r

ru 18+ she/her asian ⚢

✁ ✁

masterlist, feel free to request something, not proofread, if notice any mistakes lmk

✁ ✁

men/mysogynistic/homophobic/racist — dni

classmate!sevika x reader

headcanons, modern au, reader loves movies and gillian anderson

classmate!sevika who didn’t talk to anyone unless teamwork required. she came to class, sat on her usual seat in the middle, listened to the teacher, did her assignments and left. you barely noticed her and she barely noticed you. the day you two first talked wasn’t out of ordinary. ms anne — your english teacher — made you all write some kind of letter, your especially annoying classmates were being themselves by never shutting their mouths, talking to each other as well as ms anne. you’ve learned to stop paying attention, and there is something peaceful about this hustle and bustle thing that goes on every time. no one cares what you’re doing, no one cares what anyone’s doing. not so good for ms anne, but perfectly fine for you. you were humming to some song without realising you were doing it, and when you did, you looked around just to see that it’s sevika, the girl sitting in front of you. she was wearing headphones and apparently listening ac/dc almost on a full volume. you had to tap her shoulder few times to get her to look back, “what?” she raised an eyebrow, maybe annoyed because you disrupted her flow state, “i love ac/dc!” you say and she glances down at the headphones on her shoulders, noticing how loud the music was playing, “right. me too,” sevika mutters, “we’re like in that 500 days of summer scene,” you smile slightly, “what days?” she looks at you, genuinely confused and curious and you almost burst out laughing, “it’s a movie.”

classmate!sevika whom you say hi to next day in class and she replies with: "i watched the movie," to which you nod, "that's great!" and then add, "what movie, though?" maybe that's a sign of an early on-set dementia. or merely the consequences of your sleep deprivation, "the one you told me about yesterday. about the summer girl," sevika explains and you make that aaaa sound people make every time they're reminded of something like it's a 'eureka' moment. you ask if she enjoyed it, for some reason sensing that you already know the answer to this question, "it's fine i guess. the boy is too dramatic," and you shrug at that, "at least summer was pretty," sevika gives you a look. before you can ask what it meant you hear the bell ring.

classmate!sevika who gets quizzed on movies throughout all next lessons. tired, annoyed and given up because of all your "you did watch barbie and openheimer that summer, right?" and "come on, 'eyes wide shut' is a classic!' she says that she doesn't watch a lot of movies - which you already knew - and that lord of the rings is quite enough, turning away.

classmate!sevika who kept replying to your notes which you kept throwing at her despite you thinking she won't ever talk to your movie obsessed ass again. although one time sevika snapped and yelled: "i'm right in front of you! just talk!" you told ms anne it really was your fault in order to avoid sevika getting a detention. in the end, you both were sorting some ancient documents after school.

classmate!sevika who was staring into the void after you read your poem to the class up to the point that she did not even hear being called next and you almost had to physically shake her up. you told her you loved her poem afterwards, to which she said, "shut up," and left you confused. it was actually good.

classmate!sevika who remembered your birthday and put a cupcake at your desk before you even came in. she grinned at your stunned expression. you mentioned your birthday very briefly and the fact that she remembered it is amazing. however, your stunned expression had to do with the cupcake. you love cupcakes - that you never told her - and you've been craving them all day, which is why you called her your saviour when you hugged her. she didn't get the nickname, but was okay with it since it sounded positive.

classmate!sevika with whom you have a heated discussion one day in class, leaving both your classmates and ms anne in disbelief because you two have never really been up to arguing on topics until that moment.

classmate!sevika who wakes you up in the end of the class because you fell asleep and ms anne decided she'll let you have it. you hear her voice calling your name and sit up straight when you remembered you were in school. she laughs at your serious expression, "the class is over, genius. did you sleep at all last night?" sevika tilts her head. since you're not ready to have a conversation just yet, you look around for your things just to see that she's holding your packed backpack.

classmate!sevika who starts approaching you in the halls so sometimes you walk together, talking shit about your teachers and just complaining. when you rumble about some actress, sevika interrupts you, "is this woman some kind of idol of yours or are you just a lesbian?" startling you with that, "why? you will beat me up after school?" you joke, but it's still better to be cautious, "what? no. i just thought this better be a crush than some sick obsession, because it's starting to sound like one," sevika sounds actually concerned and you'd send crying faces at this if it wasn't a real-life interaction, "both are correct. i am a sick lesbian obsessed with gillian anderson," she rolls her eyes, "aren't you too?" you ask. sevika raises her eyebrows, "why'd you think that?" and when you look her up and down, she rolls her eyes, "now that's just a stereo-" you stop her: "no, i was just hoping you were! i swear!"

classmate!sevika who has a car and you see her driving in one morning, "nice car," you whistle, "i bet girls are lo-o-oving it," it was only teasing, but suddenly sevika looks like she's contemplating about something very serious. or is she offended? sevika might get grumpy, but this looks like whole another level, "sevika?" you try to fix the situation, "i was joking. you okay?" and she nods, finally opening her mouth, "i was just.. do you want to hang out with me? like- like a date?"

wife!sevika x reader

fluff, very short one shot, they have a daughter named lily, happy late christmas

“you think she’ll like it?” sevika looks up at you, while wrapping up your daughter’s gift in a box with a pretty bow.

you find it incredibly endearing and hilarious how every year you two — the considerate parents you are — get exactly what your kid wants for christmas (and sometimes more) and yet she manages to get nervous about it, of all things. sevika also packs it herself because you, apparently, don’t even know how to properly hold scissors in your hands. 

“well, we didn’t get her a big, white real horse as she asked santa, but, you know.. hopefully she will,” you tease, lips involuntarily curling into a bright smile.

“and who encouraged her to ask for a real horse?” sevika rolls her eyes.

it’s not your fault that lily — your daughter — found a picture of a little you riding a white horse, is it? you might have said that you and sevika can’t get her a horse, although santa might. but you regretted it the moment after when you realised that you are the santa!

“technically—“ interrupted by a high pitched scream you’d recognise anywhere, you forgot what you were going to say.

both you and sevika almost jumped, heads turning to your daughter, looking like she’s seen something much terrible than a ghost.

“what happened? are you hurt?” you frown, searching for any kind of visible injuries on her body.

