SYNOPSIS: ellie & reader are married, modern au of some kind (I’m not sure), housewife!reader, insomniac!reader, fluff.
Ellie had made the decision to sleep early, wanting to make sure that she has the energy for the hell of a morning coming. You’re not too sure what she has going on, it got filtered it out. You probably should’ve listened, but you just couldn’t focus. JJ was keeping you busy, after all.
After Ellie drifts to sleep, you try too. It doesn’t work, at all. After rolling around, trying new positions and flipping your pillow over, you check the time. The red numbers on your alarm clock display 12:30, and you curse that extra coffee you had earlier. Fuck, it’s late. Whatever, you’ll just try again. So you do, but… you just can’t get comfortable. When you finally peak at the clock again, you have to squint to read it but 3:00am shines back at you.
You decide to just give up, and find something productive to do. If you’re not going to get any sleep, might aswell try to keep yourself occupied, right? Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Upon scavenging the house, you fail to find anything you can get up to without waking JJ. God knows how stressed both you and Ellie would be if he woke up now of all times.
You dig and dig, trying to find something, anything to do, when suddenly you find your old makeup box. There’s a plethora of different brushes, palettes and shades. However what catches your eye is the lipstick. You’ve always wanted to cover Ellie in marks, leave something physical on her to prove that she’s yours. You’ve never found the right time even though she said she’d be interested, and eventually you stopped wearing obvious shades as often. Your eyes drift to the vibrant red, a smirk forming on your face. This’ll be fun.
Peppering kisses onto her face is the easy part, she stays fast asleep, groaning and shifting on occasion. The hard bit is her neck. She’s always been sensitive there, quick to react. Ticklish, almost. You press ever so lightly, just enough to leave a mark. Her eyes scrunch slightly, and she rolls over. You decide to push it, wanting more than one mark. After pretty much wrestling with her sleeping form, she’s thoroughly covered. She looks hilarious, but just as cute.
By the morning, you’re already running about, getting JJ ready. She’s in a rush herself, rambling about whatever she has to get to while grabbing toast. Then, you hear Joel’s name. Right, Joel’s hosting a big event with some important people. Shit, she should know that. You turn to tell her— she’s not there. She slipped out of the door already. She’s going to kill you later.
NOTES: this was not proof read at all, it was written before I had to take a break from social media. I hope it works as an apology..?
guitarist!ellie who has a crush on you and learns your favourite song just to impress you, but tries to play it off because she’s a loser and doesn’t want to make a wrong move incase you don’t like her. (spoiler alert: you do and she’s just making the situation a whole lot more complicated.)
I refuse to word check my writing. With the rise of AI scripted essays, you WILL enjoy the authenticity of my incorrect usage of the English language. I only ever check my words after someone reblogs them, and I cringe at all the mistakes I do, BUT THAT IS THE WRITER'S EXPERIENCE!! And you shall not stop me
You get a tramp stamp on impulse. Even more impulsive to get Sevika’s name evident in the sharp coils of the black ink. Right in the middle, in the cutest font you could pick out was her name.
So of course you show her, sit her down and turn around to lift the back of your shirt. There’s SecondSkin clinging to it, your skin pink from the freshness of it. A few hours old.
“Fuckin’ hell,” is the only thing you register before her hands are on you, pulling you back into her lap and quickly shoving your face into the mattress.
You’re only allowed a gasp of surprise as she guides your hips up and you don’t dare move your face as you kneel. You hiss as she presses her thumbs into the fresh tattoo and there’s a rumbling sound low in her throat that means she’s pleased.
She’s very pleased.
And she showed it very throughly.
Pulling your pants and panties down, spreading you open to eat you out. You’re moaning and grinding back into her mouth, whimpering when she toys with the sensitive skin of your lower back, pressing and brushing her nails against it. She’s mixing in the pain of the fresh tattoo with the feeling of her face buried in your cunt.
Which is what she loves to do. Loves to get you off with her whole face, loves it even more when you make a mess of her for it. Squirt over her face when she’s teased you and edged you for hours.
“Vika —“
“Shut up,” She growls against your cunt, plunging her fingers into your wet heat with an audible welch. “Marked yourself f’me, like a fuckin’ animal, baby.”
You moan and mindlessly nod to her words. “I-I am yours.”
“I know you are,” She smirks against your ass cheek, biting into you with such fury that it makes you cry out and for your cunt to squeeze her fingers.
She ravages you until you cum, until she forces you to whine and tremble while she laps your sensitive cunt after. Toys with your clit even as you reach back to try and push her head back.
It only makes her grab your wrists and pin them on the bed so she can shove her face into your cunt more. To suck on your clit and tease your empty, fluttering hole with her nose. You mewl and arch your back into her face, still sensitive and aching despite it all.
Sevika knows your body well enough to know what this means. When you arch your back so pretty, when your hole is trembling and trying to suck whatever it can in.
