hi, my name is CHE ! šŖ” twenty one, lesbian, black. any pronouns. digital artist. sun in leo. cancer moon. lover of: women, summer, spring, coconut oil, animal symbolism, sea shells, pet names, maximalist jewerly, lip combos, love.
š¼ main blog: @joon1uvr (i send anons and follow back from here)
š¼ recent works: commuter!sevika x commuter!reader , ceo!ambessa x assistant reader .
(my spirit is one uninterrupted wound.) āā marina tsvetaeva.
OMG DID YOU DEACTIVATE FOR A BIT š i couldnāt find your account and got so scared
NO BABY TUMBLR DELETED MY ACCOUNT šššš. i was so so terrified, i sent them two appeals i was not playing around. like i did nothing wrong give me my shit back!!!!!!!!
i'm so happy to be here again. i'm so so grateful. i love you thank you for checking in <33
hey lovee, i was also thinking about making a part 2 š. but i'm not sure if i will. readerās journey was realizing that someone can know the worst things about them and love them anyway!!! by the end they finally begin to understand that, so in my head their 'character arc' lowkey concluded there
still, if i think of a continuation for them and for sevika that feels right, i'll write it for sure. <33
contains: established relationship, fluff, romance, alcohol, smutttt, switch!reader, switch!sydney, drunk sex, oral, fingering, face sitting, praise kink, dirty talk, light choking, unintentional breath play, general lovemaking :-*
description: sydney travels to paris for some cooking inspiration and brings you along for the journey, but flirting + drinks at dinner is a sinful combination. (100% inspired by the song āparisā by nakala)
ao3 link | spotify playlist
sydney adamu masterlist
It had been three days in Paris already, yet Sydney still couldn't believe it. She was in a city she had always dreamed of visiting, to work on the menu for a restaurant she was a partner in, and she was able to bring along her favorite person in the world: you.
When Sydney got the call from a college friend who had settled in the city of love after graduation a couple years ago, she was more proud than anything. They had been close since the day they met, always pushing each other to be better, and for both of their careers to be flourishing at the same time was enough to make her chest burst with joy.
Two weeks of prepping led to this trip, and it was every bit as magical as Sydney had hoped. Both of you stayed in her friend's extra apartment on the opposite side of the city as her main residence, a gorgeous little place with a perfect view of the Louvre. The moment she let you two in, your jaw dropped and you took in your new surroundings with a reverent look on your face.
"Yeah, it never gets old, to be honest." Sydney's friend left you both with that statement, dropping an extra set of keys on the kitchen table and a promise to see you for dinner at her restaurant later that night.
It had gone perfectly, your girlfriend and her old classmate caught up over menu inspiration, and you and her friend's wife engaged in warm conversation, occasionally looking over at your partners as comfortable laughter spilled from their side of the table.
For the next couple of days, you and Sydney went sightseeing, her friend joining you on occasion to show you the city's hidden gems. Your girlfriend was bursting with new takes on The Bear's current dishes, constantly scribbling in her notebook with an elated look on her face.
Now that she had found sufficient inspiration, Sydney was focused on you and what you wanted to do. Your patience these last few days hadn't gone unnoticed, and she wanted nothing more than to show you how much she appreciated your presence on this trip.
Booking a Michelin star dinner the third night, she pulled out all of the stops beforehand to shower you in all the affection she could give. Your girlfriend insisted on getting ready separately to 'make it more exciting', convincing you to use the bedroom first so she could pop out and grab a gorgeous bouquet from the florist downstairs. When you saw her holding them as you walked into the living room, a pout instantly made its way to your face, cooing at the thought that went into such a sweet gesture. She quickly pecks you on the lips before rushing to the room and closing the door, knowing that if she gave you the proper kiss you wanted, the two of you would never make it to dinner.
Once Sydney is ready, the two of you take a taxi to the restaurant, interlocked fingers and hushed whispers in the backseat between you. Her hand never leaves yours the entire duration of the drive, running a thumb over your knuckles, and bringing your hand up to her lips to leave soft, sweet kisses on your palm and the pads of your fingers. Her gaze alternates between being locked on yours and the Parisian city life outside the window, the warm lights of the streets creating mesmerizing shadows upon your features.
Soon enough, the two of you arrive at the restaurant, a modern space covered in windows. The interior is simplistic but sophisticated, with a warm color palette and a surprisingly inviting aura. Once you are both seated outside, Sydney's eyes don't rake over the menu as they normally would, instead drinking you in from head to toe. You feel her gaze dragging over you, but don't acknowledge it right away. After a few more seconds of you not returning her intense stare, a foot nudges yours under the table, finally causing you to look up.
"Yes?"
Sydney's eyebrows raise and a smirk makes its way to her face, silently calling out your feigned innocence. She lets one hand drop from the table, and a fingertip starts to gently trace its way up your inner thigh, never going any further than what would be appropriate in public, but certainly enough to get your attention.
"Nothing. Was just admiring the view."
Shaking your head with a small smile, you grab the hand on your leg and move it to your lap, linking it with yours before looking back at the menu. Shortly after, a waiter comes up to take your order, but before you can respond, Sydney orders a very expensive bottle of champagne for you both. The man simply nods and leaves the table, leaving you to quirk an eyebrow of your own at your girlfriend's choice. Sydney, for the first time since you sat down, turns her attention to the menu now that the drinks were taken care of.
"What? I told you that we're indulging tonight." She glances up at you with a smile. "When in Paris, right?"
You simply chuckle. "Right."
When the waiter returns with the alcohol, he sets the ice bucket on the table and a flute each in front of you before taking your entree orders. After he disperses again, Sydney then pours you both a generous amount, looking deep into your eyes before raising her glass in your direction.
"I, uhm..." The words fail to come to her at the last second, and she feels a nervous flutter in her chest as your gaze finds her again, watching in admiration.
Sydney takes a deep breath, shifting her eyes to her flute for the moment, her grip on the stem tightening. She has spent over two years doing this with you, yet it feels like that first night you met. A quick shake of her head and she finds her voice once more, raising her drink.
"A toast."
Sydney's cheeks are already feeling warm, her eyes roaming over your face as she speaks.
"I justā"
She pauses and takes a deep breath, her gaze falling to the glass in her hand, swirling the liquid and watching it fizz. She looks back at you with a gentle tilt to her head and a soft smile on her lips.
"Thisāyou being here, with meāit all means so much. You don't knowāor you definitely doā but..."
Clearing her throat as she feels her eyes get misty, blinking them away so can get through what she wants to say, she feels your hand reach for her free one on the table and lightly squeeze before she continues.
"I love you so much, and I could never have gotten this far without you. You're the reason I always try to be the best version of myself, because you don't deserve any less."
A watery smile finds its way to your lips, her words hitting so deep within you that it makes your heart swell and your breath hitch. Every single time, her words leave you in awe, and now is no different. Sydney's grip on your hand loosens as you intertwine your fingers together, her thumb gently soothing your knuckles. Her expression is soft, eyes glazing over, yet she continues, needing to say every single thing she could in that moment.
"I'm just so grateful that I get to experience this life with you. It's been amazing so far, and I can't wait to see what else is in store for us. To the rest of our lives together."
Your eyes are equally as misty as your girlfriendās at this point, chest contricting with all of the feelings you hold for her.
āI love you. To the rest of our lives.ā
You raise your glass to hers and lean in to press a soft kiss to her lips before gently clinking them together, keeping eye contact as you let the cold liquid slip into your mouth and coat your tongue. The bubbly, crisp taste dances upon your taste buds as the liquid slides down your throat, leaving a tingly warmth in its trail. Sydneyās eyes never leave your face as she brings her own glass to her mouth, tilting her head back so that her slender neck is on display, removing her hand from yours and reaching out to lightly rest it on your knee under the table.
The intimate touch elicits a shiver from you, and you feel the heat radiating from Sydneyās hand, only intensifying the sensation. She lets the contact linger, feeling the subtle movement of your body in response to her.
As the waiter returns with your meals, you both reluctantly break your staring contest to thank him, but the connection remains palpable between you even as the delectable food is placed on the table. You both dig in, conversation flowing easily while still feeling the underlying tension beneath it.
The drinks continue to flow, both of you eventually finishing the bottle and with it, your restraint. All through dinner, lingering touches and glances riled the other up more and more until you both hit your breaking point.
Thanking the waiter and quickly paying your bill, the two of you make your way out of the restaurant hand in hand, skin buzzing and hearts thundering. You're able to quickly grab a taxi back to the apartment, and it takes all the self-control you have not to mount your girlfriend right there in the backseat.
When you arrive what feels like ages later, you drag your girlfriend upstairs and press her against the door in a heated kiss while she fumbles for the keys. As your lips meet hers, a low moan slips from her lips, body arching into you as her free hand comes up to curl around the back of your neck. The sound of metal jingling echoes through the small entryway, lips not leaving yours for a second as she eventually finds the right key and manages to get the door open.
Sydney pulls you inside, bodies moving feverishly against each other, like she needs to feel as much of you as physically possible and can't be bothered with separating at all. Once the door is successfully shut, Sydney backs you up against it, her body flush against yours as she presses you into the wood. A knee insinuates itself between your legs, pinning you in place as if you have any intention of leaving. Her lips find your pulse point, a hint of teeth grazing along the sensitive skin before a soft kiss is placed there.
"God, you look so good tonight." Your girlfriend's words are hushed, biting gently on your earlobe before kisses begin trailing across your jaw.
You reach out to grasp at her hips, fingers digging in as she continues to explore your neck and collarbone. Sydney pushes even closer to you, her own hips slowly rolling against your thigh to seek out the friction she so desperately wants and needs. A soft moan slips from her lips at the contact, the sound being swallowed by the needy kiss that follows.
Pushing her towards your shared room, your mouths donāt part until you reach the bed, pushing Sydney to sit on it before straddling her lap and grinding down. She lets out a small gasp as her back hits the sheets, hands coming up to grip your waist. A shaky exhale leaves her lips as you settle on top of her, thighs squeezing around her hips, and her body automatically bucks up into you.
Darkening chestnut eyes begin roaming over your figure, gaze tracing along the entire length of your body. Already firm hands tighten their hold as you rut against her harder and faster, a breathy whine leaving her throat.
"Baby, please..."
The desperate plea sends a shiver down your spine and a surge of heat through your body, your name falling from your girlfriend's lips in a wanton moan. Her eyes flutter shut for a moment, head falling back against the bed as she tries to regain her composure. "Don'tā don't tease."
Your lips quirk up in a sly smirk and you lean down, letting your breath fan against her bare neck, teeth grazing lightly over the pulse point. "No teasing, huh?" You whisper, "I think someone's getting a bit impatient." The words are punctuated by a slow roll of your hips, pressing down against her in a tantalizing motion. āThatās okay, though. I wanna show you how much I appreciated tonight.ā
Slamming your mouth into hers, a low groan slips out as hot tongues meet, the temperature of the room rising several degrees. When Sydney bucks her hips up into yours, you decide to stop winding her up and flip your positions so she was now on top. Squeezing the soft flesh of her ass, you pull on the fabric covering it, hoping she'll get the hint without having to separate from you.
Sydney doesn't waste any time, hands moving to the hem of the dress in a rush, pulling the fabric over her head and tossing it somewhere across the room, leaving her in only a pair of black lacy underwear. She leans over you, her lips trailing along your jawline, up to your ear and letting her words hit your ear softly between kisses.
"You have no idea how much I need you," she whispers, her voice low and thick with arousal.
Gripping her chin and bringing her mouth back to yours, you lean in and tug on her bottom lip with your teeth, releasing it after a whine from the woman opposite you. "I think I do."
Taking your free hand and slotting it between her thighs, you drag two fingers along her slick folds, gathering the wetness there before pushing them against her sensitive clit. A strangled gasp leaves Sydney, her back arching as your fingers touch the sensitive nerves, a shuddering breath hitting your neck after her head falls forward onto your shoulder. A hand comes up to grip your arm, nails digging into your skin as her hips begin slowly rocking back and forth, seeking more friction. Smiling to yourself, you turn your head to brush your nose against her ear and whisper, "I want you to sit on my face."
Sydney sucks in a sharp breath, her whole body freezing for a beat at your words, hips stopping their motion on your hand. The request hits her harder than she was expecting, and her eyes flit up to find yours, wide and glossy with lust and surprise.
"You wantā" She breathes out, voice quiet and shaky as her legs tense against you.
"Uh huh. C'mere."
Hooking your hands under smooth thighs, you pull her forward until she's hovering above your mouth, mere centimeters away from you want her most. Sydney's hand comes down to balance herself on the mattress, the other lightly gripping your throat. Her chest heaves with every breath, gaze locked on your face and eyes half-lidded. Her knees tremble, pussy clenching around nothing, the anticipation building with every second.
"Like this?" She asks, her voice ragged.
"That's perfect, princess."
Darting your tongue out to tease at her clit over the fabric, your girlfriend's head drops back, a soft mewl escaping parted lips. That turns into a full whine as you apply more pressure, eyes sliding shut as her grip on you tightens, nails digging into heated skin just enough to leave an imprint.
"Need it," she breathes, canting her hips forward, "Need you."
"I know, baby, I know."
Taking one hand and pulling her underwear to the side, you yank her down with the other so she's properly sitting on your face, groaning as the taste and smell of her invade your senses. Your girlfriend's hand involuntarily squeezes your throat, temporarily cutting off your air supply as she lets out a guttural moan. "OhĀ fuck, thatā" The rest of her sentence is lost after you slot your tongue into her dripping entrance, words turning into soft gasps, and then into repeated chants of your name.
Savoring the taste, you instantly decide this is the best thing you've eaten all day, Michelin dinner be damned. When your grip on her underwear slips and it covers her pussy, you huff in frustration but quickly tug it out of the way. After it happens a second time a few moments later, your drunken irritation gets the better of you and both of your hands come up to grab the piece covering one of Sydney's hips. Pulling as hard as you can, you tear it in half and let it fall off to the side where it can no longer interrupt the moment.
"Oh my god, did you justā?" Sydney breathes out before the words get trapped in her throat, her brain too hazy with pleasure to think straight. You hear her chuckle breathlessly, and she looks down at you with slightly wide eyes. "Those were expensive," she says, although her voice has no real disapproval to it, only amusement.
Arousal laced into your reply, you grumble, "I'll buy you ten more," before tugging her back into place. Eagerly sucking on her clit, she begins to writhe above you as her hand on your throat circles tighter. Between that and her thighs clenching around you, the oxygen to your brain lessens more and more, but you push through it, determined to make your girlfriend cum.
Sydney's legs are shaking as your tongue delves deeper, alternating between quick flicks and deep, broad swipes across her sensitive tissue. You can tell she's close by the way she grinds against your mouth. "Justā just a little more, baby,Ā shit," she whimpers, trying to be quiet. "Iām almost there, please."
