|she/her| Girl kisser duh Writing and sharing fics that will heal your lesbian hearts🫶🏻 (I hate lesbian situationships) (Nah I’m lying tell her to text me again)
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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.”
Sevika knew you loved taking digs at her age, and she liked you enough to let you get away with it. A little lip from a fellow ranch hand was enough to get them the scolding of their life or their ass in the dust. But all you had to do was give her a smile and she was letting you pick and prod at her for fun.
“I’ll have you know this is a Glen Campbell song from 1967, thank you very much.” She said, batting your hand away and situating the volume where she wanted it.
“Yeah?” You asked with a small chuckle, leaning your cheek into your hand. “Bet that was a good year for you.”
Sevika didn’t even answer, just reaching out with her free hand to try and twist your arm as payback. You couldn’t help yourself, easily swatting her away while you laughed. It was just too easy with her.
You saw her take a slow drag off the cigarette in her hand, noting the slight curl in her lip as she exhaled the smoke through her nose, flicking the ash out the window.
“Let me try.” You said suddenly, reaching out to take the cigarette. But she was quick to hold it away from you before you could even touch it.
“Absolutely not.” Her voice was firm. “Your daddy would have my ass if he knew I let you smoke.”
“He’s not here, is he?” You countered, catching her eyes and the way her lips always tipped up just a bit when you said something she begrudgingly found amusing. “You know I won’t tell.”
“That don’t mean shit. You shouldn’t be touchin’ the stuff.”
“You are.”
“Not the point.” She said, making a pointed gesture with her cigarette, the smoke billowing up over her face. You reached out to try and take it from her hand, but her reflexes were faster. You tried again, sliding across the bench, invading her space.
“Will you knock it off? Can’t a woman smoke her damn cigarette in peace?“ Sevika tried batting you away, but being slumped in the driver’s seat didn’t give her much room to fend you off. “Darlin’, I mean it-“
Her words got cut off when you moved out from your seat, crawling your way on top of her until you were all but straddling her lap.
You two had exchanged fleeting touches before. Her hand sliding low on your back when she walked behind you or when you’d fix her neck scarf after she’d had a particularly tricky run-in with a new horse.
But you’d never just hopped up on her like this. Your soft and warm weight pressing right up against her in all the right places. Her hands went still as you slipped the cigarette from her metal fingers, looking at it like some foreign object.
Sevika kept her hands where they were for a brief moment before she settled them on your hips.
”How do I do it?”
“It’s a cigarette, darlin’. It ain’t exactly rocket science.”
You couldn’t help but laugh again, looking all too comfortable up on her lap like this. “Shut up.” You mused, placing the butt of it around your lips before taking an inhale.
Sevika watched, transfixed as the burnt end of it cast a warm glow over your pretty face. Her hands tightened just a fraction where he held them, too focused on watching how your lips wrapped around where her own had just been.
When you exhaled, you forgot it was common courtesy to turn your head before blowing smoke out and over her face. But she was too busy staring at you to even finch when it caressed her skin.
You coughed just a bit as the smoke recoiled from your throat, her hand gently patting at your back to help you settle.
“Atta girl.” She mused, a small laugh in her tone. “Not bad for a first timer.”
You rolled your eyes, letting out a small hum around the stick still in your mouth. When you looked down at her, you saw just how intently she was looking at you. Her organic hand slowly slid up your back, tracing the space between where your shirt had ridden up and the waist of your jeans started.
“Still with me, lady?” You asked, using the nickname you knew she hated just to see if you could get her attention.
”Hm?” Sevika hummed, clearly focused on more important things.
The music was still playing around you, the sound slightly crackling from her busted speakers she always said she never had the time to fix.
Though the wheat fields and the clotheslines…
And the junkyards and the highways come between us…
You took the cigarette from your lips, tapping off the smoke before taking another slow inhale off of it.
“Nothing.”
Her hand slid higher still when you didn’t call her out for it, slipping beneath the hem of cotton so she could slide her hand up your spine.
You could feel the worn-in callouses of her hand, the way they radiated such a warmth it made you shiver. You had seen her hands in action, wrung tight around rope or spread out flat against the flank of a horse. But you had never felt them on your skin like this. Like she wanted to memorize the feeling.
It was even better than you’d thought it would be.
And you thought about it a lot.
“This okay?” She asked, her voice soft and gentle in a way you almost didn’t recognize. Her fingertips were tracing soft circles into your flesh, just to feel the way it gave beneath her pressure. You were so close she could smell your perfume through the haze of tobacco, and she felt her heart race.
”I ain’t run away screamin’, have I?”
She smiled up at you in that crooked way that made you wonder what her tongue tasted like. How she’d breathe if you got even closer.
“No, I guess not.”
You leaned down close enough that your noses almost brushed against one another, just shy of feeling where her breath brushed against your skin.
“That a good thing?” You shifted further on her lap, making yourself nice and comfortable.
”Reckon so…” Her words trailed off as her fingers brushed against the edge of your bra. She backed off on instinct, but when you kept looking at her like you wanted to devour her, she had no choice but to carry on as she was.
You remained still, even when you felt her tracing the fastenings. She’d dig her thumb against the tiny metal clasps like she was going to take them off before running them along the lace edge instead.
Your own hand got curious, not wanting to be left out. With a slow drag, you let it fall low enough to trace the raised metal on her belt buckle with your thumb.