“no, mom! stop! you two have been lying to me!” lily says, looking like she’s on the verge of having a full blown meltdown. which you totally believe.

“lying? about what?” sevika, confused as ever, glances at you, her hands still covered in glitter.

that’s when you realise it. but it’s not too late to fix the situation. you just have to handle it delicately. 

“darling, i understand what it looks like, but you need to listen..”

“how can i know you’re not lying?” lily pouts.

“can anybody tell me what’s happening?”

your look is enough to fill sevika in. and she doesn’t hesitate:

“lily, do you know how many children there are in the whole world?”

your daughter actually starts counting. on her little fingers.

“a lot,” sevika continues, “santa can’t handle them all, which is why he asks some special parents to wrap the gifts for him, so kids won’t be sad that their gifts came without pretty wrapping.” 

you smile at her last words. 

“so… santa is real?” lily concludes. hopefully, she’s only five, so it’s not that hard to convince her that a magical grandpa who has a big white beard and gives gifts and eats cookies is real. 

“of course, baby. we would never lie to you.”

“are you sure?”

“yes, we’re sure. by the way, aren’t you supposed to be in bed?” you tilt her head.

“i was just.. thirsty! can i open the gifts now?”

“no. let’s get you to bed.”

if you’re reading this, please indulge my curiosity and respond to the following question: is there any other character (female, obviously) you’re interested in me writing for? not necessarily from arcane! it’s not like i’m super active and don’t have any ideas left for sevika (that’s never going to happen also i still haven’t answered all of the reqs 😔) i’m just wondering…

actors au! sevika x reader

a bit angsty, actress!sevika, actress!reader, conversations, cunnilingus (r!receiving)

“sevika?” you try to feign surprise, eyebrows going up — but you fail. you look down.

sevika is standing in the doorway of your house, leather jacket over her fitted t-shirt, a huge bouquet in her hand and an expression on her face you’re seeing for the first time. is it guilt? you hope it is. 

“i’m sorry,” the words don’t come easy to her. you can see she probably repeated them more than enough in her head, but all that came out is i’m sorry. 

you turn around, letting her in. 

“what are you sorry for?” you ask carelessly. you’re not easy. 

sevika and you met on set, like most of couples in hollywood. although you didn’t have much scenes with her and your characters certainly weren’t in love, sevika herself was like a magnet for you from day 1. sure, you’ve seen her before — very briefly — or watched her on the big screen, but it isn’t the same. you didn’t think sevika’d reciprocate until one day she offered you a ride home after some cast get together and ended up pulling over just for you to climb her lap.

“for what i said in that interview—“ sevika continues, like a child confessing they broke the lamp. 

“put them in that vase,” you interrupt her, who’s still holding the flowers you didn’t take. lilies. your favourite, “and remind me, what did you say in that interview?”

“excuse me for this question, sevika, but i just have to ask!” the interviewer smiled, mischievous, “is it true that there might have been.. a romance on set between you and certain someone?”

“a romance?” sevika chuckled second later, “if only the one i’m unaware of.” 

“oh! so the rumours have been proved false, y’all.”

“i guess they have.”

“although it’s not like any of you had a chance anyway.”

you’re not mad just because she lied to some interviewer — been there, done that — you’re mad because you both agreed not to hide this relationship. you discussed it more than once. however ludicrous it may sound, being able to just not care what someone will think is a privilege that holds great value to you and you thought it does for sevika too. she said it does. apparently not enough to say «yes, it’s true». 

“or don’t. doesn’t matter,” you shrug, leaning against the kitchen counter as you watch her carefully put the flowers in the vase. 

“it does,” sevika protests quietly, her voice considerably lower than usually in some unknown to you gentle way. “it does,” she repeats. 

it takes everything in you to ignore the puppy eyes she denies she has. you’re not god’s strongest soldier, but you try. 

“i said that i want everyone to know that you’re mine. that we are together. and it’s true,” sevika sounds reassuring, but it doesn’t calm you as always this time, “what’s also true is that i don’t love all that celebrity bullshit. people get crazy over the smallest things, i’m not the one to tell you. it’s just—“ she sighs loudly, “i should’ve said that you’re the love of my life, but you’re also the only precious thing in my life that’s all mine. you know. you’re all mine. i don’t want anyone to spoil it. it’s stupid.”

you crack a smile. the softest smile you’ve ever given to someone. you’re weak and you’re in love.

“i guess my thing is kind of stupid too. it’s not like i want to shout about us being a thing and all, but i also really do. i just want to be careless and happy with you.” 

“aren’t we?” sevika takes a step.

“alright, alright,” this time you let yourself laugh.

her big, warm hands land on your waist, “do you want me to make it up to you?” 

“and how are you going to do that, hm-m?” 

sevika kneeling in front of you, her head between your legs, was your answer. you’re not sure when exactly she pulled your trousers down, but your underwear followed them immediately. 

kiss on your inner thigh made you let out a small gasp, goosebumps running down your spine. but that’s not exactly what you’re looking for, she knows it and she keeps teasing you.

“sevika,” you warn her, impatient, as your hands tangle in her hair.

“you’re—“ she was going to say something mean, you’re sure, but you decided to interrupt her by pressing her face harder against you.

this time, sevika listened. she finally wrapped her lips around your clit, gently sucking it. your head tilted backwards, eyes closing from the pleasure.

sevika may not be that good with her words, but she sure is good with her mouth.

“just don’t stop,” you gasp hoarsely, being able to focus on one thing — her, moving between your legs. she adds her tongue and your gasp turns into a prolonged groan as sevika's tongue swirls around your sensitive clit. your fingers tighten in her hair, unconsciously pushing her closer.

sevika's hands grip your thighs, her nails digging into your soft skin as she holds you in place, preventing you from bucking against the intense sensations.

"oh god, vika,” you whimper, your voice barely above a whisper, as your head thrashes from side to side. the pleasure is almost too much to bear, your body trembling on the precipice of something monumental. 

sevika, it seems, isn’t in the mood for talking right now. the only thing she’s worried about right now is getting you your sweet, nice climax. and when you do come, screaming her name, sevika looks up at you — smug and proud:

“should i take a picture of you and post it, so everybody finally knows?”

