What If She Is Kissing Me But Then Stops To Take Off My Glasses Using Her Teeth Then Kisses Me Again

𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚏 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎—𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚠𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ ✧

pair: sevika x housewife!reader

warnings: toxic household, dark themes, manipulation. unsettling domesticity, psychological manipulation, emotional abuse (past and present), trauma responses, grooming themes.

you married sevika in the dead of winter. not for love.. not at first. you married her because the house you came from was… cold, sad, no one dried your tears whenever you balled yourself up, whenever you cowered from faint screams through thick walls, slammed doors, hands that reached for you only to correct or command. it was the kind of place that taught you how to make yourself small, quiet, agreeable. survival was silence. and you were very good at surviving.

you met sevika in the park. always the same bench. always the same time. december made everything quiet, like it was holding its breath. she sat beside you like she belonged there, like she’d been placed there just for you. her presence felt like a secret only you were allowed to know. she never asked what you were running from. only ever offered a place to rest.

she never pried. just let you talk when you could. let you sit when you couldn’t. her coat always smelled like tobacco and… her. her gloves were so soft on your knuckles when she made you wear them.

you didn’t even realize how long you’d been sitting on that bench. the cold had settled into your joints.. fingers stiff, knees aching, jaw locked from holding in too much. you hadn’t taken a coat. hadn’t planned to stay. you left in the middle of screaming. shoes half on. ears ringing. chest still tight from the last thing your father said.

you didn’t cry. not yet. not until later, maybe. right now you were too numb for it. like your whole body had been rung out.

you noticed her before she sat. tall frame, heavy boots, the sound of a lighter clicking once in her coat pocket. she didn’t say anything at first. just sat beside you like she’d been meaning to. like this bench was hers too.

a minute passed. then another.

“you okay?” she asked eventually, voice low, careful.

you shook your head.

she didn’t say a word for another few minutes.

“they yelled at you,” she said, more like an observation than a question.

you turned toward her, brows furrowed. “how’d you know?”

“heard it,” she said. “you’re not that far from the street.”

you looked away. embarrassed. humiliated, even. you weren’t sure why you didn’t get up and leave. maybe because you’d never had someone sit through silence like that. not without expecting anything back.

“you don’t have to tell me,” she added. “just don’t freeze alone.”

you nodded. then sniffled. “i don’t wanna be with them anymore.”

her gaze lingered. steady. understanding.

then, “you can sit here as long as you need. or… if you need somewhere warmer, i live just a few blocks down.”

you hesitated. not because you didn’t want to. but because the offer was too kind. too simple. and you weren’t used to simple.

“…you don’t even know me.”

her mouth tugged at the corner. “no. but i know what it’s like to walk out of a house and feel lighter after.”

you didn’t answer right away. but you didn’t say no. you just kept sitting. and she stayed, too.

the proposal didn’t come with flowers. it wasn’t planned. it happened between kisses, in her bed, underneath her. her weight was motionless over you, her voice low against your cheek. “marry me.” and you said yes, without thinking. like you were slipping into something warm after years of being cold. like you didn’t care what it cost.

you packed one bag. left the rest behind without looking back. she took you to turkey. where she was raised. you didn’t mind it. the weather was unbearable—but it was still kinder than what you left behind.

but the changes in your life distracted you from everything new.

you went from being forced to dress modestly.. layers on layers, necklines high, sleeves tugged past your wrists, to being dressed in the sheerest, softest nightgowns you’d ever touched. ones you didn’t choose. ones she brought home folded in tissue paper. sometimes, she slipped them over your head herself, fingers slow and deliberate, watching the fabric settle like fog on your skin.

you went from hiding candy in the corners of your room to keep it from being eaten, to eating your favorite sugary treats until you were sick of them. she kept the cupboards stocked.. pastries, chocolate, imported confections with names you couldn’t pronounce. “you can have anything you want,” she’d say, brushing crumbs from your lips. but you stopped craving them eventually. they didn’t taste the same when you weren’t sneaking them.

you went from closing doors, casements, and curtains to hide from everything messy you hated and scorned, to opening windows and letting the strings of sunlight seep through.

you used to listen through your bedroom door, heart in your throat, waiting to hear if the yelling was coming your way. now, there’s no yelling. just silence. thick and still. sometimes worse. sometimes, when you say something wrong, when your tone shifts too sharp or your words land wrong.. sevika doesn’t raise her voice. she just looks at you. long enough to make your breath catch. long enough that you start talking fast, apologizing, promising you didn’t mean it like that.

but she always forgives you. always.

you never had your own room growing up. now you have a whole apartment. but you still catch yourself moving quietly, flinching at dropped objects, keeping your voice soft. sevika never tells you not to, she just smiles. warm. knowing.

you’re safe here. you’re so safe.

until you actually… observed.

when on a random sunday night, you were hanging her clothes, she was in the kitchen, stirring something slow and careful on the stove. the house was calm. peaceful.

her wallet was in the way. you moved it aside. then paused.

it wasn’t like you were snooping. it’s just a tiny, harmless investigation.

you found money— a couple of hundreds.. ponytail holders, mints.

“it’s a wallet not a bag, my goodness..” you laughed softly to yourself.

and then you saw it.

a picture of you. not posed. not something you ever gave her. it’s grainy, taken through a window. you’re not smiling in it. you look… afraid.

knock it off… knock it off and don’t ask questions.

you kept telling yourself that so frequently, to the point that it became a daily rule.

a prayer.

but the uneasiness didn’t go away. it lingered. crawled. grew teeth. you felt like drowning even on land, in her arms.

you started noticing things. things you always saw, but never looked at.

when you tried to leave the room during an argument, she didn’t stop you. but the door never opened right away. not locked. not jammed. just… stuck. like the air thickens. like the walls don’t want you to go.

she hums when she’s angry. never yells. never curses. just hums some low, tuneless thing under her breath while staring off. the first time she did it, you felt your stomach drop. the second time, you apologized before she even stepped closer.

she doesn’t say “i love you” often. when she does, it’s always after something that hurts. a fight. a nightmare. a confession. and she says it soft, like it should make everything better. like it should be enough.

there was a chair in your bedroom corner that she never sits in while you’re awake. but every morning, it’s slightly moved. angled. warm, like someone had been there for hours. one night, you pretend to sleep, and feel her watching from it, perfectly silent, perfectly still.

she bought you a perfume you’ve never worn before and insists you start. it’s rich, heavy, unfamiliar. you ask why, and she just says, “it suits you better.” one night, you find an old sweater of hers in the laundry… drenched in that same scent. weeks before you ever wore it.

it didn’t take too long until you began to have nightmares—each one worse than the last.

and one day, the rule changed.

it wasn’t knock it off. it wasn’t stay quiet.. it became ‘talk to her about it. it’s not gonna be that bad.’

so you did.

she actually made the whole thing a lot easier for you. the fight didn’t start with shouting. just a glance. the wrong kind. her eyes on you too long after you smiled at the woman who sold you bread.

“do you know her?” it was quiet. too quiet.

you looked up from the table, startled. “the baker?”

she nodded. slow. watching you. always watching. “yeah. do you know her?”

“not really. just… i see her a lot. she’s nice.”

sevika stared. said nothing.

then crossed the room and stood behind you. her hands settled on your shoulders. thumbs pressing in slow, circling movements that should’ve felt good.

should’ve.

“she smiled at you like she knew you,” she said against your ear.

you shifted. “she’s just friendly.”

“i don’t like that.” her voice was calm. low. like she was telling you to turn the stove off. like it didn’t matter.

but her grip on your shoulders tightened. you didn’t answer. tried not to breathe too loud. her nose brushed your neck.

“you smell like her place.”

she was smelling you now. dragging her mouth along your throat like she was checking for lies.

“i stopped to buy bread,” you said. “that’s it.”

she made a sound. thoughtful. then nuzzled into your shoulder. “you don’t need to talk to people. not unless i’m with you.”

you blinked. the room felt colder somehow, even with her body against yours. even with her hand sliding down your side like it belonged there.

“i wasn’t flirting,”

“you don’t have to flirt,” she replied, lips brushing your skin. “you don’t even know what you do.”

that silenced you.

her arms wrapped around your waist. held you there. still. tight.

“i’m the only one who sees you right,” she whispered. “i made this life for you. you don’t need anyone else.”

you pulled away. only a little. just enough to fucking breathe.

her hands followed you. stayed on your hips, then your wrists. fingers curling around your skin like she was measuring how far you’d go before breaking.

“sevika…”

she tilted her head. waited.

you looked at her, really looked at her, and you finally said it-

“i feel like i can’t breathe around you anymore…”

the air shifted. something tense, quiet, immediate.

she didn’t move. just stared.

“then you open a window.”

you just… froze. like your mind couldn’t catch up.

like she hadn’t said something awful. like she’d told you the weather, or reminded you to lock the door. you blinked, once.. then again, and then the tears came, slow and soundless. tears you didn’t even feel at first. just the burn of them. just the weight in your chest that wouldn’t move.

your lips parted, but nothing came out.

not a word. not a sob. you stared at the floor like it might understand you better than she ever could.

your voice, when it finally returned, cracked like glass.

“how can you say that to me…” you looked back up at her.

sevika stepped forward, slow and deliberate, like she was approaching something frightened in the wild. her hand rose. you flinched. she didn’t hit you.

just touched your cheek. wiped a tear with her thumb. “because it’s true,” she murmured. “you forget how good you have it.”

your breath hitched. her palm was warm. the rest of you wasn’t.

you tried to turn your face, but she held you there. not hard.. just steady. like she wanted to feel the tremble in your jaw.

“you used to be so grateful,” she whispered. “i remember. i’d bring you food and you’d cry. you used to cling to me like i was all you had.”

“you were all i had,” you whispered back.

her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “i still am.”

your stomach turned.

you tried to pull away again, and this time she let you. but her hands stayed close, hovering like she was afraid you might vanish if she didn’t keep touching you.

“you’re scared,” she said softly, stepping forward again. “but you shouldn’t be. i haven’t hurt you.”

her hands landed on your hips. slid up your sides. slow. reverent.

“i take care of you. i protect you. you wouldn’t last out there.”

“stop,” you choked out, backing into the table.

she followed you. her fingers traced your collarbone.

“you’re just overwhelmed,” she continued, like you hadn’t spoken. “you always get like this when it’s late. it’s nothing new.”

“it- it feels new,” you half-hiccuped, half-sobbed.

she tilted her head. studied you. then leaned down and kissed the tear-track at your cheekbone.

“you always say that,” she said. “then you sleep. and then you forget.”

her breath was warm against your face.

“and if you don’t forget…” her lips brushed your temple. “then i remind you.”

you didn’t move. you couldn’t.

“i love you,” she whispered into your skin. you didn’t say it back. didn’t say another word.

but the house felt smaller.

and none of the windows would open.

cw: sub-bottom vi. pervy fem-reader. masturbation. voyeurism? strap-on referred to as cock. 1k words.

synopsis: you masturbate to the sounds of vi getting fucked.

you assumed vi would be the one doing the fucking. she has those smoldering blue eyes, bad girl persona, inked skin, domineering and sarcastic humor. so you’re surprised when you get home at half past two, exhausted from a late shift, only to hear the rhythmic creak of vi’s bed frame through thin walls.

frustration flickers first—so much for a good night’s sleep—but beneath it, curiosity stirs. vi never has girls over when you’re home. did she forget what time you said you’d be getting off work? is she so desperate for an orgasm that she just doesn’t care?

that’s when you hear it—soft at first, but unmistakable. vi is whining—breathless, whimpering like a bitch, blubbering about how much her pussy is being stretched.

”unghh! t-too big, holy fuck—it’s too big!”

your stomach tightens, heat coiling low in your belly, and the wind is promptly knocked out of your lungs.

you shouldn’t be listening to this. you should walk away, crawl into bed, put your earbuds in—do anything else—have some respect for your roommate. but your feet move of their own accord, carrying you closer to vi’s bedroom door, slow and heavy. there’s a weightlessness to your steps, like you’re drifting through a dream, disoriented and hazy from exhaustion—or maybe it’s something else entirely. maybe it’s the thought of vi getting her cunt fucked open in the next room over.

”please—fuck, please—slow down, i can’t—!”

vi, begging? you almost don’t believe it. she’s ordinarily so self-assured, so bossy—giving orders, not taking them, and certainly not asking.

there’s a muffled response, low and firm, but you can’t make out the words. whatever’s said only makes vi whine louder, high in her throat, like the bleat of a baby lamb. the sound is impossibly needy—it‘s whorish and raw, so utterly vulnerable, and unlike any noise you’ve heard vi make before—and, guiltily, you realize there’s a sharp pulse of heat ringing through your clit, molten-hot desire buzzing underneath your skin.

