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vikashoneybee · 23 hours ago

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Sevika Jain: contemporary au headcanons

contemp!sevika who grew up in a cramped apartment in jackson heights, queens, who remembers the hindi songs playing on the radio, the worn leather seats of her father’s old car, the corners with small restaurants that served the best indian food, the hip-hop blasting from around the block, the jingle of the icee man's cart in the public park, the air conditioned library that was too quiet and was her favorite place in the world for that reason, her relatives flocking in the kitchen talking over each other as the smell of dal makhani wafts through the rooms

contemp!sevika who remembers the close knit community of little india, following her mother around the markets on 74th street for a new lehenga to wear to her cousin’s wedding, biting back the urge to ask her mother if she couldn’t wear a sherwani instead, because she can feel her mother’s stress at trying to find something affordable and respectable already

contemp!sevika who grew up speaking seven indian dialects but lost her mother tongue gradually as public school taught her to be ashamed of her accent, but feels the lost language like a missing part of her soul as she grows older and tries to relearn it

contemp!sevika who knew her parents would always adore her younger brother more than her, whom she adored and protected fiercely as well, but would feel the unequal love like a wound that never closed

contemp!sevika who used to pray every night that god would turn her into a boy, because she felt that if she were born a boy maybe her parents would love her more, maybe she would be able to be more helpful and get a real job, maybe the world would forgive her for the way she was built

contemp!sevika who remembers the pressure of money problems that hung over the household like a cloud and deepened the wrinkles in her parents’ faces, who felt constantly guilty for her existence as a result

contemp!sevika who grew up too quickly and was always the silent tall girl in her class, the girl with an accent and an awkward walk, the girl who got into fights and didn’t listen to the teachers, the girl who always seemed to fall behind no matter how hard she tried to please

contemp!sevika who remembers the sting of her father’s palm after he discovered she was going around with a girl in her high school, his rapid fire words telling her that he and her mother did not bring her into this country for her to mix with the social outcasts

contemp!sevika who continued to date girls, who dropped out of high school and left home at seventeen to work for her uncle’s car repair shop, who never showed it but mourned the estrangement from her little brother (who excelled in school and was the son she always wished she could be)

contemp!sevika who returned home and enrolled in community college and tried again to bend herself into the mold her parents had made for her, who felt in the back of her mind that she had failed them, but gradually had to accept that she would never live up to their standards

contemp!sevika who never heard her father say the words “i love you”, or her mother saying the words “i’m proud of you”, but remembers the way her father would stand in the doorway watching over her when she was sick, the way her mother would always leave a plate of panipuri for her when she got back from school

contemp!sevika who found solace in the circles of friends in college, who graduated and went on to engineering school, who would always think of her father with equal parts love and rage, who would always feel off, like she didn’t quite belong anywhere

contemp!sevika who will soon grow into herself, who will stay in her beloved city and never forget where she came from, who she used to be—the oldest daughter of indian immigrants, the student who never felt like she was enough, the woman who raged against the system, the tall angry quiet girl from queens.

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vikashoneybee · 23 hours ago

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LET ME RUN INTO THIS LOVE (SEVIKA X READER).

"You what?" "I want you. Badly. Stupidly."

contains: slight nsft content/lots of suggestive content, minors + ageless blogs dni, reader has false nails, sevika calls reader "girl," slight bickering/angst, lots of fluff

credits: idea is from the lovely anon who sent this ask back when I was doing my little activity in celebration of a follower milestone. thank you so so much for the request angel I love it to pieces. title is from the song patient by rache.

divider by: @/ianrkives

"It's not that I don't want to," Sevika groans, fingers pressing into her temple. "It's just—"

"Too much," you lament, the edge of your voice melted into a high-pitched whine. "Too much of a commitment?"

"Hey, stop that," she immediately cuts in, shooting you a narrowed stare. "You know I'm committed to you, okay? I wouldn't be doing this otherwise."

"What is that supposed to mean?" you ask, propping yourself onto your elbow and peering down at her with a glare.

