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morgnerds · 3 months ago

Text

Something Stupid

Summary: when Sevika finds herself unable to sleep, she can count on you to ease her mind; What starts off as a relaxing massage for an exhausted woman turns into something gentle and loving, forcing her to acknowledge the growing feelings she's desperately been trying to avoid.

Warnings: oral (Sevika receiving), strap-on (reader wearing), attachment issues (the porn part is short, I'm sorry :') ), generally really soft

Notes: this is the first fic I have ever finished and actually published, lol. I fear it's too repetitive at some points and kind of rushed..? Pls pls pls, tell me what you think (as long as you're being kind). If there are any more warnings I should be aware of (probably not), feel free to tell me :) I hate writing dialogs. The painting on the right was done by Tony Belobrajdic :]

Word Count: 6.9k

@venomvalley specifically posted this for you, any criticism is appreciated :D (I lowkey stole your way of... presenting (?) the story, with the colors, pictures and dividers and such, I thought it was really pretty <:3)

Anyways, I hope you enjoy :D

It was well into the night, maybe shortly past midnight, when she made her way onto the small balcony of her rundown apartment, eyes tired and heavy, yet not willing to stay closed. Immediately, she was met by the cold air, a stinging slap to her face. It nips at her skin, looking to break through and seep into her muscles, veins and lastly, her very bones. She didn't mind the harshness prickling against her nerves. She needed the distraction tonight.

A heavy sigh rips from the depths of her lungs, fingers reaching out to fumble for a cigarillo lying on the small, creaking metal table shoved against the railing. It was only there for that exact purpose: holding the packages of her cigars and cigarettes, an ashtray, and perhaps even a drink or two if she's feeling fancy. There was no reason for her to be on the balcony other than to have a calming smoke; no beautiful view waiting for her, no fresh air to catch either, not in the deepness of Zaun.

Flipping open the tin box, metal clattering against the table's surface, her fingers scoop in to lift one of her stress relievers out of its containment. Bringing it up to her lips, her hand reaches for a lighter, needing several tries to ignite a spark and correspondingly, her thin cigar. That simple action carries her mind back to you. You, who usually stumbled over their own feet to light it for her. 'Pretty women don't light their own cigarettes', you always said when she raised a questioning brow, that stupid, stupid grin adorning your lips whenever you did. You, who is currently warming her bed while she's out here, forcing stinging puffs of burning tobacco inside her lungs, only to gently blow them out with long exhales.

The smoke wafts past her lips, its tendrils twirling and swirling high into the sky, wanting to never be seen again as it becomes one with the fissures' polluted air. She felt the nightly tranquility weigh heavy on her shoulders, running thoughts nagging in the back of her mind. She should appreciate the quiet calm instead of bothering herself with these infuriating thoughts, yet her mind grants her no peace. The grip of her prosthetic grows tighter against the railing as she huffs, her lip scrunching up in frustration, quickly taking another drag of her cigar.

She stalls, holding the smoke deeply in her chest when she feels warm arms wrap around her waist, a face nestling between the hard planes of her shoulder blades.

Ba-dump.

Once she gets over the initial shock of your unexpected touch, she blows the smoke out slowly, watching as its wifts get carried through the winds.

"You should be in bed", she hums, feeling the nicotine take its course through her system. Her response was only to mask her own feelings, hoping to distract you from your initial mission. Always trying to divert the focus from herself.

"So should you...", you retort, your voice carrying the groggy roughness of leftover sleep, ".. You okay..?"

She huffs, puffing on her cigar.

"Never better", she mumbles sarcastically. It had always been easy for you to peek through her defenses, finding the smallest of cracks and managing to scratch them open with the very tips of your fingers; even if they did bleed in the end. Yet, every time you were close to reaching treasure, she seals the crumbling gaps with thicker concrete. She didn't understand why you kept on trying, kept on bothering to put up with her.

"A penny for your thoughts?", you murmur, nuzzling your nose against the crevice of her spine; a silent reassurance, urging her to open up.