“sevika.”

wife!sevika x reader

modern au, fluff. reader is me trying to write something in panic

it’s october 30th. a thursday, grey sky, coffee’s lukewarm. you’re sitting at the kitchen table scrolling through your calendar, brain halfway between work deadlines and the grocery list when the notification hits you: 

halloween tomorrow.

you mutter before you realise it, “oh, fuck me.”

from the other room, sevika looks up, one brow raised, mug in hand, “what’s wrong?”

“it’s halloween tomorrow.”

she sips her coffee, raising her eyebrow, as if waiting for a punchline, “..and?”

“and? sev, look around!” you point dramatically at the completely un-decorated living room, “every damn house on this street looks like a pumpkin factory exploded, and we’ve got— what, one scented candle shaped like a bat? we’re a family, for god’s sake!”

sevika leans back against the counter, “i just thought you didn’t want to decorate this year since you didn’t yell halloween the morning of the october first. forgot again?”

you glare at her, but it’s useless — she’s right. so you slam your laptop shut and stand. very determined, “that’s it. we’re going shopping.”

sevika? not so much, “we both have work.”

“not today. tell silco it’s a matter of life and death. or don’t, i’ll do it myself.”

that finally gets a snort out of her. “and what’s the emergency? no plastic skeletons left in zaun?”

“you joke,” you say, grabbing your jacket, “but you’ll thank me when our daughter doesn’t grow up thinking her moms are boring.”

a moment ago, sevika was peacefully having a breakfast, thinking that she can leave work earlier today. now you’re both halfway out the door, and she knows she’s not returning home before six. you stop in your tracks to realize, “did we forget something? wait, the kid!” the kid you’re supposed to drive to school. both of you freeze. the hallway goes silent. then you hear tiny footsteps from upstairs.

“you were about to leave me,” your daughter says flatly, holding her backpack.

“no-o-o, we would neve-er,” you draw out, already kneeling to tie her shoes. “we were just making sure the car’s warm.”

“uh-huh,” she says, unimpressed. “anyway, good luck with your spooky stuff. i have school. if you still remember.”

and where does she get that attitude from? you think, as if you’re and sevika didn’t just roll your eyes at the same time.

aisles full of fake cobwebs and cheap fog machines. you insist on comparing pumpkin sizes for twenty minutes. sevika insists on not spending forty minutes debating the merits of orange vs. red fairy lights.

“you’re taking this too seriously,” she mutters, arms crossed.

“oh, i’m sorry, i thought you wanted a childhood full of memories!” the fact that your daughter probably won’t even remember this halloween when she’s 15 you decide to ignore, because, well, you have to live in the present.

“i wanted lunch.”

you push the cart toward the next aisle. “we’ll eat when we’ve found the perfect witch hat.”

by 2pm, the trunk of the car looks like halloween itself threw up in there. plastic tombstones, fake spiders, too many bags of candy. sevika looks tired. like truly, existentially tired. still, when you spot a big inflatable ghost display and gasp, she follows you without complaining. naturally.

“we’re not buying that,” sevika says quickly before you manage to say anything.

“we’re absolutely buying that.”

“we don’t even have lawn space for it.”

“we’ll make lawn space.”

at 4pm, you finally agree to eat. drive-thru. greasy bags, tired smiles, soda condensation dripping down plastic cups. you pass fries back to your daughter, who’s humming happily in the backseat after you picked her up from school.

“you know,” sevika says around a bite of burger, “this is harder than work.”

“and i’m the drama queen?” you look at her, sceptical. 

“girls, stop arguing,” your daughter grins, you two stare at her, trying to look stern only to laugh after.

by the time you pull into the driveway, the sun’s already melting into orange. the car is stuffed with decorations, your daughter is chattering about costume ideas, and sevika… looks like she could fall asleep in the garage.

“we’re home,” she groans.

“yep,” you chirp, climbing out.

she starts unloading the bags, sluggishly, like a war veteran revisiting the battlefield, “you realize i’ve been lifting boxes all day, right?”

“mhmm.”

“and i’m gonna sleep for twelve hours after this.”

“nope.”

sevika looks up. “nope?” like she’s giving you a chance to change your mind.

“nope,” you repeat sweetly, hands on hips. “because now we decorate.”

“you’re joking.”

from behind you, your daughter pipes up: “no she’s not! let’s do it now!”

and that’s how sevika ends up standing in the front yard at 8pm, holding tangled fairy lights, while you and your daughter debate where to hang the plastic bats.

later, when you finally crash onto the couch with her, surrounded by pumpkins and candy wrappers, she just pulls you close and says, quiet, “next year, we start in september.”

Your writing really conveys the banter and playful tension between them and I looooved how reader was still joking when they are half dead:> Also I feel like Sevika was in a crisis about her feelings but her nurse was dying so she couldn't care about that right now:]

Sorry about the long ask. I know everyone is crazy busy right now, I can't wait for things to slow down so I can see more of your writing <3

TRADE OFF

sevika x healer!reader

two months later and i’m just answering this, i really hope you’re still here and that you’ll like it, fluff, also i might be already bald

you steady yourself on the edge of the treatment table, kit clinking against your hip like a familiar, comforting curse. sevika is a silhouette against the dim light — broad shoulders, the crooked line of her jaw, that permanent scowl she wears like armor. you’ve watched her step into worse things than this room and come out swinging. you’ve also been the one to stitch her back together afterward, again and again, until your hands memorize the map of her skin: where the scars settle, where the bruises bloom fastest, the tiny nick on her knuckle that never quite fades.

“scary lady strikes again, huh?”

you hear an annoyed huff that became so familiar you’re sure you’d recognise it any time of day or night. would be hard not to. it’s sevika’s reaction to practically everything you say or do. among other things, like rolling her eyes or threatening to smash you against the nearest wall. this is the gratitude you get after dealing with her after her every fight or a so-called task from silco. 

you used to think she genuinely hated you — the sharp tone, the way she’d yank her arm back when you tried to clean a cut, the low “don’t touch me” that came out more like a warning than a request. but somewhere between the hundredth bandage and the third “you’re bleeding again, genius,” you believe she accepted that you’re not going anywhere and stopped being incredibly insufferable.

annoying remarks, unfortunately, weren’t the only thing you had to deal with the first several years when it came to sevika. it’s your literal job to treat her and she still denied you that.

you’d been on the patch bay rounds, fiddling with a roll of tape, when sevika tried to slip past with a limp and a face that said she didn’t need help. “where do you think you’re going?” you’d asked, frowning.

