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— a collab with @satellitespinner ; read part one izzie wrote here!
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ~ after coming back from a shoot that has your body aching and your mind constantly drifting somewhere else entirely, you're welcomed by your girlfriend and a special surprise that will surely help you relax.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ~ 2.7k
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ~ aspiring photographer!ellie x model!reader. swearing, no use of y/n, established relationship, reader's hair is described as being long enough to be tied back, directed continuation to izzie's part one so references to that (duh), pet names (baby), sexual pictures being taken, SMUT, top!ellie, sub!reader, masturbation (reader) oral sex (r!receiving), strap-on sex (r!receiving), tiny tit play i guess. cis men and minors dni.
likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated ♡
The apartment is quiet when you step in—too quiet for a place that belongs to Ellie Williams.
No clinking from the kitchen. No careless hum as she shuffles through playlists or the groan of her chair dragging across the floor while she edits for hours on end. Just the sound of your own breath, the click of the door behind you, and the familiar creak of the floorboards that always betray your entrance.
It’s weird enough as it is. Usually—if not in front of her laptop—she’d barge into the threshold, socked feet skidding to a halt just to wrap her arms around you and lift you off the floor, crushing your ribs in the attempt of fusing her body with yours. But to be fair, you’re too tired to pay too much attention to the difference, too bored by a day that was so blatant.
So you just drop your keys into the little ceramic bowl by the door, kick your heels off without grace. Your legs ache, your calves tight from the elevator breaking down, your knees sore from the shoot you’ve just returned to that will probably end up being another flop and your spine is curved from being stuck in the same angle for hours.
You’re halfway through tugging your hair out of the claw clip you had pinned it with on your way home when her voice reaches you.
“Bedroom.”
Just that. Lazy, raspy, possessive. A single word, low and expectant, like she’s been waiting for you all day.
Your mouth parts. Your heartbeat stutters.
There’s a shift in the air, heavy and liquid. That dangerous tension that coils under your skin whenever she drops her voice like that, when her tone tells you this isn’t just a casual hi, babe, welcome home. This is Ellie in a mood. A very specific kind of mood.
You walk barefoot down the hallway, skin prickling as you pass the wall covered in her black-and-white prints: her favorite shots of strangers turned into beauty through her lens. But you’ve seen the way she looks at you when you’re caught in her viewfinder, the way her fingers tremble ever so slightly on the shutter. Like she’s starving. Like the camera is the only thing keeping her from devouring you whole. The same look she had that time when—in the most comedic look you two could pull off— she lowered the camera and laughter died down just to bring your lips together, red gloss smearing against her mouth, rollers falling from your hair and blue eyeshadow getting smudged by the damp clinging to your lashes. The cord of the phone she had paid for ended up being useful to pin your wrist together above your head too, as it came out to be.
Maybe it’s the shift in the air surrounding you that has brought you back thinking to that very specific moment; a shift that materializes as you finally open the door.
Because Ellie’s laid out on the bed, every inch of bare skin gleaming in the low, golden light of the bedside lamp. Her legs are stretched out and lean, one bent just enough to expose and conceal. Her tattoos ripple with every breath she takes. The camera—your downfall, your undoing—is looped loosely around her neck, the lens resting between her breasts.
Your mouth goes dry as you blink. “El—”
“Strip,” she orders, her voice dropping again. “Clothes off. Leave them on the floor. Right there. Pose for me.”
You’re not used to this Ellie. Or maybe you are, but it still knocks the wind out of you every time—this commanding, sin-stained version of her. The one who doesn’t just want to see you naked. She wants to capture it, immortalize it, keep you suspended in stills that she’ll look at in the dark when you’re gone or when she needs to remember how you fall apart for her.
You hesitate not because you’re shy—not anymore, not with her—but because of the way she’s looking at you: the weight of her stare, the tension in her bare shoulders, the subtle twitch in her fingers as they tighten around the camera like it’s the only thing tethering her to reality.
“Go slow,” she murmurs, lifting the camera, peering through the viewfinder as you eventually begin to undress. “I wanna see all of it.”
Your shirt falls first, then your bra. The jeans pool around your ankles and leave you standing there in lace underwear and flushed skin, heart thudding like a war drum in your chest.
She clicks once, then again. The sound is louder now, sharp.
Your girlfriend shifts on the bed, knees parting, the camera tilting with her as she captures your side profile, the delicate arch of your ribcage, the way your jaw clenches when you try to stay composed.
“You know what I see?” Ellie asks, clicking again as you step forward, as you reach for the waistband of your panties. “I see someone desperate to be worshipped. Someone who needs to be looked at. Praised. Touched.”
The lace slides down your thighs, and she moans softly just behind the camera. That muffled, breathless sound she makes when she’s so turned on she forgets where she ends and you begin.
You’re naked, but not just in the sense of how clothes do not cling to your frame anymore, but in the sense of being finally, actually seen through the lenses of someone who actually knows the shape of your soul and the rhythm your heart beats to.
She snaps again.
And then again.
And then her voice drops to a whisper, lower than sin, silkier than anything you've ever worn. “Get on the bed.”
As you climb onto the mattress with trembling knees the air feels electric. Ellie shifts almost immediately, crouching between your legs as you lay on your back fully naked, her tattooed forearm resting against your shin as she adjusts the angle of the lens. Her pupils are blown wide, the green of her eyes swallowed up in pitch-dark want, lips are parted, chest rising too fast.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” she whispers, breath ghosting across your knee. “God, how did I even end up with you.”
You’re not even sure why you whimper. It’s not the camera, not the room, the adrenaline or the intimacy. It’s her. It’s the way she’s looking at you like you’re her masterpiece and her favorite sin rolled into one. The way she’s completely exposed and yet somehow in full control, power thrumming off of her like a current.
She shifts until she’s straddling you, one hand wrapped around her camera, the other bracing beside your head. Her mouth is right above yours, but she doesn’t kiss you. Not yet.
