povyouregayandsoami

Pairing: Ranch-hand!Sevilla x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: You and a certain hand from your father's ranch get cozy under the hood of her Toyota.

Content Warning! Implied age gap, but reader is an adult. Suggestive tension but nothing that crazy. Country Sevika makes me feel insane, I love her so much.

Word Count: 1.8k

It’s knowin’ that your door is always open…

And your path is clear to walk…

A pleasant afternoon spent in town had quickly turned into you and Sevika ducking from a storm that came out of nowhere and crashed down heavy on the roof of her beat up Toyota.

Neither one of you noticed you neglected to pick up the hydraulic fluid you’d been tasked with getting.

After making it back to the ranch, the two of you had decided to wait out the rain until it settled. Sevika’s truck was just enough of a piece of shit to run the risk of getting caught in the mud if she tried running the steep hill that made up your driveway. And she refused to let you try and make it on foot.

You’d always take an excuse to hang around the rugged ranch hand just a little longer. Not that you’d ever tell her so.

Not like she’d ever call you out on it despite knowing anyway.

Even when the rain had slowed down and neither one of you made any move to leave the comfortable atmosphere you’d formed against the worn leather bench.

Sevika was reclined on the driver’s side, the rim of her hat tipped low on her head. Just enough to cover her eyes but still having room to take a long drag of the cigarette she was holding in her prosthetic hand. The window was down just enough to let the smoke outside without letting in much of the rain.

“What song is this?” You asked, leaning forward to fiddle with the volume knobs on her radio. “Some old shit from the 90s again?”

You could hear her snort under her breath, smoke billowing from her nostrils as she stretched one thick arm behind her head.

You watched the movement, admiring how her bicep flexed with the new angle. She was always doing that. Subtly flexing and showing off when you were around in a way that you were convinced was intentional.

“Smartass.”

I'd love to request a fic where Sevika and reader, in a modern AU, are going through a reciprocal IVF. I'd like to see more of how Sevika feels during the process, especially at the very beginning (maybe even when they decide it’s finally time), the ovarian stimulation, the anxiety, the way they try to comfort each other, and the moment the embryo is transferred. Maybe they even decide to take a test at home before their appointment at the clinic? That's totally something I would do, I'm anxious af. You can add whatever you'd like and take it in the direction you feel fits best, I just want it to be an IVF fic with Sevika. If you're not feeling like writing this, please just ignore it, I'd be totally okay with that hahaha

Flo<3

Hi Flo !! I wanted to write your request the very first time I read it and I’m so happy to do it now. You don’t know how I feel everytime I read this, really, I just have this big smile on my face when I read you because I’m SO happy and SO glad I’m being a part of your routine. I thought about you a LOT despite taking so much time writing it. How are you, how you doing ? I hope you’re good, please tell me, I would love to know and hear news from you. So much love, Jess

—Baby project. (IVF: Sevika x Reader)

words: 3.2k

You’ve been with Sevika for six years now. Six long, stubborn, beautiful, chaotic years.

Funny enough, no one thought you’d make it past six weeks.

Not when she spent most of senior year either in detention, suspended, or, on the really bad days, cooling her temper off in a police cruiser.

Yearning sevika.. :,) #quicksketch

YESSS mama series here we go again 🥺

— They both had a rough day. (sevika x pregnant reader)

words: short drabble, less than 1k for sure !

The first few months aren’t easy, but you’ve been glowing through them anyway because you’re happy to finally be pregnant.

Morning sickness has a chokehold on your mornings, and some days you barely make it out of bed before rushing back under the covers again.

But it doesn’t matter. You wanted this, you both did, and now that little pink line on the test has turned your world upside down in the best way.

Sevika, somehow, makes it easier.

She’s always there, steady in a way you cling to when the nausea drags you down or when you feel like you can’t quite catch your breath.

She’s the one holding your hair back in the bathroom, the one making sure chocolate bars and water sit on your nightstand before she leaves for work, the one pressing a kiss to your forehead with quiet promises that says you’re doing good, I’m proud of you.

By the time you hit your second trimester, things settle into something resembling rhythm.

