Having casual sex with people when having severe attachment issues is so hard bc like I have to fight between my sex drive and my self respect. Do I wanna be put through hell or the mattress cos idk
contains: sevika teaching reader how to suck the strap, dry humping (reader doing it on sev's thigh), friends with (resolved, thank god) tension, slight humiliation kink, a bit of a spit kink, teasing, inexperienced reader, implied age gap (both reader and sevika are adults), sevika calls reader "kiddo" teasingly, reader's body is referred to w/ the following terms: "pussy," "clit," "cunt"
when you tell sevika that you've never used a strap-on before, you nearly beg some higher force to let the ground swallow you whole. you two have been friends forever, but lately, it's undeniable that some sort of molten desire has been pooling at the center of what you have. maybe it was always there, and had just been in denial. but, it's undeniably present now, impossible to ignore, thick and heavy in the air, lining every interaction with a sort of hot lava.
and it's made confessions like this, ones filled with sexual secrecy and exposed desires, carry a lot more weight than they did prior. you're pretty much confiding in a woman who you're aching to have sex with about just how much experience she should and shouldn't expect of you. it's way more vulnerable, and it feels like you're spoiling her prematurely by peeling away sexual secrets that in a different circumstance, one with just regular dating, she would've discovered on her own in the context of wanting to have sex with you. but, doing it in a friendship, when you don't even know for sure what she feels, is more uncertain. it's farther away from the line of actual romance and desire, and therefore feels risker to admit. because if your inexperience deters her, maybe she'll easily dismiss and rid herself of any attraction she might've once harboured for you, since it'd be simpler to as just friends.
so, to say the least, you're scared when confessing this secret to her.
at least, that's until you see the way her lip curls up when, while laying on her couch, you confess that you're nervous about one day using the strap due to never having done it before. she seems equal parts intrigued and amused by the revelation. from where she sits, picking at one of the screws in her arm, she asks, tone low, steady, "well, do you feel ready?"
"I don't know." you stare up at the ceiling, for the thought of maintaining eye contact through this conversation is a bit too unnerving for your liking. "I mean, I'm sure everyone feels... not ready when they start using it, right?"
she shrugs. "maybe. to a degree. but, you don't need to push yourself if it really scares you." her voice has turned tentative, face absent of the initial mischief. with the way she angles herself away from you, it seems that she's somewhat uncomfortable with giving such earnest advice.
"thanks for the sex-ed," you laugh, trying to ease the mood some.
"well, considering I've actually worn the strap and you've barely touched it, you could use all the advice you can get."
you try not to visibly tense up at the casually tossed comment. you knew sevika has used a strap, of course you did. you've been at her apartment enough times to catch sight of her lube or dildos (because, yes she has several) scattered about. but, god, the idea of it taut on her pelvis, ready to be used to pump into you, has your thighs tightening.
"well, then, oh-wise-one, what would be your advice?"
she shrugs, avoiding your gaze for a few seconds before saying, "getting acquainted with it. with things like sucking, touching, you know."
"sucking?"
"yeah." the corner of her lip quirks up as she raises an eyebrow at you. "never done that either?"
you feel your face warm, feeling awfully pathetic under her pointed gaze, years of experience behind it. "no." you groan, swiping a hand across your face. "god, I'm gonna be so horrible at it when I first do it."
"then, practice."
you scoff. "with who?"
"by yourself?" she drawls, casting you an incredulous look as though she aims for you to question your own stupidity.
you huff, turning away. "I can't do it on my own, how will I know if I'm even doing it right?"
"then, I don't know," she sighs exasperatedly, lighting her cigar. "someone you trust, I guess. someone who wants their dick wet."
"the only person I know who wants to get their dick wet is you," you snap, a petulant part of you hoping you can embarrass her as much as she does with you.
her lips wrap around the tip of the cigar, that scar on the bottom one seeming to deepen. it's almost entrancing, hooking your eyes in and leaving you resistant to its power.
you only snap out of the spell when she says, "is that your way of asking for it to be me?"
the words have your lips parting before you can force them shut. what the fuck is that supposed to mean? you're well-aware of the tension that's been there between you two, of course you are. but, you never imagined that sevika would actually initiate anything. sure, she's flirted here and there, and you're convinced she's started purposely mentioning stopping at babette's for the sole purpose of making you jealous (after all, she always has such a shit-eating grin whenever you fidget or glare at her in response). but, still, it's never amounted to an actual offer, an actual step over the threshold between friendship and, well, something else.
you know it's the more responsible decision to say no, and shut this down before things get complicated. or at least until you clear up whatever it is you guys consider yourselves to be in relation to each other, and if it's something that carries as much emotion to her as it does to you.
but, part of you wants to give into the throb between your legs, the thick tension crackling in the air, the way her gaze is resting on you calmly, as though debating whether or not she should pounce. and god, you want her to, itching with curiosity as to what she'd say if you teased back.
and so, you do. "why, are you offering?"
you get a world of satisfaction from the way she coughs at the question, puffs of smoke blowing from her mouth as she roughly clears her throat. beneath it all, though, is a very apparent underbelly of nerves in your stomach, tingling in anticipation for her answer.
when she finally sets the stupid thing down, giving her lungs a well-deserved break, she says, "why, do you want me to?"
you grit your teeth, a spark of irritation set aflame from this back-and-forth. you wish she could treat you with the courage she does anyone else, just answering your question then sweeping you off your feet with no action required of you. but, no, she just has to be cautious, and hesitant, and sweet. today, of all times.
you sigh. you suppose it's on you to end this game. your chest is tight with anxiety, the words about to roll off your tongue heavy and filled with consequence. but, you push through, anyways. if you remain vague, she will too. if you say no, you may lose your chance with her for god knows how long. so, the only option is: "fine, yes."
immediately, regret weighs upon you, sinking down into your guts. you shift, eyes pointed down to your knees, trying not to panic, when a small huff meets your ears.
it's sevika. sevika chuckling.
your eyes tentatively raise up to her, nails digging into the plush of the cushioned seat you're on. her small, endearing gap flashes as she shakes her head slowly, her laughter sounding split between amused and incredulous, bordering on a scoff.
you feel nearly glued to your spot when her eyes finally rest upon you, the grey shine in them wrapping around you and pulling, pulling and pulling.
she leans back in her couch, spreading her legs out. "well, then, hop on, kiddo."
and that's how you wind up on her thigh, her arm wrapped around your torso as you fist at the fabric taut over her broad shoulders. her mechanic hand squeezes into the silicone balls of a dildo, eyes stuck on your lips as she traces the tip over them. your breaths are heaving with anticipation as she strokes the head along the inside plush of your lips, getting the bulb of it wet and slick with your spit. the experience is exhilarating, for you know she's capable of going harder than this, of fucking your throat raw. but, no, she wants to take her time with you, draw out every drop and dribble of pleasure for the both of you.
"who knew you had it in you?" she muses with a raspy laugh.
before you can even speak to protest, she slides the entire head in, capturing your voice and transforming it into a broken, wanton moan of surprise. her eyes practically gleam at that, and she slides the dildo out of your mouth's confines with a pop before sliding the tip back in. your lips latch on automatically, hugging around the head and letting it roll around the flat of your tongue. despite the sheer anxiety of having sevika's attentive eyes on you, the motions of her push-and-pull into your mouth is almost -- well, relaxing? the repetitiveness of it, the way it gives you something to direct all your five senses to as it lolls about in your mouth, your lips tightening and loosening -- it makes your brain feel softened, hazy, lost in this.
