As a former c.ai obsessed girlypop… this site has been overwhelmingly taken over by writers that use ai😭 the dialogue just be sounding so unnatural like I read a lot of fics that would be considered “ooc” but some of them sound like they’re STRAIGHT from character ai. idk idk. I miss like 2022/2023 tlou Ellie smut 💔 yall were putting out bangers everyday several times a day. We used to be a proper community🤧
Ellie’s standing in front of the dresser, her gun disassembled and splayed out before her. She’s toying with something, you don’t care to examine what. You slink up behind her, wrap your arms around her waist.
She jumps, twisting back to peer at you. Her brows curl up in surprised disgust.
“Dude, I thought you were Jesse.”
You laugh.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” She says, turning back to mess with the gun again.
“Surprising you.” You smirk, pressing your hips into her ass.
Ellie freezes.
“And what the fuck is that?”
You lean further into her, press a kiss to her cheek.
“You know what it is. Intimately.” You joke.
She shakes her head, thinks you can’t see her smile from your angle.
“There’s something wrong with you.”
You ignore her, your fingers drift beneath the hem of her shirt, slide beneath her waistband. Her hand catches yours.
“I’m on patrol, stop.”
“No you’re not.” You tell her. “Maria sent Greg to relieve you, cause I snitched and told her how many patrol days you got stuck with this month.”
“I don’t mind patrol.” She tilts her head.
“I do. I miss you.” Your fingers drawl across her skin; goosebumps raise in their wake.
Ellie sighs. The pressure of you against her back is comforting, your coaxing touches feel too good to deny.
“Which part of me, exactly?”
You shove your hand the rest of the way into her underwear, drag it down through her folds and cup her, hard.
“This part.” You murmur.
“Jesse’s here.” Her voice is strained.
“Jesse’s meeting Greg at the next lookout.”
Her shoulders relax at that. She turns to let you see her smile.
“Miss you too.” Her brows raise.
You press a kiss to her lips and she melts into it. It doesn’t last long, she can’t keep her mouth closed when your fingers start moving, rubbing heavy circles into her clit. She leans back into you, her abdomen stretching.
“Shit,” she breathes shakily.
Your other hand lifts to her chest, massages the plump flesh through her shirt as your lips attach to her throat. Ellie’s hips roll into your hand, quiet moans buzz beneath your mouth.
“Gonna bend over for me?”
She steadies herself, straightening to fumble with the button of her jeans. You do the same, reach in to pull the strap out. It bounces free, seems just as excited as you are. You reach past her to sweep the gun parts to the side.
Ellie bends at the waist, braces her forearms against the dresser and leans onto them as you pull her jeans down below her ass. You take in her pussy, pink beneath the tufts of auburn, and starting to swell. She’s soft beneath your fingers, where they soothe the side of her thigh. The anticipation rises in her stomach, sets her heart pounding. You grip the strap, rub it up and down her slit till her breathing speeds again.
Then you push into her, slow, watch her pussy swallow the strap hungrily. Her ass presses back to meet you as her head bows low. The sensation of you settling in deep is already enough to turn her legs to jelly. Ellie sucks in a breath through her teeth.
“Shit, that was easy, babe.” You murmur, tauntingly. “Think she missed me too.”
“Fuck off.”
You hum in amusement, caress a hand along the plane of her freckled back, her skin velvety but muscles firm. Then your hips start gyrating, a gentle movement – to warm her up, probably. But her pussy’s aching, begging for it harder and you’ve only been inside her for half a minute.
Ellie doesn’t beg – but she does rock back into your hips. The stretch, the girth rubbing up and down every inch of her walls, it drags the breath from her lungs. Heat pools low, she can feel it starting to coat the silicone deep within.
“Looks like you want more.” Your eyes devour the sight of her slick, glimmering on the base every time you shift out a little.
“No shit, dude.” She huffs. Impatient. You came her to surprise her, now you’re making her wait for it?
You bend over her, bring your mouth to her ear as your hand roams beneath her, up her stomach to palm her tit.
“I love fucking that attitude outta you.”
Ellie’s mouth opens to reply, and stays that way when you start snapping your hips into her – hard enough to make her tense up but not hard enough to satisfy. She pulls in a breath, grits her teeth against the urge to moan. You straighten, grip her hips.
“Do it, then.” She finally manages.
The fight behind her taunt dies on her tongue. You’re fucking her hard now, faster, a satiating rhythm that puts pressure on all the right places.
“Ugh, god.” Her eyes roll as the feeling spreads through her abdomen. One of her hands shoot back to clamp around your wrist. “Fuck… fuck.”
Ellie’s pussy spreads around your size, glistening, you can almost feel the way she’s pulsing. Your hand shifts down, wrenches one of her thighs further to the side. The fingers around your other wrist disappear, instead reaching forward to splay against the wall just above the dresser as an anchor. Ellie whines low and lustful, her mouth widening, eyes squeezing closed.
You angle your hips down, thrust once, and Ellie jolts with a light gasp.
“There?” You say, giving another pointed thrust into that spot before letting your grinding shallow again.
“Yeah.” She breathes, lifting her ass to try and shift the strap back.
“Yeah?” You mock, delivering one more hard thrust.
“Yes,” Ellie’s nails dig into the wood, “please, please, please.”
You grab handfuls of her asscheeks, spread them before sliding down to the hilt. The tip presses against where she’s tingling, makes her pussy spasm. She’s about to start pleading again when your hips begin to bump into her, knocking down and pounding right where she wants it.
“F-fuck,” Ellie’s spine curves, her chest dropping onto the dresser. She presses her forehead into it, the cool surface soothing the warmth of her skin. Her muscles bare down at the mind-numbing pleasure, her moans curling in such a sinfully pornographic way her cheeks are burning.
Resistance meets your grinding, along with gloopy squelches loud enough to cover the sound of the dresser squeaking. The rigidity makes the strap drag too perfectly over your clit, has you letting out your own breathy whimpers.
Ellie’s legs are shaking, if most of her weight weren’t on the dresser they might’ve buckled beneath her. It doesn’t take long for her hips to start quivering too, stuttering jumpily as the pleasure empties out her brain, each hard grind sending flashes behind her eyes.
You recognize the jerkiness, the way her ribs flare before clamping back down with a choked moan. She’s so close, needs you on her clit to push her over the shimmering edge she’s teetering on. You ignore it for a little while longer, wait until her muscles are so taut she can hardly move.
“Wanna cum?” Your nails dig into her flesh.
“Mmh, make me cum,” Ellie pants. “Please, baby, please.”
You stuff your hand under her hip, press your fingers into her clit again. Once they start moving, Ellie’s cumming in seconds – chanting desperate curses and clawing at the chipped dresser. Her legs jerk below her, she can’t feel them past the bliss but can’t find it in her to care if she falls.
“There you go, baby, let it out. Been too long, huh?”
She nods, whimpering open-mouthed against the wood. Her pussy convulses around the strap as the final waves of her orgasm ebb, floods ecstasy through her veins. Then her hand’s snapping down to push yours away, and she’s sighing out to catch her breath.
well well look who’s back again. wrote this instead of sleeping because even tho i’m sleep deprived i can’t sleep because of the horny demon THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!
You always know when Ellie’s about to cum. Her supple thighs start to jerk in softly, her moans grow higher, more strained, her spine curves up as she shakes. You give her five more seconds, caressing one of those twitchy thighs, then move the vibrator from her clit. Her hips buck up once before she deflates, panting. You watch her sweat-slicked face as you kiss her smooth skin. She stares back, teeth grazing her bottom lip and begging in her irises.
“I love watching you like this.” You murmur. “I could do it all night.”
Ellie’s eyes shutter as she shakes her head softly.
“Please.” She whispers.
You smooth a palm over her pussy, gentle force on her clit, and she shudders. The pressure in her abdomen is almost unbearable, the throbbing between her legs worse. Her clit twitches beneath your hand; her hips start to grind into it. You let her for a while, apply more pressure as moans start to seep from her again. The relief is instant, the friction soothing the throbbing and drawing that grating pleasure back to her core.
“Oh, my god.” Ellie’s voice shakes. “Please, make me cum.”