“get the hell out of my way,” she’d barked, eyes fixed elsewhere. but there had been something at the edge of her voice — a tiredness, maybe, or a calculation that said you were a distraction she couldn’t afford. you hadn’t moved. you rarely did, really.

eventually, of course, sevika listened. now she chooses to come to you. you scrub at her cuts with iodine and she grumbles just for the sake of it. you catalogue everything you know about her again: the smell of smoke and oil, the way her hand twitches when she’s trying not to laugh, how she tucks stray hair behind her ear because it annoys her.

she watches your movements with the clinical interest of someone who knows precise damage and how to inflict it, and you imagine her thinking you’re being uselessly tender. maybe you are.

when you press the last little strip of tape down, sevika limps to the supplies and snatches a clean shirt, tucking it around her waist. the movement is clumsy; she’s trying too hard to be unbothered. you notice the way her jaw sets, how she breathes through her nose, the small tremor that betrays the steadiness she’s trying to manufacture.

“seriously,” you say, a little bit annoyed, “you could—” you gesture vaguely at a chair. “sit. rest. for five minutes. i’ll make tea.”

she glares. a dramatic, performance-grade glare that you’ve been on the receiving end of it for years. she looks at you like you’ve suggested something absurd, like the idea of rest is offensive to her very being. then her shoulders sag, a fraction. “i don’t want tea,” she says, voice flat.

“five minutes,” you say, firm. “no arguments.”

she opens her mouth — to argue, to threaten, to accuse — and then closes it. maybe she’s thinking of the last time she pushed past you and almost didn’t come back. or maybe, for once, she’s thinking of nothing and letting the absence of thought be enough.

“fine,” she grunts, each syllable a reluctant surrender. she limps to the chair, flops down like she’s getting comfortable in war, and for a breath you see her looking small. just for a breath. you don’t say it aloud — that would be a vulnerability she’d weaponize — but you note it. you note it because those small, impossible details are how you keep her safe.

you tidy away the bits of gauze, the antiseptic tin, the small ritual of cleanup comforting in its repetitiveness. as you make the tea, you let yourself indulge in an absolutely silly thought that came out of nowhere: what would happen if the roles were reversed one day? if she had to be the one treating your injuries? chances for something like that to happen are close to zero and even if you were hurt, it’s highly unlikely that you would trust sevika with treating your wounds or that she would even look your way.

on the other hand, possibility is also never zero. 

the cruel universe seems to hear that thought and immediately takes it as a challenge.

it happens fast — too fast for you to process. one second you’re ducking through the chaos of the lower sector, trying to patch up some idiot who thought fighting on a loose catwalk was a great idea; the next, there’s an explosion of light, metal, and a wave of air that knocks the breath right out of your lungs. you hit the floor hard. the pain comes later, slow and spreading, the kind that feels like someone’s pulling you apart by threads.

your hands are trembling, vision flickering like bad static, but your instincts kick in — you’ve done this before. you press your palm against your side, feel warmth seeping through your fingers, try to stand and almost laugh when your knees give out. it’s a ridiculous, half-hysterical sound, swallowed by the ringing in your ears.

the world tilts, and you stumble forward — into someone solid. familiar.

“what the—?” sevika’s voice cuts through the haze like a whip. you blink up at her, and for the first time since you’ve known her, she looks genuinely startled. her eyes dart from your face to your hand pressed against your side.

“you—” she starts, but the rest of the words vanish under her breath.

“hey,” you croak out, smiling because that’s what you do when you don’t know how bad it is yet. “funny running into you.”

“you’re bleeding,” she says, flat but too quick. her metal hand moves to steady you, then hesitates midair, like she’s afraid to touch you wrong.

“occupational hazard,” you mumble. you want to make another joke, something stupid about karma or tea, but your mouth won’t cooperate. everything feels heavy. too heavy.

you don’t remember much after that. just the dull rhythm of her footsteps, the metallic scrape of her prosthetic against the floor, and the low, furious muttering that sounds like your name woven into every curse.

when you wake up, it’s quiet. the air smells like antiseptic and iron — familiar, but wrong somehow. your brain’s fogged, and for a second, you think you’re back in your clinic. but then you register the deep rasp of her voice somewhere nearby.

“you’re an idiot,” sevika says.

you turn your head — slowly, because it hurts like hell — and see her sitting beside the bed, arms crossed, shoulders tense. there’s a fresh bandage wrapped around your side, not your work. hers. the edges are uneven, the tape slightly off-center. she must’ve been in a hurry.

“hi,” you whisper, lips involuntarily curling into a smile. 

her eyes flick to yours. “you think this is funny?”

you want to say yes, because in some twisted, poetic way, it is funny. but she’s glaring at you like she’s two seconds away from shaking you back to sleep, so you settle for a grin. “depends on your sense of humor.”

“you nearly passed out in the middle of the damn street.”

“yeah,” you rasp. “and you caught me. kind of sweet of you, actually.”

she rolls her eyes so hard you think she might pull something. “don’t start.”

“what, the flirting or the dying?”

“both.”

there’s a long pause. the kind that feels less like silence and more like a line being crossed. she’s still frowning, but her hands are on her knees — steady, restless, like she’s trying to stop herself from checking your pulse again.

you prop yourself up on your elbows and immediately regret it, but pride is a stubborn thing. your grin stretches wider when you notice her expression. that tight, unreadable line her mouth makes when she’s trying too hard to look irritated and not… something else. her brow twitches, her metal fingers tap against the edge of the table, and it’s painfully obvious that she’s two seconds away from either yelling or walking out. maybe both.

you tilt your head, smugness dripping from every word: “oh, don’t look at me like that. i’d say you did a pretty good job, nurse sevika.”

the eye twitch is instant. “don’t call me that.”

you hum, biting back a laugh that still slips out anyway. “what, too domestic for your brand?” you keep going, as if you don’t know what’s best for your own good. maybe it’s the injury talking. “come on, admit it — you were worried sick!” 

“you’re really trying to die twice in one day,” she mutters, but her voice has softened just slightly. it’s that almost imperceptible shift, the difference between her being angry at you and angry because of you.

you let your eyes flutter shut for a moment, exhausted but unwilling to let go of your little victory. “don’t pretend you didn’t panic,” you mumble. “i bet you were pacing around like—”

“shut up.”

you open one eye, slow smile curling at the corner of your mouth. “you were pacing.”

