#makin me blush when im supposed to be sleeping

[astralnymphh]

making ellie ur anal princess ౨ৎ

𓆩.𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝𓆪: subbottom!ellie, bit of a brat obv, spanking ofc!! rough n' nasty, sorta soft, an iota of lore buildup tbh im not doing all that, some fluff at the end i think, 2.4k+ words . BIG TEXT VERSION . MASTERLIST . DAILY CLICK . IMPORTANT TLOU POST . PALESTINE INFO . ART BY LOTTIE

Wintry brumes swept through Jackson this week had to have carried some alteration of spores, for Ellie to even chew her teeth over the word yes. Bizarre as the idea should strike— "Wanna try it from behind?"— recoiling lips over her ear rim, sunken in a seat behind, and masticating denimed ass with your honed nails; Ellie was all in, blushed to the bone.

Was she at all candid originally? No, that goes without saying. Humdrums and spectrums of explicitness on your part pervade each crack and inept cough of chatter that she starts days beforehand, throat literally cracking whenever the topic emerges on dreary mornings or alive nights. Twiddly of her thumbs or knees, breaks the thick silence on a spitty click— uncalled for finger jabbing you to see if you managed to evade sleep long enough, "Um, so— it really won't hurt if I.. god— this is so fuckin'.. uh, keep.. practicing?"

Practicing. One way to say it. You assured Ellie; "Yeah, unless you're a masochist praying for a death wish." which maybe could've been articulated nicer, but she's your girlfriend, and one of her major ground-breakers for falling smitten with you— your humor. Spankin' her butt the second she spanks yours, (In turn making her the butt of the running: "That's gonna be you on Friday." joke), or nonchalantly slipping the notion that she'd "Look hotter than a V.S model." in a black thong, flopping your head and averting casual gaze to blank spaces undeserving of your eyes as if your comment wouldn't fuck with her brain for the ticking remains of daylight. Just crude humor, and not serious concepts, right?

So beyond the shadow of doubt, of course, when she's bare lain, spreadeagled of her legs caging you in, maraschino face smudged flat to her bed, perky ass in yours and teased by the caphead of your plastic dick— you give all the humor that girl can get, and fourfold.

"Don't need to clench, baby. Your butt isn't going anywhere."

Ellie clenching for her oh so cherished life felt more like she was squeezing the nervous nectar out, pearly bullets brought upon by all that foreplay— or anticipation— bedazzle the creased parts and frowns she knits as you wrap a grip on your lubed length and brush the tip against her asscrack. It prods at her, mentally. Pokes her to open up, literally.

A drawn-out whine, low and wispy, breezes her throat, "Shut up," jaw tensing grit conjointly, "You're such an ass— and don't you dare make an ass joke, I swear." you suppose she attempted to rein in some essence of control with that suppressed tone of threat, cute threat if we're mincing no words, but it's futile. Can't rise above when you're pinned below.

You snicker, contrary hand swerving over and beginning to palm her butt's half-taut half-doughy feel, and yielding it to a pull, "Hmhm." the soft heat of your touch inciting her muscles to relax, just a slight. "Want you to put it in, set the pace for me, mkay?" your voice curls at the end, tilting your face even if she couldn't exactly see.

"Huh.." she releases a breathy chuckle into the mattress, then shimmies onto her ruddy, pockmarked elbows to allow a pivot of her head. "Makin' me do all the work, can't you just do it already?" she gripes, teetering between frustration and impatience, and nearly hissing, "Fuck me already." instead. Fair skin contours along her shoulder blades as she reaches back, little dimples you wanna deepen with presses.

Muggy fingers skid the bends of your knuckles, "Ts' cute when you do." and you slacken your grip, the harness lacing your hips tugging in nooks as she takes you and levels it to her hole, not quite inserting it before another scoff unbinds from her throat.

"Uh-huh, totally." the brat card was the only thing she could play, Ellie being Ellie— plus, fuck you for shoving such a vulnerability into her by eclipsing over her body and deciphering which touches and words made her tick into a, "Yes ma'am." this past week, making her eager to get piped dumb already, even if the thought conflicts with humiliation.

Intrinsic carnality, had her whipped subconsciously. Hot blood always pooled at her cheeks whenever the mere prediction of how this would go down flashed her mind, having to mosey out of her place for a contemplative stroll. Contemplate, contemplate, ooze her eyes into the raw white, winter void, "Fuck." she couldn't help but moan, and throb untouched.