"ah, look at that," she coos, her tone hushed and sharpened with an edge of mockery. "sucking on that like that's all you're good for."
the playful degradation makes your clit fucking throb, and without meaning to, your hips automatically jerk forward, the firmness of her thigh making your eyes nearly roll back.
"oh, someone liked that," sevika mutters.
her thigh suddenly bucks up, sending you bouncing on her lap and nearly toppling over if not for her muscular arm steadying you. the pressure against your pussy makes you whine around the toy, your lips stretching open to release the noise only has her pushing it in deeper, nearly a quarter of it now sliding up and against your tongue.
"suck it in and out, just like that," she whispers, her eyes burning into your skin as she intently watches you. you try to follow her directions, but your sucks are too eager, too fast, and sevika reaches her hand up and gently grabs your jaw, coaxing it into fluid motions that has the dildo being softly pressed and released by your lips' grip, over and over and over again.
you know this is a horrible idea, a fact that only becomes more punctuated with every thrust of the toy into your mouth. you know you should've had some more self-control, and should've put a stop to this inane idea before it had manifested into a reality. but, no, you just had to think with your pussy, and now look where it's landed you? on your friend's, a good, loyal, helpful friend's, lap, practically rutting like you're in heat and sucking dick with zero technique.
"when that gets a bit too repetitive, you can lick it." she abruptly yanks the dildo from your mouth, and an embarrassing wad of spit stretches out with it, spilling thickly down your chin. your face is practically burning from the heat of humiliation, but sevika doesn't seem to mind, only smirking and saying, "now, I was gonna tell you you can get messy with it, but you're a step ahead."
now that your mouth is finally freed, at least you get to spit out, "you're such a dick," as though your pussy isn't practically leaking with arousal.
"oh, so you suck off any asshole, then?"
"maybe I will once you're done with this lesson," you haughtily snap back.
her eyes narrow at that, but she says nothing to it, smacking the tip lightly against your mouth. "open."
despite your snapping, and much to your annoyance, your mouth immediately goes slack, falling open for her.
"tongue out, now."
you obey, sticking it out.
she snorts, shifting in her seat as she raises the dick to you. "such a little sub."
you roll your eyes at her words, jerking when she grabs your jaw, forcing you to face her. "keep those eyes on me."
your pussy clenches down on nothing. god, you need her. not that you'd ever admit it -- the last thing she needs is another ego stroke.
"show me how you'd lick this."
giving you so much control causes your confidence, however little you had of it, to waver. you hesitate before tentatively stroking the flat of your tongue along the head, maintaining eye contact with her the entire time. a tiny burst of pride ripples through you when you see her eyes widen imperceptibly. it's barely there, but you know her well enough to know it wouldn't have happened unless, at the very least, a small part of her was surprised, or maybe even impressed.
the reaction eggs you on, and you do it again, running your tongue along the entire length of the dildo, using the tip to trace along the bulging veins. when that's done, you lap at the head, the flat of your tongue quickly moving along it in steady movements.
when sevika speaks, her jaw is clenched, and the deep breath she takes shudders. "good."
"yeah?" the clear effect you're having on her is most definitely getting to your head, and it makes you desirous to push and prod at her more. "am I being good?" you end the question with a kiss right to the tip.
almost as though sevika is tethered to the toy, she swallows hard at the sight. "yeah," she says, her voice firm. "you're doing good."
the praise has your hips bucking again, and you internally curse at the leverage you've so clearly given her, another wicked smile curling at her lips.
her thigh resumes its actions from before, pumping up to meet your clothed core as her arm grips your waist tightly, keeping you anchored as she encourages you to rub yourself on her. your body acts before your mind can catch up, hips pressing down so that your clit receives some friction through the layers of fabric. you hate to admit it, but sevika's muscled thigh is a perfect helper.
"you can flick your tongue on the tip, too," she says, her voice a lot rougher than it was a few minutes back. you derive some pleasure from it, for even if your resolve is loosening and waning in wake of her touch, at least hers seems to be too.
"how?" you ask, your voice an embarrassing pitch from the desperation accompanying the word. but, as soon as it slips from you, your mind conjures up a single image, and it drives you to ask, "can you show me?"
"you kidding me?"
"no." you bat your eyes, hoping it'll get her more susceptible.
"I'm gonna need a bit more convincing than some pretty eyes."
oh, well, never mind. you deflate physically, though something tickles your stomach at knowing she finds your eyes pretty.
"oh, c'mon, please, sevi," you say, tugging on her arm with a jutted bottom lip.
after a few moments of casting you a deadpan stare, she sighs, tentatively turning the dildo around and raising the head to her mouth. voice warm, so velvety, she murmurs, "like this."
you hold your breath as the tip of her tongue pokes out, flicking along the head of the toy, flapping over it fast and hard. she may not realize it, but she's giving you a crystal clear shot of exactly how she'd look devouring your clit. you pocket the mental image, already knowing you'll pull it out the next time you get off.
when you follow suit, lapping at the tip, your tongue's point making little zig-zag wags, sevika's hand tightens on your hip, and with just one pull, you're back to riding her thigh. the pleasure coursing through your pussy, deep and aching from the pressure, is making you lost in sensation. your eyes flutter close as your hole clenches and your clit swells up, sevika's muscular thigh hard and lovely.
meanwhile, she's easing the toy into your throat, laughing when you gag all over it, spit gushing from your mouth. she's relentless in her practice, just coaxing you to move faster on her thigh as you struggle to accommodate the dildo, pathetic whines tumbling from your mouth everytime she pushes it in and your throat seizes with a choke. it leaves you more sloppy, more wet, more nasty than you were before, saliva trailing down your chin and getting your neck cool and sticky.
sevika's hand slides up your waist, just barely grazing the side of your breast on the way up, before brushing a thumb against the corner of your mouth, wiping away the residue. the touch seems wholly intimate compared to the ones that preceded, especially when she uses the digit to encourage your mouth to open and take the dildo in again. she seems to be more cautious of your limits now, easing it only halfway in. your eyes flutter shut, sucking nonsensically at it, losing yourself to the rhythm as you jut against her thigh faster.
sevika's eyebrows furrow in as you speed up, her breathing laboured, and you nearly giggle around the toy at the evident impact you're having on her. but, that's not all there is to it, for her expression only has a series of more hot, tempting mental images bursting through your mind. her panting like that when thrusting into you, her eyebrows scrunching in concentration like that while she lavishes attention all over your soaked cunt.
the thought has you bouncing faster, and sevika growls. actually fucking growls. her hand abandons your face, opting to grip your ass tightly and drag you harder against her. your bud is practically weeping with desire now, desperate to have its wants sated as you grind down harder. the weight of the toy on your tongue, the way your mind is numbed from the bodily chaos of sucking, thrusting, clutching -- it sends you rolling close to your orgasm, just barely teetering on the edge of it.
what finally sends you hurdling past it is how sevika bites her lip when she pulls you forward again, her thigh pumping up and down to meet your thrusts. she looks so concentrated on you, her dark eyes hooded and intense, and the pure want on her face makes you feel so desired, so aroused at the idea of how many ways you can get that expression on her face again. that, paired with another aggressive press from her thigh, and a tight suck on the dildo, sends your body crashing with an orgasm, walls spasming as your thighs go taut. you writhe in her arm, nearly tipping all the way back if it weren't for her catching you and holding you close. your chest presses flush to hers as you tremble like a leaf, clit sopping and stinging in sensitivity as she continues pushing against it.
you whine in protest, slightly lifting your hips, and she immediately takes the hint, slowing her movements to a stop. all the while, you keep sucking on the dildo, the shape of it in your mouth, the way it offers you something to latch onto and ground yourself with, practically addictive.
sevika watches you carefully for a few moments before gently tugging it out, a string of saliva hooked between the head of it and your bottom lip.
you moan in surprise when shr leans in and runs her tongue along your chin, curling it right at your bottom lip, swallowing down the saliva all for herself.
