her lil poutttttt ugh my heart

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣

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sheepfilms

#extradirty
dirt enthusiast
cherry valley forever
Sweet Seals For You, Always
trying on a metaphor
i don't do bad sauce passes

roma★

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KIROKAZE
occasionally subtle
Show & Tell
we're not kids anymore.
YOU ARE THE REASON
$LAYYYTER
Game of Thrones Daily
Mike Driver
Not today Justin

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@vqxen
her lil poutttttt ugh my heart
slowly finding my way back to the canvas ✍🏻 it’s been a while, but it feels so right to be back in my creative element. Still a work in progress though so I’ll post the final version once it’s done!
UUUAAAHAHHAHAHHHGGGGG SHES SO LRETTY I SCTUALLY CANNOT
Guys, l swear, this picture is so ellabscoded
Touch me the way you know me
༄
Your best friend Ellie has always known you better than anyone else and lately, the tension between you is impossible to ignore. When someone stands just a little too close to her one night, something in you snaps. Jealousy turns into want, and everything clicks. Ellie has spent years listening, noticing, learning you. So when the line finally breaks, she knows exactly what to say, where to touch, and how to make you feel seen.
includes: swearing, smut, servicetop!ellie x bottom!reader, fingering (r receiving), lots of dirty talk but in a sweet way
mentions: insecurities
word count: 2,4k
I bet she'll be so happy once she can put her hair up again 😤
ARF ARF ARF ARGHHFJJ
julien baker’s messy bun while holding a guitar and the lesbian flag by her teeth changed the trajectory of my life
Ellie Williams in collide… if you can hear me…. Please….
js know I reread fics like Collide and Unscripted by @valeisaslut and Renegade and Hydrangea by @notlinearr and when I see updates I physically stand up and celebrate like I won the lottery and I maybe, just maybe cry a bit when I read Collide and giggle at Renegade. js finished reading Unwritten by @lemonbbars and I'm alr hooked so I'm gonna read the updates and get through this amazing day because these wonderful writers updated their fics 🏄🥹
𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝 ⊹ ࣪ ˖
⊹ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬— Ellie Williams was always off-limits—your brother’s best friend, the girl who grew into your every fantasy and every rule you were never supposed to break. But years of glances, grazes, and games combust when she finally follows you down the hall. One party, one bathroom, and a decade of tension detonate behind a locked door.
⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭— 7.5k
⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬— bbf!top!ellie x sub!reader, oral sex (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), strap-on sex, semi-public bathroom sex, near-caught kink, ass slapping, tit play, rough sex, rachel and dina being iconic, soft power play, MEN AND MINORS DNI, likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated.
i would like to read a fic about ellie being caught masturbating on reader 😊💓
..who said that….
CONTENT: pantie sniffing Ellie, roommate au, fingering (masturbating), getting caught
Ellie didn't think she had feelings for you. Not in that sense at least. Why would she? She was certain you had other girls to flirt with. Truth was that— you were flirtatious in general, and Ellie had no game when it came to you. You were outside now, and all she could think about was digging through your dirty laundry to find herself that pair of panties that smelled like your musk, arousal and sweat.
It felt as if— if Ellie didn't find it soon, she'd go insane. She felt the shame curling hot in her chest as she rummaged through the clothes, all of them smelled so deliciously like you, then her fingers met the cotton of the fabric and she almost passed out right then and there.
She sat herself by the floor in the laundry room, just a minute of holding them— that's what she told herself but now as she held the fabric so close to her face— how could she not take a sniff? She brought it closer, closing her eyes and taking a slow whiff. The scent hit her hard and she almost got dizzy, “fuck.” She cussed under her breath as she clutched the pair of panties as if it was the only thing tethering her to reality. Before she realised, her hand slipped past the waist of her jeans and she rubbed her clit over her panties. She imagined it was you.
“Please, I'll be such a good girl for you, I'm not like your other girls— I swear.” Her hand worked down her sensitivity, the sticky wetness dampening the crotch of her underwear but that didn't matter to her. “I swear, just once chance, and I'll— gosh!— I'll prove it, I'll prove it I'm better.” Her fingers sneaked around the crotch of her panties, sinking in her slit until all she could see was the blurred edges of her vision, and the sight of you in her mind. “I'm different, I swear.” Her voice cracks as her fingers bury up to her knuckles in her cunt. Her chest heaved in uneven heavy breaths as she struggled to keep herself from screaming and cumming everywhere.