“You oughta slow down, darlin’.” She warned, but the way her breath caught told you she was trying to convince herself just as much as she was you.
”You started it.” You said around a coy smile, keeping your hand where it was as you gave an experimental roll of your hips down against her own.
The sudden movement made her jolt, accidentally sending your ass right back on the horn of the steering wheel. The sound made the dogs up on the porch start going off, and you could hear the distant shouting of your mama trying to get them to settle down.
You were both laughing as reality settled back in. The haze of desire slipped away even as she gave you one last squeeze of your hips.
”I should go.” You said, even as every iota of your being said to hell with it when you had her acting like that over a little touching. When you handed her back the cigarette, you could feel her fingers linger against your own.
”Yup.” She answered a little too quickly, and it only made you look more smug as she helped ease you off of her.
She gave your ass a small smack just as you crawled back over to the other side of the bench, opening the passenger door of the truck and hopping down.
Sevika watched you begin to trek up the hill, sliding her hand down her face and letting out a sigh so deep it nearly felt like a growl of frustration.
She glanced down at her cigarette, noting the soft pink sheen of your lipgloss where your mouth had been.
She smiled down at it, turning it in her hand to watch the sheen catch the light before placing it between her lips. She closed her eyes as she inhaled slow and deep just to feel the ghost of your touch.
She settled back against her seat once more, keeping her lips where they were even through her exhale as the radio music poured around her.
That you’re waitin’ from the back roads by the rivers of my memories…
First of all, I LOVE your writing, Jess! I check your blog every single morning before I go to college, and if you've posted something, I'm reading it while having breakfast. Honestly, whenever I have some free time, I'm going through your older works too, and yeah, before I go to sleep, I'm definitely reading as well. At this point, your blog is my comfort place.
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.
She wasn’t exactly the man your family dreamed of seeing on your arm.
You were the good-enough kid, the one who turned in her homework on time and never made waves, and she was… well, Sevika. A girl. Sharp edges, smoke in her lungs, prosthetic on, and fists she didn’t mind using.
But you chose her anyway. And she chose you.
As surprising as it was for everyone, even you both.
And somehow, that reckless, impossible thing you two had at seventeen turned into an apartment you could barely afford at eighteen, late-night takeout boxes stacked in the sink, and quiet mornings tangled in sheets when she kissed you like you were the only good thing she’d ever done.
Moving out together at the end of highschool was already surprising for both your families.
But they never excepted the wedding while still being in college.
Your families stopped betting on how fast it’d end and started realizing you weren’t going anywhere.
You wouldn’t break up so soon, even if they tried really hard.
Now you’re both older. Not old, not yet, but settled in a way that feels different. Happier. Softer.
Two women in love, a part of your teenage years still alive and burning, but now you’re two stable adults. And it’s everything.
You’ve built a life together that neither of you ever really thought possible, and lately… the conversation keeps circling back to the same thing.
A baby.
Not just in passing, not as a joke.
Real conversations, the kind where her big hand finds yours under the table and squeezes like she’s daring herself to believe it could actually happen. And the more you talk about it, the less it feels like a dream and more like the next step you’re both ready for.
It’s a Wednesday, which means, since you decided to try to have the same rest day on your work schedule, neither of you have to rush.
You’re still in that soft part of the morning where the blinds are cracked just enough to let in light, and Sevika’s arm is heavy over your stomach like she’s determined to keep you in bed forever.
Your phone buzzes once. Twice. You sigh and grope for it on the nightstand, squinting at the screen. Unknown number. It could be important.
You clear your throat, stand up from the bed, and answer with your most professional, polite voice.
“Hello… Hi, yes, this is her speaking—yes, I’m doing well, thank you. How are you ?”
Behind you, Sevika groans at the loss of warmth. You don’t think much of it until her footsteps drag toward you, her hair sticking up in about four different directions. Still half-asleep, she plants herself right behind you almost casually like she’s about to just walk by, and without warning—
Smack.
Her palm connects with your ass, loud and sharp.
You jump, eyes going wide, nearly dropping the phone. You whirl around, scandalized, mouthing in a silent scream: It’s the doctor!!
Sevika freezes mid-yawn, hand halfway to scratching her jaw. Her eyes go stupidly wide as she realizes exactly what she’s done.
She mouths back, oh shit, before throwing up her one good hand in the most awkward apology gesture you’ve ever seen.
You turn back toward the call, cheeks burning, forcing your voice into calm, steady politeness. “Yes, absolutely, I understand. Wednesday works perfectly. Thank you so much.”
Meanwhile, Sevika is behind you, mouthing every variation of sorry, sorry, sorry like it’ll undo the situation, while also clearly trying not to laugh at herself.
When you finally hang up, you don’t even get a chance to say anything before Sevika mutters, low and sheepish, “…in my defense, I didn’t know it was so important.”
You exhale slowly, and turn around to face her.
Your cheeks are still warm, but your eyes are more fond than anything, your exasperation ruined by the smile tugging at your mouth.
“Yeah, no shit,” you mutter, brushing past her on your way to the kitchen.
Sevika’s already wide awake now, trailing after you like a big shadow.
She catches your hips from behind the second she’s close enough, palms warm and heavy, following you like a kid refusing to get lost in a crowd. You roll your eyes but you don’t push her off.
