laraaaale

[laraaaale]

honey on your tongue

domestic bliss with southern!wife!ellie x reader

summary: deep family fluff, loving married smut, sensual scenes, tender language, motherhood themes.

cw: fem!reader, butch!ellie, smut, oral r!receiving, fingering r!receiving.

a/n: save me butch cowboy ellie…save me…

you wake to the soft creak of the old farmhouse settling around you, the pale gray glow of dawn slipping through the gingham curtains.

your body is warm beneath the quilt, pressed tight to the familiar weight of ellie. one of her arms lies heavy across your ribs, her calloused palm resting just beneath your breast. her breath is a slow, deep rhythm against the back of your neck, her scent like cedar and sun-warmed hay.

you shift slightly, earning a gravelly murmur from her sleep-rough throat.

“where ya goin’, darlin’?” she rasps, voice thick with sleep and accent slow as molasses.

you smile softly, hand covering hers. “gotta start the day, cowboy. juniper’ll be up soon.”

her arm tightens around you instinctively. she noses into your hair, lips brushing the curve of your neck.

“mmm. lemme have you just a minute longer.”

and you do, the two of you swaying in that sweet early-morning hush, your pulse drumming slow under her touch.

by the time juniper’s little feet come pattering down the hall, you’re standing in the kitchen in one of ellie’s old flannel shirts, humming as you pour batter onto the hot griddle.

“mama!” she squeals, curls wild, cheeks pink with sleep.

ellie’s behind her seconds later, grinning with her hat tipped back, sweat-damp from feeding the horses.

“mornin’, juni bug,” she drawls, bending to scoop her daughter up in strong arms. “you ready for some pancakes?”

“yes!” juniper giggles, wrapping her arms tight around ellie’s neck.

you watch them, heart full to bursting - ellie pressing a kiss to juni’s temple, that lopsided smile of hers lighting up the whole room.

the old truck rumbles over dirt roads, the morning already bright with sun and birdsong.

juniper sits squished between you both on the truck seat, her tiny hands clutching a worn straw basket. ellie drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting across the curve of your thigh, thumb tracing slow circles through the worn denim.

downtown, the farmer’s market hums with life. stalls overflow with fresh produce, jars of jam and honey, baskets of bright flowers. the air smells of cut grass, ripe peaches, and fried dough.

juni pulls you both from stall to stall, cheeks flushed with joy.

“look, mama! look, mommy!”

she picks out fat red strawberries, bundles of wildflowers, a tiny jar of clover honey.

ellie leans close, whispering low by your ear, her breath warm against your skin:

“could spend every damn saturday just watchin’ my girls smile.”

later, the three of you sit beneath a big oak tree, sipping lemonade from paper cups. juniper falls asleep against ellie’s chest, her little hand fisted in her mama’s worn work shirt.

you lie beside them in the shade, watching ellie’s lashes flutter against sun-browned skin. she looks at you, a soft smile tugging her mouth.

“got more than i ever dreamed of,” she murmurs. “you. her. this whole life.”

you stroke your fingers through her hair, voice thick:

“so do i.”

by mid-afternoon, the sky bruises dark.

you and ellie race across the porch as fat drops begin to fall, giggling breathless. the thunder rolls low and deep across the fields.

inside, juni shrieks with glee, pressing her hands to the windows to watch the lightning.

“mama ellie, look!”

ellie crouches beside her, one arm curled around juniper’s waist. you settle on the couch behind them, wrapping them both in a worn quilt.

outside, rain batters the tin roof in a steady roar. the house feels small and safe - a little world unto itself.

ellie hums soft against your shoulder, an old song joel used to sing. you press your lips to her hair, breathing her in.

later, with the storm easing, you three curl in bed together, juniper nestled between you. ellie’s arm reaches across both of you, protective even in sleep.

and in the hush of the post-storm dark, your heart aches sweet and full:

this is it. this is everything.

one warm night, you put a record on while ellie’s finishing up the dishes.

the notes crackle soft - slow and sultry country blues.

ellie turns, eyebrow raised. “you tryna seduce me, darlin’?”

you grin, taking her hand. “might be.”

she pulls you into her arms right there in the kitchen, strong hands settling low on your waist. you sway together, bodies pressed close.

“you’re somethin’ else,” she breathes against your ear.

juni comes toddling in moments later, squealing. “dance with me too, mama!”

ellie grins wide, sweeping her up. “always, bug.”

the three of you spin and laugh beneath the old light fixture - the kitchen filled with joy, with love, with all the things that matter most.

down at the south pasture, ellie lifts juniper onto the gentle mare, hands steady on her waist.

“you hold on tight now, juni bug,” she says softly. “i got ya.”

you watch from the fence, heart in your throat.

ellie walks beside them, leading the mare slow and patient. she murmurs praise the whole way, her voice warm and low.

“that’s it. you’re doin’ so good.”

juni beams, waving at you proudly.

ellie catches your gaze, eyes shining, and you both know, without words:

we built this. we’re raisin’ this beautiful little life together.

that night, the house is quiet. juniper sleeps sound and sweet down the hall.

you and ellie curl beneath the quilt, her body warm against yours, her scent all hay and sun and salt.

ellie kisses you slow, deep - her tongue teasing yours, her thigh sliding between your legs.

“been wantin’ you all damn day,” she growls low.

your breath catches as her mouth trails down your neck, her hands rough beneath your nightgown.

“ellie-”

“shh, darlin’,” she soothes. “gonna take care of you real good.”

she strips you slow, reverent, her green eyes dark with hunger as she takes you in, bare beneath her.

“fuck, you’re so goddamn beautiful.”

she slides down between your thighs, lips soft and teasing over the inside of your knee, your inner thigh, making you writhe.

then her mouth is on you; hot, slow, relentless.

her tongue works you steady, her low groans vibrating through your core.

“god-ellie-” you cry, hips arching.

“that’s it, pretty girl. gimme all of it.”

she doesn’t stop until you come shaking beneath her, her name a broken moan from your lips.

but she’s not done.

she slides up your body, slick fingers teasing your entrance.

“wanna feel you ‘round me, darlin’. need it.”

she pushes two fingers deep, slow and sure, her thumb circling your clit.

you gasp, clutching her broad shoulders as she fucks you steady, her mouth hot at your ear:

“love you. love you so fuckin’ much.”

you come undone around her, sobbing her name, lost to the stars.

after, ellie gathers you close, kisses slow and soft.

“mine,” she whispers. “forever.”

you nod, voice thick:

“forever, cowboy.”

in the mornings, ellie brings you coffee in bed before dawn.

in the afternoons, she teaches juniper how to ride, strong and gentle by her side.

in the evenings, she kisses you soft on the porch swing, your daughter’s giggles echoing through the fields.

at night in the hush of your room, beneath the old quilt, she loves you with hands and mouth and heart, slow as the turning of the seasons.

this is the life you chose.

a house full of love.

a wife who touches you like you’re made of gold.

a daughter who lights the whole damn world.

and every day, every breath, you thank the stars you found them both.

[laraaaale]

messy high sex with loser!stoner!ellie

cw: established relationship, stoner!ellie, getting high together, high sex, fingering r!receiving, oral r!receiving, face sitting, light dom/sub, messy.

wc: 3k

the garage is hazy.

not just like mood lighting hazy, actually hazy. smoke curling from the fat joint burning in ellie’s fingers, lazily drifting up into the dim glow of a single yellow lightbulb swaying from the ceiling. one of the windows is cracked, but it’s not helping.

you’re both stoned out of your minds.

ellie is spread out on the old couch she dragged in from someone’s porch last spring, legs wide, head tilted back, looking criminally hot in her ratty flannel and grease-smudged jeans. her hair’s a mess, her cheeks flushed, and she’s smiling at nothing.

correction: she’s smiling at you.

“you look like a little baked blueberry,” she says, grinning sideways. “like, if a fruit got high.”

you blink, then immediately dissolve into giggles. “that’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.”

“thank you,” she says proudly, handing you the joint.

you take it, still laughing, and inhale deep. the hit burns, sweet and earthy and sharp, but it slides down smoother than it should. you hold it in. then exhale, slow.

your head tips back against the pile of blankets you’re both sprawled on. the garage smells like weed and motor oil and that weird pine soap ellie insists on using. there’s a half-dismantled gun on the workbench, a crumpled bag of chips on the floor, and your girlfriend’s calloused hand resting lazily on your inner thigh like it belongs there.

“y’know,” she says after a beat, her voice slower now, “i think this is my favorite place on earth.”

you glance over. “your… garage?”

“yeah. got all my favorite shit in here.” she nods, dead serious. “my comics. my weed. my girl.”

you snort. “you named your comics before me?”

“okay, but to be fair, you don’t have cool drawings inside of you.”

you hum, pretending to pout. “yeah…but i give you really good head.”

her face breaks. “holy shit,” she wheezes, nearly choking on air. “that’s the hottest and dumbest thing i’ve heard you say. you’re so gross. marry me.”

you’re already laughing when her hand slips further up your thigh. the teasing suddenly shifts, fingertips dragging under the hem of your shorts, featherlight. intentional.

she’s still giggling as she leans over you, but her gaze is darker now. hungrier. “c’mere,” she murmurs, crawling over your lap like she’s forgotten how knees work. “wanna kiss you.”

you meet her halfway.

it’s a high kiss; deep and lazy, a little too wet, all teeth and tongue and muffled laughter. you’re both buzzing, warm and giggly and aching underneath it all. her lips taste like weed and cherry gatorade. her hands are rough where they slide up your hoodie, dragging fabric with them.

she fumbles a bit with the hem. “why do you wear so many layers?” she whines. “god, i just wanna suck your tits.”

“you’re so romantic,” you giggle, arms already raised to help her. “truely a poet.”

“shut up,” she mutters, grinning as she kisses down your neck, licking a stripe right under your ear just to be annoying. “you love it.”

you do.

you love her messy, stoned affection. the way her mouth finds every inch of skin like it’s her job. the way she’s already pushing you back down, crawling between your legs, hoodie bunched around your ribs and her hand sliding under your waistband like she needs to be touching you.

“you’re already wet,” she groans, burying her face in your neck. “fuck, baby-how?”

“i’m high and you’re hot,” you mumble. “do the math.”

ellie groans, full-body and ridiculous. “you’re gonna kill me.”

she’s breathing heavier now, hand pushing your underwear aside. her fingers are warm and eager and way too blunt at first - you both gasp when she presses too hard, then immediately start laughing.

“shit-fuck-sorry,” she stammers. “i forgot what fingers are.”

“you have them, ellie. it shouldn’t be that hard.”

“yeah, well, you’re distracting.” she kisses your jaw, your shoulder, her voice dropping. “you make me forget everything but how fucking good you feel.”

you gasp when she finally gets it right, two fingers dragging slow and slick through your folds. teasing. pressing.

“fuck,” you breathe. “ellie-“

“yeah, baby?” her voice is rough. “you want me?”

you nod.

“say it.”

“i want you,” you whisper, tugging her closer. “want you inside.”

that’s all she needs.

she groans again, louder this time, like it physically hurts her to hear it. then she’s pushing inside, slow, messy, deep, and your back arches, fingers digging into her shoulders.

“god-fuck..ellie.”

she watches your face as she fucks you, eyes half-lidded, messy strands falling into her eyes, high and wild and completely, totally obsessed with you.

“you look so fucking hot right now,” she pants, thrusting slow and hard. “gonna make me come in my pants just watching you.”

