cw: jealous sevika, established relationship, possessive sevika, jealous sex, oral sex, interrupted foreplay, rude sevika, slight argument, pillow talk, aftercare, long plot, slow burn, modern au
—Stop being so damn kind.
One thing Sevika is firmly convinced of is that you’re too kind.
She got no patience for assholes, no tolerance for people who think they can take up space in ways that grate on her nerves.
Rude customers, smug strangers, people who think rudeness is charm, it all makes her want to bark back. She’s always been like that, sharp edges and short fuse, among all the other flaws she thinks she has.
It makes her look like a dick most of the time, and fine, maybe she is one.
Completely one, actually.
At least she’s honest about it.
But you? You’re soft-spoken where Sevika is harsh, sweet where she’s all bite and scowl. You’ll smile at the waiter who screws up your order, tell him not to worry, that you don’t mind. You’ll say thank you to the girl in the store even when she’s rolling her eyes. You’re polite to people who don’t deserve it, and it makes Sevika go fucking crazy sometimes.
Crazy enough that she grits her teeth and wonders how the hell you’ve gone through life without somebody taking advantage of that kindness.
And then she met your mom.
That’s when it clicked; where you got it from.
A woman who greets her at the door with a laugh and a hug, not troubled the slightest that she has a prosthetic or that her daughter came home with a girl, who insists Sevika stay for dinner no matter what excuse she has loaded on her tongue, who finds excuses to the rudest jerks sometimes.
She says it’s because she’s a psychologist. Sevika thinks, respectfully, that it’s not a reason… and that it’s bullshit.
Too candid, too warm, too much.
At first, Sevika couldn’t stand how disarming it felt. She’d sit stiff in her chair while your mom passed her another plate, asking questions, beaming at her like she was already family. Unsettling as hell. Completely different from your father, who was just a bit colder. Not rude; reserved. But it’s way better now.
It’s not like her own family was ever like that. Her father knows she has a girlfriend, has heard her say it, blunt and flat across the phone, but that’s all he knows.
No names, no details, no invitations to dinner. It’s easier that way, and Sevika isn’t interested in changing it. It’s good as it is.
Since your parents live a bit outside the city, visits aren’t exactly convenient. But in college, the two of you started spending weekends there almost every week. Friday night drive, Sunday night back.
At first it was just for you, your mom missing you, wanting to cook for you, fuss over you. Sevika came once and didn’t plan on making it a habit.
But then she came along again, because you asked, because you smiled at her in that way that makes saying no impossible.
And by dint of going, it became… normal.
Now, it’s not strange for her to drop her bag by the door and kick her shoes off without thinking.
Not strange to hear your mom call out a cheerful “girls, dinner’s ready!” from the kitchen. Not strange to find herself sitting on the porch with your dad, the two of them in quiet conversation, sharing a beer and a cigarette as the sun goes down. Not strange to take a coffee with your mom early in the morning because they’re two light sleeper.
It’s almost, almost, like her home too.
She wouldn’t call it that, not out loud, but she feels it. In the way your mom always saves a portion just for her.
In the way your dad has stopped being stiff and now greets her with a nod that’s closer to fond than neutral. It isn’t the same as the rough house she grew up in, the walls filled with her father’s silence and her own sharp words.
This is softer, steadier.
And somehow, against every one of her instincts, Sevika’s found herself tangled in it. A routine she doesn’t just put up with. One she actually enjoys. She’s not sure when your dad became someone she could almost call a friend, and she’s not sure when your mom’s fussing stopped grating and started feeling… good. Like family.
She’s still not used to that word, will never say it out loud either. But sometimes, sitting at your parents’ table, catching your mom’s easy laugh and your dad’s subtle comments, she lets herself think it.
Today’s one of those Saturday again.
Less often now, since you both graduated a few months back, and life keeps going in different directions, but you’re both on leave for two weeks, and it feels natural to use a bit of that time here, in the house where you grew up in.
Sevika wakes up first, like she always does. She never sleeps much, not even here.
Your old bedroom is familiar to her in a way that’s almost embarrassing; she could trace the space with her eyes closed and find her way in the dark without looking.
You’re curled against her, soft and warm, and for a moment she lets herself sink into it. One big hand spread across your back, nose brushing your hairline, eyes half-lidded in that lovely, heavy quiet of early morning.
But she never stays in bed for long.
Sliding out carefully so she doesn’t wake you, Sevika pulls on a sweatshirt, a pair of sweatpants, and heads downstairs.
She doesn’t bother with lights in the corridor, she knows the way.