"you're such a mess," she mumbles, sucking languidly at your chin.
"it's not my fault," you grunt, voice raspy from all the noises you made. now that the heat of the moment has worn off, the searing burn of embarrassment begins to imprint itself on you. god, you were so loud, so desperate, so--
"you looked good."
you lick your lips, some of the nerves calming. "yeah?"
"don't let it get to your head."
"that's true, I already had my fair share of head for today."
her eyebrow raises at you in a distinct lack of amusement. "you're lucky you're cute."
your stomach sizzles with oh-so-stupid butterflies. god, why does she have this much of an impact on you? and it's so effortless on her end too, which makes it all the more frustrating for you.
"you think I'm cute?" you ask, forcing your tone to sound teasing so she doesn't realize just how earnest you are.
when she falls silent for a few moments, you tense up, wondering if she can tell how serious you are.
"who's the one leaking through my favourite pants right now?"
or maybe not. face twisted into a cringe, you grip her shoulders to stumble into a standing position, her hand still loosely hanging by your waist. "on that note, I think I'll go wash up."
her fingers dig with a bit more pressure into your skin, and to your shock, she says, voice gruff, "not just yet. just sit for now."
you let her tug you back into her lap, your arms immediately winding around her neck. "what for?"
she shrugs. "just comfortable." her eyes finally lift to you, and it's like you could plummet to the ground with how swept over her steady gaze makes you feel.
"was it not you who just made made that stupid pants comme--"
"do I need to get the dildo again?"
you burst into laughter, eyes crinkling as you shake your head at her. "is that gonna be your go-to whenever I piss you off now?"
"amongst other possibilities." her fingertips ghost your waist, and you shiver.
other possibilities? you know it's not the smartest thing to dwell on -- after all, she might've just said casually with no serious intent. but, sill, your stomach warms from something you had been trying your best to avoid this entire interaction.
hope.
but, when she touches your waist like that, and seems to struggle to remove her hand from you as you walk away, you can't resist the little part of you of that whispers, maybe it's warranted.
but, you don't want to get ahead of yourself. so, you keep it at just a maybe.
I’m sorry but when the reader gets pregnant I have to stop reading like I didn’t mean the things I said I never meant for the breeding kink to get this far
Does anyone PLEASE DOES ANYONE KNOW THAT FIC that is pornstar!joel x pornstar!reader PLEASE DOES ANYONE IVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT FOR ALMOST A YEAR ISTG
This is just sort of a little introduction if you will, for this vampire!sevika x reader fic I'm tryna write. Please let me know if you like it. <33
The wind hid in the impossible corners of the forest, nagging whoever wandered, that they weren’t alone, that someone was always watching the things they didn’t want anyone else to see.
She had walked until her carves mimicked a sharp pain. Her boots crunched the wood beneath her and the nettles attempted to sting through the thick material of her trousers. Every time she inhaled, the warm air webbed down her throat and stuck to the sides until a helpless cough erupted from her mouth. It was a dry, pathetic sound, a weak attempt at masking her hunger with the excuse of summer’s nighttime weather. She continued the ritual, trying to soak up the humidity in her lungs every step she took, breathing in over and over again, heaving when the cycle repeated itself.
-
She was far enough she couldn’t hear any engines on the side roads. Her thighs found comfort in the splinters of a jagged log underneath. The shaking was violent, it came in short bursts but there was never enough time in-between each occurrence. Her fingers juddered against the flimsy plastic, urging to rupture through, grasp the clots and fulfil her nourishment strenuously. But she’d always try to pace it and gently parented herself into the tremendous fantasy of self-control.
It was overbearingly salty, a taut ocean flooding her flared nostrils and gushing down to where she could taste behind her tongue. The bag was closed, and she was still drowning. Her lips rattled against white, and her gums ached in unison. She closed her eyes and sucked in, waiting for the right time to be selfish. She always did this, and she always realised there was never a morally forgiving moment that would make any of this condonable. The greed ritually subsided the hesitation, her eyes sparking open as her tongue pricked itself against self-loathing enamel. She drew her own blood first, against her lip, a feeble apology that made her feel an ounce better, before digging her blunt nails in the transparency and tearing a small opening. The shaking was back, more aggressive than before, it was running on adrenaline and guilty excitement. Red dribbled down the front of her fingers and dipped into the dents of her knuckles. It was still warm, fresh and inviting. She licked a long stripe up her forefinger and tried not to grunt. She ripped the hole bigger, and it was pouring down her palms, finding disgusting comfort in the creases. Her tongue met her hand again, and again, until it eventually found itself at the leak. Her mouth opened wider, saturating the meat with briny, nauseating regret that sustained her appetite almost completely. Hollowing her cheeks and consuming the warmth, she choked slightly as she pulled her weight. It was overflowing, staining her chin and neck - she was grateful she couldn’t see herself right now.
-
Dizziness succumbed her, eyelids heavy with satisfaction. She was always hazy afterwards, it was a battle to find her way home and not seek rest in the dirt. Her hand squeezed the bag until it crumpled perfectly into her fist, she wedged it in her pocket. It had wept down her flannel and was drying up fast. She couldn’t see the mess completely now that it was dark, but the little light that shun from above made her see enough. The distaste and hatred were never strong afterwards, in fact she was almost numb when she sat by the lake, splashing her hands in. The water was usually cold, but it never woke her up. She moved on autopilot to get herself clean. Her arms functioned robotically, washing murky water around her mouth, it was subtly metallic, but she knew better than to bat an eye about the taste of dirty water. Her fingers didn’t shake to undo her buttons, and her t-shirt underneath only had little splotches at the hem despite her flannel being soaked. She could feel when she looked presentable - her face felt agonisingly dry, so much so that little flakes of dead skin fell in-between her fingertips.
-
It was lighter on the way back. This time of the year was better, especially at these hours of the morning. The dark orange hues put colour back into her skin and made her seem like she was made for the season, like her forehead got sticky in the sun, like her cheeks blossomed pink with the humidity, like she was everyone else.
Getting home never took long, the buses started running their usual schedule at five-thirty, people were beginning their days. There weren’t many people on her route home, but one was more than enough to scrabble a pocket mirror and check for marks. She ran her tongue underneath her teeth, relieved when all she felt was a flat throb from before and nothing else. The bus stuttered over small rocks until she settled on the fact, she couldn’t lie her head on the window without it jerking against the glass. It was too early to think about anything apart from what she had just done. Crimson flashed behind her eyes, and she lowly groaned at her stomach stirring. It would be another month until she was back in the woods - she did it periodically, only when the craving was too devasting to snub. She wandered how long the animal had been dead for, an hour? Two hours? Her stomach stirred again, she dryly retched into her hand. It wasn’t a small animal, maybe a deer or a big fox. There was little difference in the taste of each specie, but there was a distinct pungency in their freshness. It was always so salty that it punctured the soft walls of her throat, making little holes for the blood to seep into for her body to soak up. She convulsed into her hand again, and an old woman shot her a concerned look and tutted,
“You shouldn’t drink on weekdays darlin’. S’not good for you.”
