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abbyssgf · 7 days ago

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— 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋 𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐄𝐒 —

summary!; bodyguard!sevika x pr!reader > mistakes were made, problems get solved, headlines smooth out, and you end up making the same mistake again.

wc; 10.1k — cw; sub!reader, dom!sevika, hair pulling, oral sex (r!receiving), scissoring, slight fingering (r!receiving), biting, slight degrading, overstimulation to the point of fainting, and of course aftercare. MINORS DNI!!

note; I didn’t realize how long I had made this chapter but I hope you all enjoy it! let me know if you want something similar with another arcane character!! happy reading 🌸

part one here!

Your eyes flutter awake from the warmth you’re embraced in. Legs draped over Sevika’s waist as her arms were slung low across your waist, the weight of it casual and terrifying all at once. Her breathing is steady. Deep. Like nothing happened last night.

Like she didn’t spend most of last night making you forget your name. You didn’t even know you could even last for that many rounds, but you learn something new everyday right?

Anyways, you don’t move. Not yet. The hotel room is dim, the only light coming in from a crack in the blackout curtains. The AC occasionally makes a sound that fills up the room for the second as it turns on. You're half-curled against her chest, one of your legs tangled with hers, a thigh muscle twitching every now and then beneath your skin. Your actual clothes are nowhere in sight.

Jesus Christ this was such a mistake.

You should get up. You should be taking a shower. Responding to the twenty-something unread emails, and starting to prepare a revised crisis plan, responding to your texts, seeing if either of the sisters had contacted you in any form. You should be working. Or worrying. Or literally anything else but letting your bare thigh brush hers and thinking about round five. Or six? You don’t even know.

You freeze, staring at the ceiling.

Bad idea. You glance at her instead. Worse idea.

She’s awake. Of course she’s awake.

Sevika blinks slowly, the same unreadable look on her face she wore last night—right before she had you gasping into her shoulder. Her voice is low and maddeningly casual when she says, “You always bite when you’re stressed?”

You shove at the blankets and swing your legs over the side of the bed like you weren’t just perfectly comfortable two seconds ago. Her morning voice wasn’t helping either.

“You always talk after sex?”

“Only when I want someone to panic.”

You spin around. “I’m not panicking.”

She tilts her head. “You’re standing there in my shirt and one sock. Want to try that again?”

You glance down.

Fuck. You are wearing her shirt. And her sock..? When the hell did that happen? Christ you must’ve been a mess last night.

You groan and start digging through your duffle bag like it might magically fix your life, but a clean pair of clothes would help a little right now.

Your phone buzzes. And keeps buzzing.

17 messages. 5 missed calls. 1 text message that notifies you right as you look at your phone, from your assistant; “Are you alive??”

That’s when the knot of dread sinks into your gut and stays there. You unlock your phone and immediately wish you hadn’t.

“Rumors Swirl: Vi Walking Away From Faultline?”

“Mystery Woman Seen With New Band Security After Hotel Check-In — Who Is She?”

You stare at the blurry shot—you, checking in last night. Sevika behind you. The caption reads;

“Hotel Hook-Up or Security Breach? Fans React to Spicy New Theory.”

You slam the phone facedown on the desk, groaning out. “We’re screwed!”

Sevika’s still lying in bed— still naked, arms behind her head like this is just Tuesday. “You’re screwed,” she says. “I just stood near you.”

“All we did was just check in!” you say exasperatedly with your hands flailing, “what do they mean ‘hotel hookup’” you say quoting hard, imitating the title with a deeper voice.

All Sevika did was just shrug. Which made you groan in annoyance.

“I specifically booked two rooms!” you say glaring at her.

“Clerical error,” she offers. “Or fate.”

You throw a sock at her. “Fate? Really?”

She catches it with one hand. “Worked out, didn’t it?”

You freeze again. Because yeah—it did. And that’s the problem. And unfortunately, you are one to heavily deny things like there's no tomorrow.

“Like hell it did, it was a mistake” you pause before looking at yourself in the mirror, wiping at your neck as if it will magically erase the damn marks she created on your from last night, “Do I look like I got railed in a hotel room last night?”

“Yes,” Sevika says, completely unbothered. “Fix your hair.”

You groan. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” she says. “You’re just panicking.”

You zip up your bag with too much force. “I have to go back for another crisis meeting in thirty minutes and I am trying very hard not to think about the fact that I orgasmed three times and now I have to sit across from Vi’s manager! Who never listens to me!”

Sevika finally gets up—pulls her jacket off the floor and tosses it your way as she mutters under her breath, “Could’ve been four..”

You whip around. “Do you want me to combust?”

“Little bit,” she admits, with a shrug.

You just balled up her jacket— or attempted too and threw it at her face. But of course she caught it, this time with a knowing smirk. “Ridiculous..” you mutter under your breath as you grab your clothes from your bag to go and change in the bathroom. You leaned against the bathroom counter as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

“This was just a one time thing!” you call out from the bathroom as you glanced at yourself in the mirror. You get no response back. Yeah. Quitting seems like a great option right now.

──────────

The car is silent.

Another crisis meeting that didn’t even go as planned. But what’s new?

You’re slouched in the passenger seat, hands shoved under your thighs to keep from texting something stupid—or worse, scrolling Twitter to see if anyone’s figured out the whole one room, one bed situation. Even though that’s just you panicking and overthinking about a nonexistent situation… right?

Regardless, you don't even look professional. You’re wearing a hoodie, trying to hide the marks she had created on your neck from last night. Your baggy jeans make you look just as shabby. You two left a little late from the hotel just because you had done a full face of makeup today to make up for the shabby outfit. But at this point, who even cares.

Sevika drives like she fights; calm, steady, no hesitation. One hand on the wheel. The other resting near the console, fingers tapping idly like she’s tracking the rhythm of your breathing. The silence is getting too loud in your head.

You try to look out the window to avoid looking at her hands. Although, you couldn't help but steal a glance at her, fingers twitching. She’s got that same unreadable expression she always wears—like the whole world’s just background noise she’s already calculated a way through.

It's like you want to say something but you have a strong feeling that if you do, it’ll make things awkward. Again. But considering you two still have at least half an hour of the ride left till you two get back to the makeshift office for now, you couldn’t help but think back to articles you found about Sevika when you had searched her up. And before you knew it, your mouth spoke before you could even think.

“..Was it really a Medarda?”

She doesn’t even blink. Her jaw shifts, just slightly.

“I mean,” you add, suddenly wishing you’d kept your mouth shut as you mentally facepalm yourself for being stupid, “That’s what the forums said. The article. I didn’t even know who she was at the time, but now I keep seeing her face next to yours on old paparazzi leaks and—”

“You looked me up.” Her voice cuts in, not surprised. Not mad. Just confirming what she already figured.

You hesitate. “Yeah. After the VIP room… after the office. I was curious.”

A long beat of silence stretches between you.

Then finally, Sevika exhales. The kind of breath that sounds like she’s almost amused.

“Maybe,” she replies evenly. “Does it matter?”

“It does,” you press, heart thudding. “Because if it was—”

She cuts you off with a soft chuckle, the first real sound she’s made all morning.

“Last time I mixed business and pleasure,” she says, eyes glancing briefly in the rearview mirror, “it ended in blood and a lawyer.”

You blink, as you stare at her profile, stunned by the flat delivery.

“Is that supposed to turn me off?”

Her mouth twitches, just barely.

“Did it?”

You cross your arms and look out the window. “Not answering that.”

“Didn’t think so.”

And just like that, the silence returns—but now it crackles with everything unsaid. Until your phone rings. You were quick to pick it up from the cupholder in the middle, glancing at the caller ID. And surprisingly—

It’s Vi. Sevika sees the name flash across the screen and raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

You answered the phone call, with your voice stern as if you were scolding your own child, which at this point— you kinda were.

“And where the hell have you been?”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end before Vi responds, voice dry. “Good morning to you too.”

“Don’t you ‘good morning’ me. I’ve been juggling a PR disaster, your sister almost lit the stage on fire, sponsors are on my ass, and no one has heard from you or Jinx for two days.”

Vi sighs. “I needed space. That not allowed anymore?”

You rub your temple, suddenly aware of Sevika’s silent presence beside you as she drives. She hasn’t looked over, but you know she’s listening.

“Space doesn’t cancel contracts, Vi. Space doesn’t fix headlines. You dipped in the middle of a damn hurricane, and I’m the one mopping up your fucking wreckage. Again.”

Vi’s voice softens a notch. “I didn’t mean to leave you hanging like that.”

You exhale through your nose, still wound tight. “I can’t keep this whole band from burning down if you just leave out of nowhere, Vi. You were supposed to stay. Now the whole damn internet is speculating if you’re going to leave the band after the shitshow you had pulled on stage!”

Were you being a little extra? Yes, but she deserved it. You are going through absolute hell right now trying to fix the band’s image.

She’s quiet for a second. Then, “You sound exhausted.”

You glance toward Sevika’s hands on the steering wheel. Steady. Sharp-knuckled. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” Vi mutters, tone unreadable. “You always are.”

Vi ends the call before you can respond. You quickly send text message to the sisters;

[9:22] “your asses better be at the office before 10.” “if neither of you two are there I'm cancelling the next promo run.

…No replies. Typical.

You then drop your phone onto your lap, jaw clenched, chest tight. Letting the phone slide off your lap, tension still burning under your skin. There's a thick beat of silence in the car.

“She's got great timing” Sevika mutters as her eyes are forward, only casting you a short glance, “Right when you’ve nearly bled yourself dry fixing shit she walked away from.”

You just sighed in response, your mind spinning from all the stress you’re going to be met with the minute you step into the makeshift office.

“…At least I took my anger out yesterday.”

She doesn’t answer right away. But you see her grip shift on the steering wheel. Like she remembers. All of it.

Her voice is lower when it comes this time. “Yeah. You did.”

And fuck, you shouldn’t like the way she said that. You just crossed your legs, leaned against the arm rest as your gaze shifted out the window. Silently praying that this will eventually be smoothed out. Hopefully sooner rather than later.

The venue looks different in daylight — like seeing a nightclub with the lights on. All the makeup smeared, all the wires were exposed. The glamour is gone, and what’s left is business. You push through the back entrance with Sevika in tow, your phone still warm in your pocket from the texts you sent earlier.

The makeshift office is barely a room, folding tables, scattered paperwork, coffee that tastes like regret. But it’s quiet. Too quiet. Until you open the door and there they are.

Jinx is perched sideways in a chair, legs dangling, spinning a pen like she’s on trial for murder and still thinks it’s funny. Vi’s got her arms folded, leaning against the wall like she’d rather be anywhere else. Her hair black on the roots as it slowly fades to her original pink hair color. They're on opposite ends of the room — not speaking, not looking at each other. The air between them is thick with something old and ugly. Of course it is.

You stop just over the threshold. Sevika stands behind you like a shadow, silent, observant, not even pretending not to be watching everything. She stands against the closed door, typical bodyguard style.