”i’m gonna—gonna cum again, unghhh! shit, shit, shit! baby, please—“

belatedly, you realize just how loud vi’s being, and it poses the question; is this why vi never brings girls home when you’re around? maybe it was never about privacy, but instead, so you wouldn’t hear the way they fuck her until she cries? how she squeals like a pig every time their cock bottoms out against her cervix? how she breaks under the right touch?

a sharp slap cuts through the air—skin against skin—and vi yelps. your mind races instantaneously. you picture her hookup smacking their hand against her pert ass, and the thought alone fans the flames of your imagination. is vi on her hands and knees, getting fucked like a dog, while her fat, round ass ripples from how roughly she’s being used? are her ass cheeks covered in red handprints? is she going cross-eyed and brainless from how well her pussy is being filled?

the bed frame slams against the wall, hard enough to rattle a picture frame in the hallway, and you nearly moan aloud at the thought of vi being pounded into the mattress—with zero mercy, at that. the imagery of it all is so vivid, so obscene, that you don’t even think—your hand is already slipping past the waistband of your pants.

fuck, you need this. it’ll be fine. vi will never know.

your hole is already immensely slick where your index finger dips inside. you drag a wet, sticky line up to your clit and apply teasing pressure—enough to make you shudder. 

“hnnggfff—fuck, fuuuuck! ahh, ahh, ahh!”

vi’s keens are like a siren’s call, drawing you closer, until you have your ear pressed against her door like a degenerate. everything is clearer now—the sharp hitch of vi’s breath, the schlick sound her cunt makes as it sucks on their cock, the plap, plap, plap of vi’s ass colliding against their bare skin. it has your cunt leaking like a sieve into your underwear.

and, god—her ass.

you’ve seen the way vi’s ass looks in her airtight jeans, how it jiggles against the cotton fabric of her workout shorts, but you’ve never witnessed it bare. it would be unequivocally pornographic, you imagine—the fatty tissue of her bubble butt rippling as her cunt is repeatedly fucked open. fuck, everything in you aches to just crack the door open and gently peak inside, to see it for yourself.

with your head tilted close to the door, you catch the wet, deliberate sounds of vi’s hookup kissing along her neck—most definitely sucking dark marks onto her pale skin. a sick part of you feels unbearably jealous at the prospect of vi being covered in someone else’s claim, but your pussy gets wetter when you hear the way vi whines in response—high and nasally.

she must have such a sensitive neck. you can almost see it—her squirming on their cock, torn between pulling away and pressing closer to the tingly sensation, how she shivers when their tongue traces the love bites.

abruptly, vi squeals like she’s been scorned, all pitchy and girlish, ”ahhh, you’re so—deep! deep in my fucking stomach—hnnghhh!”

every muffled plea she makes burrows deep under your skin like a thorn. your tender clit thrums with a solemn ache, yearning with a quiet, insistent need. your pussy is crying out for vi, desperate for her in a way that almost feels unbearable.

but how will you ever be able to look at vi the same after this? after you know how raspy her whines are while she has her pussy played with? how she gasps like a balloon losing air—staccato and squeaky—while her tiny hole is stuffed to the brim?

every sound she makes stabs right into your core and you finger the little bundle of nerves faster, rubbing your clit with the urgency of a flame flickering in the wind. you feel fuckdrunk and high off their sex, despite being an unbidden listener. 

and, albeit quickly, vi orgasms again—

“i’m—i’m cumming! ohhh, ohhhh, fuck! mmmghhh!”

it’s as if you’re tethered to her, like a switch flipping inside you, because you follow in suit, coming in harsh, overwhelming waves. you’re gasping and squirming like a fish out of water, trying to muffle your noises behind the palm of your hand, while your other hand cups your crying pussy.

your legs tremble, weak and unsteady, like a baby calf’s and you barely manage to stay upright as you ride out the rest of your release. somewhere in the haze, you register the damp heat between your thighs, how utterly soaked your underwear is.

once your orgasm subsides, clarity sets in—how could you do such a thing? you’re standing with your ear pressed against vi’s door, fingers sticky and pruned, realizing you just got off to the sound of your roommate being fucked. shame and exhilaration twist in your chest like a pretzel. 

but even then, vi’s moans linger in your mind like a ghost. shame prickles at the edges of your pleasure, but so does something else—something darker, and your fingers twitch with the urge to do it all over again.

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 ♡

The Regular

Summary: Working at babette’s you’re used to people asking for you after being in your company. You’re used to some of your clients speaking to you in passing, telling you they’ll see you soon. But your not used to that person being Silco’s right hand (wo)man.

Warning: mentions of prostitution, drinking, smoking, mentions of stalking, mentions of r#pe (very briefly), mentions of sex but none actually occurs, let me know if i missed anything else

a/n: Very clique plot for Sevika I know I know, but its perfect.

You’ve been working for babette since you were in your early twenties, now years have passed and you’ve grown accustomed to the life of a prostitute. Babette takes good care of you, as she does for most of her workers. Its just in her nature as she knows the work isn’t easy.

Throughout you many years of working for her you’ve had your bad experiences, men being way too rough, some even stalking you, but the past week you had the worst of them all. A specific client thats visited you multiple times forced his seed inside of you, breaking one of the few rules. After you were a bit shaken up and immediately went to Babette about it.

She immediately sent someone to go get the need medicine to prevent a pregnancy, comforting you and granting you a week off per your request. You spent the first couple days laying in bed and sleeping, as you didnt get much due to your job. The rest you spent taking a much needed self reset, doing things that made you happy. Like taking a nice bath, trimming your hair and nails, painting them in your favorite color, and cleaning to soothe your anxiety if it came creeping back up. The day before you had to go back you made sure to get enough sleep knowing your body craved more rest before returning to the tasking work.

On your first day back you took your time getting yourself together, walking into Babettes office and asking who had booked you today. To your surprise she informed you that Sevika booked you for your whole shift. You could tell by her tone that she was a bit surprised too, but she didnt mention it. She mentioned that every day you were gone she barged in asking for you, and with each passing day she got more aggravated with hearing ‘Shes not here today.’

Shes payed you many visits throughout the past couple months, sometimes seeing other girls but she always came back to you. Whispering in your ear that no one could satisfy her better than you, while you whined and moaned on the strap she always wore when seeing you. You let out a hum as you strolled down the hall, knowing she was waiting for you in your room.

As you pushed open the curtain your eyes landed on her, taking up a good amount of space on the couch, her legs spread wide with her mechanical arm resting on the back of the couch as she smoked her cigar with her right. You let the curtains fall behind you as you leisurely walked towards her. Once you were close enough she moved the arm from the back of the couch and wrapped the cold metal around your nearly bare skin. Letting it slip down to your hip as she pulled you into her lap.

With a smile you got comfortable while perched in her lap, placing your hands on her shoulders and moving them to the back of her neck. Playing with the locks on the back of her head. She took one last drag of the cigar, digging it into the tray that you had in your room just for her as she blew the smoke into your face.

You breathed it in with a sigh, it was quiet for a moment before she spoke up. “You’ve kept me waiting woman.” Despite her harsh words there was no ounce of anger lacing her tone. Using her actual arm to place under your chin and held it firmly.

“Wanna let me know why that is hm?” She leaned in slightly, a sly smile pulled on your lips. “Missed me sev?” You were avoiding the question, you both knew it. She let out a huff, ducking her head to your neck and placed a soft bite to your neck, not enough to hurt but enough to make it known she wanted answers. You tilted your head back in bliss, missing the way her mouth felt pressed against your neck. As she pulled away from your neck you whined at the loss of contact.

Through the many visits you let your persona fade away, letting yourself enjoy her pleasure just as much as she enjoyed yours. Not caring to put up a front like you do with other clients. “Tell me.” Letting out a huff you look at her, glancing away briefly as you mumbled to her what happened. You knew you shouldn’t, it wasn’t a good idea but it was Sevika. Not just some random man who came stumbling in.

Immediately her attitude shifted, her touch more gentle but she would deny it if you brought it up. You spent the next hours in each other’s blissful company while she praised you, focusing more on you than pleasuring herself.

When it was time to leave she fixed up her appearance slightly in the tiny mirror you kept to fix yourself up in-between clients while you sat next to her. You stared at her tiredly, sighing as you got up from the couch. She placed the mirror down that seemed smaller in her big hands, standing up and towering over you. She took two pouches of coins from her bag and tossed them on the table, “Keep ‘em. I’ll see you later doll.” You smiled at her and waved your fingers at her as she left.

You felt more at peace as you changed into your regular clothes, placing the two pouches Sevika gave you in your bag. Waving to Babette as you left the brothel for the night, and grabbing some food from Jericho’s on your way home.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Weeks have passed since then, you’ve fallen back into your usual routine. Lately Sevika’s visits have been less sex and more talking. Mostly her complaining about all the shit she has to deal with when it comes to cleaning up after jinx messes, and Silco’s been putting more work on her than usual. Of course no matter what you two were doing you enjoyed her company, the whole time she rambled you ran your fingers through her hair, up and drown the side of her neck while holding her cigar for her until she motioned for it.

On one of those days you told her about how you used her money to fix up your place, you managed to snag of of the few two story homes in zaun. Of course it was abandoned at first but with much grueling work and help from some friends years ago you fixed it up the best you could. You slightly rambled on how you were able to buy a heater to fight against the grueling cold weather that was flowing through zaun right now. You also told her that you were able to buy some new outfits you think she’d like.

Today though was one of the few days you were off, a friend from the brothel asked to snag one of your shifts because she needed some money to buy her son new winter clothes. Of course you let her have it, obviously making sure sevika didnt book you for that day.

Deciding you wanted to get a drink today instead of staying home you pulled on some old worn down leggings and then some thick cargo jeans. Sliding on a black long sleeve that was skin tight and a thick jacket you purchased many cold winters ago which was obvious due to the jacket being worn down. Pairing the outfit with your old black boots that don’t get much wear now. But it did the job so you couldn’t care less. After sliding money in your pocket that would surely cover a few drinks you headed out to The Last Drop.

You pushed the doors open and were immediately greeted with strobe lights and loud music, and smoke flowing through the air. Pushing your way through the crowd to get to the bar, you slid into a bar stool and ordered a shot of whiskey. It was a bit expensive but you liked to take pleasure in spoiling yourself sometimes.

So as you downed the shot, and the next few you didn’t think about how much it costed. Instead you cherished the way the warm liquid ran down your throat. You didn’t take enough to get drunk, but enough to feel a slight buzz. You decided to just sit at the bar for a while until you heard an all too familiar whistle.

It was the whistle she used every-time you stripped off your new set, or when you moved in a way she particularly liked. You head slowly turned to the sound, locking eyes with her. She was sitting in a booth near the stairs that led up to what you would assume is Silco’s office. She was sitting across from a work colleague she mentioned once, Ran if you remembered correctly.

You tried to fight the small smile that played on your lips as she beckoned you over, you slid off the barstool and walked over to her booth. Sliding in to sit next to her. Her arm immediately moved to rest behind you, “What’re you doing here doll?” You glanced to her friend who was simply looking at you. Not with a glare or anything but was trying to figure out who you were. Looking back over at her. “Had the day off, wanted a drink.” You shifted your leg so it was draping over hers, something you’ve grown accustomed to.

She hummed, eyes glancing down at your leg which seemed so much smaller compared to hers. Something she enjoyed when the time came. “If I knew any better i’d say you were looking for me.” She let a teasing smirk pull on her face. You saw her friend slide out the booth through the corner of your eye but didn’t pay it any mind. “Would it be so bad if I was?” Raising your brows at her in a playful manner.

Her hand lifted from behind the couch, wrapping around and her fingers grazed your cheek. Her gentleness taking you aback for a moment, “No, it wouldn’t.” she stared down at you for a moment before rest her hand on your thigh and turned to take a sip from her drink.