Bands flex across her grasp as she tries pulling you inside, but her body is a bit too.. antsy, taut. "Babe, it's not— mmph, it's not going in. I think we have to—"

"Have to.. what?"

"Fuck!" a rushed moan tears as skin slaps, harsh and bridging on real tears. Of pain, or by pleasure? Ellie can't convey, but her thrust into the spongy bed and toss of head begging to get strung in your fist impart the guess that fuck— you've stretched her deep, bottomed in perfectly.

You let her hole familiarize the girth for a second prior to drawing out and slamming back in, "Uh!" plush globes rippling wherever the skin spilled on top of your hip bones jamming into her. The pressure clamping you in causes a tiny kickback against your folds, chafes your clit underneath. "Fuckin' tight, aren't you?" you're a damn taunt, winching that whisper ardent to her neck. Evilly; wicked as lusty spirits tempt.

"Holy fuck, holy fu— uhh, uh uh, shit!" streams of nasty and broken up groans hike out of her gaped mouth with each pump into her, poor girl having a gouge out with the bedsheets as a means of taking you, "It's so— uhn! So fuckin' bi— I can't, hhn'can't.."

Musing sighs blur into a pitying coo, you reply, "Mhm, you can. Play with 'urself baby."

"Okay, okay—" Ellie unfolds a breathlessness, "—unhh babeee, fuckkk me." and runs it into straught curses as her tatted forearm lodges in the narrow space separating her from drenched cotton, and forks her pussy lips open, rubbing her neglected bud in sloppy strokes. Her teeth bore into her soft, coral lips when her fingers tug just right, so delectably right she could come undone then and there with your added penetration, waning from pain to indeed— pleasure. Diverts her fingers a moment to massage all the dripping slick and lube through her labia 'till it drew pretty webs between, and resumes again, noisily as ever, "Ghnna' cum, guhhh— ohh my goodd." and so nasty; dribbles of thin saliva traversing the swell of her chin.

Goddamn, she's loud. Sure, it's adorable how you pump her into a blathering mess on your cock, but this was unforeseen; surrendering her every moan to get bumped out nonsensically. Because or for you, both possibly, or definitely. "Already? Aww." you pity, muffling your speech to render your voice into thorns of mock disappointment, but in reality, you just quickened your humps. Shown audibly in the squeaks of her bed frame squawking under your combined weights.

Two splotchy flowerbeds of crimson brim at her asscheeks, owing to how intense this had began and trickled into. Hmm, could make it redder if we so wished.

Wish it is.

Quietude holds, and relents in a hard snap; a sting pricks the entirety of your palm crashing down on her butt, watching as the gentle red gains a series of richer rays and hearing the result of said slap punching through her larynx.

"Ughnn!"

Continuing: you slap once, slap twice, times it by thrice, and drive her into a quiver, procuring those wails that have your goosebumps downright rigid as the earth.

"Uh— uh— agh!"

Retiring your hands thriven of ache, they find oasis curving in the shape of her waist. "So good, isn't it Els? Can tell by how loud you're being, my sloppy girl." praised you, silkily sweet upon the lacy edge of slamming your cockhead rough on her walls.

"Yes, yessh. Make me shl— make me.. fuck— make m'your sloppy girl.." past her grace, is a side long since cowered. It's like you molded her brain to abruptly covet the feeling spurting inside her pelvis. From her spine, unto her clit, a ticklish string invokes its fray, flitting her eyes to darker heavens within her skull.

You coast your knees further up until they parked aside her hips, slanting your groin so you could plunge her wider and deeper, ending up with a draw of lubrication landsliding out. Sheer size alone— she's spread her on your strap thickly enough to stimulate certain sweet spots, and god can you tell when you do hit them. Resistance punts the strap base viciously back, dragging a yelp from your lungs. All the squelches coming from her two holes, egged you to an insatiable fucking. Arousal scorched the curves of your cheeks, in love with that sound, infatuated with her pussy, her ass, how ace of a learner she is.

Ellie's calves give upon sensation and hurtle up, rotating her ankle downwards and pushing cinched toes smushed on your bouncing hind— because that infamous pinch now consumes her fattened clit, riding her sleek-glistened fingers doggishly to pursue that heavenly itch. An oncoming recital of whines and growls coats her timbre, "Baby, uhh— babe— m'gonna cum now, dammit.. 'cum all over you— yeah." pleading for you to hasten up in buggy nudges of her heel, butting your ass.