“you better not,” you gasp, nails raking down her back. “you’re working. you’re on the clock.”

she barks out a laugh and kisses you; sloppy and rough, her rhythm faltering as she rocks into you faster.

your legs wrap around her waist. the couch creaks. you’re half on the cushions, half sliding to the floor, and neither of you care. she adds a third finger, crooked just right, and your hips buck so hard she nearly falls off.

“jesus fuck-you’re-“

“say it,” she growls.

“you’re fucking good at this,” you moan. “this is way better than your boring ass comics.”

“oh my god,” she pants, blushing furiously. “never say that during sex ever again.”

you both dissolve into giggles. her fingers never stop.

your high peaks as you crash into your orgasm - loud, shaking, stars behind your eyelids. you’re still whimpering when she slows down, pulling her hand free with a filthy little sound and a grin so smug you want to slap it off.

“that was hot,” she says, voice thick. then she licks her fingers clean and immediately chokes.

“ellie?!”

“i forgot i had cottonmouth,” she coughs, eyes watering.

you’re dying laughing as you roll next to her, fully on the couch. “you dumbass.”

“you’re still dating me,” she croaks.

“unfortunately.”

she kisses you anyway. slow and messy and stupidly sweet.

you groan and grab her flannel, yanking her down on top of you again.

“take your pants off.”

she doesn’t argue.

it’s frantic - ellie kicking her jeans off, boxers bunched around one ankle, her shirt caught halfway over her head as she fumbles with it - and you’re giggling through your second wind, already crawling into her lap.

“you’re gonna suffocate me with your tits,” she wheezes, face buried in your chest.

“that’s the goal, dummy.”

you push her back and straddle her face. her eyes go wide, her hands flying up to grip your thighs, and then-

“oh my god,” ellie chokes out. “is this-are you actually…fuck-“

you sit down slow.

her mouth is already open.

she moans like she’s being fed something divine, her tongue immediately lapping at your pussy, licking from your entrance up to your clit in long, flat strokes. her hands are digging into your thighs like she’s trying to anchor herself, her mouth wet and messy and desperate.

you grind down, gasping, and ellie whines, eyes fluttering shut, tongue circling your clit, her whole body jerking when you tug her hair.

you look down. her eyes are glazed and heavy-lidded, lips shiny, nose brushing your pussy like she wants to drown.

“you’re such a loser,” you pant, hips grinding.

she pulls back just enough to mumble, “yeah, but i’m your loser.”

and then she sucks your clit into her mouth and you collapse.

the second orgasm hits harder, your thighs clenching around her head, your nails digging into her scalp, your whole body twitching as you ride it out on her face, eyes rolling back. ellie moans into you, humping the couch beneath her like she’s getting off just from eating you.

you slump off her lap like you’ve been shot.

“holy fuck,” you breathe, hair plastered to your forehead. “i think i forgot my name.”

ellie looks ruined.

her face is soaked, her cheeks flushed, her lips red and puffy. her flannel’s still on, but it’s hanging open now, her tank top bunched under her tits, her boxers askew. she looks like the definition of wrecked.

and she’s grinning.

“worth it,” she croaks.

you snort. “you’re disgusting.”

“thank you,” she says with a dumb smile. “i’m in love with you.”

“…so like. can we have sex every time we get high?”

you laugh, “babe, i think you’re addicted to me now.”

“yeah,” she mumbles. “way better than my comics.”

you roll on top of her and kiss her again, tasting yourself on her tongue.

and yeah, maybe the garage smells like weed and sex and burnt rubber.

maybe you’re both too high to walk straight for the next hour.

but ellie’s arms are warm around you, and her lips are soft, and she kisses you like she means it - every time, every breath, every word.

perm taglist: @yasmilks , @natsheretic , @lovemiraamira , @ellies-real-wife , @wewerewildandfluorescent , @jullsii , @eyesttokill , @dmenby3100 , @bunchogravie , @oneinameliann , @intheshadowofthestars , @pariiissssssss , @vanpalmertruther , @madsxh1022 , @rbnvrnxoxo , @firefly-ace , @alyaserrax , @silly-pigeon69 , @glassofgreenteapls , @pearlsiie , @aj0elap0l0gist , @sincerelyherz , @imsiriuslycool , @0phantom0 <3

[laraaaale]

meeting ellie in detention

nerdy ellie williams x popular fem!reader

detention has always been boring—until the last person you expected walks in. now you’re stuck in the same room, and it’s a lot harder to ignore her.

Detention. Again. Second time this month.

You’re slouched low in the hard plastic chair, spine curved in a way that probably screams "I give up," the edge of the desk digging uncomfortably into your ribs. One leg bounces under the table, the sole of your shoe scuffing softly against the floor with every twitch. The room smells faintly like Expo markers and teenage boredom, warm dust floating in streaks of light pouring through slatted blinds. The air conditioner hums in the ceiling like it’s trying too hard and still failing to cool anything down.

Your head hangs forward, a lazy weight, chin nearly touching your chest as you idly flick at the fake nail on your middle finger — the one that went flying across the cafeteria when you slapped the ever-loving shit out of Victoria during lunch. It clicks against your nailbed with each flick, a tiny, hollow sound that breaks the silence like a metronome for your regret.

You exhale sharply through your nose, lips twitching into a sour twist.

“I should’ve just let that bitch go,” you think to yourself, dragging your head back until it flops against the top of your seat with a dramatic, whispered groan.

The oversized clock on the wall ticks with cruel precision, every second dragging its heels like it's stuck in glue. The teacher — some substitute whose name you didn’t bother to catch — is half-asleep at their desk, hunched over a crossword puzzle or a book with the spine cracked flat. They're not even pretending to watch you. It's one of those afternoons where the heat makes everything slow, where even trouble feels sluggish and tired.

You’re just about to give in to the heaviness tugging at your eyelids, your cheek halfway to the cool surface of the desk, when the door creaks open with an uncertain squeal.

Your eyebrows lift.

Huh?

“You’re here,” you blurt out before you can catch the words, your voice cutting through the haze like a pebble tossed into still water. You sit up straighter, something in you crackling awake with sharp interest.

Ellie Williams steps into the room like she’s not sure if she belongs — the usual quiet type, always either with headphones on, a guitar slung across her back, or buried somewhere in the library behind a stack of sci-fi novels and sketchpads. Her eyes flit up and meet yours for a moment before darting away. Then she scans the room like she’s searching for the least cursed seat available.

“You can sit here,” you offer, nodding at the empty chair beside you. Your voice is casual, but there’s a flicker of curiosity you don’t bother hiding.

“I guess...” she mutters, rubbing the back of her neck with the palm of her hand. She moves like she’s being dragged by invisible strings — hesitant, stiff — and drops into the seat beside you like she’s expecting it to collapse underneath her.

You tilt your head, crossing your arms and letting your eyes roam, not subtle about it. Her flannel sleeves are rolled up, revealing a faint ink smudge near her wrist. There’s a nervous energy buzzing off her in low frequency, barely noticeable unless you’re this close.

“What?” you ask, a spark of challenge in your tone.

Ellie glances at you, brows drawing inward. “What?”

You squint like you’re staring at a half-finished painting, trying to figure out what’s missing. “Nothing. Just… Ellie Williams, in detention, here with me? You’re like the last person I expected to see.”

She stares at you for a second, then looks away, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I didn’t know you knew my name,” she says, soft and matter-of-fact, like that’s what surprised her the most.

You let out a small, amused laugh. “Of course I know your name. We’re classmates in like… two subjects. You sit three rows over in Calc, always solving problems before the teacher even finishes writing them on the board.”

Ellie shrugs, clearly uncomfortable with the attention, her fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on her jeans. She looks like you’ve just peeled back something she’s spent years sewing shut.

“So what did you do?” you ask, leaning in just slightly, eyes gleaming with interest. “Come on, I need something to keep me entertained.”

She gives you a look, equal parts wary and annoyed. “No.”

“Oh, come on. I just wanna know what got you here. I mean, I’m here because I bitch-slapped Victoria for spreading a fake rumor about me.” You say it like a badge of honor, chin lifted slightly. “Your turn.”

Ellie lets out a breath, glancing down at her hands again. Her nails are short, bitten at the edges. She chuckles quietly, a low, sheepish sound. “It’s lame.”

“Come on,” you nudge her with your elbow, grinning now.

She doesn’t respond, just offers the ghost of a smile and goes back to staring at the graffiti scratched into the desk.

You sigh and flop back into your seat again. “Fine. I get it. First time in detention. Gotta preserve your image.”

She side-eyes you, and this time, there’s a smirk pulling at her mouth like she’s trying to suppress it. “Why would you think I’m the last person you’d see here?” she asks, her voice lower, curious.

You scoff under your breath and rest your arm on the back of her chair like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Because you’re just... good.”

Her brow arches.

“I mean, a great example of a model student,” you continue, motioning vaguely in her direction. “You’re, like, top of our calculus class, probably gonna graduate with honors or whatever. And you draw, right? I saw some of your stuff in art class. The charcoal sketches.”

She stares at you now, like she’s hearing you through a tunnel. “You knew that?” she says, voice soft with disbelief.

“Yeah.” You roll your eyes a little, but there’s no bite in it. “I pay attention.”

Ellie smiles — not fully, just a quiet, private curve of her lips — and bites the inside of her cheek like she’s trying to hide it.

“No talking,” the teacher calls out without lifting their eyes.

You roll your eyes again and settle into silence, the kind that’s thick but not uncomfortable. The ticking clock sounds louder now, each second ricocheting off the pale classroom walls. Somewhere outside, a locker slams shut, followed by faint, echoing laughter. But your focus is stuck on the girl next to you — the way her fingers drum softly against the desk, the quiet way she breathes, how her knee is still barely an inch from yours.

You rest your chin in your hand, elbow propped on the desk, still watching her. Ellie stares straight ahead like she’s forcing herself not to glance your way. Like she can feel you looking and isn’t sure what to do about it.

“So...” you murmur, voice low and casual, “are you doing anything later?”

Ellie turns her head a fraction. “Uh, nothing... I think. Why?”

“Wanna go to a party with me? Just a house thing at Kendra’s.”

She blinks, clearly caught off guard, and gives you a look like you just asked her to go skydiving. “Why would I go to a party with you?”

You shrug, leaning back. “Nothing serious. Just wondered. Have you ever been to one?”

“Well... yeah. But not the kind of party you’re talking about.”

You squint, amused now. “And what kind is that?”

She shrugs, but there’s a glint in her eyes. “The ‘your kind’ kind. You know... boys and stuff.”

You snort. “Boys and stuff? Seriously?”

Ellie shrugs again, her smirk widening just enough to make your stomach flip.

“No one’s gonna make you do anything, y’know,” you add, raising an eyebrow at her, voice softer now, like an unspoken promise.

She hesitates, her eyes flicking to yours, then down to her lap. The pause stretches — not uncomfortable, just thoughtful — and then she nods slowly.

“I guess so. I could come.”

“Great. It'll be fun,” you say, a grin tugging at your lips as you lean back, arms crossing. There’s a fizz of electricity in your chest now, subtle but undeniable.

There’s a pause again — not awkward, just… still. The kind that stretches long enough for you to start wondering what’s going on in her head. You glance over, your voice a little softer now, curious instead of teasing.

“So... do you, like, have a boyfriend? Or girlfriend?”

Ellie lets out a low laugh — short and breathy, like you caught her off guard. “Nah. Why?”

You lean your shoulder against the back of your chair, studying her expression as if it might give something away. “What’s your type, then?” you ask, tossing it out like it’s no big deal, like it’s just a casual, meaningless question — even though it kind of isn’t.