“Great,” you say, voice flat. “You both showed up. That’s progress. Maybe next time you can do it without trying to kill each other on livestream.”

Neither of them speaks.

You exhale slowly through your nose. You’re tired. You’re still sore in places you shouldn’t be thinking about in a room like this. And you don’t have time for theatrics — not theirs, not yours. No bullshit today.

“Sit.” you mutter, pointing towards the couch in front of you.

Vi doesn’t move, but her jaw flexes. Jinx huffs something under her breath that sounds like “bossy” but sits anyway. You raised your eyebrow at Vi.

Reluctantly, she sat down. Keeping her distance from her sister.

You drop your bag, slap your clipboard down, and fix them both with a look that would flatten lesser egos. “We’re going to fix this,” you say, “because I am not about to spend another twelve hours scrubbing your mess off social media with bubblegum statements and fake bribes.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then Jinx smirks.

Vi rolls her eyes.

You feel your blood pressure spike. Sevika still hasn’t said a word — just leans against the door like she’s weighing exactly when to step in. You’re not even sure if it’s to keep them from each other, or to stop you from exploding.

Eventually, you’re mid-rant, pacing like a woman on the edge of a nervous breakdown held together with concealer and sheer rage.

“This tour is not a playground. It’s not a therapy session. It’s a contract. You two don’t have to love each other, but you will show up, stay civil, and stop throwing goddamn microphones in front of sponsors.”

Jinx kicks her feet a little where she’s perched. She tilts her head looking at you, probably not even listening.

“Huh.. You look different today.” she says, almost as if she was assessing you.

“You’re glowing. Like—really glowing. Skin all dewy. Little post-apocalyptic zen in your walk.” She gestures vaguely. “Did someone get laid or am I just having a stroke?”

You pause, hand still half-raised with your notes. “Excuse me?”

You literally wore makeup for a reason. How was it still obvious?

She grins slowly, eyes raking over you like a bratty little sister clocking something no one else has dared to say out loud. You open your mouth to deflect, but—

“Jinx.” Vi’s voice is low, warning. A sharp look thrown sideways. “Don’t.”

Jinx glances at her. Then back at you. Then, slower—her eyes slide toward Sevika, who’s leaning against the far wall, impassive as always.

A pause.

“...Oh.”

“Jinx,” Vi repeats, this time firmer.

“I didn’t say anything,” Jinx says, smirking. “I just connected a few dots, and they happen to spell ‘mystery muscle.’”

You stare at her flatly. “You done?”

“For now,” she sings with a knowing smile, kicking her feet up.

Vi doesn’t say anything else, but she doesn’t look away from Sevika for a while. You don’t know what she’s thinking—but it’s not nothing. Sevika doesn’t flinch under the scrutiny. Doesn’t move. She just raises one eyebrow, subtle and slow, as if she’s daring them to push it.

No one does.

You clear your throat and slap your notes on the table. “Okay. Let’s talk about the trainwreck of this week’s press coverage.”

Jinx sighs, dramatically. Vi exhales through her nose. And Sevika stays quiet—but you can feel her eyes on the back of your neck, steady and unshakable. And right now, that’s the only tension you’re willing to deal with.

“First of all, would you two please tell me why the hell you two fought like that on stage?” you ask, looking at them expectantly.

“It was a family mom—”

“—say that one more time Jinx I’m leaving this for the both of you to clean up by yourselves.”

You were met with silence. That's what you thought.

Until Jinx mutters, barely holding it back, “Vi actually wants out.”

The words hit like a punch. Vi’s face drains of color, her jaw clenched tight enough to crack bone.

“Fuck you,” she spits, venom dripping from every syllable. “You don’t know shit.”

Jinx sneers back, eyes blazing, voice low and harsh, “Oh, I know more than you think. You want to run away like everyone else who’s ever left us, sis.”

Vi’s fists curl into trembling balls, rage and pain warping her expression. “Why the hell can’t you ever stay in your goddamn business!”

You jump in, voice cutting through the storm like a blade. “Stop this before you destroy everything. You two are breaking apart in front of everyone, and I’m supposed to fix it all?”

Both sisters glare, breathing heavy, hurt raw and exposed. But neither speaks. The silence now heavy with everything unsaid — old wounds ripped open, barely held together by brittle threads. Your heart skips.

You force yourself to keep your voice steady. “Is that true, Vi? Do you really want to leave?”

Her eyes flash, defiant, maybe angry, but then something shifts. The fire in her demeanor dims just enough to reveal a flicker of doubt, of exhaustion. She exhales slowly, almost too quiet to hear, “I don’t know.”

You notice the subtle relaxation in her shoulders, the way her hands unclench. For a second, it’s like the storm inside her has paused, as if your presence gives her a fragile kind of calm. You want to reach out, to say something that could fix this, but you hold back. You’ve seen how delicate this balance is. How easy it is to push too hard.

Jinx glares at you both but doesn’t say a word. Vi looks away, the fight draining from her like a slow leak, leaving an ache you don’t quite know how to soothe. You realize you’re standing on the edge of something, maybe the end, maybe the chance to hold it all together.

And somehow, you know it’s not just the band you’re trying to save. It's their family too. You groan inwardly as you run a hand down your face, fuck me, you thought. Didn’t think you’d be holding a therapy session today. Just perfect.

This was way worse than you thought.

You let the silence settle for just a beat longer, heart pounding, before you speak again. Softer this time.

“…Why?”

Vi doesn’t answer right away. Her jaw tightens, and you can see the war happening behind her eyes. She hates being seen like this—vulnerable, undecided. But she’s already cracked open a little, and you’re not letting this go without understanding.

“I just…” Vi finally says, voice low and rough, “I’m tired.”

Jinx shifts in her seat, eyes narrowing. “We’re all tired.”

“Not like this,” Vi snaps, her volume rising before she catches herself. She turns to you, not Jinx, like you're the one she can be honest with. “It’s always something. A fight. A fuck-up. Another fire to put out. I didn’t sign up for this shit.”

“You signed up for a band,” you reply, not unkindly. “And then you stayed when it became more.”

Vi scoffs a little. “Yeah. And maybe I stayed for the wrong reasons.”

That hits something in Jinx—sharp and fast. “Oh, fuck off with that.”

“Don’t start,” you warn quickly, raising a hand.

Vi’s still looking at you, and her next words are so quiet you almost don’t catch them.

“I thought maybe if I held on long enough, it would start to feel like ours again.”

You blink. “Ours?”

She doesn’t explain. She doesn’t have to. You know she means her and Jinx. You know this was supposed to be something that tethered them to each other. But the tether’s fraying. Maybe it already snapped.

You inhale slowly. “So what—you’d rather leave than try to fix it?”

Vi flinches. And for the first time in this whole mess, she looks unsure.

“I don’t know what I want anymore,” she says, and suddenly she looks younger than she is. Tired. Raw. And somehow, still, that fragile peace in her posture only exists when she’s talking to you.

You nod slowly at Vi’s words, letting them hang in the air like the sting of alcohol on a fresh wound. There’s a beat of silence where no one breathes, and then your eyes flick to Jinx. She hasn’t said anything, but her knee is bouncing, her jaw tight.

“Jinx,” you say, not sharp—careful. “You want to tell me how you’re feeling about all this?”

She scoffs, looking away. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe betrayed, maybe a little stabbed in the back, maybe just great, actually.”

“Can we not?” Vi mutters under her breath, rubbing her temples.

“No,” you say, your tone firmer now, eyes on Jinx. “Let her talk.”

Jinx laughs, but there’s nothing light in it. “You want me to talk? Fine. I’ve been bending over backwards trying to hold this band image together. I’m the one always throwing myself into it. I give people something to talk about. I keep the fucking spark alive.” She turns to Vi, eyes burning. “And you—you just check out. You pull away. You don’t even try anymore.”

Vi exhales sharply, like she’s trying not to react. But Jinx isn’t done.

“You know what it feels like to keep showing up for someone who’s already halfway out the door? Who looks at you like you're a reminder of everything they regret?”

“Jinx—” Vi tries, but her voice falters.

“No, fuck that,” Jinx snaps, suddenly getting up and pacing. “You think I’m exhausting? Fine. You think I’m chaos? Sure. But don’t fucking act like I’m the reason this is hard when you haven’t been here in months, Vi.”

You watch her. And suddenly, it’s not about the press. Not the image. Not the next tour date or the PR crisis waiting in your inbox. It’s about two sisters who built something together, and are now quietly watching it rot from the inside.

“Jinx…” you say gently. She stops pacing but doesn’t look at you. “You’re scared she’s leaving. I get it. But you pushing harder isn’t going to make her stay.”

Her jaw clenches. “Then what will?”

You pause. Then quietly, “Letting her feel like she can stay without drowning.”

For a second, Jinx doesn’t say anything. Then she mutters, eyes fixed on the floor, “I just wanted it to feel like it used to.”

You nod. “Me too.. And I think I'm speaking for all of us”

A beat goes by. The silence hangs just long enough for the emotions to settle. Neither of them is looking at each other now—Vi with her arms crossed tight like she’s holding herself together with sheer force, Jinx like she might blow a hole through the floor with just her stare. You shift in your seat, take a breath, and ask the question that’s been simmering in the back of your mind since last night.

“...Should I delay rehearsals?”

They both look up at you.

“What?” Vi says slowly.

“I mean it,” you say, firm but calm. “We’ve got three weeks until the next show. Enough time to breathe, maybe remember why you even want to be on stage together. But if I keep pushing you two through interviews, shoots, rehearsals like nothing’s wrong? It’s going to explode again—and next time, the whole world will be watching.”

Jinx groans and throws her head back. “So we go dark? Just vanish for a bit?”

You nod. “Low profile. No press, no new footage, no forced hangouts. I’ll put out a statement saying you're ‘recalibrating after a high-demand tour leg.’ Leave the fans guessing just enough to keep them hooked. You two? You figure your shit out.”

Vi's eyes are on you now, thoughtful. She hasn’t said no.

“And what if nothing gets figured out?” Jinx mutters.

“Then,” you say evenly, “we go into crisis plan B. But I’m not pulling that trigger until I know for sure you’re both done.” pausing for a moment, “but I know you two better than that. And I'm not giving up on my girls.”

Jinx and Vi gave each other a look, unreadable, only something sisters that close would understand.

Then, surprisingly—Vi nods. Just once. Slow.. A breath escapes her like she’s been holding it since last night. “…Three weeks,” she says finally.

Jinx crosses her arms, defiant. Vi looks at her.

“And we try. Actually try. No more hiding.”

Jinx doesn’t respond right away—but she doesn’t argue, either. You meet both their eyes, serious.

“Use it.”

They say nothing. But for the first time in hours, the air doesn’t feel like it’s about to combust. You rise, phone already buzzing in your pocket.

“I’ll start writing the statement.”