You remove your hand, bend your head to lick at the wetness leaking from her swollen pussy, making a mess of the bedsheets. Her head lolls back as your tongue reaches her clit, the smooth muscle setting a rhythm so good she can’t breathe. Too good, her stomach muscles tremble as the heavy bundle within tugs low.
You pull away. Ellie hisses as the throbbing returns, sends tingles rushing through her limbs like kindling. Her mind swirls as your fingers trail up and down her hip, welcoming the cool breeze that floods through her open window.
“You don’t get to cum until I say you can, so you better hold it.” You tell her, turning on the silky, purple vibrator.
“Wha-” Her breath hitches as you press it to her heavy clit.
You drop your mouth to lick up her juices again, groaning into her flesh. The dim light from the old lamp beside Ellie’s bed dances over her chest, highlighting every curve and every hollow.
“Oh, fuck.” Her eyes roll back at the stimulation, hips rocking fluidly. The rumbling spreads through her body, latches onto each nerve and sets her skin alight with electricity. She can barely think, let alone attempt to hold in the bliss building so violently in her gut.
Ellie’s brows lift, thighs jerking as her moans ramp up.
“Can I cum? Please, please.”
“No, not yet, baby.”
“Fuck, I’m so fucking close.” She sobs. “Please.”
“Mmh-mmh.”
Her body trembles as her hole contracts, gushes onto your tongue.
“So pretty, baby. Doing so good for me.” You coo, levelling a light slap to the side of her plushy ass, watch it jiggle. “My good girl.”
The words hit harder than the slap stung, her stomach drops. She can’t hold it; she’s gonna cum all over your face, so fucking hard she might even pass out.
Just as those pretty, little noises start to crawl from Ellie’s throat – hnngh, hah, huh - you slide the vibrator away, up into the wafts of auburn covering her pubic bone. Her lower body convulses as she drags in ragged breaths, legs snapping closed around your cheeks.
“I can’t, I can’t.” Ellie pleads. “I need to cum... please, baby.”
“No.”
“Please, please, please.” She sibilates, fingers bunching the sheets until her knuckles go white.
“How bout...” You smile at her flushed cheeks, glassy eyes. “I’ll put it back, and you count to twenty. You can cum when you reach one, if I have to take it away you start again. Deal?”
“Ugh, you’re such an asshole.” Her tone’s weak, almost doting despite the harsh words.
You laugh, spreading her open and guiding the vibrator back to her clit. Ellie jumps, forgets your rules instantly – all she can focus on is the feeling ebbing from her pussy, the satisfying ache in her muscles, her heartbeat in her ears.
“Count.” You urge.
“Twenty... nineteen... eighteen... sevent-teen, uh, fuck.” She screws her eyes closed, willing her mouth to work.
“Sixteen.”
She shakes her head, tensing against the urge to let go, breathing deep.
You wrench the vibrator away as her spine curves up. She groans, stretching back against the sheets. A bead of sweat drips down the hollow between her breasts.
“Gonna have to do better than that, Els.” You taunt, pressing a kiss to her thigh.
She reaches down, threads a hand through your hair. You move the vibrator back to her clit and she groans, low. Her hips swirl.
“Keep going, baby.” You grip a thigh, push it up to spread her open.
“Thirteen... twelve, eleven, ten,” Her voice ramps up as she goes, growing pitchy, “ni-ne… holy fuck, I’m- please, I’m gonna...”
You send two harsh smacks to her thigh. “Keep going.”
Ellie’s sobbing now, shaking like a livewire as the bliss makes her vision blur out. She teeters on the edge, whimpering, heat flooding her body.
“Eight, sev-seven,” she pants, “six, oh, god, f-ive… f-”
Her mouth widens. She can’t breathe, feeling like her eyes are cycling in her head as she tries with everything in her to hold back. She can’t start again; the promise of her orgasm is so close it makes her body frenzy.
“Fourthree,” she pushes into you, her thighs closing in, her fingers ripping at your hair, “Two, fuck, fuck.”
Ellie sucks in a shallow gasp as ecstasy rakes through her body, so intense tears form in her eyes. Relief slams in next as the tautness in her gut explodes, the feeling so heavenly she can only writhe against the sheets, mewling pathetically.
You let her have it, stroking her tensing abs and admiring her fucked-out face. Her moans grow guttural as the peak eddies, her legs loosening, the final waves ruining her. You watch the slick drip out of her pussy as her hole shudders, nuzzling into her warm skin, planting kisses. Ellie isn’t sure if she had blacked out or not – her head’s so dizzy, spinning, flooding with euphoria.
“Feel better, baby?” You ask, turning the vibrator off and moving to kiss up her stomach.
Ellie just sighs, twitching when your hot tongue slides up the valley of her tits and along her neck. You stroke her damp hair, kiss the freckles on her cheeks. Her mossy eyes open, barely, the hint of a smile on her plump mouth.
“Hmm, you okay?”
She nods, lifting her hands to your back and pulling you in weakly. She kisses you, still twitching from aftershocks, totally content as the softness of your lips caress hers.
ִֶָ 𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆★⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
gonna be a long few weeks for poor ellie
sub!ellie on top!! not physically, but as a concept!!!
@dyk3ang3l @emelinebloom
(if u wanna be tagged in future kinktober posts feel free to ask <333)
˗ˏˋellie smut !!´ˎ˗ mdni, smut, lowercase intended, sub!ellie x reader, f!reader, mentions of: tribbing, dildos *ೃ༄ pls leave reqs !! had to give this to you guys early i couldn't help it˚୨୧⋆
your sweet girlfriend had her poor eyes rolled to the back of her head, shallow breaths left her mouth as you ground against the cock you both shared.
it was easy for poor ellie to get cock-drunk when you took out the double-sided dildo. the sight for her was just too much, your legs tangled as your hips rutted, cunts softly hitting each other with every rock. you were in complete control, in a tribbing position with your hands wrapped around her thighs as you fucked yourself and ellie with the pretty pink dildo.
"wanna feel you" was all ellie could get out from her state of bliss and thankfully you knew what she meant. with slow movements you push yourself farther onto the cock pushing it deeper into both you and ellie, but you know thats not what she's asking for. her wishes are received when your soft pink cunt presses against hers.
"oh fuck baby" ellie moans out, her eyes closing for a split second just to open them again so she can get a look at where you two are connected. the image of your cunts kissing, each other's slick mixing together, the pink cock spreading each of you deliciously sends her into a spiral. her legs began to shake against yours as you feel her come against you, her juices adding to your mess,
"oh fuck" she calls out, coming against you.
her orgasm doesn't stop your relentless rocking against her soft, wet cunt. you push yourself harder onto her, feeling the tip of the dildo kiss your cervix as your clit kissed hers.
"you feel that baby? how wet i am for you?" you tease your poor girlfriend, unaware if she can even hear you in her state of bliss.
"too much.." ellie mumbled out as you chased your own orgasm.
"you're not done till i am, selfish girl" you tease, pressing yourself further into her slick. you continue your relentless rocking, catching your clit against her quivering puffy one, fucking yourself and her with the dildo.
"oh fuck.." ellie whispers out, coming for a second time, this time feeling it in a much deeper part of her. the sight of her second orgasm pushes you over the edge and you ground your cunt to hers as you come against her.
"that's my good girl" you moan out, circling your hips on her, riding out your orgasm. you open your eyes to find hers completely closed, looking liked she passed out, face in bliss.
slowly you pull away from the dildo and her sweet cunt, wincing at the odd feeling of not being so full. crawling onto your knees, you gently pull the dildo from ellie's sensitive pink cunt. you watch her face contort for a split second and relax once the dildo is gone.
you quickly grab a small towel from the bathroom to wipe her off, climbing onto the bed next to her delirious state. you softly giggle and give the corner of her mouth a kiss and clean her off.
"mmm c'mere already" ellie whines from the bed as you change into one of her band tee's and boxers. you crawl into the bed pulling her into your arms, ellie instinctively rolls into your chest with her face in your neck.