She offered a tight-lipped smile in return, snapping her head to the window and spent the rest of the journey trying to talk her stomach acid into staying put.
contains: smut smut smut (minors dni!!), gp!lee harker, friends to lovers, breeding kink (+ some pregnancy talk), mentions of voyeuristic fantasies, fluff at the end, reader's body parts are referred to with the terms: "tits," "pussy," "cunt" + "clit"
art is from: club by katato-chan (erm highly recommend good good lesbian stuff happening there)
bestie!lee whose jaw clenches and eyes dart about when you tell her to just stay the night and share your tight twin bed with you. she insists that she can drive home, but you rub a thumb under her eyes, a touch that sends her flinching and searing beneath the surface, quietly insisting for her to say. she tells you she'll take the couch, but you tug on her wrist, saying you both will be more comfortable in your bed, and flashing her a smile, drawl out, "plus, isn't this what friends do?"
in all honestly, lee would prefer to be anything but friends when she's hot and damp in your bed, the anxiety of being so close to you, plus your body's warmth amongst the tight space, all too much for her body. she toys with the material of her sweater, mind whirring with thoughts of how close you are, how pretty you look with the moonlight painting your face blue. if she was at her cottage, she'd strip and put on a tank top. but, she doesn't want to borrow a shirt from you without asking. it's too intimate.
and soon after, lee sure feels something else is too intimate when she wakes up in the middle of the night, eyes thick and bleary, to your backside pressed against her crotch. she sucks in a sharp breath. she's already been on edge all night, sensitive to every small touch you've given her, from the brushes of your fingers when you ate popcorn together, to the way your chin dipped against her shoulder in the bed. everything has made her body stiffen with tension. not because you make her uncomfortable, like everyone else does with their touches. but, because she likes you. too much.
her body, so sensitive and and acutely aware of every minuscule brush of your body against hers, is immediately tensing up when the plush shape of your ass rubs against her crotch. she pauses, and focuses on the sounds of the room -- your breathing is still heavy. you're asleep. she swallows hard, trying to shuffle back -- but she's tucked into the side of the bed pressed against a wall, trapped. and every time you shift, your ass tickles against the outline of her cock through her joggers. she hisses. god, she should have gotten off today. instead, she came over, here, wound up and days of no masturbation to sate her from the long week.
she suddenly blushes and nearly moans out loud when your ass presses harder into her, feeling herself begin to stir with arousal, the warm tingles of it spreading between her legs. she bites her lips, eyebrows scrunched in focus, trying to will herself back asleep. but, you keep shifting, soft ass rubbing against her clothed dick at different angles, and it has her squirming.
in just a few minutes, she's rock fucking hard, the imprint of her dick clear as day, as she tries to rack her brain to figure out what to do. her mind is whirling with thoughts of her dick sliding against your pussy lips from behind, getting coated in your juices. you on your stomach, moaning and whining as she slaps your ass, feels it warm under her touch, then slides her cock into your tight hole. it's thoughts like these that cloud her mind, making it harder to figure out what to do.
after one too many torturous minutes, lee decides to try to crawl over you and get out of the bed, so she can get off in the bathroom quickly then return. lithe and careful, she shuffles into a sitting position, and stretches a leg over you, wincing when a loud creak rings through the room. the bed continues to moan and squeak, so it's not all that surprising when you groan softly, eyes fluttering open, then immediately widening at the sight of lee on top of you.
her nostrils flare in a sharp breath when she meets your eyes, embarrassment flooding through her. she knows how bad this looks, so she clears her throat, stomach turning. "I had to go use the bathroom."
and god, she can't help the noise that rumbles in the back of her throat when you start sitting up, asking if she needs anything, and your knee strokes her cock just right. you freeze at the sound, asking if she's okay, and she tightly nods, every fibre in her body screaming for her to leave this room as soon as possible. and so, she murmurs a small assurance, and glances at you, ready to continue her departure. but, you're not looking at her anymore. no, your eyes are lingering on the very evident tent under her grey sweats.
lee doesn't have it in her to lie, not to you, not even about something this embarrassing. and so, she quietly mutters, "I'm sorry. you rubbed against me, and it just happened." face red, she clears her throat, eyeing your bedroom door. "I'll just be a second." deep in her stomach is the heavy weight of anxiety. what are you thinking right now? do you feel uncomfortable with her? is your guys' friendship broken?
lee's so caught up in her thoughts as she lifts her leg, ready to untangle from you, that she doesn't even notice your hand lifting to her face. when you make the contact, she freezes, eyes darting up to you in surprise, nearly shuddering from your proximity. her shoulders loosen just the tiniest bit when you whisper, "it's okay." but, the tension seizes her again with a death grip when you say, voice low and hushed, "do you, um... need help with it?"
lee knows it's such a terrible idea to do this without talking it out first, but her mind is too hazy from the late night and arousal, and she can't help but say yes. which leads to her on top of you, balls rubbing against your thigh through the layers of clothes, your hand stroking at her dick through her sweats. she's clenching her teeth together, her body sagged and pliant, lost in the way your fingertips ghost her cock as you wrap your hand around her softly and start stroking. her body jerks at the feeling of it, moans bubbling up in her throat as her hips buck, needing more. and so, she pins you down, pressing her crotch to yours and rubbing her stiffened dick against the flimsy material of your pajama shorts. you look better than anything her fantasies could've conjured up, sweet face contorted and tight as you screw your eyes shut, moaning and whining as the hard length of her moves against you.
soon, your t-shirt is shoved up, and god, she can't stop sucking on your tits, pink lips tight on your nipples as she kisses them and draws them into her mouth, her warm, wet tongue running over the hardened nubs. she tentatively tries out skimming her teeth around the shape of them, her cock twitching when your body arches up, a small wail leaving your lips. she's lost in the motion of it, her mouth making small, wet noises as she swirls and laps at your tits, cock aching from the way you bury your hands in her hair.
she knows she shouldn't be going this far, her rational side is screaming for her to stop this. but, she can't. not when her sweats are scrunched at her ankles, one of your legs tossed over hers as you lie face to face, hips rocking together as her cock strokes along your dripping folds, the coarse hairs of your pussy making her flinch in sensitivity. she should stop this, she knows she should. but, she can't. not when she starts pushing into your tight hole, watching your mouth hang open as the girth of her stretches you out. when she stops halfway through, giving you a moment to adjust, her stomach twists with pleasure when you slowly, hesitantly lean in, pressing your lips to hers. her eyes, wide with surprise, soon flutter shut and she takes and takes. because she's wanted you for so long, and she'd be an idiot to not kiss you back, to not let her tongue slip into your mouth and dance with yours as your sweet hole clenches at the feeling, drawing out a moan from her. when you pull back and press your forehead to hers, nodding your okay, she inches in more and more until her dick is fully sheathed in you. her hips immediately rut up at the sensation of your warm, sopping pussy gripping onto her cock, which is so snug and tight in your cunt. she forces herself to stay still, breaths shuddering, waiting for you to say she can move. you kiss her again, and the longing she's felt for months squeezes at her chest.