She's never looked more beautiful than in this moment, sweaty and shivering and completely open to you. You almost wish you could paint this point of view and hang it in the Louvre for everyone to see, but the selfish part of you would never let that happen, content with keeping her all to yourself. Your girlfriend's legs begin to squeeze tighter around your head, her breathing becoming more labored. "Baby," she moans, voice raw and quivering, "Pleaseā"
You know what she means, of course you do. You can feel the tension in her body, the fervent, desperate need for release. And you're not going to deny her, are you?
Unwrapping one of your arms from around her thigh, you slip a hand between wet heat, slowly dragging a firm thumb over her swollen clit. The reaction is immediate, a low, guttural moan escaping from deep within Sydneyās chest, body tensing like a bowstring.
"Yes!" she gasps, her velvet pussy fluttering around your tongue. "JustāĀ Ah!"
Her grip on your throat only worsens, and as you feel the crushing sensation around your skull, you think to yourself,Ā This is the perfect way to go out.
In fact, you don't know if you even want her to stop.
With a choked gasp, you look up at the woman above you, and even in the low light of the room, you can see the tears swimming in her eyes. "Fuck, right there," she whispers hoarsely, "Right there!ā
You might be in trouble if she can't find the strength to let up, but you come to the conclusion that your life is a small price to pay for her pleasure. Pushing through the fatigue you feel at the lack of oxygen, you wrap eager lips around her swollen bud at the same time you enter two fingers into her and energetically curl them against that sweet spot inside, over and over andĀ over.Ā With a choked whine, you finally are rewarded with that sweet release, warm liquid coating your mouth and spilling out onto your face as Sydney's orgasm wreaks havoc through her body.
You begin to think about pulling away, but your girlfriend doesn't give you a choice as she holds you against her, unwilling to separate. Just as she's coming down from her climax, black spots start to swim at the edge of your vision, and you finally pry her hand off your throat, turning your head to gulp in greedy mouthfuls of air.
Sydney collapses forward, falling off your face and slumping next to you, her body spent and breathing labored. For a long moment, the two of you lie there in silence as you both struggle to regain your breath, chests heaving and hearts racing. The apartment is filled with nothing but the sound of your labored gasps.
Slowly, Sydney lifts her head and turns to look at you, a lazy smile forming on her lips. "That was..." She lets the sentence hang, unable to find the right words in her current state.
"Amazing," you finish for her, equally spent. You lean back against the crumpled comforter, eyes never straying from hers. Your lover lets out a small laugh, reaching out to brush your face with a tender caress, thumb gently stroking your cheek. The gesture is a stark contrast from her earlier hold on you, and you take the opportunity to press a soft kiss to her palm.
"That was definitely worth the expensive underwear," Sydney teases, her thumb running over your lips, which still bear evidence of her arousal.
The thought of destroying something expensive would normally cause a spike of anxiety, but right now, you couldn't care less. If anything, the memory of her reaction makes you want to do it again and again. She sees the traces of that fire in your eyes and slowly moves to straddle you, causing you to quirk an eyebrow.
"Already?" You ask, voice still hoarse from your earlier activities.
Sydney leans in, soft thighs bracketing your body and hands coming up to frame your face, a smirk playing on her lips. "It's your turn now."
She immediately moves in to devour your lips, a small gasp slipping from your mouth to hers. Just like earlier, her touch sets a fire throughout your body, reigniting that need and intensity once more. You return the kiss with equal fervor, tongue delving into her mouth so she can taste herself.
Sydney's hands begin to explore, sliding over the expanse of your cloth covered skin with an almost reverent touch, as if she was trying to memorize every single detail. Your breath hitches as her hand slides over your stomach, nails lightly grazing over the flesh there.
"Off. Now."
You immediately comply, breaking the kiss to maneuver around her and pull your entire outfit off of your body.
Your girlfriend's gaze roams over you, dark eyes raking over your bare torso hungrily. It's a look that you know means she's ready to pounce, and you can't find it in you to complain. "So perfect," she mumbles softly, a hand coming up to trace a path from your neck to your navel. "And all mine."
You shiver at her possessive tone, eyes fluttering shut for a moment and a soft noise escaping your throat as you dazedly nod. "All yours."
Sydney responds by pressing her body as flush to yours as possible, lips finding your neck and making their way slowly downwards. She takes her time, nipping and sucking at the skin on your collarbone, and you feel a familiar heat stir in the pit of your stomach as a low moan leaves your mouth.
Your eyes slowly open as your girlfriend's ministrations continue, body rolling against yours in a sensual rhythm. She takes her time, not rushing anything as she makes her way down your body, tongue and teeth occasionally grazing across your skin, marking you and reminding you of whom exactly you belong to. Her mouth leaves your chest, pausing while she sits back on her heels for a moment, admiring the state she's put you in, and your breath gets caught in your throat at the way she looks at you, eyes glossy and full of desire.
The sight has you squirming, her expression completely hypnotizing you. "Syd," you manage to squeak out, "come back here."
The woman only smiles, a low chuckle leaving her throat as she shakes her head softly. "Patience."
Her hands trail up your legs until she reaches your inner thighs, fingers drumming a gentle rhythm against your skin, the motion almost soothing as she watches your reaction. The movement is innocent, but the anticipation builds as you shudder. "Please," you beg softly, the word barely a whisper.
She shushes you before leaning down to a perfectly erect nipple and enveloping it with her supple lips. A breathy moan leaves you, back arching up into her touch. "Baby," you gasp, clenching at the sheet as her hand continues to wander, tracing soft patterns along your thigh, fingers only a few inches away from the apex.
Keeping up the motions, she alternates between flicking her tongue and sucking on the bud, the sensations sending jolts of electricity down to your core. Between your legs tingles with awareness, a need for something more intense. Firmly grasping her hand, you shove it between your thighs and start rocking against it, head dropping back as you finally are able to feel some relief.
A soft gasp leaves her mouth as her head lifts from your chest, gaze focused on you as she feels you grind against her. "Look at me." She whispers, waiting until your gaze meets hers to continue, "Keep your eyes here."
Slowly, she brings a moist thumb up towards your lips. "Open."
Obediently, you part your lips, allowing the digit to slip inside. Your tongue wraps around it, coating it with a thin layer of saliva. When she pulls out, she looks at you approvingly for a moment, a satisfied hum leaving her throat as she takes her dampened finger and lightly brushes it against your bottom lip, a small smirk gracing her features.
"You're so good for me, baby. I love it."
Those words have the same effect as they always do, sending a shiver down your spine and causing your heart to skip a beat. She savors the reaction and can't stop the small chuckle that escapes her throat. "You're so easy sometimes," she whispers, her hand moving to cup your cheek for a moment before moving back to your legs. "But that only makes me love you more."
Capturing your lips with her own, she drops her hand to your waiting entrance, prodding at it with a slender finger. Your mouth parts against hers, breath mingling and teeth softly nipping at the flesh there. The sensation steals your breath, anticipation already building. Your body tenses as her fingertip slides in but nothing more, a needy whine transferring from your lips to hers. "Syd..."
"I know." She breaks away for a moment, taking in your contorted features before leaning in again to place a series of kisses along your jaw. "I'll give you what you want, I promise."
Just as you're starting to get impatient, her hand moves slightly, thumb coming up to brush against your clit as a strangled moan leaves your throat. "But I want to take my time, make it good for you."
Your eyes flit down to her hand as she teases you, unable to take any more of the torturous treatment. "It is good. You don't neeā" Your words cut off mid-sentence as her teeth sink into the soft flesh below your earlobe, a strangled moan spilling out instead.
"Let me," she breathes, her free hand pawing at your waist, "I want to savor this."
A shudder runs through you at the conviction in her words, and you find yourself nodding helplessly. "Alright...alright."
There's something almost devout about the way her gaze falls over you, like you're the most precious thing to ever exist. And to her, you are. "Just relax, let me take care of you."
Sydney gently lifts your knee, slinging it over her shoulder, and begins peppering kisses up and down your thigh. She takes her time, leaving small bite marks all along your skin, every touch leaving a trail of fire behind. Your breath hitches as her mouth finally reaches the crook of where thigh and pussy meet, and your hand shoots down of its own volition, fingers threading through her soft braids. The urge to push her head where you want her is almost overwhelming, but you have to stay patient. You know she'll get there, she always does.
And just as you were about to let yourself fall into a state of desperate begging, she finally decides to have mercy. With one long, languid, lap of her tongue, a strangled gasp leaves you once more, fingers gripping tighter in her hair.
"Look at you..." she breathes softly, the words sending a shiver up your spine. "So perfect."
Her gaze locks with yours as she slowly drags that wet muscle over your slit again, the eye contact making you shudder with anticipation. You're already so on edge, you think you might actually combust if she doesn't stop teasing.
"Let me hear you." It's a gentle command, but you know what it means. She wants to hear how she's making you feel, and as if to further coax the sounds from you, she slowly circles your clit with her thumb, her gaze fixed on you all the while. "I want you to say my name."
"Syd!" Your voice leaves you in a low whine, hand falling from her hair and reaching to grip the sheets by your head instead. "I've been good...I've beenĀ good."
She sighs against your clit at the desperation in your voice, your pleading sending a jolt of arousal straight to her own core. "You're right, baby."
With that, she takes two fingers and plunges them into your pussy, letting the fullness take over your senses. A stifled gasp leaves you, mouth opening and eyes squeezing shut as her fingers hook. Your body quivers against her touch, every nerve ending on fire.
By the way her gaze still hasn't left yours, you'd think she was trying to see your very soul. She's searching for any sign of discomfort, any slight change in your expression that would let her know to ease off, but you merely look back up at her, face pleading and desperate for more.
She curls the digits inside, making sure to slide against your most delicate spot, and with the thumb still gently moving over your clit, it's starting to feel so good you aren't sure how much more you can take. "Just hold on a bit longer for me, okay?"
It's so difficult though, every fiber of your being is screaming for release, but you know Sydney won't let you go until she's satisfied, so you dig your nails further into the sheets and try to focus on not shattering too soon. In an attempt to keep your body in check, you focus on her face instead, fingers still carding through her hair and eyes locked tightly with hers. That only works until she takes her other hand and presses down on your stomach, pinning that spongy spot firmly against her fingers inside you.
"Fuck!" You cry out, hips bucking into her touch.
"OhĀ god." It's too much now, the building tension starting to reach a peak. If she doesn't slow down, you don't know if you'll be able to hold back.
"SyāSyd..." Your voice trembles heavily as you try to find the words, the need to cum driving you crazy. "I can't...Iā you have toāĀ please."
Biting her lip to keep herself from moaning, she leans in and suckles at your clit desperately, unable to stop herself from enjoying this as much as you are. A choked whine escapes your chest as you grind down onto your girlfriend's face, gritting your teeth as you do your best to hold on for her. You'd be impressed by your ability to contain yourself if you weren't already so overwhelmed. The feeling of her tongue, fingers, and now the pressure of her hold on your stomach is quickly becoming too much to handle, your entire body quivering and trembling with the need to let go. Yet, your eyes never leave hers, the pleasure continuing to build until you're teetering on the precipice.
"Please, please..." You're close to sobbing now. "Can I...?"
Her grip on your lower belly tightens and her eyes grow impossibly darker as she hears you beg. You both know she's got you on the edge now, and she's the only one with the power to push you over it. After a few more extended moments of waiting, she slowly nods, and with that, you're allowed to fall, knowing Sydney will be there to catch you.
Crying out with an exasperated wail, your orgasm finally pulls you under, a white hot sensation surging to every corner of your body. You arch up into her touch, body trembling with the force of your pleasure. A few moments pass, gradually coming down and regaining some sort of control of your body. When you return to earth, Sydney gently eases her touch and slowly withdraws her fingers.
Her lips find your inner thigh again, tongue tracing over the flesh there as her eyes slowly look up to finally meet yours again, gaze as intense as ever. "You did such a good job," she whispers, voice ragged.
Grasping for her chin, you pull her up towards you, body following your touch until your lips slot together and you taste your cum on her tongue. The kiss is messy and wet, the essence of you coating both of your mouths. She sighs into it, hand gently caressing your cheek, thumb trailing across your lower lip. When she finally pulls away, her mouth curves into a smirk as she licks her lips, savoring one last taste before giving you a satisfied hum.
"Delicious."
"Glad you approve," you manage to mumble back, body feeling light and relaxed after her ministrations. She gives you a small smirk, slowly licking her fingers clean before throwing an arm and a leg over your body and resting her head on your shoulder as she snuggles into you. She presses an affectionate kiss to the side of your neck before continuing with a pleased hum, "I take pride in my work."
Softly giggling, exhaustion quickly begins to settle into bones before you float off to sleep, both tangled together in a mess of content, sweaty limbs.
it's a deathly hot day. trucker!sevika picks you up off the side of the road.
abstract: amidst an on-going murder investigation along the i-40, you with nothing but a beat up electric guitar to your name hitches a ride with sevika, a nomad with no home. one way or another you find hope, and along the way sevika finds you.
cw: uhm a lot! trucker!sevika x hitchhiker!fem!reader, musician!reader, older woman x younger woman, reader is black coded in brief hair-care references but anyone can read, some moral ambiguity, semi-descriptive homicide, fake dating but barely, sexual tension, sevika knows how bad you want her and is a devil with it, but she wants you too, groping, praise, dom/sub dynamics, dirty talk, sevika finds you touching yourself, voyuerism, guided masturbation, vaginal fingering, strap-on sex, cunnilingus (r!reader), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, banter, bickering, non-sexual intimacy, bed-sharing/literal sleeping together, you are your Mother's Daughter, implied childhood abandonment, toeing that poverty line, roadtrip vibes?, learning how to keep going in spite of yourself, bittersweet ending, the painful and necessary cycle of loving someone who will leave.
given enough time, the thumping of your soles on the half-pavement mostly-grass of the road dulls down to nothing.Ā
the ground eats the sound and your presence wanes away with it, every vehicle you extend your thumb to whizzing past.
on the third hour of this you sit crouched, body weight perched on top of your heels. your arms reach outward from where your chin sinks painfully into your bicepāthe ache is dull. the one in the balls of your feet, the one in your knees, the one right beneath your gut.
the road yawns out, mockingly.Ā
thereās no end in sight when you stare forward, nor when you twist to stare back, over a clammy, sweat-slick shoulder.Ā
the head of your half-baked electric guitar dices up your vision, smooth mahogany woodwork along the neck with frets that poke out like broken bones, and coarse strings that slide into your skin when you glide up the fretboard. your fingers still get bloody from clutching the thing too close. it gets trapped between the frets sometimes and itās a whole ordeal to scrape out, but itās the only way you know how to play, and the only way you know how to love anything that canāt leave.Ā
the sun glints above you, and you lift your chin to meet it. the heat slides down your cheek like a palm, and takes your face and kisses, right at the thinned skin underneath your eyes.
you swallow, thick and seedy.
then shove up from the ground, and try again.
hour four is no kinder.
in an act of desperation a few buttons on your top are popped out, and your hair is pinned up and out of your face. every ligament in your arm wails and grinds like teeth. you squeeze your jaw against the burn and keep your arm standing.Ā
like a beacon of hope, an approaching, lumbering truck slows. you scramble to attention, your brain waking with an electric shock, and gather your arm back towards yourself. the ache is forgotten, all of it.Ā
the window lowers and a clean-shaven face rolls into view. small, pinched features. the truck behind him sounds the horn and pulls around him, but the man inside ignores it. he ignores you, too.
his eyes sit evenly on your open chest, and then glide up to meet your eyes.