"you know you're fucking crazy right?" she mumbles sleepily into your neck. you giggle and press a kiss into her head,
"you'll get used to it" you whisper back to your girlfriend, closing your eyes.
this is how every night ended when you used that pretty pink double-sided dildo; with ellie completely wiped out having been fucked to sleep. your pretty girl can only handle so much till she breaks.
it’s around three p.m. in texas, when the heat sits thick and heavy. you’re watching through the open living room window as farm!ellie sits, man-spreading on a wooden bucket, loose strands of her short, choppy auburn hair curling at her temples where sweat clings. with steady hands, she shears the wool from your favorite sheep— lampchop, which ellie named against your advising.
you find yourself purely admiring her, chewing on your lip. like, fuck, that’s your girl.
her boots scuff against the dirt and gravel, one foot planted while the other rocks as she shifts her weight into the blade shears, manipulating the sheep’s position with ease. sweat clings to the back of her neck, a damp patch darkening the brown fabric between her shoulder blades.
at this point, you're just gawking. who could blame you, though? god. ‘you want some water?’ your voice comes softer than you intend. ellie doesn't look up right away, just shifts her weight, dampening her lips. ‘wouldn't say no.’ she finally replies, glancing back at the house, eyes squinting against the sun’s glare.
you turn without a word, stepping into the kitchen. grabbing a glass from the shelf, you fill it with water. the ice tray cracks as you pop out a few heart-shaped ice cubes you made the night before. you head out with a smile on your face.
by the time you reach her, she's long since let lampchop go. ellie wipes the back of her hand across her brow before taking the glass, her fingers brushing against yours— rough where yours are soft.
you crouch in front of her as she downs the water in seconds, your hands resting lightly on her denim-clad knees. the heat from her skin seeps through the fabric, grounding and familiar. ‘you know you need breaks, els,’ you murmur, smoothing your thumbs over the worn fabric. ‘and cold drinks.’
ellie exhales a small laugh through her nose, setting the glass down on the gravel. her rough palm comes up to caress your jaw. ‘yeah?’ she hums, tilting her head. ‘that what you're here for? keepin' me in line?’
you smile, smoothing down a frizzy short curl by her temple. ‘someone's gotta.’ rising slowly, you step between her legs. ellie tilts her head back. ‘gonna give me a kiss me or just stand there lookin' pretty, baby?’ she drawls, her southern accent soft yet thick.
you don't make her wait. you press your lips to hers, warm and unhurried. you sigh against her, and ellie hums, hands settling firm on your waist.
when you pull back, she smirks sweetly, soft this time around. ‘breaks ain't so bad,’ she murmurs. ‘thank you, love.’
sub!top!ellie. loser!ellie. tribbing. slight mocking. pure smut.
ellie's grip on the back of your thighs is almost bruising, fingers pressing deep into your skin as she keeps you open just how she needs. your legs are bent, pushed toward your chest, while her own thighs bracket your hips, knees digging into the mattress as she keeps you caged beneath her.
she's been grinding against you for what feels like forever, her slick cunt sliding over yours in messy, feverish strokes— hot and unresting. the friction is dizzying, sending sharp pulses of pleasure through your spine, and ellie feels it just as deep, her breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps.
she's a mess above you. only one problem, though— her glasses are slipping down her nose, but she doesn't dare lift a hand to fix them. instead, she scrunches her face up in a ridiculous attempt to stop them, too lost in the way you feel against her to risk shifting her position. each roll of her hips pulls another pathetic whimper from her throat. but of course, you don't notice yet— not with your head tipped back against the pillows, eyes screwed shut, moaning out for your girl, too unfocused to catch the way she's struggling.
she's breathless, moans breaking into raw, shaky desperation as she ruts against you, any semblance of proper rhythm long gone. her hips jerk erratically, so fucking needy.
‘fuck,’ she chokes out, voice thick, her hips jerking harder, chasing it for you both. ‘i— fuck, i need— ohfuckkk.’ the words crumble into incoherent whines. amid the frenzy, her glasses slip lower. she scrunches her face more, trying so fucking hard to keep them in place— but it’s useless. ‘baby,’ she mewls, a little broken, ‘m.. my glasses, help?’
you're just as messy, whimpering and fumbling for something to grab until you settle on her ribs. then you finally notice it— ellie’s face all screwed, brows furrowed, and nose twitching pathetically. you let out a breathy, taunting laugh. ‘oh, els.. too fucking desperate to just fix them?’ ellie only nods in response, hoping you'll fix them for her— but no. you liked seeing her this way.
you tighten your grip on her ribs, dragging her down harder. ‘just fuck me, els. please, baby?’ your voice comes teasingly, and ellie shudders, hips stuttering before she finds her pace again. a deep, guttural moan slips past your lips when her clit kisses yours just right, mashed between a filthy amount of slick. ‘right there right there, baby. fuck, don't stop—’ you mutter between short, shaky breaths, the heat pooling unbearably in your lower belly, winding tightly, so close to snapping.
poor thing can't take it. her hips sputter as she chokes on a whimper, cumming hard against your pussy. the sudden gush and pulsing sends you right over the edge with her. your whole body tenses, and ellie melts— face relaxing, mouth parted in a silent moan as her glasses finally lose their battle, slipping right off and landing on your stomach with a soft plop.
you let out a breathy, fucked-out laugh, head tipping back once again. ellie groans, her face flooding red, but she doesn't stop moving, still rutting against you in slow, sloppy rolls, helping you both ride it out.
‘sorry,’ she mutters. ‘god, you're cute,’ you pant, reaching up to pull her in for a much-needed kiss. swallowing whatever pathetic excuse she was about to give.
I am ALWAYS down for sub!ellie. Ya don’t gotta ask. If you think to yourself “hmm…but would any one read this if I wrote it?” YES. I WOULD. TAG ME IN IT IF YA WANT! I’ve said it a million times and imma keep saying it!!! SUB!ELLIE IS SUPERIOR!…ahem 😅 Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.
SYNOPSIS: screwing your best friend on live isn’t that strange… right? … RIGHT?
WORD COUNT: 5.3K
WARNINGS: SMUT — MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS/MEN WILL BE BLOCKED, switch/sub!ellie, switch/dom!reader, brief mentions of misogyny in porn?, ellie bottoms n is slightly bratty in this, readers a service top, stoplight system, fingering, eating pussy, making out, readers dirty mouth[to be expounded, she’s gross], orgasm denial/ruined orgasm, mentions of weed but none used, mentions of sex on camera(not performed,,, yet), mentions of voyeurism, brief mention of exhibitionism, brief mentions of bondage, slight dumbification, laughtercare :)
A/N: i reread click and realized i need more cam star ellie. this is for ME. i wrote this for ME. i needed THIS. another result of ovulation. i imagined jackson!ellie while writing this but imagine any ellie you’d like. sigh... love yall <3
wait i came back…. guys i think i love writing again. i love editing again. i love rewriting again. hurray/hooray
everybody clap for aestra for proofreading for my drafts :) LUV YA DEAR @edenspoem
“Look here.”
“I am.”
“Not at my hand, honey. Look here. The camera’s here.” Your fingers twinkle in front of the lens.
Yes, the camera’s there, but so are your stone-clad, delicate fingers, wrapped graciously around your sloppily stickered tripod where your overtly fancy digital camera sits neat and determined on top.
Ellie’s trapped in delirium. A lost tango of abiding your very thorough instruction while waltzing the line of entrancement. She hasn’t retained much in the past five minutes because frankly, how could she? The same fingers she’s secretly admired for the better part of 5 years are about to submerge inside her and lead with nothing but carnal instinct. Who wouldn’t go mad? She surely has, and your mattress isn’t even a mess yet.
The invitation of her star-fishing had been bright and fruitful on your part. Since the birth of your friendship, Ellie has grown incredibly reliant on your clarity. She’s never met a person as honest and forward — but not abrasive — as you are; the reins of the relationship remain stable under your control, never too wild or incessant to be yanked, and much to her appreciation, lack of structure turns you to panic just as it does her. She gains a sense of tranquility from your bluntness, and that day in your car was just that. Blunt.
She was naive at the time: to accept a time bomb disguised as an overtly expensive black coffee, placed gently into your cup holder while Ellie clapped her hands together like a seal. It’s always the same steady routine: coffee and shittalking, the brunette’s favorite pastime.
If she knew her blood would practically write love letters all over your car windows, she may have never accepted your invite.
“Would asking to fuck you stupid be too forward?”