The rest of the night you spent with each other, sitting in the booth and talking. Getting to know one another beyond sex, and the rambling that occurred in the brothel. When the night came to a close she walked you back to your house, and with much convincing she stayed the night.

m.list

mdni. sub-bottom vi. fem-top reader. strap-on usage. fwb. vaginal sex. degradation.

wc; 1,160

thinking about being friends with benefits with vi. despite the casualness of your relationship, she’s always so needy for you, and you love how addicted your own best friend has become to your touch—to the way your hands and mouth and cock can reduce the tough, headstrong woman to a desperate, mewling mess. it’s a heady feeling, knowing that vi can't get enough of you.

she texts you at odd hours, short and direct—you free?—as if you’d ever say no. and when you show up at her place, she’s already waiting by the door like an overeager puppy, hair messy, lips red and parted, pupils wide as if she’s been thinking about this all day—and you know she has been. she’s always desperate for cock, but it’s not her fault; with how well you take care of her sweet hole, of course she’s become dependent on you for her pleasure.

she needs you to be rough with her, to be mean, and you’re the only one who knows how to use her exactly as she craves, how to put her in her place. no matter how much she tries to hide it, you’re completely aware that vi gets off on the roughness, the dominance, the sheer ownership in your touch, and you’re more than happy to give it to her—to use her strong body for your own twisted pleasure.

tonight, she’s laying on her stomach, atop her bedsheets, while you ride her ass. in this position, her pussy is so much tighter than usual, it’s almost hard for you to fuck in and out of her, and her glistening cream is obscenely glazing your strap.

your hands grip her hips bruisingly, guiding her onto your cock as she buries her face in her pillow, stifling the sounds of how desperate and whiny she is. her body shudders beneath your touch, trembling because you’re filling her just the way she needs, and she’s clawing against her bedsheets like a misbehaving cat.

”you love it when—mmf, i fuck you like a bitch?” you murmur against her ear, and she gasps as if she’s been burned, like your words have struck a cord deep inside her.

she doesn’t answer right away, too caught up in the way you’re using her little pussy for your own entertainment, her breath coming out in sharp, uneven bursts—but eventually, she blubbers, ”yes, yes, i love it so much—mghff!”

”what are you, then?” you press, breathlessly.

you pull your hips back until only the tip of your cock is being gripped within her tight heat, before slamming back inside her in a single, harsh thrust, keeping her hips pinned to the bed so she has nowhere to run. vi keens like a wounded soldier.

”a bitch—aghh! i’m your bitch!” vi sobs, and she’s trying to fuck back against your strap—trying to feel you as deep inside her gummy, pink walls as she possibly can—but you won’t allow her to.

you admire the way her ass ripples every time your pelvis bounces off of her, the firm globes of muscle jiggling, and it’s hypnotizing. the lewd sound of skin smacking against skin echoes throughout her obsolete bedroom, mingling with the obscene wet noise of vi’s creamy pussy being fucked into submission.

you press kisses to her shoulder blades, licking over her tattoos, before groaning, ”yeahhh, that’s right, fuck—ahh, guess you’re not so dumb after all.”

vi whines louder than before, as if she’s agreeing that your cock always fucks her stupid without fail.

she has no choice but to clench down around your thick strap stretching her open, relishing in the way it kisses her cervix with each punishing drive of your hips. vi’s arousal is dripping down her thighs now, the dirty sound of her juices squelching plays in your ears like music. you’re using her as if she’s a cocksleeve, as if she’s nothing more to you than a toy for you to fuck, and it’s making her eyes cross with irrevocable pleasure.

you continue your relentless pace, hips grinding forward with a brutal intensity that rocks vi’s entire body with each thrust. you swear you can feel her pussy clenching and fluttering around your strap, gripping it like a vice; a boa constrictor squeezing the life out of its prey.

the dirty view only spurs you on, pushing you to fuck into vi’s tight heat with even more animalistic fervor, determined to make her come undone until she can’t even speak, until static fills her ears and her brain melts out of her head.

”unghh—! you’re fucking me, you’re fucking me,” vi slurs mindlessly. she sounds like a desperate whore that’s been fucked stupid. you know she’s getting close, that her tongue has probably lolled out like a dumb dog by now, that her chin is most likely drenched in her own drool.

yeah. she’s your bitch, alright.

snickering, you dig your nails into her ass, spreading her cheeks apart so you can see the nasty way her pussy is gripping onto your cock with added clarity, and then you deliver harsh smacks to each globe. vi squeals—as you expected her to—and her pale skin blossoms red like roses in the spring.

she tries to get up onto her knees, but you’re sitting on the back of her thighs. she tries to fuck back onto your cock, but you harshly press her hips to the bed. she can’t run from the pleasure, she can’t find relief, all she can do is take it.

with newfound ferocity, you pound away at her ass as if it personally offended you. the flesh of your hips is clap, clap, clapping against vi’s rear perhaps faster than the speed of light, and it’s exhausting, it takes immense strength and determination—but you’re determined to make vi come so hard she cries.

you spit onto your fingers and then slip your hand underneath vi’s muscular body, rubbing two of the digits against her clit with the precision of a brain surgeon. you know exactly how much pressure to apply to her clit, how fast she likes it to be, which side of the little nub is more sensitive than the other—and vi orgasms then, intense and sudden.

milky white cream leaks from her cunt in splotches around your shaft and it almost looks like you, yourself, came inside her. you groan at the sight, unabashedly, and rub your fingers harsher against vi’s clit, until she’s flinching away from your touch and sobbing. 

you remove your fingers from her clit and trace up the length of her spine with your tongue, before pressing soft kisses to her shoulder blades, feeling the way her skin is buzzing beneath your lips. and vi’s panting harshly against her pillow but not saying a word, so you know you successfully fucked all thoughts from her head.

gently, you pull your cock out of your best friend’s pussy, while she can only lay there trembling.

taglist; @marvelwomenarehot0, @marieeeluvsyou, @mxchi-mxxn, @el-amor-que-tu-quieres, @jinxvex, @mwahbabe, @teddybearbutch28, @stupendousbananasharkcop, @nahcala, @ellieslob, @idontwannabehereatm, @rhian88, @kyur1jinx, @vivispace, @girlbeatings, @thatgrlnany @blackdykegirlblogger, @imfckngfantastic

(2/13/25)

Enemies to lovers sevika.

Sevika absolutely despises reader, and yet reader is still so nice to sevika always smiling at her and offering her nothing but kindness…sevika hates it.(no she doesn’t)

Could be either fluff or smutty just an idea

✞⛧ Tension and Temptation ✞⛧

Warnings: emotional vulnerability, slow burn, developing relationship, implied tension, brief violence, slight injury, angst, reluctant affection (no smut..sorry gang-)

Word count: 5.3K

The air in Zaun always feels heavier, weighed down by the grinding industrial machines and the lingering scent of decay. The narrow streets are filled with the constant hum of activity, the hustle and bustle of a city where survival is a day-to-day struggle. You've barely stepped foot into Silco's territory, but the tension that thickens the air makes you feel as though you've already failed the moment you arrived.

And standing before you, arms crossed, is Sevika.

She's a force of nature, towering and imposing, with the kind of presence that could crush a man just by staring at him. Her broad shoulders and muscular frame practically hum with power, her every movement radiating command. A scar runs down her face, another testament to her brutal world, and her grey eyes, cold as steel, meet yours with a flicker of disdain. Her hair falls in dark waves over her sharp features, partially obscuring the fierce, calculating look she's giving you. The metallic sheen of her copper-colored prosthetic arm glints in the low light, its shimmer-enhanced strength evident even in the way she holds herself.

The first thing you notice is how she's completely unapproachable, the natural aura of violence that wraps around her as tightly as the red poncho draped over her shoulders. You almost feel sorry for the fact that she's been stuck with someone like you. You're just a recruit, fresh off the streets, trying to earn your place. You can already tell she doesn't want you here.

"I don't need a damn assistant," Sevika spits, her voice like gravel scraping against metal. Her tone cuts through the heavy air, sharp and immediate. "So don't get any ideas. Just stay out of my way."

You can't help but smile—soft, almost out of place. It's your natural instinct to meet coldness with kindness, even if it seems pointless. You've always believed that if you show warmth to the right people, maybe you'll get something back in return. But Sevika? She's a brick wall. Her sharp eyes narrow, assessing you as if you were a problem she needed to solve.

"Yeah, whatever," she mutters, dismissing you with a wave of her hand. "Don't make me regret this."

You follow her closely as she turns, stepping with heavy purpose down the grimy streets of Zaun, her boots clicking against the ground in rhythm with the pounding of your heart. Despite the tension crackling between you, you do your best to keep your tone light. "I just want to help. I can handle whatever you need."

Sevika doesn't respond. Instead, her eyes stay fixed ahead, ignoring you completely. The silence between you feels suffocating, but you persist. "I know it might not seem like it, but I'm here to learn. I'm not looking to get in your way, I promise."

Her scowl deepens. "Then keep your mouth shut, and maybe I'll consider it," she growls. Her voice is low, a constant hum of irritation. But it's not just her words that make you pause. It's the way her eyes flash briefly toward you before her gaze returns to the horizon. There's something about the sharpness in those eyes, something that makes the air around you feel charged.

It's like trying to strike a spark in a cold, barren landscape. The more you try to offer, the more Sevika pushes back, her harsh words biting through your calm demeanor.

Still, you can't help but offer a small smile as you keep up with her. You've always believed in the power of kindness. Maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to crack through her tough exterior.

By the time you've reached your destination—a crumbling building where Silco's orders are handed down—you've managed to learn that Sevika has little patience for anything, let alone for someone who dares to try and offer kindness. You find yourself standing in the shadows as she barks out orders to a group of men, her posture demanding respect. There's an undeniable force behind her words, a presence that commands the room as much as her stature does. Her copper arm gleams under the dull lighting, the intricate mechanics of the prosthetic arm seeming almost alien in the harsh, industrial environment.

You're not sure why you still persist. Maybe it's because something about Sevika's rugged exterior, her unrelenting loyalty, and the way she carries herself pulls at you. Or maybe it's the fact that you can see through her cold exterior—there's more beneath the surface, and you're determined to figure it out.

As the hours drag on, the work piles up. It's hard, grueling, and entirely mundane, but you keep at it, offering help when needed, sticking close to her side. There's something about Sevika's quiet, controlled rage that fascinates you. The way she moves, the way she handles everything—each gesture calculated and efficient—reminds you of a well-oiled machine. But machines don't need kindness. People do.

Sevika finally throws you a glance as you hand her a cup of tea, carefully prepared just the way you think she might like it. She takes it from your hand with a grumble, muttering something under her breath about unnecessary gestures, but you know you've won a small victory.

She doesn't throw the cup at you. She drinks it instead, in silence.

The longer you stand beside her, the more her icy exterior seems to thaw—if only just slightly. You notice the subtle shifts in her posture when you speak, the way her lips curve in the briefest of smiles, though she quickly hides it behind her usual scowl.

"Stop smiling at me like that," she growls, her voice softer than before, yet still biting. "It's fucking irritating."

But you don't stop. In fact, you make it your mission to be even kinder, to offer more help, to make her realize that you're not a threat, that you're not here to steal her spotlight, but to be part of the team.

Later, when the day's work is done, Sevika's frustration with you seems to grow. She's angry, but it's not the same anger she directs at the people she dislikes. This one is different. It's more internal, a tension she can't shake, like you're pushing a button deep inside her. She doesn't understand it, and it only makes her hate you more.

"Why the hell do you keep doing this?" she asks, her voice rough with something unreadable. "You think your smile will make this any easier? You think I care about your little act of kindness?"

You stand your ground, though your heart beats faster. "Maybe I'm just trying to help."

Sevika scoffs, but it's not as cutting as before. She glances at you once more, her gaze unreadable, and for a second, it's almost like she's looking at you, really looking at you, for the first time.

"You're wasting your time," she mutters, her tone almost tired.

But when she turns away, there's a slight shift in her movements, an imperceptible change in the way she carries herself. You're not sure if she's getting used to you, or if she's just too exhausted to push you away anymore. But the more she resists, the more determined you become.

In the quiet aftermath of a long day, Sevika lingers at the edge of your vision. She's still rough around the edges, her anger still a flame that burns bright, but there's a small part of her that's starting to crack.

You can see it. She can't hide it from you forever.

And that's when it hits you—despite her constant grumbling, despite her sharp words and cold silences, you're not just an annoyance to her. You're a challenge. One she can't seem to escape.

As Sevika walks away, her prosthetic arm catching the light in a way that makes her seem even more formidable, you smile softly to yourself.

You won't give up on her.

The weight of Zaun hangs heavy in the air, thick with the scent of oil, decay, and danger. The city is a constant, humming machine of chaos and violence, a place where only the strongest survive. And you? You're still trying to prove yourself, trying to make your place known in Silco's ranks. But standing next to Sevika, as always, feels like a constant struggle.

Her presence is like an impenetrable wall of steel—intimidating, unyielding, and cold. Every time you speak to her, it's like your words just bounce off her, sliding into the abyss where they're quickly forgotten. But you're not deterred. You can't be. Her icy demeanor is nothing new. What is new, however, is the way you can't seem to stop smiling at her. Even when she glares at you like she's about to snap your neck, there's something in you that refuses to back down, refuses to let her coldness defeat you.