“Spread your legs,” she murmurs. “Arch your back a little.” You do, even if you’re shaking from the sheer need to feel her hands on your skin while Ellie shifts again, sitting on her knees, pulling slowly away to get a wider angle. “Yeah, baby, just like that. Look at me.”
Click.
Click.
“Touch yourself.”
You don’t even hesitate, not when her voice sounds like that—low, commanding, the way it makes your pulse quicken the most and drop any kind of inhibition. You let your hands travel south slowly, fingertips grazing the dip of your stomach along the way, only to find yourself already soaked as your fingers drift lower, dragging through your own slick with a breathy little moan that makes her growl.
“Fuck, look at you,” she rasps, camera trembling in her hands. “Don’t stop. Do it again. Circle your clit just like that—fuck, baby, fuck, that’s perfect.”
You obey. You always do with her.
You rub slow, lazy spirals over your clit, just the way she likes it, keeping your other hand splayed on your lower belly like she does it when her fingers are inside you.
Your thighs are already trembling and she’s not even touching you. She’s just watching, letting the shutter go wild, capturing every little shiver, every shift of your breath, every twitch of your brows as you fall deeper into it.
“You’re already gonna come, huh?” Ellie whispers. “Haven’t even been home five minutes and you’re soaked for me. Is this what you think about when you’re on set? When you’re posing for other people? You think about me looking at you like this?”
You nod frantically, breath catching as your fingers speed up, chasing the edge because it’s right there and her voice is wrecking you, low and reverent.
“Say it,” she commands.
Your eyes flutter open. “I think about you. I always think about you. When they touch me up, when they adjust the lights—fuck, Ellie—I wish it was you. I wish it was your hands on me, your mouth, your—”
Click.
“Goddamn it,” she breathes.
She drops the camera. Just lets it fall against her chest, swinging gently from the strap like she’s forgotten it even exists. Her eyes are fixed between your legs now, wild and dark, and her jaw’s so tight you know she’s clenching her teeth to stop from doing what she wants to do.
“I was gonna wait,” she mutters, crawling up your body in a slow, stalking motion that makes you whimper. “I was gonna let you finish on your fingers and then fuck you after. But you look too good, baby. I need you.”
You don’t even have time to reply before her hands are parting your thighs wider—fingers pressing bruises into your skin—and her mouth is on you.
She doesn’t ease in, doesn’t tease. She just devours like she’s starved, like she’s been thinking about this all day while editing, while waiting.
She licks long and deep, moaning into your cunt like the taste of you is too much to handle. Her fingers dig into your hips, holding you down as you buck beneath her, gasping, crying out her name again and again because it’s too much and still not enough. Your fingers tangle in her hair, trying to pull her closer.
“I love this” she murmurs against your clit. “The way you fall apart. The way you taste when you’re desperate. The way you fucking soak for me, baby.”
You’re sobbing now. Shaking, arching. The coil in your belly is so tight it’s about to snap. It does as you come with a cry that echoes through the room, your whole body curling inward as pleasure crashes over you.
Ellie doesn’t stop, she just keeps licking. “Fuck, that’s it. That’s my girl,” she groans, her voice low and hoarse. “Just like that. So fucking pretty when you come.”
When you finally collapse, limp and shaking, she pulls back just enough to look at you.
You’ve never seen her like this: flushed, sweating, eyes feral and her lips slick with you. Her camera strap still taut against her collarbones.
You watch her exhaling—nostrils flaring with the sharp breath of air that curses through them— and then tearing the camera from around her neck to toss it across the bed and pin you with a look that makes your whole body ache.
“I’m not done,” she says. “Turn over. Now.”
But you don’t.
You don’t turn over, don’t flip onto your stomach like she tells you to. Instead, you pull yourself up, crawl toward her, slow and languid, the taste of your climax still in your throat, slick pooling between your thighs, and you press your mouth to hers with your fingers holding her chin firmly, like you’ve been starving for it all night.
She kisses you back immediately, violently, tongue sliding against yours, hand fisting in your hair like she needs the anchor.
She only freezes for half a second when you gently push her down with your fingers pressing against her sternum, her back against the mattress as you climb on top of her. But she melts like putty quickly, mainly because she knows what you’re doing. She knows that look in your eye—your pupils glassy with lust, your lips swollen, your whole body flushed and trembling. You’re not trying to regain control. You’re not teasing. You’re worshipping back.
“Lay back,” you whisper.
Naked and wrecked, she lets herself sink into the mattress, gaze flicking between your body and the way you reach back for the strap on the nightstand. She lets out a low, guttural sound when she sees you loop the harness around her hips when she lifts them for you, adjusting the straps like you’ve done it a hundred times. Like it belongs there. Like she belongs like this—under you.
You climb on top of her like you have the whole time in the world, like this doesn’t require any rush, not when you’re enjoying the look in her eyes so much: impatient, aching, begging without words. You grip the base of the silicone and line it up against your folds, rubbing the thick tip through your wetness to coat it, but mainly just to tease.
Her head rolls back, her fingers clench the sheets as a whimper rolls off her lip.
And—of course—she grabs the camera. You grind down slowly, the strap sliding inside inch by inch, while your jaw goes slack.
Click.
The flash catches the curve of your waist, the silhouette of you riding her, the way your thighs tremble as you sink down fully and stay there for a second, hips pressed to hers, cunt stretched and aching and so full you could cry.
“You look so goddamn good like this,” Ellie whispers hoarsely. “On top of me. Taking it like you were made for it.”
You roll your hips, slow and deep, and the breath punches out of her lungs.
“I am,” you whimper. “Made for this. Made for you.”
Click.
She’s still taking pictures, but barely. Her grip on the camera is shaking now, her mouth wet and open, her abs flexing every time your hips grind against her. The strap base is pressed snug to her clit, and you can feel the way she’s losing it, the way every thrust rocks her harder than the last, so you start to move faster, deeper.
Her moans become curses. Her hands drift from the camera—one snapping shots, the other sliding up your ribs, over your breast, gripping tight like she needs to feel what she’s seeing through the lens.