She glances at you sideways, her brow arching. “Why are you asking me that?”

You smirk, shrugging lazily. “So I can set you up with someone later. Maybe.”

Ellie scoffs, rolling her eyes — but there’s no real bite to it. “Didn’t you just say no one’s gonna make me do anything? And now you’re trying to play matchmaker?”

“I just wanna try,” you say, nudging her foot lightly under the desk. “C’mon, it'd be cute.”

She shakes her head slowly, but there’s a smile creeping onto her lips — small, like she’s trying to hold it back but failing. For a moment, she doesn’t say anything. Then, quieter this time, eyes fixed on the grain of the wooden desk, she says, “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

You nod, and it’s not teasing now — there’s something softer in the way you do it, something that says you’re listening. That maybe you understand more than you’re letting on.

She glances up, eyes flicking toward you, just a little narrower now. Like she’s testing the waters. “How about you? Nathan?”

You blink, caught off guard, then immediately grimace. “Nathan? Nathan fucking Walsh? No way. Do people seriously think we hooked up?”

Ellie doesn’t answer — just lifts her eyebrows like, You tell me.

You groan, scrubbing a hand over your face. “Ugh, that’s a no. Like, a no-in-hell situation. I’d rather set myself on fire.”

Ellie actually laughs — a real one this time. It spills out of her unfiltered, her head tilting back just slightly. It’s soft, a little scratchy, and it warms something in your chest.

You can’t help but grin, cheeks already aching. “So… you’re coming with me later?”

She looks at you, really looks this time — like she’s trying to figure out what the hell she just got herself into. Her eyes flick between yours and the floor before she finally nods once.

“Yeah. Okay.”

The music is already pulsing through the house by the time you catch sight of her. It spills out the front door in a steady, throbbing rhythm, matched only by the flicker of string lights and silhouettes moving behind fogged-up windows. Ellie steps in with a slight hesitation, like the air is thicker here — like she’s walking into somewhere she’s not sure she belongs, but she's here anyway. A red solo cup is cradled loosely in her hand. Her shoulders are squared, jaw set, but her eyes move like she’s absorbing everything, scanning for a place to land.

Then they find you.

You spot her from across the room and light up, warmth blooming across your face, already flushed from the shots you took earlier. You break away from your group mid-sentence, weaving through a haze of cologne, sweat, and perfume until you reach her. Your grin is crooked, wide. “Heyyy,” you say, dragging the word out with a giddy lilt as you throw your arms around her.

Your balance tips a little on your heels — you’re slightly tipsy, full of heat and laughter — and Ellie catches you with a hand at your waist. Her grip is hesitant but steady. You’re aware of how solid she feels, how warm, how she doesn’t pull away even though she totally could.

“You really came,” you say against her ear, breath brushing the shell of it.

“I said I would,” she replies, voice quiet, like the volume of the house makes her want to retreat into herself. She looks down at you, eyes soft. The button-up she’s wearing is wrinkled at the edges, sleeves rolled to her elbows, and she smells faintly like clean laundry — sharp and comforting — mixed with the burn of something stronger. Whiskey, maybe.

You take her cup without asking, taking a sip and wrinkling your nose playfully before handing it back. “You’re late,” you say, tugging her by the wrist, your fingers lacing lightly around hers as you pull her toward the kitchen.

Ellie doesn’t resist. She follows you into the warmth and chaos of the party, and you hand her a shot before raising your own. She downs it without a grimace — like it’s nothing — then does the second one just the same.

You blink, impressed. “I thought you were all straight-edge,” you tease, nudging her elbow with yours.

She shrugs, lips curling at the edge. “Never said that.”

You laugh, leaning a little too close as your balance shifts again. “You’re full of surprises, Ellie Williams.”

The two of you end up at the edge of the kitchen, leaning against the counter while people move around you in waves. The music swells and falls, conversations weaving together in fragments. You’re mostly talking — telling stories, rambling through your buzz — while Ellie listens, her body angled just enough toward you to show she’s paying attention. Her green eyes flick over your face like she’s memorizing something, and every now and then, her lips twitch like she’s holding back a smile.

Your fingers brush her forearm more than once. She doesn’t pull away.

At some point — you’re not sure when — someone drags you onto the dance floor. It’s hot and crowded, all limbs and flickering light, and you don’t remember if it was your idea or hers, but suddenly you’re dancing. Ellie’s hand is at your waist, grounding you in the motion, keeping you upright as you spin and stumble and laugh into her shoulder.

“Okay, okay, I’m done, I’m too drunk,” you wheeze out, laughter bubbling up. Your feet trip over each other, and you lean heavily into her as she catches you, both hands sliding to your hips, steady and firm.

You look up, breath warm against her neck, your heart hammering somewhere near your throat. Your cheeks are flushed — from the alcohol, the heat, her. “What if,” you say slowly, words slurring just a little, “what if the person I wanted to set you up with… is me?”

Ellie goes still.

She’s staring at you, eyes wide, mouth parted like she wasn’t expecting that. Her breath catches — just barely — but she doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t laugh it off or deflect. Instead, she leans in close, her lips brushing your ear.

“Let’s get out of here,” she murmurs.

You nod, barely thinking.

Everything becomes a blur of color and heat and motion. Upstairs, the bass from the music fades into a dull thump beneath your feet. You barely make it through the threshold of some stranger’s bedroom before Ellie’s lips are on yours, and your back hits the wall with a soft thud. Her hands are everywhere — in your hair, along your jaw, gripping your thighs as she lifts you up slightly, your legs tightening instinctively around her waist.

You’re breathless. Dizzy. Drunk off her mouth, her warmth, the way she kisses like she’s wanted to for a while and finally stopped holding back. Your hands are under her shirt, fingers skimming hot skin, tugging her closer, closer, until there’s nothing between you but heat and want and the sound of your own gasping breaths.

It’s messy. A little desperate. But god — you've never wanted anything more.

[laraaaale]

ellie williams ─── strawberry milkshake

At thirty-eight years old, Ellie's convinced she's way too old for dating. With nothing but a construction job and a crumbling libido to her name, she somehow gets strung into a blind date.

◟`# cw: tooth rot fluff, awkwardness, older!ellie, singlemom!reader, first date, social anxiety.

the last of us masterlist . . .

Jesus Christ.

Ellie had said it four times since she'd left the house this morning. She'd said it when she woke up, when it really hit that she was going on a date. She'd said it looking in the mirror before leaving the house, with her scruffy hair and overworn jacket that didn't exactly scream 'put together'. She'd said it along with a string of other choice words when her damn car didn't start, knowing she'd be late. And now, Ellie grumbled it beneath her breath as she trudged up the slopey road to the old diner, car keys clutched tightly in her fist.

Along the way she tried to smooth back her hair, like a calloused palm could somehow make it look presentable. The wisps of cold air tickled her cheek, snowflakes staining the collar of her old beater. God, she felt so out of her depth. Warm light flooded from the windows of the diner, a faint buzz of the jukebox creeping out. It was pretty empty tonight, with a few couples and friends hanging by the booths. Then she spotted someone else inside, her date.

You, like her, were in your late thirties, with soft curls and red lips that made her mouth dry. She'd figured you were from around here, a pretty face wearing a red flannel tied to the front and hoop earrings that twinkled under the lights of the diner. Ellie watched from outside for a moment, watching you stir your milkshake with a lowered head, like you were trying to sink into the cream and away from your embarrassment.

Ellie quickly ploughed up the icy staircase, heart hammering tight. She pushed open the door a little harder than she'd intended, her cheeks turning hot as a few glances turned her way. She rubbed a palm along the side of her face as she scuffled towards your table, heavy boots tracking along the floor. Too damn old for this. With her head lowered and hands stuffed into her pocket, she was having trouble deciding if it was bad manners to just sit herself down.

Caught in her indecision, she ended up just standing there like an idiot for a good minute before clearing her throat. You glanced her way, dark eyes lighting up in warm relief. Ellie was sunk by your smile, the way you gestured for her to take a seat with a nervous giggle. She all but fumbled into the booth with all the grace of a bull, still rubbing the back of her neck.

"It's Ellie, right? For a minute there 'thought maybe you weren't comin'.."

That sticky sweet laugh damn near made her melt on the spot. You were prettier up close, with dark lashes and eyes that crinkled at the corners whenever you smiled. Ellie hadn't even realised she didn't answer until you cocked a brow, still stirring the remnants of your milkshake. She bit down on her tongue, forcing a nod as she stared down at the napkins on the table.

"Yeah, sorry about that darlin', honest. Car got jammed in the snow when I tried to leave, near ended up hitching to this diner.."

Her voice came gruff, and the sound of it made her cringe inward. Her cheeks tinged red, coat feeling too heavy on her shoulders, too worn. Everything felt too rough, and she wasn't so sure how to fix it. You'd put so much effort in with that little outfit and the makeup, and, god, she was embarrassed. But then you laughed, not like you thought she was a mess, but like you were pleasantly amused. She peeked up from beneath her tufts of hair, seeing that your gaze was resting on her.

"That's so typical.."

You spoke, making an honest effort to keep the conversation afloat. Instead of maybe grasping onto that like any normal person, Ellie sank.

"Yeah.."

A heavy silence hung over the table, and Ellie began to chew on her lip. She'd hoped to be smoother than this, but as she tried to grasp at something to say, nothing came. The only thing that saved her was the waitress approaching with her notepad.

"Evening ladies, ready to order?"

Her prissy voice cut through the silence, and you sighed gently in relief at the brief respite. You took the lead, nodding while having a glance over the menu.

"I'll go with some loaded fries sweetheart, and another shake.."

You spoke, glancing up from your menu to the woman in front of you as she fumbled with her order. A little smile continued to tug at your lips, amazed at how she could make ordering a cheeseburger seem so difficult. It was cute, honestly. While she was distracted, you got a good chance to really look at her.

She seemed a little older than you, with heavy brows that drooped when she spoke. Her scruffy hair was a faded chestnut colour that you could just tell brightens in the summer. She was hunched over in that big coat, rough fingers toying with the diner placemat like she had no idea what else to do with them. You bit down on your lip gently, enamoured by those sun kissed freckles and the way her cheeks were pink.

The waitress scurried off back to the kitchen with your order, and that silence took over. You weren't about to let that sway you, not when you'd got all dolled up to come out tonight. Besides, it wasn't often you got the chance to go on a date with a woman your age. You leaned over the table slightly, just so she didn't feel as far away.

"So, you got any kids? Anythin' I need to know about.."

It was a tease, obviously. Ellie's eyes lifted to yours for a minute before briskly shaking her head. She tried to sit up straighter, clearing her throat so that she could say something.

"Nah, definitely no kids, s'just me.. you?"

"Mm.. for now, got a daughter away at college.."

You spoke it quieter, like you were used to it being a deal breaker. Ellie sat up straighter, not surprised in the slightest that a gentle and damn attractive woman like you was a mother. She actually smiled, chewing on her lip before pushing back.

"Yeah? What's she studying?.."

Ellie murmured, voice soft, like she genuinely cared. You weren't expecting that, and it was your turn to stumble over your words.

"She's up in the city, studies biochem.. god knows where she got the brains for it.."

You chuckled, a fondness in your voice. In your mind, she was still that little girl who wanted nothing more than to win the science fair. Now she had a small apartment, a state scholarship and a boyfriend who was crazy about her.

"That so? I'm sure she got it from her mama.."

Ellie grinned, enamoured by your pink cheeks and how lovingly you spoke about your kid.

"Oh no, hadn't a clue where to start when she needed help with her projects.."