She took another whiff, and her back slipped against the wall as she melted like a puddle onto the laundry room’s floor. Her mouth opened, and a small “hnnnngh…” left her.
She pumped her fingers fast, hoping to have the best orgasm of her life but in the heat of the moment she didn't hear when the doorknob turned and you mumbled out in a tired voice, “I'm back home, Els.” You walked to the laundry room, “Els? Are you in here—?”
Your eyes widened when you saw her there on the ground with her face smothered in your used panties, her hand in her jeans and her eyes half lidded from pleasure. “You're amazing…” she rasped from her place on the ground.
You couldn't help the little smile that crept onto your cheeks, “if you wanted me so badly, Williams, you should've just said so.”
~Hockey Ellie HCs~
⋆⁺₊❅ who is definitely the team captain her senior year of high school
⋆⁺₊❅ plays left wing or general defense bc she would get bored if she was goalie
⋆⁺₊❅ got into hockey because Joel made her watch with him and she wanted to make him proud
⋆⁺₊❅ who started hockey at age 7 and has been a competitive little shit since
⋆⁺₊❅ absolutely sees her coach as a maternal figure and cries when she upsets her
⋆⁺₊❅ was absolutely ecstatic when her team added her to the team group chat since she kinda thought they all hated her despite not knowing her
⋆⁺₊❅ hockey made her more social and popular since she gained a bunch of friends :))
⋆⁺₊❅ who bragged to the whole team for a week that you were coming to their game the first time you attended
⋆⁺₊❅ who was also so anxious about playing bad when you came to watch that she cried when she got sent to the penalty box
⋆⁺₊❅ on the first day you started dating, gave you her jersey hoodie with her last name and number on it to stake her claim. it’s like a visible wedding ring in high school.
⋆⁺₊❅ all her teammates know your name by now since she never shuts up about you.
“guys….” “yes, ellie, we know you miss your girlfriend.”
⋆⁺₊❅ after every game they win she’s like a golden retriever, coming up to you blabbing way too fast for you to understand,
"oh my god, babe did you see us?! we were so cool! the other guy thought i could steal the puck from him-" despite being nonsense to you, you know it makes her happy so you listen and nod, eventually picking up on a few things
⋆⁺₊❅ who taught you to skate but now every time you guys go to a public skating session she heckles you and the children around
⋆⁺₊❅ draws on her hockey stick and puts stickers on it!!
⋆⁺₊❅ always needs a good luck kiss before every game 🩵
🏒₊˚⊹♡
Trigger Fingers: Ellie/Reader
〤cw: weed, dry humping (who cheered) fingering, guns (not sexually), porn with plot, clothed sex wc: 3.8k
Synopsis: Ellie and you have a strange relationship- You fix her guns, she brings you weed. But months have built up into tension between the two of you. Something more arises out of it... Note: The tumblr text keeps acting weird so ignore how some of the words are like blown up for some reason...I have no idea how to fix this
Ellie wasn’t supposed to be hanging around you. Not really. Not because you were trouble—if anything, you were the opposite of trouble. Just… unnecessary. She could mod her own guns. She wasn’t helpless. But you? You were better. Better with guns. Better with fixing. Better with things she didn’t want to admit she cared about.
And maybe—fine—maybe there was a crush. Small. Manageable. Nothing worth confessing. Not like she ever imagined you. Not like that.
Your dad would lose his mind if he knew. Strict as hell. Didn’t matter, though—you carried his talent like a bad inheritance. He once fixed guns for scraps, traded with FEDRA soldiers and some half-dead rebels from Montana. You traded your work for weed. Ellie liked the upgrade.
The truth? Her Firestar didn’t need fixing. Not even close. The “jam” in the barrel? She shoved a pebble down there herself. A cheap excuse to watch you cradle the pistol, to watch your hands move across it like it mattered. The way you explained things, like the gun had secrets only you could translate—it got to her.
You smelled faintly metallic, like gun grease. But under that, something sweeter—like the body wash Dina swore you made yourself, sugar and strawberries gone too soft.