“You’re unreal,” she groans. “Fucking unreal. You don’t even know how good you look. I could die like this.”
Click.
You fuck down harder, chasing the pressure inside you, the slap of skin getting louder, wetter, the room filled with the sound of your bodies colliding and her shutter going wild.
But then she drops the camera once again, just letting it fall to the mattress and starts rolling up into your thrusts, her hands moving up to grab your face.
“Look at me,” she demands, voice cracked and raw. “No more pictures. Just you. Just this.”
You look down at her, seeing her lips part again, hearing the hitch in her breathing. It makes you ride her faster, rougher, hands braced on her chest as you squeeze her tits, your own bouncing with each thrust. She’s so close—you can see it in the way her whole body is straining, how her thighs are trembling under yours, her clit grinding against the harness, chasing friction.
“You’re mine,” she says. You nod. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” you breathe.
It’s all it takes.
She comes with a cry, body arching off the bed, hand flying to your ass as she holds you down, grinding you against her and riding it out like it’s killing her. You feel her shaking under you, her chest heaving, her thighs locking around you like she doesn’t want you to ever leave.
You keep rolling your hips, still dragging the strap in and out of your soaked pussy, still fucking yourself on her to let her high last longer, to make her feel good as long as you can. But when her thumb reaches between you and finds your clit, you lose it too.
You come with a sob, collapsing onto her chest, face buried in her throat, breath hot and desperate against her pulse as your whole body shakes.
She holds you through it: arms tight, breathing ragged, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other still between your bodies like she’s not ready to let go yet.
Eventually, your breathing evens, your muscles stop spasming and the world slows down again. And when you finally lift your head to look at her, she’s smiling.
Soft. Drunk. In love.
“You,” she whispers, “are my favorite picture.”
hi, hello! if you've reached the end and did not read part one because you were horny (fair), this is another friendly reminder to go check it out, it's substantial + it's izzie's writing so that's enough of a reason to read it :p
pictures from pinterest
dividers made by izzie the goat <33
𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐌 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 「check the bottom of my masterlist or comment to be added <3」
@machetegirl109 @valeisaslut @imliterallyjustonegirl @seasonsofchaos @les4elliewilliams @andieprincessofpower @iloveclairo2016 @rhian88 @mxchi-mxxn @sawaagyapong @angelz-void @archersbows @slutforabbyanderson @liztreez @ghostofmaxx @starrypeachezz
a/n: omggg, first collab. this was so much fun and such an incredible experience watching izzie write in real time. im so thankful she found the idea interesting and agreed to write it together. izzie you're an amazing writer, please never stop <33
i love when you guys engage with my work i love the comments I LOVE REBLOGS WITH TAGS i read every last one of them, trust me. these notifications genuinely make my day
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
a one-shot about streamer!ellie showing off her new pc! ...and accidentally showing off some other things too. largely based on this tweet. (a part three to stream sniped).
content: streamer!ellie x influencer!reader, modern au, established relationship, twitch chat antics (if you see some usernames repeating a lot just ignore it i'm lazy), accidental partial nudity? is that a thing?, MDNI 18+, slight sub!reader x slight dom!ellie, possessive sex, fingering (r!receiving), reader described as having a clit
word count: 2.9k
author's note: i said i wasn't going to write more.... aaaand then i wrote more. you guys love streamer!ellie and tbh so do i. hope you enjoy! also HAPPY BLACK HISTORY MONTH
twitch.tv/smellie — LIVE: new set up lfgggg🔥
“okay—okay, hi. hi. jesus,” ellie laughed under her breath as she settled into her chair, nudging the mic closer with the back of her hand. "i know, i knoooow. it's been a minute. i missed you guys!"
elliebutinallcaps: DON'T EVER LEAVE US FOR THAT LONG AGAIN
leilaniiii: when you said you were taking a break we didn't know it would take 2 YEARS
elliesdischarge: SHOW US THE SETUPPPP
whiffytiffany: pc upgrade FINALLY
maybemaddie: aw why am i lowkey gonna miss the laggy streams
"guys i was gone for literally like a week." she leaned back, her chair creaking softly. the room behind her was new. cleaner. warmer, even, with led lights washing the walls in a soft pinkish hue instead of the harsh desk lamp bulb from her old place. and, tucked into the corner of the frame, half-hidden behind the arm of a couch—
you.
curled up comfortably, socked feet propped on a cushion, scrolling on your phone.
she cleared her throat as she caught sight of you in the stream preview, trying hard to act normal.
“anyways,” she said, her voice cracking, “new set up which means no more stream crashing or lag spikes! i'm actually still getting used to how fast this shit runs..."
0ping: FUCK THE NEW PC THAT'S A WHOLE NEW ROOM
ellieclips: WAIT WAIT WAIT
v4nitymirror: WHERE ARE YOU WTF
ghostpeekr: ROOM TOUR????????
elliethrows4me: @ PASTALUVRRR BLINK TWICE IF YOU’RE BEING HELD HOSTAGE
ellie rolled her eyes, but she was biting back a smile. “nobody’s a hostage. she is perfectly fine. happy, even. look!" she gestured towards your face, ignoring how you began miming panicked faces and signing s.o.s. "seeeee, she's loving it here."
ellie's fingers tapped an erratic rhythm against her desk, excitement bleeding through despite her best efforts. “okay, okaaay! so i moved. er—we moved. whatever. semantics.”
she waved vaguely over her shoulder again, nearly knocking into her mic arm. “two-bedroom. one for us, one for streaming. and y'all are not getting a full tour today, so don’t even ask.”
"there'll be one on my tiktok by the end of the week. you know my username already," you helpfully chimed in from your position on the couch.
“moving on!” ellie continued, voice lifting, “today is a big day because i finally retired the cursed pre-built. can we get some rest in peace's in chat?”
a flurry of gravestone emojis flooded the chat.