You laughed, shaking your head and stirring the remnants of your melted milkshake. You were quiet for a moment, before something pressed you to be a little more honest.

"Never actually made it out of school myself, got pregnant real young.. and God knows I'm so glad she's out there making something of herself, but I don't even know what to do with myself now that she's away.."

Your smile grew softer, a little somber. Your eyes fluttered up to Ellie, and a wick of anxiety dribbled into your gut from the fact that she was still silent. The words tumbled out, worried that you'd said too much.

"Sorry, I know it's a lot.."

Ellie snapped out of her trance, too busy staring at your pretty cheeks to realize that once again she'd forgotten to answer. She shook her head quickly, leaning forward enough to speak in a more sincere voice.

"No, I like a family woman, real brave.."

You scoffed gently, a smile tugging at your lip as you shrugged.

"Wouldn't call it brave, I was scared shitless all by myself, s'a wonder she turned out so well.."

The words tumbled out with a quiet laugh, and Ellie was already a goner. It was hard for her to concentrate, to act like a normal person when she was sitting in front of a woman, a real woman. The southern drawl, the unbuttoned flannel that held your cleavage, the red lipstick that was staining every cup you put your lips to. If she could be that straw you were stirring, she would.

"That's plenty about me though, what about you darlin'? Any skeletons in there.."

You prodded a manicured finger with a warm chuckle, wanting to know more about this brooding woman that sat across from you.

"Too many.. ran away from home at seventeen, got myself into trouble so I eventually went back. Figured my old man wouldn't even let me in, but he was just glad I was home.."

You sat quietly, attentive with a warm expression on your face. Ellie swallowed.

"I settled down after that, started working in construction with him and getting some cash of my own, now I live just ahead of here.."

Ellie's voice fizzled out, embarrassment creeping over her despite the way you practically beamed. She was so earthly, so quaint and charming with how honest she was. She spoke up again, scratching the back of her neck.

"Sorry, I know it's nothing interesting.."

You grinned, shaking your head and leaning closer.

"I think it's plenty interesting.."

Neither of you had realized just how far you were leaning over the table, arms almost touching. It wasn't until the waitress arrived with your food that you snapped out of it, pulling back to your side with pink cheeks. You dug into your loaded fries after thanking the server, watching with amusement as Ellie tried to tackle her burger neatly. You bit back a giggle as she tried to avoid making a mess of herself.

The night passed easier with both of you calm, giggles and stories that had you gasping. It was the most fun you'd had in a while, even if you could tell that the woman in front of you was still nervous. She'd paid for the whole thing despite your offer to split half, such a gentleman. Your cheeks were warm, a pleasant buzz in your stomach as the two of you left the diner and stepped out into the snow. Ellie shoved her hands back into her pockets, rocking on her heels before glancing up at you.

"I'm sorry tonight was a bit of a mess darlin', haven't done anything like this in a while.."

You had to fight off a smile, watching as the cold air tinted her cheeks and stuck some snowflakes to her hair. You clutched your purse, shaking your head with a warm chuckle as you gazed down at her.

"I had a good time, seriously.. I'd like t' see you again.."

Your voice came soft, and despite the reassurance Ellie was still convinced that she'd muddled this, that you thought she was awkward or at the very least boring. You could see it in her eyes that she didn't believe you, and you laughed. With your hands bracing her shoulder gently, you leaned down to press a sticky kiss to her cheek. When you pulled back, your red lipstick stained the area teasingly. Ellie watched as you walked away, cheeks flushed as a lopsided grin tugged at her lips.

𓏲 ๋ perm list: @zzelysian, @the-sick-habit

[laraaaale]

CUTENESS AGRESSION

streamer!ellie x fem!reader

author’s note: english is not my first language. soooo i saw this video and i couldn’t help myself! maybe i’ll turn this into a smau idk.

warnings: reader is shy! loser!ellie coded. ellie just start to kiss r! during live and they’re the cutest ughhh. reader is called wife, sweetheart, babe and babygirl.

you and ellie had been dating for over two years but only recently she started to post and talking about you. it was your choice. you were very afraid that people would judge you. so when you told ellie she was good to post you, the girl was delirious.

every chance she got, she did it. her instagram feed was practically only pics of you and you two together. and she started to talk a lot about you on her streams, like A LOT.

she was playing the sims because EA sent to her a invite to promote the last expansion pack. she usually would play more dynamic games. she was making herself and she started to playing:

“guys this is not right…my wife is not here with me.”

“this count as cheating? like if i’m going to a club without tell her?”

“fuck i’m going to call her.”

and her fans met you through the speaker:

“hi baby.”

“hi sweetheart, so if i would go to a club alone, without telling you, you would be mad?”

“all alone?”

“yep.”

“i would be worried babe. why are you alone in the club?”

and she started laughing so hard that you couldn’t help yourself too. the chat just kept laughing more adding the funniest comments. this little moment went viral. her fans found your socials, the next day you had 5k new followers.

after this, ellie talked more and more about you and sometimes you would even appear on her lives, only to say hi to the chat really fast and maybe answer some questions. but they always wanted more. they wanted to get to know you! you seem to be a cool girl, your instagram showing how pretty you were and how you have a great life, they wanted to know how ellie pulled a baddie.

a little after insistence, you complied to participate. you both would answer some questions, react to some tiktoks memes about your relationship, nothing very complicated.

someone asked about your makeup and you were answering, “…you know the mac’s pallete? the new one, yeah! i know it’s pretty expensive but looks so good!” you got closer to the camera to show your eyeshadow. and while this, ellie was enamored with you, looking at you with two bigs red hearts on her eyes. “y��all can see? it’s so so so pretty!” you readjusted yourself on your seat and answered more about your makeup, but mid sentence ellie grabbed your face and started kissing you.

“ellie!! sto-“

“no” smooch. “fucking” smooch. “way” smooch. “babe.” loud smooch.

you were smiling so hard while ellie attacked your face with kisses. your blood rushing to your cheeks when you remembered you were on live. with thousands of people watching you. you tried to escape but ellie just hardening her grip.

“i love you so much babygirl. so so so much. you look fucking adorable talking. you look adorable doing anything, fuuuck, i need to marry you.” she said very softly, only for you to hear, but the good mic picked all.

this little moment of you blew up. like, she posted the clip on her tiktok and it got 16 million views. and apparently, everyone liked you.

[laraaaale]

★ wild horses couldn't drag me away. | farmer!ellie williams headcannons.

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎she feeds the animals at dawn, fucks you raw by dusk. ︎ ︎ ︎| ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ellie williams. ꒰ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ꒱

warnings: 18+ content, farmer!ellie au,soft dom ellie, fem!reader, oral (f receiving), fingering, strap-on use, praise kink, possessive ellie, jealousy kink, rough sex, semi-public sex, overstimulation, aftercare, marking, dom/sub dynamics, obsessive behavior, consent implied, reader is whipped, ellie is feral.

farmer!ellie who's up with the sun. Always. And even if you beg her to stay in bed, mumbling and pulling at her shirt while her skin’s still warm from sleep, she’ll just grin, press her rough palm against your belly, and mutter, "Someone’s gotta feed the goddamn chickens". But if you pout just right? She might give in. Just for five more minutes. Just long enough to slide her hand down and make you gasp.

farmer!ellie who smells like cedar shavings, hay, sweat. It’s in her clothes, her neck, her mouth when she kisses you hard after a long day outside. You get addicted to it, to her. To how she tastes when she’s worked all day and lets you lick the salt off her collarbones like you were starving.

farmer!ellie who doesn’t say a lot. But you know when she wants you, because she backs you up against the barn wall, one hand holding both your wrists like it’s nothing. The other slides between your legs, her voice husky as she says, "You’re dripping already, huh? You missed me that bad?"

farmer!ellie who will come in from the field all sweaty and flushed, grab you by the hips, and drag you onto the porch bench, doesn’t matter if the sun’s still up or if anyone’s around. You ride her with your hands buried in her shirt, her hands gripping your thighs so tight it bruises, she loves when you leave marks. Says she wants to feel them the next morning when she’s milking the goats.

farmer!ellie who fucks like she’s got something to prove. Like you’re the only soft thing in a hard world and she’s gonna ruin you if you let her, and you always let her.

farmer!ellie who but afterwards, she’s a total sap. She pulls you into her lap, noses your hair, murmurs sleepy things against your skin like "Should just marry you already" and "Y'look better than anything I’ve ever grown out there".

farmer!ellie who in the evenings, when her work’s done and her hands are finally clean, she reads to you under the yellow glow of a single lamp. Dirty hands, soft heart. You never stood a chance.

farmer!ellie who sometimes, comes home too tired to talk. She’ll toss her hat on the hook, kick off her boots, and just stand there in the doorway, eyes fixed on you like she’s starving. Doesn’t say a word. Just walks straight to you, picks you up like you're nothing, and carries you to the kitchen table, still covered in mail and a jar of honey you forgot to put away. She bends you over it. "Been thinking about this all damn day", she groans against your neck as she pulls your underwear down with dirt-stained fingers.

farmer!ellie who always smells like the earth. Like sex and summer and the heat off a storm. You swear her skin soaks up sunlight, and when she touches you at night, you feel it. Like she’s warming you from the inside. Like you’re something she planted and now she gets to reap.

farmer!ellie who's got a filthy mouth when she gets going. Not loud. Not theatrical. Just these deep, low-spoken praises that ruin you. "That’s it, baby. Ride it just like that", or "You need it deeper, huh? Of course you do, always so greedy for it".

farmer!ellie favorite thing? getting you off with her thigh. After a long day baling hay, arms streaked with sweat, she'll just sit back in the old wooden chair, shirt unbuttoned halfway, and say, "Come sit on my lap, pretty girl". And you do, grinding on that thick, flexed muscle while she smokes a joint and watches you lose your goddamn mind, hands behind her head, cocky smirk, lazy and low "Good girl. You're fuckin' perfect like this".

farmer!ellie when you once tried helping her fix the fence. Said you wanted to "pull your weight". Ellie looked at you in your little shorts, holding a hammer wrong, and grinned like the devil, she didn’t let you finish. Bent you over the fence post and took you right there in the golden light, pulled your panties to the side, fucked you slow and said, "I'll do the hard work. You just stay right here and make those pretty sounds".

farmer!ellie who after she comes inside and washes up, she'll lie back on the bed, pull you on top of her, kiss you until your lips hurt, and whisper "I never needed no city, no lights, no noise... just you".

farmer!ellie who her hands might be calloused, but her touch is scripture. And every night, she writes a psalm into your body like she’s trying to save your soul with her mouth.

farmer!ellie who keeps a photo of you in her back pocket. Not some cute selfie, no. One she took after you begged her not to stop. Eyes glazed, thighs shaking, face all fucked-out and ruined. She looks at it when she’s alone on the tractor, lip between her teeth, hand drifting under her waistband, "Gotta get home, she needs me, I fuckin' need her".

farmer!ellie who always makes you come first. Even if it takes forever, even if her cock is hard and twitching under her boxers, she’ll edge herself just to hear you gasp her name again. Rub your clit with slow, practiced circles, lean in and say, "You’re not done yet, baby, I just want all of it, every last drop".

farmer!ellie who strap stays under the bed, always ready, and when she uses it? she uses it, holds your face, watches your mouth fall open while she ruins your hole slow and deep, moans low and mean, "Look at you takin’ me so good. My perfect fuckin' girl".

farmer!ellie when she’s jealous, she doesn’t talk about it — she shows you. Drags you into the hayloft after someone stares at your ass at the farmer’s market, pulls your skirt up, panties to the side, fucks you until your voice cracks, and leaves you stuffed and sore, dripping down your thighs, whispering, "Mine. Say it".

farmer!ellie who's obsessed with your thighs. Squeezing ‘em, biting them, laying between them for hours like it’s church — she eats you slow, real slow, arms around your hips, tongue fucking you lazy while you cry her name into the pillow, then again — fast. Until you’re begging her to stop and she just hums against your clit like she likes hearing you break.

farmer!ellie who teaches you how to ride. And not just the horse. Says she wants you in control — hands on her shoulders, bouncing on her cock until she’s breathless underneath you, watches you from below, pupils blown wide, voice all gravel: "You like being on top of me, huh? Gettin' off like a good little wife?"

farmer!ellie when afternoon showers turn into rituals, she washes you like you’re made of glass, suds your hair, kisses the soap off your shoulder, fingers you slow under the water while whispering things like "Goddamn, you feel like home", and then goes down on you with one knee on the tile, water dripping off her freckled face.

farmer!ellie who aftercare is sacred, she tucks you in with trembling fingers, presses kisses into your back while your thighs are still twitching, brings you tea, tells you you’re perfect, wraps herself around you and mumbles, "I'll never let you go, y’know that?" while her heart thumps against your spine.

farmer!ellie who sometimes she needs it rough. She’ll push you up against the barn wall, hands everywhere, muttering "Need you now, can’t wait, need to feel you come around me" and you let her, every time, cry her name while she fucks you through the ache. But most nights... she just holds you. Stares at your sleeping face like it’s the only thing worth waking up for. Tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, smiles to herself and whispers, "Fuck the harvest. You’re the only thing I’ve ever done right".