"Oh yeah?" you swirl muse, arching your thumb into the arch her spine slowly welds into, swooning when her head lies atop her ear and a suffused, smiling expression meets your behold.

"Mhm, hmph!" a hitched gulp interrupts her, "You're too fuckin'— mhh, too fuckin good at t-this." inching into a cocky laugh for a blink in time, then swallows it returned to a screw of overwhelm in her facial muscles. She snakes her free paw under yours set on her waist, collecting it and dragging you to grope a handful of her breast, erect nipples flicking stripes due to your humps jostling her.

Weepy eyes bordered by remnants of her past tears cried inflict a bridge between pride and more praise into the pleasure points of your body, and you had no clue before this that she cried. It felt.. gratifying, seeing freckled flesh resemble pebbled waters in spring, ribbons of light warping along her cheeks.

"Those tears for me?" even so, you lower your lips and lap the pellucid stain up, puckering a smooch in its wake.

But you keep ramming a flood out.

The nod she bobs is swift, swifter than her gullet will ever deliver in this state— nor could now, a contort bolting her face inwards subsequent to a mouse-pitched moan leaving the luring lips of your lover bearing pressure into squirting her orgasm all over you, "Oh fuck! Fuck!" she keens and cants her ass on you, jerking swipes over her clit wildly to fufill the ecstasy piping through her pussy. A timid and weak spray noises below— and then came the webs of liquid pearls cascading around her clit, connecting to her fingerprints as she delicately taps the beady bud.

She got thrashy, and clenched your cock in, having bitten off more than she could chew— and it thrilled your cunt to know that; fire catches, and so does the knot twisting your insides. Relish leaves your mouth as you finish base-deep in your girlfriend, imposing her to your skin-bulged grip of her soft breast melting into your palm lines as you cum, "Ohh, yes baby— good girl, good girl.. fuckk." imprinting her mind with how good that felt in your every reaction, forcing that fervor into her existence.

"I fuckin' love you, babe, I love you so fuckin' muh— yes yes yes.." Ellie reciprocates passion received, unto passion given; parting her muck sweat face from the bed and sundering that space in front of yours, suckling your bottom lip into your mouth and sharing the excess teardrops streaked upon her top lips, unlocking to simply just— breathe onto your mouth, straining the last of her orgasm in gradually dwindling moans.

One last peck at her lips charged by a high, you both temper your elation strewn throughout and become aware of the loss for air in your lungs, inhaling the scent of each other done up in exertion. The stillness sustains for a bit, kind of just drunkenly staring 'till one of you broke into a lopsided smirk— no doubt Ellie, and you just had to mingle lips again. So, you slide out carefully with the expected threads of lube following after, and you roam your damp palms away from her ass and chest and branch them on either side of her clammy waist. Her contagious giggles inspire you to mirror the same sounds as you slink behind her and spoon her, smushing the ball of your nose into her hot nape reeking of sweat.

"Was that everything you imagined— or a pain in the ass?" quiped you, quick rolling kisses on her skin, specks of your spit smearing.

Cringe compels her to split lips from you, chuckling, "Really? Right now?" a row of notches digging between her brows, and a shuffle of her legs rub at the filthy wetness layering her groin, "You've got to be kidding me."

"So it was a pain?"

All you get as a response is her shoulder blades swelling as she breathes in, and shies her face away, giving you the hair-in-your-face treatment. "Guess.. after that, 'could go for a couple snacks. I'm hungry."

You squint, "By snacks, do you mean your two-course aftersex meal?" retorting.

"Yeah! That's like, the best thing to do right after." and, her enthusiastic claim isn't all that spoiled. Ellie commonly does it, and she fucking loves it. Hot meals under some wacky or heartfelt discussion, sometimes checking in on the other person, sometimes asking how they felt— but this time, confessions would stay an enigmatic afterthought to ponder about, as really, she fucking loved what you did to her. But that's— forward. Give her a couple days and a couple hours toppled above the usual hour she knocks slumped into somnolence, and she'll admit that. Sappy sweet on the lobe of your ear, indifferent on whether you're wide awake to overhear or not.

"You felt good, uh, by the way. It hurt at first, but, I think my butt's healed from the trauma. Chair isn't uncomfortable to sit in anymore, hmph. Love you, don't ask me about it in the morning. I'll pretend you don't exist. Night, babe."