“i’m not doing specs yet,” she warned quickly, pointing at the screen. “so don't fucking ask, i know how you are. i’ll get there later. right now i just wanna show you how it looks because i’m actually proud of this."
she leaned closer to the camera, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret. "also yes she helped me build it, whatever. don't mention it. i did most of the work and don't let her convince you otherwise."
the screen stuttered for half a second before cutting back in, the angle suddenly looser, shakier.
“okay—hold on—” ellie’s voice came first, closer to the mic than usual. “why is it doing that?? ...chat, relax, i’ve got it.”
the camera swung into view, ellie’s face briefly filling the frame from a way-too-close angle before she pulled it back, grinning. “there we go."
macetotheface: holy jumpscare
mikuirl: so back the fuck up please
ellieuseslightmode: smellie 4k ultra hd
she flipped the camera around, and the stream lit up with color.
rgb lights pulsed softly along the back of her desk, cycling through soothing blues and greens instead of the aggressive rainbow vomit she’d sworn off after chat bullied her for it. the pc tower sat to the right, glass panel clean, fans glowing evenly.
“look at her,” ellie said, reverent. “she’s beautiful."
elliebutinallcaps: OKAYYYY
tima0911: ts actually tuff ngl
v4nitymirror: IT LOOKS SO GOOD
usuallylurkin: W LIGHTS
she panned the camera slowly; custom keycaps on her keyboard. controllers mounted on an acrylic stand. a coaster you’d insisted on because “your last desk was literally sticky to the touch, els. that's fucking gross.”
the camera dipped, catching her cable management—shockingly neat.
“yes, i did that,” she said quickly. "no, she did not help with that part. i'm capable of doing things successfully by myself too, you know."
from somewhere off-frame, you snorted.
“okay, and then—” she stepped back, sweeping the camera to show the full setup. three monitors, mounted cleanly, the third one just out of view. “once you go three, you never go back. chat on one, game on another, and—”
she hesitated.
“—uh. yeah. the other one’s just… yeah.”
a pause.
“anyway,” ellie said too quickly, flipping the camera back to her again.
“yes guys, i know i look extra good in this lighting. keep the chat related to the setup please."
the camera drifted, catching the couch behind her now—your legs stretched out, phone discarded, watching her with a fond look.
besosss: so nobody said that?
looten_scooten: EEYUCKKKK
iclutchforpastalover: AW PASTA CAM WHENNN
NotElliesAlt: SHE'S SMILING AT HER HELPPP
she turned back toward the desk, camera still in hand, excitement buzzing under her skin. “okay, okay. last thing—just real quick—before i switch back.”
you shifted anxiously on the couch. “ellie,” you warned, light but pointed. “be careful.”
she didn’t look at you. just waved a hand. “i am being careful! i just want to show them my custom funko! a fan actually sent this to me."
chat immediately perked up.
chousey203: CAREFUL ABOUT WHAT
ecam96: that's suspicious!
elliesdischarge: WHAT ARE YALL HIDING OMG
jmattsz: ?????
"don't worry about it!"
she was mid-sentence, explaining excitedly when it happened. “—and that’s why i didn’t wanna mount them too close together because last time i—”
that third monitor—the one she’d been very intentional about not showing—slid fully into frame.
putting her desktop wallpaper on full display.
it’s a collage, clearly curated with care. candid photos. stolen moments. pictures of your face smiling from different angles, a selfie where your cheek is pressed into ellie’s shoulder, sunlit and unguarded, a couple mirror pics. it was domestic. intimate.
and in the center of it all?
your tits. it's unmistakable. they're cupped in a lacy red bra that barely kept them from spilling out. the only other thing visible being your smile wide and unfiltered, caught mid-laugh.
and ellie’s hand, firmly grasping your left breast like it had been superglued there.
the frame is cropped tight—nothing insanely pornographic, but absolutely not something meant for the general public.
half a second passed before ellie’s voice cut off mid-word, frozen.
you didn't even raise your voice.
just one word, calm and devastating from the couch behind her.
“ellie.”
it’s instant—chat messages slamming up the screen so fast they’re unreadable.
topnoodle44: HELLO????????
ghostpeekr: SOMEBODY CLIP THAT IM BEGGING
0ping: OH MY GOD
ayayayaim: DID YALL SEE THAT TOO
elliesyumyum: WTF
“okay—okay—hold on—” ellie blurted, the handheld cam jerking violently as she tries to pull it back. the frame swung past her desk, the ceiling, her shoulder. then the sound cut out.
muted.
unmuted.
muted again.
“fuck—oops—sorry—” her voice popped back in, pitched way higher than normal. she laughed once, sharp and panicked. “that’s— not— that’s not—”
you’re already standing.
“ellie.” your voice is tight now. “i literally told you this would happen!”
the camera caught the edge of your arm as you reached for it, trying to angle it down.
ellie hissed, “i didn’t think it was showing—”
“when do you ever think!”
boostedbytenshi: IM SCREAMING
sandydunez: THIS IS CRAZY
elliethrows4me: WHY IS SHE HOT WHEN SHE'S MAD
you grabbed her wrist—not hard, but firm—and the camera jolts as she gulps.
“i warned you to change it before stream—"
"but your boobs are my good luck charm.." she muttered weakly.
the screen suddenly switched to the mounted desktop cam. you were in frame now, standing behind ellie’s chair, expression flat, jaw tight. ellie looked small beneath you, hands hovering uselessly over her desk like she’s afraid to touch anything.
“alright,” you said, calm as ever. “that’s it! stream’s over.”
ellie opened her mouth. closed it.
“thanks for tuning in,” you continued, eyes flicking briefly to chat. “catch her next stream tomorrow.”
a beat.
“if she’s lucky enough to live through the night.”
the stream cut and the silence barely lasted a second before ellie let out a groan, collapsing forward until her forehead hit the desk with a soft thunk.
“i’m actually never going live again,” she muttered into the wood. “i’m deleting my channel. maybe this is my sign to get an actual job. like, 9 to 5 in a cubicle and shit.”
you chuckled despite yourself.
ellie peeked up at you, eyes wide and a little frantic. “okay, but seriously—i’m sorry. i really didn’t think it would show.”
you continued to stare at her silently.