a longing that comes to a peak when you peck her lips and request her to begin moving. embarrassingly loud, squelching noises flow through the room as her cock pumps in and out of your pussy, which is dripping with your juices, her precum and the lube she slathered on before going in. one of your legs is still hooked around her waist, pulling her impossibly close and keeping you anchored as she steadily rolls her hips against yours, her cock giving you the best kind of ache, like itching a rash you had avoided for so long. her arms hold you close, fingers splayed along your back as she keeps you still, lost in the pleasure of taking your hole for hers, fucking into it like her own personal toy. her breaths are heavy and loud, sweat dampening her bangs and making them cling to her skin. her nails dig into your ass and she spreads you open, using the grip as an opportunity to start fucking up into you faster, her skin slapping against yours. you make the prettiest noises, crying out at the newfound pace, and feels her cock get even more sensitive from them.
she shouldn't come in you, but god, you're just begging so sweetly, pressing senseless kisses to her mouth, your tongue hanging out against hers, mixed spit dripping from your mouth and onto your chin. your tongues flick and play, lee pausing the motions to suck yours into her mouth, relishing in the long squeal you release at the sensation. when she lets go, you're right back to it, nuzzling into her face and mumbling, "lee, lee, please, need your come, need it so bad, need to feel it in me, gushing--" your words cutting off as she kisses you again, cock beginning to jam into you harder, the tip nudging against your g-spot just right. you flick your fingertip against your clit, and she groans loudly at the sight, feeling so lewd at the sight of seeing you self-pleasure. god, she wants to see you do that in the privacy of your room, legs twisted into your blankets as you bury your fingers in yourself, head tossed back as you fantasize and get yourself to that edge. she wants to watch you do it, seeing how those fingers glisten, how they circle your clit until it's swollen and begging for touch. but, at least she gets to see this. it's only made better by your gentle little pleas, the words babbling and spilling from your mouth. "lee, lee, please! I need it, want you to fuck a baby in me."
lee just can't stand your pussy clamping down on her cock, gripping and squeezing, practically coaxing the come out of her. she hisses, her long fingers digging into your ass, anchoring you through your orgasm, as she ruts into you. her body convulses as she finally comes, spurts and ropes of her hot load shooting into you, thrusting sloppily into your cunt's loosened hole as she fills you up. the pleasured ache of it runs deep through her cock, and her balls smack wetly against you as she cries out weakly, your mixed juices and come sloshing around her dick.
you cup her neck, kissing her with so much tenderness she feels herself blush, despite all of what you both just did. her cock slowly softens in you, and your pussy is just too slippery and warm to resist slipping out from. her grip on you tightens, wanting anything but to leave this moment.
when you part from her, her eyes flick down to your lips, avoiding your gaze. a sudden wave of anxiety runs through her now that the heat of the moment had drifted away, and she wants to sink into the mattress.
but, then, you're giggling, so just for the sake of answers, she looks up at you, a twinge of adoration springing through her at the sight of you.
it's a feeling swept over with relief when you mutter against her lips, "so, I guess this means you like me back, right?"
it’s peak hours on the train to grand central. you and sevika share a booth.
cw: younger woman x older woman, strangers to lovers, reader is anywhere from 23+, cunnilingus, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, light dom/sub, complicated relationships with parents, reader's mother is passed, reader’s father battles alcoholism, overcoming implied suicidal ideation, undertones of grief
wc: 5.6k
a/n: i think the only thing that feels worse than making bad art is not making art at all. i really want to like this and can't. exposure therapy is posting it anyway! this is loosely edited so i apologize for any errors, and hope you enjoy x
fic inspired by this beautiful artwork by moonie_forever on twitter.
you don’t see her at first.
you’re focused in a frantic sense, eyes raking up and down over heads stuffed in phones or laptops for a leftover space to cram yourself into.
your hunt yields. you snatch the spot immediately, sliding into the last remaining seat in a six-seated booth.
not that you can afford any pickiness, not that you ever can—but it's an aisle seat. it’s maybe the worst for an hour commute. you’re forced to remember this almost instantly, punished by a careless passenger rushing past who pummels your shoulder with their suitcase.
the offense strikes against you like a match and the anger ignites quicker than you can swallow it.
you yelp under your breath, and look up with a painful hiss, ready to send daggers into the back of the offending head and instead your eyes latch onto her.
sitting diagonal from you, her gaze is on you already. there’s nothing in them, nothing you can discern, anyway. her vague curiosity seems to run out as soon as no argument erupts because she settles back into the book cracked open in her hands.
rubbing your shoulder, you try to be quick. strangers have a keen sense of who’s staring.
you don’t want your trip to get any more annoying, but you take a big gulp and sink under: thin rimmed glasses bridge her strong nose, and she’s dressed comfortably, dark hair tucked away behind her, wisps and fly-aways brushing over her eyes. impossibly long legs eagle outwards in the seat, taking up far more space than necessary, and you nearly laugh—the poor old woman next to her is sitting stock upwards, elbows tucked to death—but it fails to be funny for long, seeing how her thighs dwarf the woman entirely and easily.
the rest of her body follows the same pattern. her arms sit broadly. she’s got a pretty shade on her lips, dark as night, and—
you inhale sharply. she’s watching you watch her, again.
her brow lifts.
you fish for the quickest thing you can reach for: smile breezily and nod towards the book in her hands. tell her with a voice that comes out strong and unwavering that you picked it up a few weeks ago, too.
it isn’t a lie. you recognize the title. the sentence, by louise erdrich—it’s sitting on your shelf in your childhood bedroom, and you’d put the book down temporarily as you had done with most things recently in order to keep yourself afloat.
her eyebrow does something new that rustles inside you.
her voice does something worse. it’s low and smooth velvet, and curls around in your stomach when she offers back, “main character’s a bit of an idiot.”
“only at first,” your grin grows, and loses its performance.
“from cocaine transport and body snatching? i would hope so.”
“she was in love,” you shrug, in her defense. “a pretty woman will do that to you.”
her eyes glint, amusement or a ghost of a laugh or something else golden on the horizon, you’re not sure. she asks if you would know. you answer her, oh, yes. intimately.
there's a crease or a dip in the space between you two that fills itself with words, cradles lines like water cupped in the palm of your hands. you spill nothing even in the awkwardness of talking over the shoulders of the passengers beside you, who continue bouncing their feet in irritation. her gaze flickers to them and back to you, mid-breakdown of both of your least favorite writing sins ranked from most hated to satan couldn’t even think of this—something bridging just on amusement pulling at her mouth.
when the man seated in front of her stands to exit at his station you shift over to take his spot.
your knees crowd together and kiss—she asks you if you have enough space to sit comfortably, and you tell her not to move a muscle. her long legs, stretching outwards like a yawn, hold yours inbetween.
₊⊹
you’d gone home that night and, bored, thought of her briefly as the tall buildings flit by. you wonder and then wish you’d asked what she was doing in new york, where the city was taking her, where she was headed.
and then you move on.
wandering is no longer in your best interests. what’s important is what’s right in front of you, and if you let your attention drift for a moment too long it might crawl out from your grip and shatter to the floor.
you fantasize about it, sometimes, in the weak hours of the night. what it might feel like to let it all fall. how your lungs won’t remember what air feels like when it doesn’t burn. what it might mean if you were to stop running.
alcohol hits you first, always. the stench sobers you up.
you lean one hand against the hallway and lift your heel up behind you, slip your flats off and let them clatter to the floor. your dad doesn’t lift his eyes to greet you when you shuffle into the dark.