The two of you settle at the kitchen table with a breakfast that’s too sweet for her and coffee that’s too bitter for you but that she can’t live without. You kick at her shin lightly under the table when she grimaces at your tea, and she drinks her own black coffee.
“So,” Sevika says after a beat, tearing into your half of the toast because she knows you’ll let her, “what’d the doc say?”
You stir your tea, pretending you’re not watching her, and answer casually, “First IVF appointment is next Wednesday.”
For a second, neither of you speak. The words hang there in the sunlit kitchen, heavier than you expected.
“No more lazy Wednesday mornings, I’m afraid,” you add, softening it with a crooked smile.
Sevika snorts, shaking her head. “Guess not.” Her hand slides across the table until her fingers hook around yours, rough and careful. She’s trying to play it cool, but you can feel the little tremor in her touch.
“It’s exciting,” you say, giving her hand a squeeze.
“Terrifying, too,” she admits, voice low.
“Yeah,” you agree. “Both.”
And then, like always, you sit there together in the quiet of your kitchen. Hands linked, plates half-empty, sunlight spilling across the table, ready or not, already in it together.
It’s nearly two in the morning when you wake to the glow of a screen.
You blink blearily, squinting at the sudden brightness flooding your half of the bed. Sevika’s sitting ramrod straight against the headboard, laptop balanced on her thighs, jaw tight in concentration.
It takes your sleepy brain a second to process what you’re looking at. Then you catch the words across the screen: Ovarian stimulation side effects. Reciprocal IVF success rates. Egg retrieval recovery timeline. Mom blogs.
“…you’re gonna burn your retinas,” you mumble, voice thick with sleep.
She doesn’t even look up. “Go back to sleep.”
You let out a groggy little laugh and push yourself upright just enough to lean against her side. “Babe… what are you doing, writing a thesis?”
Sevika keeps reading the medical article she has her eyes on. “Couldn’t sleep.”
You nestle closer, cheek pressed against her shoulder, squinting at the page she’s scrolling through. “Mmhm. Couldn’t sleep, or couldn’t stop trying to memorize the entire process?”
She huffs, defensive but not really, her hand instinctively settling on your thigh. “Just wanna know what we’re walking into. Make sure I’m ready.”
You’re too tired to do more than smile, soft and fond, because she’ll never admit out loud how much she cares, how much this scares her, how badly she wants it.
“Sevika,” you mumble, already drifting back toward sleep, “you don’t have to write a college research paper about it. We’ll figure it out together.”
There’s a pause. You feel her glance down at you, then the brush of her lips against your hairline.
“Go back to sleep,” she tries again in a murmur, voice gruff but gentle.
You hum in agreement this time, already half gone, but not before whispering, “Love you, nerd.”
Her quiet chuckle rumbles through her chest. And even as she shuts the laptop, setting it aside, you know she’ll be back at it tomorrow night. Because that’s just who she is.
Next Wednesday arrives way faster than you thought.
The waiting room smells faintly like disinfectant and coffee in cardboard cup. You and Sevika sit shoulder-to-shoulder in the corner chairs, hands clasped so tightly your knuckles are white.
It’s quiet except for the hum of the air conditioner and the occasional shuffle of papers at the front desk. A bit too quiet.
You clear your throat softly. “Maybe we should’ve… I don’t know. Started smaller. Got a dog first.”
Sevika actually snorts, but it’s thin, way too nervous. “Yeah. But… A dog and a kid? You realize if we get the dog first, it’s still gonna be there when the baby shows up, right? That’s like… double responsibility.”
You blink at her, mouth parting. “…Huh. Yeah. That’s true.” You lean back in your chair with a groan, trying not to laugh. “Okay, so maybe this is better. No dog.”
“Yeah,” she mutters, giving your hand a squeeze. Her leg bounces against the tile floor, betraying just how wound-up she is.
You grin, nerves fizzing in your chest, because even though your stomach’s been doing backflips all morning, she’s here. And she wants this just as much as you do.
“You know,” you whisper, nudging her with your shoulder, “for someone so stubborn, you’re agreeing with me an awful lot lately, I think.”
Her mouth quirks, just barely. “Don’t get used to it, just stressed out.”
Before you can respond, a nurse appears in the doorway, clipboard in hand. “Sevika and—?” She glances down at her notes. “You’re up.”
You and Sevika both jolt in your seats, wide-eyed, like kids getting called to the principal’s office.
“Oh shit,” Sevika mutters under her breath, standing and tugging you up with her.
“Yeah,” you whisper back, squeezing her hand tighter. “Oh shit.”
The exam room is colder than you expected, all stainless steel and sterile white walls. You’re in the paper gown, lying back as the nurse wheels over a tray of equipment that looks way too sci-fi for comfort.
You squint at it, then lean toward Sevika, who’s standing stiffly at your side, arms crossed tight over her chest. “I swear I’ve seen this scene in Alien, we already gave our eggs—” you whisper.
Her head snaps toward you, eyes wide, jaw tight with nerves. “Shut the fuck up,” she hisses, but there’s no real bite in it.
You grin, because you’ve hit your mark. She’s too serious, too tense, and you’d rather make her glare at you than watch her worry herself into knots.
The doctor glances between the two of you, chuckling as she adjusts the monitor. “Well,” she says mildly, “at least, you clearly love each other. That helps more than you think.”