And it's that same smile you offer her now as the two of you walk through the dark, abandoned streets, on a mission to secure a deal with another faction. You've learned by now that Sevika doesn't deal well with pleasantries, doesn't like the niceties most people in Silco's empire try to pretend at. She's raw, blunt, a woman who cuts to the heart of the matter without hesitation. But despite her sharp words and colder gaze, you remain the same—cheerful, optimistic, and unnervingly kind.

"Quit looking at me like that," Sevika growls, her voice low and gravelly as her grey eyes flick to you. Her gaze pierces through you, as if she's trying to burn holes into your skin. The low hum of her prosthetic arm moving against the fabric of her sleeve is a constant reminder of her strength, her sharpness, and the danger she can unleash with a single movement.

"Like what?" you ask, genuinely curious, despite knowing the answer. You can feel her irritation like a thick cloud around her, but it doesn't deter you. Not today.

"Like you think I'm some sort of charity case," she snaps, the muscles in her neck tensing as her jaw clenches. "If you think you can win me over with your fake little smiles, you're sorely mistaken."

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can say anything, the sudden sound of footsteps echoes in the alleyway ahead. A low hiss of tension fills the air, and instinctively, you tense up, your eyes scanning the shadows.

Sevika's hand immediately goes to the grip of her weapon, her fingers flexing in anticipation. You've seen her in action before—the way she moves, the way her presence fills a room with both fear and respect. But this? This is different. She's on edge, and that makes you on edge too.

"Stay behind me," Sevika orders, her voice a low command as she steps forward, her posture suddenly coiled with dangerous intent. Her left prosthetic arm gleams under the dim light, the cracked blue and purple veins in her skin pulsing faintly beneath the surface. She looks like a force of nature, ready to strike at any moment.

You don't argue. You've learned by now that arguing with Sevika is a pointless endeavor. Instead, you keep your head down, staying close to her as the two of you advance. But as you round the corner, you don't expect what happens next.

Gunshots echo through the alley, and in an instant, you're caught off guard. A burst of shrapnel flies toward you, the sound of the blast ringing in your ears, and before you even have time to react, a sharp pain explodes in your side. The world tilts on its axis as you stumble, your knees buckling under you as you fall hard against the cold, unforgiving ground.

Your breath hitches, the shock of the attack leaving your limbs weak. Blood starts to pool beneath you, and panic surges in your chest. You're not sure how bad it is, but you know you're hurt. You're not sure if you can stand again.

Sevika doesn't hesitate. She spins around with the speed of a predator, her metallic prosthetic arm coming down with the force of a battering ram. The gunmen are taken down quickly, their bodies slumping lifelessly to the ground, but you're not focused on them. You're focused on the sharp, burning pain in your side, the fear creeping in that you might not be able to move.

She doesn't see it at first. She's too caught up in the immediate danger of taking out the rival faction. But when she turns back to look for you, that's when she sees it.

Your hand is pressed tightly against your side, blood seeping between your fingers as you struggle to stay conscious. The shock is setting in, your head spinning, your vision blurring around the edges.

For a moment, Sevika's eyes narrow, her face unreadable as she assesses the situation. The emotions in her eyes flash too quickly to read—fury, disbelief, and something else you can't place. Her lip curls, the usual scowl deepening, but she doesn't turn away.

You try to force yourself up, to stand, but your body refuses to cooperate. Your legs shake, and you collapse back onto the cold concrete, gasping for breath.

Sevika swears under her breath, her brow furrowing in a rare display of concern. Her prosthetic arm shifts, clicking with the precision of machinery as she strides toward you, her pace quickening, her boots slamming against the ground.

"You're fucking useless," she mutters under her breath, the words as harsh as ever. But when she kneels beside you, there's a hint of something else in her voice—a softness that's quickly masked by her usual cold exterior. "Stay down."

Before you can say anything, she's already tearing off a piece of her red poncho, using it to staunch the bleeding. Her hands are surprisingly gentle as she presses the cloth against your wound, her fingers rough from years of fighting but oddly careful in their touch.

"You better not fucking die on me," she grumbles, though her voice lacks its usual bite. "I don't need another person I have to drag around."

You can feel her frustration radiating off of her, but there's something else beneath it, something that tugs at the very core of you. She's trying to save you. Despite the way she treats you, despite how cold and distant she's always been, there's a flicker of something deeper in her actions—a recognition, maybe, of your sacrifice for her.

You offer her a weak smile, the corners of your lips pulling up despite the pain. "I'm not going anywhere, Sevika," you say, your voice hoarse but steady.

She freezes, her hand pressing down harder on the wound. The faint glow of purple lights up her eyes for a split second as she injects shimmer into her bloodstream. It makes her scarred veins pulsate, the colors glowing brighter, but it's the softening of her gaze that you notice first.

"Don't make me regret this," she mutters, but it doesn't feel like an insult. It feels more like an acknowledgment of something she doesn't want to face. It's a rare moment of vulnerability, one that she quickly hides behind her usual hard shell. She doesn't want to care. She can't afford to.

But she's already made the choice.

When she pulls you into her arms, lifting you effortlessly as if you're nothing more than a weightless bundle, you feel the odd warmth of her body against yours. The clash of her cold demeanor and this rare moment of tenderness sends a shock through you, a realization that perhaps she's not as immune to kindness as she makes herself out to be.

As the two of you make your way back to safety, Sevika's hand never leaves the cloth pressed against your side. She's steady, unyielding, and yet... there's something in the way she holds you now, something that wasn't there before.

You know she won't admit it. She can't. But for the first time, you see a crack in her armor.

And you can't help but smile, despite everything.

She's still the same Sevika, tough as nails, unrelenting, but underneath it all? You're starting to see that she's capable of something more.

You won't stop smiling—not even for her.

It's the middle of the night, and you're wide awake, groaning softly as you try to adjust your position on the bed. The wound on your side, though healing, hasn't quite been fully stitched up yet, and tonight, it seems, it's decided to protest. The dull ache from earlier has turned into something sharper, something more insistent, as you shift again and feel the sting of stitches pulling loose.

You sit up, pressing a hand to the wound, biting your lip as the pain spreads. Damn it, you can't let this go unchecked. The medic has already gone home for the night, and the last thing you want to do is try to deal with it on your own. You've only been out of the infirmary for a few days, but you know that if you don't do something about it, you could risk making things worse.

So, you do the only thing that comes to mind: you go find Sevika.

She's always there when things get rough, even when she doesn't want to be. Whether she likes it or not, you're stuck with her. So, you pull on a loose shirt, the fabric brushing against your skin, and you make your way toward her quarters in the heart of Zaun's underground complex.

The hallways are quiet, and the dim light overhead casts long shadows across the stone walls. You hesitate for a moment, the familiar nervousness creeping up your spine. What if she's not in the mood for this? What if she snaps at you, tells you to figure it out yourself? But you push the thought aside, biting your lip and walking with more determination toward her door.

You knock twice, a hesitant but firm tap. The response comes quickly—a grunt followed by the sound of heavy footsteps on the other side. The door creaks open, revealing Sevika in nothing but her sleeveless top, her metallic prosthetic arm gleaming faintly in the dim light. She's standing there, as imposing as ever, eyes narrowing when she sees you.

"What the hell do you want?" Her voice is rough, like gravel grinding underfoot, but there's an edge of concern in her gaze that she doesn't bother to hide.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, the wound on your side still aching painfully. "I—uh, I think my stitches came undone." You gesture weakly to your side, a little embarrassed that you've come to her for something like this. "I need help."

Sevika's brow furrows, and before you can say anything else, she steps aside, ushering you in with a sharp, "Get in here."

You hesitate, but the pain is still there, gnawing at you. You wince as you step inside her quarters, and the familiar scent of leather, metal, and the faint, earthy smell of Zaunite air fills your senses. Sevika's space is sparse, functional—a bed, a few chairs, some scattered tools, and a small table with a few half-drunk bottles of something strong.

She gestures for you to sit on the edge of her bed, the sheets slightly askew, but she doesn't seem to care about the mess. You sit carefully, lifting your shirt to reveal the bandages around your side, only to wince again when the motion tugs on the wound.

Sevika doesn't say anything, just walks to the small table and grabs some fresh gauze, a roll of medical tape, and a few tools. You notice the way her gaze flicks to your side, her lips pressing into a thin line.

"Don't just sit there like a damn idiot," she mutters, her voice unusually soft as she crosses the room, "Take that shirt off. You're making it harder for me."

Your heart skips a beat, and your cheeks flush with warmth, even though you try to hide it. You've never been this close to Sevika before, especially not in this context. Her usual scowl is softened, but there's an undeniable hardness to her presence, making your pulse quicken.

You take a deep breath and pull the shirt off, revealing your bandaged side and the remnants of your wound. You're left in just your bra, feeling a little exposed, but you try to push the nervousness down. Sevika doesn't seem to care at all about your state of undress. Her attention is entirely on you, her sharp eyes scanning the injury as she leans over.

The air feels suddenly thick with an intensity you haven't noticed before. Her movements are methodical, but there's an odd tenderness in the way she handles the gauze and the bandages, even though her touch remains firm and practical. When she leans in closer, you can feel the heat of her body as she works on your side, her breath brushing against your skin.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The room is filled only with the sounds of Sevika's breath and the faint click of her prosthetic arm as she moves. You focus on trying to steady yourself, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Hold still," she orders in a low voice, and you comply, not trusting your words to come out steady.

She works in silence, her focus entirely on the task at hand. Her fingers are gentle as she adjusts the bandages, her calloused hands brushing against your skin every so often. You can feel her eyes on you, though she doesn't look up. The soft touch of her hands against your skin is a stark contrast to her usual coldness, and you can't help the way your stomach flips at the intimacy of it all.

When she finishes, she steps back slightly, her gaze lingering on you for a moment before she clears her throat. "There. That should hold for now. Don't make me do this again."

You glance up at her, catching the faintest hint of something soft in her grey eyes, but it's gone as quickly as it appears. She's back to her usual self—stoic, guarded, but there's still that unspoken understanding between the two of you.

"Thanks," you say quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the vulnerability of the moment. "I really appreciate it."

Sevika rolls her eyes but doesn't say anything else. Instead, she tosses the supplies onto the table and walks back to the chair in the corner, leaning back with her arms crossed. "You're welcome," she mutters, sounding almost gruff, but there's a softness in her tone that wasn't there before.

You glance at her, a small, teasing smile creeping across your face. "You sure you're not going to throw me out now that you've seen me in my bra?"

Her eyes flick to you, the faintest spark of irritation flickering before she grunts. "Don't get any funny ideas, alright? This doesn't change anything."

You smile at her, watching her try to keep up her tough exterior. It's the first time you've ever been this close to her in this way, and you can't help but feel a sense of warmth that spreads through your chest.

"Sure, Sevika," you say softly, "whatever you say."

Sevika doesn't answer, but as she watches you, her lips twitch into the smallest of smiles, just for a fraction of a second.

You never quite get used to the sight of Sevika after a mission gone wrong. It doesn't matter how many times you've seen her come back battered and bruised, bloodied and bruised, a quiet part of you always hopes the next time won't be as bad. But it's always worse. Each time she walks in with a limp, a scowl, and that dark gleam in her eyes, you know it's only a matter of time before it breaks you.

And tonight, it's the worst it's been in months. Her left arm, her prosthetic, is badly damaged, sparks still crackling from the shattered circuitry as she stumbles through the door. Her breathing is shallow, uneven. The shimmer-enhanced blue and purple veins pulse under her skin, glowing faintly in the dim light of the warehouse. The glint of her copper prosthetic, normally a symbol of her unyielding strength, now looks like a taunting reminder of the fragility that even she can't escape.

You feel your chest tighten as you rush to her side, hands instinctively reaching out to steady her.

"Shit," Sevika mutters, her voice rough from the effort it takes to stand. "I'm fine. I don't need your help." But her words lack the usual bite. They're hollow, like she's trying to convince herself more than anyone else.

You ignore her, not caring about the gruff tone or the coldness that oozes from every word. You've seen it before—the way she hides behind that wall of indifference, masking the cracks with bravado. But tonight, there's something different. Her guard is slipping. Maybe it's the injury, maybe it's something else, but for once, she's not pushing you away.

Her heavy, labored steps are slow as you help her to the nearest chair, your hands steady as you guide her down. She winces as her weight shifts onto the seat, the strain evident in the furrow of her brow and the clenched jaw.