© 2025 all rights reserved — morganlism. do not modify, repost, plagiarize, or claim my work as your own without permission.

[laraaaale]

cuddles with ellie

you walk into your bedroom to find ellie laying on your bed, mindlessly scrolling on her phone. without saying a word you walk over to her and crawl on top of her. ellie continues looking at her phone, pretending not to notice you nuzzling you head into her chest, wrapping your arms and legs around her like a koala.

over the next couple of moments you let out a string of sighs and huffs trying to get her attention. around the fifth sigh ellie brings one hand to your head, slowly scratching your head. “you need something?.. or are you gonna keep sighing until you burn a hole in my shirt?” ellie says teasingly. you giggle, “maybe. if that’s what’ll take to make you pay attention to me.” “you’re so cute when you’re clingy.” ellie says as she begins to make random shapes on your back. “god forbid a girl wants to be a close as humanly possible to her girlfriend.” you say as you roll your eyes. ellie just softly laughs and places a kiss to your head.

ellie looks up from her phone again to find you sound asleep on her chest. she lives for the moments where she can just quietly study you. the way your hair falls over your face, how your eyelashes slightly flutter, each mole and mark on your face that makes you uniquely you. to ellie you are the most beautiful person to grace this world, she could spend days just admiring everything about you.

ellie holds you just a little closer, as if y’all weren’t already close enough before kissing your hairline and whispering, “i love you sweetheart, you’re the best things that’s ever happened to me.” although you were asleep you could still feel ellie’s love for you radiating onto you.

a/n: pov you’re touch starved (it’s been 3 months since i felt the touch of a women) anyways hope yall enjoyed this little blurb!🪿

[laraaaale]

𓂃　 ⁺ ₊ slow downˊ˗

⭒ synopsis ᵎ 〜 headcanons for dealer!ellie x good girl!reader in a college setting. enjoy ;) ⭒ content ᵎ 〜 mdni top!ellie, bottom!reader, fingering (r!receiving), strap-on (r!receiving), mention of weed, degradation, dacryphilia, mirror sex ⭒ word count ᵎ 〜 1.1k ⭒ notes ᵎ 〜 some short headcanons as an apology for being away

⁺  you’re the kind of girl who colour codes her notes and religiously says “thank you” to bus drivers. you would’ve never even dreamed of smoking weed, but here you were. texting a dealer, on your own, because your friend had convinced you that ellie’s weed would calm your nerves.  everyone who’s anyone knows ellie williams. strap god, weed extraordinaire, chaotic lesbian. the epithets pile up. but to you? ellie’s warm, charming, and a demon in bed (but everyone knew that, too).

⁺  ellie shows up to your dorm smelling like weed and oil, guitar case slung haphazardly over her bare shoulder and licking sugar off her thumb from the gas station rock candy she had bought on the way there. it was weirdly seductive. she knows you're innocent from the moment her murky half-lidded eyes met your own blown-out ones. the way you introduced yourself only reinforced her idea that you had definitely never done anything like this before: “hi… i’m __, i think i texted you?” as if she might say no. “yeah, sweetheart, y’did. you usually this nervous?”

⁺  when you tell her you’ve never smoked before, she goes soft. not sweet, by any means, but interested. next thing you know she’s rolling up a new joint with the weed she brought and making you take the first hit, coaching you through every movement. “don’t hold it too long. there you go, nice n slow. i got you, baby” then, “you ever kiss someone?” she’s asking while leaning into you, barely giving you time to even process her question before her lips are moving against yours with a fervor that could scare the gods.

⁺  after that, you’re all she thinks about. not the girls who beg her to eat them out at frat parties. you, with your pink lipgloss and apologies and virginity she wants to destroy.

⁺  ellie talks you into coming over to hangout for a “smoke sesh”. promising a genuinely chill night and bribing you with the opportunity to see her play her guitar (something nobody’s ever gotten to see). the chill doesn’t last long. it’s not ellie’s fault, really. who could keep their hands off of you when you’re smiling so pretty and your eyes are falling closed after only two hits? she’s touching you slow, her hand building up your thigh and ghosting over the heat radiating from your cunt. “anyone ever touch ya here?” you shake your head and she’s suddenly grinning like a devil. “want me to be your first?” you nod this time, and her smile grows impossibly wider. you don’t even realize your rocking into her hand until you hear her chuckling into your ear, breath hot on your neck, “i’ll take care of you, baby.”

⁺  she goes so slow. kissing down your stomach and latching onto your thighs. she pulls your panties down with her teeth, just to be able to see the blush grow across your cheeks.

⁺  she eats you out like she has all night. you’ve never been touched like this before, and every whimper and squirm only fuels ellie’s fire more. her eyes are gazing up at you when she slips her finger in for the first time. she relishes in the feeling of your core, the way you squeeze around her whenever she hits just the right spot and the sound of your gasps when her tongue brushes against your puffy clit.

⁺  ellie was known for hitting and dipping, but for some reason she just couldn’t shake you. maybe it was the way her hands carved into your hips so perfectly, or the way your whimpers sounded so sweet in her ear when she was plunging her fingers knuckle-deep into your sopping cunt. whatever it was, ellie knew she couldn’t let you go. you’re her favourite thing to ruin.

⁺  she won’t stop texting you. ‘you up?’ ‘wanna come over and let me make you cry again?’ ‘miss your thighs around my head’ once she knows what she wants, she’ll do anything to get it. you’re officially ruined for anyone else. you walk through the campus glowing, thighs sore, deep-purple marks hidden beneath your classy turtleneck. no one suspects that the quiet good girl with a pastel tote bag gets fucked into the stratosphere three times a week by ellie fucking williams.

⁺  she starts bringing her guitar when you two meet. she plays songs that no one’s heard before, ones that are clearly about you. she’ll sing to you in between rounds, with your head in her lap and your panties somewhere across the room.

⁺  ellie gets territorial. your hers, and everyone needs to know that. she makes you sit on her lap everywhere, hand always on your waist and a nasty glare directed at the frat boys who try to talk to you. she loves to mark you up, leaving hickeys all over you. especially in places only she’s allowed to see. she’ll lend you her clothes and beg you to wear them into class. you do, one day, draped in her oversized red flannel. everyone recognizes it and the whispers are insufferable. ellie loves it. “ya look good in my clothes, baby. gonna look better out of ‘em later.”

⁺  she is most definitely a service top with a bit of a domination kink. she loves to corrupt you, have you falling apart on her strap and making you say filthy things. “c’mon, sweetheart. you gotta use your words or i can’t touch you.” she makes you beg, and once you do (breathy and soft, hands covering your reddening face) a huge grin takes over her entire face and she fucks you harder than ever.

⁺  ellie is skilled with her strap, there’s no arguing about that, but she for sure prefers to watch you come undone on her fingers. something about feeling you clench and gush around her knuckles just gets to her.

⁺  she’s a mirror sex fanatic. everything about it makes her crazy for you. holding your chin up between her pointer and her thumb, forcing you to watch the tears stream down your face as she pounds you from behind. “you’re so fucking pretty when you cry f’r me, y’know that?”

⁺  she definitely likes to delve into degradation every once in a while, particularly after she’s dealt with a rude customer. “look at you, dick drunk already huh? act like such a good girl at school and then take me like this? fuck.”

⁺  and, after putting you through the filthiest sex you could imagine, ellie wraps you right up in one of her clean hoodies and tucks you against her chest. “did so good, baby. so perfect, all f’r me.” she’s soft when it counts, rough when it turns you on.

[laraaaale]

nsfw ˋ°•*⁀➷ thinking long and hard about leaving marks all over vi and her being obsessed with it ughhhhh #needthat

˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

vi’s eyes flutter open, golden streams of light pouring through gaps in the curtains and gently caressing her face, coaxing her into consciousness. she’s oh so comfortable, the familiar weight of your body draped atop hers grounding her in this drowsy, dreamlike state she was in. her eyes flit down to admire your nude form cuddled sweetly into her side, your arm caging her in possessively even in your sleep. the sight makes vi’s heart swell beneath her rib cage, how lucky she feels to have you.

reluctantly, she moves you ever so gently so you’re laying on your neglected pillow now. it might as well just be there for decoration since you always favoured the plush warmth of vi’s chest over the cotton clad stuffing. after triple checking that you were still asleep (and just to spend more time admiring you), vi pads over to the bathroom. she passes the mirror, almost ignoring it completely until she catches a glimpse of something dark painted across her pale skin.

she saunters back over to look at her reflection and her knees almost buckle at the sight of herself. well, at the sight of your most recent additions to her body.

plum coloured splotches have blossomed over the expanse of her skin, each mark a vivid reminder of where your lips had been in the late hours of the night as you tangled together in the sheets. you had littered your unique branding in a trail that spanned down her neck and across her chest and vi can’t help but to stand and admire your markings in awe. the sight of the bruises had a fire burning in her stomach.

it was unusual for such marks to appear on her body in a way that wasn’t born from violence, the sharp ache often a reminder of someone’s fist as opposed to the softness of your lips. the hues of contusion don’t bring her anger or remorse, just calm and the overwhelming joy of knowing that she is all yours and you want people to know it, to see it.

the memory of what occupied you both hours before comes flooding back and she prays she never forgets the way you looked. positively obsessed with her, mouth sucking and biting at whatever your lips found first as you made those sweet sounds that had vi reeling.

“fuck, baby, you tryna give everyone something to stare at, hm?” she says somewhat teasingly, though it falls somewhat flat as she’s panting nearly as hard as you are as she drenches her boxers.

“i want everyone to see- fuck! i-i want everyone to know you’re mine, please vi…” your words are slightly slurred as you barely pull your lips from her as you speak, looking up at her glossy eyed as you drag your spit slicked lips across her skin.

“i’m all yours, princess. fuck, look at you. i’m not going anywhere,” she coos. she truly can’t handle the sight of you and swears she’s short circuiting. “you gonna mark me up, huh? show everyone that i belong to you?”

you nod so enthusiastically she’s worried you’re gonna give yourself whiplash. vi chuckles at the sight, how fucking precious. she speeds up the movement of her hand between your thighs, earning more of those heavenly sounds out of you that she loves so much.