"I'm fine", she sighs, flicking off the built up ashes. Her eyes trail down their path, seeing them disappear against the dirty cobblestone beneath her feet, beneath the balcony; they weren't worth a second glance. Couldn't even tell they had been there in the first place.

"You sure? Taking a lonely smoke in the middle of night doesn't exactly scream 'fine', you know..?", there's an empathetic smile on your face, trying to lighten the mood. She can hear it in the way you talk.

"Too much on your mind?"

"You could say that", she trails off thoughtfully, "It's not worth your time, no need to worry about it", there's a tiredness in her voice, a hint of self deprecation one could only catch if they really listened. Which you always did. Unfortunately for her.

"I worry about you"

Ba-dump

Protest laces your tone as you speak, ".. And if something's bothering you, then it must be important... Atleast to some degree.."

"It's not. Trust me, doll. I can handle a few stupid thoughts", you hear the way her voice changes subtly, forcing herself to sound less vulnerable, trying to once again build the wall higher around her heart; a prison for the lonely.

"But I do.. Because you're important to me.. And I care..", you reassure, trailing off. The unspoken; words she feared ever coming from your lips were left unsaid, but she knew they were there. Sitting on the tip of your tongue, itching to slip past the seal and bury deep inside her heart like barbed wire.

Your sigh is warm against her back when you realize she won't budge; she can feel it through the fabric of her shirt. She desperately fights off the crawling shiver threatening to run down her spine.

"You don't have to tell me.. But please just.. Remember that I'm here for you.. And whenever you need me, I'll happily lend an ear", your arms tighten around her waist, pulling her closer in comfort; wether it was for her's or your own, she's not quite sure. Regardless, she melts into your embrace, her muscles relaxing the tiniest bit. She's silent, no doubt contemplating your words. Cigarillo back at her lips, she closes her eyes, a heavy, smoky breath escaping her nostrils.

"I'm just.. Worrying over nothing, is all. Nothing severe", she murmurs, her metallic hand clanking against the railing when she let's go, instead bringing it to hold the cigar. The other one, her own, moves to rest over yours. She always prefered feeling you, your soft skin beneath hers. When in reality, she shouldn't. Shouldn't let you hold her so tenderly. Shouldn't reciprocate. It'll only be harder in the end. Companionship and romance aren't things that lasted in the dark pit that is the Underground. They wither, get stomped out and burned until the only thing that's left is the dismembered corpse of what could have been. That's how life was in this hell she called her home. She accepted it. Had to learn how to from an early age. Yet despite that, she couldn't help but hold her hand into the flame.

".. How about a massage?", she barely catches the sound of your voice, yet it still cuts through her racing mind.

"What?", she turns her head, looking down at you over her shoulder. You can't help but admire her from this angle, the faint, neon lights from the distance reflecting across her profile, her blue scars glowing. Greens, reds and purples catch against her skin, colors that all looked magnificient, in perfect contrast with the essence of her very being.

"I can massage you... Help you relax.. Get your mind off of things", you repeat, your hands travelling towards her hips, gently squeezing.

A small snort echoes through the night.

"Oh yeah? Pampering me now, are you?", she hums, taking one last drag of her cigar before stumping it out in the ashtray. She made it a habit ever since she noticed you picking up her thrown butts scattered across the floor one too many times. The same way she made it a habit of smoking on the balcony once she realized you couldn't breathe properly when she did it inside.

".. But I won't say no to that if you're offering".

She watches as that small smile forms on your face, standing on your toes to press a soft kiss against her cheek. You didn't have to, but knew it boosted her ego just a bit.

Ba-dump.

"Go make yourself comfortable in bed, I'll start heating up the oil", you pat her shoulders before the both of you part ways, her going back to bed while you grab the massaging oil from the bathroom. Filling a pot with water, you bring it to a soft boil before putting the container in to warm up.

Once you re-enter the bedroom, you find Sevika comfortably lying on her back, boxers the only thing adorning her scarred skin. Her right arm is tucked underneath her head, her prosthetic lying on the bedside table for easy access should she need it. Due to her lying position, her thighs appear even bigger than usual, excess flesh squished to the sides. They're spread the tiniest bit, enough to make your mind spiral as it immediately conjures the lewdest images of your head between them, squished to death as you lap at her cunt.