Ellie had to snap herself out of it before she knocked on your door. Showing up red-faced to the girl you wanted to impress—and maybe fuck if the world wasn’t so complicated—wasn’t a power move. She needed to look in control. She wanted you to see that side of her. But you didn’t.
Because you were shy. You flinched if she stared too long, like the weight of her eyes could bruise. A walking knot of nerves, all restless fingers and muttered tangents, turning screws and clicking parts that probably weren’t meant to be handled that way. Weed smoothed the edges, but then you just… talked. And talked.
Ellie liked your voice best when you didn’t realize how much you were giving away. Ellie takes a breath that fogs in the cold before knocking. The garage is your kingdom—half workshop, half bedroom—like every other woman in Jackson who wants out but can’t quite cut free. She hears you shuffle before the door swings open.
You look… ridiculous. Fleece pajama pants stamped with Superman, a tank top that makes her throat tighten. Her eyes betray her first, flicking down to the lack of bra before she can stop herself. The intimacy of it hits harder than it should. Her own jacket and jeans are powdered with snow, reminding her how late it is.
“Hey.” Her voice catches, so she twists it into a wry smile. “Uh—my Starfire. It’s… not shooting.” She hates the name the second it leaves her mouth.
You squint at her, a rifle balanced half-taken-apart in your hands. “It’s freezing out. You drag yourself over here just for that?” Your voice is teasing, but the smile undercuts it—bright, unguarded. It makes her chest burn.
“Yeah. Favorite pistol, you know?” she says quickly, shifting the shoebox she’s been carrying like a peace offering. “Brought a pretty big jar.”
She pulls it out, the glass fogging with her breath. Loose, as always. She knows you like to roll it yourself. She knows too much about what you like. “You know it’s… Firestar, right?” You arch a brow, opening the door wider. “Uh—can you dust yourself off? The woods are finicky this time of night.”
“Nah, it’s fine.” She mumbles, shrugging off her jacket and letting the snow fall off her sleeves. Your garage is… chaotic. A pile of clothes teeters in one corner, your bed is unmade, and blueprints plaster the walls like some obsessive shrine. Each one has sticky notes, and she finds herself smiling at the little annotations—it’s ridiculous, but endearing. Your dad collected these things before the apocalypse, and she half-wonders if a favor could ever be traded for one.
The workbench along the right wall is marginally more organized. A jar of screws, scattered gun parts, and old, rusted firearms tucked into plastic bins. She crouches, unconsciously careful not to touch anything.
“I’m working on Raven’s gun,” you say, gesturing to a half-dismantled rifle before noticing she’s still hovering awkwardly at the door. “She sawed off the front after a squib load. Gave herself a gnarly bruise.”
Ellie pushes the door shut behind her and kneels, peeling off her Converse.
“Squib load?”
“When a bullet doesn’t have enough force to leave the barrel, and then you fire again… boom. Barrel implodes.” You shrug, a little shy. “Well… surprised Raven’s not dead,” Ellie says, picking up the box again.
She tries to act nonchalant…since her gun has the same problem.
You set the rifle down with a grin. “Raven doesn’t exactly bring enough to be first in line. So…” You lean over the workbench, opening the box. No chair. You don’t like sitting when you work. Your leg bounces, small rhythm, like you’re wired.
She watches. The way your fingers trace the metal, the flashlight tracing the barrel, the slight bend in your back—it’s magnetic. She perches on your bed, tucking her feet under her, eyes following the curve of your spine like she’s memorizing it. You can feel it.
“A pebble? How’d that get in here?” You turn, glare half-serious, half-teasing. She’s always bringing guns with dumb problems. A pebble. A loose trigger. Needs lubing, as she puts it.
“I dunno. Probably why it made that weird noise when I shot it,” she says, shrugging like it’s nothing. The calm in her tone sets your nerves on edge.
You raise a brow. “Do you know what obstructions in the barrel do?”
She smiles faintly, tilts her head. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“They make this thing implode. I just told you.”
Ellie shrugs again, almost coy. “I just wanted someone to smoke with.” You sigh and start disassembling the gun. Slide back, click the slide lock open with a finger—so fast, so practiced it’s almost unconscious. Habit, maybe. But it’s intimate to watch. Every movement is exact, deliberate.