The kitchen drawers are familiar too, her movements easy, practiced. Mug, coffee, the little tea pot you made when you were little your mom insists on keeping even though no one else touches it.
When she turns, coffee in hand, she finds her already there.
Your mom, in her usual place at the table, framed by the soft, golden spill of morning light through the window. She turns her head toward Sevika, offering a tired smile that still somehow carries warmth, like she’s been waiting for Sevika to wake up.
“Good morning,” she says softly, voice rasped by sleep.
“Morning,” she says as she pulls a chair out and sits across from her, setting the mug down with a soft clink. Your mom’s eyes crinkle with quiet amusement as she watches her settle.
“You’re always so early,” she teases, her voice carrying that lilting fondness that used to throw Sevika off balance.
Sevika huffs, half a smile tugging at her mouth as she brings the mug to her lips. “Can’t help it.”
That earns her a soft laugh before your mom tilts her head slightly. “Did you sleep well?”
Sevika nods. “Yeah. Pretty good.” Then, after a beat, she lowers the mug and asks the question she already knows the answer to. “You still having trouble sleepin?”
Your mom gives a small shrug, that same sweet smile holding steady on her lips. “Always. A bit more painful lately, but,” she waves a hand as if brushing it away, “it’s okay.”
Sevika takes another sip, eyes dropping to the table for a moment. She doesn’t push. It’s not her way. And besides, your mom never wants pity.
They sit like that, quiet but not awkward, Sevika drinking her coffee while she eats her breakfast, the air easy between them as they talk.
After a while, your mom glances up again. “Did she tell you about dinner tonight?”
Sevika frowns, searching in her memory, then shakes her head. “No. Forgot, I guess. What about it?”
“I knew it,” your mom chuckles softly, shaking her head. Like she knows her daughter so much she already knew you forgot to tell Sevika. “Her dad invited a few of his coworkers. You girls should go out together, it’s going to be very boring. Even if there’s a young man your age tagging along.”
Sevika doesn’t let it show on her face, but her jaw works once, slow. She hates people, mostly men honestly, and the casual mention of him irritates her in a way she won’t name. But your mom is smiling, offering you both an escape instead of a trap, and that, Sevika appreciates.
“Yeah,” she says finally, leaning back in her chair. “I’ll see with her.”
Your mom nods, satisfied, and the little talk keeps going. Easy, familiar, affectionate. Coffee and breakfast and the kind of conversation Sevika never thought she’d find herself wanting.
By the time Sevika finishes her coffee, the house is still quiet, a brighter morning light filling in the corners. She rinses the mug, sets it down with practiced ease, then heads back upstairs.
The bathroom smells faintly of your soap, steam clinging to the air, proof you’ve already taken your shower.
Sevika brushes her teeth, pulls her hair back loosely, then pushes open the bedroom door.
You’re sprawled on the mattress, scrolling on your phone, face relaxed in that half-dreamy expression you always have after a shower.
The second you see her, you light up, smiling wide enough that the phone slips forgotten on the mattress beside you.
She closes the door behind her with her foot, stepping closer, then hooks her hands around your ankles.
She tugs your legs, making you giggle softly as she drags you toward her on the mattress, the sheets bunching underneath.
She doesn’t stop until she’s braced between your thighs, big frame hovering over you, her weight pressing into the space you make for her without any hesitation.
“Good morning,” you say in a soft voice, your arms winding around her neck and your legs curling around her hips, as she dips her head for a quick kiss.
Just enough to taste your smile, the lingering smell of her coffee and mint, enough to make her morning feel complete.
“Your mom said your dad invited coworkers for dinner,” Sevika murmurs against your lips. Then she leans back just enough to meet your eyes, her mouth twisting into a face she can’t quite help. “Even a ‘young man our age’, to your mom’s exact words.”
You snorts, because that expression is too much, half scowl, half annoyance, entirely Sevika. “Ow,” you say, grinning as the tip of your nose almost brushes hers. “I forgot that.”
Sevika kisses you once more, slow enough to steal another laugh from your throat, then pulls back with a sigh.
“You know,” she says casually, as if it’s just now occurring to her, “I suddenly really want to go visit my father I haven’t had on the phone for weeks.”
You gasp dramatically and slap her shoulder, laughter bubbling up bright and helpless at her dark humor. “Don’t say that.”
“What?” she says, deadpan, though the faint twitch at the corner of her mouth gives her away.
You shake your head, still grinning. “I shouldn’t laugh about that.” Then, in your most innocent voice, you add, “But I don’t understand why you don’t want to see some ‘young man our age’.”