āwhere you headed, miss?ā
his voice is thick and briny. his eyes are shadowed under a cap and wander too often, too sharp, too searching. your senses are softened by the sweltering late afternoon and you know he picks up on it, sees the way your lids flutter and your tongue works slowly, searching the cave of your own mouth for hydration or saliva to spare.Ā
you sling arms into the lowered window, and the air conditioner nearly makes your mouth water. lean charmingly against your elbows.
āwest coast,ā you lift your words up the sweetest they can go, drag your lips into a similar curl. ābut iāll go as far as you can manage.āĀ
the grin doesnāt reach your eyes, but this time it doesnāt matter.Ā
āgot room enough for you,ā he smiles in return. his teeth are lined up together like a curling spine. āclimb on in.ā
A CAPELLA: š HURTLING.
you hug your guitar to your chest and your bag right between your feet. the heat is unbearable this way but you prefer it to the heat of the wandering eyes beside you.
samuel, he tells you his name is. samuel has a large 2 liter water bottle quarter full on his dashboard. he watches you watch it, and the water jostles back and forth in the rocking truck.Ā
he tells you the polite thing to do would be to tell him your name, in return.Ā
it takes you a while to smile this time. itās sickly and trained and you let it drop the moment after.Ā
offering him the name of your childhood orthodontistāyou ask him, against all better judgement, why heās heading north.Ā
we arenāt, he tells you. my uncle used to take me up and down this highway. know it back and front.Ā
heās lying. heās going north.
your heartbeat thins out. your fingers flutter for the door handle. you laugh, light and airy, āthat's perfect then. iām gonna try to head towards town and restock first, so you can just let me off right after the ramp.ā
his elbows bends out the window. āso soon?ā
āyou saved me the walk,ā you say, smiling tiredly. āthank you.ā
he turns, his face flattening. he passes the exit, and the vehicle doesnāt slow.
you grip on the door handle tightens, and you sit up, veins buzzing painfully.
āsir. you passed it.āĀ
ādonāt worry about it, sweetie.ā thereās a hand on your knee. āi can take you to where youāre going.ā
your eyes slide shut, tense fingers digging into your temple. you tug your thigh out of his grip, heartbeat starting to knock against your ribs, grip tightening around your things.Ā
āitās fine, really. you can just let me off.ā
āiām telling you, sweetheartāā
āget your fucking hands off me. pull this truck over, i asked you to let me out,ā your voice rises, threading and pulling tight, cutting the oxygen off at your throat. the car space is too small and damp and his eyes feel like acid.
he exhales, at length.Ā
he palms the turn signal and then pivots the truck over into the grassy shoulder of the road. he puts the vehicle into park, and when you reach for the door he reaches for you.Ā
words you donāt hear try to reach you and fails. with his body closing in, your vision whitens out.Ā
hands batting and feet kicking and chest heaving as all the panic drums through your system, adrenaline kicking at the walls of your skull.Ā
you feel hands clawing for you. your guitar protests all the squeezing, suffocating motion and then shrieks out a discordant note as you push and push forward, thumbs pressing and hands closing togetherāand then finally the note snaps out into the air while you break through.Ā
soft as anything. you feel it, like biting into a pocky stick, or like cracking your knuckles.Ā
there is and then there isnāt.Ā
flesh bends to force with little resistance, and hours bent over the fretboard was the most intimately you understood this.Ā
the silence leaks, and leaves a quiet buzz in your ears, ringing where you canāt reach. your sticky hands claw for your own throat, wondering when you stopped shrieking, heaving past the scratch and the burning dryness for air.Ā
your body jerks violently. you veer out the side of the truck as your stomach convulses, but the bile doesnāt break past your throat.Ā
a turn signal light lights up behind youāin the rearview mirror, edging the corner of your visionāand blinks red.
the burning in your feet is nothing against the pulsing in the back of your head.
your guitar strings squeal, the string bending to the heat and tense pull of your body. youāre not so romantic as to call it a requiem. the note may as well be wailing from your own throat, but you touch at the tendons and nothing shifts or vibrates.Ā
you feel every pound as your soles connect to the grass and the uneven terrain taunts your balance. the bones in your knees slide against each other threateningly. the guitar on your back pounds into your tailbone and your hair whips into your eyes and the muscles in your throat burns in ways which you canāt remember if your body will repair.Ā
your legs may reduce to a memoryāand youād let them. but once you lose your voice youāve lost it all.
the thought wakes you up, and slows you down.
an 18 wheeler rolls up ahead and then settles, oil and groaning iron bones, to a stop. the fumes interrupt whatās left of your oxygen reserve and your left knee unlocks and buckles to the grass, and rock and stone bites up the palm you use to break your fall.Ā
you shake your head, panic bubbling again, tilt your chin up to the sparse layout of clouds that block nothing and spare nothing and measure out who up there to curse first.Ā
the window lowers and your skin fires and youāre ready with nails and teeth bared to carve your way out again. as many times as it takes.Ā
once the window sinks, whatās revealed turns the wind over in your lungs, and your defenses wither and recoil.Ā
sheās got a cool brow, and her eyes are hard and steady. unfazed, the first thing they find is you.Ā
ācan you stand on your own?ā
your breath comes out ragged. you wipe at your mouth, take some of your lipstick with it. panting still, hunched over one knee, the sweat makes your breath salty.Ā
you work the response out of your throat.Ā
āyeah. i can.ā
she juts her head in one clean line. āthen get in.ā
she drives easy, one arm bent out the window and twining a cigar between two metal fingers, the opposite one manning the wheel.
your hands are gripped to death around a plastic bottle of water that she had nodded over at wordlessly. you sit at a tense, tail bone digging marks into the edge of the cracked leather seat. thereās a strong sandalwood lifting the space between you mixing with human skin, diesel fuel, and the tart smoke from her cigarette. it creates a confusing, creamy warmth in your fingertips that you bleed out with the teeth of your guitar.Ā
her head bobs to the low beat crooning from her stereo, and only eventually, when traffic starts to clog and thicken, does she glance over, and down at your cargo shorts. milky and blossoming with color at the knees.
āthat yours?ā
your eyes fall to where sheās gazing. thereās a splash of vermillion, new and webbing outwards on the fabric.Ā
your heart lodges against the wall of your throat. you hover the stain and then conceal it, offering a pale, arched smile.
āsorry, my bodyās still chugging out the last of my period. i have pads and a change of clothes, justāā
her stare lingers at the side of your head. if you saw pity there you think itād make you sick. but thereās nothing, and she says nothing, and somehow thatās even worse.Ā
āwould you remember much about periods?ā you canāt bite your tongue. āat your age, i mean.ā
sheās unmoved. her scoff is short and sounds out mostly in her brows.Ā
ānot there yet.ā she gives you a short once over. āand you donāt look far behind.ā
then the song picks up and your loose and tired bite is left behind, as her fingers begin to tap on the wheel. a metronome you count the measures to, as the sound soothes against your skull.
you exhale, slowly. then let your back sag against the seat.Ā
āso?ā you ask, watching the mountains grey each other out in the distance. āhow far can you take me?ā
āhow far out you headed?ā
āsan clemente,ā you say, carefully. āorange county.ā
itās her turn to glance at you. her metal fingers flex on the steering wheel.Ā
āi can take you just to barstow,ā she offers instead. āsince my course doesnāt take me any further across the border.ā
you blink. perfect. thatād be perfect.
āand iāll be making stops along the way, getting lunch, resting for the night.ā
right, there it is. you eye her. she catches it in the mirror and holds you there.
ānon-negotiable. thatās my system.ā
you frown. āitāll take me days longer than it has to.ā
āit will.ā
āiāll owe you for the motels?āĀ
ānaturally.ā she angles her head backwards in a quick motion. āāless you sleep in the trailer.ā
āā¦doesnāt seem too bad.ā
she smiles, slow and wily. āwanna try your luck?ā
itās enough to make you drop it.
the low hum of the radio, and the smoke curling inside, and the wind lifting and tumbling your hair. you drink it all inside and squeeze.
the silence stands and stretches. and then she exhales.Ā
āand you? you plan on crying the whole way there?ā
itās a poor question and so you donāt bother answering it, blinking straight ahead. you press a hand down on your breastbone and then into your stomach, willing it to stop shuddering. thereās the tender hope that if you press in deep enough something will break. you donāt need the feeling to fix itself. you just need it to go quiet.Ā
she switches on the wheel and reaches one arm backāstrains gently and the swelling muscle there tightens while she rummagesāand lays the travel-size tissue pack she finds onto your knee. her hand hesitates there, and then is gone, silent as it came.Ā
the road pools outward endlessly. she drives. you clean yourself up in the quiet.
with the truck parked temporarily she pushes the door open to a small but lively shop while a tinkling bell above announces your entry. her jacket is wound tight around your waist and swishes against your knees. she tells you to go ahead and pick out some new pants.
at the cashier, she doesnāt give you the time to rummage through your bag for your wallet.
on the house, she tells you, pushing her card forward. and then takes you to fill your stomach next.
if she notices your unease she doesnāt call any attention to it, but your self importance slides like a needle between your ribs. she must know. she must be biding her time, fattening you up ātill youāre dizzy with relief and unable to slip away.
sevika. youād seen it on the receipt. and the cashier had called her name out with an accent that filled the mouth like a swollen tongueāher name had sounded rich, and full as a song.Ā
sevika.
sevikaās a thing that towers. the thick parameter of her arm snags in your vision as she winds fingers around the bag of thai food.Ā
āeat,ā she thrusts it to you, eyes crunched against the sun and swallowing in all the light around them. āitāll be a long drive.ā
to your chagrin you catch a thread of sincerity. itās not hard. her eyes are cloudless and clear.
your throat squeezes. still, still, kindness burns like bile in the lining of your stomach.
hunger has a similar reach. the smell of chicken over jasmine rice makes an animal of you briefly, and you let her watch you tear with jaws apart.
sevika wasnāt wrong. it would be a long ride.
you groan and your bones groan with you as spread out tiredly on the second of two beds.Ā
she hadnāt been looking before, being overly careful of you. you tuck your knees up to your chest, and your blue cutoffs ride up your ass and create a cavern in between your legs. her gaze is briefly careless, sweeps like a wandering hand.Ā
she left you with a ziplock bag of pomegranate seeds to spend the time on, while she checks the sister bed for bugs, and if the way she had peeled you apart doesnāt kill you then the way the fruit dyes your fingertips just might.Ā
the T.V. spells out your route with a noncommittal tone while you suck the juice off before it dribbles.Ā
samuelās full name stretches across the screen. you look once and then forget it the moment after, your attention flitting over to the newswoman on screen instead. she has a long face uninterrupted by wrinkles and her hairline strains against the demand of her braided bun.Ā
her voice is bouncy, and she stares at you while she tells you that the authorities have taped off the scene. that even when a neck snaps and dangles from a severed spinal cord the life lingers and his mightāve been spared had you dared to try. had you wanted to.Ā
his body was heavy when it crumpled. the unnaturally white bone of his body pressed to the side of his throat.Ā
you hold your body, tight. thereās no point in changing the channel, so in the margins of your periphery, you watch sevika instead.Ā
even with her steel toe boots at the entrance and sandals underneath her she moves with a heavy foot, a steady thunking backtracking her movement across the room. her midriff is a sharp line of brown. her back expands like a deep breath when she leans over the bed and snatches up a pillow.Ā
you canāt tell if sheās listening or not, and you twist just enough to see her face better.Ā
her hair is loose. relieved of its ponytail it falls just at her shoulders, only long and feathered in the front. it thins the window of her face out, makes the corners rounder.Ā
she looks contained, and careful. almost weightless.Ā
all she casts to the screen is one side-long, weary look. she scans the headline, and when the T.V. light catches her, her grayed eyes nearly look blue.
āwanna change the channel?ā she asks with a lid to her voice, and gladly, you stretch for the remote.
āhey,ā sevika says, quietly.Ā
the room is nearly as true black as the sea, for the entire second where you canāt tell which direction her voice is coming from. she doesnāt touch you, jostling the bed to shake you awake. āshowerās free.ā
āright,ā your voice scratches with salt and sleep. you rise onto your elbow, and try to rub it out.Ā
āthanks.ā
when you exit the bathroom, freshly scrubbed till your skin stings, you find her curled tight into herself, winding the sparse blanket around her.
ānight,ā she says gruffly. āturn the light off when youāre done.ā
sheās deathly still under the covers, unmoving as a mountain. then the bed creaks loudly behind her and her neck cranes to find the source of intrusion. she stares at you incredulously.
āno. find another bed.āĀ
āthis oneās closer to the bathroom.ā you tuck yourself in at the far edge, testing, testing. āand comes with a portable heater.ā
it's a silent dance, and a quick one, and it happens hazily and marred by the dark. she shoulders you and your elbow slips and jabs at her ribs, and somewhere you manage to kick harder than you mean to, and her legs slot and then clamp around yours, barring your movement.
you find out a cage can be warm, if itās skin wrapped over bone, or a thick arm locked over your neck.
sevika doesnāt let you go, and she exhales irritatedly through her nose.
she humors your shitty plea for the safety of another body. with the freedom she gives you, you fold your arms across your chest with finality, and let your eyes shut.Ā Ā
your body doesnāt shake or shiver, it's far too late for that. but in the dark and a few hours past midnight with the night withering away at your sharpness, it's easy to let absurdity have its way.
sevika sleeps, eventually. you try to follow behind.
your sleep is nonlinear and fitful, and you wake often, startled and sweating or thirsty or heaving oxygen faster than your body can expel it. you get up to throw up into the toilet or wet your scratchy throat or to wash your handsāwhich never really gets the dirt out, no matter how raw you scrub them.Ā
every time you return to bed, sevika is in the bleary margins of sleep. sheās only ever just awake enough to lay sprawled on the bed, her human arm flattened against the crinkled, alabaster sheets, bore open like an invitation.Ā
thereās little fanfare. she traps your legs when you kick in your sleep; her thighs are thick and heavy and itās easy work. but most times thereās no trapping, just fitting together. itās easy. itās unsettling. itās during those moments where the air gets gummy in your throat and sleep hardly comes at all.
in the quiet of early morning when the world is still holding its breath, everything is delicate, and bendable.Ā
egregiously, itās barely 5 a.m. sevika moves about quietly.Ā
her normally heavy footsteps are unnaturally silent, snuffing out when they glide onto the floorboards. it only dawns on you after minutes of letting it simmer you awake from sleep that you think sheās trying to be mindful of you.Ā
slowly, eventually, she notices you watching. says, took you long enough, and then, thereās breakfast. come and eat.
breakfast means a bowl of cinnamon toast crunch and two bananas. but they're sliced into a little spiral and drizzled with honey, and kindness is still thawing no matter what form it takes.Ā
you gather your bones, and sit up.
the amount of driving is only difficult until sevika starts talking.Ā
maybe itās your newfound ease. the sky is the same bold blue of your guitar and youāre finally catching up with your goals. maybe itās the way you grin slowly whenever she tells you to please take your feet off the damn seat or tells you to leave her alone about the weather. that she canāt saddle down the sun.
in between it somewhere, in your own unwinding, she also finds some makeshift safety and peels open like a puckered wound.Ā
she has a near arsenal of stories to share from her years on the road. her voice is undercut by the balmy rock music drifting from her stereo, and the wind racing past your ears, and your makeup mirror catching stray sunlight and glinting like rhinestones atop the sea.Ā
some weeks are quieter than others, she tells you. most weeks are quiet enough that the commercial breaks are the thin line she traces behind delirium.Ā
but then sometimes she happens across people like you.
theyāre her words, but they donāt cut, just settle. there have been hikers before youāgranted, sheās been on the road for years. somehow no matter how much timeās passed she remembers the name of every single one.Ā
the hours roll by easier. eventually so does the breath in your lungs.Ā
sevika exhales a long stream of smoke.