“i was swearing,” she corrects, standing up to pour herself a drink. “and regretting every time i didn’t let you bleed out just a little longer.”

“ouch,” you say, clutching your chest dramatically, “such tenderness.”

“you want tenderness?” she throws over her shoulder, “get a cat.”

“i’d name it after you.”

that gets her. you see it — the smallest curve at the corner of her lips, gone as fast as it appeared. she takes a sip, hiding behind the glass. you don’t point it out, even though you really want to. instead, you let your head fall to the side to watch her, the slow drag of her shoulders finally relaxing.

“you’re staring,” sevika says without looking.

“you’re standing in my favorite view,” you shoot back.

“you’re delirious.”

“you like it.”

“you’re gonna like it less when i shut you up.”

“tempting offer.”

sevika groans — an honest, from-the-soul sound that makes you grin even harder. after a moment, she sits back down, “you scared the hell out of me,” she says, quiet this time. you don’t hear any anger.

and maybe it’s the first thing all day that hits you properly, “yeah, well… sorry about that.”

“don’t do it again.”

you smile, because promises aren’t really your thing, and you both know it. “no guarantees, nurse sevika.”

she gives you that look again, the one halfway between murder and something dangerously close to affection. 

universe isn’t that cruel after all.

baker!sevika x reader

modern au, slow burn ig, winter because i miss winter, fluff

moving to a new place closer to your work was the best decision you’ve ever made. for several reasons. the apartment is bigger — still feels unreal being able to afford it — and just… nicer. even makes cleaning somewhat enjoyable pastime. you even managed to get along with your neighbours — a big, but surprisingly quiet family — in a short notice. while those all are very good reasons to love it here, the main one is, undoubtedly, the bakery on your way to work.

you noticed it the first day after moving in. smelled it, to be exactly. hot, fresh pastry.. despite the desperate, yearning look you shot at that bakery, you couldn’t drop by because you were few minutes away from being. and why even bother moving in to be closer?

on your way back to your apartment you finally got the opportunity to get in, only to see a crowd inside. it was already close to five in the evening, and the bakery buzzed with voices, clinking cups, children running between chairs. you squeezed inside, feeling almost guilty for taking up space among so many obvious regulars. families, friends, lovers, loners, it didn’t matter. that’s when you found out how popular the place was. and when you saw her for the very first time. sevika. 

you thought she looked almost comical: all muscles, furrowed eyebrows, strict gaze and hands in flour with her apron on. reminded you of those characters in cartoons that look intimidating but turn out to be sweetest people ever. sevika was not one of those.

the smell made your head spin. sweet, buttery, yeasty, warm. you scanned the glass display — golden croissants, puff pastries glistening with sugar, little cakes in neat rows. you wanted everything, which meant you could decide on nothing.

“uh…” you started, awkwardly pointing at two different trays. “which one do you think is better?”

behind the counter, sevika looked up. close, she was even more striking. her eyes narrowed as if she was already regretting answering.

“depends,” she said flatly. “you want sweet or savory?”

“both?” you offered weakly.

a pause. then she sighed, turned, pulled two items without another word and handed them over in a small paper bag.

you paid, muttered thanks, and practically fled to the corner table. the first bite — crispy shell, soft layers melting on your tongue, buttery and rich in a way that made your toes curl. it slipped out of you before you could stop it:

“holy shit.”

heads turned. you slapped your hand over your mouth, cheeks burning. when you glanced back at the counter, sevika was watching you. and — was that a smirk tugging at her lips?

you panicked, stammered out, “sorry!” and bolted out the door, bag clutched to your chest.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

the next morning you woke up earlier than you needed to. your excuse was “to beat the traffic,” but really it was the thought of that damn cheese bun. at seven thirty, the bakery was quieter, sunlight slanting through the big windows. you slipped in, and there she was again. tying her apron, hair pulled back.

you ordered coffee, tried something new, and this time she didn’t just hand it over.

“you’re the one who swore yesterday, right?” sevika said — and you’re sure about this — just to fuck with you.

you froze mid-reach. “right. sorry again. it just was.. really good. although i’m sure you already know that.”

her brow quirked and you saw the faintest curve of her mouth. not quite a smile, but close enough to make your stomach flip.

days bled together after that. you stopped every time, because that smell was impossible to ignore. only that. well, almost. when you asked what sevika recommended (which you know she doesn’t like) she would grumble something short like “the cheese rolls are decent” but she always picked out the best ones for you. sometimes you lingered, sipping your coffee at the counter, making some comment just to see if she’d bite.

she often did. in small ways — a dry remark, a half-smirk, a low chuckle when you nearly burned your tongue on coffee.

once, when you asked if she ever got sick of the smell of fresh bread, she shot back, “do you ever get sick of hearing yourself talk?” but her eyes were amused, and she nudged the bag closer to you like an apology.

little by little, the routine formed. your mornings started with her. and you realized that the bakery wasn’t just on your way to work anymore — it was the reason you could get up with a smile on your face.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

the cold bites at your cheeks, sharp and pinking your skin as you pull the scarf higher, tucking your chin into wool. you’re not really hungry — you had breakfast just an hour ago — but the craving is very specific, very real. pain au chocolat.

and maybe, possibly, the woman who sells it.

the bakery windows glow like lanterns against the grey morning, condensation fogging the glass. inside, it looks different. cozier. strings of evergreen garlands draped clumsily across the counter, a box of tangled lights at sevika’s feet.

you push open the door, the bell chiming softly. no one else inside. just her, standing on a stool, frowning at a crooked paper star she’s trying to tape above the chalkboard menu.

“you’re late,” she says without turning, voice low, scratchy from concentration.

“it’s my day off,” you answer, tugging off your gloves. “and i was promised chocolate pastries by the universe.”

now she does glance at you, just a flick of her eye over her shoulder. “promised by who?”

“fate,” you say solemnly. “also, you. indirectly. yesterday you said you’d start baking them more often.”

she exhales a half-laugh, half-scoff, climbing down from the stool. “you’re a weirdo.”

“i’ve been called worse.” you wander toward the counter, eyeing the tray already half-filled with gingerbread cookies shaped like little men. “look at you, going festive. never thought i’d see it.”