If you could paint realistically, you would capture the beauty of this moment in it's entirety; the way she lies before you making for the perfect muse. The way the low light of the bedside lamp casts breathtaking shadows across her muscles, contouring her in the best of ways. You have to actively stop yourself from drooling.

"Are you done oggling me?", there it is, that shit eating smirk you've grown to love so much, no matter how infuriating it can be at times. Your eyes roll on instinct, a grin of your own forming on your face.

"Oh hush. I can't be blamed when you're looking like that", a smile graces your lips, one entirely too intimate for her but her heart skips a beat anyways. You crawl onto the bed, one finger wedging between her thigh and the leg of her boxers. Pulling softly, you let the fabric snap back against her skin. Her eyebrow raises in response, challenging you to go further, watching as you position yourself over her.

She can see the mirth twinkling in your irises, no doubt conjuring plans on how to make her suffer.

Ba-dump

It only makes her heart beat quicker, rapidly hammering against the cage of her chest, wanting to be set free like a bird gazing at the ever growing horizon. She doesn't stop you when your head dips down to plant your first kiss against her collarbone. Breathing grows harder when your lips trail gently up her neck. She could feel their softness, the carefulness in your touch as if she was something fragile, something made to be broken. She wasn't. She was anything but that. Yet she enjoys it when your lips stream higher and higher, following along the reddened rivulet hidden underneath her skin until you reach the shell of her ear, lips threatening to fall off the cliff that is her jaw and she hopes you'll cling onto it.

She holds her breath when your lips wander along, tiptoeing against the line, never once losing your balance. But she fears. Fears you'll fall. Fears you'll drag her with you into the deep end, with no point of return. Once your lips finally meet hers, she realizes it is already far too late. She's drowning, air ripped from her lungs as her very being succumbes to your deadly touch; drowning in a sea that is entirely made of you. Your touch. Your smell. Your voice. Your taste. It's all you. And she fears it. Fears getting close to you. Fears that this will change. Fears this won't last.

She's afraid.

And she doesn't know how to swim back up to the surface as you drag her deeper and deeper into the dark abyss. But she's not complaining, quite the contrary. She's feeding into it, letting her body grow heavy as she let's you pull her under. She reaches out for you, pulling you closer as she craves more, addicted to the feeling of utter breathlessness and freedom, despite knowing she'll lock herself away the moment the touch of your lips passes. So she clings on, forcing you against her as your lips join and overlap like clashing waves.

She chases you once you pull away, like you're her only source of oxygen but when she grasps your lips are gone, she breathes in deeply. Eyes fluttering open, she finds your own already staring back at her, that stupid, stupid smile back on your face, taunting her with feelings she'd rather keep buried underneath harsh words and a tough exterior.

Ba-dump

She knew that there was something lingering between you two for quite some time now, something she didn't want to acknowledge, too afraid to do so. After all, she did invite you over to her apartment for the better quarter of a year now, to the point that you've basically movied in with her; your clothes strewn across chairs and the run down sofa she's been wanting to replace for a while now; replacing half of her wardrobe's contents with you; a second toothbrush occupying the small little cup on her bathroom's sink; her fridge filled with various kinds of fresh vegetables, fruits and self-made jams -the same way her stomach is filled to the brim with home cooked meals rather than random take-out.

She snaps out of her thoughts when your fingers tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, gently, warmly and she curses herself for leaning into the touch.

One last, chaste kiss against her lips and you pull away. She almost panics, but your hand gently pushes over her heart, keeping her still. If it weren't for your reassuring smile and devoted eyes staring down at her, she'd feel embarrassed with how rapidly her heart drums against your palm, wanting to nestle into the warmth of your skin.

"How about you turn around, hm? So I can start the massage", she blinks once, twice before your words finally register in her muddled brain and with a single nod of her head, she flips herself onto her stomach, needing a few tries until her chest lies comfortably against the mattress. Her eyes stare blankly onto the prosthetic to her left, lying abandoned on the bedside table as her cheek rests on her arm, impatiently waiting to finally feel your hands upon her skin.