āthey told me to go kill myself,ā she says, flatly.
you sigh, sagely. āright. as predicted.ā
sevika leans back against the vehicle, screwing her eyes shut as she works her brain. the cigarette rolls around in her teeth and her thumb rubs the sore out of her temple, like she could materialize a way forward through a beam out of her forehead just by needing it desperately enough.Ā
it would turn out that half a decade isnāt enough time for old men to forget old broken bones. sevika swore if she could just get inside, she could smooth their history out like a curling, yellowed map and youād both still be on time towards the warehouse.Ā
a gamble, apparently. but you can see in the hardened line in her brow that sheās unaccustomed to entertaining regret.Ā
āiāll drive straight through if worse comes to worse,ā she tells you, and you clarify, in a dubious moment, whether she meant to plow through the clubhouse itself.
like tugging a loose thread along a frayed hemline the worry unravels from her face, for a momentāher mouth fidgets and nearly quirks. her cheeks lift towards the orange sky.
through the night, i meant. but would be nice, huh?
your own grin is toothier and big enough for the both of you. but then when you ask why she pummeled him to begin with, her face flattens, all humor dead and gone.Ā
she says thinly, someone had to.Ā
you say nothing else for a while. then your hand advances into her space, tapping the corner of her mouth.
she levels you with a look. but her jaw unhinges, just slightly, just enough to tug the cigarette out.Ā
you flip it between your fingers, and fit it between your lips.
āyouāve got a handsome face. beg them for forgiveness and use that to get us in.ā
her eyes settle on your mouth wrapped around the filter, where her mouth had just been prior.Ā
āthey donāt want a handsome face,ā she says, after a long moment. says it like sheās telling on herself. āthey want you.ā
youāre prodding. the balminess and sticky air and her semiliquid eyes on you makes it hard to care. āyeah? whatāve i got?ā
she beckons for the cigarette back but you hold it out of reach, a small smile fleeting, your dare silent and loud. like loosening mooring lines from a shipās bollards, sevika takes your bait, and slowly rocks forward along your tide. her hand hovers just under your chin, and your mouth tilts open for her, feeding the smoke into her mouth. it tumbles out in an iridescent waterfall.Ā
you watch as she closes her mouth around it, gathering it inside the cavity and trapping it there. then pauses. lets it rush back out in waves.Ā
her eyes are foggy with condensation and golden heron gray when they finally steal towards yours again.Ā
āyouāre attractive as shit,ā she says, plainly. āand the folks out here like to be devastated.āĀ
after a long second she watches you stand up taller. you take sevikaās face, nails digging into the hard line of her jaw. your thumb sits against her lower lip. you place the cigarette back inside.
you nudge her aside with your shoulder, and sevikaās fingers ignore the new, moon-shaped dents in her skin, and draw instead over the memory of your mouth.
adjusting your chest and popping some buttons your skin crawls, stomach shiftingābut you clench your jaw down, and remind yourself this time is differentāand smile. all teeth.
CRESCENDO: š COLLISION.
their voice chafes like cedar. tall and imposing is not unfamiliar to you with all the time youāve been spending inside sevikaās shadow, and even less for the nights youāve bargained your way through a door with far less to lose. you lean against the railing and scoop their attention like loose soil.Ā
please, you tell them. i really donāt want to go home.Ā
you croon sweetly in their ear, borrowing your motherās accent, the one she only scrubbed clean off her tongue after 11 years of having you. you make small talk easily while they shine a flashlight on your passport, spin a half-truth about your journey here and the clubs youāve visited already and how they measure up against the ones at home. you tell them the humanity feels a degree different. but the intensity is all the same.
the lie passes safely between the truth. you really donāt have anything to return to.Ā
you trust sevika to stay awake the whole night if she had to, but youāve also spent one too many evenings bent over a toilet with nausea pumping at your stomach, wondering who would come to collect your body should any given day be your last.
a thin hand slides towards the small of your back and coldness makes cement of your legs, until you realize the hand never landed.
their gaze is wearyāthey knowābut understanding. they know.Ā
when they move to usher you inside you plant your feet and point back to sevika, whoās still leaned against the truck, the cigarette lifted to her mouthāskipping them entirely, and watching you.
it bristles up your back like cold ice. you hold her stare and then glance away.Ā
please. you make your case firmly. two.
they send a long stare over your shoulder. then make a quick gesture with their hand, beckoning sevika on over.
the first thing to hit is the fogāthe world is as if split cleanly in half.
the music pools into your head and takes over for your heartbeat, a deep and resonant bass cramming a new rhythm inside. you buzz as if you had touched a naked, sparking wire. faces blur out, and sweaty foreheads reflect the rustic lights, bodies surging, writhing, swimming.
with all your senses in use at once you lose sevika for a second. your neck swings wildly once the emptiness dawns on you like a backhand, but she hasnāt lost you. sheās leaned down close with the bouncer, her hand silverish and bronzish and loose around your waist.
you feel drunk about it. and youād love a drink, and to maybe chance towards the centrifugal tug of the dance floor, and join the bodies in forgetting. just not more than youād hate for her to let go.Ā
sevika mistakes your dazed stare as your undivided attention. she tries telling you something and you barely register that sheās addressing you to begin with, until the cold metal clamps down and everything crystalizesāclears out.
you zero in on her, lids fluttering over wet eyes.Ā
she makes a face, before pressing inward. cradling your back as she bends for your ear.
you nearly miss it again, for the way her lips graze the shell while she speaks, plush and pillowy and tracing out her words;Ā
ātheyāre gonna take us downstairs,ā she repeats, voice still outdone by the pounding music. when you shiver only half of it is apprehension.
sevika doesn't lean back far enoughācanāt. she takes you in with both brows pulled.Ā
she doesnāt ask, and you wouldnāt tell.Ā
but thereās work to do, and so she slides down from your waistāmetal catching the sparse light and speckling out in your vision like firecrackers, like her own little piece of the sunāslips her fingers through yours, and tugs.
the crowd is far gone and the music is faint. it carries only through the floorboards but never pierces through, and you can feel it more than hear it pulsing like a fresh wound, if you press your body against the oakwood.Ā
youāre sitting on a stool with your legs crossed neatly, while sevika and the club owner pretend to catch up.
they really just measure dick sizes. arguing about whose property is whose and the history of things and what fees can be reduced and more aptly whether they should.
itās all code for you hurt me. i want you to hurt for hurting me.Ā
he reminds her, with a poor pass at impassivity, of what a cracked jaw feels like. sevika tells him some people need to feel that once in their life since itās a sting that stays.Ā
āthe club looks a bit safer,ā sevika concedes, quietly. the flag is not quite white, but itās flying. āyour girls look happier, too. āleast youāve managed to do something right.ā
her grim face says take it or leave itāand maybe it shouldnāt, when her sleep schedule and driving performance for the next few days counts on it, knowing sheāll trip further up the road than she can make up for later. timeās hands are rough and unforgiving. and thereās always work to do.
but you believe her, if she says this matters more.Ā
itās heavy for reasons you canāt fully disentangle and you wonder if you should even be witness to this at all. or itās the heat of proximity making your bias tilt on its axis.Ā
unfathomablyāshe hasnāt yet let go of your hand.
the manās gaze slides to you for the first time since you entered the room behind her. even with your eyes and attention wandering the four walls you feel it immediately, like the cold muzzle of a revolver.Ā
his eyes are cool when you meet them, but not in the way sevikaās are. you donāt offer a smile. he doesnāt seem to mind.
he taps the wood with his pen, āfinally settling down?ā
sevikaās hand squeezes. āsure.ā her voice redirects his gaze. āsomething like that.ā
she gets the parking space. it means you both get to sleep.
āyouāre accruing a lot of debt,ā sevika informs you, leaning against the front lobbyās rolling marble countertop. āitād cost you less to find someone else to ride with.ā
āitād cost me less if you stopped paying for rooms with two beds,ā you return.
the lady on the other side looks ready to kill someone or herself, and she repeats in a strained voice, āany way i can help you two?ā
sevika looks pained to say it, face pinched. her metal fingers drum against the counter, next to her I.D.Ā
āone room, one bed. just for the night.ā
the lady lets a flat look pass between you two, before she starts punching into her desktop.Ā the bill does immediately look prettier, and you knock a hip against sevikaās and give her a little look at that. she ignores it, and turns for the elevator with a sigh.
you set down your guitar along the only safe surface you can think of, too scared to lay it down on the floor. she eyes it from where it balances precariously on the T.V. stand.Ā
āthat thing play at all? or you carry it around just for show?ā
āyeah.ā you overturn your hair and bend at 90 degrees, wrapping a saturated silk scarf around it. your voice muffles with the effort. ājust for the mystery. leaves people wondering what iāve got going on.ā
she's unimpressed, and you exhale, tightening the knot and taking a seat on the edge of the bed.Ā
āyes, it plays. of course it plays. i thought you needed to sleep?āĀ
she lobs a look your way. then a grin curls out of her tired face.
āare you secretly shit at it?ā
heat flares in your skin, indignant and itchy with irritation. the gap in her teeth shines before disappearing, while she shucks her tank top off, and redirects, easily. ācalifornia wonāt fix that.ā
you turn to remove her solid body in a sports bra and boxer briefs from your line of sight. āif youāre gonna tell me itās stupid donāt waste your breath.ā
sevika spares you one last look, and then crouches over her bag for a change of clothes.Ā
āi wasnāt.āĀ
she gestures with her head, offering the bathroom over for you to take your shower first.
you flip through the channels while biting into a banana you borrowed from her cooler. sheās logging a delivery a few paces away, and in a short outburst she exhales and leans away from the table, pushing the stack of papers to the side.Ā
you send a sigh her way, knees drawn to your chest as a soap drama wails away on the T.V. āstop already. your restlessness is distracting.ā
she doesnāt acknowledge the comment at all, heaving herself up and reaching out for the wall to pat the burning fluorescent lights off.
thereās no working air conditioner. youāve both been good sports about it, but sleepiness isnāt coming any easier in the sticky heat.Ā
āthis is the part i hate, having to adjust around someone new.ā sevikaās lips thin under whatever words she doesnāt say, and pulls her toothbrush out from her things. āitās too hot to be in here with a shirt on.ā
ānobodyās stopping you.ā you gesture with the remote in your hand. ātake it off.ā
her eyebrows lift.
āhere,ā you say, because your foresight has always been your worst attribute, āiāll make it easier.ā
it does admittedly make the room feel miles more bearable. and still your skin bleeds everywhere her eyes fall.Ā
her face cracks like glass, and spreads into a thin, poorly contained smile. like a cheshire cat. like youād unknowingly proved something right.
then she steps away from the dim light into the bathroom, and you sit up incredulously. embarrassment crawls up from your belly and lodges red and bursting in your throat.Ā
āyou snore when you sleep,ā you call after her. āif you wanna talk about adjusting. but i donāt complain about you honking away in my ear.ā
āthats fine,ā she says around the toothbrush crammed in her mouth, āācause you kick like a damn horse.ā
āyou're heavy as a damn horse.āĀ
āand i should start charging you for that, too. since you have me doubling as a weighted blanket now.ā
ādonāt bother,ā you say, and click the T.V. off. the room gets colder instantly without the ill-fated actress on the screen to compare your woes to, and you wrestle your shirt back over your head. ādonāt want it anymore anyway.ā
when sheās finished, youāve curled around yourself and stuck to the far edge of the bed, wrapped in a cocoon in your thin blanket. you can feel her staring at your back.
āthe hell are you doing over there?ā
āyou said itās hot. donāt wanna get in your way.āĀ Ā
there's the tinkling sound of metal shifting against metal as she works her limb out of its socket, and settles it beside the bed. the mattress dips under her weight, and then a strong hand latches around your waist, and the air exits soundlessly from your mouth as she drags you towards her.
āitās fine,ā she says, low and into the back of your neck. āyou like the heat.ā
you're glad for the darkness and almost for her proximity, so she canāt tell when the hairs there stand on end.Ā
you shoulder at her arm, and sevika rasps in the dark, donāt be upset.
the concern sounds all syruppy, teasing. her hand on your bare stomach is large and calloused and crawls up from the dark to cup your breast, and squeezes.Ā
you go rigid, make an odd noise that dies your throatāand your thighs squeeze against the warmth that licks between them.Ā
her hand doesnāt remove itself but merely lowers to your stomach, settles over your diaphragm. her warm breathing is slow and consistent on your shoulder. you can almost feel her mouth brushing your skin like a branding iron.
you wrangle your heart rate into control, knowing sheās mapping out the whole measure, that youāre allowing her to. you stare into the dark in front of you, imagining what her eyes look like in the moonlight. thinking you could almost turn around and check.
the day bathes sevika in gold.Ā
sheās lively for merely moments, happy to have a full nightās sleep, happy to be at the warehouse on timeāand then the truck doors slam shut and the air conditioning leaves you both behind and her displeased frown settles back in again, right where it belongs.Ā
a clean sheen of sweat has been threatening her vision for the past half hour from where itās perched on her brow, and she misses it somehow each time she gingerly carries the back of her hand across her face. the sweat draws her clothes to her the way an old lover lingers, the slick and sheer material clinging to every smooth turn of brown skin.Ā
itās pornographic. damp heat thickens in the air and ripens, too sweet. you feel sweat pooling everywhere on you, sticky on the fuzz of your skin. it makes it easy to avoid her, for the most part, an easy excuse for the careful distance you keep.Ā
what you donāt search for is an excuse for the thin ache between your legs. you know who the pulse belongs to.
avoiding herāand equally your peace of mindānever lasts as long as it should.