The spring comes out. You finagle the barrel free, hands moving like they own the metal.
“You’re lucky you pay for this stuff,” you murmur.
Ellie smirks, cocky, but beneath it her stomach twists. Sharp, needy, like she wants to press you down, to feel the control in a way that terrifies her.
“And I pay well,” she says, voice steady but quiet, almost a dare.
You jam the screwdriver into the barrel, wrist tendon flexing as the metal resists. Ellie’s breath hisses through her teeth.
A pebble clinks out of the barrel, hitting the workbench. “There.” You point the barrel at her, casual, careless. But Ellie doesn’t flinch. She holds your gaze a beat too long, until your eyes flick up and away, restless. You turn back around.
“Thanks. It was bothering me.” She leans back on her hands, watching as you reassemble the Firestar, sliding pieces into place with that same meticulous touch. You tuck it neatly back in the box, leave it on the bench, and then come sit beside her.
She tilts her head, offering the jar and a bundle of neatly cut newspaper squares. A ritual.
You lay down a battered book for a surface. The way you roll is quiet, reverent, like it requires every bit of your focus. You pinch, pack, twist the paper tight, and hand the first one to Ellie. Then make one for yourself.
“I never get how you’re so good with this shit,” she says, eyes on you as she lights hers. The tip burns red, a soft glow in the dim. “I’m clumsy as fuck.”
“Mm. Clumsy as fuck,” you echo, dry smile tugging at your lips. “Says the girl who can shoot four hundred yards.” You lean closer, offering yours for flame.
Ellie pulls hers from her mouth, touches the fire to yours. Smoke rolls from her lips in a slow exhale, drifting between you.
“I guess I’m just good with my hands,” you murmur.
Ellie chews her lip, pulse thudding at her throat, before taking another small drag. She bets you are.
You smoke in silence for about fifteen minutes before she feels the need to fill the space. To…do something with the tension. “I haven’t seen you much this week,” Ellie says, smoke curling from her nostrils. She leans back on your bed like she owns it, eyes dragging over you in slow detail, savoring the angles of your face, your hands, the quiet way you move.
“Tommy’s been collecting guns on patrol,” you reply, exhaling. “Most of them are junk—parts, scrap. But he found an AR-15 on a dead FEDRA soldier a couple towns over. Nice rifle. Smooth kickback, customizable, everything’s modular. He wants me to fix it. Trigger’s loose, magazine’s chipped—” You break to take a drag, words soft around the smoke.
Ellie raises a brow. “He doesn’t pass them off to big daddy anymore?” The teasing edge in her voice barely masks how carefully she’s listening. For Tommy to bypass your father meant something. “Guess that means he trusts you. A lot.”
You shrug, eyes slipping toward the workbench. “My dad wants to rest now, I think. Doesn’t want to be responsible for shit anymore.”
“Mm. He home?”
“Yeah.”
The single word hangs there. Ellie watches you through the smoke, the air between you suddenly tighter, smaller, like the walls are listening. She looks like she’s turning something over in her head, chewing on it, before her fingers start drumming on the mattress. Then she sits up, sudden, and the shift makes the air feel jagged. It’s not smooth—Ellie can feel it. Not as clean as she wanted the moment to be.
“You… coming back to patrol soon?” she asks finally, slow. Her elbow props against the wall as she hovers closer to you. “I miss having someone who actually talks. Do you know how quiet Kaleb is?”
She exhales smoke right into your face, deliberate. Watches the way it coils, how it clings to the shadows along your cheekbones—reddening with heat you can’t quite hide.
“Well… I guess soon,” you say after a beat. “My dad wants me to stay home.”
Ellie cocks a brow. “You do everything he tells you?” Her voice is edged, teasing, but the challenge under it is sharp. “You’re old enough to stake your own wants.” "Well not all of us can disrespect our father figures."
"Not all of us can be pussies."
This time, you get up. Blunt hanging from your lips, smoke curling around your face.
“I should finish Raven’s gun.” Your brow quirks as you glance at her. “And I’m not a pussy. I just respect my dad.” A shrug, casual, but the words have an edge. You lean over the bench, shoulders tensing as you work.
“I mean, guess you’re not.” Ellie grins, moving to stand behind you, Not before settling her blunt down on a tray you have. She peers over your shoulder. “Jesus. Her sawing skills suck.”