Sevika goes red to the tips of her ears, muttering something under her breath that you’re pretty sure is supposed to be yeah, I do.
You reach for her hand, squeezing tight, and whisper, “Hey. We’re fine.”
She exhales, rough and shaky, but squeezes back like she’s holding onto the only thing keeping her grounded.
And as the doctor and nurse start talking through the next steps, you catch Sevika staring down at you with that look, the one that’s equal parts terrified and so full of love it makes your chest ache.
The doctor’s voice is calm, professional, explaining step by step what’s happening, but your brain only catches every third word. The rest is drowned out by the pounding of your heart and the cold shock of nerves running through your body.
Sevika’s next to you, holding your hand like it’s the only tether keeping her from flying apart. Her palm is damp, —sweaty, actually— and that alone nearly makes you laugh, because Sevika, of all people, is nervous enough to sweat.
And then you feel the pressure. It’s not sharp, not exactly painful, but deep and invasive in a way that makes your whole body tense. Your breath catches. And before you can stop yourself—
You snort. Loud. Ugly.
The kind of sound that echoes in the sterile, too-quiet room.
The doctor pauses just long enough to glance at you with a patient smile, biting back a laugh too. “Perfectly normal to feel some pressure.”
Your face goes red hot. You squeeze Sevika’s hand so tight it’s a wonder her bones don’t snap. “Sorry,” you blurt, voice wobbling. “It just—hurts a little. Couldn’t help it, sorry.”
Sevika leans down, her voice a low growl right by your ear. “Focus.” Her jaw is set, her eyes locked on you like she’s willing you to stay still.
But her hand is still sweaty, trembling faintly, betraying just how terrified she is.
You nod quickly, biting your lip, trying to stifle another laugh that wants to break free at the sheer absurdity of this moment: your wife glaring at you like you’re in trouble, the doctor calmly navigating between your knees, and your entire future dangling in the balance.
A few minutes later, the doctor finally straightens, pulling off her gloves with a snap. “And… there we go. Transfer’s complete.”
You slump back against the table with a shaky exhale, gripping Sevika’s hand like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.
Sevika’s eyes are glassy, her lips pressed thin, but she doesn’t let go. Not until the doctor leaves the room and you’re alone again.
The doctor’s words echo in both your heads as you leave the clinic: don’t be surprised if it takes months. Don’t be discouraged by a negative. It’s a process.
Then, and only then, does she bend down to press her forehead against yours, whispering, “Let’s go home.”
And you know that it means we did it, it’s okay, we’re strong.
You nod, smile politely to the doctor.
But Sevika? She barely hears any of it. She just walks next to you, bag slung over her good shoulder, the other hand hovering at your back like she needs to make sure you don’t disappear.
For days afterward, she’s quiet. Not cold, never cold with you, but quieter than usual.
She sits up later than you, her laptop open again, blue light painting her scar in harsh lines while she reads every medical forum she can find. She doesn’t tell you what she finds, not all of it. She doesn’t want to scare you with the numbers.
Because she is scared. Terrified, even.
She never thought she’d be here, wanting this so badly.
A kid. A family.
She thought her life would end in a cell, or a fight gone wrong, or drowning herself at the bottom of a bottle in some shitty street. Not this. Not with you. Not a home, a ring, and now, maybe, maybe, a baby.
Which is why the first test breaks her.
It’s late. The test is still on the bathroom counter, a stark single line staring back at both of you.
You lean into the doorframe, arms wrapped tight around yourself, and Sevika can’t move. Can’t look at you.
She just stands there, staring at that little piece of plastic like if she glares hard enough, the result might change.
You’re the one who moves first. Soft steps, gentle hands sliding around her waist. “Hey,” you whisper against her chest. “It’s okay. We knew this might happen.”
Her arms lock around you instantly, like she’s afraid you’ll slip away if she doesn’t hold tight enough. She buries her face in your hair and breathes you in, chest hitching once, sharp and shaky.
“I know, I just…” Her voice cracks, rough in a way you’ve only heard a handful of times. “I wanted it to work. I wanted it to be us. Now.”
You tip your head back, press your forehead against her jaw. “It still can be, just not today.”
She squeezes her eyes shut. She knows you’re right. She knows it’s a process, that there’s still hope.
But right now, all she can feel is the ache in her chest, the sharp sting of wanting something she’s not sure she deserves.
So she holds you, you hold her, both of you curled up together on the couch later, her prosthetic arm creaking as she pulls you even closer. And for the first time in years, Sevika feels something crack open inside her; terrifying, raw, but also so full of love it nearly undoes her.
The first month is nothing.
The second, nothing again.
Each time, you and Sevika hold each other through it, long nights on the couch, her big hand rubbing slow circles on your back, yours in her hair, your quiet whispers of we’ll get there, we’ll keep trying, we’re okay.
But it still cuts. Every single damn time.
By the third try, you almost don’t want to look. Almost. But hope is cruel like that. It doesn’t let go, even when you tell yourself not to expect too much.
So you take the test alone in the bathroom.
You sit on the closed lid of the toilet, staring at the stick on the counter, heart pounding so loud you swear Sevika will hear it from the other room.
You close your eyes. Just one minute. Just one.
When you open them, your breath catches in your throat.
Positive.
For a second, you can’t move.
Your chest caves in, your eyes sting, and then you’re on your feet, stumbling out of the bathroom with tears blurring your vision.
