Arcane X Cuddle Bug! Reader

I was wondering if you could do something about Ambessa with a reader who is a high-ranking military officer (colonel, commander, general, captain, etc.) or someone very important. (I just need to know how she would behave towards an "equal") thank u sm! ♥

♡♥︎Unyielding Resolve♥︎♡

The war room was dimly lit, the faintest sliver of sunlight breaking through the dark curtains, casting muted shadows over the long, polished table where the world’s most powerful figures had gathered. Ambessa Medarda stood at the front, her regal stature towering above the rest. Her gaze was intense, as always, her sharp, amber eyes surveying each of the gathered commanders, diplomats, and soldiers, her voice commanding and clear as she presented her case.

“You must understand,” Ambessa’s voice cut through the murmur of debates, silencing the room instantly, “that our people cannot be left to suffer the consequences of your hesitations.”

You were no stranger to these kinds of meetings. A high-ranking military commander from the opposing faction, you had earned your place through years of fierce dedication, your loyalty unwavering, your skills honed to perfection. Your posture was rigid, your uniform impeccable, yet your eyes never wavered from Ambessa’s figure at the front of the room. There was an undeniable power about her—an edge that came from both the iron grip she held over her nation and the quiet, unspoken confidence that radiated from her every move. Her dark hair, tied neatly at the nape of her neck, contrasted with the intricate tattoos that danced along her neck and wrists, symbols of both power and sacrifice.

She was a force to be reckoned with.

But you were too.

“You seem to misunderstand the balance we’ve achieved,” you spoke, your voice calm but firm. “Your actions only tip the scale toward chaos. The people deserve peace, not your demands.”

Ambessa tilted her head, her lips curving into something between a smirk and a challenge. The amber of her eyes gleamed with something more—an admiration, perhaps, for your defiance. Your boldness was something she respected. It wasn’t often that someone stood so firmly against her, unwavering in the face of her presence

“I respect your resolve,” she said, her words slow, deliberate. “But this… peace you speak of, Commander, comes at the expense of far too many. You know it as well as I do.”

You knew that too. But in the depths of your heart, you couldn’t bring yourself to compromise on the principles that had guided you for so long. The lives of your soldiers, your people—none of them would be sacrificed for anything less than true peace. Not under your watch.

The debate raged on, tensions rising with every passing moment, but you and Ambessa remained locked in a silent contest, the weight of the room’s words falling heavy between the two of you. It was as if the entire world faded away, and for a brief second, the only two people who mattered were you and her, the room holding its breath as you exchanged not only words but a battle of wills.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the meeting adjourned. The voices of your colleagues faded as you straightened from your seat, a deep sigh escaping your lips. You were used to the weight of these discussions, but today’s had been particularly taxing. Your mind, sharp as it was, felt clouded by the lingering tension in the air.

Before you could retreat to your quarters for some much-needed rest, you felt a presence behind you. It was familiar, the quiet, confident steps that could only belong to one person.

Ambessa

“Commander,” she said, her voice low, but carrying an undeniable command. “A word?”

You turned to face her, your gaze meeting hers once more. She stood a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest, her stance proud but not unapproachable. Her gaze flickered over you, assessing you as if trying to read every nuance, every layer you carefully kept hidden. There was no malice in her eyes, no threat, just an unwavering sense of curiosity, of respect.

You raised an eyebrow, the corners of your lips lifting in a quiet challenge. “What is it, Medarda?”

“Perhaps,” she began, her voice measured, “we can discuss this matter further… without the interruptions of others.” There was a flicker of something in her expression, a softness that contradicted her usual commanding demeanor. “I find that I admire your strength, Commander. Few have the courage to speak so directly to me.”

There was a flicker of surprise that passed over you, but you quickly masked it. “And what exactly do you hope to achieve by this conversation, Ambessa? Another attempt to sway me to your cause?”

Ambessa took a step closer, her eyes narrowing slightly, her presence still as formidable as ever, yet there was something different in the way she held herself now. There was no longer any tension between the two of you, only the quiet understanding that you were both two of the most powerful leaders in the room, capable of seeing through the facades of politics and war.

“You’ve been fighting your whole life, haven’t you?” she asked suddenly, her voice soft but laced with a quiet understanding. “Against your own people, against the world around you. I can see it in your eyes, Commander. A fire that won’t go out.”

You weren’t sure if it was her words or the weight of her gaze that made your heart beat a little faster. But whatever it was, it made you pause, if only for a moment.

“I’m no different than you, Medarda,” you replied, your voice steady despite the knot in your chest. “We both fight for our people, even when the cost is too high.”

Ambessa’s lips curled into a small smile, a rare expression that seemed to soften the usual edge of her features. She stepped closer still, close enough that you could feel the heat of her body, close enough to sense the subtle shift in the air between you.

“You are,” she agreed, her voice barely above a whisper, “but your fight… it’s different. There’s something in you that draws me, Commander.”

Your breath caught, the weight of her words settling over you like a heavy cloak. It wasn’t just the admiration she felt for your strength, you realized. There was something deeper, something that spoke to the very essence of who you were. And, despite the tension that still lingered from the meeting, despite the weight of your duties, there was a part of you that found yourself captivated by her.

Ambessa’s eyes flickered down briefly, as though contemplating something before she looked back up at you. “Come with me,” she said, her voice steady, yet there was a hint of something more—a warmth, an invitation. “I would like you to join me for dinner at my estate. A place to discuss… other matters.”

The invitation was unexpected, but not unwelcome. You couldn’t deny the allure of her presence, the way she commanded every room she entered, the way she challenged you, both intellectually and physically. She had caught you off guard with her quiet admiration, and now she was offering you a chance to see the other side of her—the side that wasn’t always masked by politics or power.

You hesitated for only a moment, a flicker of doubt crossing your mind. But then you realized: this wasn’t just about the war, or the meeting. This was about something more.

“Very well,” you said, your voice steady, yet there was a spark of curiosity in your gaze. “I’ll join you, Medarda. But know this: I’m no fool. I won’t be swayed so easily.”

Ambessa’s smile widened, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “I wouldn’t expect anything less, Commander.”

————————————————————————

The Medarda estate was unlike any place you had ever been. It was a perfect blend of elegance and strength, much like Ambessa herself. The estate, perched high on a cliff, had sweeping views of the valley below, the faintest touch of moonlight illuminating the sprawling gardens. Inside, the atmosphere was warm and inviting, with soft candlelight flickering in every corner and the faint hum of classical music playing in the background.

Ambessa had led you to a long, polished dining table, where an elaborate spread of dishes awaited. The scents of roasted meats, rich sauces, and fresh bread filled the air, their warmth promising a night of indulgence. The table was set with the finest china, silverware gleaming in the dim light, and the glasses already filled with wine, the deep red liquid catching the light in a way that seemed almost too perfect.

You settled into your seat across from Ambessa, noting the way her posture remained impeccably straight, the elegant curve of her neck as she glanced at the dishes laid out before you. Her amber eyes met yours with an intensity that made it impossible to ignore the unspoken tension between you. There was a certain weight to the air, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. No, it was something far more intriguing—something far more dangerous.

The meal began in silence, the soft clink of cutlery the only sound as you both indulged in the meal. Ambessa ate with the same controlled grace that defined everything about her. Each bite was deliberate, as if she were savoring not just the food but the moment.

When she set her fork down, her eyes never left yours. “So,” she said, her voice smooth and low, laced with a subtle challenge, “how do you manage it all? The responsibility, the endless decisions, the weight of your command? It must be exhausting.”

You leaned back in your chair, savoring the bite you’d just taken. Her question had been expected—leaders like you didn’t rise to power without bearing the heavy burden of their choices. But there was something in the way she asked that made you pause, something in her gaze that suggested she wasn’t simply curious. She was testing you.

“I do what I must,” you replied, your voice steady but laced with a quiet intensity. “Sometimes it feels like I’m balancing on a knife’s edge, but it’s what I signed up for. The duty to my people—it never stops, even when I’d like it to.”

Ambessa’s lips curled into a soft, knowing smile. “I can’t imagine a life without this… constant push. It’s almost… addictive, isn’t it?” Her words hung in the air, wrapped in a kind of daring playfulness that you couldn’t help but feel was aimed at you.

There was a shift in the atmosphere. Her gaze dropped briefly to your lips before flicking back up to meet your eyes, and in that split second, you knew exactly what she was doing. Testing the waters. Drawing you in. She had a way of making you feel seen in a way few others ever could.

“Perhaps,” you replied, meeting her gaze head-on, unwilling to back down. “But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the challenge. The thrill of the game, the strategy. It keeps things interesting.”

Ambessa chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm. “You have a sharp mind, Commander. I can see why you’ve earned your place. But I wonder…” Her eyes glimmered with an unreadable thought. “Do you ever think about what you want when all of this is over? When the battles have been fought and the decisions have been made?”

The question was softer this time, quieter. But the weight of it hung between you like a delicate thread, a question that neither of you had yet answered, and perhaps never would. Ambessa’s eyes didn’t leave yours as she leaned forward slightly, the golden light reflecting off her skin, making her appear even more untouchable, more mesmerizing.

You paused, your fork still in your hand as you considered her words. “I think about it,” you said, your voice low, carrying the weight of unspoken things. “But I can’t afford to indulge those thoughts. Not yet. I have too much at stake.”

Ambessa studied you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, her lips curved into a small, knowing smile once again. “How exhausting,” she said, a touch of humor in her voice. “Always looking ahead, never looking at what’s right in front of you.” She took a sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving yours, and the heat in the air between you only intensified.

There was a certain magnetism about her. A quiet, unspoken tension that seemed to pull you in, urging you to confront the very things you’d been avoiding. For someone who was so composed, so measured, there was an underlying ferocity in the way she carried herself, in the way she spoke, and in the way she watched you.

The conversation shifted then, as you both continued to discuss tactics, strategies, and the political landscape, but beneath the words was an unspoken current, a thread that pulled you both closer together despite the careful control you both maintained. It was a dance—one of words, of glances, of unvoiced challenges and flirtations that neither of you dared fully acknowledge.

Ambessa’s voice was smooth as she spoke of her nation’s defenses, detailing her strategies with the kind of ease that came from years of experience. “I’ve always believed in being unpredictable,” she said, a hint of pride in her tone. “Keeping them guessing, ensuring they never know what’s coming next.”

“Sounds like something I’d say,” you replied, your smile playful, but your gaze locked on her. “It’s the only way to keep an advantage.”

Ambessa tilted her head, her expression softening ever so slightly. “I admire that,” she said, her voice carrying a warmth that sent a shiver down your spine. “It’s rare to find someone who doesn’t play by the usual rules.” She paused, then added with a faint smirk, “Perhaps you and I are more alike than I realized.”

The statement lingered in the air, the weight of it undeniable. You leaned in slightly, your voice quieter, more intimate. “I’d like to think so. But, of course, you’d never admit to that, would you?”

Ambessa’s gaze never faltered as she leaned forward too, her lips curling into a smile that was as dangerous as it was alluring. “I never admit to anything I don’t want to, Commander. But I’m willing to consider that… maybe I’m wrong.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension between you both was palpable, crackling in the air like electricity, the unspoken challenge hanging thick between you. The world outside the estate seemed so far away in that moment, as though nothing existed except the two of you and the carefully woven web of words you were spinning.