āthis one hereāll be hanging around today,ā is how sevika introduces you to the warehouse supervisor.Ā
they seem to know each other, in the sanitized way one knows a coworkerāpolitely and still far more than desired.Ā
you smile a little, and extend your hand to meet his in the middle. he steps back afterward, but you correct your position on the crate anyway, and lock your knees together.Ā
he makes a humming sound in his throat. āthat your woman?ā
startled, your eyes shoot over, but she isnāt shaken, nor looking at you. āsure is. that asshole been talking about me?ā
ātalking shit about you, yes. always and religiously.āĀ
discussion around it ends as fast as it began. the man pats her back and then tips his chin at you on his way back.Ā
āhave a good one, miss.ā
you turn on sevika the moment heās gone, a resignation to your voice that you hope carries nothing else inside it, ādoes your woman ever get any say in being your woman?ā
āfor the next two hours you donāt.ā she gives you a hard, pointed look. ātheyāll leave you alone.ā
you blink. your hand ghosts over your heart, protecting the spot. for an unnerving second her gaze cuts a gaping hole there and sheās staring right inside.Ā
with your conversation only halfway in her head, sevika makes a frustrated grunt, and all in one movement tugs her hair out of its ponytail. it picks up the sunlight and drags it across her face as it flutters and shakes down to her shoulders. she gathers it all in its entirety again, and pins it away.Ā
you watch, your breath held in your mouth like a bead.
āi can take care of myself,ā you manage, once her arm is no longer higher up in your line of sight than necessary and you can go back to failing to avoid looking at her at all.Ā
she makes it difficult. āi know.ā
sevika gazes down at you before returning to dragging produce around and it's something like being singed with the sun.
CUTAWAY: š UNDOING.
youāre watchfulāvigilantābut no one approaches. no one pries.Ā
sevika generally stays steadfastly in your line of sight, or you in hersā
but itās been hours, and sheās shot down your every offer to help in order to drag the ordeal along. instead sheās being helped by a worker she seems to know, and you canāt recall the name you overheard. somehow it doesnāt matter.
your eyes pass between them, back and forth. weighing, like a cube of dice in your palm.
sevika lets her palm descend on his arm, thick and burly and still dwarfed by hers. some sort of nonverbal show of gratitude thatās received fluently.
the manāher friendāmakes a gruff noise alongside a sharp, bearded lift to his face, barely there and gone the next breath. his stance curls at the top like a willow tree but his shoulders are steady and his gait calm and he doesnāt look in your direction once.Ā
not without effort, you tear your gaze from his retreating neck and flicker back towards sevika. a shudder touches the base of your spine, quick as a splinter. same as always, sheās watching you right back.
she makes a vague motion with her head, beckoning you over.
her practiced eyes search your approach for heat-exhaustion, her hand suspended as if to touch your arm. never landing.
āall good?ā
you settle before her. āof course.ā
she drags up the last of the crates and you stare at them witheringly, and stop yourself from calculating all the time itāll take. āheās an old partner of mine, weāve been in the business together for a long time.ā
you smile, slowly. āthatās sweet.ā then observantly, āheās handsome.ā
her eyes flicker, first back towards her friend, then towards you. lingers. holds and then drops.Ā
āheās alright.ā
the crate lifts, and then so do her brows. āthat your type?ā
you teeter forward. both on the balls of your feet and the line youāve been toeing.Ā
ābig biceps?ā you trace with a light finger her arm thatās flexed with effort, heavier until your palm slides against the taut skin. ātall and strong?ā her unhurried gaze follows the path you draw down her. gets stuck a little too long on your smile.Ā
you fold your arm back into yourself. itās too late, anyway. if she sees your desire strewn out and honey-dense you hope she knows only she can launder it.Ā
āyeah,ā you let go. āiāve got a thing for those.āĀ
it lights in her eyes first before it descends down her face. when she smiles, finally, itās small and curled.Ā
āgreat. then remind me to introduce you two.ā
dinner is takeout for the second night in a row.
the diner is a spot right in the middle of nowheresville between the warehouse and the next motel closest to parking. it has more than modest if not invisible outer dressingābut the interior surprises you, brieflyāis pulsing, customers and chefs hollering at each other and a randomly large cerulean fish tank crammed in the far left corner. a buzzing, soft and neon glow tosses around with the background chatter. itās pinkish and softens your companion, from where sheās seated across from you.Ā
the table is small and cramped. you both make it work. sevika keeps her left leg stretched out underneath and nestled between yours, and you have both your feet propped up onto the stool rung. a significant amount of eyeballing alerts you that thereās not nearly enough food in her portion and youāre plotting on how to sneak some of yours onto her plate without her noticing and making a big deal about it.
the food is good, above everything. sevika looks mildly pleased when you melt at the first forkful.
āhow the hell do you stay so fit,ā you mumble around the shrimp lo mien, and she points at you with wooden chopsticks wedged between three fingers, and chides, chew, then swallow, then talk.
it peeves you enough that you only respond with your mouth full and donāt acknowledge her again otherwise. sheās disbelieving and then exasperated, and then something else, quiet and mirthful and warm.Ā
it's its own form of prayer, in a way. the teamwork of it. itās all a ball passed back and forth. you push your half-finished bowl towards her, subtleties abandoned, tell her eat. donāt just watch. donāt just offer. if this delicate thing youāre both balancing is an altar then let me worship here, too.
she refuses, predictably. you refuse her refusal too.Ā
her disgruntled face after miles of back and forth begs why?, and you shrug, empty your bowl into hers and nudge it closer.
ānever been taken care of before?ā
silence is a tattletale. despite her creased brow, she eats.
you wake up gripped tight to sevikaās chest like a clenched fist.Ā
you roll with a bit of agitation, briefly irked at greeting the day so damn early and then at your head scarf lying halfway across the bed.Ā
sevikaās snoring softly out of parted lips, and somewhere in her sleep her ribbed tank top shifted up and out of the way. her midriff makes your tongue thicken in your mouth.
the careful silence of the morning eggs you on, with even the sun nearly absent as your witness. you trail fingers along her peeking ribcage. angle your head and kiss her stomach. her breathing continues uninterrupted, while you stumble to catch yours.Ā
sheās so real you donāt know what to do with it.Ā
you press inwards again, wondering how much itād take to break skin. how close you could get. how far sheād let you.Ā
she wakes up with her skin sucked between your teeth.
slow, a rocking ship docking at sea. her eyes murmur open, and her hand slides into your hair, cupping your jaw as you look up at her. you between her legs, hand flattened on her stomach, peering up at her through your lashes. and her skin between your teeth.
you release it, and press your thumb down into the spot where it blooms a deep plum. she exhales sharply. her stomach locks underneath you.Ā
you kiss the bruise, right at the elastic of her boxers.Ā
āāmorning.ā
the world gets softer with her in it.
or itās the heat making everything languid and slow. or the music circling from her radio, crooning funk and jazz and rock with gentle melodies and incessant professions of love.
you get ready blanketed underneath it. and your fingers buzz in your hair as you tease through it, imagining it were your own fingers plucking the sounds into the air.
sevikaās duffle is already packed, and sheās bent over a banana on the single courtesy chair, swaying like tall grass in an endless field, staring out into nothing.Ā
ātryna eat me alive?ā she had asked, yawning out of her sleep. like she was doing it on purpose, her stomach stretching, her face squeezing tiredly.
you looked sweet, youād responded. trying to sound more jokey and less tortured. less hungry. just wanted a bite.
the guitar of brazilian jazz rings out from the small box, an early 2000s track you perk to attention at. the introduction descends into percussion. you donāt even remember standing to your feet.
she doesnāt startle when your hands find her neck.
your touch is light and she cranes to look up at you, and you grin, your thumb brushing over her pulse.Ā
you tell her to come dance with you.
she says no. then hauls herself up, anyway.
the morning light descending in strips on the wooden floorboards is your stage and your hips gyrate while the rhythm trickles down your bones. she complains fruitlessly that she doesnāt dance, and to not expect anything from her, but being good at it was never the point.
you close your eyes, for yourself and for her. sevika catches your body when it tips back into hers, while her hands glide down the bend of your torso and flattens on your pelvis. your ass slides flush against her and her stomach shifts against your curved spine with every inhale, her diaphragm lifting like sheād break past your skin if she could, and settle herself between your bones.Ā
the music bounces and dances with you. she sways, supports every pull and whine of your hips. the instruments layer on top of each other and sweetens the air, and your movement grows more excited, losing yourself to the sound.Ā
āit was too bad we didn't get to do this at your friend's club.ā you swallow and it goes down like a blade.
āwe would've if i knew you wanted to.ā
you slide your palm over the hand on your hip. āyou knew.āĀ
nothing else needs saying, and the silence closes in. itās warm and buzzing and ripe.
perched on the bed you watch sevika rest her hip bone against the bathroom sink, leaning towards the mirror with a well-used kajal pencil sitting loosely between her fingers. she drags it along her waterline, pulling at the skin near her crowās feet. itās the period to the end of her morning routine.
she pulls back, and stares at her reflection.
she stands like that for too long. you canāt see what she sees, you donāt know what sheās searching for. whether she finds it or not the moment is gone, and she turns away and flips the light switch, and tucks the stick away.
she pauses when she enters your line of sight. a brow rustles in question.
ābathroom free?ā you ask her. she hums, moving to stand before you.
ācanāt get āem right for some reason,ā she sighs, her eyes flickering closed for you to pick out the imperfection you wonāt find, and arenāt searching for.Ā
your eyes drift seedless over the rest of her face. sunlight peers golden and red through the blood in her ears, the flyaways in her dark hair glowing white. dust mites balancing in the light around her in a halo. youāre almost scared to let yourself exhale should the mirage shudder away with it.
when you recenter focus her eyes sit on you, silently.Ā
you tug her nearer, past pretending you're getting a better look.Ā Ā
sevikaās hand comes behind you and presses deep into the mattress for balance, tilting precariously into your space as you pull without relenting. you pass the parted plush of her mouth, press a suggestion instead to the weathered, soft skin of her cheek.Ā
her lids are low. you trail a kiss to her chin, her chest rising and settling as you hover, unhurried, until your lips are brushing.Ā
sevikaās breath catches on your skin. she slides calloused fingers under your chin and presses forward in one motion and finishes the distance for you.Ā
her lips are soft as you remember them.Ā
her kiss is unhurried for moments, a gentle rhythm. she smells like rich wintergreen and morlboro smooth. she breaks away, eyes searching your trembling fingers and heaving chest. you press forward to take her back in.Ā
the kiss becomes bruisingāher mouth presses forward firmly, spurred by your pleased noises. your lips part for her and she licks inside. sheās handsy, her knee coming down onto the bed and your arm wrapping over her shoulder while she drags your hips forward to meet her thigh. they lower to graze your ass, humming when a soft moan slips from you, gathering the sound off your tongue.
when you pull back to quietly catch your breath, sevikaās hazy eyes drop, dip and trail, taking you in in your entirety, laid out before her on the bed.Ā
the airy fabric spills off your shoulder in waterfalls, skin soaked in freckled sunlight through the window pane and in nothing else but your underwearāsevika reaches out and pulls the elastic waistband of your panties till it snaps against your hip.
your breathing hollows but she pulls away and rocks off the bed.Ā
tells you throatily, āyeah. bathroomās free.ā
you fall apart all over your hand.Ā
a whimper threatens its way out of your throat as your hips roll into your fingers. the nub of your clit swells against your incessant rubbing, your stomach clenching as you climb.
with a sharp, pleading moan; you forget yourself. for a moment, while your pussy clenches tight and then breaks and everything sweetens, this doesnāt matter.
yet your body goes cold immediately after, clarity clawing webby fingers at the base of your stomach where you had just been tight and warm.
leaving the bathroom is nightmarish. and you take entirely too long cleaning up in the shower to prolong itāand you try not to check. you make an honest-to-god effort.Ā
sevikaās eyes are a forest fire. your eyes meet and it scalds.
with your towel folded over your arm and hips donned with denim, your breath holds you as you wait for her to remedy the silence with salve. a stupid quip or a beckon forward or a reproach.
but she gives you nothing, continues eating like itās nothing, a lazy ghost of a smile tilting her lips.Ā
your breathing doesnāt truly even back out. itās fresh and warm as a wound and floods down to your toes. your fingers flex at your side, and you carry the feeling cursing in your stomach with as much pride as you can offer it. Ā
sevika stops you at the door.
with the day flickering around her broad shoulders, slipping through the cracks in the rusted white door and into your eyesāshe passes a hand down your torso, and cups you through your pants.
you go rigid to your core. she swatches your dampness through your cotton shorts, like a painter would their palette.
āthought you took care of it?ā
you grip her wrist when she begins to pull away. stare right into her eyes, and let out a quiet, breathy moan.
it lets your own shock take a backseat while her brows sink over her eyes, blackened with desire.
youāre slick and aching between your thighs, and she lingers in the heat like a promise, before slipping her hand away. she pushes back against the door for you, and you shoulder through.
you imagine youāre a delight to her, like this. fruit sweet enough to bite into. something of a dam breaks, and her hands donāt leave your body often.
thereās a thumb soothing your thigh, high up on the pulpy flesh near the loose hem. you do a fine job of ignoring it, even when her hand gathers the meat and squeezes.
the radio isnāt playing music. a droning voice describes a primary witnessā recount of the bodies found east of the interstate highway sevikaās truck thunders along.
she doesnāt change stations. presses her thumb down into the pink tissue until the wound weeps.
the sound of laughter greets your arrivalāyou werenāt warned of the tighter community of workers at this warehouse, and stockers who do not know you welcome your stay with wide smiles. sevika looks properly disgruntled at the jovial bodies wrapping around her at entry. you taste envy in your mouth like iron.Ā
adjusting her cap lower in her face, sevika tells you to stay put and to holler if anything happens.
of course something happens. outside her tall, unbending shadow, youāre an easy kill.
your guitar doesnāt go unnoticed by the workers she leaves you by. making mountains out of cardboard boxes, they goad you on to play for them.
you briefly wish past-you had left it in sevikaās truck, but even the slightest chance of the finish fading worried you, and now your fingers tighten around the neck while you shuffle through your mental catalog for all the songs you know by heart.
the thick, tar guitar strap is embroidered with pink and white hollyhocks. it braces against your chest as you hoist the body to your hip.
you let out a steady breath. and then let your hand descend.
you imagine instrumentals, even an orchestra cropping up behind you, pouring in with a force that could knock you to your knees. a piano might pluck in like raindrops. percussion might hammer like life at your front door. you imagine the sound nose-diving clumsily, unconcerned with where the note lands, undeterred by its mangled body and snapped tendons spilled across the floor.Ā
the music makes itself almost, underneath your thumb. it leaps forward, and heaves with lungs.Ā
for a moment, under the fluorescent lights, you are beautiful.Ā
your fingers still stumble, veins of your wrist bending to make the barre. you miss a chord and have to run after it. your voice strains when you forget your finger placement and land your bones on the fret too late.Ā
but the music never stops moving. it coasts over the space and you feel it, pumping and thudding like a heartbeat. you map out its rhythm with your own thumping feet against the ground and however many stragglers that stuck around bob heads and tap hands against their thighs.Ā
you get a single, lone whistle and you grin under it, succumbing to the spiral. these are bodies surging, in their own way. you worship the moment with all you've got.
when youāve played yourself empty, slightly sweaty and throat wound tightāyou find her, stood in the corner of the scant crowd like an afterthought.
sevikaās arms are crossed and her head angled, as if turning a curious thought between her teeth. or seeing you for the very first time.
the guitar eats your nails down to stubs, but you bludgeon your way forward anyway.
your brain flickers with every memory of sevikaās gaze, clinging like sea salt to the back of your legs. when sheās near you, when sheās near you, and you can barely hear yourself over your own pulse, and your heartbeat clatters against your spine like a drum. it begs for release and offers itself over, arteries clipped and leaking like a sewage drain.
it makes an unfortunate sight. and still with all the audacity required of love, pleads, quietly, to be wanted in return.
youāre made up of many awful things. theyāll all catch up to you someday.Ā
but youāre made of this, too.
so just for nowāyou sing.