That gets the exact reaction you expect.
Sevika groans, brows furrowed, a sound long and disgusted, and buries her face into your neck like she can hide there, muttering something incoherent against your skin.
Her weight settles over you more fully, all heavy warmth and mock sulking.
You laugh again, threading your fingers into her hair. “Okay, jokes asides. I don’t wanna be there either.” You press a quick kiss to her temple. “We even can go back home tonight, we don’t have to stay until tomorrow if you don’t want to.”
At that, she goes still for a moment then huffs quietly, not lifting her head.
Her arms tighten around you in silent agreement, because the thought of escaping back into your little cocoon, just the two of you, is way more tempting than she’ll ever admit out loud.
By the evening, you’re both moving around your old room, tossing clothes back into bags with that lazy rhythm of people who don’t really want to rush but also don’t want to linger.
Sevika folds her sweatshirt into her duffel, and you’re just zipping yours when the crunch of tires on gravel cuts through the quiet.
You pause, glance toward the window.
Through the sheer curtains, you catch sight of a couple cars pulling up the drive, men in shirtsleeves climbing out, voices carrying.
You groan under your breath. “Oh, fuck me.”
Sevika looks up instantly, her eyes narrowing the way they always do when she hears something too suspicious for her tastes.
“They’re early,” you sigh, brushing your hands over your face. “We’ll have to say hi at least.”
Sevika joins you at the window, crossing her arms. “As long as we’re with them until we reach my car,” she glances down at you, voice flat, “I’m your best friend.”
You snort, the tension breaking for just a second. “Of course. We’ll make it quick.”
Stepping closer, you rise on your toes and press a fast kiss to her lips, your grin against her mouth. “Very friendly thing to do.”
She huffs as her hand rests low on your back.
“We just say bye and go,” you promise, your voice softer now. “No fuss. Home fast.”
And she nods, once, because you both know what it means.
Back in your city, you don’t care who sees, don’t care about eyes or whispers. But here, with your dad’s coworkers, it’s easier this way. Cleaner.
And she’ll play along, because at the end of it, it’s just the two of you walking out the door together.
When you both head downstairs, bags in hand, the voices are already echoing from the hall. The house feels heavier with it, with laughter, the sound of men greeting one another with too much confidence.
You round the corner first, Sevika a step behind, and there they are: three older men clustered around your father, most of their hair gone white or gone entirely, and just like your mom said, one younger. Way younger.
Somewhere around your age, sharp smile too quick to flash.
“Ah, there they are,” your dad says, ushering you both forward. “My daughter and her friend.”
You smile politely, tightening your grip on the strap of your bag. “Good evening!”
Sevika nods once, expression unreadable.
It’s seamless, the way you both play the part; best friends on your way out, parents backing the act without missing a beat.
But of course, there are questions.
The older men want to know what you studied, where you’re working now, if you’re staying in the city.
You answer quickly, keeping it neat, rehearsed almost. No openings, no details to invite more.
You don’t want to linger.
Sevika stays silent. Not cold, not rude, just there. Polite enough to avoid being called out, but nowhere near looking like she’s enjoying herself. Her eyes steady, her mouth flat.
That’s when she notices him.
His gaze keeps drifting, always landing on you. Too attentive, too bright, his smile wider when you talk than when any of the old men do.
It grates instantly, the way his focus sticks.
Sevika exhales through her nose, quiet and sharp, then shifts the duffel higher on her shoulder. “I’ll put the bags in the car,” she says, her eyes flicking toward you just long enough to catch the soft crease between your brows.
Then she’s moving past, out the door, her steps heavier than they need to be as she heads for the car, because better keep her hands busy than let them curl into fists at her sides.
It doesn’t take her even three minutes to haul the bags out and toss them neatly into the trunk.
Quick work, muscle memory. She could’ve stayed in the car, waited it out, but some quiet instinct tugs her back inside.
Maybe it’s not wanting to look rude to your parents, but she won’t admit it. Maybe it’s also because she doesn’t like leaving you in that room with all those eyes.
When she steps back into the hall, she sees it instantly.
The younger man has drifted closer to your side, talking louder than the others, hands shoved in his pockets like he thinks it makes him casual.
You’re smiling, big, bright, but Sevika reads it for what it is. She knows you.
Your back is too straight, your shoulders held just so. That too-sweet politeness you slip on like a mask whenever you don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings.
Knows you well enough to see the difference between genuine warmth and this brittle smile you hand out like a courtesy. The boy doesn’t.
To him, it probably looks like interest.
Doesn’t like his timing, doesn’t like his grin, doesn’t like the way his attention clings to you. But she won’t see him again, so, fine.
“Done,” she says as she steps back to your side, voice even, casual, like she’s only talking about the bags. She almost lets “baby” slip in the middle of it, but swallows it down, keeps her tone flat.
Your smile falters into something real this time when you glance up at her. Relief, clear as day.
That’s the cue; you turn back, give the men one last polite goodbye, send your parents a flying kiss across the room. Sevika lifts her hand in a wave, short and easy, before you’re both stepping toward the door.
The front door clicks shut behind you, muffling the voices inside.
The car doors shut with a heavy thump, the world outside silent. You drop into the passenger seat, blowing out a little sigh as you click the belt into place.
“Not as quick as we wanted,” you say, glancing toward her, “but fast enough. Thanks for the bags, babe.”
Sevika’s hands are on the wheel, knuckles slightly pale where she grips it. She doesn’t answer right away, jaw tight, eyes fixed out the windshield.
That stormy quiet of hers is louder than any words.
You tilt your head, watching her. You know her moods; know when she’s tired, when she’s teasing, when she’s angry. This is none of those. This is… pissed.
Softly, almost careful, you ask, “What’s wrong?”
It catches her before she can turn the key.
Her gaze flicks to you, sharp and unguarded for a second, and you see it plain as day: something’s gnawing at her, something she hasn’t decided whether to spit out or bury.
Sevika exhales through her nose, slow and hard, like she’s trying to push the weight out of her chest. One hand leaves the wheel to slide through her hair before settling back down, fingers flexing.
“It’s nothing,” she mutters first, shaking her head. “Just me being… a dick. Worked up over nothing.”
You don’t buy it. You never do.
Her mouth twists, like the words taste bitter even before she lets them out.
“Didn’t even last five minutes in there and—” she cuts herself off, jaw tightening. “Too short to be that pissed. I know. I’m trying.”
The honesty, rough and reluctant, hangs in the space between you.
You lean in a little, your smile soft, your hand finding her arm. Your fingers trace over her bicep in slow circles, grounding. “Was it about that guy?” you ask gently.
Her eyes flick to yours, sharp but softer, like she’s about to deny it, but she can’t. Not with your hand warm against her skin, not with the way you’re looking at her like you already know the answer.
Sevika doesn’t say yes. She doesn’t need to. The silence is enough.
She exhales again, quieter this time, shoulders dropping just slightly under your touch.
You keep tracing her arm, your voice gentle. “Hey… I know you’re trying.” Your smile grows, small but steady. “And I’m proud of you. Really.”
Sevika’s brow furrows, like she doesn’t know what to do with the praise, like it sits too soft against all the jagged pieces inside her.
You take her hand where it rests on the gearshift, lift it, and press your lips against the back of her knuckles.
That earns it a flicker of a smile.
Quick, reluctant, but real.
You lean back in your seat, still holding her hand for a second longer before letting go.
“Come on, big girl,” you murmur. “Drive us home.”
Something eases in her shoulders at that, the tension bleeding out just enough. She turns the key, the car rumbling to life, and pulls onto the road.
The playlist you always share hums low from the speakers, filling the quiet without pressing on it.
After a mile or so, her hand slips from the wheel to settle on your thigh, heavy and warm, grounding her as much as it grounds you.
A few days pass, routine slipping back into place. Vacation, slow mornings, evenings together, the comfort of your apartment wrapping around you like a cocoon.
You’re wandering aimlessly, shopping bag light in your hand, eyes drifting across the storefronts. Just window-shopping, just daydreaming, nothing serious. The sun is warm, the air buzzing with weekend noise. And then—
You spot him before he spots you, but it’s too late.
The man from your parents’ dinner, striding down the sidewalk with that same quick smile.
You consider ducking into the nearest shop, but his gaze locks on yours, and you know you’re caught.
“Hey!” he calls, voice bright, like you’re old friends instead of near-strangers.
You manage a polite smile, standing straighter, smoothing your expression. “Hi.”
He stops in front of you, all casual confidence. “Funny running into you! How’ve you been?”
Small talk, questions. You answer, quick and polite, just enough to get through it. Your laugh comes a little too forced, your smile stretched a bit too wide, showing teeth.
Your stomach dips. You shake your head, lying. “No, I don’t, sorry. Not really into social medias, you know, all that…”
He grins anyway. “Then your number?”
The word sticks. Instead, you hear yourself laugh softly of awkwardness, embarrassment. Something he should notice, he doesn’t.
“Okay. Well. Fine.” You rattle it off, watching him tap it into his phone.
“Perfect,” he says, pocketing the device. “We’ll talk later.” He waves as he moves past, already pulled away by his own errands.
The second he’s gone, you exhale hard, pressing a hand to your face.
“Shit,” you mutter under your breath.
You curse at yourself for not having the backbone to just say no, for slipping into that same old habit, too polite, too careful, too worried about hurting someone’s feelings.
And now… he has your number.
That night, you and Sevika are sprawled out on the couch, dinner plates forgotten on the coffee table, TV playing something neither of you are really watching. Sevika’s arm is slung heavy across the backrest, fingers idly brushing your shoulder.
You shift a little, nervous, chewing your lip before slipping it naturally, “So, yeah… oh, and— I forgot to tell you, I saw him today.”
Her gaze sharpens instantly, turning toward you. “Who?”
“You know, the guy. From my dad’s dinner.”
Sevika frowns, already irritated. “And?”
You sigh, almost pouting as you look at her. “He didn’t give me a single chance to escape, he asked for my number.”
Her brows pull tighter. “And you gave it to him?”
“I—yeah,” you admit, wincing at the look on her face.
Sevika sits up a little straighter, scowl deepening. “What forced you to say yes? How did you not just say no?”
You stutter, looking everywhere like you’re lost, helpless. “It’s not easy, Sev! I tried to decline but he just—kept pushing. And it’s not like I’m going to answer his texts or anything, I just wanted to be—”
“Polite,” she cuts in sharply, finishing for you.
The word lands like a stone between you.
You blink at her, then let out a breath. “Yeah. Polite.”
Her jaw works, irritation simmering under her skin.
Not at you, but at the fact you’re still carrying this instinct to make yourself small, make yourself sweet, even when you don’t want to.
Sevika leans forward, elbows on her knees, glaring at the TV screen like it’s safer than looking at you.
“I don’t get it,” she mutters, voice low but sharp. “Why do you always do that? Forcing yourself to smile, to nod, to give people what they want. It’s not that hard, you tell them to fuck off. Done. End of story.”
You sighs, cheeks warm. “Because I’m not you, Sev.”
“Yeah, no shit.” Her jaw flexes. “But you don’t owe him anything. You don’t owe anyone anything. He asks, you say no, you walk away. Simple.”
Your heart squeezes, not because she’s wrong, but because she’s right. And you hate that.
But you also love her for it; love how easily she cuts through bullshit, how she never bends when she doesn’t want to.
“I know,” you say quietly. “But he was so insistent. And I didn’t want to hurt him, I just—” You groan, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. “Said I didn’t have Instagram, and then he asked for my number, and I just… didn’t find an excuse fast enough… It was easier to give it.”
Sevika shakes her head, a humorless laugh scraping out of her chest. “Easier for who? Sure not for you.”
You drop your hands, frowning. “Hey, I hate that I can’t just say no. I know it’s stupid, that it’s not that bad. But we haven’t seen him for days, right? We probably won’t see him again.”
Her gaze cuts to you, sharp, skeptical.
“And if I do…” You cross your arms, stubborn, trying to convince yourself as much as her. “I’ll just keep walking. Promise.”
“You won’t,” Sevika snaps before you can even finish, her voice low and certain. “You’ll smile and nod again.”
You stare at her, caught, your mouth opening, closing, before you say. “…Well. Maybe.” Your arms tighten across your chest, chin lifting stubbornly. “But I’ll keep walking! I swear I will.”
Her brows lift, unimpressed.
“I will,” you insist, even as your voice softens. “I’ll learn how to… tell people to fuck off. One day.”
Sevika drags a hand over her face, groaning into her palm.
Every instinct in her is on fire; anger at him, frustration at you, rage at the way the world teaches you to swallow yourself.
And beneath all that, something hotter, sharper: the raw, gnawing need to pull you close and never let anyone else touch you.
“God, you drive me crazy,” she mutters, voice rough.
Her arm shoots out, catching you around the waist, hauling you easily into her lap. You lean in, and her hands are already gripping your hips, keeping you there. Her forehead drops against your shoulder, breath hot through her nose.
Even through her fury, her possessiveness screams louder.
You exhale, some of your own tension melting as your arms loop around her neck.
She’s angry, she’s scowling, but she’s holding you like she’ll never let you go.
Your fingers find the back of her head, slipping into her hair, tugging just enough to tilt her face up.
“Come here,” you murmur, and then you kiss her, firm, sure, all heat and teeth.
Sevika growls into your mouth, like she’s been waiting for you to do that all along. Her grip tightens on your hips, dragging you closer across her thighs until there’s no space left.
The kiss turns messy fast, all tongue and sharp breaths, her frustration spilling out between your lips.
You gasp against her mouth when her metal hand slides lower, squeezing your ass, grinding you down against the thick muscle of her thigh. “Sev—”
She swallows your protest in the kiss, biting at your bottom lip before sucking it soft.
“Don’t ‘Sev’ me,” she mutters against your mouth, breath ragged. “You drive me insane.”
You only answer with another kiss, hands fisting in her hair, letting her frustration burn against your body, your skin, your lips.
It’s not sex, not yet, but it’s the kind of desperate makeout that tips right at the edge of it: your legs spread over her lap, her thighs pressing between yours, grinding, her hands roaming rough over your body while her mouth claims every inch of yours.
Through the night, the phone buzzes once, forgotten on the couch. But you don’t hear it.
Too busy moaning Sevika’s name, too busy clawing at her shoulders while Sevika devours you whole, every kiss, every groan, every breath scorching with want.
And Sevika doesn’t notice either, too lost in the way your lips shape her name like a prayer and a curse all at once as she sighs yours.
It’s not until the next morning, when the sunlight filters weakly through the curtains and the sheets are a mess around your tangled legs, that it makes itself known this time.
You’re warm from Sevika’s mouth against yours, her bare body pressed lazy and heavy over yours naked too, proof that you already both came an hour ago but want each other again… when the vibration rattles across the bedside table.
You lean in the feeling of her weight, her skin, the low growl in her throat as her hand cups your jaw.
The phone buzzes on the nightstand, calling this time.
You break the kiss with a laugh, breathless, your lips swollen. “Might be my boss…” you tell her, still giggling softly, chest rising against hers.
Sevika grunts, unimpressed, her mouth chasing yours again. “No,” she mutters against your lips, almost like a pout. “Leave it.” Her hand grips your jaw just so, as if trying to pin you in place with her other hand pressed next to your shoulder on the mattress.
You roll your eyes, still grinning, and slip a hand out from under the sheets, fumbling for the phone.
“One sec,” you murmur, still smiling as you drag it to your ear, not even glancing at the screen.
“Hello ?” you say to the phone with your most professional voice mid heat.
There’s a pause on the other end.
But then a man’s voice, too eager: “Oh, Hi! It’s me. From the other day… from your dad’s work. Thought maybe we could grab a coffee sometime?”
You freeze, eyes wides, your body going still under Sevika’s.
Sevika doesn’t move, but her eyes cut straight into you, sharp and blazing.
She heard him. Very clearly.
And the fury simmering in her stare makes your stomach flip.
Sevika between your legs, her lips still wet from kissing you breathless.
Your throat works, words catching before tumbling out too fast, too breathless. “Wow, okay. Uh, hum, yeah, no, I’m… so busy. Lately.”
He hesitates. “Oh. Well, tell me when you’re free—”
“No,” you blurt, your voice a touch too high, too quick.
“I won’t be free. I’ll be even more busy.” You glance helplessly at Sevika, her glare burning into you, your whole body thrumming with nerves and leftover arousal. “Actually I’m… I am busy. Right now. Sorry. Bye.”
You hang up before he can answer, the line cutting off with a blunt beep.
The phone drops onto the nightstand beside you, your hand trembling slightly from the terrible timing. The silence afterward is thick, pressing in around you, broken only by the sound of Sevika’s breath, rough against your cheek.
She’s still on top of you, still naked, but the way she’s staring; dark, dangerous, has nothing to do with sex.
And everything to do with him.
“Why the fuck didn’t you shut him down instantly?” Sevika’s voice is rough, low, but it thrums with that sharp edge you know too well, way too well.
The edge of her jealousy, all bite and fire.
Her weight is still over you.
And you know that if this were anyone else, if it weren’t you under her, she’d already be tearing something apart.
Because she knows. She knows she has to control herself.
Because after this argument months ago; the worst you ever had together, she can’t act on instinct. She can’t do that anymore.
She remembers the fear of losing you, the realization, your cries, your threats of ending this all if she doesn’t stop.
Because for once in her life, since she met you, she found herself wanting to wake up and share her life with someone.
You slide your palms over both shoulders, steady, grounding her, even the prosthetic, warm under your touch from her body heat.
“I couldn’t,” you say softly, but your voice trembles.
Sevika’s jaw tightens. “The hell you couldn’t—”
“It’s not about being polite,” you cut in, firmer this time, stroking your thumbs over the curve of her shoulders. “Okay? It’s not. He works with my dad. You get that? I couldn’t just hang up instantly, Sev. Imagine what he’d say to him at work. I couldn’t risk that.”
Her nostrils flare, her whole body coiled tight above you.
But she doesn’t snap back, she’s holding it.
You can see it in the way she bites down on her fury, fighting it like it’s a living thing clawing at her throat.
You bring your hand up, cupping her jaw, your thumb brushing over the tense, sharp line of her jaw. “I’m blocking his number now, okay? Right now.”
Sevika’s eyes flickers, heat still storming in her gaze, but your words, your touch; they’re dragging her back from the edge.
Sevika’s shoulders tremble faintly, the fury running through her like a live current.
She’s trying, god, she’s trying, to hold it back, to keep from snapping the way she once did. Her breath comes harsh through her nose, chest rising and falling against yours like she’s holding back a storm.
You press your hand to her jaw, gentle, steady. “I know.”
Her eyes flicker to yours, sharp, questioning, but you nod, and it’s enough.
You don’t have to spell it out. You know she’s trying, and you’re glad she is.
She’s doing so good. Better and better.
You pick up your phone again, your thumb moving quick, deliberate. Block. Delete. The contact vanishes, and you set the phone face down on the nightstand like proof.
“There. He can’t call me anymore.”
Sevika swallows, the tension still taut in her shoulders, but your voice cuts through it like balm.
You tug lightly at her, “Come here.”
And she does, almost collapsing into you, burying her face against your neck, her broad shoulders folding under your touch.
You wrap your arms around her, caressing the nape of her hair, soft strokes that make her exhale ragged against your skin.
“I was serious when I said I’d keep walking,” you murmur into her hair, pressing a kiss there. “And now he can’t call me anymore. That’s a good start, isn’t it?”
Her hands tighten around your sides, letting you pull her flush against your bare chest as she lets herself believe you.
She exhales against your throat, rough, like the fury’s finally bleeding out of her. She’s calmer now, not cold, her whole body still buzzes with leftover tension under her skin.
Then, like you can’t help it, you tilt your head, lips brushing her temple, before trailing lower; soft kisses pressed to the edge of her jaw, down the line of her neck from what you can kiss for now in this position.
She lifts her head, eyes dark, searching yours.
Whatever she finds there, it’s enough to tip her over.
Her mouth is on yours in the next heartbeat, hot and hungry, kissing you with a growl that rumbles from deep in her chest.
You gasp into her mouth as she shifts her weight, pinning you down in the mattress even more, her thigh pressing between yours again. Her metal hand grips your hip hard, pulling you closer, like she can fuse you into her.
Your arms loop tighter around her shoulders, feeding the fire with another kiss, sloppy and desperate.
Her mouth drags from your lips to your jaw, then lower, biting lightly at your neck before soothing it with her tongue.
“Mine,” she mutters, voice rough and vibrating against your skin.
You sigh, back arching into her. “Always.”
And with that, the anger’s gone; burned off, melted down into pure heat, into the way she kisses you like she’s starving, into the way she holds you like she’ll never let go.
And then she’s moving; sliding down your body, the sheets dragged lower with her until cool air rushes over your bare skin, pebbling it with goosebumps all over your body to the tip of your nipples.
You shiver, the contrast almost dizzying, your hips grinding to nothing in anticipation.
Her lips trail heat down your sternum, across your stomach, the scrape of her teeth just enough to make you gasp.
And then she’s lower still, settling between your thighs, spreading them wider with her palms until you’re open to her.
You can barely breathe when she looks up once, her gaze heavy, burning. Then she dips down, and her mouth meets you like she’s kissing your lips; slow, deep, hungry.
Your head tips back, a soft sigh slipping out as your hips lift into her touch.
Your legs fall wider, desperate, your fingers curling in the sheets.
Sevika moans against you, the sound vibrating through her tongue, through you.
One of her hands locks firm around your thigh, holding you steady as she works her mouth over you, claiming every shiver, every gasp like proof that you’re hers.
Your fingers twist in the sheets, knuckles white as her tongue drags slow and deliberate through your slick heat. You can’t bite it back; the sound that breaks from you is loud in the quiet bedroom, needy, her name spilling out in a sigh.
It only makes her vocal against you again, the vibration shooting through your core. Her grip on your thigh tightens, anchoring you open for her as she devours you like she’s starving.
And God, you’re noisy. Shamelessly so.
It’s always been that way with her, you can’t help it.
Every gasp, every cry, every broken whimper fills the room, louder and louder the deeper she goes.
She drags it out of you, makes you come undone until you’re not just speaking her name, you’re singing it.
Sevika knows it, too. Knows every sound is for her, because of her, hers alone to hear.
She eats you out like she’s proving it, like every flick of her tongue and press of her lips is a claim.
She kisses your clit the same way she kissed your mouth; hungry, deep, unrelenting, pulling another sharp cry from you, your hips bucking against her face.
“Yes, Sevika,” you moan, your voice breaking. Your thighs tremble around her shoulders, but she doesn’t let up, doesn’t even think about it.
Every sigh, every cry; you’re giving it to her. And she takes it, greedily.
It builds fast, sharp; you can feel it tearing through you, coiling tight in your belly as Sevika works her mouth against you like she was made for it.
“Sev—ah, fuck—” Your voice is wrecked, softly high and shaking. Your back bows off the mattress, thighs clamping around her head, trapping her there.
Not that she’d ever complain.
She groans against you, deep and satisfied, as you shatter for her.
The orgasm rips through you hard, your hips jerking helplessly, every muscle taut as you sigh your pleasure over and over.
Sevika doesn’t let up until you’re gasping, trembling, the peak burning itself out in calm waves.
Only then does she ease off, her tongue slower now, gentler; licking you clean, savoring every drop, pressing soft kisses where seconds ago she was devouring you.
Your hand drags weakly into her hair, fingers weaving through the strands.
You tug, not to pull her away but to touch her, caress her, grounding yourself as your chest heaves for air.
She stays nestled between your thighs, humming low as she laps at you lazily, softer now, almost tender.
Your body relaxes slowly, the tremors fading, your breath finally steadying as you stroke her hair. A shaky laugh escapes you, warm and fond.
She looks up at you from between your legs, her lips and chin shining, her eyes dark and soft all at once.
“Come back here,” you whisper, a smile tugging your lips.
She obeys, crawling back up over you, muscles shifting under flushed skin. Her weight settles against yours again, heavy and grounding, and you sigh like your body knows no other home.
Her face hovers close, and you catch the glisten at her chin and her mouth. You giggle softly, brushing your thumb over the corner of her lips.
“You look like a mess,” you tease, voice still shaky, tender.
She huffs out a laugh, but before she can retort you tilt your head up and kiss her. Slow, deliberate. Mouth to mouth, chin to mouth, unbothered by the taste of yourself on her tongue, cleaning her face like she cleaned your core.
Because this, this is yours.
Something too special to be lived twice. Too loving to be universal. Yours, Sevika’s, no one else’s.
Her sigh melts into the kiss, all tension bleeding out of her at last. One of her hands cradles your jaw, the other holding her body pressed on the mattress beside your waist.
When you finally part for air, you rest your forehead to hers, your fingers threading in the damp strands of her hair.
Her eyes are heavy-lidded, softened in a way only you get to see.
And with a low rumble that sounds almost like surrender, she says, “Yeah. Better.”
Sevika buries her face against your neck, breath still rough, damp strands sticking to her temple. You cradle her, nails tracing the line of her scalp.
“I know you’re trying so hard,” you murmur into her ear, voice soft and steady. “And I’m proud of you.”
She frowns against your skin like she did in the car days ago. Sweet words still trip her up, even after all these years. Doesn’t know how to take them, what to do with them.
Her throat works, but nothing comes out; so she just nods silently, pressing her face deeper into the warm crook of your neck, like a child hiding from the world.
A little pillow talk slips between you after a while; her voice low, barely giving more than a few words, but enough. Always enough.
When you tilt your face up, smiling against her lips, your whisper comes like a spark:
“Do you want me to return the favor back?”
Her eyes open, heavy and dark, then narrow at you with the faintest smirk tugging her mouth.
“Like I would ever say no,” she rumbles, voice rasped and already dripping with want.
Of course she wants you. You both know it. You just wanted to hear her admit it.
And when you push her gently on her back, straddling her hips, her head falls into the pillow with a soft thud.
Her eyes close, chest rising and falling beneath you, everything else; her fury, her jealousy, the world outside, forgotten the second you touch her.
I’ve been working on this one for days, god. I read it at least five times to be sure I didnt let any spelling mistake…. so tired. but glad I finally did it. hope you guys like it ♡ (I love her hair, can you tell?)
taglist: @lonerslug @riotstemple29 @summ3rbummer @strawberrylipglossx @ferxanda @strawwbby @seraphineatnight
romaincrisis
yousharknotpass
baratheonpilled
theartofmadeline
origamiaround
