*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ PERV!LOSER ELLIE’S DIARY ENTRIES ABOUT YOU.
✧ pairing—perv loser ellie x popular femme reader. ✧ warnings—GENUINELY pervy creepy as hell behaviour, detailed explicit descriptions—sex & masturbation etc, stalking, voyeurism, pining but it is very intense and creepy, possessive & aggressive language, personable diary like tone. for the love of dramatic lesbians!
i know you’re probably fed up of me at this point, diary. i am too. but fuck. you should see her. if you could see her, you’d get it without a doubt.
today she came into class wearing this tiny little skirt and these stockings—the sheer material was stretched so tight over her thighs i could see every curve and dip and i just wanted to touch so so bad. i need it. her. it’s this hot burning ache in me, unfulfilled and yearning. i need to touch. to feel. to hold. to squeeze. to kiss. the stockings almost killed me and i’m sure that was probably her intention just… not for me.
she’s such a tease. but i know she’d be so good for me, my good girl, if she let me have her. if she allowed me that fucking heavenly gift. i would never be the same, genuinely. my whole purpose anyway is already to worship the absolute fucking goddess that she is but if i seriously got the chance to do so. fucking hell.
when she knelt down to pick up her pen next to me and her skirt rode up enough to show where the stockings stopped on smooth glorious thighs, my heart practically fucking stopped. my boxers were soaked immediately, dripping. i almost reached out and snapped the material against her pretty pretty flesh—just desperately wanting to her what sound she’d make. a yelp? a moan? my name?
i didn’t obviously. bryce whistled at her and she laughed. i felt sick.
like, really. properly. we got paired in PE. well, grouped. but she was the only one i cared about. my clit was already throbbing just seeing her in her little skort and soft clingy shirt, hair up—exposing her neck and every piece of skin i long to mark. past the point of pathetic, i know.
it was badminton. she was on my side of the court and every-time she bounced up to whack the shuttlecock her ponytail bounced so pretty with her and her scent wafted over to me, drowning me in her enough to make my head all hazy and my cunt pulse. the jiggle of her tits in shirt was torture, seriously—i could barely focus on anything else other than the constant squirm inducing zips of need up my spine: i couldn’t look away. her noises were so cute as she played, i remember them so well—stuck in my brain as they will (determinedly) continue to be. little grunts and noises of happiness i wanted to eat. fuck.
someway somehow i actually managed to get a good hit despite having been actively contemplating if i should go to the bathrooms and jerk off i was that distracted. i’m so glad i didn’t, diary. the hit won us that little game and she was ecstatic. over something so simple, too: she’s adorable. i’ll remember that face, like every other aspect of her that clings to the deepest corners of my brain—but it’s the way she jumped up and moved over to me and hugged my arm in happiness, all the while babbling compliments.
the soft warm fucking otherworldly squish of her tits against my arm and the scent of her was all that took over my mind. blank for anything but her. gone to any world that wasn’t the one in her bright eyes and her sparkling smile.
i genuinely thought my clit was gonna explode with how much it was pulsating. with each thundering beat of my heart.
i did end up going to the bathrooms, i couldn’t not after all that. i’ve never cum faster. or harder.
i saw her in the mall today. i was only there to pick up some more games but then i saw her.
she was in victoria secret, of fucking course. i did think about wandering in and trying to look and see if she’d go into the changing rooms, but the store was a bit too packed. instead, i saw which perfume she brought. saw her pick up a few sets of lingerie.
thinking about whoever she might be buying them for makes everything inside of me want to die and my blood burn, so i just prefer to imagine she’s buying them for me. knowing she’ll be mine soon—so fucking sweet and good for me that she just wants to be well prepared. to have everything ready for me. so eager to please me, my sweet sweet angel. i would seriously fuck her even if she was drenched in sewage, but i can appreciate the delicacies.