You sit beside her, your eyes tracing the damage to her arm, the shimmer scars that mar her skin. Your stomach knots. She's always been tough, but this time, there's a vulnerability to her that you've never seen before.

"You need to rest," you say gently, your voice softer than you intended. "You've been pushing yourself too hard. It's okay to take a break, Sevika."

She snorts, her usual sharpness returning, but it's forced. "I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity," you insist, your gaze meeting hers. "It's care. You're not invincible, Sevika. You're allowed to feel things. You don't always have to be the tough one."

Sevika's eyes narrow, and for a moment, you think she's going to snap at you, throw out another biting retort, but she doesn't. Her lips curl downward, and she looks away, focusing on the floor as if the weight of your words is suddenly too heavy for her.

For a long beat, there's silence between you two. The sound of Sevika's ragged breathing fills the space, and you can hear the faint crackling of her prosthetic arm, still sparking erratically.

"Why do you always act like this?" you ask, your voice quiet but steady. "Like you're untouchable. Like you don't need anyone."

Sevika's shoulders stiffen, her jaw tightening, but you don't let her retreat into herself this time. You place a hand gently on her arm, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the cool metal of her prosthetic. Her gaze flicks to your hand, and for a moment, you think she'll pull away, but she doesn't. Instead, her breath hitches, and she stares at you as if seeing you for the first time.

"What do you want from me?" Her voice cracks, a sharp edge to it. "I'm not some fucking damsel in distress. I can handle myself."

You lean closer, your eyes softening as you study her face. The harshness of her features, the furrow in her brow, the tightness around her eyes—all of it is a mask. A mask she's been wearing for years, hiding the truth underneath.

"I don't want anything from you, Sevika," you say, your voice soft but firm. "I just want you to stop pretending you don't need help. Stop pretending you don't need someone who cares about you. You're not weak because you need someone. You're human."

Sevika's eyes flash with something—anger, fear, uncertainty—before she looks away, her fingers tightening around the edge of her prosthetic. "I don't need anyone," she mutters, though it sounds more like a plea than a statement.

You shake your head. "You do. And I'm here. You're not in this alone."

Her gaze flickers back to you, her expression conflicted. You see the war in her eyes—the part of her that wants to let go, to accept your care, and the part of her that's terrified of doing so. You know she's been through hell, fought battles that no one should have to face, and survived in a world that doesn't give a damn about her. But you also know there's more to her than the walls she's built.

The silence between you both grows heavier, but instead of pulling away, you stay. You let the quiet linger, giving her space to process the unspoken things hanging in the air.

Sevika exhales sharply, and for the first time tonight, she doesn't try to hide the exhaustion in her voice. "You think I'm just some cold-hearted bitch who doesn't care about anything. But you don't know...you don't know what it's like. To care. To have someone depend on you and then—" She cuts herself off, her eyes flicking to the floor. "It hurts, alright?"

You don't say anything right away. You just listen. Because it's the first time she's admitted that. The first time she's let someone see the cracks in her armor.

"You don't have to carry everything on your own," you say, your voice soft but insistent. "You don't have to be perfect. Not for me. Not for anyone. I'm here. Let me help."

There's a long pause, but eventually, Sevika lifts her gaze to meet yours. Her eyes are dark, but there's something different there now. Something softer, less guarded. She blinks, the tension in her shoulders slowly dissipating.

"You really are ridiculous, you know that?" she says with a faint smile, but it's not mocking. There's something genuine about it. "You don't know when to quit."

"No," you reply with a small grin, "I don't."

She sighs, the weight of the moment finally sinking in. "You're right," she mutters, almost to herself. "I'm not good at this. At...letting people in."

"I know," you say, reaching out and placing your hand over hers. "But you don't have to do it all at once. We can take it slow. Just...let me be here for you. When you need it."

Sevika's eyes flicker down to your hand, her thumb brushing over your skin, and for the briefest moment, it feels like the world pauses. The connection between you two is palpable now, not just a shared silence, but something deeper. Something that neither of you can ignore.

Her lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile before she leans forward, her face inches from yours. "You're not like anyone I've met before," she murmurs, her voice low and rough. "And that's...frustrating."

"Why?" you whisper, barely able to keep the distance between you two.

"Because you make it hard to be a cold-hearted bitch," Sevika says, her voice laced with a mixture of frustration and something else you can't quite place.

Without another word, you close the distance. Your lips meet hers in a kiss that's soft, tentative at first, but soon deepens as the tension between you two finally gives way. The kiss is slow, exploring, each touch of your lips against hers a silent promise, a moment of vulnerability shared between two people who have spent so long hiding from each other.

When you finally pull away, Sevika rests her forehead against yours, breathing heavily. There's no more need for words between you two. The connection is enough.

For the first time in a long time, Sevika lets herself feel what she's been hiding, and you, quietly, let her.

Hi! Could I request something? I just saw you accept new request again! I was thinking of yearning. Them yearning for oblivious tav.

I just love a good old yearning prompt

yesssssss the yearning the pining the dramaaa

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

Karlach was trying her best to keep it together. As she sat by the campfire, her eyes kept drifting toward you, her massive frame leaning slightly forward as if she could somehow close the gap between you just by willing it. You were tending to a few weapons you’d scavenged earlier in the day, completely oblivious to the way her molten eyes lingered on you, the way her hands fidgeted with a piece of stray leather to distract herself from the ache in her chest.

Wyll, sitting nearby with a mischievous grin, had noticed. Of course, he had noticed. The Blade of Frontiers had a knack for picking up on unspoken emotions, and Karlach was as subtle as a roaring forge.

“You know,” Wyll began, his voice low and teasing as he leaned toward Karlach, “if you keep staring at them like that, you’re liable to set the poor one on fire.”

Karlach froze, her cheeks flushing as embers flickered to life along her horns.

“What?” she whispered sharply, her voice cracking. “I wasn’t staring! I was just—”

“Yearning?” Wyll supplied with a grin, leaning back casually.

“I don’t yearn,” Karlach snapped, though her voice lacked conviction.

“Oh, come now,” Wyll said, his tone smug. “The sighing, the pining, the tragic glances when he’s not looking—it’s downright poetic.” He tapped his chin theatrically. “It’s almost enough to compose a ballad.”

Karlach shot him a glare, her flames flaring slightly around her shoulders. “Wyll, I swear, if you don’t shut it—”

But it was too late. Her embarrassment sent her infernal engine into overdrive, and the flames on her body surged. The sudden flare caught your attention, and you glanced up from your work.

“Karlach?” you called out, your voice filled with concern as you stood and crossed the campfire toward her. “Are you okay?”

The sheer earnestness in your tone made her heart lurch painfully in her chest. She quickly tried to wave you off, her hands fanning at her shoulders as if she could dampen the flames.

“It’s nothing! Just—hot, you know?” she stammered.

“Well, yeah, you’re always hot,” you said, grabbing a nearby waterskin. “But this seems worse than usual.”

Karlach froze, her eyes going wide at your words. Did you—did you just call her hot? Surely, you didn’t mean it like that, right?

“Here, let me help,” you said, uncapping the waterskin.

“No, no, really, I’m fine—”

Too late. You doused her with a splash of water, and instead of calming her flames, it only made things worse. The steam hissed around her, mingling with her rising panic, and her flames flared even brighter.

“Gods, I’m sorry!” you exclaimed, looking horrified. “Did that make it worse?”

Karlach buried her face in her hands, groaning loudly. “No, no, it’s fine, just—don’t worry about it.”

Wyll, watching the scene unfold, laughed openly now. “You’re really outdoing yourself, Karlach. I think the entire camp will see those flames soon.”

You shot Wyll a confused look. “What’s he talking about?”

Karlach peeked through her fingers, her flames dimming slightly as her mortification reached its peak.

“Nothing! He’s just… being a prat,” she said quickly, glaring at Wyll, who only grinned wider.

“I’d call it encouragement,” Wyll said lightly. “After all, someone here needs to take a hint.”

You blinked at him, clearly puzzled, but before you could ask what he meant, Karlach stood abruptly, the ground under her feet crunching as her weight shifted.

“I’m gonna, uh, go check on—anything else,” she muttered, stomping off toward the edge of camp.

You watched her go, bewildered, before turning back to Wyll. “Did I do something wrong?”

Wyll chuckled, shaking his head. “Not wrong, no. Just oblivious. Don’t worry—you’ll figure it out eventually. Maybe.”

You frowned, glancing back toward where Karlach had disappeared into the shadows, her flames still faintly flickering in the distance. You didn’t know what you’d missed, but something about the way she’d looked at you before she left lingered in your mind, warm and unexplained.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The campfire crackled gently, casting a warm glow across the assembled group. You sat on a log, sharpening your blade, blissfully unaware of the undercurrents running through the evening.

Minthara, sitting a few paces away, had her sharp red eyes trained on you, a faint furrow in her brow. Her usual composed demeanor was slightly off tonight—her movements a touch too deliberate, her glances toward you lingering just a second too long.

Shadowheart, one of the resident camp gossips, noticed. She always did.

“Why don’t you just say something, Minthara?” Shadowheart drawled lazily, her lips curling into a smirk as she toyed with a loose strand of her hair. “It’s not as though subtlety is your strong suit. Or theirs, for that matter.”

Minthara’s sharp gaze snapped toward her, irritation flashing across her face.

“I do not need your advice, cleric,” she said coolly.

“Oh, I think you do,” Shadowheart said, undeterred. “Because whatever it is you’ve been doing clearly isn’t working. They haven’t even noticed.” She tilted her head toward you, who were now carefully oiling your weapon, oblivious to the tension building around you.

Minthara’s grip on her dagger tightened, her knuckles turning white. “They have other matters to attend to. The fault lies not with my approach but their… distraction.”

Shadowheart chuckled. “Distraction? They’re so dense they probably think the moonrise is flirting with them. You’ll have to carve it into the side of their tent before they catch on.”

That was the last straw. Minthara stood abruptly, her dark cloak billowing behind her as she marched across the campsite toward you.

“Minthara?” you said, startled as her shadow fell over you.

Before you could say another word, she grabbed you by the front of your tunic and pulled you to your feet with a surprising amount of force. Her crimson eyes burned with frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“You,” she snapped, her voice ringing out across the camp, “are impossibly blind.”

“W-what?” you stammered, your mind racing to figure out what you’d done wrong this time.

“I have fought by your side,” she began, her voice rising. “I have trusted you, protected you, respected you. I have given you every sign imaginable, and yet you remain oblivious to the fact that I—” She stopped abruptly, taking a deep breath, as if even saying the words aloud were a battle she needed to win. “That I desire you, you fool!”

The camp went silent. Even the fire seemed to crackle a little softer as everyone turned to stare.

You blinked, utterly dumbfounded. “You… you desire me?”

Minthara groaned, her head tipping back in exasperation before she fixed you with an incredulous look. “Yes! Must I spell it out further? Or perhaps I should inscribe it on your blade since that seems to be where your attention is always focused!”

Shadowheart, who had been watching the entire exchange with barely suppressed laughter, finally burst out into an uncontrollable giggle.

“Oh, gods, this is better than I could’ve hoped,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye.

Minthara turned her glare on her, her lips curling in irritation. “If you say one more word, Shadowheart, I will—”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupted, holding up your hands. “Everyone calm down.” You turned back to Minthara, your voice softening. “I’m sorry if I missed the signs, Minthara. I honestly didn’t realize.”

Her anger seemed to waver, replaced by a flicker of vulnerability.

“How could you not?” she asked, almost to herself. You hesitated, then placed a tentative hand on hers, still gripping your tunic.

“Because I’m an idiot,” you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips. “But I’m an idiot who’s honored and… maybe a little thrilled by what you just said.”

For the first time that evening, Minthara seemed at a loss for words. Her lips parted slightly, her sharp demeanor softening as she searched your face.

“Thrilled, you say?” she murmured, the barest hint of a smirk returning.

“Thrilled,” you confirmed, your cheeks warming under her intense gaze.

The tension in the air shifted, no longer charged with frustration but with something warmer, something promising. Minthara released your tunic, smoothing it out almost absently. “Then perhaps next time, you won’t require such… dramatic measures to understand me.”

Shadowheart made a kissy noise behind you, and you shot her a glare over your shoulder. Minthara, however, ignored her entirely, her focus solely on you.

“Now,” she said, her voice back to its usual measured tone. “Shall we continue this conversation somewhere with fewer interruptions?”

You nodded, feeling a grin spread across your face. “Lead the way.”