Instead, she senses the way your eyes burn into it, mapping out each and every crevice of her body. She doesn't know wether to feel shy, small, cocky or ashamed. Maybe an unhealthy mix of all four.

"Thought you were gonna massage me, not drool all over", her voice is quiet, barely audible as she murmurs her words in a flimsy attempt of keeping her pride, dignity and a semblance of her usual bravado. Though it's only a mask; she feels anything but. Your giggle makes her want to bury her face in the pillow and pull you in for another kiss, simply to drown out the addictive sound.

"I'm sorry, honey, but you're absolutely stunning"

Ba-dump

She scoffs, frowning into space with.. Is that a pout?

It deepens when you seemingly laugh at her misery, but before she can react, you hook a leg over her hips to straddle her, your buttocks against hers. An involuntary sigh flows out of her nostrils. Having you close was always so calming, but so, so nerve-wracking all at once.

You open the container for the oil, the glass warm against your palms like a hot cup of coffee. Inside Sevika's head, the sound of the lid opening echoes as anticipation builds higher and higher. Dipping the tips of your fingers inside, you spread the slickness in the palms of your hands.

"Ready?", an affirmative hum is your only cue before you place your hands down on her.

As soon as they make contact with her back, her whole body melts into the mattress, her eyelids fluttering shut as she let's her trepidations and stress wash away. They glide firmly over her muscles, rubbing the oil deeply into her skin. You watch as her shoulders rise with every even breath, falling in slow exhales, and you can't help but note how etheral she looks like this. So at peace, in absolute bliss. It was a rare sight and you understood why, her life was in no way an easy one, but you wished you'd be able to see it more often. You promise yourself you'll make it better.

With wandering hands and eyes, you heed the details of her body before you, carving each and every one into the mental statue molded inside the depths of your mind. From the occasional moles scattered across her olive skin, up to her blueish-purple scars that reach all the way from her shoulder to her cheek. They glisten under the warm, dull light of the bedside lamp, twinkling like a night sky full of stars; an entire galaxy mapped out on her body.

Taking the opportunity, your eyes trace over her features: her beautiful grey eyes that always tell you exactly what she's thinking, giving you a window to look through her soul no matter how many curtains she uses to hide. They're closed, but the way her eyelashes are curled against her cheeks is equally breathtaking. Her dark lips, so perfectly kissable, adorned with those tiny splits of healed cuts from prior fights. Those lovely lips that hide the most adorable smile you've ever seen, with the cutest tooth gap enhancing her charm. Without realizing, your hands slow their movements before coming to a full stop against her shoulder blades.

Pure and utter adoration lies down to rest on your face, softening your features as you lean forward, pressing a tender peck against the apple of her cheek.

Ba-dump

Heat rises, travelling from her face down her neck. Her eyes peek open, flicking over her shoulder to look at you and she hates the sight before her.

Hates the way you gaze down at her in the most tender way she's ever experienced. Hates the way your smile makes her heart race to the point she's overwhelmed by breathless dizziness. Hates the way your hands feel against her skin, forcing these gooey, weak emotions inside her to rouse from their century long slumber. Hates the way she craves more despite knowing better.

Of course she's aware that your hands are slowing, coming to a stop as you're stuck in mesmerization; how could she not when their movement felt so heavenly against her sore spots and deep knots? Though she's unsure wether she should vocalise her discontent; after all, you have done so much for her already and in no way does she want to come across as ungrateful. But you did promise her a soothing massage. And this was in no way enough.

So without uttering any comands, she simply pushes her muscles back against your hands, urging you to keep going. With snorted laughter and a teasing quip her way, your hands continue their trip to bringing her pleasure.

"Anything for my sweet woman~", your voice sings, your words deepening that soft redness on her cheeks.

Ba-dump

She wasn't necessarily the possessive type, but sentences like these had a way of playing her heart strings like they hadn't been in years. She hated it. She absolutely despised it. It made her weak. It made you a liability. Yet she couldn't help but crave more, her greed knowing no bounds even in this.