You know it's probably not fair to be so back and forth in your emotions with her, swinging like pendulum, your mind never dipped into one place for more than a few seconds before emerging out in a flurry of droplets. But, you can't help it. This is your first kiss. And there's nothing wrong with that, you know there isn't — after all, if you were a stranger witnessing someone else in this predicament, you'd be filled with slow back rubs and soft assurances that all is okay. But, it weighs on your mind that you're sharing this with Sevika, who, as any lesbian within a thirty mile radius is well-aware of, is more than experienced in the area of physical intimacy.

It's not even about how good or bad you'll be at it, but rather what she thinks of the ordeal. You don't want it to be a chore, nor something she proceeds in with a doubtful or obligatory mindset. And with how wary she seems, you can't help but feel that her heart isn't fully in it. At least not in the way yours is.

And you want, you ache, for her heart to be fully submerged into this moment, flooded with the trust and faith you're storing in her. Problem is, it's this act of openness and vulnerability that seems to be gnawing at her the most.

"You know me, okay? I don't get with virgins, there's too much teaching involved. So, me doing this with you actually means something, okay?"

"Well, thanks for deigning this poor virgin with a chance," you huff, your chest aching with the sting of her words. Maybe it should be flattering that she likes you enough to actually take on the role of a teacher, but that's exactly where it stabs you. You don't want her to drape on some kind of tired role with nothing but her feelings for you keeping it intact. You want her to wholeheartedly step into the armor of a lover, ready to take care of you and experience touch with you. After all, she's captured your heart and has squeezed onto it without relent since the moment you two met, milking out more and more affection and passion than you ever thought yourself capable of. For her, you'd happily be the devoted lady who awaits her knight to return home, you'd care for her and mend every wound she's ever borne, physical or otherwise, without even a tremor of hesitation.

She rolls her eyes. "Now you're twisting it. I just avoid that kind of responsibility, alright? It's not that deep."

"But, I want it to be deep!" you cry out, flinging onto your back and curling into yourself, the material of her hoodie folding against your skin. "Like, it's my first kiss. But, you just seem like it's a chore or something."

"It's not, but it's your first kiss. That puts some unnecessary pressure on me, you know. To do it right, to make sure it's good for you."

"As long as you do it earnestly, it will be good for me," you mumble, eyes snapping to her wall, burning in irritation. "And instead, you could just focus on how… special it's going to be."

The word "special" comes out in a half-whimper, the two syllables wounded and soft like a small animal tucking itself protectively at the roots of a tree. And that's how you feel right now. You know how she struggles to profess her emotions, and go beyond actions to showcase her liking of you. But, in moments like these, you can't bear to do the heavy lifting. You need her to be honest too. You need her to allow herself to be more tender.

She heaves a deep sigh, and despite her razor-sharp glare piercing through the side of your head, you will yourself to continue staring at her wall.

"You can stop with the pouting, alright? I'm not saying it won't be… special, or whatever."

You continue looking away, crossing your arms petulantly over your chest.

She snickers. "Seriously? For someone who literally penned it in for today, you suddenly seem very underwhelmed."

Your jaw clenches, trying not to give into her goading.

"Do you not want to do it anymore, hm? Should we just cut the date shor—"

"See, if you took it seriously, you wouldn't joke," you snap, shuffling into a seated position before pushing yourself to the foot of her bed. You both know you have no intention to actually leave, but well — the point still has to be made.

Immediately, her arm is winding about your waist, and she's tugging you unceremoniously back onto the bed, your entire body flopping like a rag doll.

You let out a shriek as your head pummels into the pillow, her strong hands on your waist coaxing you onto your back, grey eyes honed in on you, bright and lit from within.

"I am taking it seriously," she asserts lowly, the husky timbre of her voice making pleasure stream down your spine. "If I wasn't, I wouldn't be this nervous about fucking it up for you."

Your stomach spins into knots at her words, said with the firm weight she only reserves for the purest of truths. But, still, there remains an underbelly of hurt, her earlier words, tactless and said in her usual gruff manner, lingering in your mind.

She seems to sense it, her face lowering, hovering above yours. "Talk to me."

Immediately, your thighs press together, skin flaring up under her intense stare. "I— it's just, you could've been nicer. The way you talk about it makes it sound like you're just doing me some favour. I know I'm the exception to your usual rules, yeah, but you're focusing more on things going wrong than on how good it can be. Makes me feel like it's all a drag to you."