Sevika’s on the couch, hunched forward, chewing the inside of her cheek like she’s trying to hold herself together.
She looks up when you burst out, and before she can even ask, you crash into her, wrapping your arms around her neck so tight it nearly knocks the air out of her.
She freezes, panicked, because you’re shaking and crying and she doesn’t know why yet. “What—? Hey—what happened?”
You can only nod, clutching the test in your hand, burying your face into her shoulder.
Her voice drops to a rough whisper, like she’s scared to believe it. “Shut up. You’re kidding.”
You shake your head so hard your hair brushes her jaw, tears soaking into her shirt. You hold the test up between you, and her eyes lock on it.
Positive.
Sevika’s mouth falls open. She stares at the little plastic stick like it’s something holy, not real, something impossible.
Her throat works around words that won’t come, and then she’s wrapping both arms around you, crushing you to her chest, her voice breaking against your hair.
“Holy shit. It’s true. It’s—fuck—it’s real.”
You nod again, choking out a wet laugh against her shoulder. “Yeah. It’s real.”
And for the first time in years, maybe ever, Sevika lets herself cry.
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hello!! I love your work so much they are so good 🥹 I was wondering if u can do smthing similar to like sevika accidentally snapping at pregnant!reader? Just some angst and fluff 😭
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.
contains lazy morning sex, oral sex s!receiving, vaginal fingering s!receiving, sub sevika
—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
‧₊˚── 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
──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──
୨ৎ Sevika, who is normally very cognizant of your past, and very understanding of the sensitivity you possess because of it
୨ৎ She's no stranger to constant criticism, always being told she's falling short, never feeling like enough
୨ৎ And though her own experiences have made her your opposite-hardened and guarded-she understands that trauma is a weird thing; that it does something different to everyone
୨ৎ Well… she understands that most of the time
──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──
୨ৎ Sevika, who has a much harder time being understanding of your sensitivity when she comes home from a 10-hour shift running on three cups of coffee, a cigarette, and righteous anger
୨ৎ And frankly, she's not sure how much patience she has left for the fact that you've decided your job is to be right on her heels as she cooks dinner
୨ৎ She already had to come up with something different- and consequently, less convenient- to cook because you'd forgotten to leave the chicken out to thaw
୨ৎ But she takes a deep breath anyway; clenches her jaw as tight as she can because it’s all she can do to keep from snapping, and reminds herself that you don't mean to bother her, that you're just excited she's home, that you-
୨ৎ Oh. That you're covered in spaghetti sauce now, because you weren't watching where you were going and knocked the jar off of the kitchen counter
୨ৎ Her eyes are immediately skimming the floor for shards of shattered glass, and she grips the counter, hard, her patience about to shatter right along with the ruined jar
୨ৎ “Don’t move.”
୨ৎ Her voice is gruff in a way she normally reserves for everyone but you, and you notice
୨ৎ Of course you do; it’s how you’ve survived
୨ৎ Constantly surveying your surroundings for any disgruntled muttering, disapproving glares, chastising comments; anything that could mean you aren’t wanted
୨ৎ And in an effort to prove to Sevika as quickly as you can that you are worth keeping around, you take a step forward, stumbling over your words as you frantically apologize
୨ৎ And you're this close to stumbling over a piece of glass, now, too
୨ৎ That’s when the next shatter happens
୨ৎ Because you already couldn’t leave the chicken out to thaw, and now you can’t stay still, and it isn’t just about not having dinner anymore
୨ৎ It’s about keeping you safe
୨ৎ And right next to eating, drinking, and breathing, Sevika needs to be able to keep you safe
୨ৎ But she's not like you; she isn’t soft and sweet, couldn’t wear her heart on her sleeve if she tried
୨ৎ And sometimes she forgets that safety isn’t just physical; that words can hurt just as bad as stepping on a shard of glass
୨ৎ So she snaps; quick, sharp, cold
୨ৎ “Y/n..." she jeers; not "baby," not "doll;" Y/n
୨ৎ And that stops you dead in your tracks, your eyes widening and your heart racing
୨ৎ But you can’t help the over-explaining, the over-apologizing, the insistence that you swear you didn’t mean to you and that-
୨ৎ “Get out of the kitchen.”
୨ৎ And your heart is next in line to break, because she looks exasperated, and you never want to be the reason she feels that way
୨ৎ Your eyes water as you try once more to apologize, and she hates that she’s so tired, so hungry, so over it, that it only makes her more annoyed
୨ৎ “Stop-”
୨ৎ She hears just how angry she sounds, cuts herself with a sharp inhale before continuing
୨ৎ “Just… stop. Please, go sit down.”
୨ৎ She expects that you’ll just sit at the counter, or at the dining room table; somewhere still close by enough to watch her like a hawk
୨ৎ But as she’s wadding up paper towels to scoop up spaghetti sauce, she hears the bedroom door click shut, soft as ever, and her stomach drops
୨ৎ You sent yourself to your room, like you’re a kid all over again, only trying to do your best, but always falling short
୨ৎ And suddenly, she doesn’t care how tired she is, or hungry she is, or that there’s tomato sauce and glass shards all over the floor, because she never wants to be the reason you feel that way
──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──
୨ৎ Sevika, who can't stand to see the sight of tears trailing down your soft cheeks, nose running and chin wobbling as you pathetically wipe away sauce from your legs in the bathroom
୨ৎ But kneels down on the floor next to you anyway, and lets you know that she's sorry, that you didn't do anything wrong, that her bad mood isn't your fault
୨ৎ And with a gentle hand kneading at the plush of your thigh, she cuts you off with an even gentler voice every time you try to do anything but accept the apology
୨ৎ “I’m sorry, I shouldn't have been so close to you while you were-”
୨ৎ “No, baby. I like when you're close to me. I want you close.”