“let ‘em know, baby, let ‘em know. thaaat’s it.”

it’s safe to say that she will be fucking your brains out all over again when you wake up.

[laraaaale]

five times you almost told ellie you liked her;

❥ when she drew you on her sketchbook.

it rested on her leg as she huddle over it concentrating on the strokes. you watched the small movements like her head tilting, the side of her hand brushing the pages, finger smudging the lines. her pencil moved with ease. her lips tucked under her teeth. she looked so cute and you were so close to blurting it out until she looked at you.

she held up the sketchbook and your eyes fluttered to the page. you stared at your reflection. you swore your eyes said everything you were so desperate to say. every feeling you'd harbored was scribbled in the strokes. how could she not know?

you were going to tell her. right now.

then you made eye contact and it's like you forgot how to speak, how to form words, nothing came out. you just smiled and nodded approvingly.

❥ when she got that scholarship.

you were the first person she told. you were the person who was by her side when she got the email. her hands were shaking. the color washed from her face as she inhaled. she held her breath as she clicked on the email. it was your eyes that darted to the 'congratulations' first. your hands gripped her shoulders jumping up and down, shaking her body.

"you did it, ellie. you did it!" you exclaimed sighing contently wrapping your arms around her shoulders resting your head on hers before pulling away. you were excited for her. she'd worked so hard for this and all the pieces were coming together.

all but one. you. where did you fit it? you felt selfish even thinking it but she got the scholarship. that was her big deciding factor. the reality was sinking in. she was going to move across the country for college. this was your chance. this or wait another four years.

"hey," you croaked still standing behind her holding her shoulders. she was silent. her reaction less enthusiastic than yours. she looked back and up at you and that's when you saw her face. the tears pooling at the corner of her eyes. a smile spreading on her face with her rosy cheeks and quivering lip.

"i'm-" you cleared your throat releasing her shoulders "-i'm so proud of you," you whispered leaning down to hug her again. the chair screeched as she scoot out reaching up to wrap her arms around your body. you couldn't ruin this for her.

❥ when she made you a birthday cake.

"happy birthday to you—" she sang. "happy birthday to you."

her voice was so sweet. you were so wrapped up in it, you hadn't noticed the cake balancing in her hands as she walked carefully. the closer she got, the more details you picked up. it had a homemade feel to it, with jagged frosting piping and scattered confetti. it was slanted and small, and you smiled even bigger when you saw the writing on the top.

"i tried my best," she chuckled, furrowing her brows as she offered the cake with a single white candle in the middle. it was right between the 'happy birthday' and your name.

"i love it," you whispered still looking at the cake in her hands. the light reflected on your face. lips quivering knowing this was the last birthday you'd spend together, at least for the next four years.

"make a wish," she matched the softness in your voice as you closed your eyes. you just wished you could stay like this forever. just the two of you. you wished you could confess your feelings and not feel guilty and not feel like it would change everything.

you inhaled, held your breath for a few seconds. you didn't notice the way her eyes focused on her lips. you didn't notice the way she waiting patiently until you opened your eyes exhaling and blowing out the candle. before you could say anything the cake was in your face. your lips and nose smeared with frosting. you squealed.

"i had to," she laughed. eyes squinting. smile big. you shook your head dipping your finger in the frosting smearing it across her cheek. she scoffed and frowned as you laughed licking the frosting off your finger.

❥ when you both sat on the roof one last time.

"this is nice," she spoke first. she held her knees to her chest, hands wrapped around her legs, chin resting between her knees. you were looking out at the lights. a few houses still had them on, and the house you always passed on your bikes, the one with the christmas lights they never took down, had them turned on.

it was quiet. peaceful. it was so different than what you were feeling inside. the feelings were rumbling and chaotic, threatening to spill as you sat next to her, watching the outline of her face.

"i'm going to miss you," her voice broke the silence again. she didn't look at you. her eyes simply twinkled with the moonlight. you could make out her saddened expression even with half her face hidden.

"i'm going to miss you too," you spoke. she turned to you. her cheek resting on her knee. hands gripping the tips of her converse.

"what am i going to do without my best friend?" she failed at smiling. she couldn't contain the tears. they just poured from her eyes seeping into her sweats quietly. you could do it now. you could tell her you liked her. it wouldn't change things and she'd still leave tomorrow but she'd know. she'd know how you felt about her and maybe, just maybe, it'd bring some solace to you both.

"come here," she cleared her throat wiping her tears, opening her arms. you fell into them. you held each other sniffling unsure of what the future held.

❥ when she came back from her first year of college.

she looked different. her smile radiated and hers eyes shone. you hugged for what seemed like an eternity before stumbling over your words speaking over each other. laughing when she told you to go first. eventually things felt natural. like she hadn't been gone for a whole year. like you hadn't been waiting for her to come back. like you hadn't been disappointed that she wasn't coming home for breaks because she couldn't afford it.

summer was the only exception. she got to spend it all with you. the moments presented themselves and you could've taken them but then she'd mentioned that girl she had a crush on so casually and you couldn't take that from her. you'd been pinning over your best friend and she was out there living life. the realization struck; maybe you needed to live your life as well.

you hugged goodbye that last week of summer before she had to leave again. it was bittersweet. you tried for so long to let her know how you felt and you never came close.

and the one time you did;

you went your separate ways again and in the pages of her favorite book she took the letter with her unbeknownst. you'd spent almost a year writing it. the pages were wrinkled and the pencil marks smudged. you felt like a coward doing it this way but you couldn't say these things to her face so they were stained with the recollections of each time you almost told her you liked her and how you chickened out every.single.time. you never even came close. the words couldn't form. it was physically impossible for you to utter the words 'ellie, i like you.'

ellie’s brows furrowed reading every word that brought back a memory. she recalled each event so vividly. reliving it like it was yesterday. had she really been that naive that she hadn’t notice? she read each word carefully. every swoop and curve written with purpose. her lips tightened when saw the three words scribbled as if even in paper you couldn't muster up the courage...'i like you'

the feeling of sinking, being weighed down by heavy emotions consumed her body. you liked her. you liked her and she’d missed every sign. she was so stupid. she folded the paper back neatly and returned it to the envelope. she wedged it between the pages of the book holding it in her lap as she looked out the window.

you had to talk about it. she had to call you. this was going to be longest plane ride.

[laraaaale]

warning: reblogging this post summons her at 3am.

18+ ⋮ desperately need a feralwife!ellie who:

౨ৎ records you riding her without asking, saves it in a folder on her desktop named taxes and watches it every time she’s left alone with nothing but her hand to keep her pussy company, the filthy video reflecting on her too-big, nerdy glasses.

౨ৎ pulls you into her lap during dinner just so she can innocently grind her thigh up into you and call you dramatic when a soft mhph slips out.

౨ৎ asks if you’re ovulating just to get on her knees and say she can “smell it,” and she can—this fuckin’ horndog swears she can taste it in your sweat, savour it in the air, and see it in the sway of your hips.

౨ৎ moans your name into your pillow when she humps it on days you’re too tired to fuck—cause she’d never dare push you into anything you don’t feel like doing. she’ll even give you a five-star massage and put you to sleep. either way, she always leaves a sticky patch on your side of the bed like a dog in heat marking territory.

౨ৎ gets a rush from public stuff. like letting her fingers brush the inside of your thigh under the dinner table at family events, then gaslighting you right after. “what a snowflake, i wasn’t even doin’ anything.”

౨ৎ manifests sex by walking around the house with a white, see-through tank top and Calvin Klein boxers. ngghhh.

౨ৎ masturbates to your voice notes when you’re at work—casual, boring updates about what you’ve eaten or done—and she’s fingering herself to your laugh like it’s the best porn she’s ever witnessed. obsessed much? nah. she calls it devotion. same goes for the sound of your voice during arguments, she replays voice memos where you’re yelling at her and imagining you doing it naked. she needs you mean. it’s a necessity, not a want.

౨ৎ presses her strap into your ass while folding laundry together, completely deadpan, like she’s not wearing that thing just to get you dripping. “oops. my bad.”

౨ৎ fucks you in front of the huge mirror hanging in your bedroom so she can see your face falling apart in real time, pulling your hair while hissing, “look at you, look at what i do to you,” and she pounds you like she’s trying to milk your womb and get you pregnant. she cruelly slows down when you’re about to cum, “i know, i know baby—it’s too much, but you’re takin’ it so good,” and won’t stop until your legs shake. keeps going even when you sob, pressing apologetic kisses to your neck and the blade of your shoulder. “one more, i know you’ve got one more in you, for me, c’mon.”

౨ৎ moans your name while she comes in her boxers from dry humping your soaked pussy, shaking like an electrocuted virgin, “fuckfuckfuck baby, i’m gonna cum.” #bringdryhumpingback

౨ৎ gets emotionally and spiritually hard off watching you sleep. not in a romantic way either. she just stares at your parted lips, your shirt riding up, and whispers filthy things under her breath like a creep. and when you do catch her, she doesn’t even look ashamed.

౨ৎ slips her thigh between yours while you’re sleeping, just to keep you open. not even trying anything… unless you move in your sleep.

౨ৎ plays with the hem of your panties when you’re knocked out, fingertips ghosting the lacy edges. sometimes even tucks her hand under your waistband and falls asleep like that.

౨ৎ sleeptalks filth, whimpering your name. “just a taste, babe, please…” then wakes up with her boxers wet and pretends not to remember what the dream was about... even after orgasming three times in her sleep.

౨ৎ grinds in her sleep, needy little humps against the fat of your ass with her arm locked around your waist.

౨ৎ asks if she can nap between your legs, then accidentally falls asleep face-first against your pussy, arms slung around your thighs like you’re some kind of personal mattress.

౨ৎ cries if you don’t let her eat you out when you’re on your period, tells you she’s just spiritually cleansing you from the inside out and that “real love is messy.”

౨ৎ watches old videos of you gagging around her strap when you’re not home, whispering “that’s my fuckin’ wife” while she jerks herself to tears. in her defence, she’s a proud wife.

౨ৎ offers to shave your pussy for you but keeps “accidentally” bumping her knuckles against your clit between passes. “oops,” she drawls, fingers already prying your lips open.

౨ৎ tucks her strap into her boxers before bed, praying you’ll climb on and use her while she’s still asleep.

౨ৎ gets lowkey jealous of your vibrator, calls it names under her breath, and once threw it across the room because it made you come faster than she did (she set a timer). later apologized. to you, not the vibrator.

౨ৎ refuses to wash her face after you sit on it.

౨ৎ makes you sign odd contracts before sex as a joke, but they’re full of “i allow ellie to smell my armpits as much as she wants” and “ellie owns my socks now.”

౨ৎ remembers what you wore on your first date, and gets genuinely mad if you ever try to throw it away.

౨ৎ has an entire notes app filled with your old texts. every compliment you’ve ever given her, she’s written down and reads them back when her brain starts lying again. she even keeps little stolen moments trapped in polaroids of you, tucked in corners of the house.

౨ৎ makes sims of the two of you, builds fake lives, and gets jealous if sim-you flirts with npcs.

౨ৎ gets genuinely upset when you don’t tag her in italian brainrot reels or spam her with random tiktoks. “so you got a side chick, huh?”

౨ৎ says “i would’ve loved you in every lifetime,” with such passion it feels like a threat. “if your soul was reincarnated into a cockroach, i’d still marry you.”