“don’t start,” she mutters, adjusting the garland with one big hand. “it’s for the customers.”

“mmhmm.” you reach for the end of the garland lying limp on the counter. “here, let me.”

“you’ll just—”

but you’re already stepping onto the stool she abandoned. it wobbles. you squeak, grabbing the shelf for balance.

“—fall,” she finishes dryly, one hand shooting out instinctively to steady you by the hip.

“i’m fine,” you insist, though your heart is in your throat.

“sure, you are,” she grumbles, not moving her hand until you’ve looped the garland properly.

eventually, you hop down, brushing invisible dust from your coat. she’s watching you with that unreadable look — half exasperation, half amusement.

“tea,” she says suddenly. not a question, a statement. she disappears behind the counter, clinking cups, pouring something steaming. returns with a mug, sets it in your hands before you can protest with that pain au chocolat you wanted. “on the house.” then she pushes a gingerbread man toward you.

you blink at her. “this is the nicest mug of tea and cookie combo i’ve ever been bullied into accepting.”

“don’t get used to it.” but she sits beside you on the bench against the window, stretching out her long legs, apron dusted with flour.

you sip, warmth sliding down your chest. the cookie crunches, spiced and sweet. “this is unfairly good. do you secretly hate me? is that why you’re ruining my standards for food everywhere else?”

she snorts. “i don’t have to try that hard.”

“ouch.” you bump your shoulder into hers lightly.

the banter hums between you, the comfortable kind that’s grown over weeks — little jabs, easy grins. at one point she leans back, rubbing her forehead with the heel of her hand, leaving a faint streak of flour along her temple.

“uh,” you gesture vaguely. “you’ve got—“

you reach before thinking, fingers brushing toward her face. her hand snaps up, catching your wrist mid-air, firm but not rough.

you pause. her gaze sharpens, unreadable.

“there’s flour,” you explain quietly. “let me.”

a beat passes. then she exhales, releasing your wrist. you gently wipe the smudge away with your thumb, lingering just a second too long. her jaw flexes, but she doesn’t move.

“better,” you whisper.

she opens her mouth, but the door jingles, a burst of cold air rushing in with a bundled-up older man. sevika clears her throat, straightening like nothing happened, standing to greet the customer.

you watch.

it’s subtle, the shift. the way sevika straightens her shoulders as she turns to the older man. her voice is steady, polite, stripped of the dry humor she always aims at you. “good morning. how’s your wife?” she asks, and it’s genuine. she moves quickly, efficient: bagging up rolls, ringing up change, offering a small nod of thanks.

no smirks. no teasing remarks. just professionalism, smooth as the sugar glaze cooling behind the counter.

and you realize. this isn’t just a bakery, and she isn’t just some gruff woman who hands you croissants with a side of sarcasm. there is a whole world in her that you’ve only brushed against but so desperately want to be let inside.

you sip your tea and wonder: what does she do when the shop lights go out? what’s on her playlist when she cleans up? does she hum along or let silence fill the air? does she watch movies, binge shows, or fall asleep halfway through? does she prefer red sauce or white on pizza — hell, does she even like pizza? what colour makes her pause when she walks through a store? what kind of kid was she? what kind of person is she, outside this little square of light and flour?

by the time sevika comes back, wiping her hands on her apron, your chest is buzzing with questions. too many to ask. too much to admit. although one spills out before you can cage it:

“when do you get off work today?”

for the first time, sevika looks confused. her brow furrows, like she’s waiting for the catch. “lunch. around one. ran takes over.”

your throat feels tight, but you push through. “then—” you set down your mug, fingers fiddling with the handle, “—have lunch with me.”

silence stretches, taut.

she studies you, unreadable for a long beat. then one corner of her mouth twitches, almost imperceptible. “you’re asking me out?”

you swallow, suddenly so awkward. “i’m asking you to eat something that isn’t bread for once.”

her laugh is quiet, low, surprising even herself. “if one of us eats too much bread, it’s you, trust me. be here at one.”

well, this is great.

you don’t mean to stress about it. it’s just lunch. that’s what you tell yourself while you stand in front of your closet, hands on your hips, staring at the exact same clothes you wear every week. the same t-shirts, the same sweaters, the same jeans. it’s just sevika. you’ve sat across from her a hundred times, chewing on pastries she’s smirked at you for buying too many of. but this is different, isn’t it?

you pull out one shirt, frown, toss it on the bed. another. too formal. too casual. too much color. not enough color. it’s ridiculous. you grab a random hoodie just to shut your brain up. “it’s lunch,” you mutter under your breath, shoving your arms through the sleeves. “just. lunch.”

the bakery smells faintly of sugar and yeast even when you walk past on your way to meet her. you catch her stepping out of the back door, apron folded over one arm, hair tied back but loose strands already falling forward. she looks more relaxed out here, like the shift between worker and woman is visible in the curve of her shoulders.

“you’re on time,” she says, amused, locking the door behind her.

“you sound surprised,” you shoot back, stuffing your hands in your hoodie pocket.

“i am.” she grins and nods her chin down the street. “so, where’s this big mysterious lunch spot you’ve got planned?”

you hadn’t thought that far. panic flickers through you, but you cover it with a shrug. “depends. do you want greasy pizza or questionable sushi?”

she snorts. “those are my options? you must really like me.”

“don’t flatter yourself.” your heart does a little flip, though, when she falls into step next to you.

you end up at a tiny pizza place tucked into the corner of a block. cracked leather booths, sticky tables, the kind of place you’d never pick for a first date. but it feels safe. casual.

“i’ll get this one,” sevika says, already pulling out her wallet.

“no, i invited you. you don’t have to—“

“i want to.” she doesn’t look at you when she says it, like the words slipped out unfiltered.

you slide into a booth while she waits for the order. you watch her without meaning to. how she leans her hip against the counter, arms crossed, talking to the cashier in that easy, dry tone. it’s stupid, but your chest tightens. she’s just ordering pizza, but you want to know everything about her.

she sets the tray down between you and raises an eyebrow. “pepperoni okay?”

“perfect.”

the first few bites are quiet, the clatter of plates and faint music filling the space. then you blurt out, “what’s your favorite color?”

she pauses mid-bite, brows lifting. “that’s random.”

“so? answer it.”

she chews, swallows. “dark blue, i guess.”