The sickness eases, your belly starts to show, and Sevika’s hand finds it constantly; resting on your skin at night, brushing against you while she passes in the kitchen, protective and reverent in a way that makes your heart ache.

But there are… new challenges now.

Not physical. Not exactly.

More like waves of emotions that sneak up on you without warning.

Some days it’s a kind of loneliness you can’t explain, like the world has gone quiet around you. Other times, it’s fear, sharp and cold in your chest when you think about what’s coming.

And sometimes, it’s just frustration at the smallest things: the wrong color association in your dresser, a shirt that suddenly feels too tight, the way your body isn’t yours in the same way it used to be.

And today—today it’s all of it at once.

Overwhelm, coming from every direction.

The kind that makes your skin feel too thin and your heart too fragile.

You tell yourself you can handle it.

You’re grown, you know how to regulate, how to breathe through the swell of emotions until they pass. You’re not going to cry over a smell, or the way the couch fabric feels too scratchy under your palm, or the fact that you want strawberries so badly but can’t stand the ones in the fridge because they have that smell only you can recognize and detest.

You won’t. You swear you won’t.

You’re tired, but you tell yourself it’s fine.

A little heaviness in your limbs, a stubborn yawn you try to swallow down, a very normal end-of-day-in-a-pregnant-woman’s-life exhaustion.

You curl up on the couch anyway, feet tucked under you, one hand resting on the swell of your belly out of habit. Sevika’s across the room, scrolling through her phone while dinner simmers low on the stove.

It’s comfortable. Domestic.

You almost forget the earlier waves of emotion, the way you’d felt so close to unraveling over nothing at all.

“Oh, babe, don’t forget,” you say casually, “the boys are coming by tomorrow night.”

Sevika doesn’t even look up. “What?”

You blink. “Tomorrow. Dinner. I told you last week.”

Her brow furrows. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did,” you say, soft but stubborn, frowning just slightly. But there’s a little smile tugging at your lips, because this is familiar; you two bickering over tiny things, always harmless.

“No, you didn’t,” she insists, voice flat.

You tilt your head, resting your cheek in your palm. “Babe. I did. You probably just weren’t listening.” It’s light, teasing, the kind of thing you’d usually say to make her roll her eyes.

But tonight, Sevika’s patience is thinner than she realizes. She’s been pissed off the whole day, pulled too many late nights at work this week, and the way you keep pushing, so casually, so sure, pricks something raw.

“I’m… sure I did, maybe—“

Her jaw tightens. “No, you didn’t. Stop saying you did.”

The words land sharper than either of you expect.

Your smile falters, just a fraction, but she sees it. Your eyes widen, and then you look away quickly, blinking hard at the corner of the room as if it’s suddenly fascinating.

You won’t cry.

You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry.

Not over this, not over anything stupid.

Okay, you do.

You push yourself up carefully, steadying with one hand against the couch. You don’t say anything. Can’t, really.

Not with the way your chest feels so tight and your belly shifts under your skin like the reminder of everything new and fragile about you. You just move slowly, silently, towards the bedroom.

Like a lost, very round lamb.

Sevika’s still standing there, stunned.

She hasn’t snapped at you in years, not like that, not with an edge sharp enough to draw tears from you.

And you don’t cry easily, you’re just… very pregnant.

And the sight of you retreating down the hall makes her chest twist painfully.

“…Shit,” she mutters under her breath, raking a hand through her hair.

Meanwhile, you sit on the edge of the bed, palms pressed to your knees, tears spilling too fast for you to swipe them away.

You hate it, you hate crying like this, shoulders shaking, chest hitching, like you’re not in control of your own body.

You tell yourself you’re too old for this, too steady for this.

But the fat tears keep rolling down your cheeks anyway, hot and endless, blurring the room around you.

The floor creaks, heavy footsteps stopping at the doorway. You don’t look up. You can’t.

Sevika lingers there for a long beat, her chest tight and her throat dry.

She’s never been good at this part.

Apologies catch in her teeth, her pride fighting against them even when she knows she’s wrong.

But the sight of you hunched and crying, your round belly rising and falling with each shaky breath, carves a hole straight through her defenses.

She moves, finally, slow and careful.