Her lips purse together, gaze wandering over your face. After a moment, a sharp breath zaps from her nostrils and she mutters, "Fine. You're right. I was focusing more on my own concerns than on you."

"Yeah," you scoff.

"You're getting the apology and still this stubborn?"

"Technically, you didn't apologize."

The corner of her mouth twitches. "Smart girl."

Her face inches closer to yours, nose brushing your cheek. "Want me to make it up to you?"

Much to your humiliation, your hips immediately buck up.

She laughs softly, nuzzling into you. "Damn, this actually will be fun."

"Sevika," you whisper, eyebrows scrunched in newfound annoyance, clouding away your initial arousal.

Her head tips up, hair hanging in her lovely eyes. She licks her lips thoughtfully.

"You know… You know how much I like you. A lot. I don't mean it in an asshole way when I say I'm making an exception for you. I know it sounds like that, yeah. But, I really just mean that, you know, I—"

"You what?"

"I want you. Badly. Stupidly."

You swallow, the affect of her words almost nauseating. In the most exciting, thrilling, lovesick way, like diving down the steep end of a rollercoaster. "And?"

"'And'? You need more?"

"I mean, do you want to kiss me?"

Her eyes flutter shut, lines embedding their way into her forehead. "Yeah."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. I'd want you just as bad even if hand-holding was foreign to you," she deadpans.

The confession ignites a burst of giggles from you. "Even if my palms were all clammy?"

"Gonna be stupid of me to admit, but yeah." Her lips widen into a longer, lazy sort of grin, soft at the edges. Not too revealing. "Think I'd make a hell of a lot of exceptions for you."

"Good," you whisper.

She huffs out an amused puff of air. "'Good.' You're cute."

You squirm at the words, still bashfully basking under her focus.

Her head tilts to the side, voice simmering to a shallow mumble. "Let me kiss you."

Nerves pounce into your stomach, guts seizing and clenching in all kinds of excitement, elation, shyness. Your hand rolls into a fist at your side, nails digging into your palm in order to ground yourself in the moment and not get too lost in the whirlwind of your feelings, the storm of her eyes.

"Okay."

Her eyebrows furrow. "You sure? We've got time."

"No, no," you rush to say, the idea of leaving this date without finally making your fantasies a reality seeming nothing short of complete heartache. "Please. I want it."

She pauses. "I'll miss you being this eager once it's done with," she says with a throaty laugh.

"I'm sure I'll continue to be."

The creases near her eyes soften out, her throat bobbing at she gulps. "Yeah." The word comes out rough, raspy, like sandpaper scraping against a plane of wood. "I'll probably be the same."

"Really? You're excited right now?"

Her fingers, laced with calluses and marks, snake under the edge of your — her — hoodie, skimming the curve of your hip. Goosebumps flutter over your skin and your body writhes from the fire her touch leaves. And they don't leave, even when her warm, steady body presses into you from above, the hard muscles weaving beneath her skin keeping you down, body sinking into the mattress.

"Yeah."

Her breath, warm and moist, fans over your already hot face, sending you steaming. The scent of her musky cologne, just barely hovering in the air, light as a breeze, brushes against your nose. It's delicious, something you want to lick off her skin and have soak into the crevices of your mouth. It's her, it's Sevika. The woman you'd be content to spend years drowning in the knowledge of, swimming deeper and deeper into the ends of discovering who she is, what made her into this fierce woman. This fierce woman whose tough beauty runs past her skin and molds itself into her veins, transforming her into someone whose roughness hits the expiration date as soon as she sees the twist of a mouth, the crumbling of a face when it comes to someone she loves.

Loves. You want so badly to be loved by her.

Right at the final second, she mutters, "It will be good, okay? Don't worry."

"I want it to be good for you too."

"Trust me, it will be."

"How do you know?"

She snorts. "You're so dense sometimes. Just trust me. I know."

And then, her lips softly push onto yours. Your eyes remain open for a second too long, and the sight of hers gently closing causes your mouth to split into a grin. A grin borne not just out of amusement, but pure happiness. Pure joy to experience something so new just with her. Something so private. Your first kiss. It'll forever be marked with the signature of Sevika, no matter how many years pass.