୨ৎ “Okay… I promise I meant to leave the chicken out, but I got so busy running errands and-”
୨ৎ “It was a mistake, baby. You don’t need an excuse for making a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes.”
୨ৎ “I know… but really, I don’t even know why I'm so upset; I know you were only trying to look out for me and-”
୨ৎ “And I shouldn't have to talked to you like that. Full stop. End of story.”
୨ৎ And when you finally stop making excuses for her, a small, proud smile breaks out on her face, and she apologizes again
୨ৎ “I’m sorry, doll. It was a long day, and I’m wound tight, and none of that has anything to do with you, yeah?”
୨ৎ You nod bashfully, and she stands, holding out her hand for you to join her
୨ৎ And Sevika may not be used to soft and sweet, but she wraps her around you and kisses you like you're marked “fragile” anyway
୨ৎ Because your warmth is a gift, enduring enough to melt her on her iciest days, and she'll be damned if she fucks up the best thing that's ever happened to her over frozen chicken and spilled spaghetti sauce
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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 :)
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!!
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any reblogs, likes, comments or just anything are so so so appreciated :)
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.”
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.”
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-‘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
♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎
Ellie kills the engine with a smooth flick of her wrist and the car settles into stillness along the edge of the track. “Too fast for you, baby?” she drawls, head tilting as she watches you pry your hand off the door handle like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.
You let out a breathy scoff, brushing wind-tangled hair from your face.
“No, totally fine—I love fearing for my life in a race car,” you mutter, your heart still beating out a frantic rhythm in your chest, like it’s trying to break free.
Ellie just laughs, low and amused, unbuckling her seatbelt with that same lazy confidence that somehow makes your pulse spike again.
“Sure, sure.” Her hand drifts over, tapping your thigh with featherlight ease. Her gaze is already half-lidded, pupils blown just enough to make your stomach flip. “We’ve got the tracks to ourselves tonight.”
You blink at her, already knowing exactly where this is heading. Your fingers move on instinct, freeing yourself from your seatbelt as well.
That’s when Ellie gives you that smile—slow, sinful, and full of promises that have nothing to do with racing.
“Get in the back, baby.”
You comply, of course - especially when she looks at you like this, like you’re appetizer, main course and desert all in one. She slinks after you, her limbs move fluid and gentle as she settles over you. Her hips settle on yours, heavy and warm.
Your arms snake around her neck as she captures your mouth with hers. Tongues tangle and before you can even think of touching her further - her hip grinds down on yours.
The friction is delicious and tortuous. You moan into her mouth and she swallows it with one of her own. “That’s it - feels good, doesn’t it?” She mumbles against your mouth as she picks up her pace just a tad, just enough to tease.
“I’m..I’m gonna come in my panties if you keep this up.” You retort, a weak attempt at talking back but your head’s already leaned back, another moan escapes you without your permission.
“That’s the plan, sweetheart.” Ellie murmurs and ruts against you with intent and unmistakable precision.
The white hot pleasure coils in your belly, ever familiar and you can’t help but claw at her shoulders as the pressure builds.
"Ellie..I’m gonna!” You gasp softly, legs winding around her hips in an attempt to anchor yourself somewhat. Ellie keeps grinding down on you, knowing exactly how to treat her girl.
“Come for me, sweet girl - come with me.” She pants against your neck.
That does it, literally.
Your body tenses and your back arches a fraction, enough to push Ellie over the edge with you. The pleasure flicks through your veins like a lightening bolt, white, hot and overwhelming.
Ellie grunts against your neck as her own high unleashes. She presses another sloppy kiss to the underside of your jaw as if to signal her satisfaction.
“That’s one way to christen my new car.”
ೃ⁀➷ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 (if you wish to be tagged in the smut-special series, pls comment below this post)
Summary: Nursing her after she got hurt in a fight.
Warnings: A bit of angst, some fluff and well… some light sprinkle of smut (Maybe bad writing and grammar lol. English isn’t my first language!)
Song: Hurricane by Halsey
A/n: first time writing smut kinda nervous
Vi sat on the edge of the bed, wincing as you pressed the warm towel mixed with cleaning alcohol on the wounds that adorned her face.
She had gotten into another fight with some dude that pissed her off, resulting in you cleaning and bandaging her wounds.
“I’m fine, Doll face. I’ve been in far worse, Ya’ know. I'm used to it.” She mumbled, Looking at you for a split second, setting her bloody hand on your knee.
“You are still hurt vi” you say not looking at her in the eyes.
Vi looked up at you, the corners of her lips turning into a soft smile. This side of Vi only you got to catch a glimpse of, the soft side of her.
She didn’t like worrying you, But she wasn’t going to lie. She was still in pain.
“ I know.. I’m fine. Don’t worry, sweetheart.“ She replied, as her hand slightly squeezed your knee.
As you look up at her you can’t help but think how beautiful she looks even when she is beaten up.