౨ৎ shuts down for ten full minutes when you say someone else is funny, then tries to make you laugh harder just to “win” you back. when it doesn’t work, she sits there questioning everything she’s ever said to you.

౨ৎ claims she wants to be buried next to you when the day comes, and already has a google doc planning it. she showed it to you once at 2am and cried when you laughed.

౨ৎ keeps the tag from the first hoodie you ever bought her, tucked in her wallet like a family heirloom.

౨ৎ snoops through your childhood photo albums not to judge you, but to fall deeper in love with the little version of you she never got to meet :( 

౨ৎ refuses to delete your old voicemails, even if they’re just about picking up milk. she has them backed up on a usb, just in case.

౨ৎ stalks your spotify activity. you listen to one breakup song and she’s immediately texting, “you okay?” all concerned like she didn’t just have a mini mental breakdown five minutes before sending that.

౨ৎ laminated screenshots of your first convo and hid them in her guitar case. when you laughed, she deadass called you toxic and didn’t speak to you until you apologized.

౨ৎ has a secret scrapbook of you, but is too shy to show you because it’s full of stolen receipts, screenshots, and the wrapper from the first snack you shared.

౨ৎ gets real quiet real fast every time you say “i need space.” (even if you just mean the couch.) her poor brain goes straight to divorce → abandonment → enemy arc unlocked.

౨ৎ asks every six months if you’d still love her if she lost all her limbs, and takes your answer very seriously.

౨ৎ tugs on your necklace while you’re talking, dragging you closer mid-sentence just to kiss you quiet, “you talk too pretty to ignore.”

౨ৎ cups your tits from under your shirt while you’re watching tv, just to keep her palms full and use them as stress balls.

౨ৎ gets pouty if you roll away from her mid-sleep, grumbling “rude” under her breath and spoons you aggressively out of spite. 

౨ৎ pretends to be asleep just to see if you’ll touch her, and if you do brush her hair or stroke her side, she’s smiling into the pillow like a pathetic loser.

౨ৎ starts overthinking the moment you seem distant, even if it’s just work stress. she spirals in silence, convinced she’s done something wrong, and won’t say anything until you pry it out of her. “you’re not bored of me, right?”

౨ৎ compares herself to every girl you follow, scrolling through their pages late at night with a pit in her stomach, wondering if they’re more your type than she is. spoiler: they’re not.

౨ৎ pulls away when she’s insecure, even though she craves your touch more than anything. she goes cold, starts sleeping on the edge of the bed until you notice (you always notice). she doesn’t ask for reassurance right away, but instead she drops weird hints “you don’t have to stay with me, you know,” or “if you ever wanted someone else, i’d get it.”

౨ৎ packs your lunch with dumb sticky notes saying “eat this or i’ll cry.”

౨ৎ used to call you her wife even before she proposed, and even now, years later, she still asks if you wanna grow old together, adding a little scared “if that’s okay” at the end that breaks your heart all over again.

[laraaaale]

i love sluts i love perverts i love dykes i love faggots i love aromantics i love freaks i love librarians i love ibuprofen

[laraaaale]

SERIES 08 ─────── CHAPTER I.

PAIRINGS: VIOLET “VI” X FEM!READER

WARNINGS(S): lowercase, explicit content (minors & men dni)

TAGS: fratgirl!vi ;; college!au ;; arcane

CHAPTER INDEX. || NAVIGATION.

vi didn’t even see you the first time—it was the guy’s laugh that made her head snap up. loud. confident. way too close to you.

you were at the quad, leaning just slightly toward him, grinning with that sly little smile she used to think was hers. he said something stupid, probably, and you laughed—not politely, but openly. the kind of laugh vi hadn’t earned in weeks.

she blinked once. then again.

you were wearing your hoodie. not hers. not the one she left at your place with her initials on the tag and a faint smell of weed and sex. you’d given that back—folded, too. no note. just clean rejection.

her fists clenched.

vi stood under the frat house awning, flanked by two of her brothers who were already watching the scene like it was a damn show.

“bro. ain’t that your girl?” one of them asked.

“nah,” vi muttered, teeth grit. “that’s my ex.”

but the possessiveness in her voice said otherwise.

she hadn’t just lost you. you hadn’t just blocked her on everything—her number, her burner, her twitch. you didn’t even leave a trail. just cold silence and a bag of things that used to live in your apartment: boxers, phone charger, that stupid lighter you always stole. her shit, returned. your hoodies, reclaimed. like you were erasing her.

and now?

now you were laughing at men.

fucking men.

the audacity.

her jaw tightened. “you seein’ this shit?” she mumbled to herself, not even hearing the reply. her gaze didn’t move. couldn’t. she was locked in.

you tossed your hair over your shoulder, clearly sensing her watching. you didn’t look her way though. didn’t give her the time of day.

vi’s breath left sharp through her nose. she could feel the rage curling in her gut—white-hot, possessive, unfiltered rage.

she pulled out her phone.

blocked or not, she knew you still checked that second insta account.

fine.

two can play petty.

you didn’t reply.

of course you didn’t.

vi refreshed the fake account three times. nothing. no story views, no like backs, no “read” on her last message. you hadn’t even opened it. you were busy. smiling at some other guy’s joke on the campus lawn, your legs crossed like you were royalty and these boys were lining up to kiss the ring.

and maybe they were.

vi stood by the bike racks, hoodie over her head, fists in her pockets like some delinquent on parole. she’d been here twenty minutes, pretending not to care, pretending she didn’t skip her group project just to catch a glimpse of you.

you leaned against the table, phone in hand, scrolling like nothing was wrong. like you didn’t know her eyes were burning holes into the curve of your waist. like you hadn’t just yesterday had some guy’s hand hovering dangerously close to your thigh while you threw your head back laughing.

vi’s jaw tensed.

she hated this.

not just the jealousy—but the you. this version of you. all soft skin and sharp apathy. cold. dismissive. you didn’t cry. you didn’t post vague quotes. you didn’t beg her back like she thought you would.

no. you iced her out.

unbothered. untouched. unfazed.

and fuck, you were so hot like that.

vi gritted her teeth and muttered to herself. “she wants me to lose it.”

but you weren’t even looking her way.

you didn’t care.

and that made her seethe.

she pulled her phone out again, typed something angry, deleted it. again. again. then finally:

you done playing yet?

nothing.

you didn’t even glance at your phone.

she was losing.

you weren’t sulking. you weren’t mourning. you were glowing—getting prettier, smugger, bolder by the damn minute. wearing shorts that showed off your legs and laughing like you’d never been under her, arching your back, crying her name like it was gospel.

“fuck this,” vi hissed and started walking.

her boots hit the pavement with purpose.

you didn’t see her coming. not yet.

but you would.

oh, you would.

and when she had you alone, when she pinned you against the wall and made you remember exactly who ruined you first—then you’d stop pretending she didn’t matter.

the call came in at 1:03 am.

your phone buzzed twice on the nightstand before going silent, the screen flashing that familiar contact photo—vi, grinning stupidly in a backward cap, her arm slung over your shoulder like she belonged there.

you let it ring out.

again, a minute later.

then again.

by the fourth time, you picked up. not because you missed her voice. but because you were tired of her not getting the message.

you didn’t even greet her. just let the silence drag out.

vi was breathing heavy. not panting—furious.

“pick up your fucking texts,” she snapped. “what the hell’s your problem, huh? you think ignoring me’s cute?”

your voice was cool. unmoved. “didn’t ask you to call.”

vi laughed bitterly. “you’re out here flirting with every guy who blinks at you like you’re single.”

“i am single.”

that shut her up for half a beat.

“i see you, y’know,” she said, lower now. “acting like you don’t remember who had you drooling on my strap not even a month ago—”

you cut her off.

“uh-huh. and i remember you pushing up on every girl at your stupid frat party the night before that.”

vi scoffed. “they didn’t mean shit.”

“oh no, i’m sure they didn’t. just like i didn’t, right?”

silence.

you leaned back, cool as ever. “what, they get boring already? thought you had options. what happened to that brunette in the cheer skirt? she finally realize you moan my name when you’re drunk?”

that hit.

you could hear the shift in her breath.

she growled, “i didn’t call to fight.”

“no, you called because none of them hit like i did. or maybe they don’t beg the way i used to, huh?”

“don’t fuckin’ do that—”

“you miss me?” you asked, mock sweet.

vi exhaled sharply. “you know i do.”

you smiled. cold. cutting.

“well that’s your problem,” you said. “nobody told you to call me.”

then, twisting the knife:

“should’ve stuck with the girls who were lining up for you. oh wait—none of them could take it like i could, huh?”

click.

you hung up.

and vi? vi stood in the middle of her room, phone still pressed to her ear like she hadn’t just been destroyed. she stared into nothing, pulse hammering, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

she deserved that.

didn’t mean it didn’t burn.

[laraaaale]

do you think they've explored each other's theses?

...and bodies?

꩜ pairing: professor!vi x professor!female reader

꩜ warnings: mentions of explicit content, language

꩜ word count: 2.9k

꩜ synopsis: you've built your entire career on control. vi made a game of unraveling it. but, behind every jab lurks something far less professional—and far more irresistible. just how long can you go on pretending you're not affected?

The mahogany-paneled walls of Piltover University's faculty lounge had witnessed countless academic debates, but none quite as charged as the ongoing rivalry between its two esteemed professors. You adjusted your impeccably neat blazer as you reviewed your lecture notes, your reputation for cool professionalism preceding you into every room you entered. At twenty-eight, you had already earned your place among the institution’s most respected staff, your groundbreaking work in economics earning you both accolades and the somewhat intimidating nickname (one that you despised but, oh well, what can you do) "The Ice Queen" among students.

Across the lounge, Professor Violet—or “Vi”, as she had insisted on her first day with an insufferably charming smile—appeared abruptly, her unceremonious button-down shirt contrasting sharply with the formal atmosphere. Also twenty-eight, Vi had taken an unconventional path to academia—former athlete turned kinesiologist, her hands-on approach to learning and teaching had revolutionised the physical sciences department. Where you commanded respect through quiet authority, Vi earned it through enthusiastic engagement and an infectious energy that had students lining up to attend her lessons.

The conflict had started innocuously enough three years ago when you were both hired the same semester, breaking records as the youngest professors in the university's prestigious history. The dean had made the mistake of introducing you both at the same meeting, underscoring your shared distinction with obvious pride. You remembered the way Vi's eyes had found yours across the room, the slight raise of her eyebrow that seemed to say "challenge accepted" before either of you had uttered a sentence.

What followed was the most intellectually stimulating and frustrating professional relationship of your career. Every discussion became a subtle battlefield where your measured contributions were countered by Vi's zealous arguments. Every conference saw the two of you presenting competing frameworks, your methodical notions challenged by her innovative contributions. Your colleagues had started placing bets on which of you would speak first during casual get-togethers, knowing that whatever one of you proposed, the other would find elegant ways to dissect and rebuild.

The students had caught on too. How could they not? They whispered about the apparent "Cold War" with hushed voices and ecstatic snickers, how Professor Violet could make the Ice Queen's jaw clench with a single well-placed comment. Some had even started taking both of your classes specifically to witness your heads butt.

Nevertheless, there had always been something else simmering beneath your endless sparring. Something in the way Vi's gaze lingered on you just a moment too long when she was making a point. Something in the way your pulse quickened when she leaned across the table to question your methodology. Something that made your carefully maintained composure feel like armour against an opponent who was far more dangerous than she appeared.