imagining my pretty girl in that pretty lace has certainly been a recurring thing, teasing myself to the edge with her image in mind, always only her—her tits encased in that fabric, hanging teasingly in front of my face while she whines and moans for my mouth. for my fingers. i hope she knows i would give them to her without fucking question and the teasing would probably hurt me more than her. she’s my ruin.
when she left the shop with her friends, i went in. i picked up the perfume she brought and brought one for myself. not to wear, obviously. to spray on my pillows. maybe some clothes. i know that’s weird. i don’t really care. is that bad?
i didn’t mean to follow her.
i just wanted to make sure she was okay. that she got home safe. that’s all. she seemed so upset today, i don’t know what it was—but i heard that she was crying in the bathrooms and she really did just look so sad. i wanted to ask her what was wrong the whole day. to take her into my arms, rub her back and stroke her hair and let her melt into my hoodie. i wanted to just make everything better for her, to make sure everything was alright. that’s all that matters to me.
so i just followed her to do that.
she doesn’t live far from school, so she walks. i walked behind her. slowly. to not get seen. and no, i live nowhere near her.
admittedly, i did get a bit caught up. but you understand.
i made sure she got in safe and everything but then i did.. stay. a little. to make sure she was really really safe, you know? her bedroom is the window right closest to the street, allowing me to see in clearly—it’s so pretty in there, so her. i could picture myself in there clearly. laying on her sheets, watching her prance around her room and just so content listening to her talk, melting into sheets that smell like her as her voice turns my muscles into goo. or, you know, pushing her back onto the bed and prying her thighs open with mine. but i digress.
it’s not like i asked her to start stripping off her clothes right in front of the open curtains. just… who am i to deny that? it’s almost like she wanted me to watch, anyway. that’s what i would think if i was able to form any thoughts at that point—not just her and a lot of ohfuckfuckohfuck.
she pulled her top off and the sight of her tits bouncing free from their confines—perfeftperfectperfect—left my knees weak. i stumbled behind one of the trees nearby, jelly knee-ed and shaking already just from the visual, my nails biting into the rough bark in search of salvation. my eyes fixed on her in the window, mouth watering and stomach burning. she’s everything.
any sense of right or wrong was lost to me completely. not that it’s ever that apparent really that apparent, i can admit.
the shimmy she did to get her jeans off probably shouldn’t have turned me on as much as it did but—watching her tits bounce with the move, her thighs jiggle so pretty, the curve of her waist twisting. i needed to be inside of her. eat her whole. grab the flesh of her thighs and leave hand marks, red and mineminemine. i need to worship her. to paint her perfect flesh with me.
i will truly never be able to comprehend how one singular being can be as perfect as she is. sweet and gentle and warm. tough and ruthless and strong. a walking juxtaposition. everything a person aspires to be, she fucking embodies so effortlessly. my admiration knows no bounds, though you obviously know that. i wish she could too.
today—i saw her share that sweetness so beautifully, i almost fell to my knees before her. hands behind my back, chin up. use me. do whatever you want to me.
one of the younger years who even i cant remember the name of, which is sort of saying a lot—they were on the grass where her friend group usually hangs out at lunch time, alone and clearly very upset. i watched her go over to them immediately the second she noticed them—ethereal features twisted down into true concern, watched her glossy lips form words that eased. watched her give that kindness. watched the result of it bloom.
to wrap me in her soft embrace and let me tuck my head into the pillowy give of her chest, to offer me that same warmth and let me bury myself in it. i would do anything.
i do think, is it bad i also noticed the curve of her ass in her jeans as she was consoling them, almost as much as the actual act, and the elegant sweep of her neck—the push out of her pouty lips in that frown, wondering what they’d look like sucking at my clit. or my strap. or open in a cry or a moan, screaming my name while i lapped at her sweet—
yes. probably. but i’m past that point.
whatever. it’s her influence.
is it normal for your fingers to actually ache with the sheer urgency to be inside of someone?
to hurt with the deprivation of a perfect tight warmth they’ve never even had.
well, it’s definitely my normal.