The mattress dips as she sits beside you.

For a second, she doesn’t touch you, doesn’t know if she’s allowed. Then she just exhales, slides her arm around your shoulders, and pulls you gently into her side.

Your body resists for a ridiculous half a second, tight, stiff, but then you collapse into her, cheek pressed against her chest, tears soaking the fabric of her shirt.

Sevika lowers her chin to the crown of your head. Her voice is rough, low, like she has to push the words out.

“I shouldn’t have yelled.”

That’s all. No long speech, no excuses.

But you know her, you know what those words mean coming from her. They’re sorry. They’re I love you. They’re we’re assholes and you don’t deserve this.

Your hands curl in the hem of her shirt, knuckles trembling. You sniff, hiccupping. “…Maybe I didn’t tell you… I really thought I did.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to your hairline, lingering there. “You’re right most of the time anyway.”

It makes you laugh through your tears, broken and watery, but still a laugh.

You tilt your head against her chest, breathing her in, letting her warmth settle the jagged edges inside you.

You wipe at your face with the heel of your hand, even as the tears keep coming, hot and stubborn. You sniff hard, trying to steady yourself, and murmur, “I’m sorry. It’s just… it’s been a rough day.”

Sevika huffs, the sound warm against your hair. “Yeah, I know. Looks like it.”

You let out a watery laugh again at her bluntness.

Because, really, she’s right.

You’ve got her kid growing inside you, hormones throwing you off balance, and now you’re crying over a stupid miscommunication. Of course it looks like a rough day.

Sevika squeezes your shoulder before leaning away, just enough to reach over to the nightstand. She grabs the box of tissues, yanks a few free with her big, clumsy hand, and presses them to your face.

“Here,” she mutters. “Before you drown me.”

You giggle again, muffled by the tissues, swatting weakly at her arm. “You’re such an ass.”

“Mm,” she hums, like she’s agreeing.

But she doesn’t let go of you, doesn’t stop fussing.

She wipes under your eyes herself when your hand falters, thumb a little gentler than anyone would expect from someone like her.

And just like that, the fight is over.

chat I totally forgot I had this work waiting

—Where nothing matters.

Sevika’s mech arm rests on the bedside table, a dull glint catching the early light filtering through the blinds. The low thrum of the music from your shared playlist is playing on your phone, filling the room.

She’s stretched out on her side of the bed. Hair messy like she came back and barely survived from war, face half-buried in her pillow, one long leg kicked out from under the sheets.

You know she’s been awake. Hell, she got up earlier, she always do.

She brushed her teeth, even started getting dressed. Except “getting dressed” apparently stopped at boxers, socks, and the first shirt she grabbed before she collapsed back into bed. A win is a win, isn’t it. She has clothes on in the end.

And she’ll keep pretending she’s a morning person.

You’re at the sink, toothbrush dangling lazily between your teeth as you listen to the faint hiss of the coffee machine in the kitchen.

You’re no better than her, just more awake. You have your panties on and an old band shirt of hers, too big but clean and comfortable.

The air is warm with the smell of coffee and something sweet; pastry, sugar. Something from breakfast earlier.

You spite and rinse. When you pad back into the bedroom, Sevika’s still exactly where you left her, except now her one arm lifts just enough to grope at the nightstand.

“Going back to sleep?” you ask with a teasing smile, leaning against the doorframe.

Her only reply is a low, incoherent groan. Not even a word. Just a sound. Like a big black panther after a long nap.

The thought makes you smile. Then her fingers find the familiar cardboard box, and she pulls out a cigarette with the precision of some kind of muscle memory.

Before she can get it to her lips, you’re there, plucking it right from her hand.

She doesn’t fight you. Doesn’t even open her eyes. Just lets her arm fall back to the bed with a soft thud and tilts her head back in defeat.

“You know you can’t smoke in here,” you remind her.

She grunts. An acknowledgment, not agreement, even if she knows you’re right. But the corners of her mouth twitch like she’s amused.

You toss the cigarette onto the bedside table like it’s never existed and climb onto the bed, settling yourself across her hip like you own her.

Which, honestly, you do. Sevika’s never once pretended otherwise.