CADENCE: š SERENDIPITY.
the world is orange enough to slice into. the wind passes like rushing water through the trees, and if you close your eyes you think you would almost smell the salt, see the dark and foaming sea.
ānot much longer,ā sevika says, offhandedly. sheās stretched out on the park bench, elbows propped behind her on the wood. youāre sitting on the table top just an inch above her, and your knees sway apart and collapse into her shoulder.
āscared to miss me when iām gone?ā
āyeah,ā she admits simply, staring out into the bruising sky.Ā
then after a moment, ātell me about california.ā
you donāt respond, chest squeezing against your spine, not quite ready to move on yet. but after her pointed stare you blink away and wave around the sandwich in your hand, vaguely. āiām gonna be a musician. right where the sea is, iām gonna make people dance.āĀ
you lower the patty to your lap. your legs cross, knotted like pie.
āand when i smile, iām going to mean it.ā
she watches you, her face difficult to decipher. āyeah?ā
āyeah. andā¦and when iām touched by anything, even by deathāitāll strike out like a chord. it wonāt be muffled underneath anyoneās body, or anyone i leave behind.ā the words break as they hit the crisp, evening air. with eyes sharp, your earnestness drives them into the world like a spear. āitāll be wild, and loud. something with wings. a note that never stops ringing.āĀ
the sentiment sounds off like a vow. sheās your single, reverent audience.
ādonāt have to die to get all that,ā sevika says, finally. if you lifted her voice and peeled the cords apart, you wonder what youād find inside.
āyeah, but,ā you spin your finger, eddying the drink in your cup. ācan you imagine? iāll want for nothing else after i get it.ā
āi can imagine,ā she says. thereās no judgment in her voice, but she doesnāt scrub out the scratchiness. āiām just wondering if you canāt.ā
youāre uninterested in the question and the thickness it raises in your throat. it gives the dream a bit too much leverage over you than youāre prepared to afford it, so you swallow and say nothing, lifting the cup to your mouth.Ā
she leaves it at that. together, you eat, and watch the sun settle to sleep.
the day wanes and surrenders to night, and sevika secures parking late again. itās late again. sheās shuffling around in her boxers like a slut.
thereās a purple mark that reveals itself when she stretches her hands above her head in a suppressed yawn or reaches under her shirt to scratch her stomach. at each instance your breath pauses and folds in your gut.Ā
it might be the leftover dregs from your conversation earlier but when you shoulder your way into the bathroom beside her she forgoes your reflection in the mirror to watch you approach, keeping the toothbrush working steadily in her mouth. you sit on the toilet lid with your own toothbrush and rest your right ankle on your left knee and begin to scrub, too.
freshly showered, and smelling like malted barely, sevika tugs a little at her hair. grunts, twists her neck, and frowns.
she steps into the marmalade light again and you ask her whatās wrong and she lifts shears in the air, pointedly.
āi put this off forever. itās getting too long.ā
you hum lengthily, then perch yourself on the bathroom sink. āgive it. iāll do it.ā
when she doesnāt move you gesture for the shears again, fingers dragging through the air.
ādonāt make it too short,ā she requests wearily, placing them into your open palm.Ā
ārelax. my mama ran a hair shop,ā your legs extend and wrap around her hips, and squeeze till sheās dragged forward, in between your thighs. āiāll take good care of you.ā
the position is not the most optimal for cutting hair. you wait for her to voice her opposition but she seems to care as little as you do, hands coming eventually to rest on either side of your hips.Ā
āshow me the length before you cut,ā is all she says. that much you can do.
you nudge her shoulder until sheās turned around 180 degrees. her back is a thick expanse and just barely rounded forward, and you pull the hair back between two fingers to expose the nape of her neck, a pretty thing. you tip forward, kiss along it. murmur, āthis long?ā
she takes a long time to respond. her voice is awful when it comes. ālonger.ā
you try again, and sheās tensing. rolling into it, laying her neck to the side, bearing herself open.
āthereās good.ā sevika squeezes your knee. āgo ahead.ā
you thread through her hair, re-gather it between your two fingers, and then lift the shears.Ā
her thumb absentmindedly soothes your calf, unwitting while you sit and sway dizzily, terrified by how soft her throat is. wanting to sink your teeth inside.
you have her doing pirouettes as you work and sevika complies without complaint, turning every which way at your request.Ā
she prattles aimlessly about the radio drama you both became invested in on the ride here, and as easy as ranting back and forth was earlier youāre exerting effort to pay attention now.Ā
her cologne is subtle, but wraps the room like incense smoke. you can pick out her shampoo underneath it. she always finds a way to keep a hand on you like an anchor. sheās practically wearing nothing and you can see every twitch and flex of her arm as she adjusts her weight, and you stare at her mouth to better keep up with what sheās saying until that stops working, too.Ā
when you announce youāve finished, her smile is light and leaning. āhowās it look?ā
you sweep the debris off her shoulders. push the hair out of her eyes, and turn her face in your palm.Ā
then, helplessly, āreally good.ā
her smirk quiets. her expression flickers. she braces against the marble and kisses you.Ā
your fingers tighten around the shears in your hand, and when you grab at her hips to drag her closer they press in between the ridges of her ribcage.Ā
after a moment and a gentle hum she breaks away, and leans around your shoulder to check your work in the mirror. her breast pushes up against yours and your lids flicker, arousal coiling pitifully in your belly.Ā
she isnāt wearing a bra. your thighs twitch around her hips.
āyou did good,ā she drawls, pleased while she combs fingers through it. the front is cropped right to the halfway point of her jugular, just long enough to tug back into a ponytail if the summer heat had her needing to.Ā
āācourse i did.ā your hands on her waist squeeze a little. āi hope thatās not shock i hear?āĀ
she leans back, a satisfied smile stretching her face. you catch her eyes drop. she examines your wet, kiss-swollen lips and then lifts to take in your heavy eyes.
āalright,ā you duck away from her probing gaze, āget out. i need the bathroom too.āĀ
you nudge her back and keep pushing with your foot, amusement heavy in her eyes as you shoo her away.
she stoops to gather the hair inside a compact disposable bag, and you donāt stop yourself from looking anymore, her thighs straining against fabric, her hips swelling like the moon. she tightens the bag with a loop on her way out.Ā
the silence she leaves behind rings and pulses.Ā
your bare thigh on the cold sink anchors and sends a shiver rippling up your spine. it wakes you a little, loosens the thoughts in your brain. you hold your greed underneath your tongue like a pearl of spit. use it to wet the fingers you rub your clit with.
she finds you like that, legs spread and whimpering under your breath, and the shock nearly wipes both the wind out of your lungs and your very own life away. sheās looming in the entranceway, the dark from the room pooling in behind her, the diffused orange hues of the glowy, cramped bathroom gracing her arms and nudging at the deep geometric shadows along her silhouette. it cuts her up and angles her, sharply, more than she already is.
she asks you why you stopped. tells you to keep going.
you scramble for your underwear but she beats you to it. when her thick fingers slide to feel your wetness your brain goes soft and jelly and all reason exits your body. floods out straight from your mouth, a jolt and a moan and a curse.
her tone is slow and unwavering. ākeep going.ā
a whine threatens your throat when her fingers coax over yours, drawing out small circles on your clit.Ā
āi leave for three minutes, and youāre humping yourself like a dog?ā she lifts your chin so her taunting smile scathes inescapably, āyou gonna get off everytime i kiss you?ā
āyou get off on it,ā you huff, jaw slacking then tightening when her fingers apply more pressure in response. ābet you touched yourself too.āĀ
āi did,ā she bends towards your ear, breath warm and voice low. ācame over and over just thinking about how sweet you sounded.ā
your eyes are glassy when she draws back.Ā
ābe good for me. put on a good show.āĀ
she feels your speed pick up, the desperate noise climbing up your throat, and kisses the vein there.Ā
ākeep it nice and slow.ā her eyes are stuck to your glistening cunt, and you comply with a low whine. āright there, good girl.ā
the praise seeps in through the skin and whites out your coherence. sevika massages your thigh while you roll your hips into the pleasure, your clit swelling under your hand.Ā
her hand is restless. it lifts, taking your top up with it. grazes over a stiffening nipple with coarse fingers.Ā
you shudder under her heavy, roving gaze, taking her time to stare greedily before squeezing the flesh in her palm. āwanted me to see these real bad, didnāt you.āĀ
āthatāsāā air slips gently from between your clenched teeth, āthatās not what that was.āĀ
pressing a palm flat onto your back, sevika beckons the bud into her wet mouth. her eyes flicker to catch yours.
āno?ā
you arch into the heat, sevikaās teeth closing down and wringing out a harsh, breathy moan. she suckles and nips, and rolls the other between her fingers, while the heat builds white hot in your stomach.Ā
your slick is thick around your fingers and your motion gets sloppier, raising your foot to the counter and bowing your knees out. you paint a crude, clear canvas of yourself, every fold and leaking crevice, arousal sticky on your thighs.Ā
her attention lowers like she canāt help herself. she reaches down and rubs her fingers over yours, until your hips are stuttering into her hand. āyour pussyās so pretty,ā she murmurs, swiping her thumb over your entrance.
āplease,ā you whimper, gripping her moving arm. āi need you, baby.ā
she takes your gaze. āplease what? need what?ā
āneed your fingers,ā your hips reach pleadingly for the relief sheās dangling right over your head. āwanna cum on your fingers. please, feels so good when you touch me.ā
her eyes go dark as her pupils blow out, breath leaving her in a sharp rush. her hand shifts targets, pushing until sheās breaking past the peeking band of her underwear. ārub yourself faster.ā
your brain depletes to a shuddering moan at the thought of her rubbing her fingers coated with your cream onto her clit.Ā
āfuck, sevika. pleaseāāĀ
āfinish what you started.ā sevikaās fingers gyrate in time with yours, her eyes fogging over. ācum for me, sweetheart. then iāll make you feel real good.ā
your fingers move furiously as your orgasm starts to scrape inside. her steady breathing grows heavier while your whines climb in volume, her glazed, lust drunk gaze floating between your screwed up face and your drooling pussy. your thighs start to quiver, pleasure collecting into a tight coilāĀ
it breaks. a resounding tremor rocks through you and clears your vision as you gush over your fingers, her name bubbling and overflowing on your tongue. the last syllable breaks off with a prolonged uhhhh fuuuuckā, your fingers come to a twitching stop.Ā
āthere you are. easy.ā sheās there when your body slumps, taking on your body weight while you recover. your panting wanes while she soothes your shoulder.Ā Ā
your eyes raise to attention. her waistband snaps as she lifts her fingers up, slick and shining. leans over, takes your jaw and squeezes, beckons your mouth open.
āclean these for me,ā she instructs, low.
your lips wrap around her fingers as she feeds her fingers to you, her lids heavy as you suction yourself off. your gentle moan vibrates around her skin, and sevika slowly pulls them out with a pop and thumbs at the line of drool that stretches with it.Ā
her fingers trail down your bare stomach. āhowās it taste?ā
you lick your lips and swallow, eyes fluttering down to her mouth.Ā
āfind out for yourself.ā
she takes the bait, no resistence. slides against your lips, your arms coming to tangle across her shoulders, into her hair. she nudges your legs further apart and grazes your entrance, glides up to your clit. applies the barest bit of pressure.Ā
your breathing stutters.Ā
her fingers, thick and delicious and dragging your cream up into your foldsāover and over, gliding up, down, pausing only to settle on your clit and rub tight, slow circles. arousal expands in your stomach, ragged against her mouth.Ā
she just barely dips inside your cunt with each slide. your breath hitches at every tease, squirming and rocking your hips forward to meet her.Ā
youāre tired of her teasing and you want to say as much, until she sinks inside with one finger and whatever words you were preparing dissolves down your throat.
a satisfied sound leaves her, attention sucked back to your pussy swallowing her down to the knuckle.Ā
āyou feel fucking incredible,ā she pumps inside, staring unashamedly. āso wet baby, this all for me?ā
you canāt manage a response, canāt manage anything but to plead for more, asking her to add another, to make you feel full.
sevika searches your face until you lift to meet her eyes. she chooses then to ease her ring and middle inside togetherāto watch your lids flutter and your mouth hang dumbly.
she turns her wrist to run her thumb over your clit while she fucks into you with increasing speed. her languid pumping falls further and further to the wayside until sheās drilling inside and youāre crying out, finger nails carving crescents into her forearms.Ā
you can hardly hold yourself up anymore, warmth building while variations of her name and please please please dribbles like drool from your mouth.Ā
her low, smooth voice purring praise in your ear sinks you closer to that sweet spotāyou try to respond, mmmng right there, ām so close, feelssogood, and she volleys it back to you, āyeah? right here? feels so good?āāmocking and endeared and enraptured. hovering over your gleaming body like an awning, entranced while you crumble apart.
you clench around her fingers. itās her final warning as your orgasm expands till bursting, rippling and shuddering through you, all sweet and sticky.Ā
her grip tightens while you cry out and spasm in her arms. she pumps you through it, gradually decreasing the pressure, cooing while you claw at her body.Ā
your brain liquids. panting and muscles lax, you're held up by her arm alone.Ā
sevika kisses your hair. extracts her fingers, gently.Ā
āyou did incredible,ā she thumbs your cheek, keeping you upright until your trembling subsides, and your breathing evens out against her chest. the soft linen material on your skin wakes you back up out of your daze.Ā
you draw back, hand sliding along her waist.