it physically pains me—that i can’t, that i haven’t. my fingers long to explore that warm wet velvet, the perfection of her. i know it’d be so so so so pretty. as pretty as the rest of her. art. i want to push back that little hood and press and caress that bundle of nerves—watch her face as i do, feel her trembling breath against my neck, the heaving of her tits against me as i worship her. as i give her everything she deserves.
with every clench or movement of my fingers, i just think how wasted that was—when i could be using that movement, curling them and plunging them into her, feeling the hot give of her around me, the fluttering of her want for me. pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.
i would do so much for that.
i think the amount of times i see this goddess out and about is definitely a sign, but maybe i’m just hopeful. delusional. same thing.
i’ve only just seen her—on my way back from jesse’s, i think she was maybe going to a party with her friends, with the way they were dressed up. i don’t know. i wish i was there, wherever there is. just so i could stare at her more. be in her presence, no matter how far.
i wish i was there when she was getting ready too. i dream about that. leaning back on her pretty bed while she fusses in the mirror, doing her makeup and her hair—choosing different outfits, modelling them for me. all whiny and ‘elllieeeee’ when i don’t give proper opinions but melting the second i grab her hips and tell her she looks beautiful in anything.
i dream about distracting her while she does, too—pulling her down to straddle my lap in just her skirt, no top, no bra. taking her mind completely off the party with my mouth on her chest, kissing soft reverent patterns down beautiful skin, sucking at her tits, teasing with my teeth. all the while she squirms on my lap, her warmth seeping into me. soaking through her little panties under her skirt.
i want her to think of nothing but me as i play with her. her head falling back in ecstasy as she pants and moans, nothing but my name leaving her mouth. i want her taste stuck in my throat—i want her arms wrapped around me, holding me in an unrelenting grip. marking me hers just as she’s mine, proud to hold me.
why do these boys feel as though they have the right to treat her like that.
if she gets catcalled one more time, i’m going to gut stab punch something. them. i want to scream—stop fucking looking at her. leave her alone. how can they not understand she deserves so much more than that. we’re lucky to even get to look at her as we do, to just watch her being.
she deserves genuine appreciation. the true, unbridled, soul-deep kind. independent of anything else, just devotion for her. i need to give that. i long to so badly. i have so much of it in me, for her and only her.
it’s her top, i think. why people are being so disgusting today—and yes, her tits look so mouth-wateringly out of this world. plush and propped up in that little shirt as they are, gently spilling out. for me, anyway, too—her shoes, these little heeled boots today. a rare pair in her rotation, i cherish whenever they make an appearance. because i actually notice things like that, i notice her, instead of just fucking caring when she’s got skin on display. i careicareicareicare.
her legs look so long and fucking delicious, wrapped in clingy denim. i want them wrapped around my waist, holding tight, squeezing and squeezing as i pound away: clinging onto the the muscle of my thigh as she takes her pleasure, grinding, using me, her wetness seeping into my skin, the sounds of her wanting cunt filling the room—her whines in my ears, only for my ears. anything. everything.
the way her hips swing in those jeans when she walks, too, sends heat right between mine, a hot thirsty ache. the way she knows she’s hot, a simple firm truth. undeniable fact.
but i’m not making a scene.
fucking ridiculous. scumbags. no one deserves to even see her, no one but me. i want to be the only one. i would treat her so well. protect her from everyone—shield her from every single scrap of this unwanted attention. massage her feet, surely aching from the heels. kneel down and gently peel them off her—looking up at her all the while, her face, watching her pretty lashes flutter as i tend to her. the way she’d look down at me, soft and thankful and melting from over the angle of her tits sends a sharp jolt straight to my clit. her hand would lift to my face, caressing, i’d lean into it so readily—
she just got hit on again.
i want to kill them all. i want to rip out their vocal cords so they can’t fucking speak to her. i want to gouge out their eyes, render them useless. don’t look at her leave her alone you fucking-
she deserves infinitely more.
i will never get enough of her.
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