“talk to me, baby,” she pleaded. "please."
crossing your arms, unimpressed, you finally acquiesced. “i told you to change it, ellie.”
she spun her chair to face you fully now, hands coming up in surrender. “i know, i know. that one’s on me. i just—” she gestured vaguely toward the monitors, now dark from being left idle. “it’s a good wallpaper. very morale-boosting.”
“it’s basically a huge picture of my tits.”
“exactly!”
you barely bit back your smile.
noticing, her shoulders relaxed just a little. "i wouldn’t do that on purpose. you know that,” she said, softer but still grinning. “chat’s gonna be insufferable tomorrow. the mods are probably freaking the fuck out.”
“oh, for sure,” you told her. “i don't know how you're gonna fix this, honestly.”
she shrugged. “worth it.”
you stepped closer, shaking your head. “you’re impossible.”
“yeah,” ellie said, brightening. “but you knew that and still moved in with me.”
you paused right in front of her, close enough that her knees bumped yours from her seated position. she gazed up at you, apology already half-forgotten, eyes flicking over your face.
you sighed. “also—”
her lips pressed into a thin line as she braced herself for the worst.
“—it's kinda hot how obsessed you are with them”
her eyebrows shot up as she straightened immediately. “oh?”
“yeah,” you said casually. “like reaaaally attractive.”
you laughed as she stood, crowding into your space now, hands sliding up your body to circle her thumbs over the faint impression of your nipples poking through the material of your sweatshirt. “so i’m not in trouble?”
you tilted your head. “oh, you’re absolutely still in trouble.”
ellie hummed and leaned in, forehead bumping lightly against yours. her grin melted into something sensual and syrupy sweet. “yeah? what’s the punishment situation looking like?”
you hook a finger into the hem of her hoodie, tugging her closer. “less talking.”
she didn't argue.
the kiss was warm and messy and familiar, ellie smiling into it like she couldn't help herself. her hands slid back down to your waist, gripping at your hips.
and when you pulled back, she looked dazed, slurring a distracted "whassup?" while leaning forward to chase your lips.
you released her hoodie and reached past her instead, hitting the buttons to power down the pc and monitors. one by one, the glow faded, plunging the room into softer light.
“come on,” you said, already turning away. “we said no fucking in the stream room, remember?"
ellie scrambled after you, shedding her clothes as she followed you down the hall without question. "we don't need to risk showing them anything more than they've already seen."
her head shook vehemently as she watched you peel off your own sweatshirt and shorts. "of course not."
you plopped onto the bed—your bed that you now shared with her, something you'd never get tired of remembering—spreading your legs invitingly.
“fuck—“ she breathes, “you’re so so so hot. what the fuck."
but when she began to approach, you put a hand out to stop her as soon as she reached the foot at the bed. "what? what's wrong?"
"remember that punishment we were talking about?"
ellie huffed petulantly. "listen, i know i fucked up. just lemme make it up to you, yeah? let me make you feel good, baby."
"mm mmm, no. that's not how this works, els. you wanted to give chat a show so i'll give you one too." you slid both of your hands up and over the curves of your body, cupping your own breasts before brushing your nipples with your thumbs.
she whined—actually whined, her eyes glued to your chest as your plucked at the stiff peaks.
"please let me touch." she dropped to her knees, shuffling into the space left between your spread legs, mouth agape as she watched you reach a hand down to spread yourself delicately. "you're so fucking wet."
all you could manage was a hum in assent as you pushed two fingers into yourself. you were met with no resistance and a loud shlick sound filled the room as you began to fuck yourself in earnest. "i wish these were your fingers in me, els. wish you could feel the mess you made."
"then let me, baby. c'mon."
she gingerly placed her hands on your shins, careful not to draw too much attention to the fact that she was, in fact, still touching after being told not to. with her eyes transfixed on the movement between your legs, she rubbed distracted circles into the skin.
and when your other hand left your chest to draw swirling patterns on your clit, she audibly groaned, palms sliding up your legs to grip at your spread thighs instead. "you're gonna fuckin' kill me."
"you're not supposed to be t—ahh fuck!" you cut yourself off, hips twitching upwards desperately as she raked her nails down the expanse of soft skin. "no t-touching, remember?"
"i think you want me to touch, though." she leaned down to suck a bruise into your sticky inner thigh, pulling a sharp gasp from you. her fingers crept higher, thumbs spreading you apart further as you continued to fuck yourself. "tell me to stop and i will."
you didn't. couldn't.
and when her hands nudged yours out of the way, replacing the fingers you had inside yourself with her own, you didn't even attempt to fight her on it.
"thaaaat's it, atta girl." you melted into the feeling, propping yourself up on your arms for leverage to fuck your hips into her ministrations.
"please." you pleaded meekly, whining when she lightly pinched your clit between her index finger and her thumb.
"please what, babe? use your words."
"put your mouth on me. please." you arched your chest out invitingly, hoping she'd take the hint.
“shh shh. i gotcha. i'll make you feel good, don't worry."
your eyes rolled back as she latched onto your right nipple, tongue lapping at the sensitive flesh. you gripped the sheets beneath you, still a little stiff and starchy from their newness, as her fingers worked you over.
"juslikethatellie, fuck." you could barely get the words out, mumbling mindless praise between moans as your head lolled back.
she hummed against your skin when she felt you clench even harder around her, nodding in encouragement.
"can't believe i even let them see what these look like." she said, pulling off with a wet pop. she lightly grazed her teeth along the tip of the split-slick bud, reveling in the way you shuddered from the sensation. "they're mine. you're mine."
she kissed her way over to your neglected breast, sucking your left nipple into her mouth as you gasped sharply.
you reached a shaking hand out to grip at her hair, holding her head in place as you groaned. "all yours, baby— shit."
"you like that, huh? me reminding you who really gets to enjoy the sight of you?"
even in the midst of the pleasure, you can't help but bike back, "wouldn't need the reminder if you didn't let—fuuuh...ah shit that feels sooo fucking good—over six thousand people see what i look like in just a bra."