Her hand finds you automatically. Big and warm against your thigh, fingers sliding up just far enough to find bare skin beneath the hem of her shirt you’re wearing.

She strokes lazy patterns there, the rough pad of her thumb dragging lightly, like she’s reacquainting herself with her favorite spot.

You lean down, your hair brushing her jaw, and her eyes finally crack open.

There’s a smugness there, even through the haze of sleep. The kind that says she’s completely aware of the effect she has on you, and she’s not above enjoying it.

Her mouth curves into the faintest smile before you close the distance, pressing your lips to hers.

It’s not a quick kiss. It’s slow, deep. A little greedy. Her lips are warm, soft despite the faint drag of chapped edges, and she tastes faintly like the coffee you brewed earlier.

She hums low in her throat like she can’t help it, pulling you a fraction closer, hand tightening on your thigh.

You can feel her chest rise under you, the solid heat of her body soaking through the thin cotton of her shirt.

The track changes in the background, bass line rolling steady as her tongue brushes against yours. Unhurried, claiming, like you’ve got nowhere to be and she’s going to make sure you stay exactly where you are.

In her arms, in the bad you share, in those sheets.

Where nothing else matters.

Her hand doesn’t stay idle for long. The lazy stroking on your thigh turns into slow, deliberate sweeps of her palm, up and down, fingers pressing just enough to make you feel them.

She’s not rushing. Just exploring like she’s got the whole day to map you out. And she does.

You smile against her mouth. You know her too well.

When she slips her fingers just a little higher, you murmur against her mouth, voice low but teasing. “You’re starting something:”

She tilts her head, eyes half-lidded, and there’s that deep, warm chuckle, the kind that rolls from her chest more than her throat.

“Maybe,” she says, voice low and rough, the word half-laugh, half-confession.

She leans in to steal another kiss, slower this time, almost indulgent. You feel her smile against your lips, not wide but real.

It’s silly. The way she’s like this. Laughing so easily with you, letting her guard down enough to just be.

She’d never admit it out loud, but you know she doesn’t do this with anyone else.

That laugh, that lazy affection, that way she holds you like she has every right.

It’s yours. Tucked away between slow mornings and rumpled sheets.

Her thumb drags higher on your thigh, brushing dangerously close to the edge of your underwear. She hums again. Her eyes stay on your face, like she’s memorizing every reaction.

You match her stare, unblinking, that same soft smile playing at your lips like you’ve already won.

Your thumbs trace slow, easy circles over her chest, feeling the steady rhythm of her heart beneath your touch.

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away, just lets her eyes travel over your face like she’s drinking in the sight of you in the morning light. The sunlight cuts across the bed, warm against your back, catching the curve of her jaw where you lean in.

Your mouth finds her neck, and you press a kiss to it. Soft at first, just a brush of lips.

You feel the subtle shift in her. That tension that’s not quite tension, like she’s already bracing herself to give in.

You kiss her again, slower, this time lingering, and her breath hitches almost imperceptibly. One of her fingers flexes against your skin, gripping just a little harder. Like you’ve pulled a string that makes her move.

By the third kiss, she’s tilting her head back.

Giving you more without hesitation. Her eyes flutter closed, and the quiet hum that leaves her chest feels like surrender.

Her breathing’s slower now, deeper, but there’s a weight to it. A heaviness that says she’s not holding herself back anymore.

That hand on your thigh starts to wander, dragging upward with deliberate slowness, fingertips tracing over the curve of your hip like she’s mapping every inch.

You keep your mouth on her neck, the angle perfect to catch the steady thud of her pulse under your lips.

She smells faintly like the clean soap from earlier and a hint of that cigarette she never got to light. When your lips graze just below her ear, you hear the quiet sound she makes.

Low, caught between a sigh and a groan.

Her palm shifts even higher, brushing over the dip of your waist, then spreading wide across your back beneath the shirt, warm and sure.

She’s still not rushing, just taking. Possessing you like she always does but without any edge.

You press another kiss just under her ear, slow and deliberate, your breath hot against her skin.

“Mm,” she hums, that rare sound she makes when she’s fully at ease. Always with you. And her fingers flex against you, pulling you slightly closer.