Only that she couldn't win this fight; the fight she put up against her own heart whenever it starts skipping two beats around you. The fight she puts up whenever she catches her own breath hitching at the sight of you cooking behind her stove, waiting for her to come home as you cook a filling meal for her after a grueling day of work. The fight she puts up whenever she realizes she was growing softer, more vulnerable around you. She knew that. Knew she couldn't win. So for now, she figures indulging in it was for the best. Only that her heart is pounding so horribly against her ribcage, it was hard to ignore. So was the low burn starting to ignite in her abdomen when she let her thoughts drift. It was only a matter of time until they did, with how well you tend to her every need, every single time, every hour of the day, no matter how often she pushes you away.

The longer your fingers glide across her skin, the more loose her lips become; small sighs and hums and things that sound suspiciously like whimpers vibrating through her throat. Of course, you notice. Just as you notice the way her body grows restless beneath you; back arching against your touch, ass, with you on top, lifting up and back down with each movement of her thighs, no doubt rubbing them together, arm tensing against her pillow and pulling it closer to her flushed face.

The control you have over her, despite her refusal to admit to anything of the matter, leaves you grinning giddily, light-hearted perversion running through every vein of your body at the knowledge of having her fully wrapped around your pinky finger, desperate for the simplest of touches. She'd do anything for you without so much of a blink, just like you would do anything for her. You'd burn the whole world down if she asked you to.

Though these touches might not be as innocent as they had started off anymore.

So without much of a thought, you slip off your position on top of her, moving between her thighs, sitting on your haunches.

You focus on her lower back, thumbs pressing into those two, cute little dimples of venus. Fitting name, she looked like a sculpted god.

Occasionally, those exact thumbs catch underneath the waistband of her underwear, on accident, of course, and you revel in the way her breath stops momentarily before picking back up slightly more labored each time.

"stop teasing", her voice would sound warning if it weren't for the shudder accompanied by it, or the hoarse rasp coating each word.

"whatever do you mean?"

Despite your words, you never really seem to be able to tease her for long, caving at each little command like you were born to follow obediently. Maybe it was the constant stress you've been put under about being 'the perfect little kid' that had molded you into exactly that; someone with the constant need for instructions, searching for the simplest forms of validation. But you don't mind; you have long accepted the fact that you wanted to be obedient, just for her.

The tips of your fingers dip below her waistband, agonizingly slow when tugging the offending fabric down, down and down until they're thrown off to the side; out of sight, out of mind.

You bite your lip at the sight before you, fingers splaying out across the fat of her ass, squeezing and prodding and digging and squeezing until her shoulders were tense, thighs squeezed tightly and her face hidden in the pillow.

She was cute like this, all flustered. It was a sight you've got to see more and more often these past few weeks the longer you stayed close by her side. And you loved it, loved whenever she averted her gaze or burrowed her face in your neck in a futile attempt of hiding her bashfulness.

"stop", she scoffs, loving hating the way butterflies swirled in her stomach like she's some teenage girl. But you knew she didn't mean it; she was pressing her flesh against your hands. She was pressing her hips higher in hopes you'll catch the hint, burying your face where she needs it the most.

You did, of course, catch the hint, but played dumb for just a little while longer.

"what do you need, honey? I'm not a mind reader, you know...", she can hear the condescending lilt in your voice, feel the barely perceptible brush of your thumb over her humiliatingly wet folds and she almost gives herself whiplash with how quickly her head twists over her shoulder to shoot you a glare.

Her mouth opens to curse you out, tell you to 'fucking touch her' before she takes matters into her own hands, but her words quickly die on her tongue, replaced by the loudest moan she's ever let slip as your tongue dives forward, running from her thrumming clit up to her leaking hole.

Her face burns, quickly pushed back against her pillow, entirely too embarrassed at the almost pornographic noise escaping her lips.

Really, it wasn't that loud. It was moderate, but usually, she was more on the quieter side, the most she'd let slip were groans and grunts, maybe the occasional, quiet whimper. So a full blown moan was something new, something that exposed her in ways she didn't want to be.