Ambessa broke the silence, her voice a low murmur that made your pulse quicken. “Tell me, Commander, do you ever think about how all of this could end?”

Your lips parted to reply, but her gaze, intense and searching, held you in place, as though she could see right through you. And in that moment, you realized something you hadn’t allowed yourself to acknowledge before: there was more to Ambessa Medarda than just power, more to her than the commanding presence she projected to the world. Beneath the surface, there was something darker, more complex, something that resonated with you in a way you hadn’t expected.

You leaned back slightly, your tone softer now, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “I don’t know how it ends. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wonder… if you and I could find a way to work together after all of this.”

Ambessa’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, and for a split second, the air between you two was thick with possibility. Then, she reached for her wine glass, her fingers brushing the edge delicately before taking another sip. Her gaze never wavered from yours.

“We’ll see, Commander,” she said quietly, her voice both challenging and inviting. “We’ll see.”

And with that, the night stretched on, the conversation continuing to unfold between you two like the unraveling of a carefully constructed puzzle, each word, each glance pulling you deeper into the web of intrigue she had woven around you.

————————————————————————

lamb to the slaughter.

ghost. part ii ┃ sevika x reader WC: 4.4K

ⓘ: wrote n proofread while crossed. chop shit fr. will reread when sober n correct errors if needed. ⚠︎: kissing, alcohol consumption, mild misogyny, blood, psychological horror/thriller elements

As you enter the elevator, the world outside seems to blur; your polished fingernail quivers while pressing the button for floor thirteen. The brass numbers shine brightly beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, and in the mirrored doors, you glimpse your reflection—pale, weary, haunted.

Your mind is a mess, running a million miles a minute as it replays the previous night. The pounding in your skull is relentless, a hangover blooming behind your eyes. You rub your temple, trying to will away the ache, the scent of stale perfume and coffee clinging to your skin.

Just as the doors begin to close, an arm darts through the narrowing gap. You flinch, causing one of the coffees in your tray to slosh over, scalding your wrist. You wince, looking up—straight into Sevika’s steely gaze. Your breath catches, the air between you charged.

She doesn’t say a word, just steps in beside you. The elevator hums upward, the tinny jingle and mechanical whirring filling the silence. You risk a glance at her—she’s staring straight ahead, jaw set, eyes shadowed. You look away, heart hammering.

The elevator shudders to a stop. Sevika slips out, brushing past you and Matt. Her stride is purposeful, and her presence leaves a chill in her wake.

A cackle leaves his lips, snapping you back to the present moment. “Damn, Sevika, you ain’t got no sleep last night, eh?” His tone is crude, the words hanging in the air like smoke.

He turns his attention to you, lips curling in a smirk. “Jesus, little miss. You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“W-what…?” you stammer, eyes fixed on the door Sevika just disappeared through.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he snatches a cup from your tray.“Damn woman, can’t handle yer liquor.” He steps into the elevator, leaving you in the hallway, the scent of burnt coffee and cologne lingering.

You move on autopilot, feet carrying you to the office. The familiar clatter of typewriters and the low drone of voices fill your ears, the normalcy of it all jarring against the chaos inside your head.

Your gaze finds Sevika instantly. She looks… different. Her hair, usually pulled back with military precision, hangs loose around her face. Dark circles bruise the skin beneath her eyes, her posture tense, almost harrowing. She’s the picture of exhaustion, of something unraveling.

Though your head snaps in the opposite direction, the second her eyes meet yours, your heart rate increases. You can almost feel her gaze piercing through you like a blade.

‘Get Out’

Sevikas previous words linger in the air, sending a biting chill down your spine. 

She was usually so meticulously eloquent. Every word uttered seemed to be carefully thought out, practised, and planned. To see that crumbling down within the blink of an eye was beyond disconcerting. 

You force your mind to redirect, focusing on the mundane. Allowing the soft hiss from the coffee machine, measured typing of keys, and hum of fluorescent lights to steady your racing heart. Anything to drown out the memory gnawing at the edges of your mind. 

Last night had to have been a trick, too much alcohol, not enough sleep. People dont change…not like that. Not Sevika.

You catch yourself glancing at her once again, searching for any sign of the monster you thought you saw last night. But she just looks tired. Human. Vulnerable, even.

Maybe you imagined it, maybe you saw something that wasn't there. It had to be a hallucination, a nightmare. It had to be.

Then you remember the way her voice cut through the air, sharp and cutting. The glint in her eyes-wild, ravenous. No. That’s impossible. There’s no such thing as…

You shake your head, pressing a clammy palm to your forehead, trying to force the memory away. 

Get it together. You think as you throw yourself into work, determined to free your brain from the tormenting recollection of the night prior.

The flashing green numbers from the Quotron terminal begin to jumble on the screen, only worsening your headache. You decide to take a break, heading to the break room.

You almost stop in your tracks when you see Sevika’s figure looming over the counter, her head hung low. A soft gulp breaks the silence, her head snapping up to you, eyes softening ever so slightly.

"Sev..." you start, voice hesitant, unsure how to put your thoughts into words.

She sighs, turning to lean against the counter, crossing her arms. "Doll, I-"

Stomping footsteps echo from behind you. Sevika’s gaze diverts to Chris, who looks pale and frantic.

"Sevika—fuck—everyone’s selling..." His tone is panicked, voice cracking.

Sevika curses under her breath. "Fuckin’ market’s crashing," she mutters, her focus darting between you and Chris.

Your eyes widen, apprehension setting in. "..What do we do?" you ask, voice small.

Chris is already wringing his hands, glancing at the clock. "Clients are calling-some are demanding we sell everything; others are freaking out about margin calls-"

Sevika’s response is eerily calm, her tone shifting into something practiced and commanding, like she’s done this a hundred times. "Chris, you know the drill. No panic selling. Remind clients of their long-term plans. If they have cash, look for bargains—selectively. The worst thing we can do is dump everything at the bottom."

He nods, bolting back to his desk. The office buzz has shifted—phones ring off the hook, voices are raised, and the air is thick with anxiety. Coworkers cluster in tense knots, faces drawn, eyes glued to tumbling numbers on their screens.

Sevika’s eyes meet yours again, her composure returning even as exhaustion shadows her face. 

"Remember what we discussed about market crashes, doll. Stay calm, don’t let anyone deviate from their financial plan. The market always rebounds—maybe not tomorrow, but it will. Trust me."

You nod, letting her words anchor you as you settle in at your desk. The calls are relentless, clients desperate for reassurance, some on the verge of panic. You repeat Sevika’s advice: stay on course, don’t make decisions out of fear, focus on the long-term. The chaos inside your head mirrors the chaos outside, but you cling to the routine, to Sevika’s steadiness.

Even so, you notice Sevika snapping at a junior analyst, her hands moving so fast they blur, her nerves frayed beneath the surface calm.

The atmosphere grows increasingly distressing as the day wears on. Shouts fill the bustling office, and the clacking of keyboards becomes frenzied. The flashy green numbers change so quickly that you can barely read them.

You struggle to push away your own panic as percentage drops reach double digits, your hand moving on autopilot as it reaches to dial a client.

This call is like the others— the client stammers out various concerns about his portfolio, his voice rising in frustration as you exhaust his options.

The man seethes, hurling insults into the mouthpiece before a rough click echoes through the phone. You wince, the pain behind your eyes seeming to spread through every corner of your body. A deep sigh escapes your lips as you set your phone down and run a hand through your hair.

The chaos in the office is relentless. Phones ringing, numbers tumbling, voices raised in panic. You glance up, eyes searching for Sevika. She’s in the center of the storm, sleeves rolled up, barking orders with a clipped authority.

You approach her, hesitating at the edge of her desk, clutching a stack of client reports. “Sevika—”

She doesn’t spare you a glance. “Not now, doll. Handle your calls. We’ll talk later.” Her tone is brisk, almost cold.

Swallowing your disappointment, you retreat, dialing another anxious client. As usual, the man’s voice blares in your ear, frantic and accusatory., “You see what’s happening out there? I’m losing my shit! Why aren’t you selling?” You do your best to reassure him, parroting Sevika’s advice about riding out the storm, but your words feel thin, artificial. When he hangs up—hard—you realize your hands are shaking.

Sevika’s voice slices through the din, booming across the room. “Keep calm! Don’t let clients dump everything. Remind them of their long-term plans!” Her gaze sweeps the floor, sharp and commanding, but when it lands on you, it softens for a heartbeat, and she gives you a small, almost imperceptible nod of approval before her attention snaps to a junior analyst hovering at her side.

He stammers something about investment calls, clutching a fistful of slips, and Sevika’s patience cracks. “Figure it out and get the hell out of my face,” she snarls, voice like a whip. Almost instantly, she reaches up to brush sweat from her brow, her shoulders slumping, exhaustion plain in the way she leans against her desk. The analyst scurries away, eager to escape the heat of her glare.

Chris paces behind you, letting out a huff at the sight in front of him. “Never seen Sevika this rattled. She’s usually ice.”

You survey her expression, heartstrings clenching at the dreary look on her face. She’s visibly lost in thought, eyes distant as she stares at the wall.

Last night must have affected her, you think, lips down, turning into a small frown.

Her eyes meet yours, expression hardening immediately as she notices the stares from you and Chris. Causing you to avert your eyes down to your trembling hands.

Waiting for your nerves to steady, the next caller lights up your phone. You’re about to answer when you feel a cool hand brush against your blouse.

Sevika’s voice, lower now, cuts through the chaos. “Doll, take a breath. You’re no good to anyone if you crack up.” It’s barely more than a murmur, meant for you alone, and for a moment, the noise fades.

You nod, swallowing hard as you force yourself to focus. Another client, another round of panic. She gives your waist a comforting squeeze before pulling away, her touch lingering longer than necessary.

Hours pass and the final bell rings through the cavernous trading floor, cutting sharply through the lingering noise. Phones went silent and the frantic buzz of voices faded into a low murmur. The glowing green on the Quotron terminals slowed their frantic dance, setting into a steady, muted glow.

You let out a long breath, feeling the tight knot in your shoulders loosen just a bit. Around you, traders rubbed their tired eyes and stretched still limbs, exchanging exhausted glances. The air, heavy with the scent of stale coffee and sweat, felt less oppressive, more resigned.

Sevika stood near the window, her silhouette framed by the fading dusk. Her tie was loosened, sleeves rolled up, but her posture remained rigid, her gaze sharp as she surveyed the city below.

You approached cautiously, unsure if she wanted company. “We made it through,” you said quietly.

She didn’t turn immediately, then finally glanced your way with a brief, almost dismissive nod. “Barely,” she replied, voice clipped. Then, softer, almost reluctant: “Not pretty, but it’s over.”

You swallowed, sensing the wall she’d put up. “It felt endless today.”

She shrugged, eyes flickering away. “Markets don’t care about how we feel. They just keep moving.” Then, catching your gaze, she added, “You held up better than I expected.”

A flicker of warmth, quickly masked by her usual guarded expression.