“hi, daddy,” you murmur, and rest a light hand on his shoulder as you pass.
he starts under your palm, lets his head roll towards you. the T.V. paints his face blue.
“hi, princess,” his voice scratches on the way out. he shifts, and a bottle rolls out of his lap and clatters onto the floor. you sink to pick it up, gathering another three with you. he grunts, rubbing his drooping eyes torturously slow, working the words out of his mouth. “how was your—uh…your internship?”
you let the bottles rest on the counter. there are about a dozen others there too, your eyes coast over them tiredly. tomorrow, you tell yourself. you said so yesterday, too, but you think you mean it this time. you’ll clear them out tomorrow.
you have nothing left, tonight.
you tell him to remember to turn the television off when he’s done, and after a long, dripping silence he makes a vague noise in his throat in response.
the house is dying.
there’s no pretty way around it, no way to clean the sentiment up. the house is dying. and it took your mother first, one quiet night, under the illusive cover of sleep. your father had first begged despairingly for it to give her back and then resolved to go in after her.
the pile of empty bottles on the kitchen table counts down the days. they increase steadily, creating an ominous figure in the dark, and you glance past them everytime you twist your keys through the lock.
the house is dying. your father wants to die with it, and you know greed when you see it—the floorboards shift and groan under your socks, just biding its time to give way and swallow you whole. it will come after him soon. he won’t have to wait long.
yet no matter how far you go, you can’t shake the feeling sinking its nails into you, trailing inside your shadow. the house is dying. you know that once it takes your father you will be next.
it’s what the city does for you. and you've considered moving countless nights, wrapped in your rainbow zebra print blanket, the one your mother gifted you when you were thirteen and the world was so big it burned.
the city cannot love you back, and so you stand to lose nothing from throwing yourself into its aching maw. you stare at the cars beneath you on the commute with a child weeping in the seat beside and a mother tiredly shushing it, and swallow down the bile that bubbles. stalk through grand central with tall boots that mouth at your knees or heels that make just a bit too much noise because you eat moments that make you feel alive, keep yourself full to keep from reaching for emptiness in worse places.
you’ll take the local to soho, man the shop while your boss goes off to do god-knows-what for hours and wander for a few blocks after your shift is up. you’ll head down to greenwich to sit at the park and catch your breath for a moment and leave before you can let empathy crawl between your tired bones and make you too vulnerable. it shows, sometimes, when you care too much. you avert your eyes from a homeless woman on the bench diagonal from you and bury the feeling away.
bum a smoke from a stranger at a bar or book a table at a restaurant for one, it doesn’t matter. come home around midnight and leave again before the sun. if the plan keeps you on your feet then it’s a good one.
but then there was her.
and wandering won’t do you any good—the snag she clipped in your routine was barely a blip and still her smile sears behind your eyelids, burning everytime you squeeze them shut.
she was funnier than you’d expect of her. though she’d seemed at first confused and then entertained by your giggling—her humor was a bit dry, and her face far too expressive for her own good. you’ve never seen eyebrows that moved so much.
you had forgotten what laughter tasted like.
you flip your phone shut, and slide it onto your desk. sink into your comforter. right foot first, then left. sleep seeps into you near instantly and you try not to flinch away, feeling its cold fingers slide down your eyelids. it stills you like death, every night like a ritual.
drowsiness renders you helpless. it helps.
you dream of your mother and her cradling hands—of big things, of running away, of flying.
₊⊹
the eight a.m. peak hours aren't even the worst it gets, and still you only manage to sink into another six seat booth, in the aisle space next to an elderly lady who gives you a weary look before shifting so your legs don’t touch, and returning to her mobile game.
her high score is shit when you steal a peek over, and you immediately feel a bit better.
flipping your bag, brown leather and well-loved, you tuck a hand inside and pull out your phone. eyes flickering across the screen, lifting to check the time—
there she is.
the words leap from you before you can catch them and smooth out the wrinkles,
oh—.
you!
it paints itself like a holy declaration, bright and a bit too loud. your seat mates and those across the aisle, as well as the woman who fills your chest up when her eyes lift over her lens to meet yours, all shift in unison. the world, the blue sky, all rushes out, all crashes back in.
the conductor enters the car with a woosh and clatter behind you, calls out reminding the lot of you to have all tickets ready, and you ignore it. to your every elation she does too.
not quite a smile, but something catches her lip a little, and a huff sounds through her nose.
“hey, you. long time no see.”
₊⊹
her name is sevika, and your schedules align more than is normal.
each time it's the same train car, the fifth one from the back—and if you can’t make it you just jump train cars until you spot her dark, fluffy hair from over the seats. she has the same book cracked open each time you wrestle into the booth.
her greetings tend to not be greetings. she peers at you and receives whatever it is you’ve brought to her to chat about. sometimes it’s more pet peeves, other times it book recommendations, and she begs you to slow down with those, or a video that had made you laugh so hard you spit that she watches blankly and tells you she doesn’t get it. you’d gotten her only once, though, caught her lip flicker, pull to a smirk—your own breath locks and then you pocket it for later. only the political memes make her crack.
her outfits change erratically, too, and you think the first day must have been a fluke. you ask her how she does it so early in the morning, all the belts and straps and buckles, and then kick her when she says with a small grin that she’s got a lot of practice.
she nods in greeting, once, when you come to fit in the spot before her. her legs are always spread out wide and yours tuck together, inbetween.
it’s all you spend the weekends doing, now, gathering what to take with you to monday. you’re forgetting the bottles on the counter. you’re forgetting to tell your father to turn off the T.V.. the world moves in slow motion, everything moves in slow motion. even your dreams sludge through your sleep like a child running through snow.
some horrific mornings every seat in the booth is already taken.
her gunpowder eyes will occasionally flit over to where you sit a row down, mirth brimming inside at your cross expression and your crossed legs. some days you bring two cups of coffee. and she surprises you—she enjoys hers sweet. she takes it bitter the first time, feeling sorry to force you to drink it, and you watch her stain your thermal jug with dark lipstick over the rim of your drink.
you both fall together like rainfall in june. your legs are forgetting what it feels like to be rid of oxygen, to burn and repair in order to burn. your muscles don’t ache when you sit, sevika makes sure. asks if there’s enough room for you. spreads out like open arms.
her progress in the book is slow. and you learn that she’s sort of cute when she gets defensive.
her cheeks puff out and her brow creases and you wish you could tip forward and sink into her and disappear inside it. she tells you she’s really busy, you know, and her time on the commute is really the only time she gets to herself where she isn’t sleeping.
sevika pauses then. looks at you thoughtfully.
“well. not so much anymore,” she says. “i guess now there’s you.”
but the next morning you do see her, she’s a bit further in than she would be at her usual pace—and you scoff, and then laugh, and she leans back and sighs. but watches, softly, as your giggles peel you apart.