You turn around expecting Sevika to still be standing by the door but— she's gone. You went to open the door as you heard Jinx and Vi silently talk behind you two before you were met with a voice that made you jump.

“Done?”

“Holy— God you fucking scared me Sev..” you mutter the nickname that comes out your name effortlessly without realizing it, with only her subtly raising her eyebrow at it but not commenting on it. You grab the door handle, giving the girls one last look before closing the doors looking back at Sevika.

“And yeah, I’m done. Let’s go.”

──────────

You close the hotel room door behind you and lean back against it like the weight of the day might finally fall off your shoulders if you just breathe deep enough.

It doesn’t.

The room’s quiet. No Sevika this time. No voices behind closed doors. Just the hum of the air vent and the soft buzz of your phone where you dropped it on the dresser.

You should feel relieved. The emergency statement is out—calm, clean, carefully vague. Fans are chewing it up like candy, dissecting every line with wild optimism. Headlines are smoothing over. The words “internal creative differences” are doing heavy lifting. You even got a thank-you text from the label. That should’ve felt like a win.

It doesn’t.

You sit on the edge of the bed, still in your hoodie, makeup scrubbed off, staring at the wall like it might offer answers.

Instead, your brain loops one thing; The way Sevika stood behind you earlier. Quiet. Solid. Unbothered while everything else burned. The eyebrow she raised when you accidentally called her Sev. The way she didn’t even bother to correct you.

You exhale hard and scrub your hands down your face.

This is bad.

Not the PR. Not the band. Not even the fan theories starting to bubble up about who you were seen walking into the hotel with last night. What’s bad is that all you want to do right now—after everything—is see her again. Hear her voice. Pick a fight just so she’ll push back. You hate that part of you is hoping she'll knock on your door.

Your phone buzzes once.

You blink. Lean forward. Grab it.

Unknown Number. The preview reads;

[11:13] “You still pacing the room, or are you finally breathing?”

You stare at the screen.

[11:14] “who is this?”

Even though you know who it already is.

“Guess.”

[11:16] “..how did you get my number?”

[11:17] “Your assistant gave up your number faster than I expected.” “Thought you'd be harder to get to.”

Great, now she’s in your head again, like she never left.

[11:18] “what do you want?”

This time she takes a few seconds.

“Just checking in “After last night.”

Your brain fills in the gaps. After last night could mean after you nearly lost your shit in the crisis meeting. Or after you screamed in the hotel room ranting about the two room bullshit. Or… after she had her hands on your thighs, her mouth on your throat, your fingers tugging her hair while you swore you didn’t want it again.

You bite your lip and type;

[11:20] “I’m fine. You don’t have to check in.”

A beat goes by.

[11:22] “I’m still thinking about it”

Your heart flutters.

“about what?”

“You.”

You cursed silently to yourself. You told yourself it was a mistake. Something you two should’ve never done.

[11:25] “that was a one time thing”

“You said that. I never agreed”

This time, you groaned audibly. Why the hell does she reply so fast! You set your phone down for a moment as you stare at the ceiling. This is wrong. She’s a bodyguard for Christ’s sake! She doesn’t deal with— PR people like you. Hell, especially not an unstable one. But before you know it, your fingers were typing,

[11:27] “what, you’re going to start quoting me now?”

“Only when you lie.”

[11:28] “thought you said when you mixed business and pleasure, it ends up with blood and a lawyer”

She leaves you on read for a beat. Just long enough to make you second-guess sending it. Then the three dots blink back in.

[11:30] “It does.” “I’m still thinking about you anyway”.

You blink. Then another message follows.

“So either I’m stupid.” “Or you’re worth it.”

Your breath catches. And just like that, your whole body feels too hot again. Goddamnit!

[11:31] “this is wrong sevika”

“Then stop thinking about it.” “I won’t text again.”

And that should make it easier. It should.

..Yeah no, you’re fucked. Literally. This is wrong. You shouldn’t be doing this. Everything in your mind screams no, while your body is screaming yes. Certainly your fingers had another idea, obviously.

[11:33] “room 723” “don’t knock”

You leave the door unlocked.

You sit on the edge of the hotel bed, palms flat on your thighs, trying to regulate your breathing, your heartbeat, your common sense. The room’s too quiet, the buzz in your skin too loud. You still taste that chaos from earlier—meetings, headlines, lies. The heat of her hands, the scrape of her voice in your ear when she said, “Best one I’ve had all day.”

You swore it would be a one-time thing.

That was before she texted. Before you replied. Before the lock clicked behind her, and you felt her presence like the pressure drop before a storm. The door shuts with a soft thud. And still, she doesn’t say a word.

She just walks in.

You don’t move. Neither does she. The air stretches tight between you, thick with everything unsaid. And then—Sevika stops in front of you, boots echoing on the hardwood. Her jacket is already off. She looks down at you like she’s deciding whether to ruin you again.

You look up at her as if your eyes were pleading her to.

Her voice is low, rough. “You sure?”

No,” you say. “But I still texted you.”

There’s a flicker in her expression, approval, hunger, something heavier— but she doesn’t move toward you. Not yet. She waits. You don’t move. You just breathe out,

“I’m tired,” you say.

“Then say no,” she murmurs.

You can’t. She knows you can’t. And that's what you hate.

You reach up first. Just a hand on her shirt. A fistful of cotton. Needing something real to hold onto.

“Don’t talk,” you say quietly. “Not tonight.”

Her mouth twitches like she might argue. But then—she nods once. Sharp. Controlled. And she sinks to her knees in front of you, chasing your gaze to make sure you’re looking at her. Her hands come to your thighs first, strong and steady, thumbs dragging up through the tension knotted in your jeans. She doesn’t rush, just watches your face as she reaches for your belt.

You inhale sharply. And then, slowly, you start to lean back back against the bed. Your palms brace against the mattress behind you, elbows locking, your legs parting further in silent invitation. Your hips lift just enough to meet her halfway—offering yourself without a word. As if you’re giving her permission to do as she pleases.

You feel her fingers brush against the lower part of your stomach before she unbuckles your belt, slowly dragging your jeans off your waist, and soon meets the floor.

Sevika starts slow.

Her mouth brushes the inside of your knee first, barely there, a whisper of contact that makes your breath hitch. Then another kiss, firmer now, heat blooming through skin that’s already too sensitive. She trails her lips higher, deliberately slow, as if mapping every inch like it's sacred ground.

Her tongue grazes soft against your skin, rough enough to make you twitch, to leave a ghost of her behind. Her hands are steady, calloused palms pressing down on your hips, holding you in place like you might slip from her grip otherwise. Then—her lips part. She presses a kiss just above the tender curve of your inner thigh, and you feel it all, the heat of her breath, the slight drag of her lower lip, the hunger buried just beneath restraint. You can feel her smirk against your skin when you exhale too sharply.

Another kiss, higher this time. Slower. Hungrier. She doesn’t rush.

She’s savoring you.

Her teeth scrape lightly, not enough to hurt—just enough to make your stomach twist. And then her tongue follows, lazy and warm and wicked, painting slow circles that don’t go where you need them most.

You shift under her. She tightens her grip.

“Still think this is wrong?” she murmurs, voice low against your skin.

But you don’t answer. Not with the way she kisses you like this. Like she’s making a promise with every press of her mouth—one that ends with you unraveling in her hands. Her mouth lingers at the inside of your thigh, teeth dragging just enough to make you twitch. Her breath is warm, dangerous. You don’t dare move. Not when every nerve is already begging for more.

Then slowly and deliberately, Sevika starts to rise. She trails up your body with unbearable calm, every shift of muscle and shadow making your skin tighten. Her hands plant firm beside your hips as she looms over you, her face inches from yours, eyes locked in.

“I asked you a question,” she murmurs, voice like velvet stretched over steel. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You blink up at her, heartbeat skittering. But despite the heat rushing everywhere, your mouth moves before your brain can stop it.

“I’m thinking about it,” you whisper, smirking. “You kind of interrupted.”

Sevika huffs a single laugh, but it’s low and dangerous. Her eyes glance down to your lips, but she doesn’t kiss you. Not yet. Instead, her gaze flickers lower . One hand comes up, slow, carefully, and curls around the front of your hoodie. Her fingers tug at the hem, testing, like she’s asking a question without saying it out loud.

You don’t move.

Her thumb brushes against the skin just beneath it. Barely. Her knuckles graze your stomach.

Still, you don’t move.

Sevika tilts her head, eyes narrowing slightly like she’s clocking every breath you take. “Gonna make me undress you too?” she mutters, almost amused. But there’s an edge to it, like she’s not exactly opposed to doing exactly that.

You raise your eyebrows, defiantly. “You’re the one who showed up uninvited.”

Her mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. “Text says otherwise.”

And just like that, she lifts the hoodie—slowly, like she’s giving you time to stop her, but knowing you won’t. Her knuckles graze higher, baring skin inch by inch until the fabric is up and over your head. You let her. It drops to the floor between you like a challenge. Then her hand slides up your jaw, rough and steady, tipping your face toward hers. She pauses, close enough that you can feel the heat of her breath.

“You’re not gonna kiss me?” you murmur, eyes locked on her mouth.

“No,” she breathes, right before her lips part ever so slightly. “I’m gonna take my time ruining you.”

Your breath catches as her fingers tilt your face toward hers. The space between you narrows, so close you can taste it. The air between your mouths is hot, electric. You lean in, just slightly, lips parting, finally giving in—

And she pulls back.

Just enough to make you feel the absence. Just enough to let your lips close on nothing but air.

You blink, startled. “Did you just—”

Her hand is still on your jaw, thumb brushing over your lower lip like she’s toying with the idea of giving it back. Her mouth is curved into the smallest, cockiest smirk.

“I told you,” she murmurs. “I’m not rushing this.”

Your body betrays you—shifting forward again, chasing her warmth before you can stop yourself. But she’s already straightened up, taking her time as she studies you like something she’s already unwrapped and plans to make beg for more. Pretty sure the both of you are now disregarding what you said earlier about ‘not talking’.

“I hate you,” you mutter under your breath.

“You will,” she says, voice low. “But not yet.”

And then, finally, she leans down again. But not to kiss you. Her mouth brushes the side of your jaw, your throat, down the line of your neck with a pace that’s maddening, just enough to make your breath hitch, but not enough to satisfy a damn thing. It’s as if she's almost admiring the marks she had made previously.

She’s not kissing you to please you. She’s kissing you like she owns the reaction. Like she’s staking a claim on every shiver.

“You’re not in charge tonight,” she murmurs against your collarbone.

And you know she means every word. But will you allow her to do so, is the real question. You let her kiss your neck.

At first anyways.

She’s thorough, teasing. Her mouth traces lazy patterns along your throat, just beneath your jaw, like she’s mapping every spot that makes you sigh. Her hands are planted firm on either side of you, keeping you caged where she wants you. You tilt your head back, exposing your neck more. Letting her. Encouraging her to do more.

But then your hand moves. Slow and deliberate.