“You are so stupid.” You say with a sad frown and look away.
Vi’s hand gently tilted your chin, guiding your gaze to meet hers. Her eyes were filled with concern and regret. But she couldn’t deny the fact that she didn’t want you to be worried about her.
“Don’t give me that look. I’m fine, Doll.“ She spoke quietly, her thumb subconsciously rubbing against your chin.
“You could’ve gotten seriously hurt. Those dudes are not fucking around”
Vi let out a soft huff, her gaze softened as she looked into your eyes. She slowly shook her head, knowing you were most likely right.
”I’m built like a damn tank, sweetheart. Like hell I’d get that hurt from a little fight with those idiots.“She tried to reassure you, squeezing your knee again. Trying to pull a smirk on her face.
“I’m not laughing vi.” You say looking at her with a very serious expression.
Vi’s face fell, the forced smirk immediately wiped off of her face. She took a deep breath as she looked into your eyes once more.
“I know you aren’t, Doll.“ She said quietly, Her hand dropping down from your chin. Her gaze fell, looking at the blood on her knuckles.
“I was so worried-“
Vi’s heart ached as she heard the worry tone in your voice, and the words you whispered.
She reached out and gently took your hand into hers, intertwining them together.
“I’m here.“ She spoke softly, her thumb gently tracing against the back of your hand.
“Now. What about the next time you throw yourself into trouble? Hm? What then?“
Vi let out a soft sigh in response, her ears practically drooping at your stern question.
She didn’t have an answer. She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t just stop fighting crime. It’s who she was. But at the same time, she didn’t want you to worry.
”… I-i.. I don’t know…“She mumbled quietly in response, her eyes darting away from yours.
You hated that answer but you knew she couldn’t stop, she couldn’t change this. This was her life. This is was her way of surviving but it still made you worry.
Vi’s face fell even more, feeling the disappointment and anger within you. She hated her response too.
But she didn’t know what to say, because she couldn’t promise you that she would be fine the next time.
She slowly let go of your hand, crossing her arms over her chest, avoiding looking at you.
“Stop that” you pull her hands away from her chest. “you don’t get to act like that”
Vi’s face was flushed with guilt, her eyes refusing to meet yours. She hated this. She hated making you worry like this. But she couldn’t help but feel guilty and ashamed for being unable to give you the answer you wanted.
”Doll- I, I promise…“She began to speak, but the words she tried to say got stuck in her throat.
You stop her mumbling by hugging her.
Vi’s heart skipped a beat as you pulled her into a hug, her eyes falling closed instinctively. At that moment, the guilt and shame she felt vanished, replaced by a sense of relief and comfort.
Her arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer to her as she buried her face in the crook of your neck.
“… I’m sorry, Doll...“
She mumbled softly, her voice slightly muffled against your skin.
“It’s okay. I get it. I’m just worried vi.”
Vi held you tightly against her, tightening her grip around you. She could hear the worry and fear in your voice, and it broke her heart.
She gently pressed her lips against your neck, her warm breath brushing against your skin as she spoke once more.
”I know.. I know.” Her grip on you tightened even more, as if she was afraid of letting you go, afraid of letting you out of her sight for a single moment.
”I’m sorry.. I’m sorry I made you worried..“
You look up at her. Vi slowly pulled back enough so she could look at you. Her eyes were filled with a mixture of guilt and softness, her expression filled with regret.
She gently cupped your cheek with her bruised hand, her fingers gently tracing against your skin.
”I didn’t mean to worry you.“ She spoke softly, her voice slightly cracking. She hated making you worried about her like this.
You kiss her “it’s okay”
Vi was caught by surprise at the sudden kiss, but melted into it immediately, pulling you closer to her. Her arms wrapped around your waist as she returned your kiss, the warmth and softness of your lips against hers sending waves of comfort throughout her body.
She gently pushed you back, laying you down on the bed, as she hovered over you, her fingers tracing against your cheek.
” I.. I’ll be more careful, okay?..“
You smile “Why can’t I stay mad at you?”
Vi chuckled softly, a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
”’cause you love me, That's why.“ She teased, moving to gently press kisses against your neck and jawline.
“I don’t” You stick your tongue out at her
Vi chuckled against your neck, her warm breath brushing against your skin.
”Oh yeah?“ She replied, moving to plant more kisses against your collarbone, her hands slowly snaking down your sides.
You let out a shaky breath at the contact.
Vi’s smile only grew wider upon hearing your moan, taking that as a cue to continue.
Her lips began to trail along your jawline, then slowly down to your collarbone, peppering your skin with soft kisses and gentle nips. Her hands slowly traveled down your sides, gently massaging the sides of your hips.
“You are still hurt-“
Vi pulled away from your neck, slightly panting, then let out a soft huff.
”I’m fine.“ She grumbled, then began to press more kisses and nips against your skin.
”I’d rather focus on you right now.“
Vi’s hands slowly began to push your shirt up, revealing more of your skin to her. Her lips and teeth gently ran along the newly exposed skin, leaving a trail of kisses and soft nips.
”You’re so damn beautiful..“ She mumbled against your skin.
Her words make you blush and smile softly. Vi chuckled against your skin, enjoying the way you reacted. She loved seeing the way your skin reddened at her compliments, it always amused her, and made her want to tease you even more.