Asked with a nothing tone, simplicity and the brightest eyes. Her soul was snatched clean from its confinement with your manicured claws, palms stained with the maroon of her bleeding heart. She assumed you were pulling her leg for her own sanity, but you’ve never been a puller, at least not during conversations that highlight lengthy forms of human intimacy, but damn, no one had ever asked to bend her over in broad daylight ever. Heat radiated off her and onto you like overworked machinery.
“I don’t think so?” was her stuttered response, but it hadn’t been enough to convince you. If you were to despise one thing, it’d be uncertainty, and that lost tremor was nearly enough to turn you the other direction. Nearly. Almost.
How did someone like Ellie, intimidated, clueless— dangerously obsessed— convince? Simple as ever — it was a thoughtful proposal. Straightforward. Not a leg pulled, and in that moment, she knew she garnered your approval. Look where she ended up a few days later.
“Wanna get in the back… or?”
Reckless? Yes—but a girl with wants doesn’t care about her mutilated surroundings. Fulfilling her desire: that’s what Ellie needed right then and there, on the seat in the middle of the parking lot of the shopping center. Consider it a repayment for that six dollar cup of nitroglycerin.
You giggled a sound so tender despite the twistedness of your tongue. Had you finally given Ellie the upper hand? You had to, even if it would be the last time you ever allowed her to lead. She assumed your laughter to be a sign of surrender—finally, she had thought, right as her jacket slid off her shoulders to dangle from your passengers side.
You have an ability to stun with your smile—teeth stained red with every swipe of your tongue on dirtied glass. Ellie fell victim to your attacks all over again, another bomb unleashed, from your mouth this time.
“Would asking to fuck on live be too forward?”
Right at that very second, the clouds of the heavens split down the center to embrace her hollow, dark spirit—to protect her from the lecher of a seductress. The angels didn’t dare touch you to bring along: they sense the trap in your softness. There’s so much filth that resides underneath your colorful aura. She took that secret to the sky: how equally sick she was, your exact match.
You had put heavy emphasis on live. Live as in livestream. Live Stream as in real people watching while you make a mess of her despite having always had, but that would teter into a space neither of you have touched in your friendship. She always hoped there was something there, a fringe of deeper devotion, even if meek; all those times where you caused goosebumps to bloom all over her with your filthy whispers, all the times you’ve called her gorgeous, all the times your fingers travelled, dipped, stayed just a bit too long on her skin. They had to have meant something, and your proposal was proof of it, in her mind at least.
Doing porn had never crossed Ellie’s mind. Viewing was barely satisfactory on its own—an occasional indulgence here and there when she’s desperate and her imagination’s a bore, she’d watch, cum, and fall asleep slightly less antsy. It was a raunchy tool for satisfaction and nothing more.
Until it wasn't.
Until she scrolled a tad too deep on Twitter after hours—a fuzzy video that lasted no more than 12 seconds, but it mutilated her brain so viciously, and it wasn’t due to the saliva-coated fingers circling around a swollen areola before showcasing sharp fangs.
No. It was the nightstand in the background, barely in focus; it’s shocking how easily she recognized it. The same nightstand with a knife scratch in the left corner of the top drawer. The one sloppily painted over with neon yellow. The one that holds a floral-patterned lamp that she remembered turning off on countless occasions.
Your nightstand. Your tits, your saliva, your fingers. You you you and yours.
A part of Ellie died that night, exactly a year ago. The innocent part. The strictly-friends part. The stress-filled day ended with her rubbed completely raw and swollen and irrevocably high off you: rewatching that same 12 seconds over and over before progressing to minutes long ones of you screwing yourself silly—buried deep at the bottom of your page, then the 15 minute long ones that hid behind a paywall where you got fucked or fucked in positions she didn’t think were possible—even made a burner account to unabashedly like and bookmark every moment of your partners seemingly entranced by you, so much so that she had to comment under an alias—her appreciation for cumming so hard. The relishment hadn’t lasted long because men—the bane of her existence(and yours, every pest now deleted), can never shut the fuck up. Comment after comment: Sexy, Bet you can take massive loads like nothing, I can make you straight again. Ellie’s unsure if she can bring herself to kill, but if she could without a trace… oh, if she could.
Unfortunately, telling predatory men to kill themselves only beckoned her karma. Her naughty secret had a three-day lifespan. What luck she has.
Who accidently falls asleep to Twitter porn inside of said porn star’s house, on said pornstar’s couch?
She was awoken by warmth from a blanket she hadn’t retrieved herself, a fully charged device that she knew she hadn’t plugged in, and breakfast. A good and hefty breakfast for a good and hefty conversation.
Safe to say you and Ellie’s relationship became helluva lot more personal that morning.
Personal enough for you to describe in detail the adrenaline you feel when people(not men, people) get off to you, your body. Personal enough to show her videos that may never reach the internet due to their intimacy. Personal enough to ask her to hold the camera while you pose unclothed—that took a bit more time, but it happened. So, so personal.
Not personal enough to turn her away from fucking you, though. She spent too many late evenings stalking that account—absorbing each line and curve of your stature in lingerie or naked or strapped up, memorizing where and what sensations set you ablaze, rewinding the small seconds right before euphoria consumed you whole. All that studying had come full circle, all to be tested at that moment. Her daydreaming had flipped on her. Tongue in cheek—she didn’t bother hiding her enthusiasm.
“I don’t think so.”
“I want you to know this is the craziest thing I’ve ever done.” Ellie calls from your mattress, jeans already kicked off to the side of your room.
“Having second thoughts?”
Not a scrimmage of disappointment in your tone—eyes soft with alertness and an overcast of concern.
“No… just talking out loud.”
“There’s no wrong in wanting to back out. This is… it's a bit weird.”
Live Streaming is weird. That’s probably the scariest part about all of this—not the risk of ending a friendship that Ellie has grown especially fond of, not the potential change in perspective of her from your end, but the perception from strangers. What if she hiccups or makes a weird noise or reacts in a way that’s not… attractive to the masses? What if they don’t like her? You’re the star after all. They pay decent amounts to see you in your sensual glory—Ellie simply doesn’t possess that eloquence this sort of indulgence requires.
“Or we can opt outta streaming altogether if it’s bothering you. We can just… you know, build up to it.” The shy gesture towards your mattress gets Ellie swooning. Her tone drops an octave, playfulness cranked higher to soothe her nerves. “Are you suggesting that I become a regular?”
“Would you like to become a regular?”
“Oh? There's other clientele?” Ellie snickers off the slight—quite slight agitation that sparks within her at the suggestion of others. Unreasonable and annoying, but she can’t help it. “I’ll know for sure after this, no?”
“I suppose.” You murmur with curved lips, scanning your camera with what Ellie can read as hesitance.
“What’s the matter?”
“I’m thinking.”
“About?”
“I can’t help but think this is a lot for you. We’ve never even kissed.”
“I beg to differ—“
You scoff, “we were high. That doesn’t count and you know it.”
“Why wouldn’t it count?”
“Ellie.” You scold gently, and her fight falters, sighing deeply when the mattress bunches around her elbows.
“So… what’s the plan?”
“I told you already. Building up to.”
Ellie hums with interest you’ve piqued. “Are we rehearsing then?”
“That’s cute. I like that. Sure, rehearsing.”
She huffs at your mocking, “come closer.”
“In what world do you think you can tell me what to do?”
Ellie’s response stays lodged in her throat from its dryness. The air shifts—her world shifts in a way that she feels upside down, her breath scattering and fingers twitching where they rest on your blanket. Heat blooms from her cheeks to her forehead at the ease in your stare.
You’re so calm. You radiate serenity on the slow journey to your dresser, your rings clattering in your jewelry holder—the same glass seashell Ellie gifted you on your birthday two years ago. It’s a familiar preparation, a ritual she’s mastered on her own, but for some foreign reason, her chest swirls with a sensation that she can’t pinpoint.
“I… um…”
“Yeah? You, um, what?” The corner of your mouth curves ever so slightly—so cunning, and suddenly, the conversation could be about anything. All efforts of indifference melt down through your mattress to drip onto hardwood. The role of your camera is long forgotten with every step your sock-covered feet take.
Her legs jerk when you finally stand between her legs, jeans tickling her skin, nearly locking you in place by your thighs but you don't falter—she’s frozen in her position, laid out in front of you with confidence on rapid declination.
“Stoplight system.” You whisper, Ellie’s response just as airy.
“What?”