You reach up and thread your fingers through her ponytail. She pauses for half a second, barely a flicker, but you feel it. That moment of stillness when she realizes you’re not going to stay passive. You tug the tie loose. Her hair falls in waves, shadowing her face, brushing against your skin.

You lean in this time, close to her ear, your lips almost brushing the shell of it as you murmur, “Let me see you.”

She pulls back just a little, enough to look at you through the veil of her now-messy hair. Her pupils are blown wide. That smirk is gone. What’s there now is sharper. Hungrier. Giving the look of wanting to completely devour you whole. It almost makes your brain short circuit. Almost.

You press your palm to the center of her chest, guiding her back—not pushing, just leading.

“You think I’m the one not in charge,” you whisper, your tone just this side of daring.

She huffs once, barely a laugh, but she lets you shift her. And for the first time, she lets you take the lead.

At least for now.

The next few minutes go by as a blur as her clothes start to slowly drop one by one next to yours till she's just left standing bare, in front of you. You watch her every movement, eyes slowly gazing down her body feeling that if you blink you’ll miss something special. Tracing her scars. Her muscles. Her curves. All while somehow managing to keep your hands to yourself instead of immediately going to grasp her into your arms.

Christ, she’s beautiful.

Eventually, as you two manage to settle on the bed you guide her back until her weight settles against your hands, and for once, Sevika lets you take the reins. She watches you, eyes half-lidded but sharp, like a wolf humoring its prey. You swing a leg over her lap, straddling her. Her hands slide down to your thighs, but she doesn’t grip, doesn’t move, she’s waiting. Testing what you’ll do next.

And god, it’s addictive. That flicker of restraint. The subtle submission from someone who clearly doesn't give it easily. And damn does it look good on her.

You lean in close, letting your lips ghost just shy of hers, and whisper, “Thought you said mixing business and pleasure ends in blood and a lawyer.”

Sevika’s lips curve faintly, amused, maybe, but she doesn’t answer. Not with words. She lets you kiss her first. You go slow, teasing. She lets you set the pace, her breath steady against your mouth, hands still resting on your legs like she's giving you space. But there’s tension coiled beneath her skin, ready to strike, should you fumble. Should you forget just who you’re sitting on.

Your fingers rake through her hair again, dragging her closer, deepening the kiss until it’s no longer soft. Until it tastes like need. Until she groans into your mouth—and that’s when it shifts.

Because you got cocky.

She grips your hips without warning and flips you beneath her in one fluid motion. The mattress bounces. You gasp, winded, arms flung above your head. And Sevika? She’s back in control. Her hair’s wild around her face, a few strands stuck to her lips. She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t smirk.

She just looks down at you like she’s already decided how this ends.

“Cute,” she murmurs, her voice low and rough. “But you forgot—”

Her hand wraps around your wrists and pins it to the bed.

“—I like to win.”

Then she kisses you again—harder, hungrier. With all the restraint gone. And you? You stop trying to pretend you’re not loving every second of it. Your wrist wriggling in her grip as her free hand trails down from your neck to your tit, groping it as if it’ll slip away from her forever. Her thumb brushing against your hardened nipple, the sensation erupting a gasp from your mouth.

And of course she’d fucking chuckle. “You’re so sensitive” she murmurs, trailing her kisses down your neck, “maybe tonight you’ll come more than three times.”

As you opened your mouth to retort something back— all that came out was a strangled moan.

Her mouth latching onto your tit, locking and sucking at your nipple as her eyes cast a glance at you. Her grip releases your wrists only to grasp your other breast in her hand, squeezing it roughly. Your hands went straight to her hair, tugging it harshly earning you a reaction from Sevika. She groans low in her throat, like she likes when it hurts.

Sevika doesn’t rush. She never does. Every movement is deliberate—measured like she’s memorizing the shape of your body with her mouth. Her hands are firm at your sides, grounding you even as your breath stutters. She kisses lower, her mouth dragging heat across your sternum, between the curve of your breasts, down the center of your stomach.

You twitch under her, muscles clenching with every pass of her tongue.

But it’s when she gets lower, when her mouth ghosts over your hip bone, when her fingers grip your thighs and spread them apart—that something inside you snaps tight. She pauses.

Right there, in the space between your legs, her breath warm against you. She looks up.

And god— that fucking look.

Dark, calm, knowing. Her hair falls around her face in waves, her lips parted just slightly, and her eyes never leave yours. She holds the stare like a dare. Like she’s asking if you can handle her now that you’ve finally let her in this deep.

"You watching?" she murmurs, voice rough, barely audible. Her fingers press deeper into your thighs.

You nod. Or maybe you just breathe too loudly. You’re not even sure.

Sevika doesn’t break eye contact, “You look away, I'll stop.”

Your core twitched at her words. She didn’t even give you a second to even comprehend her words properly as her mouth finds itself on your soaked cunt, her tongue lapping at your folds, as if she belonged there. Her being precise and slow with her movements making sure you feel everything. Your hands tighten in her hair, as you let out desperate whine.

Worst part was she never broke eye contact.

You felt her lips curl against your pussy as she murmured, the vibrations making your body jolt, “You taste fucking delicious.”

Your hips buck into her mouth, forcing her to shut up. She compiled. Her tongue hot on you, dragging it up your wet pussy till she focused right on your clit. Sucking with the right amount of pleasure, flicking it occasionally as her hands grip your thighs tighter. Pulling you closer just to get her tongue deep in you. You writhe in her grip, eyes fluttering from the pleasure as you couldn't help the series of moans that left your mouth.

The moment your head was thrown back, feeling Sevika groan against your cunt which only made the vibrations shoot up against your pussy, that familiar pit feeling brewing in your stomach till—

She went still.

You felt two taps on your thigh.

Oh.. She actually meant it.

You slowly pick your head up, seeing her eyebrow subtly raised.

“You thought I was joking?” she asked, her voice slightly rough, “I wanna see your face when you come sweetheart.”

“Shut up” you huff, out of breath. The flush on your cheeks not going unnoticed by her.

“Make m—”

Before she could finish you shove her head back onto your dripping cunt, once again, silencing her as your hips moved in a rhythm against her mouth. Trying to chase your high, not moving your eyes away from the daring sight in front of you. You were pushing her head deeper against your core, her brushing at your clit with the right amount of pressure as her tongue was ruthless. Not giving you a chance to breathe, as the sounds coming out your mouth sounded like fucking music in her ears.

“Fuck sev..”

“Mmh— Close?”

“Yeah— right there baby!” you choke on a moan as your hips twitched into her mouth, your grip in her hair so tight that your nails scratch her scalp erupting a moan from her. Your orgasm being ripped out of you as your thighs squeeze around her head, trembling from the pleasure, back arching as you’re helplessly grinding against her mouth. You spew out incoherent words, riding out your orgasm with your walls clenching around her tongue repetitively.

This time your head fell back, eyes shut from being overwhelmed but—

She’s not stopping.

“Sev..” you whimper quietly trying to pry her away from your swollen pussy, being too sensitive. But she doesn't back away, no. She keeps going. Her tongue circled at your clit, as she brought her hand to spread your soaked folds apart.

“C'mon princess, I know you got another for me” she murmured hoarsely, watching your expression as your thighs trembled around her, easily getting overstimulated.

You shake your head no, but you knew you could. So did she. Her finger easily slides in making your hips buck into her touch. Her tongue lapping around your clit which only made you let out a broken moan. You tried to squeeze your legs shut but she held your thigh down— only adding another finger just to curl it in your sweet spot. Your cunt clenching around her fingers as you already quick to sputter out,

“Please—” your voice cracking as you let out a sob, your body twitching forward as your stomach felt tight.

Didn’t think you’d be begging today. But here we are.

“Sev— god you’re so good to me baby— fuck!”

And damn was she in between your legs eating your dripping cunt out like she fucking owned it. Her nails digging into your thighs, almost bruising the skin, with her fingers pumping at a rapid pace as she occasionally brushes at your g-spot. It felt so overwhelming but pleasurable at the same damn time, leaving you pleading more.

"Right there oh— please!" you breath out, not even knowing what you were begging for anymore. But all you knew that her mouth was doing fucking wonders.

You were cursing loudly as your body writhed against her, shamelessly grinding up against her mouth as you felt a sharp pinch on your thigh again. As if it was a warning to keep your eyes back on her or she’ll stop again.

You picked your head up again, this time your eyes being half-lidded from being overwhelmed as your body twitches in response. Your eyes meet hers again, with her tongue plunging deep in you as another orgasm just shot straight through you with your legs shaking against her shoulders. You felt her bite against your inner thigh, her teeth sinking into your flesh which makes you cry out in pleasure, claiming you as hers. Tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes due to the overstimulation, as she licked every drop from you. You were panting as you finally felt her come up, the cold air hitting against your used cunt like a slap.

You felt her hover above you, her fingers gripping your chin to face her.

Just staring at you for a moment.

“Take a picture.. It’ll last longer” you managed to mumble with her huffing, almost resembling a laugh.

“Just can’t help yourself can you?” she whispers, kissing your forehead.

Which only made you open your eyes and smile in response.

She leaned your forehead against yours as she stroked your cheek with her thumb, “You alright?”

“Fucking phenomenal”

Her mouth quirks. A sharp breath through her nose. And then—low and rough, a laugh slips out of her chest. Not a full one. More of a rumble. Like the kind of sound someone makes when they weren’t expecting to be amused but are anyway, and now they’re annoyed at themselves for it.

“Think you can handle a couple more?”

“A couple? You want me to pass out Sevika?” you say incredulously as your hand went up to wipe her chin that was coated with your arousal.

“What? If you could come three times last night, what's stopping you from a fourth?”

“My god I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I d— fuck” your words quickly dying off your lips as you felt Sevika’s soaked cunt lay right on top of yours. Your hands go straight to her shoulders, gasping from the touch.

Her hands next to your head kept herself up as her forehead remained against yours.

“You were saying?” she murmurs, having a hint of a smirk on her lips as she slowly moves her hips.

You just gave her a look that screamed, fuck you.

And she just gave one back as if she's saying, I am.

Regardless, your hands went to her hips only pulling her closer. Your legs parted more just so Sevika could lean back, her hands resting against your chest as her hips moved more frantically. As if she’s chasing her high and not being subtle about it. Almost as if she was using your body. You could give a fuck less having a view like this though.

Sevika’s breathing gets heavier as she starts to elicit more moans out of that pretty mouth of hers.

“So fucking gorgeous— and I bet no ones ever touched you like this before huh?” she spits, voice being slightly husky as she watches your reaction.

And you, being a fucking mess underneath her, could only just whisper out, “only you.”

She leans down to your ear to whisper— voice being husky, “If you can’t handle this, then you’re not ready for me to fuck you like the needy slut you are”

And that only made you moan pathetically against her. Only making you more aroused by her words as your hands trailed behind her ass, giving it a harsh squeeze in response. All she did was chuckle from amusement as you felt her hand wrap around your throat to keep you pinned like that against the bed, and fuck did you almost see white at that.