Something tells me she wants you to do it again.

[grey-tones]

you’re hot and I would kiss the hell out of you (full homo👀)

😳 OOF do it I dare you

[thelastspeecher]

Okay, I have holiday prompts that I’m going to get to, but today I finished up another Deaged Ford AU thing that I had actually started a while back.  It’s very fluff.  Stan throws food at Ford, and Ford wears pajamas with aliens on them.  Tomorrow, expect some belated holiday-themed prompts.  Today, enjoy Lute being Lute.

              Ford shuffled into the hallway, rubbing his eyes tiredly.  He paused and sniffed the air.  The scent of eggs and sausage was drifting through the house.

              What’s going on?  Ford walked down the hallway.  Did Stan get up to cook breakfast this morning for some reason?  He paused outside the room Stan was sleeping in.  Audible snoring came through the closed door.  Not Stan.  Then who?  His ears picked up on faint music.  He finished making his way to the kitchen.  Angie stood at the stove, humming happily as she cooked something in a skillet.

              “G’mornin’, Stanford,” Angie chirped.  She nodded at the kitchen table.  “Go on and help yourself.  Already got some food cooked up.”  The gears clicked into place in Ford’s mind.

              Oh.  Right.  Fiddleford’s younger siblings are here.  Ford looked around the kitchen.  The source of the music he’d heard was a radio perched on the counter.  It was turned to a country station, judging by the twangy guitars.  Next to the stove was a large bowl.  Angie poured the contents into the skillet she was using.

              “Seriously, go on and eat,” Angie said.  “Even if yer not technically a lil kidlet, yer body is.  You’ve got to eat somethin’.  A nice, big breakfast.”  She pinched Ford’s cheek.  Ford slapped her hand away.  “Oops. Sorry.  Instinct.”

              “Please be more careful.”

              “Yep.  Sorry ‘bout that.”  Angie smiled sheepishly.  “Still gettin’ used to the fact that yer…youthful face is hidin’ an adult brain.”

              “Yes, well, treat me like the adult I am, not the child I appear to be,” Ford said briskly, taking a seat at the kitchen table.  Angie eyed him.

              “Mm-hmm,” she said noncommittally.  Ford looked down at his alien-patterned pajamas.

              “Appearances can be deceiving.”

              “I didn’t say anything.”

              “They didn’t have more mature pajamas in my size.”

              “I think they’re very fetchin’,” Angie said politely.  “Seriously, you should eat somethin’.”

              “Fine,” Ford mumbled.  He looked at the selection already placed on the table.  “When did you get up to make all of this?”

              “About an hour ago,” Angie said.  She shrugged.  “I’m used to gettin’ up early.”

              “I suppose you would be, given that you grew up on a farm,” Ford said, reaching for the stack of pancakes.  “Where is Fiddleford?  Normally he’s waking Stan and myself with his noise by now.”

              “He was makin’ a bit of a fuss, so Lute went to take care of ‘im.”  As if on cue, Lute strolled into the kitchen, carrying Fiddleford.  Angie beamed. “How’s the world’s tiniest engineer doin’?”

              “Changed and ready fer the day!” Lute chirped.  He looked around.  “Where’s the high chair?”

              “We don’t have one,” Ford said.  “This is a house of science.”

              “It’s also a house that has an infant and a child in it at the moment,” Angie said.  She grabbed a notepad off the counter and took a pen out from behind her ear.  “Add that to the list.”

              “What list?” Ford asked.

              “List of things we need to procure to keep things runnin’.”

              “Stan and I were doing perfectly fine with what he purchased.”  Ford paused.  “Probably purchased.”

              “Oh, fer sure, you were doin’ a decent job,” Lute said.  “I mean, no one’s been seriously injured.  But we’re childcare experts.  Trust us when we say ya need a few things.”  He took a seat at the table.  “Angie, mind grabbin’ some food fer tiny Fidds?”

              “Yep.”  Angie opened the pantry.  “Carrots or plums?”

              “What did lil Fidds have fer dinner yesterday?” Lute asked Ford.  Ford shrugged.  “Go with plums.”  Angie handed Lute a container of baby food.  “Stanford, we should prob’ly go over the conversation that ya missed last night after ya went to bed.”

              “You said you weren’t going to discuss anything!” Ford protested.  “That was the only reason I agreed to go to sleep as early as I did.”