“Do you know what that is?”
Sounds familiar—possibly something that you’ve mentioned in passing a few times. She hadn’t understood the context when you mentioned it during your routine one-night-stand recalls, but you were left giddy enough to talk about them until you went blue in the face.
She says no, secretly due to how good you sound, raspy and alluring. You could be talking about actual traffic laws and she’d be just as skittish and needy as she is now.
“If, for any reason, you don’t like something that I do, or say or anything — or if you just want to stop, say—“
“Red.” She comprehends, and you call her smart—just under your breath, and her legs lock on you again. Stoplight. Simple enough. Green or blue or orange or whatever. Come closer.
“And if I like it? Whatever it is you do.”
“Then tell me you do. I work better with praise.”
The room goes silent while Ellie flounders and you inspect, particularly deep and all over her; lines burning into skin with every pass of your pupils on her thighs, scarred and dotted. Your gaze flickers, dilated and fluttering with lust but upholding serenity, eyes capturing and framing every insecurity she’s developed since adolescence, lodged deep into your memory. Such scrutiny… she wishes she had the heart to despise it.
“Speaking of, what do you like? How do you touch yourself?” With causality, the tip of your index finger traces up her thigh, following the healed gash she earned after failing to hop a fence when she was fifteen. Ellie’s chest gives a tight squeeze when it curls underneath the lining of her shirt to inch it up slightly. A smile twists when you catch the colorful lining of her underwear.
“I touch myself like everyone touches themselves.”
“And how is that.”
She scoffs ludicrously. “I don’t fuckin’ know, I just do it.”
“Does it feel good when you just do it?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Interesting.” And with that, you drop to your knees and Ellie nearly faints.
“You’re tense.”
“Well, yeah—“
“Are you uncomfortable?”
“You know I’m not.”
“Then loosen up a bit. I won’t do anything crazy til next week.”
That’s the problem, isn’t it? How does Ellie tell you that she wants everything you have to offer without frightening you? Overwhelming you? Would that even be possible for you—to be alarmed by her desires? It’s hard to tell. There’s three different floggers pinned to your door for fucks sake.
Yeah… incredibly hard to tell.
Especially when your fingers hook in her waistband like you've been anticipating ripping them to shreds. You don’t pull, but rest. It’s clear in your vision when she looks up, that tranquil warning: Ellie’s last chance to bail out completely, even as you attempt to mask your smile when you catch a glimpse of her wetness.
Her lungs constrict with how deep her breath is. Her heart thrashes with her inquiry, ragged and insatiable.
“And what’s next week?”
You scoff a laugh and Ellie’s thighs twitch.
“When my paypigs finally get to watch me fuck you dumb.”
“Holy fuckin’ shit,” escapes in one exhale before she’s sucking in another gust of air.
“Yeah?”
She barely has any time to squeak her approval before her underwear is torn from her. Her thighs tense with instinct to shut them. You’re eye level with her cunt in all its drippy glory. Ellie’s never felt this form of anxiety when naked in front of anyone. She’s seen your pussy when it glistens under flash—a glorious sight. It feels wrong and misogynistic to call a pussy mediocre but in comparison, you’re beautiful and she's… decent? She’s not as smooth and doesn’t shave because what the fuck for, but she also doesn’t have to worry about people criticizing her pussy in the way they would criticize yours. Her pussy’s hers and hers only… but she’ll die if you think she’s… unattractive. She’ll jump out your window.
“Why do you look like that?”
“Like what, dude.”
“Like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Well, my labias on display, for one—“
Rebuttals die as quickly as they blossom.
The last bit of oxygen in her lungs is lost when your index and middle finger lay gently over her, stunted by your warmth when you spread her, gentle sloshes from her slick spreading as it spills from her. You’re seemingly unbothered by any of Ellie’s sudden self-judgements, and shockingly, her own brain has silenced under your gawking. She only watches your hand, uses it as grounding before her lungs stop working.
“Look at you.” You coo. “You’re real cute, baby.”
“Thanks,” barely mumbled—barely coherent. Your canines bare beneath a smile; you’re about ready to tear her to shreds.
“This is the last time I’m gonna ask you. How do you touch yourself?”
“I… just rub one out when I have time.” Her eyes flit from your face to the wall only to find more nudity across pink and faux brick. Even with erratic glances, there’s so much detail and care within each photograph: some from magazine shoots, some from polaroids you’ve captured. Some of you, some with you, and some without you — images left with only your satisfied companions, evidence of your lecher embedded permanently into their skin.
Will you leave her the same way? Capture her with such delicacy to pin to your wall?
“… That all?”
Her entire body engulfs in flames and your gentle scrutiny doesn’t help. Her shoulders bump weakly.
“I think you deserve a little bit more than that. All ‘m saying.”
You stand and wave your hand at her, ushering her further back onto your mattress. She flounders stupidly until she’s centered on your pillows and you smile. “Get this off for me.” You tug at the hem of the shirt she stole from your drawer last year. Ellie short circuits when her back arches and fingers tug at the fabric, leaving her fully unclothed—she prays you can’t hear the borderline violent pounding atop her ribcage.
She fidgets when your arms hook tight around her thighs to yank her closer, her locks dragging across your pillows and before she can even register your closeness, you kiss her. She hardly notices the noise, her noise, vibrating on your lips—guttural and strained and nasally, and she can’t stop wriggling against you, no matter the efforts of you trying to station her hips.
This kiss is nowhere reminiscent of your first one. You may not remember but Ellie does—chaste but filled with adoration and softness underneath the stars. Gentle and light that got Ellie’s chest stirring with tenderness. This isn’t like that—not when your hands move from her hips to her wrists to pin above her because she keeps pulling you where she shouldn’t. Not when you bite her lips, not when your lips suction around her tongue. Not not not not.
This kiss is real, this kiss is hungry: pronounced with fervor with every steaming swipe of tongue. Just when she’s sure you couldn’t get any closer, you manage, and Ellie burns wherever your skin touches. You’re making her a mess — you did then when you cradled her cheeks with that doting smile before pecking her mouth that night, and you still do; the proof scents your fresh sheets. How’s that for praise?
She’s conflicted between wishing you weren’t clothed and desperately needing to grind herself into your jeans. The need to imprint herself in every corner of your comforting sanctuary is enough to turn her animalistic: she tears into your hand with her nails, arches her back to grind up into your leg before you force her still. Every corner you turn, whether she’s here or not or you’re fucking someone else — no matter the ache of that knowledge, there’ll always be a memory of her presence— she was here first, and everytime she ends up under your sheets, you’ll be the first to know.
You must have the same idea because your mouth and teeth travel south with intent to bruise, down the curve of her neck, and… fuck.
You pause at her giggle, when her chin tucks slightly to the side to shield the sensitive skin. You suck your teeth at her, all smiles.
“I’m sorry, I can’t—“
Ellie cackles when you pout, “You ticklish here, too?” One wrist gets freed from your confinement before you poke a tentative finger to the other side of her neck, but the results are the same. Chin tucks and light snickers. You mask your own laughter with a kiss to her cheek. And her chin, and her nose. Until she’s giggled out.
“It’s weird as fuck, ‘m not ticklish anywhere else but there, not even on my sides.” Nerves unravel her tongue. You hum acknowledgments like you’re listening because you're sweet and care that she feels heard, all while your lips smack down to her chest.
“My sides are ticklish,” you whisper between her breasts, and she shudders, “my thighs, too.”
“Noted,” cracks reside in her timbre when your teeth sink into her skin. Her whining replaced laughter.
“What’re you takin’ notes for?”
“Gonna tickle you when you’re not looking.” She whimpers.
Ellie’s jaw slacks when you suck a nipple into your mouth. Your hands return to their residence on her waist when she jerks and her back cranes. You sound so far away when you laugh around her, “feels good there?”
“Agh, shit—“
“Does it? Tell ‘em it does.” You grit, and Ellie freezes. She can feel you smiling.
Your fingers find the cushions of her cheeks to force her head up, but she’s not looking at you. Not at the wall either. She doesn’t have to. This is a rehearsal, is it not? You're training her for the real thing: to be fully exposed on camera and not feel shame.
Her eyes meet the camera lense, and you hum around her nipple in satisfaction. She’d bet every dime that her eyes crossed and met directly in the middle. Thank God you’re distracted.