At this point you don’t even remember if you’ve orgasmed or not. You might have already, hell even twice at this point. The obscene noises that came from the both of you filled up the room, your hips grinding more eagerly against her just to see her expression be in pure bliss. She blurted out a few curse words, only indicating that she's close as your nails drag down along her back making angry red lines, only making her curse loudly in response. You leaned forward to capture your mouth around one of her nipples, sucking deliberately with your tongue lapping against her. Your eyes glancing up at her, meeting her gaze.

You felt her hand rake in your hair, only giving it a sharp tug off of her to capture your lips into a filthy and desperate kiss with a pressure that says you’re mine right now. You kiss her back like you mean it—like it’s a fight you don’t want to win.

“So fucking desperate, its pathetic” she murmurs against your lips before she crashes her mouth back against yours, as if she’s trying to prove her statement with you only parting your lips to allow her to slip her tongue in. Her hand cups the back of your neck, holding you there, deepening the kiss until you're gasping between touches. Your hands go to her waist, gripping tight. She tastes like heat and trouble and something addictive, something that’s going to fuck with your head long after this ends.

You don’t remember the exact moment your body gave out. Somewhere between her voice in your ear, low and commanding, saying things that made your spine arch against her—and the relentless rhythm of her mouth, her hands, both your chests being pressed together, her everything…you eventually shattered.

You must’ve said her name. Or maybe begged. Maybe cursed. Actually, most likely cursed. You don’t really know. Everything blurred into heat and static, and then—

Nothing.

When your eyes open, the room is dim, bathed in soft yellow light from a lamp you don’t remember turning on. Your breathing feels distant. Limbs heavy. Skin flushed. There’s a lingering ache in your thighs and the lower part of your stomach, and the sheets are a mess around you. Hell, you probably grew a six pack from this alone.

You blink. Disoriented. Raw. You don’t even know what time it is. And then you feel it, a warm, damp cloth dragging gently over your inner thigh. Careful. Focused.

“What the hell…” you say as if you’re caught in a daze.

You glance down—and there she is.

Sevika. Sitting on the edge of the bed, that familiar stoic look on her face softened by just enough concern to rattle you. Her hair’s still messy from your hands. Her lip has the faintest mark of where your teeth caught her. You realize she’s been tending to you this whole time. Her hand presses lightly against your hip when you shift, holding you still like she’s done this before. Like she doesn’t want you to overdo it. She’s seated near your thighs, wiping you down with slow, methodical care. Her face is unreadable, except for the tiniest twitch of amusement tugging at her mouth.

Your voice is rough. Barely a whisper, “…Did I pass out?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Just folded the cloth then tossed it onto the nightstand beside an empty water bottle and your very-much-forgotten phone.

Then she finally looks at you. “For like two minutes. Real dramatic, too—went all limp on me mid-sentence.”

You groan and cover your face with both hands. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. You were out like a light.”

There’s a pause. Then, with a maddening smirk,

“What was it you said earlier? ‘You want me to pass out, Sevika?’”

Your hands drop from your face to glare at her. “Okay, wow. You’re quoting me now? Again?”

“You handed it to me. I just did the work.”

You stare at her in half-mortified silence, and she stares right back, utterly unrepentant.

Then you mutter, “This is the worst day of my life.”

“You said that yesterday too,” she points out, rising from the bed to grab a water bottle, unhurried and bare-chested like she’s in her own damn apartment.

“And yet, you keep inviting me over.”

You flop onto your stomach with a groan, face half-buried in the pillow. “Oh my God. You’re going to tell people, aren’t you?”

“No.” She tosses the water bottle at you like a reward. “I’m gonna remind you. Every time you try to get mouthy with me.”

You peek up through the strands of your hair, already feeling heat crawl up your neck.

“You’re evil.”

“And you’re still here.” She sits at the edge of the bed again, hand dragging lazily down your back as you melt under her touch.

And yeah, you’re still here. Still aching. Still thinking about another round.

God help you.

“This is my room” you huff, reminding her.

“Yeah yeah— just sit up,” she sighs, rolling her eyes with her lips barely curled up as a small smile, while she picks up the water bottle to open it.

You reluctantly sat up, wincing just barely from your thighs still slightly quivering. She held the bottle near your mouth before you took it, drinking almost all of it in one go. She just chuckled quietly from amusement.

It wasn’t long till you two were back in bed, this time underneath the covers. You were laying on her chest as her hand was laying underneath her head. The TV flickers with the late-night glow of some old sitcom rerun—laugh track too loud, colors washed out. You’re lying halfway on Sevika’s chest, one of your legs lazily tangled over hers. Her arm rests behind your shoulders, fingers occasionally brushing absentminded circles into your back like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.

You’re warm. Sore. Drowsy in that post-everything way. Sleep is pulling at your limbs, but your mind won’t let go. Not yet. Your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper.

“What did you mean earlier?”

She shifts slightly. Doesn’t answer at first. You keep your cheek against her chest, hear the steady beat of her heart.

“About me being ‘worth it.’ After the whole thing with..” you trail off, knowing Sevika knew what you were mentioning.

A beat. Two.

Her fingers still for a moment.

“…I meant what I said.”

You lift your head just enough to look at her. “That’s not an answer.”

She exhales through her nose. A dry, humorless sound. Her eyes stay on the TV, but her focus clearly isn’t there. “It was messy. Dangerous. I swore I wouldn’t get close again. That I’d keep shit clean. Safe.”

A pause. Then, “But then you stormed in, yelling at that brat and saving a whole damn band in heels, and I—”

She breaks off. Shrugs one shoulder like the words aren’t worth finishing. You wait. Say nothing.

Finally, she glances down at you. Her voice is quieter this time. Lower. Honest, “You’re not safe.. But you’re worth the mess.”

Your breath catches. You study her face, the way she’s looking at you, all rough around the edges but solid. Intentional. Not playing. Not posturing. Just Sevika, stripped of everything but the truth. You blink slowly.

“That’s the nicest terrifying thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

She huffs a small laugh, and that seems to break the weight between you.

“Good. You terrify me too princess.”

You smile softly, then lean in to kiss the corner of her mouth—slow and sleepy and grateful. And when she pulls you back against her, hand resting over your waist, as her arm holds you close against her, you finally let your eyes close.

You don’t need all the answers tonight.

But damn, she gave you enough. For now anyways.

825 notes · View notes

abbyssgf · 9 days ago

Text

—Beach Day (mother sevika x reader)

An other fic of my Mama Sevika series cause I can’t help it, more on my masterlist

Sevika is learning how to love so be nice:: you have a little boy together:: councilor Sevika:: pure fluff:: mama and mommy

words: 1.8k

The sun is already way too bright. She’s still not used to a bright sun, the Piltover sun.

Sevika squints up at it like it’s personal, jaw tight, knees planted in the sand, one large hand gripping a half naked squirming toddler who’s very much trying to escape and unable to stay still for two goddamn seconds.

“Hold still,” she mutters, squeezing a glob of sunscreen into her palm. The stuff smells like coconuts and chemicals. Feels like paste. She’s already regretting this.

Your kid—barely two and a half, limbs like noodles and full of righteous beach-bound purpose—squeals and tries to wriggle free, bare feet kicking sand onto Sevika’s thigh. “Wanna go!! Wanna go!! I see it! I see the water!”

“You’re gonna fry like a Lanes rat on a heat pipe if I don’t finish this,” Sevika grumbles, swiping sunscreen across a squirming shoulder blade. The child giggles and twists, smearing half of it into Sevika’s cargo shorts.

Behind them, a towel rustles. Her wife’s voice floats in, light and lazy, with way too much amusement for Sevika’s liking.

“You’re doing great, babe.”

Sevika shoots you a flat look over her shoulder. You’re lying flat on your back, sunglasses pushed up in her hair, hands tucked behind your head like you’re sunbathing. Legs crossed at the ankle, zero intention of helping.

“Anytime you wanna tag in,” Sevika deadpans, as her kid makes another break for it.

The little one makes it exactly three steps before tripping on his own foot and landing face-first in the sand. A beat of silence. Then a delighted giggle as he rolls onto his back, kicking his feet in the air like an overturned crab.

Sevika sighs, long and slow. Her mechanical arm creaks softly as she shifts up onto one knee. “We’re never making it to the water.”

You snort, not bothering to hide it this time. “Not at this rate.”

Sevika glares, but there’s no heat behind it—not really. Just sand in her boots, sunscreen on her cargo shorts, and something achingly soft in her chest as she watches her kid smear sand all over his stomach like it’s the best thing he’s ever touched.

And the moment his feet touch wet sand, he screams.

Not in fear—in triumph. Some ancient toddler war cry or sum. His arms flail like he’s preparing to punch the ocean, and he takes off, legs wobbling like cooked noodles.

Sevika freezes. Just for a second.

He’s running. Sort of. Sprinting in the clumsy way only a two-and-a-half-year-old can—off-balance, head tilted forward, full tilt toward a wall of glittering blue that breathes like something alive.

She takes one step forward. Not fast. Controlled. She’s not panicking. She’s not.

He’s still laughing. Charging at the waves like he’s got a personal grudge. Like he’s not seventy-five percent legs and very breakable.

You’re still on the towel when it happens—when Sevika stiffens, jaw tight, eyes locked on your son like she’s seeing all the worst outcomes at once. That sharp councilor-past soldier brain of hers already calculating undertow, water depth, possible injuries. How fast she could get there if he fell. Whether she’d even hear him scream under the crash of the waves.

She doesn’t move but you do—

You sit up, quick but calm, already tugging your hair into a ponytail. “I’ve got him,” you say softly, like you read her mind. You probably did.

And then you’re jogging after him, grinning, shedding your cover-up like some beachside goddess on a mission.

Sevika exhales, barely.

You reach him just as he stomps into the foamy edge of a wave, squealing with delight as the cold water soaks his chubby ankles. He jumps like it bit him—then yells “AGAIN!” and tries to chase it back into the sea.

You catch him around the waist, hoisting him into your arms before he can face-plant.

He’s soaking wet, sand stuck to his cheeks, wild hair full of sea spray, and Sevika’s never seen him look so alive.

She stays back a few steps, hands in the pockets of her cargo shorts, face unreadable—but her eyes never leave the two of you. Not for a second.

The waves roll in again, and this time, her kid kicks at them like he’s winning. You twirl him in your arms and he shrieks, clutching your shoulders.

Sevika lets out a breath she hadn’t noticed she was holding. And—just barely—she smiles.

She stays just where the wet sand turns dry. Her boots leave deep prints, and the sun’s already baking the leather, sat in the sand.

You’re up to your calves now, baby on your hip, both of you laughing—loud, open, fearless. The kind of joy Sevika’s still not sure she deserves to witness, let alone have.

She crosses her arms, eyes squinting toward the water.

