phone in her pocket.
"we're here." she mumbled, climbing out of the truck. she walked around it, and then she opened your door for you.
you smiled.
"wow ellie, what a gentleman."
"and they say's chivalry's dead," she laughed with a wink.
you rolled your eyes and groaned out an exasperated "oh my god," but followed her up the driveway anyway. she fisted her pockets for the key for a moment before shoving it in the lock, turning it, and walking in. she wasted no time kicking her shoes off by the door in the exact same place she'd been leaving them for ten years, yelled "I'm home dad," and started stepping up the stairs.
you took your shoes off too, politely found joel and said hello, then followed suit until you reached her room, plopping down on the bed like it was yours.
"so," you said, looking up at the ceiling.
"so," ellie echoed, putting her jacket away then settling down next to you.
the bed dipped for a second, and then the spot next to you became warm with her body heat. the sunlight was just barely cutting through her blinds, falling in little lines across your eyes and her neck.
"what's the plan? what're we gonna do today, I mean." you finished.
"well... what do you want to do?"
"I'm asking you because I don't know, idiot," you rolled your eyes and sat up a bit, propping your head on your hand.
she sighed. she was doing that thing again, you noticed. that thing being when you could visibly see the gears turning in her head and she was about to say something neither of you would expect. then, as promised: "have you ever thought about kissing?"
... what?
your eyebrows raised.
she looked up at you.
your lips parted slightly in shock.
"god," she chuckled, "you're so easy to mess with."
"you can't just say things like that." you swatted her on the arm, interrupting her laughing and earning an offended "ow!"
"why not?" she asked. "I mean, it's not like we like each other so I don't see what the problem is. plus, you wanna be ready for the spring formal, yeah? can't have you out there slobbering over some poor guy," she exhaled a breath that sounded something like a laugh.
you replayed the words in your head.
it's not like we like each other.
"so you," she nodded, "want to give me, like," she blinked, "kissing lessons," she let out an "uh huh," "so that I don't mess up at the 'spring formal?'" you repeated to make sure you'd heard her right.
"yeah."
"oh."
you thought it over in your head as she kept staring at the ceiling, looking completely indifferent while you internally panicked.
you exhaled. "I, I guess we can do that," you said softly.
"great." she sat up too, then.
you raised an eyebrow.
"not like that," she snorted.
she got up, locked the door, and then got back on the bed, hovering atop you. her hands were on either side of you, and her dark, hazel eyes were peering into yours curiously.
"is this okay?" she asked softly.
"... yeah," you exhaled, "yeah, it's okay."
"okay. so first, you're gonna wanna start closing your eyes in like, I guess anticipation of the kiss," she chuckled, "sorry, it's weird to explain."
you obeyed.
"next, you just... kiss. with your mouths closed at first, of course," she started leaning in.
"wait," you said and snapped your eyes open.
she stopped a few inches away from your lips. she waited expectantly, and despite the fact that usually you would've felt bad, usually you would've felt like you were inconveniencing someone if it was anybody else, ellie had that look in her eye that seemed to say that everything was okay.
"sorry, nevermind. I'm just... nervous," you gave an apologetic smile.
"it's okay," she reassured you.
"now, close your eyes again."
so you did.
after a few seconds, the soft, plush material of her lips met yours just for a few moments before she pulled away.
oh.
that was nice, you thought after you opened your eyes.
it wasn't that you'd never kissed anybody before, everyone knew you'd kissed plenty of people—albeit with little technique, but that problem was solving itself at the moment—and were more than popular in the romance department, but something about it being ellie felt... different. something about it being a girl. what was so different?
"how was it?" she asked, pulling you out of your thoughts before you could dwell on it.
"good, yeah. good. what now?"
"now, you don't only have to kiss on the lips." she leaned down and pressed her mouth to your neck. your breath hitched at the contrast between her warmth and the coldness of your skin, then eased into it.
"you could kiss here," a peck to your collarbone, "... here," a kiss to the underside of your jaw, "even here," her lips met the spot just under one of your ears.