“Yeah… it’s sideways. I don’t usually fix anything sawed-off. Don’t like how they function. Uhm…” Your voice trails when she leans in closer, her breath brushing the edge of your hair.
“They…?”
“The aim gets off. The… the pellets don’t disperse the same.” Ellie brushes your fingers like it’s nothing, casual enough to make you flinch. You yank your hand back, shrinking into yourself—pajama knees bent, eyes suddenly bright. “I would’ve thought guns just… shoot the same,” she says, but it’s softer than the sentence should be.
Silence settles, small and heavy. She stands behind you, close enough to study the slope of your spine under the thin tank, the way your hair curls at the nape. The garage smells of metal and smoke and something sweeter under your skin.
Slow as a dare, Ellie presses against you. Not hard—measured, like she’s testing whether you’ll let her. You freeze, cheeks burning. Your breathing quickens; your fingers go still on the workbench.
“You’re always so… tense.” She doesn’t move away when you blush. Instead she swallows, letting the words catch in the dim, then leans down until her lips are by your ear. Her breath ghosting gives you chills.
“Is this okay?” she asks, voice low. “Maybe you just need someone else to do the job for you.” Her hand drifts, deliberate, and lands on the small saw next to you. She nudges it into your palm—first taking the blunt out of your mouth so your hands are free.
Smoke curls between you as she puts the blunt out on the mat. She flicks her eyes over your face like she’s cataloguing what she can get away with. “Maybe you shouldn’t be handling this stuff when you’re faded,” she murmurs, the joke clipped and half-serious. “No windows in here.”
Her words hang there — warning, excuse, invitation — and you feel the garage shrink to the space between your chests. You don’t pull away this time. You don’t move. “I… I’m not tense,” you lie, the words thin. You shouldn’t be at least.
Ellie inhales, then presses the flat of her palm to the back of your neck—just enough to curve you forward. The touch is small and steady, testing. You feel it in the hollow under your skull, a soft, deliberate pressure that makes your shoulders want to unspool.
“I thought you were with Dina,” you say, breathy, because that’s easier than answering what the closeness does to you.
“No.” She breathes out the denial like it’s nothing. “I’m not with anyone.” Her hips push forward a fraction—an experiment that reads like a question. Your fingers ball against the edge of the bench; the saw clatters, a tiny, metallic punctuation in the quiet.
“You take weed because you’re stressed…right?” she asks, voice calm enough to be dangerous.
“Yeah.” Your voice breaks on the last syllable.
Ellie leans in, arms bracketing the workbench so you’re pinned by warmth and the faint scent of cold air on her shirt. She doesn’t move like someone about to take. She moves like someone offering. “Are you… okay with that?” she asks, close to your ear. “The idea of someone else taking it for you—letting someone else carry it for a little while?”
The question hangs between your ribs. Your breath comes quicker. You don’t answer at once; you don’t need to. The silence answers for you—raw, small, and loud enough that both of you can hear it. "You know. I thought Dina was kidding." She snorts softly. Silence breaking. "But.." Her hips nudge again. You twitch at the contact. The implication. "You really do smell like strawberries." Your breath hitches, through your nose. She cant help the red that rises in her cheeks at the reaction, her eyes trail your side profile in the lamplight of your workbench. Your lashes flicker. Your lips are pressed together. Her hand shifts up the curve of your spine. Lean fingers tracing, until she can push you down a little, moving hair away. Her hips push forward- You push back, your backside against her crotch. A noise arises out of her. A stuttered gasp. The real thing is much better then anything her imagination can conjure. Its much realer then her hips against a pillow. Fuck, she's barely even touched you- and she can already feel the wet spot between her legs. "You got so quiet." She mumbles. " Say something? Please?" She needs to hear your voice. To hear whatever words you usually spill. "Ellie." your voice drones low. "Fuck....just.." "Just...what? C'mon, your always so happy to use your words." She's bending you over now, one hand on the back of your neck. The other snakes down to grip your waist. Her hips roll forward, press against you. Your breath hisses. She starts moving back and forth. Every press of her against you sends warmth to the center of your stomach. A moan burbles up in your throat. "Fuck. Your so cute." She whispers, more to herself then you, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. Her mouth hangs a little open. The hand on your waist wanders up your side. Over your breast. “Ellie…” you whine, voice thin against the mat of the bench. Your cheek is pressed to the wood and for a second you don’t move, just breathe. Her fingers hook the hem of your tank and, impatient, she lifts it up until your skin is bare to the lamp. You can feel the world tilt.