āwant this off,ā you tug at her hemline. ācan youācan iā?āĀ
āācourse.ā her arms lift and she tugs her top over her head, letting it stumble to the rugged floor.Ā
you gape. then swallow and seal your mouth shut.
youād already seen some of the scarring. but it blooms out from her chest like arizona red shades, feathering down her stomach, crawling up her neck. you canāt choose where to latch your eyes to. you trace up her side, mouth working, staring hard at her chest.
her amusement withers into a soft grunt when you drag her closer by her belt loops. everywhere her skin meets yours starts another fire. sheās flushed warm with arousal, watching you eat her alive.Ā
āshit,ā you whisper, starting to squirm again. āyou lookāyouāre gorgeous.ā
her eyes crinkle. āstealing the words out of my mouth.ā
you stroke her waist, right at the small grape-sized bruise, fingers drawing up to her sternum. you watch her watch you. you say it again, tell her sheās beautiful, cradle her face and repeat it once more. her smirk wavers, breathing becoming unbalanced.Ā
you cup her breasts in your hand and tweak the brown nipple. she pushes into your touch, shoulders loosening with a pleased exhale.
ādid it feel good?ā you ask, holding her stare. ātouching yourself with me on your fingers?ā
she inhales, sharply.Ā
āshit, yeah.ā her voice, hoarse with desire, sends a shiver down your stomach. āneed you on your back, baby. i wanna stuff you full with something bigger. can i take you to bed?ā
her hands squeeze on your hips when you answer, āyes. please.ā
ācan you stand on your own?ā
your chest thuds. the memory is a sudden and tender sore.Ā
the lie slides against your tongue first. you take a moment to let it dissolve away. thenāĀ
ānot...not sure.ā
sevika braces along your back and slides her arm under your knees, and whisks you up against her chest.Ā
surprise sends the wind out of you. your arms secure around her shoulder, heart beat slamming in your ears. she toes the door open wider and the glowing bathroom light drags out with you two, smearing into the dark bedroom and clinging to her back as she lowers you carefully, pressing you down into the sheets.Ā
āgimme just a second,ā she murmurs, with a kiss on your shoulder.
you sit up on your elbows as she crouches to blindly rummage through her belongings. her back is almost painted blue, and you miss her immediately. hugging arms around her feels overwhelming as wrapping arms around the sky.
she returns with a dark, leather harness drawn up over her hips, gripping at the flaps drawn through its buckle and tugging it taught. your throat properly dries, and then an incredulous laugh manages past it.Ā
āyou had that in there this entire time?ā
her smile is just short of sleazy, eyes bright and finding yours in the dark.Ā
āyou donāt even know how long i've wanted you like this.ā she settles on her knees, sucking her own fingers and using them to work you back open. āthought about bending you over every surface and fucking you ātill that smart mouth was hanging open.āĀ
her words are dizzying, twisting around inside your stomach, consciousness blurring while she circles your clit with the tip.Ā
she keeps on until your hips are lifting and rolling into itābarres your hips down with metal, lining herself up and using your slick to coat her strap.Ā
you fucking couldāve, youād tell her, if your head wasnāt pushing back against the pillows with the easing pressure at your cunt, thoughts slipping and emptying out your mouth. anywhere she wanted you you would have let her. but itās nothing she needs to hear because itās nothing she doesnāt already know.
your legs lock around the back of her thighs and her hair fans and drapes outāskin damp and draped over you, rocking forward in one motion and fucking into you all at once. she groans like she can feel it, watching you stretch around her to settle her inside.Ā
the fullness has you drawing out a high, needy moan. she lets you adjust to it for a moment until youāre squirming and reaching for her hips. she smiles and keeps a maddening pace, all in slow and deep drags. she rocks her hips forward, pulls back. the sound fills out the room, your heavy, laboured breathing and her controlled movements drawing needy whimpers from you.Ā
āfaster,ā you plead, grasping her wrists loosely. āās not enough like this.ā
āyou sure?ā her rocking doesnāt pause for even a second. her steady gaze finds your hazy one, thumbing the damp hair against your forehead. her voice drips with a honeyed, faux concern. āwouldnāt wanna break you.ā
āi can take it,ā you breathe.Ā
sevika kisses at your throat, fingers sinking into your hips.Ā
āthatās my girl.ā
she drapes herself over you, ramping up in a few strokes, giving you time to adjustāpraises getting kissed onto your skin until sheās pounding hard and fast. your fingernails sink into her back like you were being drowned, gripping her down closer. she grunts with the effort, her hips bruising while your body rocks with the impact.Ā
sevika grips your ass for a better angle and your back arches off the bed, whiney, pleading moans straining inarticulately out your throat.Ā
the angle does something new to her. sevika lets out a wet sound, breathing growing heavier until sheās beginning to pant. she reaches around your hitched thigh to pat at your pussy, rubbing down on your clit. your hips buck violentlyāthe moonlight is watery on her glistening skin, and it tremors and then breaks and spills from your gasping mouth, sending your hips crashing up against her stomach.
there's no let up. pleasure tumbles into discomfort, your hips cringing away from the sensation.
sevika keeps going, and your whimpers descend into whines. she grips your thigh, keeping your hips still, searching for her own orgasm as the strap rubs up against her clit.
āyouāreāfuckādoing so good,ā she rasps, ātaking me so good, baby.āĀ
she pastes herself to you, cursing repeatedly in your shoulder, the wet squelches clouding your head and stirring in your stomach. all your whiney protest melts into soft, climbing moans.Ā
losing her earlier precision as she sinks further into bliss, her nipples paste up on yours when she shifts to rock against you, snapping turning into frantic thrusts as she closes in. none of the precise strokes from before, simply ramming into the tight nerve bundle over and over until your throat is clawing for air.Ā
you dig your nails into her back.
ācum inside me,ā you plead into her ear. āwanna be full with it, baby. fill me up.ā
sevikaās body seizes and she arrives with a slew of curses and your name slurring out on your shoulder, pouring thickly around a strangled, gasping moan.Ā
the desperate sound directly in your ear immediately reawakens the pulse in your pussy as she rides you through the orgasm rocking through her. you keep her wound tight in your arms until she's milked out the last of it. her bodyās tremors are so close they feel like yours.Ā
her hips shock and jolt, and she rests her forehead to your shoulder while she catches her breath. you choke down the hiss in your throat at the angle the dildo settles up at. her hair tickles your cheek when she shifts and kisses your temple, breath shaky on your sweat-slick skin.Ā
āfuckinā hell,ā she breathes.Ā
you soothe her back, up and down. then grin a little, at the ceiling. lean your head and inform her, āyou moan like a girl.āĀ
she scoffs, hard. a smirk fills her features out and spreads into a grin, her laughter a rumbling, pretty staccato against your chest.Ā
the sensation makes your spine tingle. she kisses the giggle off your mouth. she kisses you until it blisters.
your body thrums pleasantly, still just short of the orgasm thatād been regathering inside you. sevika gives your ass a firm squeeze, spreads the cheek apart lewdly. it sends a whimper into her mouth and drives you to squirm where sheās still sunk inside. youāre vying for friction, trying to rise your hips and fuck yourself on herāyour breathing stutters as sevika grips your hips down and slowly slides out.
you watch her descend the bed. bend forward on her knees and drag your hips to her face.
āwanna give me one more?ā sevika trails sticky kisses along your thighs. āmake all those pretty sounds for me again?āĀ
her breath fans warm on your cunt, and you peak towards her mouth, her name snug between a breathy moan in your mouth. she looks up under her lids and locks eyes with you. āatta girl. just like that.ā
sevikaās tongue runs up your slit, licking a long stripe that your hips rise into.Ā
speading your lips with her fingers, she presses more sticky kisses against your clitādips to lick at your entrance, and lets out a rough groan when you grind your clit down against her nose.Ā
she glides back up to swirl her tongue against the sensitive nub, works the warmth back in, flicking, kissing and suckling incessantly. you twitch away from the intensity, but her mouth chases after you, warm and wet.
ānuh-uh,ā she presses your thigh back until it folds into your chest. āsaid you can take it.ā
she sinks back inside, laps messily, the noises growing sloppy and obscene and mixing with your own. while her hand flattens on your stomachāyour hand slides through her loosened hair and gathers purchase and tugs hard, and she grunts appreciatively. you grip like a lifeline, feeling the ache in your cunt regather, tight and familiar.Ā
you push her head down into you, rolling into her mouth, ānghāright there, shitāā
she growls into you, prompted by your needy abandon. āthatās it. come on baby.ā
the warmth collects in your belly, and you writhe warningly, tightening your grip on her hair.Ā
she grips your hipsāyour thighs start to squeeze around her head so hard you're afraid she might crack cleanly in two. her name garbles from your mouth and she murmurs out encouragement, tells you how perfect you are, lays it flat and then suckles it on your clit.
your cry cuts off into nothing as you convulse against her mouth. she guides you through, āthere you go. thereās a good girl.ā harmonizing your cries with a soft hum.
thoroughly rocked, your body lets go in a sort of collapse, going limp against the twisted sheets. gazing, blissed out, at the ceiling.Ā
she wipes her chin with the back of her forearm and climbs up from between your thighs. you grasp her face and pull her down into a kiss that feels like an exhale, and tastes breathless and airy, like laughter.Ā
she braces herself on her arm, rests a grounding hand on your stomach.Ā
ānow who moans like a girl?ā
āfuck off,ā you respond heatlessly, and her grin is so toothy you ache to catch it in the moonlight.
the guilt is only a tiny wisp in your stomach but you watch her move around with a small frown tugging your lips. she looks drowsy enough that you hope the maybe four hours of sleep sheāll manage will have been worth her while.
she brings back water and wash cloths. passes you the bottle and then kneels, lifting your legs.
āi can do it myself,ā you tell her, quietly, watching her work.
sevika glides the cool cloth up the back of your thigh. kisses the damp trail left behind.Ā
āi know.āĀ
you wake before her.
the sun is starting to pour over the trees outside, and you should probably jostle her awake. but the sight makes your chest go still, and you spend the time committing her to memory instead.
eventually sevika rustles under the weight of it, her face scrunching and loosening. quietly, her eyes creak open.
they zero in on you immediately. sheās always been that way.Ā
āāmorning,ā you offer.
ācreep,ā she returns.Ā
she kisses you. everything quiets.
the radio chatters about road safety and weather conditions.
you listen while drifting in and out, staring lazily out the window. there's barking that sevikaās truck rumbles past, but itās faint and growing fainter, keeping a safe distance. you think nothing could touch you right now. not even death.
you seem to remember her only in moments like these. when your defenses soften and erode. your mother, what you remember of her, had said women like us.Ā
you were 11 standing before her while she crouched to her knees, narrow enough to be hardly anything at all. your chest drew pointy, puffy peaks through your trainer bra, and still held a crooked crescent-shaped scar from when the shame sprung up so tall youād tried to plunge the buds back inside.
her acrylics were french and lined red. she gripped your shoulders, dug inside, and said, thereās no way out for women like us.
it was her mantra. her life philosophy, she would correct you, with a tight pinch to your cheek. she would be so skeptical of this quiet and curious feeling youāre nursing right now. sheād pick at it restlessly like a hangnail.Ā
women like us, sheād said. you and me, sheād meant.
thereās no way out for women like us. so this is how we make it. how we carve our way out.
her whole life was packed inside a bag at her strappy heels. also red, a color that was always meaning the end of things. you were trying not to look at it, while she pressed your trembling fingers to the guitar strings, strings with teeth.Ā
you were softer then, and bled easier.Ā
youād bit down hard on the flesh in your cheek to keep silent about it, keeping space for her words as she lay them down and ironed them out on your fingers. her own hands were safer than yours, double the size and thickened by years of threading through coarse hair, nimble from knowing her way so well through something she hated so much. you knew somehow it was important you listened this time. that it would maybe be the last thing she ever gives you.
if sheās still alive she might hear you playing in a commercial or something one day. in her car, if she finally got the pink volvo she was dreaming of. and maybe sheād wonder how such a scrawny thing managed what she couldnāt.
the radio drops from celebrity roundtable debates to a stream of commercials, and sevika reaches over to switch the station.
thereās a dog waiting outside the restaurant. youāre not sure what, or who for. itās tied up loose enough to nudge its way free if it wanted to. it lifts its head as you both approach and stares with empty eyes.Ā
the place is only gently bloated with people and sevika leaves her hand on your lower back while she gives the woman behind the entrace counter her name.Ā
soft, dense gingham fabric lines the wooden booth seat you scoot into. the sign outside had read family owned, over 75 years. it felt like it on the interior. a hug warm enough to melt into.Ā
while perusing the breakfast menu, sevika tells you, deliberate about not sounding any type of way about it, weāll reach the border by late afternoon.Ā
her calloused hand slides onto your jittering knee. it doesnāt stop the movement, but she doesn't mention it.Ā
the waitress has a button lined uniform rolled at her sleeves, introducing herself as your server for today. her smiling eyes pause when they register whoās across from you. somehow you think the whole nation must know sevika. you try not to let it make you feel lonely.
āsev, sweetie,ā her grin expands and her hand comes to clap at her shoulder. ānow where the hellāve you been?ā
sevika squeezes her arm in greeting, ānowhere new. got the same old customers.ā
ādarling, we hadnāt seen you back in so long we were scared that asshole had gotten to you, too.ā she smacks sevikaās hand away, laughter tinkling and light like a childās. she turns her smile on you, leaning the notepad on her hip. āwhoās this?ā
āmy partner,ā she says easily, eyes sliding to yours. your stomach bends and swoops.Ā
the waitress doesnāt withhold, or canāt, picking you apart with her gaze. your blood pumps hot and bassy in your chest.
you smile to her, all teeth.
āi owe her my life,ā you say, raising your hand for her to take. āshe takes good care of me.ā
āwell, itās nice to meet you, sweetheart.ā she takes it and squeezes. āa doll, isnāt she? hope sheās not causing you any trouble.ā
sevika frowns and sends her grievances the ladyās way, and amidst the laughter words are exchanged that you canāt hear. she gives sevika a short look, presses a private and brief hand to her shoulder.
then her smile lifts again, and with it a pen to her notepad.
āhas it got you spooked? all this talk?ā
you jump.Ā
swivel a little, and lean back against the truck. there are rows of other semis just like hers, lined up for refuel. the lot is otherwise vacant, bored drivers wandering inside for snacks or air conditioning. you turn away from their silhouettes in the window.Ā
āsort of.ā you cross your arms and hug yourself tight. ācrazy world we live in.ā
sheās quiet. after a moment your head lolls to the side. you watch her back move, glide.
āyou aren't scared?ā you ask, carefully.
āof what?ā
you give her pointed silence.Ā
āah. of a killer?āĀ
āof the killer.ā
you sidle up close, waiting for her body to tense at your approach. āof them getting to you. to me.ā
she unhinges and tucks the nozzle into the fuel tank. then sighs.