"ellie," you said shakily.
"and sometimes, you don't just have to kiss," she suckled the skin near your carotid, earning a soft exhale from you. she was definitely gonna leave a mark, but right then it felt too good for you to really care.
"you can do this, too," her hand slipped under your shirt, not wandering up far and just resting on your stomach while she continued her assault on your neck.
"ellie," you repeated again, firmer now.
"yes?"
fuck. what you were thinking?
"I want you."
and then there was no turning back. after a flurry of more kisses, more hickeys, and discarded clothes, you both ended up completely naked with her on top of you kneading your breasts.
"can you touch me?" you asked, hips bucking up a little in desperation.
"I am touching you." she smirked.
"no," you whined, "really touch me."
instead of doing what you asked, she of course got completely off of you, walking over to her closet and opening it.
"w—come back. I need you," you pleaded.
"hold on, I'm coming baby, I just," she cursed a bit as she reached for a box, "gotta get somethin'."
eventually she pulled down a black case with locks, undoing the latches on it until a thick, lengthy dildo the color of her skin with a harness revealed itself when the box popped open.
"is that...?" you trailed off, suddenly nervous again.
"aw," she laughed at the fear on your face. "you're so cute. don't worry, it's not gonna hurt I'll be gentle."
before you could really protest, she was back on top of you with it between her legs, rubbing the head against your clit. all previous complaints and inhibitions you had were thrown out the window as soon as it met your skin, your hands flying out to reach ellie's shoulders as you tried to deal with the pleasure.
"see baby?" she cooed. "feels good already."
after getting you nice and wet, even though you'd already been soaking, she started prodding at you until she pushed in inch by inch, reaching the hilt in a few minutes.
"ellie, 's too much," you whined at the length of her.
"it's okay baby, it's okay. 'm not gonna move yet," she cooed, reaching down to kiss your neck and groaning into your skin when the motion moved the strap a little.
after you'd adjusted just enough for her length to be tolerable, you let out a soft "you can move now."
and so she did. slowly at first.
she had really been trying to keep control of herself, but between the way your tits were jiggling, the way your face looked so soft and vulnerable, the way your pussy kept gripping her—"fuck, I can't take it anymore baby," she groaned before speeding up.
before you could form a proper response she was plowing into you, silicone balls making harsh plaps every time they met the flesh of your ass.
"el—lie!" you mewled. you gripped the sheets, her back, her hair, anything to try and find some resolve from the pleasure frying your circuits, not that you disliked it. it wss just so much, and god, you'd liked to pretend it wasn't true before, but ellie was so hot.
"I know I know, I'm so fucking selfish baby, ah, I'm sorry, I need you," she got out between gruffs and rough moans, brows furrowed and eyes rolling back every now and then when the base of the strap hit her clit just right.
you got louder and louder until eventually ellie had to cover your mouth with one hand, the other dancing across your skin until it met your clit.
"feels good?" she asked, talking more to herself than you as she rubbed your bundle of nerves.
you were completely out of it now. your face was a mess, you couldn't form any coherent words except "ellie" and "please," and your lips were gripping her cock so hard sometimes she could swear she actually felt the tightness herself.
she wrapped her arms around your upper body, using her hips to drive into you then pull out and then force herself right back into you again.
your pussy fit her cock like a glove by now. it was just tight enough for everything to feel so, so good for the both of you, but just wet enough for her cock to not have too much trouble sliding out.
"come on baby, please, please cum on my cock, yeah? need to feel it, need t'feel you cum on it," you managed to make out amongst ellie's incoherent, delirious ramblings.
"ellie, ellie, I'm—!"
and then you were creaming all over her fat dick, milky white fluid leaking all over it and spilling onto her thighs and the sheets.
"fuckkk baby," she groaned then finished, still bucking up into you, drawing little high pitched "ah, ah, ah"s from your throat.
eventually she finally exhausted herself, collapsing on top of you with one last groan.
".... so... think you're ready for the spring formal?"