She tastes her thumb and drags it across your nipple, slow and assessing. The small noise you make is everything—an animal sound that trips something under her ribs. Her hips find yours again, rolling, just enough to watch the motion, to see you respond. You can’t stop the way your breasts bounce; she watches like she’s discovering how much power she has.
She rests her head against your shoulder, voice a breath in your ear. “Speak to me,” she murmurs. “Say something. Say my name.” Her words are a hand on the throttle. “Or—Christ—name parts of a gun. For me.” She pleads to you.
You choke a little laugh into the bench and try to obey, each syllable small and ragged. “I—I… magazine. Butt—handguard.” Your voice comes out thinner than you want.
“Your so good,” she answers, the compliment soft and fierce at once. “You’d do anything, right? If I keep going?” The tone is adoring and a little pathetic; it makes the ground under you go soft.
You manage more—trigger, muzzle, hammer—each word a rope you clutch at, half-prayer, half-plea. Your hands balled at the edge of the bench, knuckles whitening. The sound of your breathing fills the garage.
She lets the praise fold into a kiss at the hollow of your neck, her palm sliding to cup the side of your ribcage. It’s not rough; it’s deliberate, testing how far you’ll let her take you. You answer with another soft sound, and that seems to be enough.
Her hand traces your scars before slipping lower, sliding past your waistband. Heat blooms where her palm presses against your belly, her fingers hunting downward until they find the wet seeping through your panties. You jolt, a whimper ripping free when her thumb skims your clit through the fabric.
“You’re soaked,” she mutters, voice unsteady with awe. “Christ, you could oil a gun with this.” The joke is ugly, and she knows it, but it spills out anyway.
“Ellie… that’s—god—that’s awful,” you choke, voice shattering as her thumb circles harder. Your hips buck forward, thighs pressing tight as if you could cage the feeling, hold it in.
“Really? I think I saw you smile,” she teases, voice breaking into a husky coo, breath hot with need. Her hand slides back down—slow at first—then pushes inside your panties with sudden force. She pauses, savoring the first contact. Her finger runs through your slit, parting you, dragging slickness across skin. She traces the swell of your clit with almost clinical precision, like she’s trying to catalog every inch of you.
It’s unsettling in its devotion—like she wants to memorize the texture, the way you twitch beneath her. The garage hums with your breath, each sharp inhale ricocheting off concrete, each gasp betraying how hard her thumb presses down.
You keen, back bowing against the hard bench, wood biting into your front. The roughness of it is the only anchor when she eases a finger in. She works past the tight pull of resistance, slow but insistent, patient in a way that feels merciless. Inside you, she curls slightly, testing how you clench around her.
The rhythm builds—push, retreat, push again—until she’s burying herself to the knuckle. A low whine breaks out of you, sharper than you mean it to be. After a minute of that slow torment, you give in, voice cracking into the thick air:
“More…”
A second finger slips in. The stretch makes you jolt, sharp and helpless, as she eases you open. She moves slowly, not for your comfort, but so she can feel everything—every quiver, every pulse, every small resistance giving way. The shiver that climbs your spine doesn’t escape her; she drinks it in. She presses at your hip, nudging you forward until more of your body sprawls onto the workbench. Tools rattle and clatter, forgotten.
“So greedy,” she whispers, breath ragged against your ear. Her gaze drags lower, catching on the way your breasts press into the wood, how your lungs heave under her hand. She loves the fit of her fingers inside you, the way they claim space. Her other hand knots in your hair, pulling you back against her chest so she can see your face. She watches like an artist, catching every tremble of your lips, every scrunch of your brows, the frantic flutter of your lashes over wet eyes.
A whimper breaks from you, raw.
“God… I can’t believe you never—never tried this before, Ellie,” you stutter, choking on her name.