As you walked off together, Shadowheart’s laughter echoed behind you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. For once, the fog of obliviousness had lifted, and you were exactly where you wanted to be—at Minthara’s side.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

Lae’zel had always been a force of nature—her sharp tongue, battle-hardened demeanor, and unyielding confidence left no room for doubt. And that’s exactly how she preferred it. To anyone observing her, she was the epitome of githyanki discipline and control. But deep down, behind the steel exterior and fiery eyes, she was at war with herself.

She had a massive, undeniable crush on you.

It was maddening. Every time you smiled at her or even so much as glanced her way, her heart would race—a sensation she would have sworn was impossible for her kind. She had tried everything to make her interest known: sparring sessions where she pushed you to your limits (and a bit beyond), blunt declarations of your 'adequacy' in her eyes, and even offers to 'crush your enemies together in glorious combat'. But somehow, none of it seemed to land.

Instead, you remained oblivious, flashing her that infuriatingly kind smile and treating her like a valued ally rather than someone she desperately wanted to claim as her partner.

One day, during a training session, Lae’zel’s frustration reached its peak. She had you pinned beneath her, her blade at your throat, and instead of fear or admiration, you chuckled.

“Nice move,” you said, your grin wide. “I’ll have to remember that one.”

She grit her teeth and growled, pressing the blade a little closer—not enough to hurt, but enough to make her point.

“You do not take me seriously!” she snapped.

You raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about? You’re one of the most serious people I know.”

“Not in battle, fool!” she snarled, pulling back and stalking away, her blade sheathed with a sharp clang, as you walked bewilderdly back to your tent.

From a short distance, Halsin, who had been watching the training with an amused glint in his eye, stepped forward to intercept Lae’zel. She stopped abruptly, glaring at the druid as if daring him to speak.

“Lae’zel,” Halsin said in his calm, measured tone, “may I offer you some advice?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You may offer. I will decide whether it is worth hearing.”

He chuckled, unfazed. “I’ve noticed your… interest in our leader.”

Her nostrils flared, and she crossed her arms. “And what of it?”

“You are a warrior, and I admire your strength,” Halsin began, “but perhaps your methods of courtship are… misplaced.”

“What nonsense is this?” she scoffed. “I have made my intentions clear. I have praised their competence. I have challenged them in combat. What more is required?”

Halsin smiled gently. “Perhaps a softer touch. Words that reveal your feelings without the shield of aggression. A gesture that shows your care rather than your strength.”

Lae’zel looked utterly baffled, as if he had just suggested she surrender to a mind flayer.

“Softness is weakness,” she spat.

“Not always,” Halsin countered. “Sometimes, it takes more strength to be vulnerable than to wield a sword.”

She opened her mouth to retort but found herself at a loss. Instead, she grumbled something unintelligible and stalked off, leaving Halsin shaking his head with a knowing smile.

The next morning, Lae’zel approached you at camp. There was an uncharacteristic stiffness to her posture, as if she were preparing for battle, yet her hands were empty.

“Leader,” she began, her voice clipped but quieter than usual.

You looked up from your map, offering her that same smile that never failed to undo her. “What’s up, Lae’zel?”

She hesitated, the words catching in her throat. For a moment, she considered abandoning this foolishness and returning to her usual methods. But Halsin’s advice echoed in her mind, and she forced herself to continue.

“I… value your presence,” she said, the words sounding foreign and awkward.

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Uh, thanks? I value yours too.”

“No, you do not understand,” she snapped, then took a deep breath to steady herself. “I… value you. Your strength. Your wit. Your… idiotic charm.”

Your confusion deepened. “Lae’zel, are you feeling okay?”

She growled in frustration, her hand twitching toward her sword out of habit before she forced it to her side. “Do I need to spell it out for you, fool?”

“Apparently,” you said, still clueless but clearly trying to follow.

She stepped closer, her amber eyes burning into yours. “I desire you, leader. As my equal. My partner. My… lover.”

The words hung in the air, and for the first time, you saw Lae’zel in a new light—not just as a fierce warrior, but as someone deeply passionate and utterly vulnerable in this moment.

“Oh,” you said, the realization dawning on you. “Oh.”

Her jaw tightened, and she crossed her arms defensively. “If you find this amusing, I will—”

“I don’t,” you interrupted, a small smile playing at your lips. “I just didn’t think—well, I didn’t know.”

“Because you are blind,” she muttered, though there was no real venom in her tone.

You stepped closer, reaching out tentatively. “Lae’zel, I’m flattered. Truly. And… I’d like to see where this goes.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, she looked as though she didn’t quite believe you. Then, with a sharp nod, she straightened her back and let a rare, genuine smile grace her lips.

“Good,” she said simply. “Now, let us prepare for the day. We have enemies to slay, and I will not let them distract you from what is ours.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, warmth blooming in your chest. Lae’zel might not have mastered the art of softness, but in her own way, she was perfect.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

Shadowheart had always been composed, her expression a careful mask of neutrality, but recently, every time she caught sight of you, her calm façade wavered. Her chest tightened, her thoughts scattered, and her usually sharp words became softer, laced with an uncharacteristic warmth. She knew the truth of it: she had fallen for you. Hard.

And yet, despite her every effort to show you her feelings, you remained utterly oblivious.

At breakfast that morning, Shadowheart decided to take another approach. She brushed past you as you prepared the fire, the faint scent of lavender trailing in her wake.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice soft but laced with what she thought was a hint of allure.

You looked up, smiling warmly. “Morning, Shadowheart. Did you sleep well?”

She nodded, sitting beside you with deliberate closeness. “As well as I could, knowing what awaits us each day. And you?”

“Fine, thanks. Just trying to get this fire going,” you replied, your focus returning to the task at hand.

She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a murmur. “You’re very skilled with your hands. It’s… admirable.”

You blinked at her, utterly missing the meaning behind her words. “Thanks! I guess all those years of camping have paid off.”

Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly, but she refused to give up. Throughout the morning, she found small ways to stay near you, brushing her fingers against yours when you handed her something, complimenting you with what she thought was a sultry tone, and even laughing at your jokes—some of which, she had to admit, were terrible.

Still, you seemed completely unaware.

By midday, Shadowheart was frustrated beyond measure. She found Karlach near the edge of camp, inspecting her weapons, and stormed over.

“Karlach,” she said, her tone clipped but tinged with exasperation.

Karlach looked up, her fiery heart pulsing warmly. “What’s up, Shads?”

"Please don't call me that," Shadowheart crossed her arms, her frustration bubbling over. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve been dropping hints—no, practically throwing myself at them, and they just… don’t notice!”

Karlach blinked, then grinned, clearly enjoying the situation more than she should. “Wait, you’re talking about—?”

“Yes,” Shadowheart snapped, her cheeks tinged with pink.

Karlach let out a hearty laugh, her flames flickering slightly brighter. “Oh, this is rich. You? Pining? I never thought I’d see the day.”

Shadowheart glared at her. “This is not amusing. I need advice, not mockery.”

Karlach wiped a tear from her eye, still chuckling. “Alright, alright. Let me think. So, you’ve been… what, flirting?”

“I’ve tried everything,” Shadowheart admitted, throwing her hands in the air. “Compliments, proximity, even subtle touches. And nothing! They treat me the same as everyone else.”

Karlach hummed, tapping a clawed finger against her chin. “Maybe they’re just really dense. Or, y’know, not used to someone as… uh, mysterious as you.”

Shadowheart raised an eyebrow. “And what do you suggest I do? Write it out in blood on their tent?”

Karlach snorted. “Hey, that might actually work. But no, maybe you need to be more direct. Like, ‘Hey, I think you’re cute, let’s share a bedroll tonight.’”

Shadowheart stared at her, aghast. “I am not saying that.”

“Your loss,” Karlach said with a shrug. “But seriously, just talk to them. Be honest. I bet they’d love it.”

Shadowheart sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Honesty. Of course. The one thing I’ve been avoiding.”

“Hey, they like you for you,” Karlach said, clapping her on the shoulder. “Well, they would if they had half a brain and knew what was good for them. Go get ’em, tiger.”

Later that evening, as you sat by the campfire, Shadowheart approached you with purposeful strides. She was determined to take Karlach’s advice, even if it made her heart pound and her palms sweat.

“Can I join you?” she asked, her voice steady despite the storm inside her.

“Of course,” you said, shifting to make room for her.

She hesitated for a moment, then sat beside you, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

You turned to her, your expression curious but kind. “What is it?”

Shadowheart opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she let out a shaky breath and looked into the fire.

“I… I care about you,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, completely misunderstanding. “I care about you too, Shadowheart. You’re a great friend.”

She groaned inwardly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No, I mean I care about you in a… different way.”

Realization dawned on your face, your eyes widening. “Oh.”

“Oh?” she echoed, feeling both vulnerable and absurdly exposed.

“I didn’t—Shadowheart, I had no idea,” you said, your voice filled with genuine surprise and warmth.

“I noticed,” she muttered, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips despite herself.

You reached out, gently placing a hand on hers. “I’m sorry if I’ve been clueless. I guess I just… never thought someone like you would feel that way about someone like me.”

She looked at you, her expression softening. “And why wouldn’t I? You’re… remarkable.”

The sincerity in her voice made your heart skip a beat, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Well, I guess that makes two of us, then.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “You… feel the same?”

“Yeah,” you said, your cheeks flushing. “I guess I was just waiting for a sign.”

Shadowheart laughed softly, the sound lighter than you’d ever heard from her. “Apparently, I need to be less subtle.”

As the fire crackled between you, the tension that had been simmering for so long finally gave way to something warmer, something real. And for the first time in weeks, Shadowheart felt at peace.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

Jaheira was not a woman who pined. Or so she told herself. A High Harper, disciplined and pragmatic, she had weathered countless battles and heartbreaks. Yet, here she was, sneaking glances at you across camp, her chest tightening whenever you smiled or laughed. It was maddening. How had you managed to worm your way so deeply into her thoughts?

Despite her years of wisdom, Jaheira found herself at a loss. She didn’t know how to bridge the gap between the two of you, not without risking her pride or the delicate balance of your group.

The worst part was your complete and utter obliviousness. She’d tried subtlety—lingering conversations, offering you extra help with tactics, even sharing stories of her youth that she told no one else. You simply smiled warmly, thanked her, and went about your day as though her heart hadn’t been laid bare in every word.

One evening, after another frustrating day of yearning and getting nowhere, Astarion finally had enough.

“Jaheira, darling, may I have a word?” Astarion said, sidling up to her as she sharpened her blade near the fire.

“What do you want, Astarion?” she asked, her tone brusque.

He smirked, clearly unbothered by her irritation. “Oh, nothing much. Just to offer my… expert services in matters of the heart.”

Jaheira blinked, her sharpening stone pausing mid-stroke. “What are you talking about?”

Astarion gestured dramatically toward you, where you sat chatting animatedly with Karlach. “I’m talking about your obvious pining for our dear leader. It’s positively tragic to watch.”

Jaheira’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly turned back to her blade. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion said, rolling his eyes. “You practically glow whenever they’re around. It’s adorable, really. But I must say, your approach could use some… finesse.”

Jaheira scowled at him. “I am not some lovesick fool, and I certainly don’t need advice from a vampire with more charm than sense.”

“Perhaps not,” Astarion said, unfazed. “But consider this: have your current tactics worked? Have they so much as noticed your affection?”

Jaheira’s silence was answer enough.

“I thought so,” Astarion said smugly. “Now, listen closely. You need to be bold. Direct. Use your natural charisma and authority to your advantage. And if all else fails, a little flirtation never hurt anyone.”

Jaheira narrowed her eyes. “I am not a charlatan like you, Astarion. I won’t lower myself to cheap tricks.”

“Who said anything about cheap tricks?” Astarion replied, feigning offense. “Think of it as… a strategic maneuver. After all, you wouldn’t hesitate to outwit an enemy in battle, would you?”

Jaheira sighed, considering his words. As much as she hated to admit it, he wasn’t entirely wrong. “Fine. I’ll listen. But if this backfires, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”

“Splendid,” Astarion said, clapping his hands together. “Now, let’s start with a little more confidence in your approach…”

The next morning, you noticed something strange about Jaheira. She was… different.

She approached you with a faint smile that seemed just a touch too practiced, her movements deliberate and graceful in a way that reminded you of someone else.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice smooth and measured. “Did you sleep well?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah. I did. And you?”

“Perfectly,” she replied, her eyes lingering on you in a way that felt… odd. “Though I couldn’t help but think of our conversation from yesterday. You truly have a fascinating mind.”

You tilted your head, trying to piece together what was happening. Something about her tone, her body language—it was familiar. And then it hit you.