₊⊹
for a few days you don’t see her.
you embarrass yourself by walking through every train car, eyes threading over the seat, legs sludging past briefcases and elbows. you know she won’t be in any of them if it isn’t the fifth car and you check anyway. and are proven right.
the remainder of the day is a bit dimmer. you try not to overdo it, you don’t know her, no matter how much you enjoy the chats you share. she doesn’t owe you anything, much less any fore notice of when she might be absent.
she might just be sick or taking a day off. or maybe your eagerness scared her away. or maybe something had happened to her and the universe decided you’d enjoyed enough hope for a lifetime and she was taken from you, too.
your dad doesn’t respond that night, when you greet him—and you nearly crumble right there.
you hold your breath as you shuffle over, your sandals light on the floor boards. coast a hand under his nose, and still the blood pumping in your veins.
his breath whistles against your thumb.
you let your arm fall back down to your thigh. stare fiercely down at him from where he’s curled into himself. smaller than you ever remember.
mother would ask you to save him were she still here, because that’s the kind of person she was. and it wouldn’t be a request, it would be your duty. she’d drape it around you like a badge, let go, and watch the weight of the metal pin you to the earth.
his death means your death. and maybe that shouldn’t be it—maybe you should simply love him, and let that be reason enough.
and your mother, she wouldn’t forgive you for failing. but she would understand.
you draw away. click off the T.V., set down the remote in his palm, and then turn on your heel.
₊⊹
sevika is there the next morning.
this time her eyes catch yours first, already staring before you find her.
you stall momentarily, caught like a deer. the passenger behind you steps on your heel and you both mutter half hearted apologies as you slide towards the booth.
it’s hard and inconvenient to get around the other passengers but you shuffle over them despite their evident discontent. you aren’t paying attention to them. sevika takes your arm and helps you over—her grip warms you from the point of contact, inching outward and webbing down your insides.
her eyes are careful and steady on yours the whole way down, and your bare legs scrape her thigh. she closes them briefly to make space for you.
as you get comfortable—adjust—she lifts the book from her lap.
“i got up to the part where her friend haunts her,” she says in greeting.
“they weren’t friends,” you return. “they were something worse.”
sevika shakes her head—her mouth quirks. “no,” she disagrees. “they were friends. sometimes there’s nothing worse.”
you could think of many worse things, but none of them find you right now. the image of her toothy smile is lodged in your chest like stone, a dull ache. summer glances off her face, when the train emerges from under the tunnel.
she’s all at once and all of a sudden too much. you want to turn and flee in the opposite direction. you want to lower yourself between her jaw and pull her mouth closed around you, let the fangs sink into your skin, like a cheetah licking the meat off a gazelle.
everything falls away. guilt sucks its teeth. you won’t flee, and you know you won’t. no one with this feeling fluttering in their chest and ramming against their ribcage can let death wrap its cold fingers around their arm and remain still.
you know you are forgetting your mother’s face, and your father will wither away and you won’t follow behind him—because you have something else to chase, now, and it’s living and breathing and smiling at you.
truthfully, the thought shudders through you. you’re even losing what her laughter sounded like. her voice when she’d tell you, silly girl. the place you’ll call home is waiting for you to make it. what’s there to fear?
her cradling hands inside your dreams, when she’d grip your wrist and then your face and tell you, the door is always open. go.
sevika is terrible at hiding it, and she tries—but you think she’d missed you too.
she had called the protagonist an idiot but she’s no better, you can see it in the way she stares at you as if to take you inside her mouth. how she tracks your every movement. watches the very saliva slide down your throat.
you think you could make a home out of wherever she’s heading.
you let your legs eagle out. her gaze lingers on the place where your naked knees press into her thighs. your skirt rustles but you don’t mind what she sees. if anything, you welcome her heady gaze, and the hot coals it rakes over your body.
“thought i’d lost our little book club,” you say. it’s so uncasual it trembles in the air between you two.
her dark rimmed glasses slip just a bit down her nose, and she shifts them. keeps her eyes on you.
“is that what this is?”
the question stretches wider than just the book in her lap.
the conductor calls out the transfer at jamaica—you’re meant to stretch out of your seat. sevika watches you cross your legs, watches the new passengers stream in, crowd and fill in the empty space.
a few stragglers jog down the stairs, legs reaching past every other stair. the doors close mercilessly, passing like time. their frustration or disappointment passes across your chest as if it were yours, the familiar, intrusive ache of sympathy. but their story isn’t yours.
sevika closes the book around her fingers.
“i know today’s your day off.”
sevika leans forward, onto her elbow. “and you came to find me anyway?”
“who knew you’d be here? you must really love the morning commute.”
her mouth pulls for a drawn out moment. she tells you she has a second job back on the island, that she would’ve had to commute anyway to come back home—but you interrupt her. because not at this hour.
you know when her second job ends because she told you her schedule back to front when you’d asked about it. offered details about her day-to-to with one pretty smile from you, ran you up and down her routine with her voice calm as the shifting sea. despite accusing you of eventually revealing yourself to be a hitman or something else ridiculous she’d relinquished anyway, admitting well, it’d be a sweet way to die.
you would’ve kissed her then, if you were smart enough.
“you end far too early.” you tell her now. stare, and she stares back. “you should’ve been back hours ago.”
“this is my routine, sweetheart.”
“i’m your routine.” your leg bounces, scrapes and traces hers on its journey. her eyes are damp in the sunlight, kerosene drenched, and they speckle sunspots onto your skin with her intensity.
you wonder if she’ll refuse you.
wonder what you’ll do then, what the train ride back will look like. how you’ll open the text you send your boss. how curt he’ll be with the one he sends back.
but then—inside her incriminating, drawn out silence—you think that maybe she needs direction just as much as you need chaos.
“alright,” she relents. her voice is quiet but her hands aren’t. they flatten along your knee, thumb tracing up and down. fingers nipping just under your skirt, resting there, warming. “but don’t start whining at me when you lose that dream job of yours.”
“i don’t whine.”
sevika retracts and leans back into her seat, as the train rushes forward and thrusts itself into darkness, rumbling underground. the station is four minutes away now, and the conductor’s voice crackles over the speaker.
“we’ll see.”
₊⊹
you’re the compass that points eastward.
sevika stabilizes you with a heavy hand on your waist, but she doesn’t anchor you down to the earth. you float as her heavy boots thud along the cement behind you. moves you out of the way of pedestrians, steps in front when a biker whizzes past.
it’s her apartment you’re both headed to but you’re the one leading.
but her presence weighs, and the velvet of her voice keeps you holding hands with gravity. you tell her your story, and she tells you hers.
she’s a senior consultant, and it’s a demanding job. what she says is that it can be draining. what she means is that she gets paid by big boss men and CEO’s to have someone to blame when things go to shit.
her overnight job is easier on her sore skin. she mans a gas station, and spends the shift exchanging stories with the regulars and insomniacs, and chasing away creeps that come to bother her girls.
got yourself a little community, you say, squeezing her knee, and the comment makes her pause. you watch a few things flit across her face, before she grunts, and settles on one.
…i guess i do.
on the subway her hand rests on your thigh, massaging the flesh near imperceptibly. your legs are crossed and you squeeze after squirming too long—she feels you grinding into the rolling, loose coil of pleasure from the shuddering train and she tuts you under your breath. you nearly lose your common sense, a shaky breath escaping thinly through your nose.
you don’t have to ask why she doesn’t let go of you.
you’ve seen it, anyway—she was always fidgeting, shifting her weight, wrapping fingers around a page, an unlit cigarette, or around your thigh as it bounced anxiously, over and over against her knee.
and in the dark of her apartment in the three hour layover between her different shifts, instead of a book it’s a sparkly rocks glass, or an untouched bottle. the place is neat otherwise, almost clinically clean—empty as if she weren’t it’s habitant. as if no one were.
the drinks, she doesn’t consume them. they sit there, just in case. an assembly that doesn’t speak and company that cannot warm.
you survey it wordlessly and she watches you without offering any explanation or defense.
she takes your silence a way you hadn’t meant it—stoops and begins shuffling things around, but you stop her with a hand on her arm, tugging her back up to her full height.