So who is she but yours, too?
Why wouldn’t she tell you to stay like that while she gets up and gets her strap? Why wouldn’t she strip and put it on and grunt at how wet she is from just tasting your cunt and your cum?
Of course she’d go over to fuck you into the mattress, growling at the sight of your damp, sweaty back with the pretty new mark on your back. Seeing and swearing she can feel your cunt take her in with such ease as she marks you as hers inside, too.
“Atta girl, baby,” Sevika’s thumbs press into the tattoo, her fingers around your hips. It makes you shudder and tears to fill your eyes as you moan. So much pleasure with a delicious edge of pain. “Squirt on this dick and then maybe I’ll let you rest.”
ellie would be the type of cafe customer to order the sweetest, most sugary concoction possible. she doesn’t like coffee if it isn’t a borderline dessert, i’m talking like seven pumps of caramel and lots and lots of drizzle. abby, however, would just order a plain latte — dark roast espresso, oatmilk, and maybe if she’s feeling a little jazzy she’d get a packet of sugar or a pump of hazelnut.
warning: Ellie’s biceps mention. please proceed with extreme caution. you have been warned. (very rushed piece of garbage, forgive me.)
“Sit down, please.” You stood before the couch, laptop in your hands. Ellie froze mid-chew, her thumb hovering over her phone’s screen, squinting in confusion.
“I’m already sitting,” she said through obnoxious bites.
You looked at her with a deadpan before plopping down beside her. Her eyes fixed on your laptop’s screen.
“May I have two minutes of your attention?”
She furrowed her brow, eyes returning to your computer screen.
“What’s this?” she asked before taking a larger bite of her protein bar.
“I made a PowerPoint.”
“Uh—okay?”
“Ready?” Your brows lifted at her, and she hummed. You hit your spacebar, and the blank front page revealed the real front page: bold white letters on a pink, sparkly background reading, “69 Reasons Why I Should Be Allowed to Bite You (a serious presentation by: your girlfriend).”
She stared at you for a full second, chewing with a deep, confused frown taking over her scrunched features.
“Okay, so hear me out,” you started, eyes flicking between her and the screen as you pressed the spacebar again.
SLIDE ONE: Look at your arms.
You nodded as she slowly read the words, gesturing toward her bicep. “Tell me they’re not succulent. You’re lying.”
Her nose scrunched up like it always did when she was trying not to laugh, choking on whatever last few bits of protein bar had gotten stuck in her teeth.
“Alright, dramatic reaction—slide number choo.”
She read aloud this time: “You’re my girlfriend. I should have bite privileges. That’s in the constitution.”
She looked at you again, trying to keep a straight face. “Pretty sure that’s illegal in most states—”
Irrelevant, so you proceeded with the third one.
This slide, though, was actually a blurry photo of her asleep, her shirt half-off her shoulder. Captioned: “This part of you specifically,” with a red circle drawn around her collarbone that you tapped at promptly. “You knew what you were doing, don’t even look at me like that.”
She snorted, covering her mouth. “Is that—when did you take that? Do you take pictures of me in my sleep?”
“You left the window open. That’s on you.”
“Christ.”
The next slides consisted of a simple gathering of scientific proofs you had thoroughly selected the night before.
One was about historical evidence: “Cavemen probably did it, and they were in love.”
Then it was a pie chart labeled “How Much I Want to Bite You (spoiler: it’s 100%).”
Then a piece of rushed poetry you’d written: “Teeth yearn for arms just like heart yearns for blood. Carnivorous romance.”
Lastly, it was a screenshot of a DM you sent her last week that just said, “Can I gnaw gently on your forearm like a hamster with a chew toy?”
By slide 42, she’s barely breathing, purple in the face for laughing too hard.
It was a picture you’d secretly taken of her from behind, stretching after an intense workout, wearing nothing but a sports bra.
Caption: “If I’m not allowed to bite this trapezius, then why is it shaped like a meat snack?? Explain.”
Slide 52:
Scientific research (from Wikipedia) titled:
“Mammals that bite their mates as a bonding activity.”
You pointed dramatically at the screen. “You see? Love. Science. God wanted this.”
“Oh my god—” she laughed into the palms of her hands.
“Splendid. Now wait till I get to 69.”
“Wait till I get you in 69,” she wiggled her brows.
“Unfunny, overall mediocre,” you deadpanned, hitting the keyboard violently.
Slide 56:
It’s Ellie’s own texts, screenshotted, where she once said, “You’re so cute I could eat you.”
You zoomed in. “So who’s the real criminal here?” You stabbed at the screen aggressively.
She cracked up. “That’s not what I—”
“That’s a crime, you know.”
Slide 58:
Photoshopped fake news article headline:
“Local Girl Hospitalized After Denying Girlfriend Bite Rights – Regrets Everything.”