“Wait a minute,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “Why are you acting like Astarion?”

Jaheira froze, her carefully crafted façade slipping for just a moment. “I… what?”

“You’re doing the thing he does,” you said, mimicking a dramatic hand gesture. “The suave, overly charming thing. It’s not like you.”

Jaheira’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly turned away, muttering something under her breath.

From across camp, Astarion burst into laughter, doubling over as he clutched his stomach. “Oh, this is too good!”

Jaheira shot him a withering glare before turning back to you, her expression softening. “Perhaps I’ve been… trying too hard. Forgive me if I seemed unlike myself.”

You smiled, your warmth cutting through her frustration. “You don’t need to try so hard, Jaheira. I like you just as you are.”

Her breath caught, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. Then, with a small, genuine smile, she nodded. “Thank you. That means… more than you know.”

As she walked away, Astarion approached, still grinning. “Well, that could have gone better, but at least they noticed you.”

Jaheira shook her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Never again, Astarion. Never again.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

The late afternoon sun hung low, painting the riverside in warm golds and soft shadows. Gale, waist-deep in the cool water, had his arms crossed in front of him as if the sheer act of holding himself together could quell the maelstrom of feelings raging inside. His crush on you was a storm that refused to abate, leaving him with sleepless nights and days filled with longing glances.

From the riverbank, Minthara watched him with a look of abject irritation. Minthara had ordered him to take a dip in the cold water after he had decided to unleash his love-filled ranting unto her ears as they collected water. She assured him she would be fine to take the water back by herself, and when he thought she had left he keenly stripped and waded into the water. But Minthara had not left, no, Gale's lovesick demeanor had created a vendetta against her and she decided to take action.

"Pathetic," she muttered under her breath. She didn’t think it was possible for wizards to get worse, but Gale was proving her wrong. With a smirk, she moved silently to where Gale had left his clothes folded neatly on a nearby rock. With the swift efficiency of a seasoned tactician, she gathered them up and strode back toward camp.

You were enjoying a moment of quiet when Minthara approached, holding a bundle of robes in her arms.

"The wizard is by the river," she said bluntly. "It seems he’s in need of assistance."

You frowned, glancing at the clothing. "Assistance? With what?"

Minthara’s lips quirked into a thin smile. "He appears… indisposed. Perhaps you should go and see for yourself."

Before you could ask more, she tossed the robes into the fire and strode away, leaving you thoroughly puzzled but intrigued. You could have sworn those were Gale's. With haste, you made your way towards the river and when you arrived at the riverbank, you called out, "Gale? Everything alright?"

Gale startled, his head whipping around to face you, his hair slicked back and glistening in the sunlight. Clearly he had been searching for his robes. "Ah, no! I mean, yes—yes, everything’s fine!"

You raised a brow, stepping closer to the water’s edge. "Are you sure? Minthara said you needed help."

At the mention of her name, Gale groaned. "Of course, she did. And I suppose she also absconded with my robes?" He shot a wary glance toward the shore, clearly trying to maintain some distance.

"Unfortunately so. What’s going on?" you asked, scanning the area. Then you noticed the way his face burned red, his expression a mix of embarrassment and frustration. "Why are you still in the water? It’s getting late. and the river's current is about to pick up, you need to get out, now."

He hesitated, his fingers flexing nervously beneath the water’s surface. "It’s… complicated."

"Complicated how?" You looked around, spotting no immediate danger apart from the increasing current. "Do you need a hand getting out? I can lend you my cloak."

"You don’t understand!" Gale blurted, his voice cracking slightly. "This isn’t about the cold—or the current. It’s…" He trailed off, visibly warring with himself.

You tilted your head, curious and slightly amused. "Then what is it about? You’re not exactly making it easy to help you."

Gale sighed deeply, sinking a little lower into the water until only his nose and eyes peeked out. Then, in a low, hurried tone, he confessed, "I’m afraid my feelings for you have… manifested in a rather inconvenient manner."

Your brow furrowed. "Feelings for me?"

"Yes!" Gale said, his voice growing more desperate. "Feelings. Strong feelings—romantic, longing, entirely improper feelings for someone as… exceptional as you."

You blinked, the weight of his words settling over you like the warmth of the setting sun. "You—wait. You like me?"

"Yes," he muttered, his face practically steaming despite the cool water. "Which is precisely why I can’t leave this river at the moment."

The realization dawned slowly, but when it clicked, a grin spread across your face. "Oh," you said, fighting back laughter. "Oh."

"Yes," Gale grumbled, his mortification complete. "You see now why this is problematic."

You couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped. "So, let me get this straight. You’re saying your feelings are… visible at the moment?"

Gale pinched the bridge of his nose. "If you insist on phrasing it that way, then yes."

You laughed harder, the sound bright and unrestrained. "Gale, that’s not the end of the world."

"Easy for you to say," he muttered. "You’re not the one at risk of a compromising exit."

Still laughing, you crouched by the water’s edge, your cloak in hand. "Come on. I promise I’ll look the other way. Just wrap this around your waist - tightly, and let’s get you back to camp."

Gale hesitated, clearly torn between his pride and the practicality of your offer. The river was rising, and the current becoming less forgiving. He didn't know what would be worse, coming out in this state or having to have you rescue him whilst he was in this condition. Finally, he sighed. "You’re infuriatingly kind, you know that?"

"Only to people I like," you teased, winking at him.

That earned you a small, genuine smile, despite his predicament. Slowly, cautiously, he edged closer to the shore, his blush never fading. You diligently kept your eyes closed, but there was that little devil inside you willing you to take a peak. He wrapped the cloak around his waist, only for you to hear a small, defeated sigh.

"You cannot laugh at me, but please may I request that I carry your shoes back to camp?" He asked, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Wow you must really like me-"

"-The shoes please!"

Still giggling to yourself, you took off your shoes and passed them to him, allowing him to use them as a shield to his nether region.

You were finally able to look at him, his cheeks flushed beet red as he murmured, "I am going to kill Minthara, or at least try to."

"You know, Gale, I think Minthara might have done us both a favor."

Gale groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Never speak of this again. And especially do not encourage her behaviour."

"No promises," you said with a grin, walking beside him as you both headed back to camp. "Perhaps, I might want to get caught short with you."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

Astarion was not accustomed to being ignored, least of all by someone who had managed to captivate him so thoroughly. Yet here you were, brushing off his every flirtation, every lingering glance, every word dripping with a charm that could make others fall at his feet.

You were different, infuriatingly so. Every smirk, every sly compliment, every touch of his hand to your arm was met with a polite laugh, a nod, or—worse—a casual thanks before you moved on as though he hadn’t just thrown his best seductive lines at you.

For someone like Astarion, whose every move had been meticulously calculated for centuries, this was unbearable. He was practically seething with frustration as he watched you across the camp, laughing at something Karlach had said. He sighed dramatically, slumping onto a nearby log, the perfect picture of a man whose heart was in shambles.

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand why you might be cautious around him. He wasn’t blind to his own past or the scars it had left on his soul. But this? This obliviousness wasn’t caution—it was sheer ignorance of his very obvious yearning.

And so, out of options and desperately needing help, he did something he never thought he would: he sought out Gale.

Gale was sitting by the fire, absently flipping through his spellbook, when Astarion approached him. The vampire’s usual smirk was replaced with something that looked suspiciously like a grimace.

“Gale,” Astarion began, his voice unusually subdued.

Gale looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Astarion? To what do I owe this… peculiar honor?”

Astarion waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, spare me the preamble. I need your help.”

“My help?” Gale blinked. “What kind of apocalyptic disaster requires my assistance? Surely not something involving a certain someone we both know?”

Astarion’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes. Them.”

Gale set his book down, his interest piqued. “Ah, I see. You’re pining.”

“I am not pining,” Astarion snapped, though the blush creeping up his pale cheeks betrayed him. “I am… strategically pursuing. Subtly, I might add.”

Gale snorted. “If by subtle, you mean utterly transparent, then yes. You’ve been as subtle as a fireball in a wheat field.”

Astarion scowled. “They don’t see it that way. They think I’m just… charming. Which, of course, I am, but there’s more to it than that.”

“And you want my advice?” Gale leaned back, crossing his arms. “Me, the man you’ve spent weeks mocking for my ‘tragic romanticism’?”

“Yes, yes, revel in the irony if you must,” Astarion said impatiently. “But you’re annoyingly good- most of the time, at all this grand gesture nonsense, and clearly, I need a new approach.”

Gale chuckled, a little too pleased with himself. “All right. Let’s see. The key here is sincerity. You can’t just charm your way through this one. You have to show them how you feel.”

Astarion frowned. “And how exactly do I do that?”

“Think of something meaningful to them,” Gale suggested. “An act that demonstrates you understand them, that you care about them deeply. And,” he added with a smirk, “maybe tone down the smirking and innuendo for five minutes.”

The next day, Astarion put Gale’s advice into action—or at least, his version of it. You were sitting by the riverbank, enjoying a rare moment of peace, when Astarion approached you, holding something behind his back.

“Ah, there you are,” he said, his tone softer than usual.

You smiled up at him. “What’s up, Astarion?”

“I, uh… I noticed something the other day.” He cleared his throat, looking uncharacteristically awkward. “You mentioned how much you missed those silly little biscuits from Baldur’s Gate, the ones with the sugar glaze.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I did?”

“Yes, you did,” he said quickly. “And, well… here.” He produced a carefully wrapped package and handed it to you. Inside were a handful of the biscuits, slightly crumbled but still intact.

Your eyes widened. “How did you…?”

“Don’t ask questions,” he said, his smirk creeping back despite his best efforts. “Just enjoy them.”

You looked up at him, touched by the gesture but still utterly oblivious to the deeper meaning. “Thanks, Astarion. That’s really sweet of you.”

He stared at you for a moment, waiting for something—anything—to click. When it didn’t, he sighed dramatically and flopped onto the grass beside you.

“Are you truly this dense, my beautiful fool?” he muttered under his breath.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” he said, flashing you a too-bright smile. “Enjoy your biscuits, darling.”

From a distance, Gale watched the exchange with a shake of his head, muttering, “Some people are beyond help.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

Wyll was not used to being ignored, especially when it came to matters of the heart. He prided himself on his charm, his courtly manners, and his ability to woo with a single smile. Yet, when it came to you, all his gentlemanly gestures seemed to bounce right off you like a deflected blade.

He would offer you his hand to help you over rough terrain, only to receive a simple "Thanks, Wyll!" and a cheerful pat on his shoulder. He’d bring you breakfast, perfectly arranged, and you’d compliment him on his “team spirit.” He’d even tried a few subtler lines, but you always brushed them off as his natural charisma, as if his feelings weren’t entirely focused on you.

So, after one particularly frustrating evening where you didn’t even notice how his gaze lingered on you by the firelight, Wyll decided he needed help.

And who better to consult than the camp’s most direct and fearless member, Lae’zel?

Lae’zel was sharpening her sword when Wyll approached, his usual confident demeanor slightly crumpled under the weight of his unspoken affection. She glanced up, her sharp eyes narrowing.

“Wyll,” she said bluntly, “you look as though you’ve swallowed a blade sideways. Spit it out.”

He cleared his throat, glancing around to make sure no one else was in earshot. “It’s about… them,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lae’zel’s expression didn’t change. “Ah, the object of your obsession.”

Wyll winced. “It’s not an obsession.”

“Call it what you will,” she said, shrugging. “You pine for them like a fledgling seeking a mate. What of it?”

“I don’t know how to… tell them,” Wyll confessed, his usual eloquence failing him. “They seem entirely immune to my advances.”

Lae’zel snorted. “Perhaps because your ‘advances’ are weak. Soft. You dote on them like a mother hen, not a warrior. If you want their attention, you must assert dominance.”

“Assert dominance?” Wyll repeated, looking increasingly alarmed.

“Yes,” Lae’zel said firmly. “Challenge them. Best them in combat. Show them your strength. Then, when they are weak and trembling, you proclaim your intent to claim them as yours.”

Wyll’s face turned scarlet. “That’s—That’s not how courtship works!”

“Of course it is,” Lae’zel said, waving a dismissive hand. “You prove your physical and sexual prowess through battle. What better way to ensure compatibility?”

Wyll sputtered, his composure unraveling. “I—I don’t think they’d appreciate being ‘claimed’ like a prize after a fight.”

“They would respect it,” Lae’zel insisted. “And likely find it arousing.”

“Lae’zel!” Wyll’s voice cracked, and he buried his face in his hands, his flames of embarrassment rivaling Karlach’s.

