Me Writing Down How

Happy lesbian week

untouchable famous!reader who has a pristine reputation and is known for being “hard to get” (more like hard to earn) x famous character who somehow manages to charm you. except, when he’s trying to take you back to his mansion, he’s kind of drunk and convinces you to play driver and to just take his sports car and he’ll give u the directions. he fails to tell you that his sports car is a stick shift. you’ve never driven a manual car before.

so here you are, in a cute dress and high heels, learning how to drive stick in an expensive car, at night, and your driving instructor is drunk. then he has the nerve to FORGET WHERE HE LIVES, so you end up taking him back to your place. whatever. the night is still somewhat salvageable. not only do you have to haul his large body inside, he still wants to get freaky with you. too bad he’s clumsy and overexcited and his zipper gets caught on the fabric of his boxers. fantastic. mood = officially killed. when you go to the bathroom to freshen up and return to kick him out, he’s already passed out on your bed. as annoyed as you are with him, he’s kind of cute when he’s sleeping so you leave him be. the next morning, he wakes up and is like “did we have sex?”

you roll your eyes, tossing him a disposable toothbrush. he follows you to the bathroom and is presumably gonna start brushing his teeth right next to you, which is oddly domestic.

idk, just something abt reader being the stoic, unreadable one and character being the bumbling lovable idiot who keeps trying to make it up to you and hilariously fails every time but you find him endearing so you continue to let him “bother” you!!!!

Sevika when she’s having a bad day.

⋮ ⌗ ┆BUT IT'S WARMER IN YOUR ARMS ּ ֶָ֢.

Happy ones tonight 'Cause it's warm ('cause it's warm) In your arms

The door shuts softly behind her.

No slamming. No grumbling. Just the soft click of tiredness. You hear the sound of her boots being kicked off, the low groan as she shrugs off her coat, and then her footsteps—heavy, slow—moving toward you like gravity is tugging at her bones.

You’re curled up on the couch with an old book of recipes that once belonged to your mom in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. It’s warm, gentle, quiet.

Until she drops onto you like a boulder. All strength and sighs and the kind of exhaustion only Sevika knows how to carry.

You set the book aside without a word. Your tea too. Her head finds its way to your chest, resting right in the middle like it belongs there—because it does. You feel her breathing, steadying against you.

Your fingers slip into her hair, slow and gentle, nails scraping softly against her scalp. She melts under your touch, that hardened tension she carries everywhere uncoiling piece by piece.

Nothing needs to be said. You know she’ll tell you later, maybe. Or maybe not. Some days, she just needs this—your skin, your heartbeat, your hands in her hair.

Eventually, with a kiss to her forehead and a promise of warmth, you nudge her toward the bathroom. The bath is already ready—steam curling in the air, water just how she likes it. She presses a kiss to your cheek before disappearing inside, stripped down to just skin and weariness.

While she bathes, you warm up the food you saved her. It’s simple, hearty. You plate it carefully, setting it on the table just in time for her to emerge—clean, warm, her hair still damp and around her face.

She eats fast. Not like she’s starving, but like she’s eager. Like every bite gets her one second closer to being back in your arms. You watch her with a small smile, heart quietly blooming. And once the plate is cleared, she returns to you.

Curling up on the couch with you again, her arm thrown over your waist, her face tucked in close. She exhales. This time it’s not weary. It’s peaceful.

You press your lips to her temple, and she hums low in her throat. Content.

No words needed. Just the warmth of home, Just the quiet love you hold her with.

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