She’s not sure why it’s hard to move. It’s not the metal arm or the sand, though those are annoying as hell. It’s something else. Something knotted in her chest, heavier than the tide.

They’re right there. You—gorgeous, grinning, soaked to the waist, looking at Sevika like you know she should be standing beside you. And the kid—her kid, actually—is flailing in your arms, shrieking with laughter, pointing back and forth like you’re both the sun.

Still, Sevika hesitates. Watching like she’s on the outside. Like she’s the guard. Or the bodyguard. Or the weird neighbor invited out of pity.

It’s stupid. She knows it’s stupid. But the feeling’s still there, sticking like sea salt in the back of her throat.

And then the little beast turns in your arms. Looks right at her. And wriggles free.

He sprints—more of a full-body lurch—right at Sevika, tiny feet smacking wet sand, squealing like it’s a game.

“Hey—!” she starts, but he barrels straight into her legs, clutches her thighs like they’re a tree trunk, then immediately peels off and bolts back toward you.

She blinks.

He does it again. And again. Back and forth. Each time, crashing into her legs with a delighted squeak, like she’s a checkpoint in some chaotic toddler relay race.

The fourth time, he trips over her boot and lands squarely in her arms.

Reflex. She catches him.

Small body, soaked and sun-warm, chest rising fast, curls dripping with seawater. He looks up at her with wide, waiting eyes and that little devil grin.

And Sevika?

She growls.

Low in her chest, playful, stupid—and your kid loses it. Bursts into laughter like he’s just seen the funniest thing in the world.

“Again, Mama!” he yells, already crawling up her like a jungle gym. “Do it again!”

She growls louder, more dramatic this time, baring her teeth.

He squeals, kicks his legs, slaps her shoulders. “Scary Mama! Raaaagh!”

And just like that, she forgets.

Where they are. Who might be watching. What it means to look like this—tender, soft, laughing under her breath with her son curled against her chest.

There’s no Zaun here. No council. No past. Just salt in the air, your voice laughing in the distance, and the warm, heavy weight of her whole damn heart in her arms.

He’s shrieking now—straight-up howling with laughter in Sevika’s arms. Every time she growls, he throws his head back like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

“Scary Mama! More! Again!”

So she does it again. Low and rough, exaggerated, playful. She lifts him up like he weighs nothing, strong arms swinging him through the air as he kicks and flails, fists clutching her shirt.

“Better hold on, little man,” she rumbles, narrowing her eyes in mock threat. “Scary Mama’s gonna toss you to the sharks.”

He screams with glee. “NOOOO! HEEEELP!”

She chuckles. No smirk, no cruel mocking sound. She chuckles—

It slips out before she realizes. A rough sound,—but real. Unrestrained. The kind of laugh that scrapes at the edge of something buried so deep, she forgot it ever lived in her.

Her son’s eyes go wide.

“You’re laughin’!” he accuses, triumphant. Like he won a game she didn’t know they were playing.

And Sevika—battle-worn, scarred, hard-as-nails Sevika—just smiles. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes you aaare!” he cackles, throwing himself forward to cling to her neck. “Mama’s laughin’!”

You see it all.

You’re standing ankle-deep in the water, arms crossed, sun in your hair, heart so full it hurts. And it’s not just her laugh—it’s her face. The softness there, the ease. Like for once, she’s not bracing for something. Like she let it all fall away without even noticing.

You feel like you’re in paradise.

Not because the beach is beautiful. Not because the sun is warm or the breeze is soft.

But because she’s here. With you. Laughing. Holding your son like he’s the whole world. Letting herself be happy.

You walk toward them slowly, the water curling around your feet. Sevika doesn’t look up—too busy growling again to make the kid scream-laugh—but you swear you’ve never seen anything more perfect.

And maybe, just maybe, neither has she.

He’s still laughing, red in the face, breath hitching in that hiccupping way toddlers do when they’re so happy their body doesn’t know what to do with it. Sevika is still sat in the sand, legs out in front of her, and he instantly throws himself into her lap like it’s home base.

She grunts but doesn’t stop him—just settles her arms around him instinctively. The metal of her prosthetic is warm from the sun, and his small hands pat it like it’s his favorite toy.

And then—chaos.

He twists, trying to escape, legs kicking up a small flurry of sand. “Wanna go! Let me go, Mama! I gotta swim!”

“You can’t even float,” Sevika mutters, catching him with one hand and pulling him back into her lap like it’s nothing. “You’ll get washed out in a wave the size of your head.”

He howls with laughter again. “HEEELP MOMY! Mama got me! MAMA’S TOO STRONG!”

He cranes his neck toward the water and bellows at you like he’s calling for backup. “MOMMY! HELP ME!”

You raise a hand to your forehead, shading your eyes, and call back with a grin, “I can’t help you baby! I’m too far away! You’re doomed!”

The kid writhes harder, trapped between Sevika’s thighs like a wiggly little eel, still giggling, loving every second.

“You’re not getting outta this one,” Sevika warns, eyes narrowed. But there’s no menace in it. Just affection—and maybe something close to awe, watching him melt into her lap like it’s the safest place in the world.

And then, without warning, he stills. He leans in and hugs her, randomly just like any toddler.

Small arms around her middle. Head against her chest. Warm, sandy, wet, and totally still for a full three seconds.

Sevika freezes. Arms hovering, breath held. And just as suddenly—

“Can we play shark now?” he asks, giggling against her chest.

She blinks. “What?”

“You be the shark and chase me and Mommy,” he says, pulling back with a cheeky little smile. “You gotta RAAAH!”

You’re already wading closer, water up to your knees now, grinning like you’ve won the lottery.

“That’s actually a great idea,” you say, nodding seriously, voice intense and eyes wide to agree with your baby’s words. “Shark Mama sounds terrifying.”

Sevika shoots you a look. “You just want me to get soaked.”

You shrug. “What do you mean?”

She rolls her eyes—but it’s useless. The kid is already scrambling up her body, tugging at her arm like he’s trying to physically drag her to the ocean.

And really—how can she say no? She’s just mama today. And apparently, mama’s a shark now.

Damn why am I so active, literally posting almost every day what is happening. Drafts are going crazy

dividers: @/cursed-carmine

taglist: @lonerslug @blessupblessup @sevikasswifee @riotstemple29 @ahintofchaos

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abbyssgf · 9 days ago

Text

—First Council Party

post-war councilor Sevika, all cleaned up and miserable about it, trying to wear a damn suit while her radiant, heavily pregnant wife is calmly getting ready in the next room, humming and teasing her while Sevika sulks in a shirt with too many buttons.

cw: Sevika’s wife is pregnant:: desire and heated glances:: they have to survive a boring council party:: Sevika is still learning how to love so be kind:: lot of dialogues:: crack and fluff

words: 2.5k, masterlist ᰔ

The damn shirt won’t close right.

Sevika huffs out a low growl, fighting with the buttons of the stupid tailored thing her assistant at the council insisted she wear tonight. It’s dark crimson red, expensive, and smells like a place she doesn’t belong. The collar chokes her.

She yanks it off again with a grunt, throws it onto the bed, and rubs her hand down her face like it’s the shirt’s fault and not the world’s.

“You almost done in there?” she calls toward the bathroom, voice gravel-low and irritated but not at you, never at you. Not anymore, after so many years.

Water runs, then stops. Your voice floats out, calm and sweet: “Five minutes! You better not be wrestling that shirt again.”

Sevika glares at the door like it personally offended her. “It’s the shirt or the party. Pick one.”

You laugh. Soft, tired, but bright. She can hear you shifting around— probably checking your makeup in the mirror or pulling on that long black dress she tried not to stare at earlier when you held it up to your chest.

Sevika stares at the floor, jaw tight. Her reflection in the mirror is all squared shoulders, scarred muscle, and councilor’s weight she never asked for. She’s cleaned up, sure, hair tied back neat, the shimmer of metal peeking out where the mechanical arm meets skin. But she still looks like someone they’d rather not invite. Like a bodyguard who wandered too far inside.

“Tell me again why I agreed to this bullshit?” she mutters, more to herself than you.

You answer anyway, through the door: “Because you’re on the council now. Because you helped rebuild Zaun. And because I want to eat the fancy tiny ridiculous cakes they’re serving.”

A beat of silence.

“…Fine,” Sevika mutters. There’s a rustle as she picks the shirt back up.

“You better not be making that face,” you add, voice closer now—maybe you’re done getting ready, leaning against the other side of the bathroom door. “The one where you look like you’d rather punch the wine glasses.”

Sevika smirks despite herself.

She buttons the shirt again, this time a little slower. It still feels stiff and wrong, but your voice on the other side of the door makes the edge of her frustration dull just enough to bear it.

The shirt’s mostly done up when you finally open the bathroom door. The smell of lavender and skin cream drifts out with you, along with the faint sound of your soft exhale as you step into the room, one hand on your lower back, the other smoothing down your dress.

Sevika looks up. And then stops moving entirely.

You know that look— the one where her jaw goes tight and her eyes go darker, like someone hit the lights low and warm. Like the world just narrowed down to you. You’ve seen it before, in quieter rooms, with fewer clothes, but it still steals your breath when it’s like this. Focused. Heated. Reverent.

She doesn’t say anything.

Her eyes flick down, slow, pausing at the curve of your belly under the fabric, at the way you’re glowing — a kind of tired, real glow, not the fragile, delicate kind from stories. She doesn’t blink when you cross the room. Just watches.

But her hands?

Her hands are already reaching for you before you’re even close.

One rough palm curves over your hip. The metal fingers of her prosthetic rest against your lower back, cold through the fabric, steady and gentle like they always are when she’s touching you like this. Her thumb strokes once over the seam of your dress, like she’s checking if it’s real. If you’re real.

You hum, amused. “Careful. You’re gonna pop a button staring at me like that.”

Her mouth twitches. The faintest smirk.

You step in front of her, between Sevika and the mirror, and her breath catches as you smooth your hands over her chest. Your fingers go to the last few buttons she left undone— either on purpose or because she couldn’t make herself finish the job.

“Let me help,” you murmur, half-teasing. “Before you break something and we have to stay home. Don’t think about it.”

She definitely thinks about it.

But she says nothing. Just stands there and lets you fix her collar, your fingers brushing her throat, your belly grazing her front in the softest, most maddening contact. Her hands drift from your hips to your lower back, like she’s grounding herself. Like if she holds on too tight, you’ll feel how badly she wants to skip the whole damn party and pull you back into bed.

You glance up through your lashes, giving her that smile you know kills her— soft and knowing and a little wicked.

“There,” you say, smoothing down the front of her shirt once it’s properly buttoned. “Almost like a real councilor.”

Sevika’s voice comes out low, rough around the edges. “I hate this shirt.”

You grin. “I know. You look hot in it.”

That earns you a quiet groan as her forehead tips forward, just brushing yours.

And for a moment, with her hands low on your back and your breath warm on her lips, the whole city disappears.