From across the camp, you noticed the commotion and Wyll’s obvious distress. Concerned, you got up and made your way over. “Wyll? Are you okay?”

Lae’zel’s smirk widened as Wyll’s blush deepened. He scrambled to his feet, fumbling for words. “Ah—Yes! Fine! Everything is fine!”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of them. “Are you sure? You look like you’ve just lost a sparring match.”

Before Lae’zel could open her mouth to make things infinitely worse, Wyll quickly grabbed your hand and pulled you aside.

“Just a minor… disagreement,” he said quickly, his voice cracking again. “Nothing to worry about.”

You gave him a curious look, but his obvious flustered state distracted you from pressing further. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

Lae’zel watched you go with Wyll, shaking her head and muttering, “Coward. They would have respected a proper duel.”

Meanwhile, Wyll was doing his best to calm his racing heart and come up with a less mortifying way to tell you how he felt—ideally without Lae’zel’s "help."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

Halsin prided himself on his control, his connection to nature, and his ability to remain grounded in even the most chaotic of circumstances. But when it came to you, all of that composure seemed to dissolve like frost under the morning sun.

You were utterly magnetic to him—your presence so compelling that his heart would stutter every time you entered the same space. He found himself enchanted by the curve of your smile, the warmth in your voice, the kindness in your touch. And it was unbearable. Literally, because every time you touched his arm or leaned in to speak to him, his instincts would flare wildly out of control.

The first time it happened, you’d brushed some stray leaves off his shoulder after he returned from foraging. “Halsin, you’ve brought back half the forest,” you joked, smiling up at him.

Halsin opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, a rush of heat overtook him, and— bam—he was suddenly a large, startled elk.

You jumped back with a yelp of surprise, staring wide-eyed at the animal in front of you. “Halsin?”

The elk gave a deep snort, its head hanging low as if mortified.

It happened again not long after, when you touched his hand while passing him a flask of water. This time, he transformed into a wolf, looking up at you with ears pinned back, practically radiating sheepishness.

“Halsin,” you laughed, kneeling down to scratch behind his ears, “you’ve got to warn me if you’re going to do that.”

By the time the third accidental wildshape happened—this time as a squirrel after you had simply smiled at him—Jaheira had had enough.

The older druid cornered Halsin after dinner, arms crossed and an unimpressed look on her face. “You’re a leader, Halsin. A figure of strength and wisdom. Yet here you are, hiding in fur and feathers because of a crush.”

“It’s not just a crush,” Halsin muttered, his deep voice unusually uncertain. “It’s… consuming. Every time I try to speak to them, I lose myself. They are radiant, Jaheira. I can hardly stand near them without—”

“—turning into livestock, yes,” Jaheira interrupted, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re a druid, not a child. Get a grip, Halsin. They won’t notice your feelings unless you make them clear. And for the love of Silvanus, do it without shifting.”

Halsin sighed heavily but nodded. “You’re right. I must face this head-on.”

Jaheira clapped him on the shoulder. “Good. Now go before you sprout wings or something ridiculous.”

Halsin found you sitting by the campfire, a jar of honey and a piece of bread in your hands. The firelight danced across your features, and Halsin felt his heart thrum painfully in his chest.

“Is everything okay, Halsin?” you asked, looking up at him with a concerned smile.

Halsin cleared his throat, forcing himself to remain steady. “Yes, I… there is something I need to tell you.”

You tilted your head, some honey glistening on your lips. “Of course. What is it?”

And that was it. The sight of your lips, the gentle curve of your expression—it was too much. Despite every ounce of willpower he had summoned, Halsin’s body betrayed him. With a flash of light and a muffled groan, he was suddenly a massive brown bear, sitting heavily on the ground.

You blinked, staring at him for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Halsin! You did it again!”

From across the camp, Jaheira let out a long, exasperated groan, throwing her hands up. “I give up!” she muttered, stalking off.

The bear lowered its massive head, letting out a low huff of frustration. You reached over and gently placed a hand on his fur.

“It’s okay, big guy,” you said, grinning. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”

If Halsin could have blushed, he would have. Instead, he let you pet him, resigning himself to the fact that his feelings were much harder to control than he’d ever anticipated.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This was so so so so so much fun to write !! Especially Gale's icl hehehe. Hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

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

she is sooooooo cute (˃̣̣̥ᯅ˂̣̣̥) !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

sub!vi getting her shit disrespectfully rocked <3

✄ sub!vi who's sprawled out across the couch when you come home from work, spending her day off taking some well needed rest

✄ sub!vi who immediately notices your pissed off look, knowing it was gonna be a long night

✄ sub!vi who doesn't resist your harsh hand when pulling her in - kisses all teeth and tongue, free hand grasping at every inch of flesh while her other held onto the collar of her cotton tee

✄ sub!vi who lets you drag her to the bedroom, following after your every step like a shadow

✄ sub!vi who waits patiently on the bed as you rush out of your work clothes, baby blue's staring right at your strap as you shuffle the harness on and lube it up

✄ sub!vi who welcomes your body clambering onto hers, calloused hands gentle and soothing on your waist as she spreads her legs for you

✄ sub!vi who's gentle presence contrasts with your strung out and exasperated one, letting you pour your frustrations past her lips and down her throat as forcefully as you need to

✄ sub!vi who sighs quietly at you grinding your strap against her, mouths moving in sync while the silicone rubs against her clit

✄ sub!vi who can't take it after a while, pulling away from the kiss to beg you to just put it in her

✄ sub!vi who agrees with your degrading teasing, giving you puppy eyes in hopes you'll let up

"yes, yes, i'm a desperate slut. just c'mon, please? i need you in me."

✄ sub!vi who moans when she feels you fill her up. not high pitched, not pornographic - it's raw, nearly broken from the teasing alone

✄ sub!vi who hardly gives herself time to adjust to the stretch, already grinding into you before you have the chance to move

✄ sub!vi who reels at the sudden emptiness as you pull out, only to immediately get stuffed again with a swift slam of your hips

✄ sub!vi who gets very little warm up before you start to pound into her, skin slapping against skin full pelt as you grab her ankles to push above her shoulders

✄ sub!vi whose breathing picks up at the pace, coming out as choppy gasps melded with small mewls

✄ sub!vi who rocks into you desperately despite her position, struggling to lift her hips up off the mattress, causing you to snicker

"gettin' greedy now, violet?"

✄ sub!vi who feels the sharp sting on her scalp before her eyes snap open - your hand grasping her hair near the roots, forcing her to look down

"look at yourself. sluttiest fuckin' pussy. aren't you ashamed?"

✄ sub!vi who can hardly form a response, a high pitched mewl tearing from her throat as she tries to close her eyes, only for her hair to get yanked farther

"did i tell you to close your eyes? huh? open that shit right now."

✄ sub!vi who cums not too long after, vision spotting as white hot pleasure floods her veins and arteries

✄ sub!vi whose thighs shake as you abate your movements, rubbing her clit to see her squirm and kick out before smoothing your hands down her thighs

✄ sub!vi who feels your hands grab at her not too long after, shifting her to lay on her back, head hanging off the edge of the bed

✄ sub!vi who feels the head of your strap prod at her lips, her eyes still closed as your voice floods her ears

"clean your mess up."

✄ sub!vi who barely opens her mouth before it's forced open, silicone bottoming out in her throat

✄ sub!vi who gags and chokes, shaky hands on your hips as you fuck her face

✄ sub!vi who swallows around the girth of the dildo, trying to relax as her eyes flutter close again

✄ sub!vi who gasps for air when you finally pull away, arms falling limp when you step out of her reach

✄ sub!vi who doesn't talk much as you clean her up, only answering the more important questions of "are you okay?" or "i didn't push it, did i?"

✄ sub!vi who lets you carry her to the bathroom, setting her in a warm bath while you change the sheets

✄ sub!vi who comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later, looking slightly more alive as she dries off and gets dressed

✄ sub!vi who lays down in bed with you, clinging to your form with her face buried in your neck

✄ sub!vi who gets to pick the movie for doing such a good job for you, falling asleep to heavy praise and kisses

alr everyone thank saturn for helping me w this one or go sit in the corner

taglist : @hihihhihahahha @lolitalovess @peskylez @saturnhas82moons @kylorey25 @lipglosskxsses @mars4hellokitty @hwasddeongbyeoli @foralltheprettygirls @meow4510 @therealhexstrap  @sunflowerwinds

OKAY OKAY COULD YOU PLEASE WRITE SMTH ABOUT SEVIKA PROTECING READER BECAUSE OF SOMETHING LIKE HERE ON THIS PIC SHE PROTECTS JINX AND ISHA??

im sorry if i wrote something wrong but english is not my first language😭🙏

OF COURSE !!!!!!! I have an idea for this...

I got a little carried away and gave you more LOL sorry

Sevika x Fem!Reader

She grabbed you before you could process the fan being turned on. Thankfully, you weren't too far from the table that protected you both, otherwise you would have been swept with the air flow violently.

Your side hurt. The shot Caitlyn took must have not only pierced your skin but the force broke your rib too. Whatever the gun was made of was strong enough to go through the stone pillar behind you partially as well.

Safe to say it hurt as fuck.

You clutched your side and winced as Sevika crouched with you in front of her, the stone table keeping you sat up, but barely. Sevika's new metal arm grabbed onto the table and kept her put, the other going to hold your side with you.

You weren't sure whether your adrenaline was keeping you lucid or if the shot wasn't truly that bad. Regardless, you didn't want to hang around much longer.

You looked up at your girlfriend, head slightly bouncing off the stone behind you as you rested it. She looked worried, and although nothing but pain was filling your sense, you found the energy to sigh and show her a small smile.

Her hair was flying around with the wind, her face showing slight worry and mostly focus as she tried to keep you both behind the table.

"You'll be fine." She mouthed, and you couldn't do much more but nod. You trusted her. You believed her...but the blood slowly seeping through the cracks of your fingers, and onto her hand covering yours, it was looking more like you were not going to be fine.

The wind seemed everlasting and the longer you sat there, waiting for it to stop, the dizzier you became.

You wanted to see Sevika's face for as long as you could. Taking in her scowl of concentration, the barely noticeable glint of nervousness in her eye when she met yours, the shiny scar across her cheek.

You thought she was leaning down to get out of the wind more, but instead she leaned down to your ear and spoke through the loud fan.

"Don't look at me like that." She spoke it as a command as her hand squeezed your bleeding side.

"Like what?" You scoffed quietly, immediately feeling the burn in your rib.

"Like you're about to say goodbye. You're fine."

You hummed and looked back up at her when she pulled away, leaving no room for discussion.

She was so gorgeous, holding you, protecting you, as if you were about to disappear any minute.

Your head spun so much you didn't even notice the fan turn off. Sevika lifted you off the ground and instructed Jinx, who was also carrying a girl, where to go. It all came out as muffled to you though, as the blood loss slowly stared winning, and you passed out.

When you woke up, the first thing you saw was two heads looking down at you. Jinx's braids tickled your nose, while the other girls hair wasn't even long enough to reach her eyebrows. You groaned, immediately going in to hold your side as a reflex to find it bandaged.

"I told you to let her rest." Sevika's voice rung out in a disappointed tone as she walked in with a bunch of fresh bandages in her hand. Presumably for you.

You were in Silco's office, laid down on his sofa. The table was covered with medical supplies, alcohol bottles and jinx's crafts, but your eyes ended up laying upon Sevika. Her worried expression had you worried.

"How are you feeling?" Sevika asked, looking down at you as she put the obnoxious amount of wraps on the table.

"Trust you to get shot." Jinx scoffed playfully as she stared down at you, knowing damn well that bullet was meant for her. "Took it like a champ though!"

You chuckled back and attempted to sit up, but Sevika was faster and pushed you back down, shaking her head.

"I'm fine." You spoke, but Sevika wouldn't relent. She kept you laying down as she changed your bandages carefully. Your eyes fell from Sevika onto the little girl who was still staring down at you. "Who would have thought Jinx took in a stray. What's your name?"

"Her name is Isha. She's sticking around." Jinx replied matter-of-factly, a small smirk on her face as she said it. It made you giggle a bit.

"Alright, out." Sevika stood up from crouching beside you as she finished your bandages. Jinx took Isha and left, excited to show her some of her trinkets to get her mind off of...recent events. "She needs to rest."

"I'm alright." You spoke, reaching out for Sevika's hand to help you up. "How bad was it?"

"Bad enough to have me worried." She sighed, sitting beside you and letting you lean on her.

"Sorry." You sighed back, almost identically. "And you know, thank you."

She wrapped her hand around your shoulders and kissed the top of your head.

"Anytime."