It’s easy like this. Her giving in completely, you spoiling her like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Because she deserves it, because you want to give everything to her.

You can feel the tension draining from her shoulders under your touch, replaced by something heavier, needier, waiting.

Her fingers on your back shift lower, curling just enough to guide you down.

Gentle, like she’s asking without words.

The pressure is subtle, almost nothing, but you’ve been waiting for it all morning.

You’d planned this the second you saw her sprawled out.

Shirt riding up, hair a mess, the faint scowl that wasn’t really a scowl. You just wanted the sign. And here it is, as soft as it is undeniable.

Your lips leave her neck with one last slow press, trailing down along the line of her collarbone.

She tilts her chin up, eyes half-lidded, watching you with that quiet, unreadable hunger she only lets you see.

Her fingers tighten fractionally on your skin. You follow the pull, kissing lower, mouth brushing over the dark skin at the edge of her shirt.

She’s still letting you set the pace, but every small shift of her grip is its own request.

You glance up once, and she’s looking at you like you’re something to be worshipped and consumed at the same time. It’s enough to make you linger there, lips moving slow, tasting her skin before you keep going.

Inch by inch, lower and lower.

Your lips keep traveling, lazy, like you’ve got all day. And maybe you do.

The hem of her shirt rides up under your touch as you go down, down, down. Baring more of her stomach to the warm air.

You press a kiss there, slow and deliberate, feeling the faint twitch of her muscles beneath.

Her hand moved up as you get down slowly, guiding you without any force, just enough pressure to make her want clear.

The music hums low in the background, a lazy music that seems to sync with the rhythm of your kisses.

You mouth at her skin just above the waistband of her boxers, and she exhales hard, her fingers curling tighter.

“Fuck,” she murmurs, not sharp but thick with the sound of someone who’s been holding back too long.

You glance up at her through your lashes, her head’s tipped back against the pillow, jaw slack, eyes heavy. Vulnerable in a way she’d hate anyone else to see but you.

Your hands hook in the waistband, dragging her boxers down slow, your mouth following every new inch of skin and dark hair of that thin line on her stomach. She doesn’t stop you.

She wouldn’t dare.

And when you finally settle between her legs, she’s already breathing like you’ve been touching her for hours.

“You’re really gonna—” she starts, soft hoarse but soft in her own way.

She can’t say more, you cut her off with the press of your lips exactly where she wants them, and the rest of the sentence dies in a sharp inhale.

She’s gone the second your mouth touches her. Head tipping back. A curse falling out of her that’s more breath than voice.

There’s no fight left in her. Not that there ever really was with you.

She gave in the moment you climbed onto her hip, and now she’s too far gone to even think about going back.

Her hand slides into your hair, fingers threading through slowly, not to pull but to anchor herself.

You feel the gentle weight of her palm on the back of your head. The quiet, wordless way she keeps you there.

You take your time, giving her exactly what you promised without ever saying it out loud.

Slow, deep, deliberate.

The kind of pace that draws low sounds from her chest, the kind that has her exhaling like she’s been holding her breath all morning.

The music keeps rolling in the background, bass low, steady, and she’s moving with it now.

Subtle shifts of her hips, the occasional flex of her fingers in your hair.

When you glance up, her eyes are half-lidded and watching you with a hunger that’s no longer restrained.

“Fuck, baby…” she mutters, voice rough, almost fond in its ruin.

It’s growing pleasure. It’s love. It’s trust.

Her thumb strokes absent circles against your scalp, like she’s half here in the moment, half somewhere higher you’ve pulled her to.

And you know.

She’s not thinking about anything else. Not the day ahead, not the cigarette she never lit, not the coffee gone cold on the counter in the kitchen. Because nothing matters.

Just you, exactly where she wants you.

Exactly how she likes it.

You shift just enough to slide your fingers inside her, the motion unhurried, smooth. Like you’re easing her into the next wave instead of dragging her.

Her breath catches hard. A sharp inhale that’s followed by a low, drawn-out groan.

Her hand tightens in your hair, holding on.

She’s breathing like every exhale might be the one that tips her over. Her chest rising against the fabric of her shirt that’s twisted halfway up her ribs.