So she hid her face against the sheets, each kiss and lick and suck of your lips across her cunt luring more noises to slip past her own, only partially muted by her self-made gag. Surely, you'd love to hear them to their full extent, but you also knew she needed this, needed something to ground herself with, to keep herself from getting too overwhelmed, so you accepted it.

Your movements were languid, tongue dragging and basking in the salty taste of her arousal, nose pressed against her until every other sense was drowned out. You could stay like this, between her thighs, all day, all night, 24/7; feeling her gush on your tongue, arousal dripping as it flowed freely from her hole. The exact place you're shoving your tongue into, wanting to taste more, and she whimpers at your desperation.

Her voice is a tad bit higher than usual, raspy with need as the noises stream past her lips like a river across its bank.

Wet muscle slithering back up through her folds, her hips move on their own accord, jumping when your lips wrapped around that sweet, sweet bundle of nerves, sucking harshly and shaking your head from side to side.

It doesn't take long until she's gasping, hand shooting out behind her to press your face further into her cunt, hips grinding, chasing a high so close she could taste it on her lips. Your neck and cheeks were growing clammy, arousal and spit smeared across your chin and nose. You couldn't move even if you wanted to, and it got you hooked almost immediately.

Your own abdomen throbbed with heat as she just used you, dragging herself against your face until her own desire was sated, thighs riddled with small tremors as her body convulsed, clenching around nothing as her orgasm crashed over her in shocking waves.

You gently lick up the added slick, sucking her clean until you finally depart yourself with a wet 'pop'.

She catches her breath, eyes closed and body relaxed. You tug on her shoulder, forcing her to turn onto her back.

Your kisses are sweet when you pepper them across her face, trying to get her back to earth. When her breathing has somewhat gone back to acceptable standards, you spoke up.

"can I wear the strap tonight?", your voice is gentle, tender, like you're speaking to a wounded animal, knowing she'll need a second before registering your words. But already, she knows she hates your tone of voice. Despises how much her heart desires it.

There's a short pause as she contemplates what to respond. Did she even want to let you take complete control tonight? Give herself to you in such an open, vulnerable way? Let you take the lead as she, what, laid back and did nothing? Janna, yes she did.

A huff.

"Do whatever you want..", a grumble, a begrudging attunement without having to distinctly voice it, without the added exposure of telling you exactly what she wants.

Your hands squeeze firmly just underneath the cheeks of her sculpted bottom, your nose wandering along her jaw.

"You know I won't take that as an answer, honey. You want me to or you don't. Either is fine, but you gotta let me know, otherwise I'm not doin' nothin'!", your grin against her cheek is burning, leaving a trail of reddened marks to travel over the bridge of her nose and down the side of her neck.

"You're insufferable..", she whispers, refusing to meet your gaze like her life depended on it, "... Put it on.."

There's that same mirth flashing through your eyes, teeth flashing mischievously through tautly pulled lips and for a second, she thinks she might regret her decision. That is until you actually fasten the harness around your hips, not without undressing yourself first. Her eyes are laser focused on the way the straps dig into your skin, your flesh bulging over them.

At this moment, she realizes she's never appreciated anything more than you, exactly like this, before. The way you look above her, honey-skinned in the golden glow of the bedside lamp, naked as the day you were born. The way her strap fits so snugly around your hips, the dildo resting neatly over her pubic mound -and she might think you look even better than her wearing it. The way you've been taking care of her all evening; from the dinner you made for her when she got home, to your fingers carding through her hair as you washed it thoroughly, because you knew she was too exhausted to lift her arm, and finally, your ever soft hands against her skin, in more ways than one.

And you'll continue taking care of her going onward from this moment.

All she has to do is sit back.. Let go.. And simply pass the reigns to you.

The day has left her drained already, the leaching work and onslaught of haunting thoughts enough to bring her guard down, enough to lean back and simply bask in the moment.

She'll manage. It should be easy. And if she gets overwhelmed, she can always just roll you over- not that she'll get overwhelmed, that's idiotic, she can handle it. She's Silco's right hand woman, dammit, she handles fights and meetings and bribes and errands with ease, so she can handle a bit of vulnerability, she will.

Her expression portrays her confliction, corner of her lip twitching upward in what seems to be disgust, though her eyes show the insecurity lying beneath.

She snaps out of her mental prison when your voice calls her name, smile compassionate, sweet, lov- don't you dare finish that thought.

"we don't have to. I can just.. Take it off and we'll call it a day", she wants this. She wants this. 'So open your damned mouth and say it-'

"Don't..", her voice is a meek murmur, lips formed in an almost huffy pout. Her expression is one you would expect a dishonored person to wear, someone who's got their whole pride and dignity stripped from them, eyes not hitting their target.

"tell me to continue and I will. Tell me to stop and I won't hesitate. This is all about you, honey. Just look at me and talk, yeah?", she fights against the grip of your hand against her jaw, but decides to give up and look at you none the less.

Why do you have to be so damn convincing?

"Just get on with it, will you? Unless you're getting cold feet?", her tone is mocking, challenging, desperately trying to keep up the confident, unbothered front.

With a roll of your eyes and a knowing grin, you grind -in this very moment your- strap against her folds, coating it's underside in her arousal. Her breath hitches. She's almost embarrassed at how wet she is. She blames it on the lingering of your spit. Yet she can't disguise the stumbling of her breath.

"You like that, huh?"

With no response, you simply thrust your hips once more, tip of the silicone catching against her clit in just the right ways. In response, her eyes flutter shut for just a moment before immediately locking with yours.

She's almost mesmerized by the sight of you, so beautifully woven into her life, and Janna, she shouldn't be so excited to let you fuck her.

But she is, so she watches with bated breath as you spit against your dick, smearing it across with your hand firmly wrapped around, the exact way you've done when she was the one wearing it.

You're infuriatingly careful when ligning yourself up, almost like you're scared of hurting her. How.. Pathetic..

Ba-dump

She watches carefully as your elbows place next to her head, your face breathtakingly close to hers as you push in. Her eyes flutter closed instinctively, head relaxing further into the pillows as she clenches tightly around the intrusion, and you swear you can feel it.

It's all a blur, really. Pleasure so good it has her arching into your touch until her chest is squished against yours. Your hand finds hers, fingers interlacing, squeezing her hand with a kind of possession that makes her heart soar. Her throat is dry, you can hear it in the way she swallows, your nose nudging along her cheek, her scars. Eyes closed, she gives herself fully to you, lips parted with ragged breaths as she meets every one of your thrusts with a grind of her own.

So really, it's no wonder that the words slip past your lips, barely audible if they hadn't been whispered right beside her ear.

Immediately, her body freezes, eyes shooting open as she stares off beside your head. She looks positively terrified, and it tucks at your heartstrings, hips stopping as soon as you feel her stiffening, trying to lock herself back up.

Her head turns to the side, eyes filling with unwanted tears, burning as she stops them from cascading down her cheeks. Your hands reach out for them instead.

"hey, hey... It's okay.. I shouldn't have dropped that on you..", you refuse to say you're sorry. After all, it was true and you didn't want her to think otherwise. You were sorry for dropping the l-bomb so suddenly, so intimately, without any trenches near for her to hide in, to save herself from the inevitable first blow. But you weren't at all sorry for loving her. Why would you be? Ever since she has taken you in, invited you to invade her private life, you have been so much happier than you have ever been before. She could be kind if she wanted to, showing that she cared in the simplest of ways without having to voice it. You couldn't help but dig deeper into that hole you've called affection, infatuation growing the longer you've decided to hold onto her, everything she was willing to give you, you ate it up like someone starved.

She's almost choking on her own tears and the sight breaks your heart.

"breathe, honey... I'm right here... And I'll stay here for as long as you want me to...", your voice carries that same careful and tender tone it always does, wiping the tears from the corner of her eyes before they can fall and she doesn't know wether to feel thankful or burst out sobbing, "We can stop, yeah? Wait, I'll.."

Before you can pull out of her, her ankle hooks around your waist, keeping you close.

With a warring mind and heavy heart, she held you there, needed you by her side, to soothe her pain the way you did to her wounds after careless fights. Yet she refused to look at you, still figuring out her own reaction.