“Tell them, Ellie. How good is it?” You vibrate against her and her hips launch up into you.
“It… yeah, it’s really goo—“
You cackle into her chest and Ellie’s eyes squeeze shut. How is it possible that her body’s temperature increased another hundred degrees? Just as she garnered enough courage to talk to a theoretical audience, her voice breaks like a kid going through puberty.
But your laugh is very reminiscent of jingle bells. She can’t help but smile.
“They’re gonna love you bitch, holy fuck—“
“Shut the fuck up.” Ellie snickers, and your lips smack against her chest. She has to stop her arms from chasing you when you sit up onto your knees. One quick glimpse at her chest is enough proof that you two crossed paths. You’re all over her.
Your eyes are soft with their travels over her frame. Too much scrutiny that she’s enjoying: deflection is her only way out of it. “My nips hurt, man, fuck.”
“Sorry dollface, couldn’t help myself.”
Her knuckles pale around your blankets when your hands hook underneath her knees, slowly forcing them up where they connect to rest on her chest, and her skin bleeds its deepest shade. Her last bits of anxiety leave in one final exhale before she hooks her arms under her knees to keep them steady.
“She’s gorgeous, baby.”
Your directness makes Ellie scoff. She watches you readjust where you’re seated, ass rested on your heels with a hand on the back of her thigh.
“Watch me, ‘k?” You peer from behind her legs. Ellie can barely get a nod in before her clit gets stimulated, circled slow by your thumb.
“Don’t kick me.” You whisper sillily, and she huffs, albeit dry and breathless, but you smile brighter and her heart soars.
“How’s that, babe?”
“Good, like it.”
“Tell me what you need.” You demand softly and her body feels caressed by your tone alone.
“C — can you… do it like this?” Her middle and ring finger demonstrate before you: side to side, faster. She likes pressure—bodies on bodies, desperate hands, feeling so needed that she’s drowned by whoever she’s with. She needs that from you.
Her eyes cycle when you comply with precision—of course you’d be an expert and touch her right where she needs it, get her panting like a dog.
“Better?”
“M… mh—“
“Yeah?” You breathe when she whines, and she nods. There’s a pull already forming—more of a yank in the pit of her stomach because she’s on you; dripping onto your sheets, scenting your fingers. She’s slowly infiltrating your space in a way she’s never verbalized but always thought of and you’re allowing it, all because you want her as much as she craves you. She can hear it in your voice, feel it in your touch; you want to own her, even if it’s a mistake or it’s temporary or the damage is irreversible. Her peak is already cresting and she doesn’t even know if the five minute mark has passed.
“I feel it baby, cumming f’me already?”
Her clit twitches as if commanded. She fucking might if you don’t shut up. You shouldn’t talk like that you shouldn’t sound like that—so alluring and hot and as needy as she feels. She could cum just from your voice, she thinks. She has in the past, but this is different; every vowel is punctuated with swift massages on her cunt by the hands she practically idolizes—the ones attached to her best friend who’s responsible for her messy bed sheets and wrinkled fingertips almost every night.
You deserve applause for your efforts, so she moans encouragement; hums on about how good you feel, how sexy you are—almost slips and admits that you’re so much better than she imagined when you rub a spot too right. You’re slowly molding her into an open diary with your fingers.
But Ellie must’ve been too loud. Too wriggly, because you’re gone and standing before the edge of your bed in seconds. She almost sobs but any complaints are strangled quiet by shock when you snatch her arms away to tug her to the edge by the ankles. She chokes on a whine when you drop to your knees, lungs constricting when your mouth latches onto her clit, arms locked tight around her thighs because she can’t stay the hell still, efforts worthless. Your suctions bend her in ways she assumed to be impossible, her nails in search of grounding in your shoulder but you don’t waver when blood drips. She takes you like it with every one of your moans that rattle her from the inside out.
She’s loud but so are you. With every wail that leaves her mouth, you reply with your own like you feel what she can, but this amount of pleasure is incomparable to anything she’s ever felt. You’re working to break her apart and it’s working; she needs to suffer under you. When a finger prods at her entrance, she knows she’s a goner. The thigh that collides with the side of your head is enough confirmation that she won’t be making it past your bedroom door tonight.
“Dammit, El—“
Her leg is raised and held at the hind crease of the knee when an eager finger floods around plush and twitchy walls—on a curious search, one rested deep in her while her softness attempts to suck it dry.
“Gonna have to tie you down to my bed, huh? Keep you nice ‘n still while I wreck this cunt?”
Her brain wracks with apologies but none actually formulate; just jumbled and broken syllables that sound too much like your name and fuck and deeper.
She forgets where she is and what’s being done to her when you suddenly graze deeper, fingertip pressed right up against that raised skin that she digs for whenever she fucks herself to you. Her walls practically strangle your index when you snicker at her entranced and lovestruck expression.
“You close?”
“Yesyes fuuu—“
Tears wash down her cheeks when you pull out and her euphoric intensity is lost, only left with an ache that makes her abdomen burn. If she was in her right mind, she’d curse you to hell.
“I know, I know, stop crying. Back up a bit, baby.”
She slugs but you steady her when those thighs give a little wobble. You keep her leg bent with your hand as you rest. Ellie’s weak arms blindly search for one of your pillows to rest on so she can watch without disturbance. She doesn’t need to beg for you back inside—you’re already stretching her with an extra finger before she can blink and ecstasy takes over her vision, spots on your ceiling, gets her sobbing all over again because it’s too good.
And you’re laughing—not your normal, excited and chippy giggle that she loves with every cell of her being. This is dark and mocking like you crave her humiliation. She likes that. She loves that. She gives you that: the pleading eyes, grabby hands on your waist, attempts to shut her legs just so you can swear to mount her flat all over again.
“‘s coming, ‘s comin’ oh my fuck—“
“Give it t’ me, be good and give it, c’mon—”
“—pleasedon’tstop—“
“‘m not. You earned this, yeah? Cum for me—”
There’s 8 wonders of the world. Or 3. However the fuck many there possibly are, your fingers take up two rankings.
Ellie’s never had an orgasm that deafened her. Either her shout was loud enough to blow her eardrums out or the deep grind of your fingers reached so far that her brain now lacks some function. There’s no wave, there’s no buildup, there’s no anticipation—she just cums, thrashes underneath you, rips your sheets to shreds with her nails. Soaks your wrist til it drips down your forearm with whatever she could give and you take it all, force her through whatever she doubts she can take. Her pleasure is so aggressive it’s almost painful but she needs that. She’ll do and take anything from you if it means you'll do this for her again and again and again until her breath belongs to you.
She sobs so guttural when your fingers push past her tightly shut legs, your laughter so gleamingly cynical.
“O—okay—god, fuck, okay, baby, okay okay—“
All over again, your fingers yank her soul from her pussy when you leave. She’s completely motionless against the damp mattress, breathless whines vibrating from her throat as her muscles flex and twitch and beg for your return. She barely manages to roll over onto her side to curl into herself. Every movement is a reminder of what she’s had, what she’s lost due to emptiness. Embarrassment can’t even be felt anymore; she needs you to fuck her again, nerves be damned.
Some minutes pass with you aimlessly rubbing her leg until that same twinkle—the laughter she knows and treasures—raptures her ears. Euphoria leaves her in the same form, so hysterical it turns her red in the face.
“So…”
Ellie calms her giggling just enough to hear you say,
warnings: 18+ content (use of strap-ons + oral sex + ass slapping), mentions of guns since it's a southern au and all, southern dialect/accent noticeable, use of the term 'daddy' (i think ellie is the type of butch to love the name).
☼ southern butch ellie who wears a pair of joel's hand-me-down jeans while she works. sweat drippin' down her forehead, hair tied back messily to keep it out of her face. plenty of pit stains on her wife pleasers and she still looks irresistible.
☼ southern butch ellie who plows through endless fields in her tractor (and you)
☼ southern butch ellie who isn't too picky about her meals. you'll approach her lounging form, practically glued to the recliner, and tap her tanned shoulder with a plate of mississippi mud roast.
"ain't you just so sweet?" she'd tease, tugging your waist to sit on the side of the chair. when you (reluctantly) managed to pull away to clean the crock pot, you'd feel her roughened hand give your ass a little shameless smack, and if you paid closer attention, you could hear the snicker erupt from her throat.