              “We didn’t plan on talkin’ bout things,” Angie said.  “But the conversation topic changed.”

              “Fine.”  Ford crossed his arms.  “What did I miss?”

              “Well, I’m goin’ to be takin’ charge of tiny Fidds, here,” Lute said, poking at Fiddleford’s tummy playfully.  “Stan will continue to be yer main supervisor, but Angie and I will step in as needed.”

              “…Okay.”

              “Oh, and Stan mentioned that ya haven’t left the house in over a week, so I’ll be takin’ you and tiny Fidds out ‘n about at least once a day.”

              “What?!” Ford yelped.  “Why?”

              “Ya might be an adult in yer mind, but yer a kidlet in body.  Ya have excess energy ya need to burn off.”

              “No, I don’t.”

              “From what Stan’s told me, ya do.  Apparently ya conked yer head the other day, runnin’ around the house,” Lute said.  He opened the jar of baby food.  Ford blushed. “It’s nothin’ to be embarrassed about. I mean, Angie and I were far worse and did far worse when we were lil.”  Lute began to spoon the baby food into Fiddleford’s mouth.  “Don’t worry, when ya leave the house, it’ll be low-key.  It’s not like I’ll be signin’ ya up fer bible camp or somethin’.”

              “Given that Stanford’s Jewish, I should hope not,” Angie said.  Lute frowned.

              “How do ya know that?”

              “Stan told me.”

              “Ah.”  Lute looked at Ford.  “It’ll just be lil trips to the library or park.”

              “No.”

              “Pardon?”

              “I won’t go to the library or park.”  Ford gestured at himself.  “Not like this!  The times that Stan forced me to accompany him to the grocery store were bad enough! I refuse to be treated like a child by complete strangers.”  Ford scowled. “I do not want to leave the house if I can avoid it.”

              “Don’t care what you want, Sixer,” Stan rumbled, shuffling into the kitchen. He yawned widely.  “The Gucks know what they’re talking about, and they said kids need to leave the house.”

              “Stan,” Ford whined.  Stan took a seat at the table.  He grabbed a sausage link from one of the plates.  “Why?”

              “The Gucks say so.”

              “But-”

              “Look, from here on out, when the Gucks say something about kids, we do it. They’re the experts,” Stan said. Ford slumped in his seat.  “Don’t pout.  Eat some breakfast.”

              “How about this, Stanford,” Lute said suddenly.  He wiped Fiddleford’s face.  “I’m goin’ to go to the store later today to get the high chair and other things needed to take care of yourself and tiny Fidds.  You can come with, and that’ll be yer trip fer the day.”

              “I guess,” Ford mumbled.  Lute grinned.

              “You can pick a treat while we’re at the store,” he said in a singsong voice. Ford perked up.

              “Jelly beans?”

              “You bet.”

              “Okay.  I’ll come.” Ford frowned at Stan.  “But only because Stan has been refusing to buy jelly beans ever since Fiddleford was turned into an infant.”

              “I can only steal so much without attracting attention, Sixer,” Stan said through a mouthful of sausage.  “I had to choose between jelly beans and food for Sticks.  I went with the baby food.”

              “Do- do you really steal things?” Lute asked.  Stan leaned back in his chair.

              “Uh…no,” he said.  Angie and Lute stared at him.  “No.  I do not steal.”

              “…If ya say so,” Angie said after a moment.  “Make sure to continue not stealin’ while we’re here, okay?  Breakin’ the law might make people realize that the two children livin’ in this house don’t actually legally exist.”

              “Yep,” Lute said.  He set down the rag he was using to wipe Fiddleford’s face.  “I don’t really have a nephew named Beau, even though that’s what I’ll be callin’ tiny Fidds.”  Lute grinned at Ford again.  “Yer goin’ to be my nephew in public, too, by the way.  Get used to callin’ me Uncle Lute.”

              “No,” Ford said flatly.  Stan tossed a sausage at him.  “Hey!”

              “What did I tell say?”

              “Do what the McGuckets tell us to do,” Ford muttered reluctantly.  Stan nodded.

              “So, Ford?” Lute said.  “Are ya excited to go to the store with me?”

              “Yes.”  Stan and Lute watched him silently.  Ford sighed. “…Uncle Lute.”

              “Aw, thanks, lil nephew!” Lute said.  He stood up.  “Finish yer breakfast and put on yer shoes, and we’ll head on out.”

              “Hooray.”