“I tried…” You reply, trying to gauge her expression.

Sevika exhales, the tension in the air almost palpable.

“You did good today, doll. I’m… sorry I was so short with you,” she says quietly, her gaze dropping to the floor.

You nod, voice hesitant. “It’s alright, Sev… I just…” Your words falter as you glance around at the other traders gathering their things, the day winding down. “…Can we talk about last night?” The question barely escapes your lips, little more than a whisper.

Her jaw tightens, shoulders stiffening. “Doll-” Her tone is sharper than you expect, as if she’s chastising you for even mentioning it.

You cut in, desperate. “Please…”

She sighs again, resignation flickering in her eyes. “Go grab your stuff. I’ll drive you home.”

Relief and apprehension twist together in your chest as you pack up, hands trembling. She’s willing to talk, but the uncertainty gnaws at you.

The walk to her car is thick with silence, awkward and strained-so unlike the easy camaraderie you’re used to. The drive is worse; Sevika keeps her eyes on the road, her posture rigid, tension radiating off her in waves. You stare out the window, heart pounding, wishing you could read her mind.

When she finally parks, you both head upstairs in silence. She trails behind you, hands shoved deep in her pockets, every step heavy with unspoken words.

You unlock your apartment, flicking on the lights. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. She’s just here to talk, you tell yourself, but the attempted mantra does little to slow your racing pulse.

Sevika steps inside, glancing around as if she’s never been here before. Her presence feels strange, unfamiliar. You hate it.

“Want a drink…?” you offer, fidgeting with your hands.

She looks at you, unreadable, eyes searching your face for something you can’t name.

“Sure.”

“Please, sit down.” You gesture stiffly toward the couch, wincing at how formal the words sound as they fall from your lips.

She sits, sinking into the cushions, her posture guarded.

You turn toward the kitchen, but freeze. Down the hall, your reflection stares back at you from the mirror–alone. Sevika should be visible in the glass, shouldn’t she? You glance back at her, still seated, close enough to be seen. Your stomach knots.

No, you’re imagining things. That’s impossible. Sevika isn’t a… No. You won’t let your mind go there.

You move to the kitchen, feeling detached, as if you’re watching yourself from a distance. Your eyes flick to Sevika, half-expecting her to vanish, half-afraid she’ll move.

Your hand shakes as you pour her a glass of scotch–her favorite. Nearly spilling the malt liquid as you cross the room; nerves fraying.

You sit beside her, careful to leave a considerable amount of space. Her gaze lingers, intense, as if she can sense every tremor of your anxiety.

“Relax, doll.” Her voice is gentler now, a command softened by concern. She takes a sip, sets the glass down. You mimic her, letting the whiskey burn some of the fear away.

She leans back, eyelid’s hooded, the air between you thick with anticipation. She’s waiting–for you to bring it up, to ask.

You fold your hands in your lap, voice barely steady. “What happened last night, Sev?”

Sevika’s eyes flicker away, her jaw working as she searches for words. For a moment, you think she might shut down again, but then she sighs, running a hand through her hair.

“It’s… complicated,” she says, voice low, almost gravelly. “What you saw-” She stops, glancing at you, as if gauging how much you already know, or how much you can handle.

You grip your glass tighter, knuckles whitening. “I need to know, Sev. I need to hear it from you. I can’t keep pretending nothing happened.”

She leans forward, elbows on her knees, head bowed. The Sevika you know–the unshakable, commanding presence seems smaller now, weighed down by something you can’t name.

“I never wanted you to get dragged into this,” she murmurs, barely audible. “You weren’t supposed to see. Any of it.”

You swallow, heart thudding in your chest. “But I did. And I can’t unsee it.”

Her gaze snaps to yours, sharp and searching, as if she’s looking for any sign of fear or revulsion. “You’re scared of me.” It’s not a question.

You hesitate, then nod, honesty trembling in your voice. “A little. But I’m more scared of not knowing the truth.”

She lets out a shaky breath, her posture softening. “You always were stubborn,” she says, a ghost of a smile flickering across her lips before fading.

You manage a weak laugh, the tension in the room thick as fog.

Sevika’s eyes darken, her voice dropping to a whisper. “What I am… it’s not something I chose. It’s not something I’m proud of. But I’ve kept it hidden for a reason. For your safety. For mine.”

You lean in, searching her face for any trace of the monster you glimpsed–or thought you glimpsed-the night before. All you see is exhaustion, regret, and something achingly human.

“Are you going to hurt me?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

She shakes her head, fierce and immediate. “Never. I’d sooner hurt myself.”

A heavy silence settles between you, broken only by the distant city sounds filtering through the window.

You look down at your hands, then back at her. “So… what now?”

Sevika leans back, her expression unreadable. “That’s up to you, doll. You want answers, I’ll give them. But once you know, there’s no going back.”

You nod, resolve settling in your chest. “Tell me. I want to understand.”

For the first time all night, Sevika looks almost relieved. She picks up her glass, takes a long sip.

The silence between you stretches, taut and uneasy. Sevika’s gaze drifts to the window, the city lights glinting in her eyes. She doesn’t speak right away; when she does, her voice is barely above a whisper.

“There are things about me I can’t explain–not really,” she begins, words measured, careful. “Things I’ve carried for a long time. It’s not something you’d read about in a paper, or see in a movie. It’s… older than that. Heavier.”

You wait, pulse thrumming in your ears. “Sevika, I saw–” She cuts you off, a flash of something like fear in her eyes. “You saw more than you were meant to. I’m sorry for that.” She rubs her hands together, restless. “I try to keep it contained. Most days, I manage.”

You swallow, the air thick with questions. “Contained? What do you mean?”

She smiles, but it's a brittle mask that doesn’t quite fit. “Let’s just say I have… needs. Hungers. Not the kind you can fix with ordinary food or drink.” Her gaze flicks to you, searching, almost pleading for you to understand without asking more.

Your mind races, piecing together memories—the missing reflection, the way she moved in the dark, the chill in the air. “You’re a-” She shakes her head, almost violently. “Don’t say it. Names have weight. I’m still me, doll. I’m still the person you know. Just… with shadows you haven’t seen before.”

You notice her hands clenching, the tension in her jaw. She’s holding something back, something sharp and dangerous.

“Are you safe?” you ask, voice trembling.

Her answer is slow, deliberate. “I’m careful. I have to be. I don’t want to hurt anyone—not you, especially.” She looks away, voice thinning. “That’s why I keep my distance. Why I don’t let people get close.”

A silence settles, heavy with all the things she isn’t saying. You realize she’s given you just enough to keep you close, but not enough to set you free from wondering.

She finally meets your eyes, haunted and resolute. “I can’t give you more than that. Not tonight.”

You frown, desperate for answers, but before you can form another question, she cuts you off.

“That’s enough, doll.” Her voice is gentle, but there’s a finality to it that makes your chest tighten.

“Sev, please…” You reach for her hand, fingers curling around hers, clinging to the connection. “Don’t shut me out. I know what I saw-”

“I know you know,” she murmurs, her tone softening for a heartbeat. She slips her hand from yours and stands up, the distance between you suddenly vast.

Panic claws at your insides. She’s going to leave. You can feel it–a cold certainty. Something inside you begs you not to let her go.

“How do you feed?” The words tumble out, raw and intrusive, slicing through the heavy air. Sevika freezes, already halfway to the door. She turns, her expression unreadable, eyes shadowed.

She doesn’t speak at first, doesn’t move. The silence throbs.

“…How–?”

“Sheep’s blood,” she says at last, voice strained. “I… I use ferrous sulfate to mimic the taste of…” She trails off, but you know what she means. The truth hangs between you, sharp and metallic.

You nod, heart pounding. “Is it… hard to get?”

A bitter glint flickers across her lips. “Yeah. It is. But I can go months without it if I have to. Last night, I just… I hadn’t fed in a while.” Her words are brittle, shame threaded through every syllable.

You sit with this, the silence prickling your skin. Then, before you can stop yourself, you blurt out the thought that’s been lurking in the back of your mind.

“Why don’t you just… feed on me? If it’s easier.”

The room seems to contract, the air thickening until it’s hard to breathe. Sevika stands utterly still, her eyes darkening, something dangerous flickering in their depths.

“No.” Her voice is low, almost a growl.

“But–”

“No.” She takes a step closer, her presence suddenly overwhelming. “You have no idea what you’re offering. You can’t possibly understand what that would mean.” Her words vibrate with something wild, barely leashed.

You swallow, pulse racing, the reality of what you’ve suggested settling over you like a cloak. Sevika’s gaze is fierce, protective, and for the first time, you glimpse the full weight of what she’s been holding back—not just hunger, but fear. Fear for you.

You barely have time to draw a breath before Sevika is on you, her strength startling, pinning you against the arm of the couch. The world narrows to the press of her body and the wild, ravenous look in her eyes–a hunger that both terrifies and mesmerizes you.

Instinct screams at you to shrink away, but instead, you tilt your head, fingers trembling as you sweep your hair aside, baring your throat. You squeeze your eyes shut, heart pounding so hard you think it might burst.

You feel her breath hitch, a low, guttural sound escaping her. She leans in, her lips ghosting over your skin, and you shudder as her tongue flicks out, tracing a slow, deliberate line from your collarbone up the column of your neck. The contact is electric, sending a jolt through your nerves.

She sighs–a sound that’s almost a growl, inhuman, primal. Her mouth finds your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your pulse, her grip tightening at your waist. Her other hand is gentle, brushing your hair further aside, her touch almost reverent.

“I apologize for any… discomfort,” she murmurs, voice rough, vibrating against your skin. She presses one last kiss to your throat, and then you feel the sharp, decisive puncture as her fangs sink in.

A strangled gasp tears from your lips. Pain–sharp and blinding–blooms through you. But then the sensation shifts, ache melting into something strange and exquisite; a rush of euphoria that leaves you dizzy, weightless. Every nerve alight, every sense sharpened, the world dissolving into the heat of her mouth and the pounding of your heart.

You clutch at her shoulders, breath coming out in short, desperate bursts as she feeds. The room spins, your awareness narrowing to the rhythm of her drinking and the press of her body. The impossible intimacy of the moment terrifying, exhilarating, and utterly consuming.

When Sevika finally pulls away, you’re left gasping, your head spinning with a dizzying cocktail of exhaustion and something dangerously close to bliss. The world feels muffled, as if you’re underwater. Sevika’s face hovers above yours. Her lips stained, eyes wild and haunted.

Her chest rising and falling in ragged waves. For a moment, neither of you moves. Her hand lingers at your waist, steadying you, but her gaze is distant, as if she’s already retreating somewhere unreachable.

You reach up, fingertips brushing her cheek, searching for reassurance, for some sign that you haven’t just crossed an invisible, irreversible line. But Sevika flinches away, guilt and shame flickering across her features. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes squeezed shut.

“I shouldn’t have…” she whispers, voice raw. “I lost control. I’m sorry, doll. I’m so damn sorry.”

You try to speak, but your tongue feels thick, your body heavy and boneless. There’s a strange warmth blooming in your chest, a sense of connection that’s both comforting and terrifying. You can still feel the echo of her hunger inside you, the memory of her mouth at your throat.