“there’s time for that,” you say, “later. we have so much time.”
her face flickers—tightens.
there are no tears, no emotional eruption, nothing so melodramatic. but she gathers you into her with the force of an ocean that swallows with a hungry mouth. she tastes how she looks. she moves like something inside is dying, being replaced or beckoned out by something newer, some new life she can only find on your tongue.
you give her everything you’ve got.
it’s not much. you aren’t an answer—you’re empty as a tin can most days. if she minds you can’t tell—she sucks in a breath when you stand naked before her, dripping and squeezing your thighs together.
“come here, sweetheart,” she beckons you closer, patting her thighs.
you’re guided onto her lap by a rough hand, one that squeezes and kneads but doesn’t go searching.
“spread for me.”
you whine lowly. she’s clothed still and her eyes are glued to you and it’s rustling at the sediment in your stomach, the fabric of her pants delicious on your cunt.
she taps your thighs, voice lowering, “spread your legs, baby.”
slowly, you let your knees fall wayside, and the scent of your arousal washes forward immediately. she nudges you backwards, lowering you until your back thumps onto the bed. your hips are peaked in the air towards here, dripping cunt open wide for her to see, and you exhale shakily at the new angle, embarrassment crawling over your skin.
sevika stares, slow and methodical, eyes touching every crease and corner of you as you start squirm under the heat of it, begging her to do something, before your throat caves into itself.
“so restless, baby,” she says, a small smile crawling its way on her face.
you feel like cursing, like clawing at her to move. you don’t realize you’re rolling into nothing until she rests hands on your hips and guides the movement, fingers pressing dents into your skin.
the humiliation couldn't get worse, and your pride withers as you mumble, “are you going to touch me or what?”
“i can’t savor the view?”
“sevika,” you lament, and when she laughs you feel her stomach jump against your thighs. you suck in a breath, wet with want or something bigger, you aren’t sure and won’t reach out for it. it’s enough having her this close. she’s warm every place her skin makes contact with you, the cool surface of her prosthetic fingers rooting you back to earth with every squeeze.
she doesn’t tease for long. her thumbs extends and presses down on you, and all your breath gets trapped in your throat. she rubs your clit softly, tracing little circles, matching the whimpers you make with low hums of her own. you hips lift and roll against her touch, arching off her lap.
“feel good?” she coos. “when i rub your clit like this?”
you try to tell her you need more, but her maddening pace is making your brain muddy and your words slurred and nonsensical. but she’s never needed much from you in order to understand.
sevika’s fingers dips to find where you’re most promising, wet and writhing as she taunts the worst of yourself out of you.
she sinks inside and carves out the cave of your cunt, curling her fingers until your hips arch off her lap. she takes the invitation and readjusts, shifting until she’s supporting your hips in the air, and tucks her face into your thighs. bites and nips and searches the skin, leaves behind proof of herself in little tugs of teeth and wet kisses—and she’ll find nothing inside but your climbing greed, humping her mouth and whining sinfully, begging her to take you for all you’re worth.
she drinks, feverishly. as if your greed were the best thing she’s ever placed on her tongue.
sevika groans inside you, kisses and laps your cunt sweetly. your hand finds her hair, sinking your fingers inside. you tug harshly as her tongue begins to work faster and she makes a low, rough noise in response. her name warbles off your mouth, rolling your hips up off the bed to meet her. her tongue flickers back and forth and up and down, sinking and sucking. your begging begins to sound more like babbling, and her hand comes to rest on your stomach as she drags your body in closer.
you’ve lost comprehension—your mind is hazy and you’re slipping, reaching out for something, just on the horizon.
your thighs clamp around her head when your orgasm whispers against you, swelling tightly—
she murmurs into you, there you go, baby, give it to me, and that completes your search. with her tongue she presses you back into yourself, and you wail outwards as the crash overtakes you, seizes your body and squeezes till you’re shaking and shuddering.
you collapse. your limbs are jelly, twitching at her touch—
and she hasn't pulled away. your body cringes away from her tongue, still gently kissing and rolling your clit.
“sevika, wait,” you pant, as discomfort and pleasure swirl together. “too sensitive.”
“sevika, it’s too…” your head tips back, rolling into her mouth again. she supports your hips with her arms wrapped underneath—rises to peer up at you, the beginnings of a shit-eating grin flitting at the corners of her mouth.
“hmm?” she asks, a question she already has the answer to, as your glistening cunt reaches towards her.
“no, dont—don’t stop.”
“thought it was too sensitive?”
“sev, fuck,” you reach down, leafing fingers through her hair, guiding her back down, “please.”
her lips curl against you—a private smile, just for the two of you, and it guides the pleasure back as she sinks inside.
she takes until you’ve got nothing left to offer. your body is heavy and spent, and when you kiss her and cup her face in your hands she holds your wrist, tender, soothing your back with her thumb.
wrestling her clothes off takes little convincing and a little laughter, and you reach down and let your fingers play at her pants zipper, slip your hand beneath as she watches you, lids low. her brows pull and she intakes a breath when your fingers brush her fuzzy lips, spreading to feel the pool that’s amounted there.
you glide your fingers along her. she just barely ruts forward into your hand, eyes disastrous, grip on your waist tight. “you’re this wet just from getting me off?”
sevika makes a small, breathy noise, and her voice comes out tainted. “what can i say. the sounds you make are something else.”
“‘cause you make me feel good,” you murmur, slipping a finger inside. her eyes flutter shut, lips pressing together, before parting to pant.
“that right?”
“don’t swallow it,” you say, watching her face contort when you pick up your pace, when you slip in another finger. “you sound beautiful. can i hear you, too?”
₊⊹
you pick sevika’s glasses up from her bedside, and push them onto her nose. she asks if you have work tomorrow—promises to walk you there, and you wave her off.
butterscotch invades your senses when you rest your cheek on her chest. it’s all over you, too, she’d scrubbed you down and warned you that you’d smell like it for maybe the next three days. you couldn’t imagine a better predicament if you tried.
“i want to be haunted,” you push the words into the quiet, when her breathing has evened out to a near stalemate. she shifts, the only indication she gives that she’s listening. “i want to tell all the people i’ve ever loved that i hope they haunt me. but i waited too long. they won’t know that i wouldn’t mind.”
“i think they know,” sevika turns her head to peer at you. “you should hear yourself. i think they’re doing a fine job.”
“do you enjoy it? being haunted?”
she’s quiet. her brows lower, she works her mouth.
“sometimes,” she admits, quiet so as to not disturb the unretrievable. “when it gets bad enough it’s like they never left.”
you tip onto your stomach, sprawled across her. reach over and spread her fingers out, slide forward the length of your hand until they seal together. the angle is awkward but the effort is earnest. she’s warm, like a living thing. it’s all that matters.
when her eyes glance upon you, shiny gloss in the dark, you don’t think you’d mind being a compass.
you tug, and point eastward, outside the bedroom. leaving is the first step.
“come.”
the door is always open. go.
“come. let’s go clean up your ghosts.”
you plant your feet on the cold hardwood, right first, shiver against it, resist retreat; and then settle the left. push off the bed, and trust sevika is following behind.
baratheonpilled
ellievsbear
titsay
stormborns