“why?”

“why not?” she smirks, then tilts her head at you. “what’s yours?”

“green.”

“huh. explains the sweatshirt.”

you glance down like you’d forgotten what you were wearing, heat prickling your neck. she chuckles, tearing off another slice.

it unravels like that. question after question, some dumb, some sharp, all of them tugging at threads you didn’t know you wanted to pull.

“do you even eat sweets when you’re not at work?”

“yeah, but not the fancy stuff. i like simple. oatmeal cookies, that kind of thing.”

“oatmeal cookies? wow. i thought you’d say something cool like dark chocolate with chili flakes.”

she laughs, shaking her head. “sorry to disappoint.”

“favorite movie?”

“don’t have one.”

you raise your brows, sceptical, “i don’t believe you.” 

sevika looks at you with the most really look on her face. of all her answers — you decided to doubt this one? as if there aren’t any people who don’t geek out over movies. 

“is it paddington?” you smile, idea of sevika loving the animated bear suddenly so cute and realistic in your head.

“what the fuck is paddington?” 

your mouth opens, dramatically wide. “oh, сome on! this is just insulting!” 

“why would you think that my favourite movie is a story about a bear who eats marmelade all the time?” sevika’s question sounds very curious, like she really wants to know how you came to this conclusion.

“so you know paddington?”

“this isn’t—“

“will you make me a marmalade sandwich?”

“for fuck’s sake—“

after the plates are empty, neither of you rushes to leave. the table becomes this anchor for the two of you, conversation spilling into softer places. hobbies, music, late-night habits.

“i’m trying to teach myself guitar,” she admits at one point, eyes flicking down like she’s embarrassed.

you almost choke on your soda. “what? sevika, that’s cool. adorable, really.”

“don’t call me adorable.”

“okay, rockstar.”

she rolls her eyes.

time slips without you noticing. the lunch crowd thins. the sunlight through the grimy window angles lower. eventually, she glances at her watch and sighs. “i should get back before they set the place on fire without me.”

you want to groan. you don’t want it to end.

she stands, stretching, then looks at you with something unreadable in her expression. “this was nice.”

“yeah,” you manage, your throat tight. “we should do it again.” it sounds more like a question, even though you’re pretty sure she would want it too.

“yeah,” she echoes, a corner of her mouth tugging up. “next time, you’re picking somewhere better than pizza.”

“deal.”

outside, the air smells like rain. you part ways on the sidewalk, but you keep replaying every second all the way home.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

it happens on a thursday morning, just like always. you stop by the bakery on your way to work, half-awake, craving something warm and sweet. sevika’s behind the counter, sleeves rolled, hair tied back, looking like she’s already lived three lives before the clock even hit 9.

“your usual?” she asks, already reaching for the tray.

“you know me too well,” you mumble, passing her the bills.

she hands you the bag, but doesn’t let go right away. her fingers brush yours and she hesitates, almost like she’s debating something. then, casually — too casually — she says, “you busy tonight?”

you blink, startled. “uh… not really. why?”

“come over for dinner.” she says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like she’s asked you a million times before. “my place. around seven?”

your brain short-circuits. dinner. her place. you.

“yeah,” you hear yourself say, way too fast. “yeah, sure.”

she finally lets go of the bag, smirking at your wide-eyed expression. “good. see you then.”

you spend the entire day useless at work. your thoughts spin in circles: what will she cook? what does her apartment look like? what if you spill wine on her couch and she never talks to you again? your coworker asks you a simple question about a spreadsheet and you just stare at them until they wave their hand in your face.

by five o’clock, you’re practically vibrating. you rush home, tear through your closet again, but this time you don’t let yourself spiral. you pick something simple but nicer than before. something that says “i tried” without screaming it. a little perfume. accessories.

by the time you’re standing outside her door, your heart is pounding in your ears. you knock.

the door swings open. sevika’s in jeans and a loose shirt, apron still tied around her waist. her hair’s a little messy, like she’s been moving around a lot. and god — she smells like garlic, herbs, something roasting.

“hey,” she says, stepping aside to let you in. “you made it.”

“wouldn’t miss it.” your voice sounds steadier than you feel.

her apartment surprises you. you expected… you don’t know what, exactly. but it’s warm. books stacked on the coffee table, a plant by the window that looks half-alive, framed photos on the wall that you want to ask about but don’t yet.

the kitchen is small, cozy, alive with the smell of food. pots on the stove, a bottle of wine already open.

“wow,” you murmur, leaning on the counter. “you really went all out.”

she shrugs, stirring something. “figured it was my turn.”

the food’s incredible—better than you expected, though you should’ve known. roasted chicken, vegetables, bread that tastes fresh even though she probably baked it yesterday morning at the bakery.

“this is amazing,” you tell her around your third bite.

“good,” she says, smirking. “would’ve been embarrassing if i poisoned you on the second date.”

“so it’s an official date.”

she pauses for half a second, then lifts her glass. “yeah.”

wine loosens both of you. conversation flows, winding through music, stupid work stories, embarrassing moments. sevika’s laugh gets easier, freer. you lean closer without meaning to. at one point she teases you for the way you cut your food too carefully, and you nudge her knee under the table.

by the time the plates are pushed aside, you’re tipsy, grinning, warmth blooming everywhere. she leans back in her chair, watching you with that half-lidded gaze that makes your stomach somersault.

“what?” you ask, nervous and thrilled.

“nothing,” she says, voice low. “you’re cuter when you’re flushed.”

your brain doesn’t even get the chance to argue before she leans in across the table. her lips brush yours soft, testing, then firmer when you don’t pull away.

you kiss her back, heart racing, hand sliding instinctively to her jaw. the taste of wine lingers between you. she chuckles against your mouth, deep and rough, and it makes you smile into the kiss.

eventually you break apart, breathless.

“i, um—” you start, but she cuts you off with another quick kiss, like she doesn’t want you to overthink.

“stay a while,” she murmurs, thumb brushing your wrist where your hand rests on the table.

and god help you, you nod.

the next moment, you’re already on the couch with her arm sliding around your waist, pulling you closer, closer, until you’re practically straddling her. you laugh into her mouth, muffled, because it feels ridiculous and inevitable at the same time.

“comfortable?” she mutters against your lips, and you can hear the smirk.