You keep your mouth on her folds, on her clit. Slow and steady. Letting your tongue and your fingers move together in an unbreakable rhythm.

Every shift of your hand draws a new sound from her. Low, soft huffs, a shaky mmh that’s more instinct than language.

Her hips roll up to meet you, the movement lazy but desperate in its own way, like she wants to keep up but doesn’t have the energy to do anything but give herself over.

And you’re not asking her to. You’re taking care of everything.

“God, you’re—” she tries, but the words cut off when your fingers curl on that spot. Her jaw drops, a sound spilling out that she’d never make for anyone else. “O-oh, fuck…”

She’s not saying much now. Only fragments of your name, a muttered ‘again’, a rough inhale that catches halfway. Her hand helplessly moves from your head to the bed; fist in the sheets, knuckles pale, while her chest rises and falls fast beneath the fabric of her shirt

You look up, just for a second.

And it’s everything.

Sevika sprawled against the pillows, hair messy, lips parted, eyes heavy and fixed on you like she’s watching something sacred. All she has to do is lie there and take it.

She does. Beautifully.

And she’s lost now, eyes fluttering shut as her breathing grows uneven, her body reacting before she can even think about controlling it.

Every slow drag of your fingers, every soft press of your mouth on her pulls her deeper under, until she’s nothing but sensation and the quiet pulse of your touch.

“Don’t stop…” she breathes, voice wrecked but low, like she’s too far gone to speak any louder.

You feel her chest rise hard under your palms. The tension winding through her body, coiling tighter with every movement.

She’s so close.

You can hear it in the way her breathing stutters, see it in the way her head tips back against the pillow like she’s trying to hold on and failing.

“Baby—” she starts, but the word breaks off into a low, ragged moan when you curl your fingers deeper and suck on her clit.

She’s losing it.

Her thighs twitch around you. Her whole body tensing for a heartbeat before it melts into release.

She comes with a shudder that runs the length of her.

Her hand clutching the sheets like it’s the only thing keeping her anchored to the things you’re doing to her. The sound she makes is low and guttural. Pulled from somewhere deep.

And you drink it in. Slowing your pace only when you feel her start to tremble beneath you.

When it finally goes down, she’s sprawled against the pillows, chest heaving, eyes closed.

Her hand slides from the sheets to your cheek, thumb brushing lazily over your skin in silent gratitude. She’s quiet, except for the faint, pleased hum she always makes when she’s too blissed out to speak.

And you can’t help but smile.

Because really, all she had to do was lie down and look pretty.

And she did it perfectly.

Listening to the Honeymoon Album by Lana del Rey while writing this made me feel like I was writing the next erotic bestseller, music is important when writing trust me

𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐱 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

‧₊˚── Request: "Hi.. can you write sevika x reader who has a bad history when somebody scolds them or tells them something they did wrong in a mean way and reader starts just crying silently because it was what she endured most of her life from her familu and one day sevika gets a gets a lil mad at reader because they forgot how to do a simple task for the millionth time and when she sees tears she gets even more frustrated because what she went through wasnt even that bad but she ultimately remembers all the times reader told her about her experiences and how it affected her so she apologizes and comforts her with deep hugs and guilt... totally not self indulgent heheh.."

Word Count: 1.k Content/Warnings: sfw, hurt/comfort, soft!reader, gn!reader/no pronouns used,mentions of toxic/abusive family dynamics A/N: guys i’m so sorry ive been off the grid! i started a new job and i start school in august, and ive honestly been getting super discouraged lately bc i feel like if im not constantly churning out fics then you'll all forget about me LMAOO but this fic was honestly so fun to write, esp considering that i have a new job and have been making… many mistakes. i hope this is as self indulgent for you as it was for me, anon!