The sound undoes her. Her hips twitch forward like she can’t stop herself, and she buries her face in the crook of your neck, trying to muffle the needy noise that slips out. Then her hand leaves your hair, sliding under your jaw to hold your head up, to keep you open to her. Her fingers drive deeper, harder. The tremor that rolls through your body shakes against her grip, your palms clawing at the wood for purchase.
“I thought about it,” she breathes, voice splintering with want. “But you’re so shy. You know that, don’t you?” Her words tumble, unsteady, unraveling. “Always nervous, always moving. But look at you now—this is the longest I’ve ever seen you stay still. Just needed someone to pin you here, hm?”
Her voice pants hot in your ear. Your fists tighten. A choked cry tears out as the pressure crests. She pulls her fingers free only to circle your clit, drawing you through the sharp convulsions. Still, her hand keeps your jaw tilted, forcing you to meet her eyes while ecstasy flickers and breaks across your face.
You flinch when her warmth leaves your back, spine arching at the sudden absence. But she’s on you again in the next breath, tugging your shirt down with uncharacteristic care before hauling you against her on the bed. Her arm curls around you, anchoring you to her chest.
Your lungs burn, pulling air in raggedly, the silence heavy except for the thud of your pulse. She presses her lips to your temple, a mock-kiss, and then—
“How many guns d’you think that’s worth?” she mutters, smug and breathless.
You huff, half-laugh, half-groan. Probably none. Probably your dad’s gonna beat her ass tomorrow for the racket she stirred up tonight. But for now, she just holds you, grinning like the mess she left you in was worth every bruise she’ll take for it.
Don’t be shy ft. ellie williams x fem!reader
⊹₊⟡⋆ summary: aquarium date with your girlfriend ellie, but other women just can’t seem to keep their hands off your woman!
⊹₊⟡⋆ warnings: fluff, jealous reader, men or minors dni, cute moments, aquarium makeout…
𐙚 note | I’d really appreciate it if you would not only just like, but also reblog, comment & give me feedback. I take requests! thank you:))
you’re standing in the dimly lit jelly fish exhibit, hand in hand with your girlfriend, ellie.
^⎚-⎚^ Nerd!Ellie! Headcannons masterlist
⤷ Nerd!Ellie who is a constant yapper. she's usually pretty quiet around most people, but you?! 25/8 this girls mouth is moving when shes around you.
⤷ Nerd!Ellie who is extremely awkward. stumbling over her own converse shoelaces and every syllable she utters.
⤷ Nerd!Ellie who hid her sketchbook from you for months because she was too nervous to show people her drawings. she goes bright red in the face anytime you bring it up to her.
⤷ Nerd!Ellie who goes to the library at the same time every week to read, study, work on assignments or even just get away from people for a few hours. its one of her favourite places.
⤷ Nerd!Ellie who accidentally left her journal with you when you studied together in the library one week and fully freaked out when you joked about reading it. ofcourse you would never actually do that, but she still had the most adorable mini heart attack ever at the thought of it. her most recent pages were probably her rambling on about the way you were looking at her in english class the day before.
⤷ Nerd!Ellie who played her guitar for you the first time you went to her house. you were both sat on her bed while she played 'Scott Street'. you hyped her up afterwards and she got all nervous and refused to believe how good you said she was.
⤷ Nerd!Ellie who, speaking of music, has her bedroom walls plastered in posters from her favourite artists and bands. she complains about them falling all of the time and blames it on the 'dodgy' blu-tack she used to hang them, but maybe its just her horrible poster-hanging skills. she tries to keep her large collection of vinyls and cds organised but always forgets to put them back on her shelf which results in her looking through all the tiny spaces in her crowded room for them. the thought of it makes you giggle and she rolls her eyes at you every time for laughing at her unorganisation.
⤷ Nerd!Ellie who almost died when you sent her a "you look cute rn" text from across the lab in chemistry one time. when she turned around you were pretending to be completely indulged in your notes, subtly smiling to yourself knowing what you had just done.
⤷ Nerd!Ellie who finally (accidentally) confessed her feelings to you during a bedroom study session while attempting to tutor you in algebra. you had been wearing a slightly revealing tank top due to the hot weather that day and you didn't hesitate to point her out when you caught her staring. she completely fumbled and eventually spat it out. you knew, i mean, she hadn't been very subtle about it at all.
Kith
Sorry if this is ass I am #artblocked :)))