You lean back just enough to look at her properly, tilting your head like you already know what she’s thinking. Her eyes flick down again, slowly— tracing the line where your dress dips, where the fabric clings to your belly, soft and round and holy in a way that still knocks the air out of her.

She clears her throat like it’ll help. It doesn’t.

“You sure we gotta go?” she says, voice low and deliberate, like maybe if she says it slow enough, it’ll sound like a reasonable suggestion. Her thumb moves in slow circles against your lower back, deliberate and just a little needy. “Dress looks easy to take off.”

You arch a brow. “Does it?”

She nods, dead serious. “Yeah. Way easier than the damn shirt, anyway.”

A beat passes.

You laugh softly— not mocking, just amused. “Sevika…”

“I’m just saying,” she mutters, dipping her head closer, her nose brushing yours now. “Could stay home. Skip the speeches. You could lie down. I could take care of you. We could…”

She trails off like she doesn’t trust herself to say the rest. Like you don’t already know.

You swallow— and for a second, just one, you almost fold. The image is so tempting: the two of you tangled up in bed, the world outside forgotten, Sevika’s big hands on your skin instead of this stiff formalwear, her mouth on your belly and somewhere else, reverent, worshipful, then later whispering to the baby like she does when she thinks you’re asleep.

She sees you hesitate. She feels it in the way your breath hitches, the way your fingers curl just slightly into her shirt—

And for a second, her mouth ghosts along your cheek. “We wouldn’t have to do anything,” she murmurs. “Just… you. Me. Quiet. Or maybe not.”

You exhale shakily, eyes fluttering shut. One more second and you’re not going anywhere.

But then—

“Don’t think about it,” you repeat, teasing but breathless, echoing your own words from earlier. You press a quick, grounding kiss to the corner of her mouth and step back just enough to make her sigh through her nose like she’s being punished.

“You’re cruel,” she mutters.

“I’m right.” You grin as you turn, already walking toward the front room, one hand smoothing over your belly. “And if you behave, I’ll let you unzip the dress after the party.”

No need to say it twice. Sevika stares at you from behind, half-glowering, half-devoted. She’s already moving to grab her coat before you finish the sentence, and you have to bite back a giggle.

Inside the carriage, it’s quiet. The soft creak of leather seats. The muffled buzz of street sounds. And Sevika, sitting next to you in that too-tight councilor’s shirt, jaw set.

You glance sideways. Her eyes are focused on the window, but her hand —her human hand— rests comfortably over the curve of your belly. Casual, like she forgot it was there. Like she always forgets it’s there.

You smile to yourself. She’s so full of shit.

“You know your hand’s been there since we left the apartment,” you murmur, voice low and playful in the quiet of the cabin.

Sevika doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t move. Just grunts, barely audible. “’S comfortable.”

You hum, biting back a grin. “Sure. Comfortable.”

She shifts slightly in her seat, legs spread, arm still heavy around you like a wall between you and the world. Her thumb moves — just barely — stroking once, absentmindedly, over the place where the baby kicked earlier.

You feel her trying so hard not to look at you.

“You know he always kicks more when you’re touching me like that,” you add, softer this time.

That gets her. Sevika’s eyes flick down automatically, then away. Like she didn’t mean to. Like she can’t help it. You bite back a giggle. ‘She’s still learning, let her be’ you tell yourself.

“Not doing anything special,” she mutters.

“No,” you say sweetly. “You’re just radiating maternal affection and pretending it’s an accident. Very intimidating.”

That earns you a long, exasperated sigh. She leans her head back against the seat and closes her eyes for a moment, like she’s praying for strength — or maybe just counting to ten so she doesn’t say something embarrassing. Again.

“You used to be quieter,” she says, not opening her eyes.

“You used to be scarier,” you shoot back.

Sevika huffs through her nose. It might be a laugh. Might be a warning. Hard to tell, but either way, she doesn’t move her hand.

Instead, after a long, comfortable beat, she finally opens her eyes again and tilts her head just slightly to glance at you.

“You okay?” she asks, quieter now. Not just about the teasing — the real kind of check-in, the kind you’ve come to recognize more and more these days.

You smile at her — a little tired, but warm. “I’m good.”

She nods. Her thumb moves again, more deliberate this time. The kind of motion that says: ‘Okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got us.’

The lights outside shift, casting soft shadows over her face — sharp jaw, scarred cheek, the lines between her brows that never seem to fade no matter how many peaceful nights you’ve had.

And still, here she is. Learning how to love gently. In public. In motion. In the quiet between battles.

After a moment, the carriage begins to slow, the polished metal doors of the council hall glowing gold ahead. You can already see the attendants waiting — overly dressed, all posture and protocol. You sigh.

Sevika still hasn’t moved her hand.

She’s been quiet again. That familiar quiet, the one you’ve come to know not as coldness, but calculation — like she’s picking the right words one by one out of a storm in her head. You glance over just as she exhales and mutters, like it costs her blood to say it:

“You look… nice.”

You blink. “Nice?”

Oh, she’s struggling.

Her jaw twitches. “Good. You look good.”

You smirk, biting back a laugh. “That’s what all the poets say, huh? You look good. Truly, deeply moved.”

Sevika groans under her breath and looks out the window again like she regrets ever opening her mouth. But her hand squeezes gently over your belly, grounding both of you, and then she adds, more quietly:

“I mean it.”

And that, right there — that cost her. You feel it in her voice. How hard it is for her to be earnest without armor. How soft she gets with you, even when it kills her.

You lean over and kiss her cheek, lingering just long enough to feel the warmth rise under your lips.

“I know,” you whisper. “You’ve got this.”

The carriage slows to a stop. Outside, the soft buzz of chatter and high heels on stone. The door swings open.

Before Sevika can retreat back into her stoic shell, you slide your arm around hers — the mechanical one — like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Because it is. It’s her. And you’ve never once treated it like anything less than a part of the woman you love.

Sevika’s shoulders stiffen out of reflex, but when you tug her just slightly closer, she exhales and lets it happen.

You step out together.

Instantly, heads turn.

It’s not just that she’s Sevika — the war-hardened Zaunite, criminal, Silco’s right arm, turned councilor in a sharp suit, hair tied back, scar on display. It’s not just the contrast of the metal arm glinting in the polished light or the quiet warning in her eyes.

It’s you.

You, radiant and round with her child. You, smiling like you know something everyone else doesn’t. You, in a soft, flowing dress that makes you look like a dream standing beside a nightmare no one wants to cross.

The effect is… startling. A miracle. Like someone dragged a fairy out of the sky and handed her to Zaun’s meanest dog and somehow — somehow — she treats her like she deserves her.

The rain and the sun.

One of the Piltie councilmen does a double-take as you pass. Another whispers something behind a gloved hand.

You don’t care. You squeeze Sevika’s arm and lean in just enough to whisper: “They’re just jealous.”

She snorts. “Of what?”

You grin. “That I look good and they don’t.”

And Sevika, for once, lets out a low, quiet laugh that follows you both into the gold-lit halls.

The council hall is full of glass and gold and voices that rise and fall in practiced elegance. Someone’s hired a string quartet. There’s a towering floral centerpiece shaped like the old skyline. The wine is expensive and bitter. The champagne is ridiculous.

Sevika already regrets coming.

She’s posted up near the edge of the room, half-shadowed, drink in hand, shoulders drawn back like she’s expecting a fight — because she is. Her jaw ticks every time some powdered Piltie with a fragile smile throws her a glance and then quickly looks away.

No one approaches her directly. Not yet. You just arrived.

But then some lord or deputy or founding family’s third cousin makes the mistake of drifting close enough to speak.

“You must be Councilor Sevika,” he says, in that clipped, polished tone that always sounds like it’s saying something else. “I’ve heard… interesting things.”

Her mouth curls. “Have you.”

“Yes, well. It’s not every day a—what’s the phrase—Zaunite enforcer gets a seat at the table.”

Sevika takes a long, slow sip of wine. “Not every day a Piltie jackass forgets he’s outnumbered, either.”

The man’s smile falters, caught off guard just long enough for you to swoop in — dress swaying, hand already reaching for Sevika’s arm like you felt the tension rising from across the room.

Her hero.

“There you are,” you say brightly, slipping beside her like you’ve been doing it all your life. “I was starting to think you’d wandered off to start a revolution.”

Sevika grunts. “Tempting.”

You turn your smile on the man — dazzling, unbothered. “Councilor Sevika’s been doing incredible work. I hope the interesting things you’ve heard were the true ones.”

He laughs awkwardly and excuses himself before Sevika can finish her wine and throw the glass at someone.

You wait a beat, then glance up at her with a grin. “That’s one. Let’s see how many more I can save tonight.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Sevika mutters, but she’s already calming under your touch.

“Two hours, babe.” You say in a low, soft voice only for her to hear. She sighs, already so done with this shit.

You guide her further into the crowd, hand still curled around her mech arm — not for appearances, not for control, but because it’s hers, and you’re always close to her when it matters.

And the contrast doesn’t go unnoticed. Whispers follow your path: Is that really her wife? They’re so different, how does she put up with her? What do they even talk about?

You hear them. So does Sevika.

But you just smile brighter and step closer to her side.

“Bet you a drink you don’t make it twenty minutes without threatening someone,” you murmur, still smiling as you pass a tray of champagne.

Sevika huffs, her voice low and dry. “Make it two, and I’ll let you drag me out early.”

You nudge her gently with your hip. “Deal. Try to look like you’re having fun.”

“Try to look like I haven’t been standing in a room full of smug pricks with a stick up their—”

“Councilor.” you interrupt sweetly, plucking two flutes of champagne and handing her one. “Behave.”

She takes it without a word, the smallest twitch of her lips betraying her amusement. Her hand brushes against your back as she falls into step with you.

It’s strange, what people see: the councilor and her glowing, charming wife. Softness beside sharpness. Sunlight beside iron. But you both know the truth. But you’re not her opposite. You’re her balance.

But through the night… you went from being her hero to an actual menace. You want to make this party worth it.

At one moment, you’re chatting with a stately older woman — crisp white hair, elegant gown, clearly important in that vague Piltover way where you’re supposed to pretend like you know who she is. She’s been perfectly polite, asking you questions about the baby, your health, the “wonderful progress” of the council.

Then, kindly, she smiles and asks, “How far along are you, dear? You’re absolutely glowing.”

And without blinking, you answer:

“Oh, I’m not pregnant. I’m just fat.”

Silence.

Immediate.

Dead, pin-dropping, room-splitting silence.

The woman’s smile freezes on her face. She blinks once, twice, lips parting in horrified confusion.

Sevika turns her head so fast to not look at you it’s a miracle she doesn’t crack something in her neck. You feel her body go rigid beside you, like she’s trying to figure out if she misheard or if the baby’s already affecting your brain.

She lets out a very loud, very painful-sounding snort and quickly turns away under the guise of sipping her drink. You catch a glimpse of her shoulders shaking.

The older woman’s eyes widen. “I— I beg your pardon?