☼ southern butch ellie who loves being called daddy in the privacy of your farmhouse' master bedroom.
in reverse cowgirl, her hands keep a firm grip over the curve of your hips. you rock your hips back and forth, whining incoherent shit she can't make anything of.
you jump and look back at her when her hand comes down on your ass, a sharp spank leaving a red handprint on it.
"you gonna be nice for daddy and ride her cock, quit mumblin'?" she chides.
your whimper sends 1500 watts straight to her bush-hidden pussy. without further notice, you're flipped underneath her, and the harness around her waist is being ripped off so she can shut you up with her pussy on your face.
☼ southern butch ellie with plenty of ink. the single name "shimmer," her first horse, on the back of her shoulder. letters capital and thin. then, an assortment of random tattoos you wouldn't expect someone in the bible belt to have. not that ellie follows any bible, but it's surprising to see. her arms stay mainly clean, freckles on her shoulders and faded down her arms unobstructed, but she swears one day she will get your name on the inside of her wrist.
"see that vein right there, babe? right below 'er. perfect place for your name, don't cha think?"
☼ southern butch ellie who seems rough on the outside, but is the true definition of a sweetheart. you live in a trailer park? she grew up in one, doesn't judge. though that is all too common in the south, some folks still judge. she will never understand it. adding onto this, she ordinates between little and big spoon. some nights, she loves being held and squeezed to sleep. the nights when she has no plans of actually sleeping, she likes sneaking behind you and rubbing her thick belt buckle against your ass.
☼ southern butch ellie who is awkward with kids to the point it melts your heart. she can hardly speak to them, just nodding along and trying to keep up with their jumbling words. give her a couple hours with the kids, and you'll find her playing crack the egg on a trampoline with them.
☼ southern butch ellie who hunts with a rifle in the backwoods. she'll come home with a couple rabbits or a deer if she is so lucky. keeps the rifle stored away safely, but sometimes her mind drifts to your safety. if anyone even so much as thought about trying to harm you on her property? rifle is going to be used for more than forest critter.
☼ southern butch ellie who loves getting a strap blowjob, whatever you wanna call it. she gets asked all the time why lesbians use strap-ons if they don't like cock—this is why. the way the tan plastic shines neatly with your saliva. the way she can last longer than any guy getting a blowjob, fucking your throat for as long as she so pleases, knowing you love gagging for her dick.
☼ southern butch ellie who fucks you in the bed of her '97 pick-up truck, a few blankets underneath you. she'll have you in missionary with your legs wrapped around her hips, and she handles you so easily. she doesn't sputter like a man. she fucks you hard and deep, encouraging you to dig your nails into her back. she doesn't stop until she knows you're worn out.
☼ southern butch ellie who loves a good home-cooked meal from you, but knows how to whip up some bomb ass breakfast herself. hashbrowns and sunny-side up eggs, a few strip of bacon or sausage links on the side for you when you rise. since she always wakes earlier than you, she has the advantage of being able to cook for you before you are able to fuss about her morning chores and how you should be the one to cook.
☼ southern butch ellie who hates overall traffic and chaos in the city, but will drive through an interstate to one in november for every major holiday. she isn't the richest person, but likes picking up overtime to get you that specific teacup set you saw in a flea market or a lacy pair of victoria's secret panties in the mall that she catches you staring at weeks prior.
☼ southern butch ellie who makes a mixtape for the nights the two of you drink beer on the hood of her truck and roll a couple joints. and yeah, it's the classics of the south. george strait, the charlie daniels band, dolly parton, johnny cash, shania twain, willie nelson, etc. she throws in some soft older love songs like coney island baby, somethin' stupid, i will always love you, dedicated to the one i love, forever, be my baby, and tonight will you belong to me.
taglist: @ferxanda, @vahnilla, @witzs, @frillynpinkprincess, @plasticl0v3r, @meow4510, @eriiwaii, @g4ys0n, @mitskimisfit, @ruelezz, @bewareofmyglock. want to be tagged? click here
content warning: nsfw, mentions of strap, reader has hair that can be pulled, pretty short
AN: This is for all my sub!ellie girls. I can’t remember if I wrote something like this before tbh
⇢ ˗ˏˋ She is a sub I don’t care what any of you say. Could be a pillow princess- if she’s with the right person.
⇢ ˗ˏˋ But she’s never gonna deny herself eating some pussy. She gets all up in it, both hands holding your thighs (not pushing them apart, but pulling them even closer to her head), humming and quietly whining, about to get lockjaw and on top of that, dry humping the bed because you’re just so hot.
⇢ ˗ˏˋ But when you’re giving her head? Oh. The first time she couldn’t stop squirming in place, her hand pulling and tugging on your hair, not sure if she wants more or to stop, as she practically rides your face. She tried to stop it, but she just couldn’t! It’s like her body created a mind of its own.
⇢ ˗ˏˋ She whines a lot. Whines and gasps. Gets embarrassed by it though and bites down on anything she can. Her hand, your hand, her lip, the pillow, the bottom of her shirt- you name it.
⇢ ˗ˏˋ She can forget to breathe sometimes and ends up panting like a dog when she finally realizes she’s getting woozy. Would really appreciate it if you could remind her once in a while.
⇢ ˗ˏˋ Isn’t really a fan of straps, receiving or giving. It’s just so… meh? Why strap when you can scissor? Or when you have your fingers? She wants to feel you, not the silicone dick or the base of the harness.
⇢ ˗ˏˋ She loves to dry hump. Late night make our sessions’s turning heated but you’re both too tired to do anything? Fuck yeah she’s humping your thigh! then she complains about her pajama pants sticking to her body.
⇢ ˗ˏˋ She needs praise. If she’s giving- tell her she’s doing good, reassure her that it feels nice.
⇢ ˗ˏˋ Post-nut clarity is her biggest enemy. She’s not only tired and spent, but embarrassed and flustered at the same time. Not that she regrets doing it! She doesn’t. She just regrets whining so loudly that the neighbors texted you to ask if everything’s okay.
⇢ ˗ˏˋ Big fan of mutual masturbation, even though she usually stops moving her hand midway through because she can’t focus on anything with the way you’re making her feel.
⇢ ˗ˏˋ Very much a boob girl. It’s not even that much sexual, she just loves them. And loves if you play with hers. Just you know, boobs.
an: Maria is very condescending, reader cant stand on SHITTT, slight tommy slander, maria eats ur box idk
req: @fleshunger
It’s been days.
A week to be exact.
7 whole days that you’ve been sitting at the phone, wallowing as you twirl the cord mindlessly around your fingers.
She said she’d call. She wouldn’t lie, I mean, she said she’d send something over as a telling that he’d be gone for the week, yet no damn sign.
Sighing, you slam the phone down on the rotary dial and kick your feet over the lovechair, leaning back. She got you again.
This hasn’t been the first, second or even third time that Maria has played in your face; you like to think her job around town gives her this complex, that she can do whatever she wants with no regards to anyones feelings. That, or she really is an asshole. Or both?
After some time, (and the embroidery of the chair practically branding onto your skin) you decide to head on down to her office, see for yourself if she really is busy—
ok, you didn’t.
Lunging at the phone, you dial her work phone hastily, walking around a bit as it dials, you had it bad.
“Hello?” A scratchy voice answers, knees giving out at the raspiness laced in her usual smoothness.
“You didn’t call.” You quietly murmur into the reciever, “and you said you would.”
The older woman sighs as she instantly recognizes your sweet voice, “Baby, i’m at work.”
it’s met with a scoff, “Of course you are.”
The blonde cocks a brow at this new-found attitude, though it wasn’t unexpected, she had been admittedly avoiding you since Tommy’s departure to Arizona.
“Since when do you care what I do with my time?” She grazes, taking the end of the ballpen she’d been writing with inbetween her teeth.
“Since you started seeing me instead of your husband.”
Silence.
“That’s funny. I don’t remember you ever complaining about that?“ She chuckles, eyes trained on the plain cream wall—all while your hands grow increasingly clammier with each moment that passes
“Infact, I quite vividly remember you begging to come over whenever he left for patrols.”
“So?” You retort, pathetically trying to hide the croak in your voice that threatens to peek thorugh as Maria’s demeanor becomes cockier than ever.