āshould i be?ā she twists around, over her shoulder. stares at you, long and mutilating.Ā
a shudder runs up and down your body and stills your breath. your stomach hollows and flutters painfully around the emptiness.Ā
then the moment passes. and everything resumes, reduces back to calm.
sevika watches with interest, and then hums, low and deliberate.Ā
āslow down.ā a disbelieving smile tugs and then tears your face in two, āthatās not what i was getting at.ā
āwasnāt it?ā
sevika turns her full body towards you.
āfirst guy that disappeared was doing the run i had last year. last guyāi saw his truck pull over for you.ā she slips a hand down your side, pressing into your ribs. lets it rest atop your waist. āno point in lying to me.āĀ
she drags your hips to hers. presses a thumb down against your bottom lip, traces the lie out. itās faint curiosity, but mostly amusement. āperiod blood? on your thigh?ā
you shove back, but she has you caged in easily. sheās unmoving while she waits for your answer, while her tank slowly churns itself full. you can feel your heartbeat in the fingertips you press to her chest. your whole body pounds with it, your whole body one continuous nerve ending.Ā
āwhy pretend to believe it?ā
āwhyād you choose to believe me?ā
when you say nothing, her thumb skirts to your neck, sinks a little. āshouldāve killed me then,ā she murmurs, bumps your forehead, and then your nose. slots your mouths together and presses the sentiment to your tongue.Ā
it dizzies you a little, and she pulls back too soonāand you want her to do it again, and then again, and then one more time. maybe itās why you flatten your palm on her breastbone and lay your pretenses to rest there. breathlessly and a little high, āwhat makes you confident that i wonāt kill you now?ā
āyou wonāt.ā another kiss; hot, heavyāno teeth. no need for teeth. āyou waited too long.āĀ
āiāve put down countless dogs before,ā your breathing is laboured, shaky. ālife long partners to me.ā
she takes your fingers up off her heart, fingers bloodied by fruit and by fear and by worse things, and kisses them. then reaches back and releases the latch.Ā
āno dogs here, sweetheart. just you and me.ā
sevika saddles a tight duffle of non-perishables and spare water bottles to your bag.
you angle at her the money you owe.Ā
she stares down at it. her face does a sharp and ugly thing, and then smoothes back out in a flicker.Ā
āthanks for everything.ā you force the words out and they scrape like shards of glass. āi can make it to barstow from here.ā
she exhales, tightly.Ā
āitās too early for this. just get in the truck.ā
you wave the roll around, irritatedly, ājustātake it. why arenāt you taking it?ā
āi will, once weāre inside the truck.ā
then, inside the truck:
āi need my hands to drive,ā sevika says lightly. then lights up audaciously and uses her spare hand to hold the cigarette, and the other to lazily wind around the wheel.
you give up, and shove the fat wad into the cup holder, and turn your body towards the window. it's quiet, and tense, and every moment of it pulls at your skin. you know it would vex her if you cried. youāre weighing how much you care.Ā
the silence seems to slide a needle underneath her skin, too, and therefore it doesnāt last long. she makes an odd and gravelly sound in her throat, halfway to a groan and just short of a grumble, and says, āwanna know something?ā
you sniff through your nose and work your mouth. āsure.ā
ātruckās got a built-in inverter. you can plug the amp straight in.ā
it takes a moment for her meaning to settle but when it does you shove forward and try it and it works. you strum an open chord and then start laughing breathlessly, disbelievingly, āwhyād you never tell me?ā
she doesnāt look at you. ādidnāt think you wanted me to hear.ā
your back hits the seat again. your fingers on the wood drum lightly, then slide up the stringsāmapping out the rise and fall of her voice for you to hold for later. her tone lilts smoothly, densely. you wish youād gotten a distortion pedal, to match the frayed edges.Ā
your fingers hesitate, then stretch to position.
āi was scared,ā you allow a tense thread of air to extend between you, āif i gave you a piece of me iād never get it back.ā
āwell, youāre probably right. you probably wonāt.ā
you smile helplessly, and then laugh, in a way that snags in your gut. āno, right?ā
her eyes arenāt exactly sad. she takes in your smile for a long second.
then turns back to the road ahead, towards the end where all things lead.
āplay,ā she tells you.
you play.
youāre used to all the driving nowāthe 10-hour days taking balm from the rolling trees and skirting gravel and sevikaās long mixes. you pick out every song that she knows and you know and mess around with it on the strings until it has her head swaying side to side.Ā
youāre used to all of it. her favorite radio stations and the gossip segments she does a poor job of pretending she isnāt locked into. a scent circulating, sandalwood and cedar, warm as candlelight. her laughter flickers the same way.
the bodyās ability to stretch and adapt was the single mechanism you prided yourself on. it brought you this far, after all. no adverse or unfamiliar circumstance would break you because you wouldnāt let it.Ā
it meant riding the tide and not resisting. knowing the world would take and would take and would take. thinking you were hovering above the hurt because you were always prepared for it to.
sevika tells you someone she knew wouldāve loved the punk in one of the songs you put in her queue. she says the word kids carefully, like she wasnāt sure what else to reach for, grimacing around taste.
you stretch your legs out and then fold them to your chest, lowering your chin to your knee. ātheyāre living elsewhere now?ā
ātheyāre gone,ā she corrects, indelicately.
āoh. crap.ā you blink at her, and drift a hand out. āiām sorry.ā
āiām not,ā sevika says. she swallows like the words are pins and needles to push out. āyou know, her morning routine started with waking me up with this one stupid song. just the chorus, over and over, everyone i love is dead. far away enough that i couldn't reach her from bed but cranked loud enough the whole parking lot could hear. would play it every morning at 5 like she wasācramming the hex inside through my ear canal, and then she went and left too. the irony could make you laugh.āĀ
she doesnāt laugh. and you donāt speak.Ā
her jaw is prickly, brows nearly colliding on her forehead. you watch quietly until it passes.Ā
her face releases and smoothes over and every line of worry is buried. she expels out in one exhale of smoke whatever memory was holding a bayonet to her head.
ālistenāi didnāt know how to tell her iād have liked for her to stay.ā sevika looks at you, briefly. āeven if it never got better. even if it got worse. not that knowing wouldāve made a difference, but making it different wasnāt the point.ā
sheās the axis the entire earth tilts towards. you take her right hand and close your fingers around it.Ā
āthen itās easier if it isnāt love.ā
āno,ā she draws it to her mouth to kiss. āitās never easier. itās always love.ā
there's no beckon or request this time, when you two stop to dance.Ā
sevika says thereās a nice view there and starts easing the machine off the exit ramp and sheās right, of course she is, and you almost trip on the way out to gulp it all inside.Ā
thereās arching trees swallowing the sun and the whisper of waves far off in the distance if you strain your ears enough.Ā
it aches in an uncontainable way.Ā
so you donāt contain itāyou give it space to breathe. let the feeling toss around inside your body. itās its home, too.
dancing is all a tangling, an easy maneuver given all the practice youāve both had. the radio is still jumping and someoneās hip collides into the other in your shared eagerness and you canāt tell whether it's you snickering or her and it doesnāt matter, itās all the same.Ā
itās that soft kind of wine-drunk, summer-drunk swing. like slipping under warm water and taking in a breath.
time trudges forward as though moving through molasses. cruelly, and for once, it doesnāt leave you behind.
my love, youād pressed into sevikaās palm. my nomad. hereās where iām headed, and all the places iāll be, if you ever want to find me. or ever want me to find you.
sevika returns the cash in your bagās zippered pocket somehow and you only find it 20 miles deep.Ā
you hunch over the weight of it. you can almost smell her hands through the wad if you press it close enough.
the familiar pressure of your guitar on your back alone reminds you of your feet on the earth.Ā
you do the only thing you can do, and continue forward.
the town sits right in your nasal cavity, icky and congested. itās desolate. the whole thing is coated in a rusty terracotta gray and the horizon seems to warble as if unsure of itself.Ā
sevika would have truckloads of shit to talk about the town and the misadventures sheād been victim to here. or lack thereof. you mightāve asked about them if it werenāt so daunting to carry all her memories here on your own. now, tired and chest heavy, you sort of wish you had.
the rest of the day takes the last few miles in. walking, mostly, and one quiet and uneventful ride, and youāre somehow at the motel youād promised. itās cheap and 3-star but also familiar, the creamy walls painted with golden ribbons by the sun.Ā
the lady at the front takes your name and then cocks her head to the side.
when the memory makes its way back to her, she stretches under the desk for a dice of paper that she slides over to you.Ā
she taps it, once, twice, with a ringed finger. āthis came in for you, dear.āĀ
itās a postcard. handwritten, with no return address.
howās cali?Ā
you owe me no debt. was never gonna take it.Ā
the days drag sometimes, and theyāre real heavy when they do. iām wondering if time had always moved this slow or if itās just too quiet now you're not around. i really hated hearing you complain about the shitty summer heat in my ear, like i could do shit about it. now i get all my weather reports off the radio. none of them get it right. donāt sound like you do.
i gave it some thought, and iām not a dancer. iām really not a dancer. i wouldāve loved trying, though, in the san clemente waves with you. itād be a damn good time, just you and me. though with your amp that loud we'd have maybe seven minutes before the locals called the cops on usā¦if they havenāt on you already. i hope youāre safe. i hope you made it.
iāll look out for you on the radio.
donāt die anytime soon. if you try not to die, iāll try to learn how to dance. maybe to your music, one day. weāll have a good time for a long time.Ā
i canāt post this ficāespecially this ficāwithout bringing up ICE and LAPDās violence against black and brown immigrants/communities, and the protestors trying to stop them. linking info and resources here and here. please stay safe, stay informed, and protect your neighbors.
i love you so much. thank you for reading <3 sevika makes my heart sore
hi allyson, this might be an odd question or hard to answer but how do you write so much? i struggle so hard with perfectionism and i ruminate and sit on fics for ages. it takes me forever to come up with an idea that resonates and then another forever to actualize it. my work pace is slow and i'm always frustrated at myself for it, even though this is a hobby and the point is to have fun. even if i don't like my version of doing that. it sounds ridiculous typing it out but i have fun like so inefficiently
so then iām always wondering how other writers who write so much and so often and so consistently gorgeous do it (and then maybe a little further why i can't). you can't psychoanalyze me or anything and i would never ask you to, i guess i'm asking what it's like? and what your routine is? how you balance it all? all personal questions and you owe me no answer. wishing you the best as always. i always come back to your writing, and when the internet is overwhelming your blog is a place of rest
hi, my love. this made me realize people don't call me by my full name on here often. i liked reading it.
this isn't an odd question at all. in fact, i view it as a very normal one. i'm going to break this down piece by piece to make sure i cover everything.
i struggle so hard with perfectionism and i ruminate and sit on fics for ages. it takes me forever to come up with an idea that resonates and then another forever to actualize it.
i'm the same way. contrary to what my posting may imply, it takes me forever to be happy with something. it bleeds into everything, not just my writing. i can't read a book or watch a show/movie without feeling like it has to be the right time or right feel. especially if i need something heavy. weight is very important and i am always measuring.
to me, you having this gene is a good thing. i think it makes your work more personal and gives it an identifier because you put so much thought into its architecture.
my work pace is slow and i'm always frustrated at myself for it, even though this is a hobby and the point is to have fun. even if i don't like my version of doing that. it sounds ridiculous typing it out but i have fun like so inefficiently
this made me laugh. we are sooo similar. but in all seriousness, there is not best way to be a writer or creative that is applicable to everyone. here are some things that have helped me create more or work faster:
read/interact with content that you both love and don't like. consuming content with themes i'm drawn to furthers my urge to write my own take on it. consuming content i may not feel like i like or overly enjoy makes me ask myself why? is it execution? is it just the trope in general? is there an underlying message that i want to be louder or quieter or gone all together?
understand that everything is literally writing. you are writing when you only make a bullet point note of an idea you have. you are writing when you note down color schemes for a character, songs that match them, settings you want to work with, an ending line, a dialogue piece you can't put down, the name of a book you want for research. that is all writing. your journal entries are writing. anything half complete is still written. anything started is still written.
the reason i manage to post quite a bit on here is literally because i go back and rework pieces i still think about, i make notes on the train in my phone on the way to work or uni. i sometimes even record voice memos if i can't really articulate. a lot of this is older material i abandoned and then can now work with because something in me now better identifies with it.
what your routine is? how you balance it all?
i don't. my writing threatens to swallow me all the time, i balance it by giving it an outlet even if i don't post on here consistently. as for a routine i try to follow this one! you can tailor it to you, i'm an early riser!
8:00-8:30 am: wake up & eat breakfast.
8:30-8:45 am: outline writing plan, choose a word count for the day
8:45-9:45 am: write for at least an hour
15 min break
10:00-11:00 am: finishing writing and try to reach the goal
something else that is critical is that we are not meant to be creating all the time. it's so fucking hard to sit still, but it is crucial. i step away constantly and keep noting inspiration but don't always immediately begin molding it.
wishing you the best as always. i always come back to your writing, and when the internet is overwhelming your blog is a place of rest
this made me so warm. i love you so much and i am so glad you felt open enough to share this with me. i believe in you and i know you are so capable of creating what you want. sending you a huge hug and covering you in blessings, always.
such a careful and sweet response. consuming things i both do and don't like, and also allowing myself to put a project down and return to it later is a game changer. i've been running purely off the sentiment from other creatives that if you don't act on inspiration immediately it'll abandon you (which isn't wholly bad advice...but too tight for nuance and is just a lottt of pressure), and it's made me anxious and guilty and greedy for perfect. i don't like operating from shame. it stains sooo easy. then everything i write gets muddy with it and its grueling work to scrub out.
thank you so much for the fresh perspective and all the kind wishes š¤š¤ omg i'm beaming. sending you a bigger hug and more blessings back.
alright gay people ( ā”Ģ_ā”Ģ)į¤, what would you like to see from me next?
sevika version.
hitchhiker!reader x truck driver!sevika
rock climbing instructors!(mel)vika x reader
knight!sevika x princess!reader
stuck in an elevator with (tbd)!sevika
delayed flight/stuck at the airport with (tbd)!sevika
museum guide!sevika
exes x fake dating with sevika at a shared aquantence's wedding
pirate!sevika
assassin!reader x sevika (fantasy setting probably)
bank teller!sevika x super villain!reader
outlaw!sevika
Voting ended onMay 15, 2025
one sneak in here (melvika is a must) but lots of options so whatever excites you most. i'm gonna try to put down the perfectionism from now on and just have fun. let me know what you want to see from me or send it in my inbox <3 xxx
i think people get so used to their own creative work that they forget how amazing it is so iām making this post as a reminder You are the only person capable of making art the exact way you make it. nobody else on earth can do that. there are always going to be those little habits and intricacies and details that simply cannot be replicated whether itās in writing or painting or textiles and you make life all the better for it i love my friendsā art i love art from strangers im trying to love my own art I LOVE YOU!!! THE PERSON READING THIS!!!!!!! YOU ARE A PART OF THIS WORLD NEVER EVER STOP MAKING THINGS THAT CAN IMPACT IT