"do those people get to see this?" she practically snarled the question into your ear. "to hear this? do they get to feel this, baby?" she punctuated her words with even rougher movements, curling her fingers to rub against your spongy walls.
you couldn't even speak, opting to shake your head 'no' as a response.
ellie's returning grin was smug. "that's what i fucking thought."
her thumb rubbed firm circles on your clit, unwavering as your thighs began to tremble. "i— i'm close. i'm so close, i—"
she twisted her wrist on her next thrust in response, ripping a sharp cry from your throat.
then did it again as one of your hands shot out to grip her bicep, nails digging into the muscle.
and on the third repetition, you could barely garble out "'mgonnacum" before your hips jolted hard against her hand, cunt spasming around her fingers as the tight feeling in your stomach finally snapped.
she fucked you through your orgasm, her lips leaving your nipple to kiss you instead, swallowing your moans.
and when you finally pulled away to catch your breath, the sole arm keeping you propped up began to wobble from the exhaustion, your elbow buckling.
ellie quickly removed her fingers, wiping them against your (now very decidedly not new) sheets and adjusting so you could slump against her side.
she kissed your sweaty forehead as you panted into her neck, whimpering quietly every so often when an aftershock rolled through you.
"felt good?"
"shut up." your voice cracked on the first syllable. "you know it did, i'm literally shaking."
ellie laughed, pressing another kiss to the top of your head.
“well for the record,” she said quietly, giggling into your hair, “i'm still not changing the wallpaper.”
"oh fuck off."
this work is mine. please don’t repost, copy, or publish elsewhere without permission. thank you!
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WE yes WE are waiting for leaked footage please i love the streamer fics
also your writing is so good omg
- 💜
THANK YOU BAE 🩵 the kind words mean so much to me y'all don't even know
leaked footage will hopefully be out super super soon i swear!! if i didnt put smut in it i could literally post it rn but i know yall freaks want the smut.
a one-shot about attempting to get over your ex, ellie williams, and ending up right back in her bed anyways (inspired by one direction's little black dress).
content: ellie williams x reader, modern au, exes to lovers, little bit of angst little bit of smut, MDNI 18+, hate sex (kinda), dom-ish!ellie, possessiveness, oral sex (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving)
word count: 2.6k
author's note: happy belated 15-year anniversary to one direction and cheers to all my directioner-to-raging-lesbian pipeline victims who celebrate! i got wine drunk yesterday on july 23 (one direction's birthday) and wrote this. while it's mostly inspired by little black dress, it's also largely inspired by my fuckass ex. enjoy!
"... and you know what else is fucking insane?” you say, pointing an aggressively accusatory finger at your best friend from across the room—drink sloshing in your glass. “i paid for her doordash. like, several times.”
your friend doesn’t even flinch. she’s heard this one before. multiple times.
“i'd be financially fuckin' down bad, eating cup noodles for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and i would still pay to have jersey mikes express delivered to her doorstep,” you continue, pacing now, barefoot in your kitchen with only one lash strip glued on and your outfit zipped halfway. “i think that counts as love. like real, sacrificial, biblical love.”
“you’re drunk,” she says, not looking up from her lip liner application. “and spiraling.”
“i am not spiraling,” you lie, sipping your vodka redbull with such aggressive force the glass clinks against your teeth. “i’m casually revisiting past traumas in a safe and healthy environment.”
“you’re doing the exact same drunk rant you did last weekend. word for word. only, last time, you recited her exact jersey mikes order. i tried it, by the way. it was mid”
you glare at her.
she sets down her lip gloss and stands, hands on her hips. “tonight is not about ellie fucking williams. we are not mourning. we are whoring.”
you burst into giggles, despite the statement not being that funny. maybe you were drunk.
“bitch, i'm not laughing. say it with me.”
your giggles peter out.
“say it.”
“…we’re not mourning, we’re whoring.”
“louder.”
“we’re not mourning, we’re whoring!”
“there she is,” she grins, passing you a shot of clear liquid in a tiny glass with the words 'jamaican me crazy' printed on it. “now put on your other lash, zip that dress, and let’s go get you laid.”
you down the shot with a hiss. “how much do you wanna bet someone will strap me despite meeting me for the first time tonight?"
"crossing my fingers for your sake."
you disappear into your room to finish getting ready. when you emerge, fully zipped into your little black dress—the one with the dangerously short hemline and strapless top that makes your tits look borderline illegal—your friend’s jaw drops.
“you look fucking hot."
you grin and squeal excitedly, clapping your hands. "i knooow!"
she fans herself dramatically. “if someone isn't fucking you tonight, i will."
“bitch, don't play. you know i'd eat your pussy if you just asked."
you both laugh and cheers your final drinks, grabbing your keys and rushing to meet the uber that had already been waiting outside for three minutes. settling into the leather seat of the air conditioned car, there's only one thing on your mind:
don’t think about ellie. don’t talk about ellie. definitely don’t fuck around and accidentally still be in love with ellie.
easy, right?
the bass hits before the door even swings shut behind you.
it’s all strobe lights and wall-to-wall sweat and bodies pressed together. the air smells like cheap tequila, mint vape juice, and desperation. you breathe it in like a lifeline.
your friend latches onto your wrist, already dancing before you’ve made it ten feet inside. “let's get fucking wasted,” she yells over the music, already moving to pull out one of the shooters you'd both shoved into your cleavage prior to arrival.
you nod, adjust the hem of your dress just to ruck it back up again to show some more skin, and then dive into the crowd with her.
the music pulses, low and dirty and you move like you’ve got something to prove.
somewhere between ke$ha and nicki minaj, a girl finds you.
masculine. tall. arms covered in ink. low-slung jeans and a lazy grin. you give her one look—slow, up and down—and that’s all it takes.
she’s at your side in seconds.
hands slide over your hips. you roll them back into her. her breath hitches.
perfect.