Her lips continued to trail down your skin, her hands gently pulling your shirt up even more, revealing more of your torso to her. Her lips gently nipped and kissed at the exposed skin, slowly making their way down to your stomach.
Your eyes widen and your hands go to her hair. Vi’s breath hitched slightly as your hands tangled in her hair, her movements slightly stuttering for a moment.
She leaned into your touch, letting out a soft, content sigh. She loved the way your hands felt laced in her hair, it gave her a sense of comfort and belonging.
Her lips continued to trail lower, slowly making their way to your hips, leaving behind a trail of soft kisses and nips as they went.
“Please please vi”
Vi chuckled slightly, a soft smirk tugged at her lips as she heard the pleading tone in your voice. She loved teasing you, but she couldn’t deny that she loved hearing you beg like that.
Her lips gently nipped and kissed along the skin on your hip, her hands slowly pushed your shirt up even higher.
”You want something, Doll?” She teased, her voice low and slightly sultry.
“You” Vi’s smirk only widened at your simple response, her eyes darkening with desire.
”You want me? You already have me, sweetcheeks.“ She teased, leaning down to press a kiss against the exposed skin on your stomach. Her hands slowly slid up your sides, gently caressing your skin.
“Please vi“ Vi chuckled again, enjoying the way you were practically begging for her.
She moved to hover over you, her gaze darkened with desire, almost feral. She slowly leaned down, her lips a mere millimeter from your ear.
”Beg for it.“ She whispered lowly, her voice thick with hunger.
“W-what?”
Vi chuckled softly, enjoying how innocent your reaction was. She gently buried her face in the crook of your neck, nipping and kissing at the skin there.
"You heard me, sweetcheeks. Beg.“ She repeated lowly, her hands slowly tracing down your sides again.
a moan slipped out of your mouth
Vi smirked against your skin, her breath gently brushing against your ear.
”Come on, Doll. You can do better than that. Beg for me.” Her hands slightly squeezed your hips, pressing you against the mattress, as she continued to press kisses against your neck.
“No” Vi let out a huff of amusement, amused at your stubborn behavior.
She pulled away from your neck, looking down at you with a smirk on her face. Her hands moved to gently hold your wrists, pinning them down against the bedding, as she hovered over you.
”You're cute, Doll. But ‘please’ isn’t enough.“ She teased, pressing her knee in between your legs, gently spreading them apart.
“Fuck vi-“
Vi chuckled, loving your reaction as her knee pressed closer between your legs.
"That's better. Much better." She spoke, her voice dropping, growing slightly huskier.
"Now. Beg me to take you."
you pull her hair slightly “vi please” Vi closed her eyes, a soft groan escaping her lips as you tugged on her hair, the slight pain only adding to the pleasure.
"Mmm, that's better. But I still don't hear any real begging, sweetcheeks." She spoke, holding your wrists down onto the mattress more, as she slowly leaned down, her lips hovering near your ear again.
“I’m not begging. Your ego is already high enough”
Vi raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk playing at her lips.
"Is that a challenge, love?" She spoke lowly before leaning down, nipping at your earlobe while her free hand moved back to your hip, gently squeezing it.
"I bet I can make you beg."
“You can’t”
Vi’s smirk grew into a wicked grin at your words.
"Oh really?" She spoke, her grip on your wrists tightening slightly, as she hovered over you
"You’re gonna swallow those words, darling." She chuckled, her knee slowly pushed closer between your legs, slightly rubbing up against you.
Vi chuckled again, enjoying the moans and reactions that escaped your lips.
Her knee pressed closer between your legs, pushing against you, as she leaned her head down next to your ear, her breath gently brushing against your skin.
"See, Doll. I'm already making you moan and whine. It won't be long until you start begging for me to take you, right here, right now."
Your hand pulling more of her hair
This time, a much louder moan left her lips as you pulled at her hair, the sensation sending a shiver through her entire body.
"M-mhh.. careful, darling. You know I'm sensitive." She managed to grumble out, her knee against you, causing a small stutter within her sentence, as she tried to keep her composure.
Her hand still held your wrists down against the bedding, her eyes darkened further with need.
"But I suppose you're right. I've already made a mess of you. Look at how whiny and desperate you are, and I've barely even touched you." She spoke softly, her voice filled with pleasure, her knee slowly rubbing against you again.
a whine escapes your mouth
Vi chuckled in response, clearly loving the way you were whining and moaning.
"See? You're already such a mess, and all I’ve done is tease you a bit. Imagine how you'll be when I actually touch you.." She spoke lowly, her breath gently brushing against your neck. Her knee continued to press and rub against you, her hold on your wrists tightening slightly.
“Touch me now vi or I swear-“ Vi’s breath hitched as your words sunk in, and she let out a soft chuckle, her eyes darkening further with need.
"Feisty. But I can't just give you what you want, can I? That would be too easy. I love seeing you squirm, I love seeing you fall apart just from my touch alone" She spoke lowly, her knee slowly pressed more into you, as she leaned down, her lips gently pressed against your ear.
“Fuck this. Please vi-“
"Mmm, you're so desperate to feel me touch you, aren’t you? I can see it in your face, I can hear it in those cute little whines that come from your mouth. And I love it." She spoke softly, her knee still pressed between your legs, her breath gently brushing against your neck.
"But I'm going to make you wait a bit longer, darling. You’re such a mess already, I want to see how far I can push you before you finally beg me to touch you."