Her heart soared at the admission all the while squeezing with an unimaginable pain, knowing all her efforts to prevent this have grown to be futile. But maybe, just maybe if she let you keep going, you'll stay. Like you said you would.. So she indulged in it, maybe one last time, and quietly, she whispers.

"Don't stop"

And you don't, hips slowly starting to move again, more carefully than before, eyes searching her expression for any sign of discomfort, any sign of her changing her mind. But she doesn't, refuses to if this might be her last chance of being intimate with you.

She was afraid. Afraid you wouldn't like what she's hidden beneath despite your reassurances trying to ease her over and over again. It was drilled into her very being ever since she was born. Weakness is a curse, took the people you cared about and sent them off to fight their own war, slaughtered by the cold hands of life. Vulnerability was weakness. Better not show it if you want to live. Best not feel it if you want to survive. Yet with every little bit of vulnerability she showed, you've never strayed; never berated her for feeling, never used it to make her pliable in your hands, never used it as a weapon against herself. You've encouraged it, kissed her messy thoughts better. So why was she still so afraid?

Her confliction was etched onto her face, carved into her complexion like an eternal inscription. So you speak up.

"Want me to tell you just what I love about you?", her breath catches, hitching in her throat at the sound of your panting, your hips picking up their pace, starting to move against hers a bit more desperately.

"I love your pretty nose, your for some reason always perfect-looking hair, your jaw, your tummy, your happy trail, your thighs..", you pause shortly as you notice the precarious expression gracing her features.

".. I love your crystal-grey eyes, because no matter how hard you try to hide behind that tough persona of yours, they always show me just what you're thinking, what you're feeling.. It really is true when people say eyes are the mirror into one's soul.. And yours are the prime example..

I love your full lips; they're so damn kissable.. The way they feel against me, in any way, makes me feel like they were made for that purpose only. No matter if it's my lips, my cheek, my forehead or somewhere else entirely, you make sure that I feel breathless wherever they trail"

Her doubt is settling on her chest, locking it closed and crushing her lungs as it slings its vines around her neck like a noose, tighter and tighter until her breath is cut short. The pressure weighs heavy, repressed tears flooding her eyes with each word muttered, spilling from your lips as a healing balm for her aching heart.

"I love your scars.. Every single one a testimony of the challenges you face everyday; the proof of your ambition, your willpower to fight and keep fighting for Zaun, your people -us. They glimmer like the stars hung above the sky. They're something to be proud of, something that makes you who you are. And I wouldn't have you any other way..

I love your faith in this city. How you give everything you have to do what's right. How you stay rooted to your beliefs.. And won't let anyone put you down. You're fighting for this.. Better and harder than anyone.

I love how much you care, the way you show you care.. I love how despite everything life throws your way, you always find a way to keep going, you never give up..

I promise, you can be so proud of yourself, Sevika. I am so proud of you. Proud of calling you mine. It's an honor. And I love you"

With shaky breaths and a trembling hand, she grabs you by the back of your head, pulling you down to connect your lips in a soft kiss, filled with aversion and craving, reluctant surrender and reassurance, need and desperation; and for the very first time, she allows herself to admit it's love.

It's love when her legs hook around your waist, pulling you closer, flush against her so she's able to feel every press and rub and thrust to its fullest, indulging in what she's fought against for so long.

It's love when you focus solely on her, wiping the lonesome tears that slip from her eyes, replacing them with the residue of once-saliva-slicked lips.

It's love when you muffle her humiliatingly loud noises with breathtaking pecks, swallowing her sounds and saving them in the depths of your mind.

It's love when your hips speed up per request, when your thumb pushes against her clit because you know she's edging closer and closer.

It's love when she lets herself fall once more, body shuddering as she's blinded by her pleasure, though it might as well be the tears in her eyes.

It's love when you kiss her through it. When you praise her and tell her once more just how much she means to you.

It's love when you clean her up, letting her cuddle close when her mind has finally quieted down enough for her eyes to grow heavy.

And at the very end, she knows it's love when you whisper she'll be your wife one day.

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