you let her touch you. let her lean in close and whisper something flirty in your ear that you're too buzzed to understand. you throw your head back and laugh like you’re finally unbothered.
like there's not an ellie williams sized hole in your chest anymore.
and then your phone buzzes in your hand.
my main bitch: she’s here. at the bar. saw her while getting drinks.
my main bitch: do you want to leave???
you freeze for half a second and your blood runs cold.
then you look up—over the stranger’s shoulder, across the crowd—and there she is.
ellie fucking williams.
leaning against the bar, open button-up rolled at the sleeves, and beer in hand. eyes locked on you like she’s been staring for five minutes already.
her expression is unreadable. but her jaw’s tight and she's gripping the neck of the beer bottle so fiercely it might shatter.
you smirk.
you: nah.
my main bitch hearted your message.
my main bitch: PERIODDDD
then, deliberately, you guide the stranger’s hands lower. over your hips. your thighs. your ass.
song after song, you make a show of it. grinding. laughing. pretending to moan when the stranger presses you closer. as her mouth brushes your neck, your eyes flick toward the bar.
ellie's still there, still watching.
you spin. lock your arms around the stranger’s neck and sway closer to her, right into the perfect line of sight.
and that’s when ellie’s beer slams back onto the counter. you actually hear the noise of glass against wood over the heavy thumping music
you grin, breathless. “sorry,” you whisper to your dance partner. “need a drink.”
she tries to keep you there, pressing a lingering kiss just under your jaw. you smile through it, not stopping her.
because you know who’s watching.
after a wet, sucking kiss on your neck that would quickly turn into a hickey if you weren't careful, you peel yourself away and strut toward the bar, every step dripping in confidence you only half feel.
you’re not supposed to be the girl who begs anymore.
you’re the girl she comes crawling back to.
the bar is sticky and overcrowded. elbows jostle you as you slide in between a group of girls ordering green tea shots and two guys doing that gross elbow-lean-flirt thing on a server.
you don’t care. you’re glowing. flushed and smug and pleasantly buzzed.
you flag the bartender with a lazy hand and glance behind you, leaning on the edge of the bar top and waiting to feel her sidle up behind you.
you don’t have to wait long.
“seriously?”
her voice is sharp and low, right by your ear.
you don't flinch. you don’t even turn. just hum, amused.
“you're seriously gonna let some random fucking girl feel you up like that?” she asks again. she’s closer now—crowding you against the bar like she’s entitled to the space around your body.
you spin on your heel, casually, like you weren't literally waiting for her to arrive.
“ellie,” you say with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “long time no see.”
she looks pissed—jealousy and indignation fighting for control across her face. her gaze drops for a second—to your lips, your chest, your legs—before she forces herself to look back up.
“do you have to be so—”
“so what?” you interrupt, eyes wide. “so hot? unbothered? so not-giving-a-fuck-about-you-anymore?"
she scoffs. “you’re drunk.”
“and, clearly, you’re still in love with me,” you counter, voice sugar-sweet. “so i guess we all have our crosses to bear.”
the bartender hands you your drink and you turn back around, taking a long sip.
ellie doesn’t move. "you know i love that dress on you,” she mutters. “wore it for me?"
“nope. wore it to get fucked.”
“that why you let her touch you like that?”
you smile into your drink. “that’s the beauty of dumping me, ellie. i can do whatever i want. with whoever i want. wherever i want.”
you give her a mocking look of sympathy. "anyway,” you say. “enjoy your drink.”
and just like that, you step away.
you’re halfway to the bathroom later, having consumed two more drinks and a shot your friend had gotten some random old guy to buy for you two, when she finds you again.
the hallway is dim, quieter than the rest of the club. you catch your reflection in the mirror across from the bathroom door, lipgloss still mostly intact.
she’s behind you before you can blink. you see her in the mirror first—eyes practically glowing in the low light.
“couldn’t stay away, huh?” you say, not turning around.
“why her?” she rasps.
you raise an eyebrow. “she’s hot. into me and has only shown me attention the entire night. unlike the shit you loved to pull.”
ellie steps forward—too close—and you can feel the warmth radiating off her. “you let her put her hands all over you.”
“yup.”
“in my dress."
“yours?"
“and for what?"
you finally turn, slowly, a challenge in your gaze. “like i said, i wore it to get fucked."
ellie’s breath catches. her jaw tightens like she’s trying not to say something she’ll regret.
“jesus,” she mutters, backing you against the wall.
you tilt your head, goading her. “jealous?”
her laugh is breathless. bitter. “of course i fucking am."
you freeze. you didn't expect her to actually admit it so openly and, for once, you don’t have a comeback.
she steps in again, now barely inches from your face. “i saw you tonight, and i thought i could handle it. thought i could just ignore it, but then you were dancing with her and—shit. i wanted to fucking kill her for touching you like that."
“should’ve thought of that before you broke up with me,” you whisper, voice tight.
she groans, low and desperate. “you don’t get it.”
“actually, i do,” you snap suddenly. “i got it every night you didn’t show up for me. every text you left on read. every random girl you flirted with for fun. every time i begged you to just talk to me and you couldn’t be bothered. i got it, ellie. loud and fucking clear.”
she’s silent.
you can see it in her eyes now—the grief. the guilt.
and still—the want.
then she whispers, “you said you wore the dress to get fucked, right?"
you blink. once. twice. then nod, unsure.
"well at least let me be the one to fuck you."
and then it’s happening.
she grabs your waist, hard. you’re pulled flush against her and her mouth crashes into yours.
you kiss her back and it's messy. desperate. all teeth and hands and weeks of tension finally snapping like a rubber band.
her hands roam while your nails dig into her shoulders. her thigh slides between your legs and you gasp against her mouth, one hand flying to grip the back of her neck.
“you’re still mine,” she growls, voice wrecked. “tell me you’re not.”
“fuck you,” you whisper. “you don’t get to claim me.”
she grins, eyes dark. “then stop kissing me like you want me to.”
you yank her closer.