“So why the sudden concern in what the fuck I do?”
She had a point; a point so concrete that it made you put the phone down all while Maria confusingly talks into it, asking if you’re still there.
So why are you tearing up now?
Were you hurt over the only woman you’ve ever liked now blatantly saying she doesn’t give a single fuck about you, or it being the cold truth?
After a moment of gathering yourself, you reach a point.
“You know what?” you clear your voice, “So be it. Be with your fucking husband, see if I care.”
“You will—
“I won’t.” You cut her off, throwing the phone across the living room, chips of dry wall coming off as the connector detaches from the wall socket.
Harshly running your palms up and down your thighs anxiously, you try to not cry.
What did you deserve to be so unloved by a person?
Meanwhile, Maria internally conflicts with herself in the office as she begrudgingly grabs her keys and walks out, unfinished papers scattered all over her desk.
she’d been debating whether or not she should continue this act up, in a sliver of a chance you get the hint and drop her like she’s done with every girl she’s ever set her sights on prior to you, but it’s only proven to have edged you on.
She likes you, she really does,
but who, in this god forsaken town, would take her serious if they found out she’d been hooking up with some random woman..all while cheating on her husband?
It’s not cheating, Maria reminds herself; she and tommy had been separated for some time, they’ve just never found the right time to announce it, or finalize it.
I mean, they’d just gotten Ellie and Joel back, set up new perimeters around town, established telephone towers and—
Fuck, does she need a drink.
Question is, if the bar is that way..
why was she at your door?
That’s the question you ask yourself as you stare up at the bleach blonde woman who seemingly tilts her head at you blankly.
you’ve got to be kidding me.
Neither one of you talk as Maria clears her voice, and you shift your weight from foot to foot.
“Well?” Maria shrugs, reaching back into her pocket and grabbing a lone cigarette, “I’m here, aren’t I?”
You blink a few times before immediately closing the door, which isn’t met with success, sterling cowboy boot wedged in-between the doorframe and the literal door.
“Mrs. Miller, get your foot out of my door.”
“Oh, it’s ‘Mrs. Miller’ now?” She taunts, looking you up and down, from the camisole you wear to the ridiculously small pajama shorts.
“It’s been that before I even met you, so yeah.”
Maria takes a few more drags as your words sink in, ultimately nodding and clicking her tongue, turning back towards the dirt path she’d just came from.
You take that as initiative to close the door, but she points a finger at you warningly, “Don’t you even try.”
After a bit, she turns back around, and walks into your home— sitting on the couch like it was nobody’s business; as if she hadn’t just left the busy office to be with her infamous call-up.
“You’ve got nerve.” You hiss, crossing your arms as you scan her attire: For a woman caring for everyone else, she barely had time for herself. Her usual put-togetherness was just..off.
Maybe that’s why she started this with you, because you’d been the only one that hasn’t seen her as some up-tight.
Maria’s low-lidded eyes drink you up, like the first time she met you outside the stables with your dad when you both arrived in Jackson.
She remembers exactly how you reacted when Tommy introduced her to you as his wife, wide eyes that screamed animosity, envy and every greed-like feeling out there.
It wouldn’t have been the first time Tommy has been chased after, I mean, look at her.
So one warm summer night, Maria decides to invite you over to help with dinner; it’d be fun, getting to know you. You arrive with some of your own cutlery and containers, smiling at her with saccharine glossy lips as you hug her.
Maria should’ve set boundaries.
She should’ve, when she saw the way your eyes would be trained on her figure as she made dinner,
Or maybe she was a hypocrite, from how she’d been using her own excuses to touch you that night.
From feeling up the silk nightgown you had on, to pressing her groin into your plush backside to ‘pass by’ or smelling your hair when you mentioned you’d switched over to this new shampoo you found.
She should have told you it was wrong,
To be feeling this way about a married woman.
She didn’t.
Instead, she took you on every surface in that house of hers that night, remembering your gasps and whines so clearly when she’d tap 2 fingers on your swollen clit, arousal spreading through her loins like a forest fire while simultaneously sitting and spreading you on her own jean-clad thighs infront of the oakdoor— the same door they were expecting Tommy to exhaustingly walk in through after patrol any minute now.
It downright was the most exhilarating thing Maria had ever experienced in her entirety of living in an apocalyptic timeline, all while being being married. The scenario that her estranged husband could walk in on her while she toys around with your messy cunt.
To say she went through some sort of realization would be an understatement, that singular event altered her brain chemistry so much so, that she could physically no longer stand to sleep in the same bed as her husband without picturing him as you, which might’ve been one of the very catalysts that caused their separation— who knows?
And it didn’t bother her, it didn’t bother her that you didn’t mind sleeping with her. The bother, was how long they could keep this up.
Until then, Maria would continue to see you.
She’d drop anything, just so she could bury her head inbetween your thighs.
Which brings us up to where they are now.
“You have to leave”
You sigh as you lean on the doorframe, shorts accentuating whatever you did or didnt have under.
“Do you want me to?” Maria whispers as she spreads her legs ever so slightly, eyes boring into your doe ones as she leans back, practically inviting you to sit on her lap.
Overstimulated and overwhelmed, your eyes begin to water up, she was so mean. How could she expect you to forget that phone call?
“Cmere, doll..” Maria utters lowly as she throws the cigarette onto a nearby ashtray and ushers you over with a beckoning hand, weak legs treading over to her as you try not to act the slightest bit effected.
You should be mad, but how could you?
How could you be mad when the older woman’s eyes glaze over as she pulls you into her arms, letting you voice your profanities and anger as she rubs your lower back?
“I love you, you know that..” She says, nodding as she looks up at you.
You sniffle as you pull back from her shoulder and look down back at her, straddling each side of her leg like your life depended on it; Maria’s gaze trickles down your body as she reaches both hands down and begins ever so lightly kneading your inner-thighs, groans betraying and escaping you.
“You can’t fucking treat me like this, and expect to come back..” You manage to say through clenched teeth, eyes looking everywhere but her own— anywhere.
Maria hums as she buries her face into your nape, littering messy kisses as broad arms wrap around your figure, grinding you down onto her own like you weighed nothing.
“I treat you better than him.” She murmurs, giving you one final chaste kiss on the lips before laying you down— both switching positions as she crouches down in between your legs— leveling her head to your mound, “Wanna see?”
You bite your bottom lip as you stare up at the ceiling, “please..” Maria licks at her dry ones, hooking her thumbs inside your shorts and rolling them down slowly, gasping at the light string of pre-cum that connects to them and your sheen pussy.
She smiles as she probes a finger lightly around the most sensitive part of you, tapping to test the waters as your hips stutter.
She’s always loved how shaven or not, it seems to always be the prettiest part about you other than your eyes and breasts.
With one final kiss to your lower stomach, Maria licks a fat strip up your pussy to your hidden-away clit, whispers of how good you taste as she lets a light glob of spit spread in with the other mess she’s going to have to clean up— happily, why of course.
“F—fuck! Maria..” You sigh contentfully as she goes to town, ravishing you like no other; Your hand busies itself by tangling inside Maria’s slickback hair, bunching up whatever you can and steering her through whatever speed you wanted.
Lifting your head up from the couch throw pillow, you finally meet her gaze, tongue darting inside and out your twitching hole. So many thoughts, yet nothing at all.
She’s lazy as she laps you up, wanting to get every detailing of your cunt before she makes you cum. She does it for herself mostly, though it makes you feel good so it’s killing 2 birds with one stone.
“Gonna, g—na! oh fuck fuck fuck! I’m gonna cum!” You cry out as Maria speeds up, drawing figure 8’s on your pearl, as her other hand holds your erratic hips down.
“There we go, there we go, ‘cmon now..give it to me.” Maria rambles into your pussy, opting to alternate and instead latch on your clit, slamming 3 long digits into you harshly.
Once you feel the hot coil in your gut begin to unravel, you feel lighter, seemingly drenching both your couch and Maria’s face in your cum.
Catching her own breath, Maria smiles, and after a while—pops the fingers out of your hole, and into her mouth instead, as she watches the milky fluid escape you and onto the ruined sofa.
dededos
blakekathryn
stormborns
pixelskylines
turnnoffyourmind
annaxmalina
germansingergirl