“Wow, this is—”
“Yup, tragic, I know.”
Slide 69:
“You let me once. And you moaned.”
A mic drop animation played before the screen went black, and she looked more offended than ever.
“Okay. First of all—fuck you. That was taken out of context.”
You didn’t even say anything; raising your brow was enough to make her go on.
“That wasn’t a moan; that was like... a grunt. A bite grunt. Like a reflex. Like when you hit your knee and it kicks.”
“I’m going to hold your hand when I tell you this...”
“NO. I’m defending my honor. That was not a moan. I don’t moan when you bite me.”
You just snickered. “You literally arched into it!”
“I HAVE A CURVED SPINE!”
You lost it. She threw a couch pillow at your head, didn’t even aim, just rage-launched it while refusing to make eye contact.
“So can I bite you?” you then asked.
Ellie groaned, flopping backward onto the couch, one arm draped across her face. “You’re obsessed with me. It’s actually insane. You need help.”
You crawled on top of her, hovering. “That’s not a no.”
“It’s a cry for help.”
You poked her cheek. “Still not a no.”
She peeked out from under her arm. “Bite me and I swear to God—”
Your open mouth, awaiting contact, inched closer to her arms.
She gasped. “NO ’CAUSE IF YOU DO I’LL—” She didn’t even finish the sentence before she shrieked-laughed and kicked at you, completely red.
“OH MY GOD—” she screamed at the harsh bite, yelling through laughter. “YOU NEED TO BE FUCKING STUDIED.”
okay listen up you little hoes 😋 i know i’ve been teasing engine for like two months now (oops) BUT today… with the help of my beloved girls liz, andrea, and the rest of the council™… we accidentally plotted an entirely new series. and um. she’s also cunty. she’s also messy. she’s also full of drama. sooooo i’m putting y’all to WORK.
you’re gonna decide what you want FIRST.the long-awaited, prepped-and-polished engine (playlist? done. moodboard? stunning. outline? CUNTYY) the juicy, brand-new delicious chaos we just cooked up today, unscripted. and.. the dark, twisted idea i've had for a really long time and only now you get to meet: infatuation.
i’m dropping the moodboards and synopses and you’re picking the drama you want injected into your bloodstream next. just so yall now, im writing ALL of them in the future!! i just want to know what you want FIRST.
let’s go sluts.
UNSCRIPTED
Actress!Ellie x Actress!Reader — Slow burn
you met in high school. theater kids, musical soulmates. fell in love under cheap fairy lights during a school play and never really stopped—messy, dramatic, inseparable. at 19, broke and in love, you filmed a few… videos. just for money, just to follow your dreams. but time did what time does, and you took separate paths.
now at 25, you're both famous. you're hollywood’s it-girl, smiling through red carpets and a PR fake boyfriend. ellie's the emmy-nominated actress with a model on her arm and your name still in her mouth.
but when tape leaks, ten minutes of passionate proof that you were hers and she was yours, the internet implodes. and so do your lives.
and just when it couldn’t get worse? you're cast in the same movie. a remake of that musical. the one where it all began.
some stories don’t need a script.
ENGINE
Street biker!Abby x Race Starter!Reader x Street biker!Ellie — Love triangle
new york summer—thick on your skin, sweet with danger. after dark, the city belongs to the underground: engines screaming, neon bleeding, crews with names whispered as if they are cursed. cops can’t touch it, legends are made on asphalt.
but you don’t drive, you are the one who decides who gets to.
mini skirt, leather jacket, the girl that makes everyone stop breathing for 3 seconds. no crew, no leash, no apologies.
you’ve been fucking ellie williams in secret. the fireflies’ coldest killer, raised on gasoline and silence. but when abby anderson shows up—muscle, fury, and family ghosts—you want her too. something happened between them, something no one talks about.
now you’re the one in the middle. heart split. bed warm. streets burning.
and you realize this was never just about racing.
INFATUATION
Photographer!Stalker!Ellie x Art Student!Stalker!Reader — Dark obsession
you move into a new apartment with a sketchbook in your bag, a scholarship to art school, and a boyfriend you’ve trusted your whole life. it’s supposed to be the start of everything. that, until you meet your neighbor—ellie williams. photographer, quiet, sharp, and impossible to stop looking at.
what begins as a harmless crush spirals into a dark fixation. you start sketching her hand on doorknobs, to memorizing her walk, to driving three hours just to buy the perfect shade of green—her green. but what you don't know, is that she’s watching you too. photographs on your balcony, snapshots in the elevator, glances that burn.
you both have partners, you both know better. but obsession doesn’t care about consequences.
and when two people push past every line of what's moral—
what’s left to ruin but everything?
romaincrisis
gummygunk
andulkaphoto
snowghoul
discoholicmusic
jacobvanloon
pixelskylines