The breaking point had come two months ago during the annual research symposium. You had been presenting your latest findings when Vi, sitting in the front row with her arms crossed and that infuriatingly self-assured simper, had raised her hand during the Q&A session.

"Fascinating work as always, Professor," she had deceptively commended, her voice carrying clearly through the large hall. "However, I have to wonder if your focus on abstract models isn't missing the practical applications that could actually benefit the masses."

The question had been harmless enough on the surface, but you had caught the provocation in her tone, the way her eyes had sparkled with something that went beyond an appropriate amount of curiosity. Your response had been equally measured and equally loaded.

"I appreciate your concern, Professor Violet. Though I've always believed that strong conceptual foundations prevent the kind of… hasty implementations that can lead to flawed results."

The hall had gone eerily still, sensing the undercurrent of tension that had nothing to do with hypotheses. Vi's smile had sharpened, and for a moment, you had felt like prey being circled by a predator who was taking her time choosing the perfect moment to strike.

Afterwards, she had cornered you in the hallway outside, her presence making you acutely aware of how the other attendees were giving you both a wide berth.

"Hasty implementations?" she had repeated, amused, stepping close enough that you could smell her perfume. Something warm that made your stomach knot. "Is that really what you think of my work?"

You had forced yourself to not fold, though your heart had been racing in a way that had nothing to do with scholarly disagreement. "I think your work is passionate. Sometimes passion can cloud judgment."

"And sometimes," Vi had rebutted easily, her words low enough that only you could hear, "overthinking can prevent you from taking the risks that lead to real breakthroughs."

The moment had stretched between you, charged with implications that had you up at night for weeks. You had been saved from responding by a colleague's interruption, but the encounter had left you shaken in ways you hadn't been prepared to examine.

Since then, every interaction had carried that same foreign undercurrent. Curriculum debriefs where Vi's frequent comments about "loosening up" and "taking risks" seemed directed specifically at you. Hallway run-ins where her smooth confidence made your unfazed facade feel transparent. Late evenings in the library where you would find traces of her—a book left open to a page that contradicted your latest paper, notes scrawled in margins that seemed to taunt you even in her absence.

Everyone had started to notice the shift in your dynamic. Department Chair Heimerdinger had made suggestions about "productive collaboration" and recommended that you might benefit from working together on a joint project. The idea had sent a spike of panic through your chest.

"Burning the midnight oil again, Professor?" Vi's voice cut through your memories, dragging you back to the present.

You didn't look up from your papers immediately, taking a slow sip of your coffee before raising your eyes to meet hers. The sight of her leaning against the doorframe, all suave magnetism and knowing grin, made your blood surge in that familiar, intoxicating way.

"Some of us believe in detailed preparation, Professor Violet. Then again, I suppose your methods have their own uniqueness, hm?"

It was the same dance you had been performing for months, but tonight something felt different. You didn’t know how to explain it. Maybe it was the way the warm lamplight cast shadows that made the boring space feel intimate and tense with possibility.

Vi laughed, pushing herself away from the doorframe with that grace that always made you feel like you were being hunted. "Is that your way of saying you think I'm sloppy?"

"I wouldn't presume to comment on your methods," you shut her retort down, though your tone suggested you had plenty of thoughts on the matter. "I simply prefer structure."

"Structure," Vi echoed, settling into the chair across from you without invitation. The movement brought her into your personal bubble. An offensive strategy that felt deliberate. "Right. Is that why your students call you the Ice Queen?"

The nickname had a different impact when spoken in her alluring drawl, the muted golden glow sculpting her features in severity. For the first time, your composure flickered—just slightly; more than enough for Vi to catch the brief tightening around your eyes.

"I’m shocked that you pay such close attention to student gossip."

"Hard not to when they're constantly comparing us," Vi leaned back in her chair, studying you with an intensity that made your skin burn. "They seem to think we're total opposites."

"Aren't we?" your tone remained level, but the air between you had grown dense. Instances of constantly tiptoeing around each other seemed to crystallise in the gaps between your conversation.

The upward twitch of Vi’s lip was intentional, the expression of someone who had been waiting for exactly this opening. "Maybe. You're all cautious and guarded. I'm more..." she gestured vaguely at herself, "Straightforward.”

You chew the inside of your cheek. “So, you’re calling me a pussy?”

That earns a perplexed bark of laughter from Vi, who now regards you with renewed interest. “I always believe I have the upper hand until you make an unexpected move like that. You keep surprising me, Professor.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘direct’.”

"Direct," you scoffed, finally closing your folder and giving Vi your full attention. This back-and-forth felt like crossing a line, like acknowledging that this had moved beyond regular courtesy. "Is that what we're calling it?"

She tilts her head, pleased, exposing the elegant line of her neck. 

God, you so badly wanted to run your teeth across her neck. 

"What would you call it?"

You found yourself scrutinising Vi's face in turn—the slight curl of her mouth that suggested she was always on the verge of saying something that would shatter your resolve.

"I'd call it reckless," you ultimately declare. You had lost some of your trademark steadiness.

Vi leaned forward, elbows on the table (you try not to drool over the bulging veins in her forearms, the sleeves of her shirt rolled up deliciously), closing the distance between you to make your breath catch. "And what's wrong with a little recklessness?"

You bristled at how Vi's proximity was doing things that you weren't entirely prepared for. The rational part of your mind catalogued all the reasons not to act on impulse—your career and your reputation, for starters. Both undoubtedly significant.

"Everything," you whispered, but it came out breathier than you wished.

"Really?" Vi's voice dropped lower and you realised she had orchestrated this entire setup. The late hour, the empty building, and the way she had positioned herself to make escape impossible without highlighting what was happening between you. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like all that structure and control that you speak so highly of might be... exhausting."

The observation hit too close to home, threatening the foundations of the persona you had spent years crafting. 

You had been attracted to Vi the second she entered your world. For a workaholic like you, however, you couldn’t dare imagine kindling anything with someone you worked with. Especially in your field.

You stiffened, your mask slipping. "I don't know what you're hinting at—"

"I'm not hinting at anything," Vi's hand moved across the table, her fingers just barely brushing against yours where they rested. This was the first time she had properly touched you since you had met each other. "I'm being direct, remember? I think behind all that collectedness, there's someone who wants to let go."

Her statement was a direct hit on every wall you had constructed to maintain your distance from the woman in front of you. Your heart hammered against your ribs as you comprehended that Vi had been observing you. 

She had been reading the signs of strain that you thought you had hidden so thoroughly.

"You don't know anything about me," you managed.

"Don't I?" Vi's thumb traced across your knuckles. "Three years of watching you, competing with you, and trying to get under that perfect, gorgeous exterior of yours. I think I know more than you'd like to admit."

The admission sent heat racing through your veins. You were dizzy, head practically spinning under the weight of her confession.

"This is wrong," you muttered.

"Is it?" Vi's smirk made your core flip with anticipation and terror. "We're coworkers. Equals. Two adults having a talk."

"This isn't just talk," you hissed, mustering a feeble glare.

"No," Vi agreed, bringing your hand up to her lips and letting her tongue dart out to sinfully lick at your forefinger. "It's not."

The action made you shiver with the revelation that this moment could destroy everything you had worked for. But, as Vi sucked on your thumb languidly and her stare darkened, your superficial concerns seem suddenly unimportant.

"What do you want from me?" the question slipped out before you could stop it, vulnerable and raw.

Vi's smile shifted, releasing your thumb with a loud POP!, becoming something softer but no less eager. "I want to see what happens when the Ice Queen melts."

Despite yourself, you snort uncharacteristically. “That's so corny.”

She beams at the sound, resting her chin in her palm innocently. “Would you rather I tell you that I desperately want to fuck you?”

You were losing your grip on yourself, and for the first time in your meticulously engineered life, you didn’t want to stop it.

"Vi..." you started, unsure of how to continue.

She stood, her existence more overwhelming as she moved around the table. You tracked her movement, your chair swiveling to follow her path until she was directly in front of you and you had to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact.

"The thing about being direct," Vi said, referring to your earlier remark, "is that it’s convenient. Efficient. It cuts through all the pretense."

Your hands gripped the arms of your chair, knuckles white with the effort of staying still when every instinct was screaming at you to flee. "I'm not toying with you," you mumbled.

"No?" Vi leaned down, effectively caging you in. She sounded almost… hurt, "All the time I’ve known you, you’ve pretended you don't feel this too."

She was only a few centimetres away from where you could see flecks of gold in her beautiful, blue eyes. "Feel what?" 

Her shaky exhale was answer enough, but she inched forward anyway, her lips almost brushing your own as she spoke. "The same thing I feel every time we're in the same room. The same thing that's been driving this showdown between us from the very beginning."

Your eyelashes fluttered at the sensation of her breath against your skin, your entire being thrumming with an energy you'd been trying to suppress for far too long. She had noticed. Of course she had noticed. Vi never missed anything.

"This can't happen," you choked out. You sounded unconvincing even to your own ears.

"Give me one good reason why not."

You opened your mouth to respond, to list why this would be career suicide for both of you. But looking at Vi, you found yourself speechless.

Your brows furrowed as you discerned you were at a crossroads. Every rational part of your mind was screaming warnings, yet your body was curving into her despite your best efforts to do the opposite.

"I—" 

Vi's hand moved to cup your cheek, her fingers tracing patterns with devastating gentleness.

"Tell me to stop," she murmured, her voice rough with barely contained desire. "Tell me to walk away and we'll pretend this never happened. We'll go back to our professional rivalry and I'll never bring this up again."

The offer should have been a relief. It should have been what you needed to hear to restore your sanity. 

Be that as it may…

You didn't want to pretend. You didn't want to go back to how things used to be. 

You craved her. 

"Vi." This time, her name was akin to a prayer. Her pupils dilated as she registered the complete capitulation in your voice. "That's not telling me to stop," she inquired.

You were past the point of no return now. "I know," you whispered back, your reply dripping with want.

Vi's other hand came up to frame your face, her grip firm and possessive in a way that made your thighs squeeze together. "Do you have any idea," she spoke, brushing your lower lip, "how many times I've imagined this? How many meetings I've sat through, watching your mouth form those brilliant responses, wondering what sounds you'd make if I could just drag you to my private office and bend you over my desk. Make you feel so, so good."

She let the sentence hang between you like a live wire, but her thumb pressed slightly against your lip. You found yourself parting them instinctively to mimic her from before, the tease drawing a sharp intake of breath from Vi that sent heat pooling low in your stomach.

"So long," she continued, "I’ve spent so long watching you be untouchable. Unreachable." Her hold tightened slightly, and you felt completely at her mercy. "Do you know what it does to someone like me?"

"Someone like you?" you ask, though speaking felt impossible.

"Someone who wants to make you come over and over again."

Good lord.

You were trembling, your calm shattered by nothing more than Vi’s mere honesty.

Her chuckle was husky, "Haven't even gotten started, baby. Haven't even seen what happens when I really try to make you lose control."

"Fuck, this is dangerous," you nearly whined, your last attempt to hold onto some semblance of dignity.

"I know," Vi agreed, but she didn't pull away. If anything, she pressed herself closer until you could feel the exhilarating pressure of her chest against yours. "The question is, how many fingers it’ll take before you’re begging me to ruin you?"

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

Simply closed your eyes and nudged your nose against hers, a surrender so complete it left you breathless.

Vi's response was instant and devastating. "Good girl," she groaned against your lips, the words a reward and a promise that made your entire world narrow to this precipice you were about to fall from together.

[laraaaale]

Prints

...you're welcome? :D

[laraaaale]

cait and vi making oute as ordered by my pay tree on overlords

[laraaaale]