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐞 ୨ৎ

chapter 6 ˋ°•*⁀➷ superglue

famous!bandmate! ellie williams x famous!bandmate!singer! reader

ᰔ smau plot: spark started as a group of friends playing covers in a garage, now they are fresh off two grammy nominations. they have a light, a spark that is unmatchable. but something has broken: the relationship of guitarist ellie williams and lead vocalist y/n. a shit show occurs when ellie decides to release her solo album—Kansas Anymore.

content: wlw post breakup pining, mild angst, fluff, suggestive content, more hurt but also comfort, ellie williams being an idiot, mental health conversations, pressure of being in the spotlight.

a/n: new chapter woot woot!!! happy is coming I pinky promise, exes are hard especially at this level !! but here we go, chapter 6 :D

previous / next

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any reblogs, likes, comments or just anything are so so so appreciated :)

series taglist: @liasxeatt @vanpalmertruther @kylorey25 @iadorefineshyt @elliespotion @oneinameliann @threw-this-party4u @thxtmarvelchick @imagines-random @senjukawaragitr @beanbagbitch @bluminescent-moon @liztreez

chapter 3 ˋ°•*⁀➷ scumbag

famous!bandmate! ellie williams x famous!bandmate!singer! reader

ᰔ smau plot: spark started as a group of friends playing covers in a garage, now they are fresh off two grammy nominations. they have a light, a spark that is unmatchable. but something has broken: the relationship of guitarist ellie williams and lead vocalist y/n. a shit show occurs when ellie decides to release her solo album—Kansas Anymore.

content: wlw post breakup pining, mild angst, fluff, suggestive content, more hurt but also comfort, ellie williams being an idiot, mental health conversations, pressure of being in the spotlight.

a/n: omg omg omg new chapter :) thank you so so much for the love my angels !! here we go!!

previous / next

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any reblogs, likes, comments or just anything are so so so appreciated :)

series taglist: @liasxeatt @vanpalmertruther @kylorey25 @iadorefineshyt @elliespotion @oneinameliann @threw-this-party4u @thxtmarvelchick @imagines-random @senjukawaragitr

omg the tea??? y/n maybe moving on??? charli fc dropping next chapter woot woot woot omg this is so exciting !

scissoring with loser lesbian!ellie for the first time

cw: smut, scissoring, dirty talk, established relationship, top!ellie, bottom!reader, messy, awkward, playful.

the night settles around you like a warm blanket, dim lamps casting golden light over the cluttered comfort of your shared apartment, the low hum of a half-finished playlist still echoing from the speaker in the kitchen. thai takeout boxes are abandoned on the coffee table, the scent of lemongrass and fried rice lingering faintly in the air. you’re both still glowing from the date, cheeks warm from wine, limbs loose from laughing too much in the booth, her hand never leaving yours the whole walk home.

ellie’s sitting close beside you on the couch, one leg bent up between yours, her arm lazily draped across the back of the cushions. her fingers have been toying with the ends of your hair, brushing over the nape of your neck like she’s not fully aware she’s doing it. but her eyes - god, those eyes - they keep flicking down to your mouth, then away again, like she’s working something up in her head and doesn’t know how to say it.

you catch her. “babe. what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

she jolts slightly, as if pulled from deep thought, then offers a guilty, crooked smile. “nothing. just thinking.”

“about?”

she hesitates, then rubs the back of her neck, that telltale loser ellie nervous tic you’ve come to adore. “promise you won’t laugh?”

“cross my heart.”

she swallows. “okay. so like… i’ve been thinking about something. something we haven’t done before.” her voice drops, almost conspiratorial. “and i don’t know if it’s dumb or whatever. but i kinda… wanna try it.”

you sit up straighter, curiosity piqued. “ellie. you literally have your face between my thighs like every other night. what could possibly embarrass you at this point?”

she groans, face flushed. “fuck. okay. i wanna try… scissoring.”

your eyebrows lift slightly. “you do?”

she nods quickly. “j just-i know it’s, like, in porn a lot and maybe it’s not even that good in real life, but i think about it sometimes, and i get all fucking… worked up. imagining you under me. our thighs all tangled, and your pussy right up against mine and-“ she cuts herself off, eyes wide. “wow. saying it out loud is actually ten times worse.”

you’re smiling, already reaching out to cup her burning face. “that’s really fucking hot.”

ellie visibly exhales, shoulders relaxing. “wait…seriously?”

you nod, thumbing over the curve of her cheek. “you wanna try it?”