“i fucking hate you,” you say, and it’s so full of heat and ache that it barely sounds convincing.
she kisses you again. slower, this time. lingering. teeth dragging your bottom lip. a hand sliding up your bare thigh, pushing the hem of your dress up.
“let me make you hate me a little more,” she murmurs, voice hot and heavy against your mouth.
you don’t stop her when she takes your hand, tugging your dress hem down roughly in a fruitless attempt to cover you up.
you don’t stop her when she pulls you out the door of the club, straight into one of the overpriced taxis that camp out on nights like these for easy money.
you don't stop when she takes your phone, typing in your password—of course she remembers it—shooting off an apologetic text to your friend explaining that she'll zelle her for an uber home. she quietly flicks your ringer to vibrate only after the instant barrage of messages you receive back telling you to stay far away from that trifling cunt.
and you definitely don’t stop her when she kisses you into the old fabric of the backseat of the cab like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she stops touching you.
when the taxi driver snaps his fingers to get your attention, motions to the familiar sight of ellie's apartment building outside the car, your dress is riding up indecently high, lip gloss smudged from where she bit you. you’re still panting, subtly.
you don't even make it past the front door before she’s on you.
you slam into the wall of her apartment, her mouth already on yours, hot and frantic. she’s pulling at the dress, dragging the hem up your thighs again, teeth grazing your jaw.
“tell me to stop,” she pants.
“don’t you fucking dare.”
her hands find your ass, squeeze hard. you gasp.
“you were fucking showing off in this thing,” she growls against your neck, kissing down it. “knew i’d be watching. knew exactly what you were doing.”
you laugh, a little dazed from her onslaught of kisses. “and you still fell for it.”
“i’d fall for you every time.” her voice cracks a little. the room spins as you try to ignore the heart wrenching tenderness in her voice. then the backs of your calves are hitting the edge of her bed.
the dress comes off in one swift motion and, of course, you’re not wearing a bra. her breath catches audibly.
“i've really fucking missed these, that's for sure,” she mutters, eyes glued to your chest.
you grin, cocky. squeeze your shoulders in and arch your back just a little more, putting on a show.
“fuckin' mine,” she murmurs, right before her mouth wraps around your nipple.
you whimper, threading your fingers into her hair and pulling as she moans. "shit. that's—ah. that feels so good."
her teeth graze, tongue soothing right after and you press firmly on the crown of her head, pushing her into you.
you're already so soaked your thighs are sticky by the time her hand slips down your stomach.
“you still like it when i do this?” she whispers, fingers sliding between your legs, dragging through your slick with quick flicks.
you can’t even answer. just nod, desperate, bucking your hips in time with the motion.
she slips two fingers in slowly and deliberately and groans like she’s the one being touched.
“fuuuck, baby,” she mutters. “so wet for me. thought you hated me?”
“i do,” you lie through your moan. "i really fucking do."
she pumps into you faster, curling just right. her thumb circles your clit lazily.
“then why’s your pussy so fucking needy for me, huh?”
you whimper. “ellie—”
“missed hearing that.” she kisses your cheek, your jaw, your shoulder. “missed you. missed this. missed how you fall apart for me.”
you’re gasping now, grinding down on her fingers. her palm’s flush against you, pressure just right...
then she pulls her fingers out—and taps them against your lips.
“suck.”
you do, instinctively and obediently. her eyes flutter shut.
“god, you’re gonna fucking kill me.”
she kisses you again, messier this time, licking into your mouth to taste for herself. her hand trails back down, this time her mouth following.
you immediately grab her hair when she drops between your legs. "ahhh— fuck. ellie!"
she doesn’t tease. her tongue is firm, practiced, and possessive.
your thighs tremble and your back arches so hard it cracks. you cry out, legs thrown over her shoulders, hands fisting the sheets. "saymyname," she mumbles into you. "say my fuckin' name, baby."
when you finally come, it’s like the two syllables have been practically strangled out of your throat. she licks your through it with long, thorough swipes of her tongue, humming her assent.
then kisses her way back up your body and flops beside you, chest heaving.
for a minute, neither of you speak.
then, quietly:
“…still hate me?”
you turn your head to look at her.
she looks stupidly hopeful.
you sigh, brushing messy auburn hair out of her face.
“ask me again in the morning.”
your phone buzzes again from somewhere on the floor:
my main bitch: at least tell me if you got strapped like you wanted 😩
this work is mine. please don’t repost, copy, or publish elsewhere without permission. thank you!
i usually write and overshare in here but i do think this is important to address:
i won’t digress on how incredibly naive is to use ai checkers or whatever they’re called to verify if something is written by ai or not, many people have already extensively explained the reasons why that’s just… futile.
rather, i’d like to focus on the backlash that accusing someone of using ai is. writing takes time, effort, passion, it can actually tear you apart in some ways when you pour so much of yourself in it. certain topics are just heavy and they require research. all this to say that it’s something beautiful AND time consuming as well. especially as a non english speaker. i personally spend HOURS searching for synonyms, idioms, to check the grammar and the punctuation (something that by the way not every school teaches. mine surely didn’t.) not to mention that the way people write in their own language seeps through — the grammar structure, where to put commas. it’s inevitable.
all that to say that we put so much love and effort and passion to do this (for free, btw) and when an accusation like that happens… it leaves you empty. you’ll start to question the way you write, compare yourself to others, stop because “what if i write like this sounds ai?”. and that stops being art, it stops being passion and something you love becomes something you’re insecure about, something you’re afraid of because “what if”.
so before you go on and accuse someone without proof (hiding behind tags and not even confronting the person directly too, which is vile in my humble opinion), please think twice. think of what you’re gaining — the answer will probably be… nothing. absolutely nothing. you’re just taking away something that person loves doing and how sad is that for you? bringing someone down because of your own insecurities when you could instead support someone and enjoy their work.
that’s it. i hope this makes sense bc i am still drinking the first coffee of the morning but i was too fed up not to share it.
i do hope you see this and heal whatever you have to heal.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming