h2pinky

[h2pinky]

Hii!!!

I enjoy your writing a lot. Could you possibly write a sevika x reader fic where they’re going out but reader’s super bloated (like actually super super) and insecure, and Sevika comforts her?

gf!sevika x insecure!reader

fluff, one shot, thank you for the request (and thanks so much to everyone else, i’ll get to it!!!!), women are beautiful

you love yourself. you really do. but it’s really hard to think that you’re beautiful when you look at yourself in the mirror — at your stomach, in particular — and see this.

how can you go out with the love of your life, looking like a fetus is growing inside you? sure, maybe you wouldn’t mind it if it were true. but it’s not. simple as that.

you sigh, annoyed and upset and just angry. 

“ready?” sevika hugs you from behind, her hands landing on your hips and eyes looking at yours in the mirror, so much love in them you sometimes wonder if you even deserve it.

“i don’t know. i think i should change,” your voice comes out quieter than usual. sevika notices.

“changed your mind about the dress?” 

her fingers slide up to lock a bit higher, but you stop them, “something like that.”

you don’t want to tell her that you feel insecure. it’s stupid. she’ll say you look beautiful. you won’t believe her. you really want to, but she’s biased. 

her brows knit when she notices you purposely keeping her hand from moving higher. “hey,” her voice softens, low and steady, “what’s wrong?”

you shake your head, eyes flicking down to your stomach again. you hate that it’s obvious, the way you avoid your own reflection, the way your chest feels tight.

“don’t,” sevika murmurs, catching your chin with two fingers and nudging your gaze back to her. “talk to me.”

the silence stretches, heavy. you finally exhale, a frustrated, embarrassed sound. “i just… look at me. i look—” you swallow, the word burning in your throat, "fucking gross.”

sevika snorts softly, shaking her head. “gross? that’s the word you’re going with?” she pulls you tighter against her, one hand pressing over the stomach you want to hide, deliberately, like she’s staking a claim. “this body? the one i can’t keep my hands off of?”

you squirm, uncomfortable, but she doesn’t let you move away. “sevika—”

“no,” sevika interrupts, firm but not unkind. her eyes in the mirror are unshakable, grounding. “you don’t tear yourself apart like that. you’re bloated, baby. that’s all. it’s normal. doesn’t change a damn thing.”

your throat tightens, stupid tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “you’re just saying that because you love me.”

“exactly,” she says without hesitation, a smirk tugging at her mouth. “because i love you. and because it’s true. you look hot as hell, even when you’re pissed off at your own stomach,” sevika kisses the side of your jaw, slow, deliberate. “if you really don’t feel like wearing this dress, then change. but it won’t be because you don’t look good in it. it’ll be because you want to wear something different tonight or just to be more comfortable.“

her words sink in slowly, disarming, melting some of the tension in your chest. you lean back into her without thinking, letting her warmth surround you.

“still want to change?” she asks after a moment, teasing.

you glance at the mirror one last time, then at her. with her arms around you, the curve of your stomach doesn’t look so offensive anymore. it just looks like you, loved and held.

“…maybe not,” you admit, rolling your eyes.

sevika grins, pressing another kiss to your shoulder.

taglist: @riotstemple29 @softyscornfulthreshold @lonerslug @ggutpunch @erythraeanoriana @hotmusclebabe @h2pinky @blessupblessup @em88ma @whatsupwithjinx @undercoverdesire @orinch-juice @nymanas @shxdy0ariia @em88ma @lez-zuha @likepinterest (please comment if you want to be removed/added)

[h2pinky]

this is what it feels like seeing some author you like posting that they are going to make the story shorter because it has too much development or is too long like NOOOO PLEASE NOOOO CONTINUE IM BEGGING I NEED TO BE FED ILL BE THERE I PROMISE

[h2pinky]

Sevika x reader but reader has a cat thats like super attatched to her and whenever sev comes over the cat is like constantly in readers lap or cuddling.

And maybe the cat like rlly despises Sevika and hisses or bites whenever she trys to hug her gf. Like full on biting ankles whenever shes over

gf!sevika x reader

fluff, thank you for the request, i love cats this is hilarious

the first time sevika comes over, you’re just a tiny bit nervous. not about her, but about starlight, your cat. she’s not mean, not usually — just… selective. she tolerates people, sometimes ignores them altogether. it’s different with you, of course. at the point that you don’t even know the difference between her and your shadow. she curls on your lap, sleeps by your side, follows you into the kitchen, the bathroom, everywhere. sometimes you joke she thinks you’re her pet, not the other way around. which probably isn’t a joke.

sevika shows up at your door with a bottle of wine tucked under her arm, a smile that makes your chest flip. you let her step in.

starlight is sitting right there in the hallway, tail swishing and staring at sevika. sevika stares back. you swear you hear a western standoff whistle in the background.

“this her?” sevika mutters, looking down. naturally, she’s already familiar with your thanks to tons of pictures of starlight you showed her.

“yep,” you say and starlight lets out this low hiss, like a warning. fur puffed up, ears back. it’s not the normal cautious hiss you’ve heard when someone new visits. this feels weirdly personal.

“oh,” sevika says flatly.

you scoop starlight up, trying to soothe her, murmuring “she’s not usually like this,” but sevika just raises an eyebrow, muttering something under her breath about great first impression.

you brush it off, saying the cat will get used to her. little did you know that it the hostility will only grow in geometrical progression every time sevika comes over. starlight isn’t just wary of sevika. she hates her. full-blown vendetta. anytime sevika moves too close to you? hiss. tries to sit beside you on the couch? claws digging into the cushion. sevika will be walking, minding her business, and suddenly — little teeth sinking into her sock, a swipe of claws at her leg.

“the hell is wrong with your cat?” sevika grumbles, glaring down at the furry menace curled smugly in your lap.

“i don’t know! she’s never been like this before,” you protest, stroking starlight’s back.

you try everything. you tell sevika starlight likes those feather toys, so she buys one. starlight doesn’t even glance at it. you say she likes this specific brand of treats, so sevika shows up with a bag. starlight sniffs, turns away, then immediately climbs onto your chest as if to say mine.

it gets to the point that it’s just ridiculous. sevika can’t hug you without risking losing a finger. kisses are impossible with a ball of fur wedged between you. one time, sevika leans in, hand brushing your thigh, and starlight practically launches at her like a heat-seeking missile. sevika pulls back, cursing, while you sit there torn between laughing and apologizing.

“she’s a little shit,” sevika declares, nursing a scratch on her wrist.

“she’s just protective,” you try weakly.

“protective from me? i’m your girlfriend, not a home invader.”

after a while, sevika stops coming over as much. instead, she texts you: come to mine tonight? or my place, less security detail in fur. you hate leaving starlight alone, though. the thought of her on your bed but without you to scratch her makes your chest ache.

you might be a little bit too dramatic, but you compromise anyway. sometimes you go to sevika’s, sometimes she braves the battlefield of your apartment. it’s the same routine: you on the couch, starlight draped over you like royalty, sevika glaring at the cat like she’s plotting war crimes.

“you know she’s just jealous?” sevika mutters once, watching as the cat stretches luxuriously across your lap.

“of you?”

“of me touching you, yeah.”

later you google if cats can be jealous. apparently, they can. so you’re not the only one. this is a relief. sort of.

sevika she complains, swears under her breath, but she keeps trying. sometimes you catch her setting a treat on the floor when she thinks you’re not looking. once, you walk in and see her holding a toy, flicking it half-heartedly while starlight just sits across the room, glaring.

“you’re trying,” you say softly, and sevika shrugs, looking away like it doesn’t matter, like it doesn’t bother her. but you can tell it does.

one night, miracle of miracles — progress. sevika’s sitting on the couch, you beside her, starlight curled up in your lap as usual. you’re half-asleep, scrolling your phone, when you notice something strange: starlight’s eyes are closed. she’s purring. and you’re not the one petting her.

you don’t say anything. you don’t want to break the spell. finally, a truce. or not.

chomp.

starlight turns her head, sinks her teeth right into sevika’s knuckle. sevika jerks her hand back with a string of curses, shaking it out while starlight hops off your lap like nothing happened.

you’re torn between horrified and amazed, and sevika just glares at the retreating cat.

“unbelievable,” she mutters, flexing her bitten hand. “i was this close to winning her over.”

you bite your lip, failing to hide your grin, “i think that was her way of saying she’ll allow you to live,” you joke.

sevika side-eyes you. “great. my girlfriend’s cat is a mob boss.”

taglist: @riotstemple29 @1i1z @lonerslug @ggutpunch @erythraeanoriana @hotmusclebabe @h2pinky @blessupblessup @em88ma @whatsupwithjinx @undercoverdesire @orinch-juice @nymanas @shxdy0ariia @em88ma @lez-zuha @likepinterest (please comment if you want to be removed or added)

[h2pinky]

toxic possessive ex sevika who like finds out you went on a date with someone else and she loses it… manipulates reader to get back w her…

i need dark!sevika 😔

Your ex girlfriend Sevika wants you back—

TAGS: TOXIC EX!SEVIKA, manipulation tactics, possessiveness, Sevika is an asshole here (and I do not condone this kind of behaviour in any way), Sevika's inner turmoil and trauma-impact mentioned, couch sex, Sevika has a dick, ass slapping, breeding

SYNOPSIS: Sevika and you break things off because of her negligence towards your feelings and mental health. You move on with a girl called Drew but Sevika doesn't take it well and manipulates you until you bend to her words, proving her right.

WORD COUNT: 2k words

── .✦ The break up was messy. Needed, but messy. You and Sevika had started getting distant whenever Sevika got too busy with Silco's shipments and it didn't help that Sevika never kept her phone on. Nights passed with you sobbing your eyes out, makeup smudged and staining the tissues that piled and piled on the floor. Your chest was bursting with anxiety and whenever Sevika entered the house, keys jingled faintly— she was so casual about it.

“It’s not a big deal,” she said as she undid her poncho and let it fall.

“It is,” you wiped at your face borderline aggressively, “everytime I call your number it never goes through, that defeats the entire purpose of you even having a cellphone!”

“You sound like my mother,” Sevika lit a cigarillo.

“Seriously?” Your eyebrows furrowed, “you're just gonna ignore me and smoke that?”

“I'm not ignoring you.” Sevika took a deep inhale, “besides, you're blowing it out of proportion.”

Your eyes looked down, genuinely saddened now, “I'm not.”

“You're too sensitive, baby, get over it. ‘s not a big deal,” Sevika walked off, side stepping you and going into the bedroom.

You stood there, blinking at the place she'd stood at and ignored everything you'd said. Twelve hours you waited for her, just for her to come back with this level of dismissiveness. It would've been forgivable if this was a one time thing but Sevika did this every other day and it was causing your mental health to deteriorate so fast.

The nights blurred on, you didn't even feel loved when you laid there under Sevika's arm that held onto you like you were her prized possession. Not her lover. And Sevika never bothered reassuring you because she assumed you already knew your place in her life. But you didn't. How could you ever not be insecure, while you knew about the history she had with Babette’s and the kind of people that she works with?

You just wanted one text. “I'm okay.”— that's it. No “mwah mwah” either. Just that. But Sevika didn't despite knowing she was breaking you.

── .✦ Eventually you packed your bags, mind set. Sevika was running late again and she didn't bother to text or call because she knew that you would be waiting no matter how deep into the midnight she comes back home.

The door opened then, there stood Sevika with a frozen expression— eyes wide and lips apart. “Where are you going?”

“Away from you.” You didn't look up and zipped your bag.

“Why?” Sevika demanded.

“I can't do this shit with you back and forth.” you finally looked, teary eyed, “I'm tired of always waiting up on you just for you to come home and call my anxiety being sensitive and I just—” you picked your bag, “— you just don't even try anymore— y-you don't.”

You tried to walk past her but she grabbed your wrist, “but I love you.”

“Then you'd do the things you promised me you'd do, like cherishing me. But no,” you sighed, “you destroyed me, Sevika, and I'm saving myself by leaving.”

Sevika stared after you while you stomped down the staircase out of her apartment building then she ran, she ran like she never did before and skipped a few stairs just to catch up with you, “baby, please!”

“You always say sorry, but you never really mean it. If you did, you'd have done something, impacted our relationship,” your grip tightened on the duffel bag, “I'm sorry, Sev, this is the dead-end for us.”

You stopped in your steps, you wanted to say something. Anything. But the words didn't come and you just walked on, abandoning what you've been dealing with for two years.

── .✦ It was a Sunday afternoon and Sevika was laid on the bed on her stomach, scrolling mindlessly through her phone, her cheeks were slightly flushed from crying her heart out earlier today. These were things she didn't do outside. She always held up the portrait of being the tough, unbeatable Silco's henchwoman outside but indoors she was just a soft woman, bone-deep in love with you.

But she didn't know how to express it and her own abandonment issues caused her to be overly possessive over you. She knew it was wrong. It is not that she did it unknowingly.

She sniffled, feeling another wave of emotions coming crashing down on her. But then her blood boiled.

A woman with a dark haired undercut and an irresistible smirk had her muscular arm around you, circled around your waist in the first picture that came up on your Instagram.

“Please, Janna,” Sevika forced her face into her pillow and let out a loud sob, “please, please, break up, please, I'm sorry.”

The night stretched on painfully for Sevika. She spent at least two hours just sobbing her eyes out before she sort of blacked out for a few minutes from dehydration. She filled up her bottle with water while shifting weight from one leg to another.

“Maybe she likes women with shorter hair,” Sevika looked at the mirror while passing the hall, “shit, what the fuck is this,” she held up her slightly greasy hair from all the smoke she was exposed to. She groaned, “no wonder she left. I smell like smoke and… and whatever the hell that is.”

It burned.

God, it burned so much it felt like her ribs were trying to crack open from the inside. She sat at the Last Drop for hours that night, nursing her third glass of whiskey, jaw tight.

“She’ll come around,” Sevika muttered to herself. “She’s just mad. She needs me.”

That was the first lie she told herself. The second lie came after another drink: “She’s just confused. Drew’s a rebound girlfriend.”

And then came the truth she didn’t want to admit— one she buried under smoke and alcohol: Drew is making her happier than I ever did. Her grip on the glass tightened until her knuckles whitened. No. She wasn’t going to let that stand.

── .✦ Then the messaging started, anonymous messages that you received from accounts that were only recently made. Spam. Spam. Spam. Delete. Delete. Delete. But how many could you delete at once? There were plenty. Too many, too creepy.

“Drew,” you called softly, “my ex… Sevika, she keeps bothering me with texts and shit.”

“Just block her, babe,” Drew didn't look up from her phone, scrolling and drinking coffee.

“You're just gonna let that happen?”

Man, at times like this, you really missed the way Sevika fussed over it whenever someone sent you even the slightest little bit of a flirtatious text— they were instantly a goner. Down. Six feet under. All of their identity removed from the entirety of the universe. The thought made you giggle, but you didn't speak another word to Drew, just walked away.

“Don't text me,” you typed and sent it but you knew deep down you wanted her back. That’s just how Sevika had you wrapped around her fingers.

It took only a minute: “You're mine, y'know that, dolly, you don't look at that Drew the way that you look at me.”

“What makes you so sure of that?”

“You left an entire set of your body mists at mine,” Sevika replied, “and I know you cherish them, you'd come back for them unless you were too afraid you'd get… handsy. Perhaps, even emotional if you'd see me. I know I'm hot.”

Fucking ego.

You didn't reply that day. You let the words simmer in your head.

── .✦ Drew didn’t even fight you on it.

You’d expected some tears, maybe a pleading “we can work this out,” but all you got was a tired shrug and “I guess we’re too different.”

That was it. Two months of safety, quiet nights, morning coffee without yelling— gone in a thirty-second conversation that felt more like returning a borrowed sweater than ending a relationship.

You went home to an empty apartment and sat on the couch with your coat still on. That’s when the first message came through.

“Heard you’re single again. Guess some things don’t change.”

You didn’t answer. How did she know already?

“Drew wasn’t built for you. Too soft. Too boring. You need someone who can handle you, sweetheart.”

You lasted three days before you caved.

You told yourself you just wanted closure, to tell her to stop circling your life like a vulture. But standing outside her apartment, your stomach was doing that sickening-sweet twist it always did before she pulled you into her orbit.

When the door opened, Sevika leaned on the frame like she’d been expecting you all along, cigarillo hanging from her lips, that smug, infuriating smirk pulling at her mouth.

“Dolly.” She dragged her eyes down your body, slow, deliberate. “Single looks good on you.”

“I’m just here to get my stuff.” You pushed past her, not trusting yourself to stand that close for long.

“Mm. Sure.” Her voice was warm smoke curling around your ears.

── .✦ Somehow whatever this was supposed to be turned into you on the couch with your bare knees against the cushions as your ass lifted up, holes exposed for Sevika's use.

“Still look radiant like this, as always,” Sevika smacked your ass, eyes twinkling at the way it jiggled from impact.

“Just put it inside.” you grumbled.

“Jeez, you're touch starved,” Sevika teased before you heard the zip and her pants and boxers were shoved in a pitiful puddle on the floor around her ankles.

She didn't hold back this time and shoved deep inside in one go. You gasped and grabbed the couch tightly, “oh fuck! You could've warned me!”

Sevika didn't respond and her hips started setting out a rough, slow pace. Every time she slammed her thick cock inside, she bottomed out and drew out a loud moan from your lips. Her flesh hand gripped the fat of your ass before giving it another smack.

“You thought somebody else could sate you, princess?” She smacked your ass against and her cock throbbed inside your clenching, desperate hole, “you were wrong.”

“I-I—” you buried your face into the top of the couch.

“You were wrong,” Sevika repeated, breath coming in short pants now, “you'll forever be mine.”

“Always!” You mumbled into the couch.

“Fuck!” Sevika grabbed your hips with both hands, the metal of her prosthetic making you shiver, and clench harder over her girthy shaft.

You felt your orgasm approaching, your cunt was pulsing against Sevika's harsh thrusts and your face was scrunched up in pleasure. Your pussy dripped and the wetness stained the couch underneath but the both of you were too sex-dazed to care about it right now.

Sevika pulled you back, pressing your lower back, “Arch, pretty.”

That's all it took, not only did you arch to obey, you came from that alone. “Oh my goodness… you're too good.”

Sevika smirked behind you and gave a concluding thrust before she came all over inside your pussy. Your mouth was stuck in an ‘o’ shape. Her cock slipped out and you moved to lay at the corner of the couch, Sevika slumped into the other corner. She subconsciously took your feet in the lap, massaging them.

“Shit, I should've put on a condom,” Sevika muttered.

“It's okay, I took birth control,” your voice was barely audible.

Then Sevika smirked again, this time slower. Dangerous almost.

“You knew we were gonna fuck.”

[h2pinky]

Love in the Air

requested by bae: @freakyjorker

part one part two part three

SYNOPSIS: You're known as the sweet, bubbly and bright meteorologist of your news station. While Sevika is the intimidating and serious news anchor. After being forced to document on a major storm that's occurring in your city, you two slowly begin to develop some chemistry; both off-screen and on-screen,

WARNINGS: fluff, slow burn, news anchor! Sevika, meteorologist! reader, grumpy x sunshine trope, no use of y/n (nicknames like sunny, sunshine, and others are used as replacements)

WORD COUNT: 2.0k

A/N: this is so lazy but it's ok bc it's for wifey

You subconsciously find yourself pulling the collar of her jacket closer to your face.

It's still warm. As if she's just taken it off moments ago.

For a moment you can smell scents of smoke, leather and a smell that can only be described as Sevika's. You groggily sit yourself upright onto the couch. Rubbing your eyes - forgetting about the makeup that you have on.

The sounds of thunder outside cause a form of anxiety to bubble inside you. But your thoughts of Sevika choosing to cover you with her jacket, powers over the anxious thoughts of the worsening storm.

She didn't have to do that.

But she did it anyway.

You stretch as you leave the couch, Sevika's jacket wrapped around your arms as you begin to walk towards her office. When you walk into her office, you see her back is turned to you. She's looking out the window of her office, clearly examining the state of the storm outside.

Without you even saying anything, she turns around to face you - it was as if she could feel your stare from afar.

"You look like you got beat up," she teases you.

You blink at her, not knowing what she's referring to.

"What do you mean?" You ask.

Sevika lets a smirk pull at her lips as she directs you to go look in the mirror she has placed on the wall of her office. You walk towards the mirror - Sevika's jacket still draped over your shoulders. As you stand, facing the mirror, you see the remnants of your eye-makeup that you had just rubbed everywhere.

"You should fix that y'know," Sevika says, her tone not as serious as usual.

She surprisingly hasn't mentioned anything about you still wearing her jacket; even though she can clearly see it. You look at the clock that hangs onto one of the walls of Sevika's office, 10:31 AM.

"Shouldn't you be readying up for your next report?" You ask her, clinging onto her jacket.

"Yeah," she says, "why don't you do it with me?"

You look at the direction of her desk, before asking for clarification of what she just said, "wait what?"

"Do the segment with me," she repeats herself, looking down at her notes.

You blink at her, caught off guard.

Your styles have always contradicted, so why would she ask you this? However, you don't think much about it and mindlessly agree to her offer.

"Better go fix your face before you go live then," she mutters before turning around to look out her window once more. You nod - despite her not even looking - and place her jacket on the empty chair in front of her desk.

"Thank you for that," you smile softly before walking to your little dressing room to prep your makeup for the broadcast. You don't notice the redness that appears on the tips of Sevika.

In the dressing room the fluorescent lights hum over you as you sit down in front of your mirror. You begin to dabble away at the smudges of your past eyeshadow, mascara and eyeliner, hoping that it'll clean it up.

However, as you attempt to clean up the smudges of makeup that cover your eyes, your mind begins to wander to other things. You begin to think about the way that Sevika's lips ever so slightly curled upwards as she saw you in her jacket.

It wasn't just amusement.

It was something more - something unspoken between you two.

You ignore your thoughts, trying to focus on fixing up your makeup. As you reapply your eyeliner, you notice how you need to use a steadier hand than usual. Maybe it's the adrenaline from the upcoming - and unplanned - broadcast, or maybe it's something else.

As you finish up your makeup, you take a glance in the mirror once more. You straighten your outfit, before your eyes catch the sight of Sevika behind you as she stands in the open doorway. You jump at the sudden sight of her - not expecting her to be there.

"Oh my god," you sigh.

"Sorry," she chuckles.

"You're not actually sorry though, are you?" You giggle, turning around to face her. She shakes her head no, a small smile tugging at her lips.

You look at the clock atop the door frame - 10:47 AM.

"We should set up the cameras," you say, smiling at her.

Sevika doesn't say anything, she simply disappears down the hallway as she walks towards the main studio. It doesn't take long before you follow her towards the studio; where she somehow found out how to set up all the technology in such little time.

You sat down in a chair that stood beside a second empty one - where you presumed that Sevika would sit in - as you watched the countdown slowly go down.

Before the large 'ON AIR' sign was able to turn bright red, Sevika sat down next to you in the empty chair.

The segment passes through smoothly.

Little jokes and banter being exchanged between you and Sevika - which cracks that intimidating persona that everyone knows. You even tease her at some moments by predicting some sunshine in the news anchor's future with a smile on your face.

As the report ends, as the cameras and bright lights turn off, you both realize that neither of you will have to do a segment until later that night.

You follow Sevika to her office, deciding to go over your notes in her office - mainly because you don't want to be alone in such a big building. However, your plans are disrupted by the loud gurgling of your stomach - loudly exposing your hunger.

Sevika looks at you as your stomach announces your hunger.

"Here" she mumbles, throwing a protein bar at you.

"Thank you," you smile as you take a large bite of the bar, before you begin to regret it.

You can't hide the disgust that creeps over your expression.

"You're terrible at hiding your emotions," Sevika teases.

"How do you eat these?" You ask, slowly attempting to chew through the disgusting taste of granola in your mouth.

"I don't," she shrugs.

You laugh, enjoying her company.

It's time.

Your final segment of the night - hopefully.

The thunder is worsening and the wind has been gusting loudly outside within the past few hours.

You feel the slight warmth of the bright fluorescent lights as they point towards you. As the countdown goes down, all you can think about is two things; the fact that you'll finally be able to sleep, but also the fact that you'll need to sleep with Sevika.

However, you subconsciously grab onto Sevika's hand during the news segment as the thunder bangs loudly outside. You never considered yourself terrified of thunder, but the state of the storm outside had begun to stress you out immensely.

The segment ends without a hitch.

You exhale the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

The station is nearly deserted now, bathed in the soft blue light of emergency power systems and the blinking LEDs of sleeping tech.

Sevika gently untangles her fingers from yours, saying nothing, but the absence of her warmth makes your hand feel colder than it should. You glance at her. Her expression is unreadable - serious, focused - you swear you see something flicker behind her eyes when they briefly meet yours.

You say nothing either.

It’s easier.

The storm screams against the windows, and when the wind hits the station just right, the whole place creaks.

“Come on,” Sevika mutters, already heading back toward her office. “We’re not getting out of here tonight. Might as well not die of exhaustion too.”

You follow quietly, heels muffled against the marbled floor.

Her office feels warmer than the rest of the station. Maybe it’s psychological. Maybe it’s the faint, lingering smell of smoke and iron. Or maybe it’s just her presence.

It could even be your pure exhaustion that's making you think all weird.

You can’t really tell anymore.

You stay near the door, unsure of your next move.

“Quit hovering,” she says without looking at you, tone neutral. “You can sleep in here.”

You blink. “You sure? There’s a few other-”

“I said,” she cuts in, calmly but also sharp, “you can sleep here.”

You close the door behind you.

The couch creaks as you sit down, tugging the blanket you've borrowed from her tighter around yourself like it’s a barrier between you and the storm.

Sevika tosses you a throw pillow from the cabinet and takes the floor beside the couch, leaning her back against the wall with a tired sigh. A small bottle of liquor appears from her drawer, and she takes a swig before resting her head back against the cool metal.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor, are you?” you murmur, peeking over the couch’s edge.

“I’ve slept in worse places.” She closes her eyes briefly. “You’re on the only couch, and I’m not spooning you, so here we are.”

You’re glad the lighting is low - it helps hide the red that's creeping onto your face.

A long silence follows. Not awkward, just quiet.

And then a loud boom. 

A deafening thunderclap shudders through the air. You instinctively flinch, a soft gasp slipping out before you can stop it.

Sevika’s eyes flick open.

You don’t look at her. You can’t. Instead, you curl deeper under the blanket, trying to pretend that you're not currently dying inside.

More silence. And then you hear a familiar rough voice.

“Come here,” she mutters.

You glance down.

She hasn’t moved, but her eyes are on you - half-lidded, expression unreadable but not unkind.

You hesitate.

“I’m not asking again,” she says, patting the space beside her on the floor.

You slowly slide down off the couch, blanket still draped around your shoulders. You sit beside her, your knees brushing. Neither of you says anything as another low rumble of thunder growls across the sky.

And then - you feel it again. Her fingers gently curl around yours, resting between you like a secret neither of you is ready to name.

You don’t look at her.

She doesn’t look at you.

But your hand stays in hers, warm and grounding.

The hours crawl by slowly. The wind howls. The lights flicker once, but hold.

Eventually, you doze off - head tilted toward Sevika’s shoulder, her blanket still tucked around your frame.

She doesn’t pull away.

In fact, she leans ever so slightly toward you.

And in the quiet between thunderclaps, with only the soft hum of wind and distant rain, Sevika lets herself fall asleep too - still holding your hand.

You woke up the next morning - alone.

You were still exhausted, so you hadn't entirely processed the things that had occurred the night before. You checked the time on your phone that was nearing its death - 7:09 AM.

The storm had obviously calmed down, and the station had a different pair of people coming in to document on the rest so you can finally go home.

As you walked outside, there was some reminisces of the rain that fell from the clouds. While it wasn't harsh, you didn't want to get soaked.

However, since you had forgotten to bring anything, you had even forgotten an umbrella.

As you sigh in defeat - accepting the fact that you'll drive home soaked in raindrops - you suddenly feel that familiar strong presence tower from behind you.

"You forgot an umbrella," Sevika teases, "didn't you."

You sigh and look up at her before nodding defeatedly.

"Here," she brings you closer to her using her right arm. Keeping you close under the umbrella that she's now sharing with you.

The storm was over now.

Now, it's been replaced by sunshine.

comment if you want to be added on my permanent arcane taglist!

taglist: @poeticrenaissance @girlsngearboxes @notsevikaa @riotstemple29 @hadesboneyard @minipandaqueen @espywespy @ofalcaodacolinablue @sevikaspet @joyispunk @ellabslover @sevikasrighttit

[h2pinky]

A dumb little thing based on a video that I saw long ago

It’s a slow Sunday morning, the kind where the sun filters through the curtains soft and golden, and your son is absolutely—refusing to sit still while you try to brush his hair.

You’re crouched on the rug, the little brush in your hand, and he’s in front of you, pouting like he’s about to stage a protest.

"But I don't want it like that!" he whines, wriggling out of your grasp again. “It doesn’t look like George!” You blink, pairing with a long sigh holding yourself to not scream with the little one. "George who?".

"George Pig!" he shouts, and you hear Sevika's heavy footsteps coming down the hall.

"Baby," you say gently, holding in your laugh, "George from Peppa Pig doesn’t even have hair." Your son gasps. "He does in my head!"

You’re trying not to crack up when Sevika leans in the doorway, arms crossed, watching her two favorite people with that quiet, crooked smirk that’s softened over the years.

Then your son suddenly turns to you, face scrunched, and shouts, "You don’t understand anything!"

You freeze, more than surprised. You could feel your heart breaking into little pieces, he wasn't so little anymore, since your baby would never say such a thing to you.

Before you can even say anything, Sevika’s voice comes low and steady from the doorway. "Hey." Your son turns, still huffy.

"What did I just hear come outta your mouth?" He lowers his eyes, playing with his own fingers nervously

"Come here," she says firmly. He shuffles over, dragging his socks on the floor. Sevika kneels in front of him, one arm resting on her metal knee.

"You never talk to your mama like that. I don’t care if you’re mad, if you’re sad, or if your hair doesn’t look like a cartoon pig," she says, raising an eyebrow. "She's your mama. You talk to her with respect. Got it?"

He nods, eyes watering a little. "Sorry," he mumbles.

You reach out and run your fingers through his hair. "It's okay, love. You just need to tell me how you’re feeling, not yell."

He sniffles, snuggles into your lap, and then sighs dramatically. "But my hair still doesn’t look like George…"

Sevika chuckles low in her chest, then takes the brush from your hand. "Alright, alright. C'mere, little pig."

He giggles as she lifts him gently and plops him between her legs. She brushes once. Twice. Then just kind of… pats his head into a round little fluff.

"There," she says. "More prettier than George." He runs to the mirror, examines himself closely and starts jumping like a bunny through the house. "It's perfect!"

[h2pinky]

⊹ ₊ ⁺‧₊˚ SIGNAL — part 2

part 1

pairing: abby anderson x fem reader

synopsis: after months flirting with your online gaming partner, the last thing you expected was to unexpectedly meet her at a work meeting.

cw: reader is fem presenting, eventual smut, not proofread

You were staring at your phone screen with narrowed eyes, as if you wanted to burn the device down with the sheer power of your indignation. The light from the screen lit up your face in the darkened room, reflecting in your judgment‑filled eyes.

Abby’s messages were still there, so innocent and straightforward, and maybe that was the real problem. The carefree way she seemed to carry on with her life, as if she hadn't said those words, as if she hadn't split your pride in two with a single word, made your blood boil.

hey

wanna try that mission again?

?

where are you?

You read and reread those messages about ten times. Your fingers itched to fire off something snarky, but at the same time your mind refused to let go of what had happened.

A day had passed since the incident in the meeting. Yes, you considered it an incident because you refused to believe Abby when she said she didn’t find you that attractive, as if that possibility were absurd. Deep down you knew she might actually mean it, but to protect your self-esteem, you had decided to fool yourself into thinking she had only said it so you wouldn’t get the wrong idea, so you wouldn’t think she paid attention to other girls.

Yes, that was a decent excuse.

The image of Abby, with that stunning face, that defined jawline, and those light-blue eyes fixed on the phone screen, kept appearing in your mind whenever you blinked. You could almost see her seated across the meeting room table, serious, twirling a pen between her fingers while delivering pointed replies. A woman like her saying there was no one attractive in the room…that had hit you harder than you wanted to admit.

You took a deep breath and, with a forced air of superiority, unlocked your phone. Your fingers flew across the keyboard with more anger than precision:

no

thx

Simple, cold, direct. You smiled with bitter satisfaction, as if you had just won a quiet war.

You leaned back on the bed, crossed your arms over your chest, and let out a dramatic sigh. Now you just had to wait for Abby to feel the impact of your words. She would wonder what she had done wrong, lose her mind trying to figure it out. It was a bit cruel, and normally you wouldn’t do that, but she really deserved it after making you go through all of that.

The phone vibrated almost immediately. Your heart skipped at the speed of the reply, and you mentally cursed yourself for caring.

are you mad at me or something?

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach gave a small flip. Her voice seemed to echo inside your head, that same firm tone she had used in the meeting. You could clearly hear how she would say it, and that was why you had spent nearly three minutes staring into space, imagining all the things you would do with her if you had the chance.

After your little fantasy finally ended, your eyes half-closed, you typed another quick reply:

did u do smth to make me mad

Honestly, you didn’t even know what you wanted with that. She didn’t know she had done anything wrong, so there was no reason to keep torturing the poor woman.

The answer came seconds later:

no

That made your blood boil all over again, bringing the same wave of shame that word had triggered the day before. It was enough for you to abandon any thoughts of a truce.

then I’m not mad

You pressed the screen-lock button so hard you nearly dented the glass. The phone flew to the edge of the bed, landing in the cushions with a soft thump.

You tried to distract yourself by playing some games, but your mind was a wreck. You died at the same part of the mission six times straight. The more frustrated you became, the more your fingers trembled from all the pent-up anger.

Three hours later, you were buried under your fluffiest blankets, cocooned in your bed of disappointment and duvet. Eyes fixed on the ceiling, you stared at the shadows in the room, feeling the weight of defeat in your soul. That mission was impossible without help. Worse, Abby had carried you the whole time, and you only realized it now.

You stayed silent a while longer, biting the corner of your lip as you stared at the ceiling. An internal battle was raging. Pride said you should move on, play solo, pretend you didn’t need anyone. But a smaller, more rational voice whispered that maybe it was worth trying again, even if just to prove to yourself that you still controlled the situation.

You sat up slowly in your chair , put on your headset with a dramatic sigh. Your fingers slid the mouse until you found Abby’s name in your contact list. You hesitated, took a deep breath, and clicked.

The call was accepted almost instantly.

“So we’re talking now?” her voice appeared, clear and provocative, with that tone that made your stomach flip. You tried to feign indifference, acting as if nothing had happened.

“You wanna try that mission again?” you asked casually, forcing a breezy tone.

“You’re not even gonna apologize for being rude to me?” she replied, sounding like she was genuinely enjoying the situation. You pictured her smile, and that only strengthened your resolve to hold your ground.

“I was mad, okay? I had a bad day at work.”

On the other end, Abby fell silent. You raised an eyebrow, curious about that puzzling pause.

“Hm… what happened?” she asked, and this time you could detect a faint note of concern in her voice.

You inhaled deeply, thinking about what you could say without giving away the truth.

“Well…” you hesitated, glancing at your freshly painted nails. “A woman from another department told me I was repulsive!”

“That didn’t happen.” she replied immediately. Her voice was firm and slightly mocking.

You frowned, nudging your office chair with your foot.

“How do you know? She said it!”

You could hear her scoff at what you had said.

“I know that’s not what happened because I know you, and you’re dramatic.”

That rendered you speechless. She was right, of course. You were being a bit pathetic about all of this, and if Abby knew what you were hiding, she’d probably be upset about how you were keeping secrets from her.

“But it was like she said it…”

There was a one-second silence from the other end. You could almost hear Abby trying to suppress a laugh this time.

“Look.” she said finally, in a softer tone. That was the voice she always used when trying to bring some sense to your head. “I know we’ve never met in person, but I know you’re not repulsive. You probably just misunderstood.”

You hesitated for a moment, twirling a lock of hair around your finger as you reflected on what she had said. A part of you wanted to believe it. Another wanted to keep pretending you were mad just to use it as an excuse to stay annoyed at her.

“You think so?”

Abby answered instantly, almost as if she didn’t need to think twice.

“Yes, I’m sure. She probably didn’t even notice what she was doing.”

Could that be the answer? You could only think about how much it all made sense. That day, the lights were off because of the monitor. It seemed reasonable. Maybe Abby really hadn’t been paying attention.

“Maybe you should try talking to her again.”

You almost laughed when you heard Abby say that. Talking to her was the last thing on your mind. You knew that the moment you opened your mouth, she would recognize you just as easily as you had recognized her, and that was not an option.

But what if you could just make Abby see you? You wouldn’t need to say a word and still get a reaction out of her.

With that thought in mind, you went to sleep, planning exactly what you would do the next morning.

The next day, you decided to follow Abby’s advice. But you couldn’t do it without feeling extremely confident, which is why you had woken up two hours earlier than usual to get ready.

The sun hadn’t even fully risen when you walked into the bathroom and looked at yourself in the mirror, puffy-eyed, your hair a mess. But for the first time in a long while, you didn’t look away.

You took a long shower, the kind that felt more like a ritual than hygiene. You exfoliated your body with that expensive soap you’d bought on impulse and rarely used. You moisturized your skin slowly, savoring the sweet scent that lingered on your wrists. Then you did a quick hair treatment, leaving your strands softer, lighter. Every detail felt like a silent preparation for something you hadn’t yet named.

In front of the mirror, you applied your makeup with more patience than usual. Nothing too dramatic; just a light foundation, some concealer where needed, a touch of highlighter in the inner corners of your eyes, and mascara. The rosewood lipstick came last, and when you saw yourself with it, you smiled, satisfied with your reflection.

The outfit was harder. You stood in front of the wardrobe for long minutes, analyzing options. In the end, you chose a pair of tailored black pants, perfectly fitted, and a light blouse that left a glimpse of your collarbone exposed. Simple, elegant.

And to finish it all, perfume. The one you almost never wore because you always thought it was “too strong.” Today, it felt exactly right. A signature.

When you arrived at the office, your heels clicking against the marble floor, it was impossible not to notice the stares. Two coworkers greeted you with longer-than-usual smiles. Even the security guard at the entrance gave you a more enthusiastic “good morning.”

As soon as you reached your floor, you settled into your desk like always. You opened emails, organized your schedule, pretended to dive into important tasks. On the outside, it was productivity and focus. On the inside, your radar was fully activated.

You tried to keep a neutral expression, but your gaze was alert to any movement. Every sound of shoes on the polished floor, every soft laugh in the hallway, every voice that approached made your body tense a little, hoping it was Abby.

Even knowing she worked in another department, you couldn’t help it. Your eyes were drawn to the entrance door with annoying frequency. And when that wasn’t enough, you got up.

Just to stretch your legs, you told yourself.

And off you went, walking calmly through the hallways, passing by the break room for no real reason, pretending to read the bulletin board like it had any actual value to you. A “casual” stroll repeated a few times throughout the morning, always with the same hidden purpose: to find Abby.

But she didn’t show up.

Still, you didn’t give up. If there was even the slightest chance of running into her, you weren’t going to ignore it.

Then, close to lunchtime, something unexpected happened. You were back at your desk, eyes already a little tired from all the searching, when the same friendly woman who had sat next to you during the meeting approached. She seemed to recognize you easily, which surprised you a little. And just when you least expected it, the opportunity landed right in your lap.

"We’re going to lunch with the project team, do you want to come with us?"

You didn’t hesitate for a second. You didn’t ask any information. Your body was already halfway up before the words even left your mouth.

"Sure, I’ll go."

You didn’t even try to hide your excitement. It was the perfect opportunity, and you grabbed it like someone who had finally found the last piece of a puzzle. Maybe you were exaggerating, maybe she wouldn’t even show up… but what if she did?

When you arrived at the restaurant, you tried to seem casual, walking beside your coworkers, participating in the conversations with brief replies and automatic smiles. Your eyes, however, scanned the place like a silent radar. And when she walked in, your stomach gave a small leap.

Abby entered the restaurant a few minutes later, talking to someone from another department, as if the lunch was no big deal. And maybe, for her, it really wasn’t. But for you, it was something entirely different.

As soon as she walked in, Abby’s eyes swept the place like she was looking for something specific. And then, for a second her gaze landed on you.

It was quick, subtle. But you saw it. You saw how her eyes widened slightly, as if something had caught her off guard. You saw the slight lift of her eyebrow, the kind of restrained reaction of someone who notices something unexpectedly beautiful. And almost instantly, she masked it. Returned to a neutral expression and kept walking like nothing had happened.

But you noticed. And that was enough to make the heat rise up your neck.

She approached the table with a soft smile, greeting everyone. And as if she had already decided, she pulled out the chair next to you and sat down.

That was the moment your entire body went on high alert.

She sat next to you. She actually sat next to you.

Your brain started running way too fast, in overdrive, and you realized you hadn’t prepared for this. You had imagined seeing her from a distance, maybe exchanging glances or catching a little laugh in the middle of some conversation. But sitting next to her? Having to talk to her?

If you opened your mouth, she would recognize your voice. And you didn’t want that. Not yet. You still didn’t know what it meant.

So you froze.

You gripped your silverware tighter than necessary, pretended to focus on some random conversation across the table, and glued your eyes to the menu like choosing a dish was the most critical decision of your life. Everything, absolutely everything, to avoid the possibility of speaking.

Beside you, Abby seemed comfortable, far too relaxed. You didn’t have the courage to look directly at her, but you felt her presence. The warmth of her body, the slight vibration when she laughed at something, the sound of her voice so close to your ear it was almost unfair.

"I don't think I catch your name.” she said suddenly, smiling softly and turning her face toward you.

You paralyzed for a second. The sound of her voice right beside you, directed straight at you, caught you off guard. In your nervousness, trying to laugh or respond, or maybe just breathe, your hand bumped into the glass of juice in front of you.

The cold liquid tipped almost in slow motion, spilling directly onto the front of your shirt, soaking through the fabric and forming a puddle on the chair.

"Oh no, no, no." you muttered, your voice coming out high-pitched from sheer embarrassment. You immediately stood up, grabbing a napkin from the table and trying, unsuccessfully, to dry your clothes.

Abby straightened in her seat, looking surprised for a second, but quickly took control of the situation.

"Hey, let me help you.” she said with a gentle expression, reaching for some napkins to help contain the mess on the table. "It's okay. It was just an accident."

"I'm sorry, I just... I was a bit distracted." you said, unable to look at her directly. The embarrassment burned all the way to the roots of your hair.

"Don't worry, seriously.” she insisted, already signaling to the waiter with a quick gesture. "Could you bring some extra napkins, please? And a sparkling water?"

You kept trying to dry your shirt with a useless napkin, painfully aware of how the fabric now clung to your body.

Abby's eyes lowered to where the stain had left your shirt a little see-through. Her cheeks flushed a soft pink, and she quickly looked away before you could notice how embarrassed she had become.

She cleared her throat and stood up to come to your side. After the waiter brought the water, she gently placed a hand on the small of your back, guiding you away from the table.

"Come on." Abby said, her voice sounding as composed as she could manage. "Let's go to the bathroom. I’ll help you clean up before the food gets here."

You simply followed Abby like a lost puppy. For a moment, you forgot all the mess you'd gotten yourself into. It was hard to think about anything while you were trying uselessly to clean your shirt, and even Abby’s guiding hand went mostly unnoticed. But when you got to the bathroom, that space with just the two of you, you became aware of Abby’s presence again and what that meant. And that didn’t help your nerves at all.

"Do you want me to help you?" Abby asked, her eyes fixed on your face, as if she were using all her strength not to look down. For the first time, she seemed embarrassed by the situation. Her voice didn’t give anything away, but the pink tint in her cheeks was easy to notice.

You opened your mouth to respond, and that was when you remembered your voice, and how easily Abby could recognize you from it. So you cleared your throat and, adopting a slightly different tone, you answered.

"Don't worry.” you said, and it was hard not to slap yourself the moment you heard your voice come out just a bit higher than you intended. "I’ll just need the..."

You pointed at the bottle of sparkling water in her hand, and Abby immediately understood, smiling shyly.

"Oh, sorry.” she murmured, handing over the bottle. "Here."

Your eyes met for a moment, and this time, you caught a glimpse of the Abby you knew online. She didn’t seem as serious as she did in that meeting. She just seemed like Abby. Your gaming partner who got completely flustered whenever you flirted back with her.

You murmured a thank you and turned to the mirror, using some sparkling water and a few paper towels to try and scrub out the juice stain.

From the corner of your eye, you could see her watching your every move intently, not even trying to hide it.

"It was probably a terrible idea to wear this shirt today.” you tried to joke about the situation, letting out a nervous chuckle.

Abby let out a short laugh, crossing her arms as she watched you fight the stubborn stain.

"It was a good choice.” she replied, sounding like her confident self again. "You look nice."

You stopped scrubbing your shirt and looked up at her through the mirror, raising an eyebrow. The stain was almost gone, but it had left your shirt wet and semi-transparent, revealing part of your bra.

Abby quickly realized her mistake, and the look on her face turned bright red.

"No, I didn’t mean it like that!" she rushed to say, sounding almost desperate, her confident version vanishing in an instant. "I didn’t mean it was a good choice because of that."

You didn’t even try to hold back the laugh that escaped your throat, which made Abby shrink slightly, feeling like a fool for saying something like that when your shirt was betraying you so obviously.

"No, it’s okay, I get it." you quickly replied, though deep down you were enjoying the moment where she was the one embarrassed instead of you. "Thank you."

Abby gave a small, awkward smile and looked away. Her fingers tapped restlessly against the side of her own leg. Then she ran a hand behind her neck, as if trying to release some built-up tension, or maybe just to buy herself some time, desperately searching for a solution. Her eyes avoided yours for a few seconds, focusing on any corner of the bathroom that didn’t involve you or your wet shirt.

"I’m going to try and find something for you to cover up with."

Before you could say anything, Abby left the bathroom. It happened so quickly that you barely had time to process it.

You were left alone, standing in front of the mirror, staring at your still-stained shirt and trying to calm your racing heart. But just a few minutes later, the hurried sound of Abby’s shoes echoed outside, and the bathroom door opened again.

She came back with a blazer in her hands. It was a little wrinkled, like it had been pulled hastily off the back of someone’s chair, clearly borrowed from one of her colleagues.

You took the blazer with a half-smile on your face and thanked her, touched by the thoughtful gesture and strangely happy to see her like that.

The rest of the lunch went by without any more incidents, and you got to talk a bit more with Abby before she was called over by some colleagues from her department to join their conversation.

The brief moment you two had shared had been pleasant, and you were happy with how things were unfolding.

You kept replaying the bathroom interaction in your mind every time you let yourself drift. It was hard not to think about Abby’s embarrassed expression and the way her cheeks had flushed.

You smiled to yourself, feeling your stomach flip. That’s when you decided to reach for your phone on the table, ready to update Abby about everything that had happened, even though she technically already knew.

you

you were right

she’s nice

While waiting for a response, you tapped your fingers anxiously on the desk. You were excited to share it with her.

abby

see? I told you

you’re so dramatic

You rolled your eyes but let out a small laugh. Of course she’d say that.

You quickly typed out a reply.

you

how was your day?

abby

nothing special

I think a girl was flirting with me at work

That made you sit up straighter in your chair, your interest in the conversation suddenly doubling. Was she talking about you? Or had another girl flirted with her? Honestly, it was hard to tell — with the way she looked, it was very likely that dozens of girls threw themselves at her daily.

you

really

and why do u think that

The reply came a few seconds later, and you could only imagine her calm, casual expression as she typed out those words.

abby

don’t know

doesn’t matter

I’d never get involved with someone from work anyway

You scoffed, slamming your phone down on the table so hard it was a miracle the screen didn’t shatter into a thousand pieces.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me!!”

a/n: first of all, I just want to thank all of you who’ve been following Signal. honestly, I didn’t expect it to get this much attention, but I’m super happy!! and slightly nervous

anyway, I really hope you enjoy this second part. it didn’t turn out as long as I said it would, but I think that actually helped keep it from dragging too much. also, i wanted to say hii to my new followers in my head you’re all my friends now

taglist: @angelaut0matec @freakyjorker @ushijimaswife-77 @crysearchdestroy @amberlegacies @cloudy-fay @moonylvs @dykesofcydonia @madsxh1022 @elliesstar @eddiesdrummergf @minasdiaryxx @scherbsical @bambishaven @savagestarlight28 @tiredophelia @bunkisses4u @nekotine25 @1i1z

[h2pinky]

Idk if this wild but, Sevika keeps getting her wife pregnant because she loves seeing her wife belly swole with her child and taking care of her. And she also enjoys motherhood with her wife

SEVIKA likes getting you pregnant

TAGS: breeding kink, g!p SEVIKA, praise kink, cockwarming if you squint in the end

Three kids. You and Sevika already had three children together. The house was recently big, comfortably accommodating all five of you. Two daughters, Nessa and Nyla and a son: Asher.

Both your little girls were the definition of girly, they always mimicked the way you put on your lipgloss and flipped their hair just to depict their dramatic aura. Asher was the oldest, with his slick back dark hair and piercing grey eyes that he got from Sevika— he was sure to break a lot of hearts when he started high school.

Your feet padded softly against the ground as you walked around the kitchen and prepared breakfast. Sevika leaned in, kissing the crook of your neck and the slight stubble at her chin brushed your skin.

“You need to shave,” you scolded softly, hands working over the stove like muscle memory.

“Ew,” Asher muttered, grabbing a toast off the counter as he glanced at the both of you being affectionate. He teased you both this way whenever you both kissed and so.

Sevika laughed softly, arms wrapping around your waist as she leaned her forehead against the back of your neck, taking a soft sniff of your shampooed hair.

“You smell so good every morning the moment you wake up,” she mumbled, voice lazy and drawled.

“And you smell like cigarettes from all that smoking crap that you do,” you turned the stove off and turned, kissing her with your arms over her shoulders.

“Yeah?” Sevika’s lips moved over yours, amusement lingering in the air along with Asher’s disgusted face as he waddled away as fast as his sleepy legs would carry him.

The morning was slow and you saw Sevika spending more time with the children than usual, you could only imagine— she’s usually so busy so it’s pretty natural for her to want to spend more time with the little ones on the weekend.

You yawned, cleaning the counter with a rag before you felt Sevika’s creeping hands again. This time they cupped around your abdomen, the slight chub you gained after childbirth. “You’re beautiful,” Sevika said in your ear.

You turned, “What do you want?”

“Why? Can’t a wife act loving?” Sevika smirked softly.

You stared.

“I want another little one.”

You rolled your eyes, scoffing and crossing your arms as you turned to face the counter again— Sevika grabbed your arms and spun you back to face her.

“Please please please please please?!” she pouted. Fucking pouted. Sevika. Pouted.

Your brain short circuited, “Okay.” The words left you before you realised they did.

Sevika was already bending you over the edge of the bed as she grabbed your clothes ass, “mmm,” she hummed contently before she clawed your clothes off like some sort of wild animal.

“You’re acting like I don't let you stuff my pussy enough,” you giggled.

“Never enough,” Sevika grumbled before fiddling with her clothes till they pooled on the floor.

She buried herself all the way in before giving any warnings at all, you moaned— loud. Your eyes were wide, hands flying to grab your mouth shut as you both paused— listening in for the children. They laughed on, playing outside.

You sighed softly in relief.

“Don’t you dare do that again,” you hissed at her.

Sevika’s lips tugged in an evil grin, she grabbed the underside of your thigh and started rutting— her cock twitching every now and then in your warm and surprisingly tight pussy.

“So beautiful, all of this is mine. My baby mama.” Sevika grunted.

Your head was thrown back as you gasped for air, you could never get used to Sevika's pace. It was brutal and feral. Always. No matter the round. No matter the circumstances.

She sounded casual, barely panting for air, “you look gorgeous under me as always.”

She squeezed your tits, playing with the nipple as her cock pulsed inside you, begging to fill you up. Sevika leaned in, kissed you and let her saliva slither down your neck and jaw like sin. A slow, almost taunting smirk.

“I thought you’d say no,” she captured one nipple between her lips, “Guess not.” Her voice was muffled when she said that, but her smugness was more than obvious.

Your lips formed an ‘o’ as your hands scratched down her back, leaving red marks all over the warm skin. Sevika didn’t mind. In fact, she preferred that you scratched her whenever she was balls-deep inside your pussy.

Your pussy squelched obscenely, her happy trial brushing against your clit and grinding against her nerves making your legs shake and wrap around her waist— sealing her inside. You felt the release— her warmth, her seed. It filled you up, your cunt overflowed with semen, forming a thin ring around where her cock buried in you. You didn't let go.

“Stay.” You breathed. And Sevika obliged.

[h2pinky]

Arcane @ Annecy Festival - Poster & Banner by Fortiche

[h2pinky]

me at home making sweet treats for sevika

[h2pinky]

[h2pinky]

chef Sevika x waitress reader ??

(Love your writing btw <3)

oh my god this is so cute

—Kiss the cook! (Chef Sevika x waitress reader)

words: 1.8k (masterlist)

The kitchen moves like clockwork. Six burners lit, three pans going per station, voices sharp and direct—just the way Sevika liked it. Her hand tap the edge of the pass twice: her signal. Timing is everything.

“Two halibut, one duck—garnish tight, plate hotter than your attitude. Let’s go.”

“Yes, Chef!”

It’s clean. Controlled. A good dinner rush, the kind that makes her proud.

Then you walk in, and she doesn’t miss a beat.

Tray in one hand, that overachieving little bow at your back swaying like you were in a goddamn commercial, you lean in just enough to slide the empty plates across the pass and flash her a grin.

“Table four says your lemon risotto made them want to propose.”

Sevika doesn’t even glance up.

“Tell ‘em I don’t do monogamy,” she mutters, wiping the edge of one dish with the precision of a sniper. But the corner of her mouth twitch—barely.

You tilt your head, dramatic. “You sure? ‘Cause that tasted like commitment.”

That earns you a look. Quick, dry, but not unamused.

“Get out of my kitchen,” Sevika says flatly.

“Yes, Chef,” you say with a wink, already backing out like you’d rehearsed it.

When the door swung shut behind you, she goes back to her plates without missing a step.

But the line is watching. Always is.

“Chef,” one of the sous chefs murmurs under his breath, grinning. “You smile more in ten seconds when she walks in than you do all week.”

“I don’t smile,” Sevika snaps.

“She had a new bow today,” the pastry guy adds from the corner. “You noticed it, right?”

“I notice the food coming back cold if you don’t move your asses.”

They all scatter, laughing quietly like they aren’t scared of her at all. Which is new.

And mildly concerning.

She doesn’t comment. Just reaches for another plate, wipes it clean, and tries very hard not to think about the clip in your hair matching your apron today.

Again.

Later that night, The lull isn’t real—not to Sevika. Less screaming didn’t mean less work. It just mean she can hear the mistakes more clearly.

She leans over the pass, scowling at the grill. “Eli. Tell me why that chicken looks like it crawled out of a microwave.”

Eli winces. “Sorry, Chef. Fixing it.”

“You better. If I send that out, table nine’s gonna be a pain in the ass.”

Behind her, soft footsteps creep closer. Too soft. Like someone is trying not to be noticed.

Sevika doesn’t even turn around.

“Back away from the tart, sweetheart.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, already halfway to the plated lemon meringue. “I’m simply admiring the craftsmanship. From a distance.”

“You’re breathing on it.”

“No, I’m not—”

“Eli,” Sevika says calmly, eyes still on the grill, “Towel.”

Eli, still sweating over the stove, doesn’t hesitate. He throws a clean kitchen towel toward her with practiced accuracy.

Sevika catches it mid-air.

Whips it around.

And cracks it against your hip with a sound like divine judgment.

“OW—WHAT THE HELL!” you yelp, nearly leaping out of your shoes. “Did you just—did you just HIT ME?!”

The tart sits untouched. Barely. You’re already backing out of the kitchen like she’d drawn a knife instead of a dish towel.

“I just wanted a bite!”

“Then get your own station,” Sevika says, deadpan. “This one’s guarded.”

You disappear with a panicked squeak, mumbling something about workplace violence as the kitchen door swing shut behind you.

Eli snorts. Then coughs to cover it.

Sevika doesn’t look at him. Just nods once, approving.

“Good reflex.”

“Thank you, Chef.”

“Chicken still looks like shit.”

“Yes Chef.”

By the end of service, the kitchen is winding down. The final orders gone out. Pans are being scrubbed, stations wiped clean, knives checked and sheathed.

Sevika is double-checking her prep for tomorrow. Inventory, specials, pastry count—standard closeout. She’s halfway through the dessert tally when something catches her eye.

One tart missing.

She pauses.

Not the lemon ones she’d prepped for tomorrow’s service—those were untouched, sealed in the back fridge where even you wouldn’t dare trespass. No, this is from the current display. The last remaining piece of her hazelnut-chocolate tart. Carefully balanced sweetness. A nightmare to plate just right.

Gone.

At first, she thinks maybe one of the line cooks tossed it. Maybe it cracked. Maybe she’s losing her mind.

Then she sees it.

A pink sticky note stuck to the edge of the prep station, with a very recognizable doodle of a little chef hat and a kissy face.

‘They say kiss the cook. It was real good.’

Sevika stares at it.

Blink.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

She pinches the bridge of her nose like she can physically exhale the migraine you’re about to become.

Somewhere in the kitchen, Eli dares to laugh. She snaps her head toward him.

“Is this funny to you?”

“No, Chef,” he says, already walking away. “Courageous.”

She looks at the note again.

She should be mad. She is mad. That’s theft. That’s crossing a professional line. That’s—

A second sticky note is under the first, stuck at a weird angle, like you’d added it in a rush.

‘It wasn’t one of the specials. I’m not a monster. Also I left you half. But I took the prettier half. Mwah’

She closes her eyes.

Breathe in, breathe out.

She’s going to throw you in the freezer.

And she’s going to kiss you so hard you never got the idea to steal from her again.

But first, she has to plate your dumb half of a tart and take it home. Because of course you left her the side without the caramel drip. Because you’re a menace. And also—unfortunately—hers.

The apartment smells like your expensive perfum and something sweet you’ve definitely baked just to show off late tonight. Sevika kicks the door shut behind her with her foot, drops her keys in the dish by habit, and doesn’t even take her boots off before holding the sticky note up like it’s a political controversy.

You look up from where you’re perched on the kitchen counter, licking chocolate off your thumb.

“Oh,” you say. Not startled. Not guilty. Just… interested. “You found it.”

She squints at you. “You left it in the middle of the prep station like it was a thank-you card.”

“I was thanking you. It was a good tart. I felt gratitude.”

“You stole it.”

“I rescued it,” you argue, hopping down from the counter. “You were gonna forget it existed. Let it die in the cold while you obsess over your new menu.”

Sevika walks into the kitchen, slow and looming like she’s sizing up a fight. You smile like someone who already knows she’s going to win it.

“It wasn’t one of the specials,” you add quickly, both hands up in surrender. “I would never touch the sacred vault. I’m reckless, not evil.”

“You took the prettiest half,” she says, deadpan.

“I have standards.”

She exhales sharply through her nose, not quite a laugh. She sets the note down on the counter, then holds up the Tupperware from her bag with the leftover half of the tart. It’s wrapped in plastic, half-heartedly, like even she can’t pretend to be mad.

“You’re lucky I like your ass.”

You grin and step in close, plucking the container from her hands and popping it open. “You’re lucky I didn’t take the whole thing. That drip was sexy. I almost betrayed you.”

“You did betray me.”

“Okay,” you admit, licking the edge of a fork like the criminal you are. “But did you die?”

She narrows her eyes.

You lean in, fork still in hand, sweet and smug and just a little too close. “They say kiss the cook,” you murmur, like you didn’t already write it down earlier with a sticky note and a pen you definitely stole from her chef coat.

She grabs your chin with her fingers—firm, gentle—and kisses you like she’s telling you to shut the hell up.

You do not shut up. But you do kiss her back.

“You’re an asshole,” she mutters when she pulls away.

You beam. “Yeah, I know. Sorry, can’t help it.”

She sighs and finally toes her boots off, setting them aside before heading toward the couch.

“Next time you steal from my kitchen,” she calls over her shoulder, “you’re on dish duty for a week.”

You follow after her, already holding out a spoon. “Noted. Also—I took one of the mini cheesecakes.”

“You what—”

dividers: @/cursed-carmine

taglist: @lonerslug @sevikasswifee @riotstemple29 @ahintofchaos @archangeldyke-all @blessupblessup

[h2pinky]

your theme is so stinkin’ cute!!!

OMG THANK YOU LOVE 💔💔💔💔 i don't see a lot of anime themes in the fandoms im in here lol

[h2pinky]

texting loser!ellie that you have nipple piercing in class 7

nerdy loser!ellie x popular mean fem!reader

bored in english, you reply to a girl named E you’ve been talking to on an anonymous gay dating app—without knowing it’s that lesbian nerd girl, ellie williams.

masterlist

The water felt nice. Warm, a little heavy.

Lights swam over your arms — red, green, something blue, whatever. You kicked lazily toward the deep end, hair floating around your face, eyes barely open. Everything up top was loud. Music, shouting, glass clinking, someone throwing up maybe.

You didn’t care.

It was better down here. Dimmed and Fuzzy. Kind of perfect.

You heard your name, muffled and far away.

You stayed under a second longer.

The second shout came clearer. “Bitch, come up!”

You broke the surface with a laugh, hair slicked back, water dripping down your face. “What?”

Your friend stood at the edge of the pool, holding a half-empty cup, eyes wide like she’d been calling you forever.

“What?” you asked again, louder this time, wiping your face as someone cannonballed behind you. A wave hit your back, followed by a splash of cold and a bunch of laughter from the other end of the pool.

Your friend rolled her eyes. “Get your ass up here. Gio’s been bugging me since he got here and you’ve just been floating around like a mermaid bitch.”

You scoffed, rubbing water off your cheek. “The hell do I care about Gio? Tell him to get over it.”

Your friend scoffed and shook her head before turning away, muttering something under her breath as she pushed through the crowd and disappeared back inside the house.

You just rolled your eyes and grinned at the girl sitting at the edge of the pool, who held out a red cup without a word. You took it and drank whatever was in it without thinking. Something fruity and strong. It burned just enough.

You winked at her, head buzzing, skin warm, everything soft around the edges. The music thumping in your chest. Voices blurred with the beat as lights swam across the pool deck.

You climbed out of the pool, water trailing down your legs, your black bikini clinging to your skin. The night air wrapped around you, cooler than you expected, but you barely felt it.

You grabbed the shirt you left on the table and pulled it over your head, still damp, sticking a little as it slid down.

The music shifted into something you like, “Love Me Harder”. You bobbed your head to it as you walked back toward the house, passing a couple making out against the open bathroom door. The shouts from the patio faded behind you.

Inside, it was louder.

Your eyes moved across the room, scanning for Olivia. You’d left your phone with her hours ago. Maybe longer.

“Hey, have you seen Olivia?” you asked the nearest person, some girl holding an empty bottle. She blinked at you and shrugged.

You rolled your eyes and cut through the crowd, weaving past people playing some drunk version of charades in the hallway, others yelling over a chug.

The kitchen smelled like tequila and weed. Too hot and loud.

You barely looked up until you spotted her—Olivia—perched halfway up the stairs, talking to some guy.

You walked over, stepping between them without a word. “My phone?”

The guy looked you up and down.

Olivia grinned, already holding it out. A smirk tugged at her mouth, eyes gleaming like she knew something.

She passed you your phone, fingers brushing yours for a second too long.

“Oh,” she added, almost as an afterthought, “Gio was looking for you.”

You groaned. “I don’t wanna hear another thing about Gio.”

Your face twisted without meaning to, already turning away—right as he showed up.

Of course.

“Hey,” Gio said, stepping in front of you. “I’ve been looking for you.”

You blinked, trying not to sigh. “Yeah? What?”

He smiled like it meant something. “It’s just been a long time, you know? Since we talked. Since... all that. I guess I just wanted to say I missed it. Or whatever we had.”

You barely looked at him as you opened E's messages that had been sitting on your phone for an hour.

E:

well don’t drink too much ?

plss

take care

i still wanna marry u

Your lips twitched. That stupid flutter in your chest kicked up again.

Gio was still talking. You weren’t listening to any of it.

You tapped back to your messages.

you:

still sober babe

You sent it, even though the edges of your brain were already fuzzy from everything you’d had.

“Hey—are you listening?” Gio’s voice broke in again.

You looked up and raised your brows. “What?”

“I just told you I missed you.”

You shrugged, tone flat. “Well, Gio. I don’t. And seriously, you need to find another girl. I’m too busy with my life right now.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “How am I supposed to just get over it? You think it was easy for me? I—”

You weren’t even hearing it. Your eyes shifted past him, drifting lazily until they landed on someone leaning against the wall near the billiard table.

Her head was down, thumb lazily scrolling through her phone, a red cap dangling from her other hand like none of this touched her.

Is that Ellie?

You squinted through the low light and noise. Shit. It was Ellie.

She was in a black jacket thrown over a white tee, pants slung low on her hips. Leaning against the wall like she didn’t care to belong, sipping from her drink like it was just another night to survive.

Gio was still talking, some half-assed plea falling out of his mouth, but you were already walking, cutting straight past him without a word.

“Ellie?” you called out, blinking hard. A grin tugged at your lips. “No way! You’re here?”

She looked up, caught off guard, eyes widening just slightly.

You didn’t think and closed the space between you and threw your arms around her, your body still a little damp, shirt clinging where it shouldn’t.

Her hand settled lightly on your waist. Warm and a little hesitant.

“Hi,” you laughed as you pulled back, grinning stupid. “I thought my mind was the playing tricks on me for a second back there.”

Ellie scratched at the back of her neck, “Yeah,” she said, smiling softly. “I’m here.”

You tilted your head a little too close, eyes glittering. “This definitely wasn’t on my bingo card tonight.” Your voice came out sweet and reckless, heat curling behind it.

You glanced down at yourself, dragging two fingers over the damp hem of your thin shirt. “Oh, and shit—sorry for the,” you waved at your clothes, “I’m a little bit wet.”

Ellie’s eyes dropped before she could stop herself. She nodded, a tiny jerk of her head, mouth opening like she might say something—but didn’t.

“It’s… it’s okay,” she said quietly, eyes dipping down for the briefest second before meeting yours again. Quick, but not quick enough.

She gave a small shrug, like she hadn’t just looked.

Her fingers tapped lightly against her cup, trying to seem casual. But her gaze kept pulling back—hovering just a little too long before she forced it away again.

For a moment, you just looked at her.

You didn’t know why, but she looked different tonight. Or maybe it was the way the slow flashing lights hit her face, catching in her lashes, slipping across her cheekbones. She looked… kind of good like that.

You smiled, small and easy. “So what made you come here?”

Ellie glanced down, then back up. “I don’t know. Just... really checking it out.” She gave a half-smile, one corner of her mouth lifting like it wasn’t sure if it wanted to stay.

You tilted your head. “Damn right. But if I’m Stan though?” You widened your eyes a little. “I’d be honored. Ellie Williams? Here?”

Ellie shook her head, eyes rolling soft. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Why not? It’s true.” You grinned, watching the way she tried not to smile.

She scoffed under her breath, shaking her head again.

“So how’s your night so far?” you asked, shifting your weight closer to her. “Just got here? You seem sober enough for me.”

Ellie glanced to the side, like she was about to lie but didn’t. “Just watching. And yeah... sober enough.”

You followed her gaze to the group around the billiards table, some guys lining up shots with way too much confidence.

“Oh? You play with them?” you asked, already grabbing her wrist, pulling her gently with you. “C’mon. Let’s watch.”

Ellie let you lead her, falling into step.

“Just watching,” she repeated, eyes flicking to the table. “And you? You looked drunk to me.”

You gave her a look. “Oh please, drunk? I’m tough.”

She watched you for a second, like she was trying to tell if you were serious. Her eyes flicked over your face, amused and skeptical.

“Right,” she scoffed again, shaking her head.

You smirked as you caught her smile she tried to hide before she turned back to her drink.

“What? Do I look drunk to you already?” You asked, leaning in slightly.

Ellie raised her brows, amusement dancing in her eyes. She took a slow sip, watching you over the rim of her cup, before shaking her head. “Actually.. no.”

“If I were drunk, I’d already be doing something reckless.” You said with a grin.

You paused just long enough for it to land.

“Which will be later.”

You looked around, just casually scanning the room—until your eyes landed on Gio, cutting through the crowd again like he hadn’t gotten the message the first time.

You groaned under your breath. “Oh, fuck me.”

Ellie glanced over.

Before Ellie could ask, you grabbed her wrist. “Come with me. Please.”

She blinked. “What?”

But you were already pulling her, slipping through bodies, heading for the stairs like you had somewhere to be.

You took the stairs two at a time, a little buzzed. Ellie followed close behind, her cup in one hand, eyes flicking around, unsure where you were taking her. A couple was half-tangled on the landing, making out as if they forgot other people existed. You sidestepped them, brushing past a guy vaping at the top who barely looked up from his cloud. The sweet smoke curled around your head.

Ellie quietly moved past him too, close enough for you to feel the warmth off her arm.

The hallway was narrow and dim. Doors shut or cracked open, bass from downstairs thudding through the walls. You walked past a room glowing blue from a TV screen, another filled with people yelling over Mario Kart.

You made it to the end of the hallway, eyes landing on a closed bathroom door. You knocked once, then again—louder.

Ellie raised a brow behind you. “You brought me all the way up here… to pee?”

You knocked again with more urgency. “Kinda?”

No answer.

You leaned your ear closer, but it was quiet inside. Probably empty.

“I just needed to escape my obsessive ex for a minute,” you muttered, knocking once more for good measure.

You pushed the door with your shoulder. A little harder than you meant to.

It creaked open, swinging wide—and you stumbled a step forward, catching yourself on the doorframe with a laugh.

Ellie stepped forward fast, her free hand reaching out like she might catch you. “Jesus—are you good?”

You looked over your shoulder, rolling your eyes. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Her brows pulled together just a little.

You smirked, brushing your hair back. “I’m not drunk, Ellie. Relax.”

She didn’t say anything right away, just watching you like she wasn’t fully convinced.

You pulled the door slowly, inching it closed. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

Ellie gave a quiet scoff under her breath. “Don’t fall in,” she muttered.

You flashed her a grin. “Yeah yeah, oh—tell Gio to get lost if you see him looking for me.”

That earned a small snort from her, but she nodded, backing away down the hall as the door clicked shut behind you.

You peed quickly, flushed, and washed your hands. When you looked up, your reflection met you in the mirror—flushed cheeks, lips pink from whatever drink had been in the red cup.

Your hair had started to curl as it dried, sticking in loose waves around your face and neck. One side of your shirt had slipped down your shoulder without you noticing, the thin fabric hanging unevenly, clinging to your skin in places, loose in others. It barely reached the middle of your thighs.

You tilted your head at your reflection, eyes narrowing slightly.

You grabbed your phone from where you left it on the sink and angled it toward the mirror.

One quick pic. Just you—flushed, eyes low-lidded, shirt slipping off your shoulder.

You sent it to E.

You:

[image attachment]

does this look drunk to u?

It took less than a minute for the screen to light up again.

E:

do u want me dead?

u look hot

like way too hot

that’s what u look like drunk ??

no. come home right now.

i wanna be the only one who sees u like this

You grinned, teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

You:

not drunk yet 😋

E:

can you come home now pls?

i can't take others seeing u like that

i'm picking u up

the kids miss u

come home and let me take care of you

i wanna take care of you when you’re drunk

You stared at the screen, a little smirk tugging at your mouth. Heart all gooey and stupid. God, she was such a loser.

Another message lit up.

E:

but go on

have fun

i understand this is all part of dating someone pretty like u

You scrunched your nose, fingers already moving.

You:

awww baby shut up

no one else gets me stupid like you do

they can stare all they want

but you’re the one i go home to 😌💋

E:

good

don’t kiss other girls pls ? xD

You:

courseeee

ttyl

💋

You locked your phone, grinning to yourself. The mirror caught your bright smile again.

God, you were down bad.

But you felt good. Buzzed in the right way, skin warm, head light. You weren’t about to let some clingy ex ruin the night for you—not when you looked like this, not when the air felt this electric.

You adjusted your shirt half-heartedly, let your hair fall where it wanted, then reached for the doorknob with a smirk.

You unlocked the door, pulling it open to find Ellie leaning against the wall just beside it, phone in hand. The soft glow from the screen lit up her face, catching on the curve of her smile.

The music downstairs thudded louder now, flooding the hallway again.

She glanced up when she saw you. Straightened a little. Her eyes dropped down to your body—just for a second—before meeting yours again.

“Hey,” you said loudly, grinning. “Let’s go back downstairs.”

Ellie gave a small nod, tucking her phone into her pocket as she pushed off the wall.

“You good now?” she asked, voice a bit low and husky.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Never better.”

Ellie fell into step beside you as you started walking back down the hall, the two of you brushing shoulders once.

“What about your ex?” she asked, voice low, almost amused.

You scoffed. “He can do whatever he wants. I didn’t come here for him.”

Ellie glanced sideways at you, a crooked smile twitching at her lips. “No?”

You turned your head, smirking. “Duh.”

Right then, someone rushed past—barely looking where he was going. A splash of cold hit your side as the drink in his hand tipped, spilling across your already damp shirt.

“Seriously?” you muttered, looking down. The wet spot clung colder than before. You patted at it uselessly, annoyed.

The guy tossed a lazy “my bad!” over his shoulder and disappeared down the hall.

You sighed. “Drunk boys.”

Ellie didn’t say anything at first. Her eyes followed the guy as he stumbled off, then flicked back to you—pausing on your shirt for a beat before she cleared her throat.

Then, casually, she slid off her jacket. “Here.”

You raised a brow. “What’s that for?”

She held it out. “Before someone else spills something on you again.”

You waved it off with a grin. “No need, I’m good.”

Ellie hesitated.

You tilted your head, playful. “What—trying to cover me up?”

Her mouth parted like she was about to respond—but you beat her to it, tugging the loose edge of your shirt back into place.

“It’s fine, seriously,” you said, flashing a grin. “Feels like you’re the only one looking anyway. And I’m starting to think you like the view.”

That made her blink. She scoffed softly, shaking her head, but the flush creeping up her neck said plenty.

You turned, already heading back toward the stairs, tossing a wink over your shoulder. “Come on, Williams. Try to keep up.”

The bass had thudded through the floor, pulsing straight through your legs as you moved a little quicker down the stairs, the song blasting loud—something synthy and bold that made your heart beat in time with it.

Behind you, Ellie had called out, “Don’t move so fast.”

You’d glanced up just as you hit the last step, tilting your head back at her. “What?”

She’d been halfway down, steady, careful, her hand brushing the railing. The music had swallowed your voice, so you raised it.

“I said—what?”

Ellie had shaken her head, eyes rolling a little, but there’d been a smile tugging at her mouth, trying not to let it win.

The thump of the song had gotten louder as you pushed back toward the billiard table. Everything had been darker now, all red-and-gold haze. The overhead lights were gone—maybe someone had turned them off on purpose—but the glow from the string bulbs and that lava lamp in the corner had been enough to see by.

The house had been packed. People were laughing too hard at nothing, leaning too close to be casual. The air had been hot, sticky with heat and alcohol, and the edge of your buzz had turned a little giddy again.

You grabbed a bottle off the counter and sank onto the edge of the sofa near the billiard table. The cushion gave under your weight, still warm from whoever sat there last.

Across the room, a group of guys play pool like there’s a trophy on the line.

Ellie trailed behind, hovering for a second before sitting beside you.

You held out the bottle with a raised brow. “Want some?”

She glanced at it, then shook her head. “I’m good.”

You shrugged. “More for me, then—”

But before the bottle reaches your lips, her hand slips in and takes it straight from yours.

You blinked, caught off guard, watching as she drank it without saying a word.

“Thought you were good,” you said, laughing a bit.

Ellie leaned back slightly, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Changed my mind.”

The room pulsef around you—saturated in red and gold, the music heavy and constant. You felt it under your skin.

You glanced at her for a while—longer than you meant to.

She didn’t notice at first, too focused on the game, the bottle resting loosely in her grip. Her jaw was tight, lashes catching the red-gold light.

She looked good like that. Kinda hot.

Your eyes dropped to her mouth before you caught yourself, heart kicking a little faster as you glanced away.

You shifted on the couch, letting your knee brush against hers, feeling the warmth creeping up from somewhere deeper than the alcohol.

You cleared your throat, watching as the guys at the table started arguing over a missed shot. One shoved the other, laughing, before the group wandered off, taking their chaos with them.

You scoffed softly. “Wanna play?”

Ellie glanced over. “Billiards?”

You nodded, trying to keep it casual. “Unless you’re scared.”

She arched a brow, amused. “Of losing?”

“Of me.”

Ellie smirked, pushed off the couch, and set the bottle down on the nearest table.

You were already standing, a little unsteady, grinning at her. “Let’s make it interesting.”

She raised a brow. “Yeah?”

“Loser takes a shot,” you said, eyes gleaming. “Come on. Don’t be soft.”

Ellie hesitated just a second too long—like she wanted to say something else—but the look you gave her made her sigh, amused. “Alright. But just one.”

You cocked your head. “Scared already?”

She rolled her eyes, grabbed a cue stick, and twirled it once before stepping toward the table. The music throbbed louder and heavier.

You followed, your heart syncing with the bass, beat for beat.

People had started to crowd around, some watching, some dancing, the air thick with smoke and spilled drinks. You grabbed a stick from the rack and moved to the other side of the table, grinning as you leaned down to break.

You chalked your cue with dramatic flair—pure show—but your aim was off. The cue ball barely clipped the edge of the triangle and sank a single striped.

Ellie watched from the other end, mouth twitching like she was trying not to laugh.

Then she stepped forward, bent low, and broke with a sharp crack—clean, loud, and confident. Two solids dropped like nothing.

You blinked. “Okay. What the hell was that?”

She shrugged, all casual. “Guess I’m good at stuff.”

You narrowed your eyes. “No one’s casually that good.”

She just shrugged before sinking another. Smooth and effortless.

You leaned back against the edge, arms crossed, watching her with a squint. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

She didn’t even look up. “You’re the one who challenged me.”

“And you’re the one who’s apparently a secret pool monster.”

Finally, she glanced at you, eyes glinting under the red-gold glow. “You said loser takes a shot, right?”

You scoffed. “Yeah, and I think I just sealed my fate.”

She lined up again, slow and sure. “Might as well pour it now.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting a grin. “Keep talking like that and I might pour us both one.”

Ellie smirked, not breaking eye contact as she leaned over the table, cue steady in her hands. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You tilted your head. “Wanna bet?”

She lined up the shot, lips twitching like she was trying not to smile—and sank another ball, clean and smooth.

You let out a groan, grabbing the nearest bottle and unscrewing the cap. “You’re obnoxious.”

Ellie stepped back, cue resting against her shoulder. “You challenged me.”

You raised the bottle, letting it hover over the rim of a plastic cup. “Yeah, well—I’m challenging you again. Winner takes a shot this time.”

Ellie quirked a brow. “That’s not how winning works.”

You shrugged, already pouring. “Yeah, well. I'm tipsy and I make the rules.”

She watched you for a beat, something amused and soft in her eyes.

You handed her a full cup. “No backing out now, Williams.”

Ellie took it slowly, fingers brushing yours for a second too long. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The music behind you shifted. A family familiar beat, much louder.

“God, I love this song,” you murmured, already moving your hips a little, tipsy joy radiating off you.

She took the shot like it was nothing, barely even wincing as it went down. You watched her, eyes narrowing a little—not just because she handled it better than you ever could, but because she looked unfairly good doing it.

“Okay, now we’re even,” you said, grabbing your cue again. “Back to losing gracefully.”

Ellie smirked. “Speak for yourself.”

You rolled your eyes and took your turn—this time, a lucky one. One striped ball sunk clean into the corner. You gasped, triumphant, raising your arms like you'd just hit a buzzer-beater.

Ellie clapped, slow and sarcastic. “A miracle.”

“Shut up,” you grinned, eyes glittering as you lined up another. “I’m making my comeback.”

You missed completely.

Ellie didn’t even hide her laugh this time. “Inspiring,” she muttered, stepping in again.

Her shot was perfect. Of course.

You leaned back, cup in hand, watching as she moved around the table—cool, steady, casual in a way that made your stomach flip. Her shirt shifted as she bent forward, and you looked away before you stared too long.

“You know,” you called over the music, “you’re really annoying when you’re good at things.”

“Aw, thanks,” she said flatly, not looking up.

Another ball sank.

The crowd behind you had mostly shifted away, drawn back into the music or to whatever chaos was happening by the patio doors. It was just the two of you now, a half-empty bottle and a cup between you, the light flickering red over Ellie’s face.

You let out a small breath, arms folded lazily across your chest. The buzz was heavier now, in your limbs, your throat, your head.

So you just… watched. Let her play.

She moved with that same quiet precision—focused, lowkey cocky in the way she leaned over the table, cue steady, eyes narrowed.

She looked hot like this, it almost annoyed you.

A guy suddenly stepped in, looking sober enough to ask for a match.

“Winner stays?” he asked, grinning at Ellie.

She hesitated, eyes flicking toward you.

You rolled your eyes, waving her off with a lopsided smile. “Go on, Williams. Defend your throne.”

Ellie squinted at you, clearly not loving the idea. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said.

She looked at you for a second longer, like she didn’t quite believe it, but then turned back to the game.

You stuck around, letting your back hit the nearest wall as you watched them play. Occasionally, you sipped from your cup—sweet, sharp heat sliding down your throat. Ellie never missed. Ball after ball, clean and controlled, giving the guy barely a chance.

Except once—right when she glanced your way.

You were already staring at her. A soft grin curling at your lips.

She muttered something under her breath—too low to catch—then shook her head as the guy lined up his only real shot.

You grinned wider, pleased with yourself.

You stayed there for awhile before you wandered toward the kitchen, grabbed another drink you probably didn’t need, then found yourself in the bathroom down the hall, dabbing cool water on your neck and cheeks. Your head was buzzing and too warm. Everything was a little floaty and pink.

When you stepped back into the hallway, Ellie was already there, waiting.

She looked at you for a moment. Her yes trailing over your flushed face, the slight wobble in your step, the faint glassiness in your eyes.

She let out a soft breath.

“Hey… you okay?” she asked again, voice lower this time.

“I’m great,” you said, slow and sure, even as your words almost slurred. You tilted your head, smiling all dumb and tipsy. “Did you win?”

“Yeah.”

You grinned at her. “Good. I don’t want you losing to some guy.”

Ellie huffed a soft laugh, rubbing the back of her neck.

You brushed past her, already heading down the hallway again. “Latch” was playing in the background, Sam Smith’s voice curling through the air like a memory.

“Oh my god, I love this song,” you said dreamily, half to yourself.

“Wait—what?” Ellie called after you, catching up with a few quick strides. “Don’t you need to sit down for a bit? How many did you have?”

You ignored her. Your fingertips trailed along the wall, that floaty warmth in your chest swelling with every lyric bleeding through the air. You looked over your shoulder with a teasing smile.

“Come on.”

Ellie slowed beside you, brow creased, eyes scanning your face like she was trying to figure out just how far gone you were. But there was something soft there, too. Maybe even amused.

Before Ellie could say anything else, a pack of rowdy guys burst through the hallway behind you, all hyped up and laughing as they started doing some train-line dance toward the back doors.

You barely had time to blink before Ellie’s hand was at your waist, tugging you gently aside.

“Careful,” she muttered, guiding you out of their path.

You stumbled a little with the sudden movement and ended up against the wall, your shoulder brushing cool plaster. Ellie stayed close—close enough that you could feel the warmth of her side next to yours, her hand lingering for a second longer than necessary.

The two of you stood there, side by side, watching the dance floor ahead in silence.

The glow from the string lights outside flickered through the patio doors, soft and uneven. The thrum of the song still pulsed beneath your feet.

Ellie said something beside you but you couldn’t hear a damn thing over the music.

You turned, brow raised. “What?”

She leaned in, her mouth just beside your ear, her perfume catching faintly.

“Do you wanna dance?” she asked, voice rough over the bass.

You tilted your head, grin already tugging at your lips. You leaned close to her ear, just enough for your breath to tickle. “Are you asking me to dance?”

Ellie pulled back an inch, smirking. She leaned in again, even closer this time. “No. Just saying that if you do wanna dance… I won’t be there with you.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes in mock offense. You leaned in, palm brushing her arm lightly as you whispered into her ear, “I don’t feel like dancing anyway.”

Ellie gave a quiet huff of laughter, her eyes dropping briefly to your mouth before flicking back up again.

You caught the flick of Ellie’s eyes down to your mouth, and it made something wicked curl in your chest. Drunk and warm and reckless, you smirked.

“Do you wanna fuck?” you asked, half-shouting over the music, teasing.

Ellie’s eyes went wide. “What?!”

You laughed, tossing your head back, “I’m kidding!!” you grinned at her.

Ellie shook her head, the tips of her ears red as she muttered something under her breath.

You laughed again, softer this time, but it came out more breath than sound.

Your smile faltered. The warmth in your chest turned heavy.

You blinked, frowning suddenly, one hand pressing lightly to your ribs like you could calm it down. “Shit,” you mumbled. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

Ellie straightened immediately. “Hey—hey, okay, come on,” she said, slipping her arm around your waist before you could even stumble.

Ellie helped you up the stairs, her arm still steady around your waist, guiding you toward the hallway. You managed to make it halfway before the next wave hit—sharp and sudden.

You stopped, hand flying to your mouth, the other gripping the wall beside you.

Your head dropped forward, eyes squeezing shut. The air felt heavy, like it was pressing down on your shoulders.

Ellie hovered beside you, silent but present, her hand resting lightly on your back.

After a moment, the feeling passed—mostly.

You let out a long breath and straightened slowly, leaning back against the wall, the cool paint grounding you.

“I’m fine,” you said quietly, not meeting her eyes at first.

Ellie moved to stand against the opposite wall, arms loosely crossed, watching you. “You sure?”

You gave a soft smile, rolling your eyes a little as you finally looked up at her. “Yeah. I’m not that gone.”

Ellie didn’t respond, just watching you, her face unreadable in the low purple hallway light.

Downstairs, Latch still playing, the bass just a faint thrum beneath your feet now. Like memory. Like déjà vu.

You stared at Ellie for a second, something tugging at the edge of your chest. The light from the stairwell tinted her skin, softened the space between you.

“Do you wanna know something?” you asked suddenly, voice low.

Ellie raised her eyebrows, tilting her head slightly—wary now, remembering what you said earlier, unsure whether to shake her head or nod.

“I kissed a girl before,” you said, your gaze unfocused, drifting just past her shoulder. “To this exact song.”

You breathed out a laugh that didn’t feel like one. “We were fifteen. At this party thing, kind of like this. She pulled me outside and kissed me when this came on.”

You looked at her now. “She was my first.”

And hopefully not the last.

Your mind drifted, landing somewhere familiar.

On E.

The girl who got to know every version of you without ever seeing you in person. The one you told things you hadn’t even said out loud before. Who asked questions gently. Who stayed up late just to talk.

The girl who felt safe. Soft in a way that wasn’t just flirting—it was understanding.

You swallowed, pulse fluttering.

You didn’t say any of that. You just leaned your head back against the wall, the music humming through your ribs.

Your eyes settled on Ellie.

She stood right there in front of you, her brows drawn just slightly like she was trying to read you. Lit by dim hallway light and a song that had already carved itself into your memory once.

She looked worried. Not just in a you might throw up on me kind of way, but something quieter. Like she knew something you didn’t.

Like she was watching you chase a thought she’d already caught.

And maybe that was what made her feel so real in that moment.

And maybe the closest you’d ever get to having E at all.

That thought alone was enough to make your head spin.

The music thrummed through the floorboards. Your body remembered this song the way your heart remembered E’s messages. The softness. The teasing. The way she made you feel like she knew you, even through a screen.

You swallowed hard.

Because you remembered what Ellie said at the library that day, too.

The way Ellie’s voice cut through your thoughts so casually.

Your stomach turned. Not in a bad way. In that horribly fluttery way. The way it had back then, when your brain had first started making connections it had no business making.

E. Ellie.

The timing.

The sarcasm.

The way she said it—too smooth, like she knew what she was doing.

And you’d told yourself it was ridiculous.

But then… wasn’t that exactly how E flirted? Smooth. Confident in a way that snuck up on you. The kind of teasing that made your knees weak and your mouth dry.

You remembered thinking, That’s not Ellie. Ellie’s not like that.

But now… standing here, drunk and warm and wrecked under the pressure of her gaze, you weren’t so sure anymore.

Because maybe you didn’t know Ellie like you thought you did.

And maybe that was the problem.

You didn’t know if it was the alcohol, the song, or just the way Ellie was looking at you right now, like she already knew what you were about to say.

Your pulse picked up.

Somewhere beyond the walls, the music swelled again. Clearer now, and louder. Like the whole house was leaning in too.

I feel we're close enough…

You blinked, heart thudding. Ellie hadn’t moved. She was still watching you.

I wanna lock in your love..

Your lips parted, the air too thick and warm. Your hands twitched where they hung at your sides.

I think we're close enough…

The words echoed through the hallway, slow and sticky, wrapping around you like heat.

Could I lock in your love, baby…

“I think…” you swallowed, voice soft, barely audible above the throb of bass, “I think I wanna do it again.”

Ellie didn’t say anything. Her expression didn’t even shift. She just looked at you. And for a second, the space between you buzzed with something you couldn’t name.

Now I've got you in my space…

You leaned in.

I won’t let go of you…

No plan. No thinking. Just instinct, and warmth, and that stupid song crashing in your chest.

Your lips pressed to hers, quick, uncertain, too drunk to be graceful but not drunk enough to pretend you didn’t mean it.

_

You woke up with a pounding headache.

The room was familiar—sunlight spilling through pale curtains, soft and quiet. You’d been here before.

You shifted, the sheets cool against your skin—bare skin.

Your eyes shot open.

You were naked under the covers.

Your heart kicked up. You turned your head slowly.

You were in Ellie’s room.

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—Hot Line (firefighter sevika x reader)

previous - chapter four (last one)

synopsis: You’re fast asleep in your comfy little apartment, when the building fire alarm rips you from slumber like a personal attack. Groggy, annoyed, and barefoot, you stumble outside with the rest of your neighbors, expecting a false alarm and nothing more

What you don’t expect? A real fire. And an even realer firefighter—tall, broad-shouldered, absolutely gorgeous, and of course it’s her you choose to ask if you can go back to your home safe.

words: (masterlist)

cw: time lapse, girls making out, slow morning, grumpy and sleep deprived sevika, we’re going to horny jail, those two too, last chapter

The door clicks shut around 3:12AM.

Sevika doesn’t bother turning on a light—she knows where everything is by now. Her boots land by the wall with a dull thud, jacket tossed somewhere near the couch. Her prosthetic clinks lightly against the hardwood as she shrugs it off and sets it carefully on the stand.

It’s a dance she knows by heart now: unbuckle, unclip, unlace, breathe out.

The city outside is dead quiet. She’s dead on her feet.

Her shirt peels off, forgotten. Jeans half-kicked, half-dropped in the hallway. She doesn’t even think about finding a clean tee or brushing her hair. She’s just in a pair of clean boxers when she reaches the bed, the kind of tired that makes everything go soft around the edges.

You’re already asleep.

Curled on your side, one hand under the pillow, breathing slow and steady. The covers are bunched at your hips.

Sevika doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t have to.

She slides into bed with the same ease she used to slide into bunk cots, only this time—this time there’s warmth. Skin.

Home.

She throws her arm across your waist, nose buried at the back of your neck. One leg thrown heavy over yours, like instinct. Like ownership.

You stir, soft and blurry with sleep. But you don’t wake—just make a tiny noise and lean back into her, familiar and easy, like this is routine.

And Sevika?

She passes out in seconds, breathing steady into the crook of your neck, heartbeat finally slowing.

Around 8AM, soft light seeps through the half-closed curtains, casting a glow across the sheets. The bed is warm, heavy with limbs tangled under the covers and the scent of sleep and skin.

You stir first. Slowly, gently—your body shifts under the weight of hers, trying not to wake her but needing to reach the edge of the bed.

You barely make it halfway before Sevika growls low against your neck.

“What’re you doing,” she mumbles, her voice rough like gravel, still thick with sleep and buried somewhere between your shoulder and the pillow.

You smile, whispering into the air, “I have to get up… I gotta go to work.”

Sevika doesn’t even lift her head. She just tightens her arm around your waist like a vice, her breath warm and slow on your skin. Her leg hooks tighter around yours.

“No,” she mutters flatly, with more attitude this time. Just—no.

She sounds genuinely offended.

You laugh softly, trying to wriggle out from under her arm, but it’s like trying to lift a truck with your back. She groans louder and buries her face deeper into your neck like she’s going to physically stop time with sheer willpower and stubbornness.

You don’t fight her grip. Not really. You sigh with a soft huff through your nose and settle back into her, letting her lean all her weight against your back, the warmth of her skin and the steady thump of her heartbeat anchoring you right there.

“I’m only working the morning shift,” you murmur, lips brushing her temple. “I’ll be back before you’re even awake.”

Sevika doesn’t answer right away—just groans like the injustice of it physically pains her. She nuzzles into the pillow, then turns her back to you completely, dragging half the blanket and every goddamn cushion with her. She burries herself under them with the dramatic flair of someone who just lost everything.

You blink. She grumbles, voice muffled by layers of softness and sleep.

“For once in my life I get to sleep in—and my damn girlfriend’s not even with me,” she says, tragically, like you’re abandoning her in the trenches.

You bite back a laugh, eyes wide, jaw tight trying not to grin too hard. “You’re unbelievable.”

No response.

“So dramatic.”

Still nothing—just her broad back, the rise and fall of it, and the pouty silence of a woman wronged.

You sigh again, smiling now, and lean forward to wrap your arms around her from behind, your chest pressed to her spine as you curl around her.

“Okay, okay,” you whisper, kissing the back of her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m a terrible girlfriend. Forgive me?”

She doesn’t answer. But her hand reaches down to catch yours under the covers, her fingers threading with yours, warm and slow.

You already know she’s forgiven you. Even if she’ll keep sulking for a little longer.

You’re moving around the room softly, towel-drying your hair and slipping into your clothes like a quiet morning ritual. You’ve already had breakfast, brushed your teeth, taken a long shower that made you think about Sevika’s mouth on your skin the entire time—and yet she hasn’t said a single word since you got out. Not a single one.

But she’s awake.

You feel her eyes on you before you turn. Still buried under the covers, head propped against a pillow like she’s barely alive, eyes half-lidded and heavy with sleep, but open. Watching. Tracking the curve of your waist as you slide your shirt down. The quiet intimacy of it makes your stomach flip.

“Come here,” she mumbles finally, her voice wrecked and warm and low in a way that has no business sounding that good first thing in the morning.

You glance at the clock. You should be leaving soon. You really should.

But instead, you walk over.

She pulls the blanket down just enough for you to climb over her, and you straddle her lap easily, knees sinking into the messy sheets. She’s still under the covers, bare-chested, messy-haired, one eye barely open and the other lazily blinking like she’s debating between kissing you or falling asleep again.

Her hand finds your hip under your shirt—just rests there, rough fingers curling softly like it’s instinct. You’re warm from your shower, still slightly damp, and she hums when you lean down and kiss the corner of her mouth. She doesn’t chase your lips—just exhales against your cheek like this is enough. You being here. On her. Close.

The bedroom is dim, sleepy, with the curtains pulled just enough to let the soft morning light touch the edges of the room—enough to see where your socks landed, or where Sevika’s bra gave up last night. A cluttered mess of comfort and chaos, and still, somehow, it feels like the safest place you’ve ever been.

“Thought you were mad at me,” you tease, your voice soft against her temple.

“I am,” she mutters, closing her eyes again. “You smell like shampoo and productivity.”

You laugh, she doesn’t. But her thumb strokes your waist slow, lazy, half-asleep but present. Her way of saying stay even if she won’t say it out loud.

You’re still giggling quietly against her face when her fingers tug lightly at your shirt collar.

“Come back here.”

It’s not a question. Not a demand, either—just that rough, sleep-laced tone of hers that leaves no room for arguing, even when she can barely keep her eyes open.

You lean down, chest brushing hers through the covers, and she meets you halfway. Mouth slow and warm, a little dry from sleep, but real. She kisses like she’s been craving it since you stepped out of bed—tongue lazy, mouth soft, no rush, just having you for these few minutes.

You hum against her lips, and she swallows it like a secret.

Her fingers are still fisted in your collar, like if she lets go, the morning will start and you’ll be gone. Her hand on your hip tightens when you shift closer, grinding just a little, enough to feel her sigh and tilt her head deeper into the kiss.

It’s slow. Gentle. Addicting.

You’ve kissed before—last night, and nights before that—but there’s something in this one that feels different. Like she’s letting herself take. Just for now.

Her mouth moves against yours in quiet rhythm, one kiss melting into the next, and the next, until five whole minutes blur into warmth and breath and sleep-hazy desire. She should be asleep. Her eye bags are criminal, the dark smudges under them almost purple in the soft light—but she’s kissing you like you’re the only thing keeping her alive.

When you finally pull back, just barely, she keeps her grip on your shirt. Doesn’t open her eyes.

You whisper, “You need to sleep.”

She murmurs, low, “if you care so much about me, then stay in bed.”

You kiss her one more time, softer now, like a promise more than anything else. And just when you’re about to pull back and finally start your day, you murmur against her lips:

“But if I’m not going to work, and you’re staying here to sleep… then who’s gonna take Rusty back home?”

Sevika lets her head fall back into the pillow with a dramatic groan. “Do not put our son into this.”

You try to bite back a laugh, your smile too wide to hide.

She’s not even pretending to argue after that. Just lets her grip on your shirt slip away, her hand dragging down your side, heavy with sleep again. She grumbles something under her breath that might be “traitor,” but doesn’t fight it when you finally slip off her lap.

You tug on your pants, throw your shirt back into place, and lean in one last time, brushing the mess of her hair off her temple before pressing your lips there.

“Sleep, Sev.”

A grunt. Which you take as a yes.

And when you head out the door, the apartment is quiet—except for the soft huff of Sevika already passed out again, surrounded by pillows and your warmth lingering with her.

Around 12AM just like you promised, you unlock the door with one hand and gently hold Rusty’s leash with the other, bracing yourself for the tiny chaos about to unfold.

The second the door creaks open, Rusty’s tail starts wagging like crazy, nails clicking against the floor in rapid little scrapes. He knows he’s home. You bend down to unclip the leash but keep a firm hand on his collar, murmuring, “Wait. You’ll see her in a second, just—calm your butt.”

He gives a soft, excited bark, whole body vibrating, but he listens—barely. You smile, brushing your fingers behind his ears.

Once he’s slightly more composed, you release him, and he bolts down the hallway, paws skidding just a bit on the wooden floor as he races toward the bedroom. You don’t even need to follow to know exactly what’s happening.

A dull thump, the rustle of sheets, and then Sevika’s voice, hoarse and warm from sleep: “…Damn it, Rusty.”

You poke your head in a few seconds later, already grinning.

She’s still mostly buried in the covers, hair a complete mess, eyes only half open, and somehow, your giant baby Rottweiler has managed to nestle himself across her chest and stomach like he belongs there. Sevika doesn’t even look annoyed. Her only heavy arm wraps around Rusty’s barrel chest as she sighs like this is just part of life now.

Rusty lets out a low, happy huff, tongue lolling out, and Sevika scratches lazily behind his ear without even opening both eyes. “He smells like meds.”

“He just spent the night at the clinic, babe,” you remind her, stepping inside and toeing your shoes off.

She hums in acknowledgment, still sleepy, her voice deep and soft against the pillows. “He better not pee on me.”

“He won’t,” you say, though you’re already holding back a laugh. “He missed you.”

Sevika shifts slightly, letting Rusty stretch out more across her ribs. “Yeah, well. I missed him too.”

And she means it. You can hear it in her voice—even if she’s half-asleep and buried under eighty pounds of overexcited young dog.

She’s bad at expressing feelings, she would probably never tell you she missed you, but her son? ‘It’s not the same, he’s a dog.’

You don’t mind it, not at all.

You lean against the doorway for a moment, watching the two of them settle. Sevika, your insufferable, exhausted girlfriend. Rusty, your overly dramatic, needy son. And this…this was your home.

It doesn’t get much better than this.

The apartment is quiet when Sevika wakes up, early evening sun cutting through the half-closed curtains. Rusty’s heavy head is resting over her calves, his entire body curled behind her like some oversized, breathing heating pad. He lets out a sleepy snort when she shifts, blinking blearily at her, and follows her groggily when she slides out of bed.

Her steps are slow, dragging just a little as she moves through the familiar clutter of their home. She doesn’t bother putting on a shirt—just grabs her prosthetic and snaps it into place with practiced ease, rolling her shoulder once to adjust the weight.

Rusty’s nails tap behind her as she pads toward the kitchen.

You’re already there.

Sitting at the small table in your favorite shirt—hers, actually—with your laptop open and music playing low on the speaker. Some mellow song she doesn’t recognize, but it matches the morning. Calm. Easy. You’re focused, typing something with your lip tucked between your teeth, and your coffee’s long gone cold beside you.

Sevika leans down and wraps her arms around your shoulders from behind, chin brushing over the top of your head as she exhales through her nose.

You smile, not startled in the slightest. “Hi sleeping beauty.”

“Hi,” she mumbles back, her voice still rough and low. Then, against your temple: “So… Wanna do something extraordinary for our anniversary tomorrow? Took my day off before you could blame me for being a terrible person.”

You hum, slow and thoughtful like you’re actually considering wild options, then glance at her over your shoulder with a smirk. “Pizza and beer?”

Sevika groans like you’ve just said the most seductive thing in the world, burying her face in the side of your neck. “Fuck. You know how to talk to me.”

You laugh softly and reach up to hold her arm draped across your chest, warm and solid and still a little sleepy.

Behind you both, Rusty lets out another deep sigh and flops dramatically onto the floor, claiming his spot in the sun.

Your second anniversary doesn’t start with anything fancy. It’s not your thing.

Just takeout pizza, cold beer, the soft glow of the TV, and a makeshift nest of cushions and blankets spread across the floor of your living room. You’re both sitting against the couch, legs stretched out and toes grazing, your Rottweiler snoring softly between you with his big head in your lap.

It’s late.

You’re both tipsy—just a little. Sevika doesn’t get drunk easily, not really, but you’ve learned that she gets a certain kind of warm when she drinks with you. Looser in the shoulders. Quicker to laugh. The kind of quiet that comes with comfort, not caution.

You’re halfway through some series you’ve both been watching without paying that much attention when Sevika shifts, sets her half-finished beer on the coffee table, and leans her head back against the couch. Her arm brushes yours.

She exhales, then glances at you sideways. Her voice is low. “Hypothetically…”

You look at her, pizza crust in hand. “Yeah?”

“If I asked you to marry me with pizza and a beer, you wouldn’t be offended, would you ?”

There’s a beat.

Then your laugh bursts out—bright, surprised, loud in the small apartment. Pure joy.

You almost choke on your crust.

“What—? No! No, I wouldn’t be offended, are you kidding me?”

Sevika tries not to smile too wide, but she fails. Her eyes drop to the floor like she’s embarrassed, but the smile’s there anyway, stubborn and real. She picks at the label on her bottle.

You turn toward her, still laughing softly, setting your own beer down. “Was that a hypothetical hypothetical or, like… hypothetical for real?”

Sevika shrugs one shoulder, but her eyes find yours again and she doesn’t look away. “Dunno. Just… thinkin’.”

You lean over, brush your lips against her cheek, then her mouth. Slow. Soft. Familiar.

“Then think faster,” you whisper. “’Cause I’m saying yes.”

Rusty lets out a groan between you two and flops onto his back like he’s been personally wronged by all this affection.

Sevika laughs into your mouth.

And you kiss her again, still sitting on the floor, with beer breath and greasy fingers and the feeling of a whole life stretching out ahead of you.

Just like that. Easy. Extraordinary.

You’re still smiling when Sevika pulls back just enough to look at you.

Her fingers rest warm on your thigh, and there’s something in her eyes—soft, slow, a little unsure, but there. She tips her head toward you with a tiny, crooked smirk.

“So…” she says, dragging the word out. “Do I actually have to ask?”

You bite your lip, eyes gleaming, and hum thoughtfully like you’re considering it.

“I’d love you to,” you say, lifting a brow, playful. “But no need.”

She groans, dramatic and low in her throat. “Fuckin’ knew it.”

You just grin at her, and then—without ceremony, without moving—you watch her shift onto her side a little, elbow on the floor, leaning in closer.

Her free hand reaches out for yours, and yeah, it’s greasy with leftover pizza oil, and the dog is still between you like a stone slab in the bed of romance, but her voice is steady when she says it.

“Alright,” she mutters. “Then I’m asking. Will you marry me?”

You blink once, and then your face splits into another loud, shocked laugh—again. You throw your head back like you can’t believe she actually did it.

“Like that?!” you wheeze. “With cheese on your fingers, Sev?”

She shrugs like that’s a you problem. “We’re already halfway through the damn pizza, might as well make it official.”

You wipe your hands on your sweatpants before crawling closer and grabbing her face, your nose brushing hers. Still grinning. Still laughing. You kiss her, mouths still smiling.

“God,” you say between kisses, “I love you so bad it’s disgusting.”

Sevika groans again, but this time it’s into your mouth. “You’re the gross one.”

“You asked me to marry you mid-bite.”

“You said yes.”

You knock your forehead against hers, both of you laughing now, your dog snoring beside you like nothing happened. And when you kiss her again, it’s a little deeper. A little slower. Still smiling.

Because it’s not perfect. It’s not polished. It’s not planned.

It’s you. It’s her. It’s this life you’ve made—messy, loud, full of crumbs and arguments about laundry and silent, sleepy mornings and one very spoiled dog.

You’re still grinning when you pull back, sitting cross-legged in front of her, hands still tangled together, your whole face flushed from laughing. Sevika’s looking at you like she’s got plans now—long, slow-burning plans that definitely don’t involve finishing the pizza.

Then her eyes dart to Rusty, who’s curled up like a massive loaf between the two of you, halfway dozing with his nose on his paw.

Sevika jerks her chin toward the hallway.

“C’mon,” she mutters, already getting to her feet and tugging your hand with her. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

You blink. “Now?”

She deadpans, “Yeah. And lock the door.”

You arch a brow, smirking. “Lock the door?”

Sevika points at Rusty with the gravest expression she’s ever worn. “He doesn’t need to see that.”

You lose it—laughing so hard your knees buckle a little, and Sevika just pulls you in closer with a smug little grin tugging at her mouth.

And you let her drag you away, pizza forgotten, beer still open, your oversized Rottweiler sighing dramatically as he’s abandoned in the living room.

Because yeah, you’re getting married.

But first?

You’re gonna make out like teenagers and make love behind a locked bedroom door. Because Sevika’s got ideas, and Rusty’s baby eyes don’t need to see that.

End of Hot Line, firefighter!sevika ! Thank you so much for all the support, thank you for reading my lesbian-helpless-romantic-stupid fics, thank you for being here, thank you for letting me know what you feel when I write and how good you feel with my work. I love you guys, thank you.

dividers: @/cursed-carmine

taglist of all my angels: @blessupblessup @sevikasswifee @swordfemm4 @possessedmagpie @teresa06sa @room-722 @ggutpunch @dinaxia @sevikasrighttit @lovelykittywitty @thesevi0lentdelights @htinha157 @sevikaswinkinghole @amri0ram @arteemm @ferxanda @w31rd-0n3 @sevikas-whore @losernb @izzy-sevika @nomoredying @sevikaspet @strawberrylipglossx @pinkking222 @veoomvroom @vkumi @amberrrrgerr @mistershotz @lipglosskxsses @undercoverdesire @thalchmy @cosmichymns @sageama @andyslovingwife @svggpy @vxtanne31 @riotstemple29 @theangelwaltz @normal-human-girl

[h2pinky]

(sevika art- creds to @kikikukagay on X)

🌾cowboy! sevika x housewife! reader headcanons.

•You two live in a beautiful, slightly weathered but well-loved ranch house nestled in the rolling hills of Montana, surrounded by golden fields and a forest not too far off.

•The house smells like cedarwood, cinnamon and fresh bread—a blend of Sevika’s cologne and your baking.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆sevika:

•She gets up early to tend to the horses, chop firewood, and check the fencing, always with a flannel thrown over her shoulder and a mug of your coffee in hand.

•Rides bareback like it’s second nature, tips her hat at you every morning like she’s still courting you even after years of marriage.

•Her prosthetic arm is all scratched up and dusty from ranch work, but you still kiss it like it’s made of gold.

•Sevika is quiet love, grounding love. She holds your waist when you stir soup. She builds you a bench swing by hand and stains it the color of your eyes.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆you:

•You wear vintage aprons and soft dresses that Sevika can’t help but slide her hand over when she passes by.

•You’ve turned the ranch house into a warm, sunlit dream, with handmade quilts, shelves of books, vases of wildflowers and cinnamon rolls always baking.

•You pack Sevika’s lunch every morning even if she teases you—she secretly treasures the little notes you tuck in.

•You run the house like a gentle queen: baking, gardening, waiting for your cowboy to come home with her dusty boots and soft smirk.

•You’re expressive, soft, the warmth to her silence. You remind her to drink water, wrap her scarf, kiss her before she leaves.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆domestic moments:

•You two take long slow walks through your property in the golden hour, hand-in-hand, listening to the grasshoppers and wind.

•She teaches you to ride—well, tries. You fall off once and she refuses to let you ride again unless she’s behind you, arms around your waist, guiding the reins.

•Stormy nights mean blankets, tea, and a sleepy Sevika wrapped around you.

•You host Sunday dinners for the small local community—Sevika carves the roast while you serve pie, and everyone jokes about how "whipped" she is for you.

•You dance barefoot in the kitchen while Sevika hums and watches from the doorway, arms crossed, pretending she’s not getting emotional.

•She sleeps like a log, arm always flung over your hip. You sleep best with your head on her chest, listening to her steady heartbeat.

•When insomnia hits you, she’ll take you out to the porch and wrap you in a blanket, letting you rest in her lap while she hums a low country song.

•She still calls you "darlin’" like it’s your real name.

•You wear her old flannel shirts like dresses. She acts possessive every time.