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, 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!
people act like nat is this toxic bad boy who fucks around without any care in the world but she’s really not. she’s soft and gentle and so incredibly sweet that it makes me tear up
Which is precisely the reason for the rough exterior and the various toxic coping mechanisms. This is a girl who cried at the idea of killing an animal during her first hunt before the wilderness. The same person who took every single loss they suffered in the wilderness so personally that she was crushed by the weight of her own guilt. The same person who took Misty's worst secret to the literal fucking grave because she couldn't bear anymore blood on her hands. This is the same woman who tried and failed to murder a goldfish while trying (and failing) to prove a point to Lisa.
thinkin about how vi would absolutely ruin your white towels every time she dyes her hair. there’s also drops of magenta dye all over your bathtub that simply refuse to wash out with bleach. eventually you give up and buy red towels for her, and accept that the tub will never be perfectly white again.
.ᐟ i don’t condone cheating, this is just a fic. don’t do it. 😁😁
— boss!ellie who couldn’t stand her wife’s demands and non stop bickering over how messy the pantry was left unorganized. that’s when she thought it’d be a perfect idea to hire a maid, and oh how much more of a mess it would leave for her.
— boss!ellie thanked you in every way she could for managing a clean, more organized house with your help.
— boss!ellie who couldn’t stop but overhear how awful her wife was treating you behind closed doors. so she would always check up on you and give you a day off the next day.
— boss!ellie who’d never skip a day without a morning greeting. her wife would give ellie a strong eyeroll telling her to stop the friendliness, but she didn’t know how “friendly” the two of you actually were.
you remembered when the affair started. from short glances across the room to making out in their guest bedroom you were staying at while ellie’s wife was sound asleep.
“this is.. so.. sick and.. wrong,” you say in between kisses but you both were too far gone, “we need to stop miss..”
“miss?” she chuckles, “so formal of you when you’re already crossing so many boundaries.”
— boss!ellie who was such a pervert around you. peaking at how you were bent over scrubbing the already pearly white tiles, seeing how your uniform raised a bit as you reach for the dining plates, and watching you change in the guest bathroom when you spilled juice on yourself.
“you need any help there?” ellie’s voice creeps up behind you as you unbuttoned the wet sheer uniform sticking on to you skin. ellie’s eyes landing on your nipples just poking through the thin fabric.
— boss!ellie hides her tips in a fun way. like sticking a $50 bill behind your bedroom door, sneaking them in your pockets, or pulling them out of your ear like some magician.
— boss!ellie never declines anytime you need a stress reliever. she would be lying if she didn’t like the adrenaline of getting caught.
“keep quiet understand?” ellie’s slender fingers curling inside of your clit, “and say my fuckin’ name this time.”
“yes.. ellie please..”
“fuck, you always listen so well.”
— boss!ellie would be the one asking for your opinions on home decor rather than her own wife.
“duke blue or yale blue?” the girl holds up the sample cards through facetime while you’re too busy making the bed.
“miss, i thought i was in trouble or something!”
“c’mon princess, pick. i trust you with these things.”
— boss!ellie who couldn’t stop thinking about you even when you’re not at the comfort of her own home. she missed you so much, she wanted to make sure you were alright by sending you a bouquet of multicolored tulips signed by her name.
“this house feels empty without you. call me tonight and i will arrange something for us privately. p.s my wife’s an narcissistic idiot, don’t take it to heart. love, ellie”
— boss!ellie who later that night was thrilled to receive a call from you. the girl booked out a candle lit dinner at one of her favorite restaurants. considering this was your first time alone with your boss while her wife is out of town.
“i’m sure you have taken your wife here before,” you adjusted yourself uncomfortably in your seat.
“actually i came here since i was a kid.. i always loved the view from here and now i’m sharing it with you.”
her words were so sweet yet so wrong. you didn’t want to be a homewrecker.
— boss!ellie placing soft kisses on your neck, ready to have you all to yourself alone once the night ended. you took her back to your small apartment, alot different than ellie’s penthouse. but she didn’t mind it at all. she loved how simple and unique your taste in home decor were, hating the fact that nothing in her own home reminded her of you.
— boss!ellie gifting your own customized maid uniform with your name embroidered.
— boss!ellie practically giving you a week off but still paying you. she was just grateful to finally spend time with you.
that whole week felt so surreal as if you two were the ones married, unable to realize how incautious the whole situation became one her wife was back.
“why the hell are you sending that servant flowers?” her wife turns the laptop, showing ellie’s emails and credit card statements.
ellie fucked up and she knew it.
“she deserves it after all the shit you’ve put her through,” ellie argued, “i’d rather be with someone who doesn’t treat people like garbage and act like they are so above and beyond than others.”
— boss!ellie fell more deeply in love with you as the time passed. after that argument, her wife decided to fire you and sent ten grand for cutting contact from them. you had no choice anyway. unfortunately for ellie, being stuck with the person she truly didn’t love was her karma for all of this.
you remembered when the affair ended, hoping to cross paths with ellie again..
seeing all these husbands just standing around while their 8-month pregnant wives struggle to walk or ascend a flight of stairs, and it just has me thinking—ellie would never let that happen? if her pregnant girlfriend (Of A Nearing Labor Month) even so much as broke breath doing a mundane chore or something simple as getting up, she would be at your side. and not leave. hell, i think she would be there BEFORE you even decided to get up. little mind reader. and there's just a sliver of a chance that it's an excuse to hold your belly and act all big and strong when you're the one stuck like this! nah i think she's bold and such a sap (hypocritically) that she just holds it for fun. “feels good? hm, we 'could stay like this.. penguin-waddle 'round the house.. since u're doing my laundry too, right? win-win babe?”
dededos
annaxmalina
kaledo-art
pixelskylines
andulkaphoto
tangentwithtanner
origamiaround