“…yeah. i mean. only if you do. we don’t have to, if it’s weird-“

“ellie,” you interrupt, already shifting to straddle her lap, arms wrapped around her neck. “i want to. i want you.”

she’s kissing you before you finish the sentence; eager, messy, her hands sliding under your thighs to lift you. the kiss is hungry but reverent, like she’s pouring every ounce of nervous anticipation into it. your bodies press together, clothed but already heating fast, and when she finally pulls back, her pupils are blown and her voice is hoarse.

“bedroom?” she whispers.

you nod, heart pounding. “now.”

by the time you reach the bed, the air between you is thick with tension - that sweet, electric kind where everything is giggles and gasps and the rustle of clothes being peeled off too fast. ellie’s usually clumsy in the bedroom - a little bashful, always second-guessing where to put her hands - but tonight, there’s a different kind of buzz in her movements. still shy, still flustered, but driven by something deeper. a need to make this good. to make it yours.

she kisses down your neck with trembling lips, kneeling between your legs on the mattress, pressing slow kisses to your chest as she unhooks your bra with shaking fingers. her eyes flicker up when you moan, a flush of pride spreading across her freckled cheeks.

“you good?” she murmurs, voice low, reverent.

you nod breathlessly, already wet. “ellie. please.”

she pulls off her boxers and settles between your thighs, both of you completely bare now, skin hot and sticky with anticipation. her hair falls into her eyes as she lowers herself, pressing your bodies together, and you both gasp in unison as your slick folds meet for the first time.

“oh my god,” she breathes, completely frozen.

your hips twitch. “holy fuck.”

ellie’s eyes flutter shut. “you’re so warm. fuck-baby, this already feels so good.”

she moves cautiously at first, her thigh flexed between yours, your legs tangled, one of her hands bracing on the pillow beside your head. the other holds your waist as she grinds her hips slowly down against yours, a slick, gliding rhythm building between your wet centers.

it’s clumsy. slippery. a little too high, then too low. your hips bump hard and you both yelp.

“shit-sorry! my angle’s off…fuck-“

“no, it’s okay…wait, try-here.” you lift your hips and guide her slightly lower, using your thigh to pull her tighter against you.

the moment you slot together again - just right - ellie moans so loudly it echoes off the walls. her head drops to your neck and she ruts against you, slow and deep.

“ohhh, that’s-fuck, that’s it. baby, your pussy feels so fucking good,” she mumbles into your skin.

you’re panting now, nails digging into her shoulders, riding every thrust of her hips. the friction of her clit against yours is messy and wet, each grind slick with arousal, the pleasure sharp and bright, blooming outward like wildfire in your stomach.

“don’t stop,” you whimper, and ellie’s rhythm stutters at the sound of your voice.

she growls softly, hips moving harder now, more desperate, her breath coming out in broken pants. “shit-shit-i’m gonna-fuck, i’m so close, i’m gonna come just from this, just from rubbing my pussy on yours, baby-“

her voice breaks and so do you.

your orgasm crashes into you like a wave, thighs clenching around her, your whole body shaking, moaning her name over and over as pleasure splits you open, raw and real. ellie’s right behind you, crying out as she presses her clit harder into yours, grinding deep, her hips stuttering wildly through her own release.

she collapses against you, both of you breathless, soaked, trembling.

for a long moment, neither of you move. you just hold her, your fingers tangling in the damp strands of her hair, her mouth pressed to your collarbone.

ellie finally exhales a soft, shaky laugh. “so… uh. that was…”

you smile, still catching your breath. “incredible. weird. hot. kind of hilarious.”

she grins against your skin. “i almost asked you to marry me halfway through.”

you laugh, swatting her shoulder. “loser.”

her voice turns quiet. “yeah, but i’m your loser.”

you pull her closer. “lucky me.”

she hums, lazy and content, still nestled between your legs. “wanna try again in the morning?”

you tilt your hips, teasing. “only if you do that thing with your hips again.”

ellie groans. “god. say less.”

━━ ᝰ.ᐟ

-‘๑’- 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 racer!ellie x reader / 0.5k words -‘๑’- 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 smut - MDNI, dry humping -‘๑’- 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 this one has a special place in my heart, ngl - hope u like it too!

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓-𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐗

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