“very.” you nip at her bottom lip just to hear her suck in a sharp breath.

her hands start to wander then, unhurried but bold — over your hips, down your sides, slipping under the hem of your shirt just enough to feel skin. it sends goosebumps racing up your spine. you grab her wrist like you might stop her, but you don’t.

“sev—” you start, but your voice cracks when her palm splays warm and wide over your back.

“hm?” she hums, pretending she’s innocent.

“you’re…” you can’t even finish.

she chuckles, low, pleased, and kisses you again, deeper this time. her other hand tangles in your hair, steadying you like she already knows you’d melt otherwise.

you pull back just enough to breathe, foreheads nearly touching. “you’re really thorough,” you tease, breathless.

her grin is sharp. “baker’s hands. strong grip.”

you swat her shoulder, laughing, but she just takes advantage of your distraction to nip at your jaw, trailing kisses down to your neck. it makes you shiver, fingers tightening in the fabric of her shirt.

“sevika,” you warn, except it doesn’t sound very warning when it comes out more like a sigh.

“what?” she murmurs against your skin, all mock-innocence again. “i’m just—appreciating.”

her hands roam again, slower now, like she’s memorizing you. every curve, every flinch, every sharp breath.

and then she leans back, looks at you — really looks. your flushed cheeks, your messy hair, the way you’re practically draped over her.

“you’re trouble,” she says finally, voice low, like it’s only for you.

“takes one to know one,” you shoot back, still breathless.

sevika kisses you again, smiling this time. 

you shift, almost tipping, and she catches you easily, her grip iron around your waist. “careful,” she breathes, though the glint in her eye says she’s anything but.

“shut up,” you whisper, and kiss her again just to prove the point.

time blurs. it’s all warmth and pressure and the sound of both your breathing. the couch creaks once when you move too eagerly, and you both laugh into the kiss, but it doesn’t slow either of you down.

eventually, you pull back, panting, lips swollen, your hands still tangled in her shirt. sevika leans back against the couch, looking at you like you’ve just undone her completely. her chest rises and falls fast, her hair a little messy, a lazy grin tugging at her mouth.

“yeah,” she rasps, voice rough from all the kissing. “definitely trouble.”

Maybe spicy maybe not but could you add some tooth rotting fluff please!!!

-🦇

wife!sevika x pregnant!reader

thank you for the request, one shot, hope you like it, modern au

the first months had been… something. between the nausea, the sudden mood swings, and the way your body seemed to both betray and protect you at the same time, there were days you didn’t recognize yourself. you’d cry because the bread was too crunchy, laugh a second later at how ridiculous you sounded, and then cry again because sevika didn’t laugh with you fast enough.

sevika, for her part, was a storm contained in a bottle. she was worried, of course, and it showed in her own way: hands brushing the small of your back when you leaned against the counter, a muttered “sit down, you’ll make me nervous” when you tried to reach something high. she was there for the late-night cravings, even if it meant stomping down to the corner shop at two in the morning because suddenly, nothing else but pickles and lemon tea would do. she didn’t complain — though she teased. “if the kid comes out asking for mustard straight from the jar, i’m blaming you.”

as the weeks turned into months, habits bloomed naturally. she’d started keeping one palm on your belly absentmindedly — sometimes curious, like she was trying to listen without ears. she’d talk to you both, not in some formal “hello baby” kind of way, but in her own gruff humour: telling the bump about her day, about the idiots she had to deal with, about how if either of you didn’t let her get some sleep, she’d move out for a week (an empty threat, of course).

and now, in the present, the routine had settled into something almost comforting. like this evening:

you were perched on the couch, legs tucked under a blanket, flipping through a book you weren’t really reading. sevika was pacing near the kitchen, muttering under her breath about dinner, because apparently “nothing in this damn house is ever organized” even though she had reorganized the pantry herself last week.

“sev,” you called softly.

she grunted in response, not looking up from the cabinet she was glaring at.

“baby wants strawberries.”

that got her attention. she turned, eyebrow raised, metal arm leaning against the counter. “baby or you?”

“both,” you answered, trying not to grin.

she sighed, shaking her head, but the corners of her mouth tugged upward. a moment later, she was at your side, bowl in hand, plopping onto the couch with a groan. “spoiled. both of you.” she fed you the first piece herself, pressing it against your lips.

you chewed happily, watching her out of the corner of your eye. “you like it though.”

“don’t push your luck.” but her tone was warm, playful. when you leaned against her shoulder, sevika shifted so you could rest more comfortably, her hand brushing over the curve of your stomach in that unconscious, protective way again.

the room was quiet for a while, just the hum of the city outside and the soft sound of you chewing strawberries. then sevika muttered, so low you almost missed it, “gonna be the death of me, you two.”

you smiled, pressing a kiss against her jaw. “nope. we’re gonna keep you alive for a long time.”

when you were about to reach for another strawberry, it happened — a sudden flutter under your skin, strong enough to make you gasp. your eyes went wide, hand shooting to your belly.

“oh my god—” you breathed, sitting up straighter.

sevika froze, instantly on alert. “what? what’s wrong?”

“she’s— she’s kicking,” you whispered, a mixture of shock and joy spilling over your face. you grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand toward your stomach with almost comical urgency. “here, here, quick!”

sevika practically tripped over herself, abandoning the bowl of strawberries onto the floor. she pressed her palm flat against your bump, brow furrowed, jaw tense. “where? where? i don’t— hold still.”

you laughed breathlessly, covering her hand with yours. “just wait.”

she leaned in like she was listening for enemy footsteps, her usual composure completely gone. her face was so close to your belly now, hair brushing your shirt. “come on, little troublemaker. do it again. for me.”

and then — another kick. clear as day.

sevika jerked slightly, eyes widening in disbelief. “holy shit.” she let out a bark of laughter, rough and unpolished, before her expression softened into something you’d rarely seen on her face. awe. “that’s really her.”

“yeah,” you whispered, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt. “that’s her.”

sevika stayed there, frozen for a beat, then lowered her head fully against your belly, as if anchoring herself. “damn. strong already.” she kissed the spot before catching herself, pulling back like she hadn’t just done it. “don’t look at me like that.”

you were already giggling, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “you’re so gone for her already.”

she gave you a mock glare, though her hand never left your stomach. “i’m gone for you. she’s just a package deal.”