“It’s okay,” you manage, though you’re not sure if you believe it. “I offered. I wanted to help.”

She shakes her head, jaw clenched. “You don’t understand. It’s not supposed to be like this. I’m not supposed to want–” She cuts herself off, standing abruptly. The loss of her touch is jarring, cold.

You watch her pace the room, running a trembling hand through her hair. The apartment feels cavernous, the silence between you thick and suffocating.

“Are you… are you alright?” you ask, voice small.

She stops, back to you. “I’ll be fine. You need to rest. Drink some water. If you feel dizzy, lie down.” Her tone is clipped, reverting to the Sevika you know from the office. Distant, controlled, untouchable.

You nod, but a lump forms in your throat. You want to reach for her, to bridge the gulf that’s opened between you, but your limbs are leaden, your mind foggy. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to look at her the same way again–if she’ll let you.

Sevika lingers in the doorway, silhouetted by the hall light. For a moment, you think she might say something more, offer comfort or explanation. But she just stands there, shadowed and uncertain.

“I’ll check on you tomorrow,” she says at last, voice barely audible. Then she slips out, the door clicking shut behind her.

You’re left alone in the quiet, the taste of copper still lingering on your tongue, your pulse fluttering like a trapped bird. The night presses in, thick with questions and fear and something you dare not name.

You close your eyes, replaying every moment, every touch, every word. The world feels irrevocably changed, the boundaries between fear and desire, trust and danger, blurred beyond recognition.

You wonder if you’ve saved Sevika from her hunger, or if you’ve only fed something far more complicated and dangerous.

taglist: @half-of-a-gay @sapphiccup @iamaboringrattat @spinback-kiva @theoreticalfreak @moodient @diouna @helaenabugmom @womenlover360 @sumisamente @thatsmadiculous @madzorwhatever @vkumi @boom58 @h2pinky @glittzygorilla @koralinebox @kay-khronicals @belldonic @rosebg @thehoneybeestings @sunflowerwinds @dyketoast @dvrkhcld @blasphemous-riot comment to be added to taglist for the final part :)

Sevika and bratty reader please it’s all I’ve been thinking about 🙏🙏🙏

Brat summer

Sevika x Fem!Reader

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1.6k

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:You’re being bratty and so is Sev, but she isn’t giving up easy.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: unestablished relationship, meanish!Sevika, meanish!reader, brat reader, domestic dom Sevika

ɴᴏᴛᴇ: i’m lowkey so embarrassed how long this took to answer i’m so sorry nonnie but on a better note Sevika is so hot!!

Sevika stomped over to your table, annoyance rolling off of her in waves. Yanking a bottle from off the bar counter, she found her way to the table you sat at. Her eyes barely glanced over at the two men sitting at the table as she took a seat next to you. “Leave,” she ground out, glaring over at them in a manner that had them instantly getting up. 

No one dared challenge her words in fear of meeting a worse fate than being ordered away.

You glanced up, watching the men scramble to get up and leave. Groaning in irritation, you looked over at Sevika when she plopped into a seat next to you. “Silco not taking any guests?” You mused, trying to decipher her mood. “Oh, oh! Let me guess. He’s taking no guests and wants you to guard,” you grinned mischievously. 

Sevika scoffed and took another swig from the bottle in her hand. “You got a smart mouth,” she grumbled, the words more of a warning than a compliment. You huffed and shrugged, brushing it off as quickly as the offense came. A soft, frustrated grunt left her when she leaned back against the booth, arms crossed over her chest. Your eyes traced over the curves of her shoulders that flexed with her movements.

“I need some damn peace and quiet. Too many damn people in here,” she grumbled, shooting a sharp glare at a group being rowdy a few tables over. “And what would you do if it was quiet without me? You love my mouth too much to get rid of it.” Spotting the small smirk on her lips, you sat back. “So is there a reason why you’re chasing off people I’m drinking with?”

“Or is it just because you want that moment of peace?” Sevika rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I could do without your mouth,” she muttered, though there was a distinct lack of heat in her words. “And I’m not chasing anyone off. Like you said, I’m getting some peace and quiet.”

She turned her sharp gaze back to you, the faintest hint of a tease in her eyes. “Now, are you going to sit there and keep talking, or are you just gonna sit there and look pretty for me?” You raised an eyebrow and tilted your head to the side. “Rude…oh! Are you going to play poker? I could play you,” you hopped at the chance.

You were always trying to play cards against her, not that she ever let you. There was always an excuse she made — the most common one being that you were vetterat watching her play than participating, like she had ever seen you play. “We both know I’d wipe the floor with you,” Sevika said with a laugh, not giving you the opportunity to convince her otherwise. 

“Besides,” she continued, a faint smile playing on her mouth. “I need someone pretty to look at while I relax, sweetheart.” You frowned and glared back at her. “Literally no one else is sitting here to play with you. Just let me—“ You jumped at her sudden whistle to call over some regulars to play with.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” you grumbled.

Sevika flashed you a cocky smirk, clearly enjoying your annoyance. She turned her attention to the men she’d called over, her tone taking on an entirely different tone — stoic, confident. “I need a few players,” Sevika jerked her head towards the empty chairs.

You watched as the men hurriedly sat down, clearly eager to get in on the game. Sevika dealt the cards with practiced ease, her eyes glinting with excitement as she sized them up, her competitive nature awakening. All of her attention naturally shifted over to the starting game.

Realizing you no longer had her recognition you sighed and stood up from your chair, letting it screech as you pushed back and stood up. If she wanted your table to herself she could have it, but you didn’t want to wait around. Truthfully, it was more to get back at her for playing with random people when you were trying to talk to her.

As you stood from the table, Sevika shot you a look, her eyebrows raising. “You don’t have to leave,” she said, “Or are you just being pissy ‘cause I’m playing with these guys and not you?” With a laugh, she turned her body back to the table. “Sit down,” she offered, yet her tone left no room for argument.

You scoffed, planting a hand on your hip. If you responded normally that would take the fun away from it. “Uh, no. I don’t want to hang out with random fucking men.” You shot a quick glance at them. “No offense,” you commented. Sevika rolled her eyes, “Oh, for the love of — just sit down,” She glared up at you, her gaze sharp and cutting.

“I don’t have time for bullshit, sweetheart. Quit whining and sit your ass down. I’ll deal you in on the next hand.” It wasn’t a request, but an order. Sevika was in a mood, and she didn’t have time for your attitude. Your foot swept out and tugged your chair back to yourself as you dropped heavily into it.

Sevika let out a frustrated sigh as she watched you stomp back over and plop back into your seat. “Thank you, princess. Was that so hard?” she asked with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Whatever,” you grumbled petulantly. Her focus quickly returned to the game, her eyes flitting between the cards in her hand and those laid out on the table. As she watched the players, a faint smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.

When the silence only stretched on longer, you sighed –  growing antsy being still for so long. “Yeah actually it was,” you mimicked her tone, feeling the urge to be a brat grow bigger as you brought up her past words. Sevika let out an exasperated sigh as she listened to you mimic her. 

She shot you a sharp glare, her patience running thin.

“I swear, I should just gag you,” she said, her voice low and laced with irritation. “It’d be a whole lot easier to concentrate without your incessant yapping.” You leveled her a shocked look. “You have issues,” you snarked, the small amount of public perception that you cared about being thrown out the window.

Sevika rolled her eyes and shook her head at your comment. “Sweetheart, I’ve got enough issues to fill a damn novel,” she responded dryly, “My issue with you is that I just want a few minutes without your smart mouth talking back,” she continued, her irritation evident in her tone. “Is that too much to ask?”

You shut your mouth only to kick the ground with your shoe. After a moment of no reaction your shoe bumped into the side of hers, pressing harder to pry her boot off the floor. There was no reason other than simply being stubborn. Sevika growled in frustration as you continued to irritate her with the childish foot-kicking. “Knock it off,” she snipped, clearly at her wit's end with your behavior.

In a swift, calculated move, Sevika leaned forward, her hand shooting down and grabbing ahold of your ankle. She tugged you closer, practically pulling you off your seat. In response, you yelped when she yanked you forward by your ankle, your ass nearly dangling off of your chair.

“What the hell?” you spluttered. She kept quiet as she reached forward and corralled you, wrapped her strong arm around your waist, tugging you firmly into her lap. Sevika didn’t look at you, her focus still on the cards in her hand. “Just sit there and stay quiet,” she muttered, her fingers digging into your hip. 

“You’re the one who wanted me to pay attention, remember?” she added, a hint of amusement in her voice. You grit your teeth but huffed, unable to argue back and more than satisfied with her reaction. It was like a cat who wanted attention but hisses when they get it.

Sevika let out a satisfied hum as you seemed to comply with her order. She leaned back slightly, her grip on your waist loosening a bit – though she still held you firmly in place. “Good,” she murmured, her attention now divided between her cards and the way your ass pressed against her thighs. “I knew you could follow directions when you put your mind to it.”

You rolled your eyes and glared at her. “I can still get up and leave if you’re going to be a dick.” Sevika scoffed and gave your waist a squeeze. “Go ahead and try,” she challenged. “See how far that gets you.”

“Besides,” she added in a low tone, leaning in to brush her lips against the shell of your ear. “I think you rather like being in my lap, sweetheart.” You shivered at her low tone, her plush lips grazing the shell of your ear. It wasn’t entirely bad being on her lap.

She chuckled lowly at your response, her breath hot against your skin.  “See?” Sevika hummed, her lips brushing against your ear again. “It’s not so bad, is it?” She nipped playfully at your earlobe, her teeth grazing the delicate skin. “You can admit it, sweetheart. You like being close to me.”

You stifle a sigh, trying to keep up a tough exterior. “Shut up,” you grumble, leaning back into her as her warmth seeped into you. She let out a low laugh as you leaned into her, your back pressed against her front. “Just relax,” she murmured in your ear, her tone a mix of amusement and something softer, deeper, that you couldn’t quite place at the moment. Her eyes raised to glare at the men sitting in front of her that curiously looked at you.

Still now, she didn’t release her grip on you – keeping you firmly in her lap.

No, you weren’t going anywhere.

I don't want to be a party pooper but the lesbian community still has so much fatphobia and lookism to unlearn, it's genuinely sad. I always want to elaborate but every time this topic comes around it feels like screaming at the wall.

Learn to love fat femmes. Not "because they are soft", not because there "is more to bite". Love and respect fat femmes for who they are.

Same goes for fat butches, they are not only lovable because "they are beefy" or "they can put their weight on you" or some other shit. They are lovable because they are themselves, just like you are you.

You don't have to make us feel better about ourselves with all these backhanded compliments. Just make us feel like everyone else and start viewing fat bodies as normal and desirable ones without making it weird.

PILLOW PRINCESS — PART III

A PARTY AT HOUSE CAZEA ↬ councilor!sevika x fem!piltie!reader // 5k words

SUMMARY: Your mother suggests that you host a welcome party for Sevika. The problem? Too many to count.

TAGS: 18+ only! evil mothers, toxic yuri, smut, infidelity

NOTES: this chapter has everything yaaaayyyy

-> READ ON AO3 | PILLOW PRINCESS MASTERLIST

That evening, your parents stroll through the doors of your home shortly after you finish your bath, your mother joining you in the bathroom as your father's booming laughter echoes up to the second floor.

“I am very disappointed in you, dear.”

“What did I do this time, Mother?” you ask with a sigh, leaning over the sink to apply your night cream.

“You never told me that there was a Zaunite in our midst. I had to hear it from Abigail's aunt—who, by the way, is looking dreadful nowadays.”

You meet her gaze in the mirror, rubbing the excess cream over the back of your hands. “What's your point?”

This time of night, you've been drained of the energy needed to both entertain her dramatics and feign interest. Can barely manage both on a good day.

“My point is that we must be the first House to host her. This is a historic time we're living in, dear girl, and unless you want our name to wither away into obscurity, you need to plan ahead. Think of your children, and their children, and—”

“Mother.” You turn around to grasp her by the arms, shocking her out of her building monologue. “I understand your concerns, but my responsibilities are a bit short-sighted at the moment.”

She sniffs, raises her chin to look down her nose at you. “As soon as you see her, extend the invitation to your home. Unless you want me to do it.”

You would rather slowly impale yourself on the iron fence in the gardens.

“It’ll be done.”

Her insistence that your home hosts the party is unsurprising. No better power play to display your inheritance of wealth and influence to all of Piltover’s affluent.

Her painted lips curl into a tight smile, bracelets jingling as she pats you on the cheek. “That’s my girl.”

Your mother’s orders prove more difficult than you originally thought. Sevika has turned into a ghost over the last three days, and you hoped to spot her in the halls, or the pavilion, or the garden in the backyard, but the blasted woman has vanished.

Thus leaves only one desperate option: her office. The thought of seeing her again makes your lungs twist inside your chest, but the lingering anger from your argument doesn't sway the need to protect her from your witch of a mother for as long as possible. She's dealing with enough. No need to add to it.

Luckily for you, she stands in front of her office with a book tucked tight between her thighs just as you step out of yours.

“Councilor. Just the person I wanted to see.”

She looks at you out of the corner of her eye, struggling with the lock on the door. “I’m busy.”

You ignore her. “My mother extends an invitation to meet at my home. A welcome party, of sorts. If you value the future of Zaun, I suggest you come dressed in your best clothes.”

After a moment, the lock opens with an audible click, and she grabs the book to tuck it beneath her arm. “I'm not some dog you can order around.”

“You can decline if you wish, but given the nature of your goals and our previous agreement, I assumed that meeting the most influential family in the city would interest you.” You shrug. “Perhaps I was wrong.”

Speaking with her so formally, the same way you speak to everyone else in Piltover, hurts you in a way you can't explain. But perhaps it's for the best. Keeping your distance to focus on more important things than your odd infatuation.

Like building a family. You haven't forgotten about that whole ordeal. Gods, if only you could.

“I don't even know where you live,” she says, low and resigned.

Above everything, you hate this for her.

“I'll give you an invitation tomorrow. It should have everything you need.”

With a sigh, she nods her head, and you stroll back into your office.

.

.

.

Sevika steps into the grand foyer and the entire party grinds to a halt. Fifteen minutes late, soaked by the rain, looking almost regal in her brown and gold outfit. Even switched out the piercing below her bottom lip to match the gold of her jacket buttons.

The throng of people part for both you and Tristan as you descend the steps and approach her. You plaster on your best smile for the crowd, twirling your wedding ring around its finger.

“Councilor, I would like to formally introduce you to our home.” You rest a hand on Tristan's shoulder, and he steps forward.

He gives her his name, offering a hand for her to shake. “It's very nice to finally meet you, ma’am.”

She looks down at his hand, then at you, then back at his hand, and the next time your gazes meet, you widen your eyes and give a slight jut of your chin in his direction. She shakes it after a breath-holding moment, greeting him with a sharp nod.

“Might we interest you in some refreshments?” he asks, taking a step back to loop an arm around your waist. Her eyes dart to the movement as he waves a hand, beckoning her to follow.

The crowd parts once again as you lead her to the kitchen, whispers and stares cloaking you like a second skin as your ever-curious family indulges in the new wave of gossip.

When the three of you step inside, the kitchen bustles with cooks and servants and guests alike. A grand space made to fit thirty people at once, stocked with the best appliances and gleaming, marble countertops. Stunning chandeliers on each side of the room, flower-filled vases recently watered, candelabras casting a warm glow about the space.

She takes the glass of champagne you offer with a curious furrow to her brow, bringing it to her nose for a sniff.

“Don’t worry, it’s very good. My love’s favorite, actually,” Tristan says with a bright smile, pulling you into his side.

He looks down at you just as she raises a brow, and you meet his loving gaze with a shy smile of your own. The stress of the night threatens to cave your chest in, to stop the flow of your heart. A secret you share with the past, one-night lover stood across from you, and the husband who knows nothing about your sexual… proclivities—an unbelievably awkward situation to be in. A plot fit for a forbidden romance book.

No. Perhaps a thriller, instead. At the end, the princess is stripped of all titles and exiled from her land for bringing shame upon her family.

“Right,” she says, tone deadpan before she downs her champagne in two gulps and sets the glass back on the table sprawling with food and drink.

In that moment, your mother strolls in with the too-strong smell of jasmine perfume, destroying any semblance of a good mood you might have managed to recover.

“My dear girl.” She kisses you hard on the cheek, breath stinking of the harder liquor you keep hidden in your personal stash. “Oh, this party is simply wonderful. You’ve outdone yourself for our new guest.”

With a sway to her step, she walks over to Sevika, barely skirting the hand you grab her arm with. You curse inwardly, shooting the Councilor a pitying look before turning toward the presence of your father just over your shoulder.

“I warned her against the liquor, dear,” he mutters, head lowered to your ear. “But you know how the blasted woman is. Stubborn on her best day.”

Your mother wheels a bewildered Sevika away from the kitchen with an arm notched in her elbow, speaking in a rush. “I simply must introduce you to my sisters. They’ve been so excited to finally meet someone from the Undercity. Oh, but it’s Zaun now, isn’t it? Did you know that my daughter was one of the only Councilors appealing for your city’s recognition, and by the gods, she actually did it! I admit, I had my doubts, but—“

Her voice trails off as the bustling crowd swallows them up, and you heave a sorrowful sigh. Gods bless her.

Tristan leads you around the room to mingle, catching up with third cousins twice removed, meeting the grandchildren of your great aunts and uncles, cooing at the babies born of your distant in-laws. It all happens in a rush of questions and suggestions and applauding of your achievements. Everyone asks when you’ll be having children, if you’re pregnant, why you aren't pregnant yet—all questions you expected given the size of your family tree, but no less invasive and uncomfortable. At one point, Tristan looks like he might vomit, and you excuse him on your behalf to the bathroom.

Take a breath, you whisper, hand squeezing at his bicep. It’s alright.

Your mother talks Sevika’s head off for the better part of an hour, and the next time you circle back around to spot them, Sevika looks ready to take a flying leap off the second floor balcony. You approach the pair with a smile, the neck of your most recent glass of champagne squeezed tight between your fingers.

“Why, hello. I see you’re still talking, Mother.”

She gives you a smile in return, but her eyes harden to stone. “Yes, well, there is much to talk about. As you’ve told me before, our differences are what bring us together, yes?”

You’re used to this game: the invisible tug-of-war that your mother plays so well. A war of wills, won by only the most stubborn of psyches. A good thing, then, that you’re your mother’s daughter.

“I’m sure other people would like to speak with her, Mother. To learn about their… differences.”

She must see something in your face, or doesn’t want to make a scene in front of the crowd, because she relents surprisingly fast. Turns to Sevika with a tight-lipped smile and says, “Perhaps my daughter is right.” Turns back to you. “Why don’t you take our guest on a tour of your home? Show her all that Piltover has to offer.”

More like flaunting your wealth, but she’s already given you more grace than she holds in her whole body, so you refuse to press the issue. Instead, you wave your guest along then bow to your mother upon your retreat.

You lead her through the crowd and into one of the winding hallways inside your home, heaving a breath once the last person is out of sight. “So. You met my mother.”

“Quite the character.” She leans against the wall, eyes trailing over the intricate pattern of your mother’s hand-picked wallpaper. “She talked about your husband the whole time.”

“Yes, she tends to do that.” You take a sip of your drink, mouth suddenly dry, the champagne bitter on your tongue. “I'm the failure of the family, and I ruined her chances of having more children, so she's always resented me.”

“Why?”

“Half the people you see out there are related to me in some way.” With a tired sigh, you fluff out the layered skirt of your dress and take a seat on the floor. The shoes your maid chose for the evening already threaten blisters on your heels and toes. “To put it simply: we have large families because we believe that more children means more of an opportunity to do something noteworthy for our House, and my birth seems to have cursed us. Tristan's impotence just solidifies the theory.”

She stands in silence for a long while, brows tugged together in confusion, before finally saying, “I will never understand this shit.”

You laugh for the first time tonight, chest lighter than it’s felt in weeks. “Trust me, I wish I didn't.”

Despite your previous spat, talking with her is… easy, and you wish it wasn’t. Emotional distance would benefit you greatly, but she’s seen more of your soul than every guest in your home put together—even your parents and your dear, sweet, loving husband. Her presence brings a comfort that you haven’t experienced ever in your life, so removed from all the political intrigue and House infighting that you can drop your carefully-curated act and simply be yourself.

The want to be close to her is a dangerous thing. An exhilarating, terrifying, taboo one. Your mother would lock you away to a life of solitude if she knew the inner turmoil of your thoughts.

“About last week…” she begins, shuffling in place, eyes downcast. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. I still stand by most of it, but…”

“Wow. How kind of you,” you say, tone a tinge too bitter than you meant to portray.

“Look, I’m trying. Give me a break.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing this whole time? I understand that things have been horrible for you, and while I don’t hold what you said against you, it still hurt. Gods, did it hurt.”

At least she has the decency to look ashamed. “It was a low blow. I can admit that.”

“If you wish to insult me, there are many things I’m guilty of being. Just—please, don’t use the only night of happiness I’ve ever experienced to mock me.”

You rise to your feet with a shake of your head, stumbling as you regain your footing against the ache in your feet. You know not to look at her right now. Too fearful that she’ll witness the build-up of tears blurring your vision. If your mother can’t make you cry, then you refuse to let her, especially over something so inconsequential.

(The most important night of your life.)

You walk down the hallway, uncaring if she follows or not, but her presence lurks a little ways behind you, boots a steady thud against the floor. Giving you much-needed space. A kindness you rarely, if ever, experience.

“So. I still need a mentor.”

Her voice stops you in your tracks. Almost teasing, her attempt at fixing your sour mood. Little does she know, your night was ruined hours ago.

“I’ll petition the Assembly to hire Shoola on Monday.”

“I don’t want Shoola. And from what I’ve read from those books you gave me, the Assembly doesn’t like to change their mind.”

Damn it. She’s right. Both of you know it.

You turn to glare at her, hands placed on your hips. “And you say I’m convincing.”

She’s closer than you originally assumed, and in three steps, she stands before you, craning her head down to look you in the eye. Such a mirror to your first meeting that you back away on instinct—right into the wall with her following behind.

“I’m learning. That’s what you wanted. Right?”

Your breathing quickens, heart a drumming beat inside your ribcage. Heat pools in the pit of your belly when rough fingers rise to adjust the sleeve of your dress, her touch inciting a buzz just beneath your skin. The trail of her knuckles across your shoulder and up the pulse of your neck threatens to buckle your knees.

When was the last time you felt such arousal? Not out of need while locked away in your bathroom with a hand beneath your night dress, but visceral want at the touch of another?

Three years. You know when. Remember it vividly, dream about it, fantasize about the touch of her hand and the slick heat of her tongue as you lay beneath your husband.

He could never compare.

She leans down, lips ghosting against the curve of your ear. “For what it’s worth, I like it when you’re on your back.”

She mouths at the delicate skin just below your ear, and you shudder, hands rising to the curve of her waist, the fabric of her coat soft beneath your touch.

“My… my bedroom is just down the hall, if you—“

She exhales a laugh, teeth teasing along your pulse. “Do you invite all your new guests to your bedroom, princess?”

“Only the ones I like.”

“Short list?”

“You have no idea, Councilor.”

She lets you whisk her down the empty hall to the double doors of your bedroom. Once inside, she walks around, inspecting the only lived-in space in the entire house. The beauty products on your vanity, two stacks of sleep clothes on the end of the bed, a childhood stuffed animal you brought from your parents' home sat in the armchair near the balcony.

She chooses the small, one-eyed bunny to pick up. Turns it over in her hand, thumbs at its matted fur.

“I would’ve killed for one of these when I was a kid, but my old man couldn't afford it.” Her lips stretch into a sad, almost bitter smile. “My aunt made one for my birthday out of this old jacket she couldn't wear. I fucking loved that thing.” She sets the bunny back down, trailing her fingers over a floppy ear. “Don't know what happened to it. Probably in a box somewhere.”

You're unsure why she tells you this. Many reasons, you suppose. Highlighting the different lives you've lived, sharing a personal anecdote, or maybe she just misses her family.

Regardless, “I'm sorry.”

She looks up at you, grey eyes stormy and shimmering. “I didn't tell you for pity.”

“I'm not pitying you. I'm just… sorry.” You curl yourself around the nearest bedpost, fingers tracing the intricate carvings in the wood. “After I left the brothel, I saw this mother and child sitting in the street, starving to death. I gave them all the gold I had, but I wanted to do more. I wanted to ensure that nobody would ever have to live like that.”

You push away from the bed then walk over to her. “You asked me what my dream was for Zaun? It's that nobody starves in the street, and parents can afford to buy their children toys.”

She shakes her head as you step up beside her. “And if it’s not possible?”

“All we can do is try.” A forefinger catches on her pinky, pulling her hand to yours. “But I need your help. Nobody knows that place like you do.”

Your other hand rises to cup her face, thumb tracing the blue scars on her cheek. Back and forth and back and forth as she stares down at you, eyes searching your face for… something. You brush the hair out of her eyes, only for the strands to immediately fall back into place.

Her brows dip into a furrow. “Whatever you think is between us, it can't go anywhere.”

“Won’t or can’t?”

“Does it matter?”

“The difference lies in the degree of willingness: between those in the relationship, or that of an outside influence. So, which are we? Won’t or can’t?”

She thinks for a moment, glancing off to the side, before her eyes meet yours again.

“Both,” she mutters.

And then your lips meet in a desperate kiss, both of you surging forward at the same exact time. Her lone arm tugs you against her, so steadfast your lungs threaten to deflate as your hands curl over the nape of her neck to pull her closer. The kiss is hungry, angry—her, that she wants this; you, that you’ve gone so long without it. Her mouth is soft, and she tastes of champagne and berry cocktail, tongue hot and curling inside your mouth.

You’ve never experienced such raging desire. Had it projected onto you many a time, by the leering gazes of older men looking for a trophy wife, the young suitors with their tomcat libidos. But never like this: being desired and desiring in return.

She walks you back toward the bed, lips an overwhelming chaos against your own. Uses your body for her pain, her anger, her grief—jerks your dress off your shoulders, bites down hard on the skin covered by your sleeve, grabs you by the waist and lays you back on the bed. Beneath you, your dress crumples, and you briefly consider the fabric wrinkling (what that means for your put-together propriety) before she's kissing you again, and every thought pertaining to the people outside this room dissolves in whisps of smoke.

She buries her face in your neck, panting, shoulders tense beneath your palms. Hisses under her breath, “What the fuck am I doing?”

You lay frozen beneath her, legs spread to make room for her hips, snapped back to the present with a sweeping chill of recognition. Her question echoes in your own mind, over and over again, because what are you doing? Succumbing to lust beneath a woman in the very spot your husband sleeps in, while he and your parents and extended family chat a hallway away. You should hate yourself. Should stand up and tell her that this can’t continue, but you’ve never been known for your self-control, and the hand she slides up your inner thigh makes your hips twitch in anticipation.

"Shit—tell me to stop," she grits, sat on her haunches to peer down at you, hair a curtain around her eyes as she works your dress over your hips.

Why would you ever do such a thing? You've been dreaming about this for three years now. Yearning for her touch every time you lay down in this very bed.

"I don't want to," you say, voice little more than a whisper as you guide her hand to the gusset of your silk underwear, already–

She groans, tracing her thumb around your clit, the fabric sticking to the outline of your pussy. "So wet. All this for me?"

You nod, a desperate whimper trapped in your throat—the sound punched from your lungs when she slips a finger beneath the hem and feeds it into you. Thick and long as you remember, curling and twisting to make room for another. She knows exactly what to do. Massages all your sensitive spots, thumbs over your clit, brushes against your cervix when she thrusts in deep. A master of her craft, plays your body like an instrument.

Beneath her jacket, the muscles of her arm flex and shift deliciously, pretty eyes downcast to gaze between your legs, and you reach up to comb a hand through her hair so you can see her face. Still soft and thick, face equal parts handsome and beautiful. The most stunning woman you've ever seen.

You pull her in for a kiss by the back of her neck, and her weight topples over, chest heavy against yours. Gods, you forgot that her only arm is currently occupied.

"Sorry," you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek and curling an arm around her shoulders.

"You could've warned me," she grumbles, rolling to the side to lay next to you.

You hook a knee over her hip, pussy blooming around the fingers still buried inside you. "I know. 'm sorry."

She nuzzles against your cheek, sinks her teeth into the curve of your jaw as her fingers quicken their pace. The slick squelch of your pussy makes your ears burn, and she begins to mock you:

Letting me fuck you with your ring on? What would your husband think?

Haven't been this wet in three years, I bet.

Does your husband know you're this easy?

Her words really shouldn't affect you the way they do. You should be angry at the mention of your husband, the reminder of your infidelity, but somehow, she knows exactly what you need. Knows that her humiliation sends you crashing into a breath-stealing orgasm.

(Nobody in Piltover would dare talk to you in such a way, and maybe that's the appeal. Her dragging you off your golden pedestal to remind you that you're still human.)

She coos into your ear, says, "There you go," as you clench hard around her fingers, head thrown back against the sheets. Your teeth threaten to break from how hard you clench your jaw, each moan dying in your throat.

You have to be quiet. Nobody can know.

The afterglow bathes you in guilt. Boneless, relieved, calm guilt. She stuffs her slick fingers in your mouth, and you suck them clean on instinct, meeting the heat of her gaze. Her eyes flicker over your face before settling on the pucker of your lips, their shade of grey dark and cloudy.

The advent of a thunderstorm.

When she pulls away, her fingers slick with saliva, you slide a hand over her hip, skin warm beneath her trousers.

"Can I return the favor?"

She exhales a humorless laugh. Says, "No need. I have people for that."

Jealousy has no place swirling around in your gut, considering where you met her in the first place. But you can't help it. What do these people have that you don't? Why are they good enough for her?

"Why not me?"

She sits up then moves to the edge of the bed. "I like my women to know what they're doing."

"I've never even—" Stop. There's no point. "Fine."

You aren't sure why you're even here anyway. Why she infatuates you so. Why you want so badly to prove yourself worthy, to please her. You come from completely different worlds. This will only end in tragedy.

Then why—why—do you insist on making the situation so difficult for yourself?

"Fix your lipstick," is the last thing she says before leaving the bedroom.

Once again, you're alone. For the first time in your life, after years of basking in the silence of an empty room, you wish it weren't true.

But you heed her advice. Straighten out your dress, fix the state of your makeup, flatten down your unruly strands of hair. By the end, you look fairly presentable again. Nobody should know that you just cheated on your husband.

You stroll back to the lively party with the ghostly stretch of her fingers between your thighs, each step leading you closer to the hum of music and a bustling crowd teetering on drunkenness.

Aunt Elise catches you at the final stretch of hallway, reaching out a hand for you to take. "My sweet girl. What a lovely party you've set up for us."

She pulls you into a one-armed hug, the other busy holding her drink, and you pray that your dousing of perfume covers up any… lingering scents.

"Nice to see you, Auntie."

She steps away then pins you with a sharp look over the rim of her glass. “So. Our new guest cuts a nice figure, doesn't she?”

You stiffen at the mention of Sevika, her warm hand and soft lips on you lingering fresh at the back of your mind. Her quick exit, too.

“I suppose.”

“Don't tell me you haven't noticed, dear girl. You took your sweet time on that house tour.”

Ah. Just like Aunt Elise to stick her nose in everything—especially where it doesn’t belong. A favorite pastime of hers.

“We had… matters to discuss. About Piltovan law.”

Her head tilts to the side, eyes thinning in confusion. “Is that why your sleeve is ripped?”

You jolt to attention, pulling your arm to your face to inspect the fabric.

And then she laughs, half-collapsing against the wall. “Oh, I just knew it! I knew it! You weren't as subtle as you thought, you know.”

Your heart drops like a heavy stone in the pit of your stomach as the last of her giggles fade. You might be sick, right here on the floor, and she steadies you with wide eyes and a hand on your elbow.

“No, my dear, it's alright. I've known for a very long time." A soothing hand rubs over your arm. "This changes nothing.”

You fall into the hug she offers, chin perched atop her shoulder. She smells like lavender and lemongrass, clean and earthy. “Please don't tell anybody. I'm begging you, Auntie.”

“Your secret is safe with me. It has been for years, alright?”

At least you have two people now that know. Two people that you trust to keep your world-ending secret. Aunt Elise is your favorite family member for a reason. She’s always treated you like a person, always gave you the reprieve of freedom at her home when your mother’s incessant hovering drove you half-mad. As a child, she let you dirty your skirt in her garden and carry bugs in your pockets and climb the fruit trees in her backyard and never once yelled at you about propriety or femininity or the price of girlhood.

Maybe the six children she gave birth to, the last two—a set of twins—that she raised as a grieving widow, helped shape her worldview into something more delicate than your mother and the rest of her sisters.

“My poor, sweet girl. I don't envy you one bit.”

“How did you know?”

She hums, the vibration passing through to your chest. “There were signs. You never much looked at the boys like you did the girls, and don't get me started on you running off every suitor your mother lined up for you.”

So, you truly weren't as subtle as you thought.

“And Mother doesn't know?”

“She used to suspect, but you know how she is. As long as she gets what she wants, nothing else matters.”

Mother knowing your preferences and ignoring them for her benefit makes your situation even worse because it isn't surprising in the slightest. Self-serving witch. Can't have a daughter who prefers women. No, that won't do. How else will she continue the precious family bloodline?

A cold hand cups your chin, and you meet your aunt's severe gaze.

"Don't let anybody rule your life. You only have one to live."

With those words, she turns and enters the ballroom.

hi… hc’s for dark! grayson?

— dark!grayson 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

𝜗𝜚 Dark!Grayson who you met in Zaun. Being a Zaunite came with its risks, especially when it came out of necessity. You'd hurt, fight, and steal from anyone to survive. So when you got into a fight with someone else in Zaun, setting their stand on fire, Grayson had the Sheriff's responsibility to check out what happened.

𝜗𝜚 She had an eyebrow cocked, staring down at you with her enforcer mask covering her features. "Did you set this man's property on fire?" She asked, as if you'd ever be honest, far too gullible you thought. Her voice had the sound of a chronic smoker with some charm to it.

𝜗𝜚 You fawned, a pout forming on your face. You made yourself seem smaller, hands behind your back innocently. You had crocodile tears forming in the corners of your eyes. "I didn't, ma'am." Your bottom lip trembled purposefully. "The stand was already on fire, swear it was, Sheriff!" Your voice cracked as the tears fell.

𝜗𝜚 Grayson huffed, she looked nearly convinced. "Are you certain? People around these areas don't make reports unless necessary." You looked so sweet, sickeningly sweet even. She couldn't believe a woman like you did such a thing, but it was her job to interrogate. "I promise, everyone here knows I stay out of the way!" Your words seemed so promising, she couldn't help but let her guard down.

𝜗𝜚 "You know I have to make an arrest, right?" The pout on your face deepened but your lips let out a resigned sigh. You fluttered your lashes at her, beady tears on the tip of them. "Do you really have to put handcuffs on?" She moved you so gently, putting your hands behind your back and securing them on your wrists with a firm nod to your question.

𝜗𝜚 "Nothing will happen if you cooperate, okay?" You nod, letting her walk you with her hand harshly on your upper arm.

𝜗𝜚 Since then, it's been a power dynamic going on between your two. Constant threats from her to throw you in jail and fawning from you so she wouldn't. You never imagined a quick act to get yourself out of repercussions would lead you here.

𝜗𝜚 "Don't test me, girl." She'd reply to your behavior with a finger pointed at your chest. You treaded a line of questioning her authority over you and she wasn't afraid to remind you. "I took you out of that place and I could easily put you somewhere worse." Her stern gaze didn't move from your shaky one. "Do you understand me?" Her voice raised, ensuring a nod from you.

𝜗𝜚 You'd wait for her to cool down on the ground besides her, resting your head on her knee as she sat back on the couch trying to collect herself. Her hand would pet your head as she calmed, sighing and then patting her lap for you to crawl up. Once you got the gesture, you'd immediately find your way onto her and hide your face into the crook of her neck. "M'so sorry Gray'," You'd whimper.

𝜗𝜚 She'd take you to every ceremony and gathering of the enforcers, walking you on her arm like a pet or arm-candy. She'd prance you around in classy dresses, everyone knowing you were picked up like a stray from the streets of Zaun. The powertrip always got to her, kissing you fervorly as everybody watched and wished they could get their hands on you. "Gonna ruin you when we're home doll," and all you could do was nod dumbly.

𝜗𝜚 She fucks you skin to skin, preferring her hands, mouth, and cunt over a strap-on. She only uses a strap-on when she needs to assert strength or let out stress. If not, she's usually knuckles deep inside your pussy, curling them into the spot that makes your eyes roll back into space.

𝜗𝜚 The nasty squelching noises would serve as a reminder of who you belonged to, who made you feel this good. Your moans echoing and her condescending praise right besides your ear. "Just a stray puppy, need to fuck you to compensate, right?" She bit down on the lobe of your ear after each sentence.

𝜗𝜚 She loves being called "officer" or "ma'am", hearing you call her those things as you beg to taste her just fuels her ego. Your knees were sore from how long you've been pleading on them, "Please ma'am, let me eat you, need a taste," She groaned, fisting your hair and pushing your head into her bush but not giving you permission to dart your tongue out. "Officer, please, it'll feel so good.." You tease her cunt by flicking your tongue and she chuckles, letting you finally get what you wished for.

𝜗𝜚 Dark!Grayson who keeps you on an invisible leash constantly, just grateful she got so damn lucky in the slums of Zaun ♡

hey I wanted to send a request about the bg3 ladies discovering readers sensitive spot but I‘m not sure if it came through since my internet was really bad? 🥺

It did not come through but this did and I think this is perfect as revenge for the ladies after the biteable ear request aha

Karlach:

The trail was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind and the crunch of boots against dirt. You and Karlach had been ahead of the group for a while now, waiting for the eternally slow Gale and Astarion to catch up. The sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled patterns on the ground, and in the calm of the moment, Karlach had taken the opportunity to pull you into a cheeky little makeout session.

Her lips were warm—no, scorching—against yours, her body pressed close as her arms wrapped around your waist. Her hands roamed your back, and you couldn’t help but let out a soft hum of contentment. She grinned against your mouth, her teeth lightly grazing your bottom lip before she pulled back to look at you.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you teased, trying to catch your breath.

Karlach raised an eyebrow, her grin growing wider. “And you’re not?”

Before you could respond, her lips found a spot just beneath your jawline, a little to the side, and something unexpected happened. You let out an involuntary noise—a cross between a gasp and a whimper, utterly adorable and undeniably salacious. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as Karlach froze for a second, then pulled back to look at you with wide, delighted eyes.

“Oh,” she said, her voice dripping with mischief. “What was that?”

“N-nothing,” you stammered, trying to step back, but Karlach’s strong arms kept you firmly in place.

“Nothing, huh?” she mused, leaning in closer. “I think I just found something interesting.”

“Karlach, don’t—” you began, but it was too late. Her lips were back on that spot, pressing a soft, lingering kiss there, and you couldn’t stop the noise that escaped you. It was the same sound as before, and Karlach’s grin against your skin was downright wicked.

“Stop it!” you whispered urgently, trying to squirm out of her hold. “They’re going to catch up any second now!”

Karlach pouted dramatically, though her fiery eyes were still dancing with amusement. “Oh, come on, you’re no fun. Just one more—”

“No!” you protested, putting a hand on her shoulder to fend her off. But Karlach was relentless, leaning in again with mock innocence, her lips brushing your sensitive spot once more. Another involuntary noise slipped from you, and this time it was followed by the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat.

You froze, your heart sinking as you turned to see Gale standing a few feet away, his arms crossed and an unimpressed look on his face. Behind him, Astarion wore his signature smirk, his crimson eyes glinting with amusement.

“Don’t stop on our account,” Astarion drawled, gesturing lazily with one hand. “This is far more entertaining than anything Gale was rambling about earlier.”

Gale shot him a glare before looking back at you and Karlach. “Perhaps next time, you could save the amorous displays for when we’re not trying to traverse dangerous terrain.”

Karlach let out a booming laugh, unabashed as ever. “Sorry, Gale,” she said, though the grin she shot you was anything but apologetic. “Guess we got a little carried away.”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning in mortification.

“I told you they’d catch up!” you hissed at her. Karlach just shrugged, slinging an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close.

“Worth it,” she murmured in your ear, her grin as wide as ever.

As the group started moving again, Astarion sidled up to you, his voice low and dripping with mirth.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, “that noise you made? Positively delightful. I might even be a little jealous.”

You shot him a glare, but his laughter trailed behind him as he strode ahead, leaving you to try and regain your composure.

Minthara:

The air between you and Minthara was thick with tension and heat, the playful sparring of dominance as electric as the charged atmosphere of a battlefield. Your lips clashed with hers in a heady dance, each of you vying for control, her sharp nails grazing your shoulders as your hands gripped her waist with equal fervor. There was a delicious push and pull to it, neither willing to yield but both relishing the challenge.

Minthara let out a low growl against your lips as you nipped her lower one, pulling her closer. But she was nothing if not resourceful. Her hands slid to your neck, tilting your head ever so slightly as her lips trailed downward. You had little time to anticipate what she was planning before she pressed a kiss to a spot just below your jawline, where your pulse thrummed steadily.

Your body betrayed you immediately. A soft, involuntary whimper escaped your lips, and you faltered, your grip on her waist loosening just enough for her to notice. Minthara froze for the briefest of moments, and when you glanced up at her, her red eyes were gleaming with unrestrained delight.

You pushed her off, taking a step back as you raised a finger, fixing her with a warning glare.

“Don’t you dare,” you said, your tone firm despite the heat still rising in your cheeks.

Minthara’s lips curved into a wicked smile, her fangs peeking through as she tilted her head like a predator who had just found a new weakness in their prey.

“Oh, my love,” she purred, her voice a mix of amusement and triumph. “How delightful.”

You turned, trying to put some distance between the two of you, but Minthara was faster. Her hands gripped your wrist and waist, spinning you back to her with a forceful tug that had you colliding against her.

“Going somewhere?” she teased, her tone dripping with mock innocence.

“Minthara,” you began, a weak protest, but she cut you off by leaning in, her lips brushing over that same sensitive spot again. The shiver that coursed through you was uncontrollable, and you hated how easily your body betrayed you. Another whimper escaped, this one louder, and Minthara chuckled, low and sultry, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“Ah, there it is again,” she murmured, her lips lingering as her hands tightened their hold on you. “So sweet. So vulnerable. Do you think you can hide this from me now?”

You tried to push her away again, but the strength in her grip—and the unyielding press of her body against yours—made it clear you were at her mercy. Not that you could complain, not really. Especially not when she tilted her head to get a better angle and kissed the spot again, and your knees threatened to give out entirely.

“Minthara,” you gasped, your voice shaky as you clung to her arms for balance.

“Yes, my love?” she replied sweetly, though the smirk on her lips made it clear she was anything but innocent.

“You’re evil,” you managed, though the words lacked any real bite.

“And you revere me for it,” she countered, her voice brimming with confidence. She leaned in once more, her lips ghosting over your neck before she captured your mouth again, her dominance in full display now that she had you so thoroughly at her mercy.

And, as much as you hated to admit it, you didn’t exactly mind.

Lae'zel:

The private sparring session had left you both breathless, sweat glistening on your skin as you and Lae'zel faced each other in the secluded training ground. The clatter of swords and the grunts of exertion had long given way to something else entirely—a different kind of intensity, one born of passion rather than combat.

Lae'zel had pinned you down in the final moments of your match, her body pressing against yours, her wild grin triumphant. What began as a taunt over her victory quickly escalated as her lips found yours, fierce and unyielding. The heat between you was undeniable, and before long, the lines between sparring and intimacy blurred entirely.

Her lips trailed along your jawline, down to your neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Then, as if guided by instinct, she found it—the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. The noise that escaped you was half gasp, half whimper, completely involuntary and utterly revealing.

Lae'zel froze for a moment, her sharp gaze locking onto yours. You braced yourself, certain she was about to tease you mercilessly, perhaps mock you for such a "weakness." But instead, she sat back slightly, her expression thoughtful and serious.

"You must keep this spot guarded," she said firmly, her golden eyes narrowing. "It is a vulnerability. An enemy who finds it would have undue advantage over you."

You blinked, caught entirely off guard.

"Lae'zel," you began, your tone both baffled and amused, "I don't think I need to worry about an enemy getting close enough to discover that spot, let alone knowing what to do with it."

Her frown deepened, the warrior in her unwilling to dismiss the matter.

"Complacency breeds defeat," she said sternly. "If I found it, others could as well. You should practice evasion—"

You couldn’t help it. You laughed, cutting her off mid-lecture. Her earnestness, while endearing, was misplaced in this particular context. You reached up, your fingers brushing her cheek as you leaned in to kiss her. The contact silenced her, her lips parting against yours as the fervor between you reignited.

When you pulled back, your grin was playful, and you could see the faintest hint of a blush on her usually stoic face.

"How about I make it my mission to find your sensitive spot instead?" you teased, your voice low and full of promise.

Lae'zel raised an eyebrow, the spark of challenge returning to her gaze.

"You may try," she said, her tone filled with the kind of daring that only fueled your resolve.

"Try?" you echoed, leaning in closer, your lips just grazing hers as you whispered, "Oh, I'll do more than try, Lae'zel."

And with that, the sparring session took a decidedly different turn.

Shadowheart:

The battlefield was a cacophony of noise—clanging steel, guttural cries of goblins, and the occasional victorious roar from Karlach. You and Shadowheart had found yourselves in a relatively quiet alcove, shielded from the chaos, though you both knew it wouldn’t last long. Lae’zel and Karlach had the goblins under control for now, giving you and Shadowheart a rare moment to steal for yourselves.

Shadowheart’s back was pressed against the rough stone wall, her lips locked with yours in a fervent kiss that felt almost scandalous amidst the battle. Her hands gripped the front of your armor, pulling you closer as if the world could crumble around you and she wouldn’t care so long as you stayed right there.

It was in the heat of this stolen moment that Shadowheart, seemingly guided by instinct or devilish intent, let her lips trail along your jawline before finding the spot just beneath your ear. The effect was immediate. A tiny, utterly unguarded squeal escaped your lips, your body stiffening at the unexpected jolt of sensation.

Shadowheart pulled back slightly, her lips curving into a wicked smile.

“Oh, what was that?” she teased, her voice a low purr that sent a shiver down your spine.

You tried to regain your composure, shaking your head as if to dismiss it, but her grin only widened as she leaned in again, clearly intent on exploiting her newfound discovery. Her lips brushed the spot once more, and this time, you couldn’t suppress the soft, involuntary sound that escaped you—a mixture of surprise and helpless delight.

The noise, however, was louder than either of you intended, echoing out into the chaos. A cluster of goblins, distracted by the commotion, turned their attention toward your alcove. Shadowheart noticed them first and let out a sharp sigh.

“Look what you’ve done,” she chided, though there was no real heat in her words.

“Me?” you protested, fumbling for your weapon. “You’re the one who started this!”

Before either of you could argue further, the goblins rushed forward, but they proved no match for the two of you. With quick, practiced movements, you dispatched them all, leaving the alcove strewn with their fallen forms.

As you wiped your blade clean, a shadow loomed behind you. Lae’zel’s scowl was enough to make you stand a little straighter.

“Are you so undisciplined,” she snapped, “that you cannot focus even amidst a battle? A moment’s distraction could cost lives!”

Shadowheart, ever quick-witted, raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms.

“I was simply administering medical attention,” she said, her tone prim and proper, though the faint smirk tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “It’s hardly my fault they found it… distracting.”

Karlach, who had joined Lae’zel, snorted and clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.

“Oh yeah,” she said through her chuckles, “looked like real thorough medical attention to me. Sure you weren’t checking their… vitals?”

You groaned, your face heating as Lae’zel pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. Shadowheart, however, seemed unbothered, her smirk growing as she gave you a sidelong glance.

“Let’s hope the next battle doesn’t require quite so much… care,” Lae’zel grumbled before stalking off.

As Karlach followed, still chuckling, Shadowheart leaned in close, her voice low and teasing in your ear. “You squeal so adorably. Perhaps next time, I’ll see what other noises I can coax from you.”

You shot her a playful glare, but the blush on your cheeks betrayed your amusement. “Not in the middle of a battle.”

“We’ll see,” she replied, her smirk now entirely victorious as she turned and strode off to rejoin the others.

Jaheira:

The camp was alive with the buzz of Jaheira’s fellow Harpers, strategizing and organizing as they prepared for the next phase of their operations. Amidst the activity, you’d managed to steal her away under the guise of needing her counsel on something urgent. It wasn’t entirely a lie; you did need her—but not for strategy.

You led her to a quiet spot under the boughs of a large oak tree, far enough from prying eyes and ears. Jaheira had crossed her arms, giving you a skeptical look, but the faintest hint of a smile betrayed her amusement.

“You are nothing if not persistent,” she muttered, though she made no effort to leave.

“Persistent enough to get you alone,” you quipped, stepping closer and resting your hands gently on her hips. She rolled her eyes, but when you leaned in to kiss her, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she melted into it, her hands slipping up to rest on your shoulders as she returned your affection.

The kiss deepened, growing more fervent as the moments stretched. Her fingers threaded into your hair, pulling you closer with a surprising intensity that made your pulse quicken. Despite her earlier protests, Jaheira was nothing if not passionate, and her hunger matched your own as you lost yourselves in each other.

But then, in a moment of teasing exploration, Jaheira’s lips trailed to your jawline and down to the curve of your neck. Her attention lingered at a particular spot, and when her lips brushed it, a soft, helpless sound escaped you before you could stop it. The sensation was electric, and your reaction was immediate—your body stiffened, and your breath hitched.

Jaheira froze for a moment before pulling back, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“What was that?” she asked, her tone a mix of curiosity and mischief.

“Nothing,” you lied, though the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed you. “Just caught me off guard.”

“Hmm.” Jaheira’s gaze lingered on you, and a sly smile spread across her face.

Without warning, she leaned in and pressed her lips to the same spot again. The jolt of sensation was just as powerful, and this time, a soft, involuntary whimper escaped you.

“By Silvanus,” she murmured, her voice a low, amused growl. “You’ve been hiding this from me.” Her eyes gleamed with a mixture of delight and frustration. “If only I had more time with you—I would make you regret ever revealing this weakness.”

You laughed, though your voice was still slightly breathless. “I didn’t exactly reveal it. You’re the one who went snooping.”

Jaheira scoffed, her hands tightening on your shoulders as she looked at you with mock exasperation. “Snooping, you say? I call it careful reconnaissance. A skill you should appreciate.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “Careful reconnaissance, huh? What exactly do you plan to do with this newfound knowledge?”

Her lips twitched in amusement, but then her expression softened.

“Sadly, nothing at the moment,” she said with a sigh, glancing back toward the bustling camp. “Duty calls, as always. But don’t think for a moment that I’ve forgotten.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Forgotten what?”

She raised an eyebrow, her fingers trailing lightly over the sensitive spot on your neck, making you shiver.

“This,” she said simply, her voice low and teasing.

You couldn’t suppress the soft laugh that bubbled up, though you quickly caught her hand in yours to stop her.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you said, your voice warm with affection.

Jaheira leaned in for one last kiss, her lips lingering on yours before she finally pulled away.

“You are an infuriating distraction,” she said, her tone affectionate despite the words. “But I suppose I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

With that, she turned and walked back toward the camp, leaving you standing there with a smile on your face and the faint, lingering warmth of her touch on your skin.

This was so fun to write and I really hope you guys enjoyed it! -Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

My obsession is becoming all-consuming. You can lock me up anytime you want mommy warlord !! 😏🧎🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️

Hello 😊

I want to request some soft morning fluff with Sevika or Ambessa. Waking up in each other arms, slow morning vibes.

Thank you so much ❤️

Love youuu and your writing 😘

- t.04 🦇

Waking Up With Them (Ft. Sevika & Ambessa Medarda)

₊˚⊹ᰔ Sevika ₊˚⊹ᰔ

When you wake up next to Sevika, she's snoring softly. Not as loud as she is during the night but the sound is now soft and relaxed. Her arm is wrapped around your waist and mechanical arm rested on the bedside table so she wouldn't hurt you by accident.

Sevika's eyebrows were slightly knitted together into some sort of expression of relaxation but you couldn't exactly place it. You sigh and place your arms around her broad shoulders as you run your hands through her hair. The chirping of the birds outside wakes you up every morning and so the both of you don't need to set an alarm.

You yawn, squeezing your eyes shut for a bit before reopening them and looking at Sevika.

"Baby, wake up," you mumble and kiss down her jaw, "Wakey, darling," you call out again.

Sevika groans and lets go of your waist, turning around and hogging most of the blanket. You shake your head and grab her shoulder, pulling it to make her turn to your side again, "Baby, wake up! You'll be late!"

Sevika's grey eyes snap open and she groans. Her flesh hand reaches to rub her eyes groggily as she sits up hastily. You remain laid next to her as you watch her regain her bearings. She looks at you with her tired, sunken eyes.

"Another Tuesday," Sevika grumbles.

"Another Tuesday," you repeat and pull her into your chest so her her head was laid on your chest, listening to the soothing sound of your heartbeat, "I'll make you pancakes for breakfast."

Sevika grins, "The fluffy ones?"

"Mhm," you hum back.

"I love you."

"I love you too, you big cuddle bear."

₊˚⊹ᰔ Ambessa Medarda ₊˚⊹ᰔ

When you wake up next to Ambessa, you're suddenly not next to her anymore. She's not there. The luxurious, silken bedsheets now feel worthless without her warmth and imposing figure snuggled close to you. You groan and turn onto your back, staring at the expensive ceiling with squinting eyes.

"Good morning, dearest," Ambessa's voice rings out suddenly and you look at her, eyes slightly wide.

"Oh, hi..." You shuffle to sit up, back leaning against the headboard, "Good morning." You yawn, "When did you wake up?"

"5:00 am," Ambessa answers and stirs with a spoon that was dwarfed by her hand, the small china cup of tea on the table forms a small cloud of honey tea, "I was training."

"Oh," you watch her walk to you with the tea, grinning at her, "Thanks," you take it and take a sip from the cup, "It's really good," you say with a smile. You set the cup away, "Come here."

"I'm—" Ambessa sighs, "—sweaty."

She finishes and takes a step away from the bed. Not a big step, just a little bit distance. You sigh and extend your arms, "Get over here." You say, you knew all Ambessa wants to do, seeing your sleep-drunken figure, is hug you tight.

"I hope you know, this is less than ideal," Ambessa says but she doesn't waste a second, diving in and tackling you to lay back onto the bed. You squeak and giggle heartily. Ambessa stuffs her face in your neck and kisses down your collarbone.

"Now, it's a good morning."