This new act, one you still feel so innocent and untouched by, will forever be stained with the scent of her sweat, the feeling of her rough skin.

To make up for your impromptu smile, hoping she doesn't think you're laughing at her, you edge your face closer to hers, pressing your lips back onto hers. It's a new sensation, softer than you expected, the plush of her lips cushioning yours in a way that's absent of force. Your mind circles the sensation, relishing in the comfort of her lips hugging around your bottom lip.

She pulls back, eyes hooded. "Feels nice?"

You nod, vision blearily taking her in as you lick your tingling lips.

Her eyes immediately flick to the movement.

And then, she begins to move, her mouth opening slowly before enclosing yours again. A quiet, barely-there, squelching noise arises from the movement, and you throb at it. You have to force your body still as her tongue joins the mix, dipping against the corner of your mouth, licking patiently. It causes the spot to tickle in an aching, subtle pleasure, the warm wetness of her tongue making your mouth slippery and messy.

"Okay?" she mumbles, the singular word moist with the saliva swapped.

Mind dizzy with the sensual conjoining of your mouths, lips, teeth, you utter a dazed consent before her mouth meets yours again. This time, she's less gentle with you, her hand cupping your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek as though she's easing you to open wider for her. And open you do, your mouth hanging pathetically, limp and willing as her tongue fully licks into you, running along your teeth before swiping against your own pink muscle.

That earlier tickling sensation returns with an intensity that's tenfold, and you whine into her mouth.

"Fuck, you're sweet," she groans in returns. Her hands wordlessly grab at the wrists laying by your head, encouraging you to wrap yourself around her.

You timidly grip her shoulders, fingertips pressing into the smooth muscle of them. You don't know what touch is too forward, too eager, too much.

A notion that gets tossed right out of your mind when she pulls back, her thumb prodding at your mouth as she murmurs, "Stick your tongue out."

When her lips wrap around the muscle, sloppily sucking, heat blazes through you, making your feet twist, toes curling inside your socks. Your hands move with a mind of their own, wandering down the expanse of her back, marveling at the rolling hills of reliable, impenetrable muscle.

When she nips playfully, your nails dig in. Hard.

"Jesus, fuck," she curses, jerking back from you. "What the fuck?"

"You bit me!" you protest.

She shifts from above you. "Yeah, well—"

"Well?"

"Wanted another noise from you."

Knowing she actually liked the little mewl you made, that it might've caused her as much arousal as you felt in that moment, has you biting back a self-satisfied smile.

"Shut up," she says, kissing you soundly again.

You dig your nails back into her back, moaning into the kiss as she flicks her tongue against yours again.

"Fuck, shouldn't have bought you those nails," she hisses through small, dripping kisses.

"You like them," you whisper back.

"Yeah, I do," she replies.

Her lips scatter kisses onto your neck, her nose skimming along your jaw as she licks a cool stripe of spit along a patch of skin before sucking at it. The mix of hot and cool, the stinging ache of her lips hooking onto your skin — it all makes your eyes roll back, arms clutching onto her for dear life.

"God, you're good," she rasps, grazing her teeth. "Taste so fucking nice."

"Please, just— can we—"

"Nope," she grunts out, even when her fingers squeeze into your hips.

"Sevi, c'mon—"

"No," she asserts again. "Gonna take my time with you."

The tip of her tongue swipes the spot behind your ear, and you laugh loudly, caught in a web of desire and relief that nulls any reservations and stubbornness you bore before.

When you pull away instinctively, she chuckles lowly. "No, no, get back here."

"I need a breather!"

"Your nose is there for a reason."

"Well, look who's so eager for more now—"

"I've been waiting months," she sighs, pinning your arms down with a strength that makes arousal shoot through you.

"I've been waiting for years," you scoff, the smile on your face unbreakable.

"So, let me make it up to you," she declares, skimming her teeth along your jaw.

You giggle. "Such a good samaritan."

You barely catch her last words, for they're tucked and layered beneath her breath, dangerously low.

But, you do, and they send your stomach plummeting.

"Yeah. Like I'm like this with anyone but you."

And then she descends upon you again, your body consumed with the scent of her cologne and the coolness of her piercing.

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