You just stare back, face blank. Calm. Almost bored.

“She’s sensitive about it,” you add, like it’s a tragic little secret. “But we’re working on body positivity at home.”

Sevika chokes. Actually chokes. You feel her hand tighten on your lower back like she’s trying to physically hold herself together.

The woman flounders. “Oh— oh no, I didn’t mean— I thought— I’m so terribly sorry—”

“She’s joking,” Sevika rasps between cough-laughs, voice rough and low, trying to stay calm. “Don’t mind her. She’s— She’s always like this.”

You lean in to whisper, feigning concern. “She’s self-conscious about her little tummy.”

“Stop talking.” Sevika growls, barely holding it together, her face flushed in a way that’s either rage or love or both.

The woman makes a gracious but very fast exit.

You turn back to Sevika, smug and pleased. “I think that went well.”

She stares at you like you’ve just lit a fire in the middle of the council hall. “You’re lucky I married you.”

“I know,” you say, resting your head lightly against her mech arm. “Wanna go make someone else uncomfortable?”

She huffs, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. “Gods help them.”

It happens after the third startled councilman and one particularly tense woman who walked away muttering under her breath.

You’ve got that look in your eye — mischievous, unbothered, glowing with joy and danger. And Sevika, who has been white-knuckling her wineglass all night, decides enough is enough.

She slides her hand over yours, firm, warm. “Come with me.”

You blink, still halfway through telling a very dramatic (and mildly offensive) story to a pair of shocked diplomats. “Now?”

“Yes.”

“I was just getting to the part where—”

“Now, sunshine.”

She doesn’t wait for you to argue. She’s already guiding you away from the crowd — hand at the small of your back, jaw clenched, eyes forward like she’s escorting a war criminal out of a gala.

You let her, of course. You love when she gets like this — all tension and protectiveness and barely-suppressed affection under her scowl.

The balcony doors shut behind you with a quiet click. Outside, it’s cooler. The noise muffles into background music. The city lights of Piltover stretch below in cold gold lines.

Sevika exhales like she’s been holding her breath all night.

You lean against the railing, rubbing your belly with a soft sigh. “You okay, Councilor?”

She gives you a look. Sharp. Unamused. Devastated in love. “You’re out of control.”

You blink innocently. “I’m pregnant.”

“You’re a menace.”

“I lightened the mood.”

“You told a Piltover judge that I got you pregnant because I ‘smelled like moral ambiguity.’”

You shrug. “She asked what drew me to you.”

Sevika groans and presses her hands to her face like she’s praying to someone — probably not for salvation. “You were supposed to make this easier.”

“I am.” You grin. “You didn’t throw a single punch. I’d say that’s progress.”

She doesn’t respond right away. Just stands there, arms crossed, trying not to look at you like you hung the moon. Eventually, she shakes her head, mutters:

“Can’t take you anywhere.”

And then—so quietly, it’s barely audible—she adds,

“You looked beautiful tonight.”

You turn, smile softened now, the teasing dialed down. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You step closer, wrapping your arms around her waist — or as close as you can get with your belly in the way. “You gonna tell me again later when you’re not busy dragging me away from rich people?

Sevika leans in, resting her forehead gently against yours. Her voice is low, rough, all warmth. “I’ll tell you again when I’ve got you to myself. Somewhere quiet that doesn’t smell like money and judgment.”

You grin, smug but touched. “So… back to the carriage in ten?”

She chuckles, soft and rare. “Five, if you behave.”

You press a kiss to her jaw. “I make no promises.”

Being the woman of a few words she is, after five minutes, you don’t make a show of it. No speeches, no excuses. Sevika steps back into the crowd with you on her arm and murmuring something low to one of the aides — something final that says we’re done here.

A few heads turn as she walks you through the room, but she doesn’t glance at them. All her attention is on you — the way you walk a little slower, the way your hand keeps drifting to your belly, the weight of the evening finally catching up to you.

She keeps her mech arm wrapped gently around your back, her real hand at your waist, thumb stroking over the silk of your dress like she’s grounding herself there.

The carriage is waiting just outside the hall, sleek and dark. A sharp contrast to all the gold and glass behind you.

Sevika opens the door for you with one hand and offers the other like it’s instinct. Not for appearances — not for etiquette — but because you’ve carried so much tonight, and if she can help, she will.

You take her hand. And as you step into the carriage, you feel it — her grip tightens just slightly. She holds you a breath longer than she needs to, like she doesn’t want to let go just yet.

You glance back at her, smirking. “Worried I’ll fall?”

Her gaze drops to your mouth and then lingers there. Something flickers in her eyes — low and heated, nothing soft about it.

“No,” she mutters, voice thick. “Worried I won’t make it home before I do something stupid in this carriage.”

Your brows lift, delighted. “Like what?”

She doesn’t answer. Just watches you settle into the seat with that look — the one that’s all quiet hunger and reverence. The one that says you’re the only thing that matters here.

Then she climbs in beside you, large and warm and tense in all the right ways, the door shutting behind her like the end of a countdown. Outside, the council party continues. Inside the carriage, it’s just the two of you.

And Sevika’s hand is already finding your thigh under your dress. Not rushing. Not asking either.

Just resting there — firm and possessive and impossible to ignore.

You sighs, leaning in her touch. Her eyes are on your lips, and you smile. Knowing what’s about to happen.

“Impatient?” You ask, teasing. A smile plays on your lips, and instead of answering, her mouth founds yours.

You giggle against her lips, the sound vibrating between your bodies. You kiss her back, just as eager as she is to come back home.

And all you can think of at the moment is the feeling of her hand sliding higher on your thigh under your dress.

Taglist: @lonerslug, @blessupblessup, @sevikasswifee, @ahintofchaos, @riotstemple29

No beta read we die like a lesbian

dividers: @/cursed-carmine

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abbyssgf · 10 days ago

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Why am I like this? (See Uncensored 🤭)

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abbyssgf · 10 days ago

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Had to draw this image cred: @abbyscoochiecruncher

(I did not stick to the og color palette sorry-)

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abbyssgf · 11 days ago

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Abby and her kid

(Cause we are married with four)

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abbyssgf · 11 days ago

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— 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐎𝐒 —

summary!; bodyguard!sevika x reader > you are a PR management control for a band named faultline and things get messy and out of hand, which calls for a new security personnel.

wc; 5.7k — cw; dom top!sevika, bottom!reader, fingering, biting, scratching, lots of cursing, if you skim you’ll miss pet names, humping, MINORS DNI!!

notes - this is my first post! i intended for this to be a series if people like this fic, i have had this idea sitting in my drafts and finally decided to put it into words! enjoy!🌸 p.s. @littledykeblue account gave me the motivation to post! 💗💗💗 go check them out!

Faultline. The only rock band that seemed to live up to its name. They’re messy, chaotic, and then turn the internet upside when they really want too.

And you? Well you have the damn luxury to be the fucking ductape of this band. Fucking backbone even. With only you having the pleasure of cleaning up their messes.

Every. Damn. Time.

The hallway outside the VIP lounge still smells like sweat, hairspray, spilled champagne, and ego. You shove the double doors open with both hands, the slam echoing loud enough to make a few crew members flinch from their seats.

“Jinx!”

She’s sprawled on a velvet couch like she’s the queen of a ruined empire, all glitter and eyeliner and zero remorse. You don’t know how she’s still smiling after what just happened. The show incident. The shouting match. The mic she nearly threw at Vi.

You storm toward her, ignoring the sidelong glances from assistants and event staff still pretending not to be eavesdropping.

She doesn’t even blink. Just props her boots on the armrest, upside-down and grinning like a menace. As if she's expecting this outburst from you. Cocky bastard.

“You know, if I had a dollar for every time you screamed my name—”

“—you’d be paying for the goddamn crisis PR team I had to hire after the last time you lost it in public!” you snap, jabbing a finger in her direction. “What the hell was that out there!?”

Jinx twirls a lollipop between her fingers like she’s twelve and invincible. “A family moment.”

“She bumped your shoulder.”

“She meant it.”

“She brushed you and you tried to bodycheck her in front of three different cameras and a live stream!” Your voice cracks as you throw your hands up. “You want me to lose this job? Because that’s the next step! I already had to fake two fucking apologies and bribe a damn blogger today!”

Jinx winks, her legs swinging off the couch with her elbows resting against her knees. “You’re so good at it though.”

“You’re going to be the reason I develop stress ulcers.”

“Could be worse,” she says, blowing a kiss. “Could be herpes.”

You let out a strangled sound.

That’s when you hear it—the quiet thud of boots on the hardwood near the door. You don’t need to look. You clocked her the second she walked in. Standing guard like she belongs in a damn action movie: arms crossed, black shirt stretched over muscle, one scarred eyebrow raised in calm observation.

Sevika.

Some newly hired personal security. Supposed to be here to “reinforce safety protocols and de-escalate threats.” Which, so far, you haven’t seen her do once. Considering that this is your first real encounter, her stance is a little intimidating. A little. You hadn’t spoken yet—not more than a nod when she was introduced earlier—but she’s been watching the room with that cold, unbothered stare the whole damn time.

You finally glance at her, jaw tight. “I assume you were hired to prevent a repeat of the Vi situation?”

Sevika doesn’t move. “Didn’t realize I was hired to babysit.”

Jinx loses it, nearly falling off the couch in laughter. You glare at both of them, pulse hammering behind your eyes.

“I don’t care what unresolved twin hell you two have going on,” you say, turning your focus back to Jinx. “The sponsors are jumpy. The label is breathing down my neck, and you guys haven’t even got halfway through your fucking tour yet! If I get one more email with the word rebrand, I’m going to walk into oncoming traffic.”

She rolls onto her stomach like a bored cat. “What happened to letting me be authentic?”

“Authentic doesn’t mean unhinged.”

“Pretty sure it does if you’re me.”

You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Unbelievable..”

You turn to leave—but Sevika shifts just slightly. She’s still leaning on the wall, but she subtly blocks the door with one arm, like she’s testing whether you’re going to keep unraveling.

You stop, your temper still burning like acid. “Something to add?”

She looks at you then—really looks. Not dismissive, not hostile. Just… assessing. Measuring the edge in your voice, the tight grip you still have on your clipboard, the wild mess of a job you’re doing to keep a whole brand duct-taped together.

“You good?” she asks, voice low and even. Not teasing. Just… steady.

You blink.

“…Yeah,” you say. “Totally thriving right now.”

She doesn’t smile, but something in her expression shifts. Like she’s seen this kind of pressure before, just not wrapped in eyeliner and a chaotic PR spin.

“You always this high-strung?” she asks, that same calm tone—but now with a little curiosity under it.

You bristle. “Only when I have to explain basic boundaries to a crazy grown ass woman.”

Jinx salutes from the couch.

Sevika tilts her head just slightly, that unreadable look still in place. “You hold it together better than most.”

You glance back at her, slightly narrowing your eyes. She’s unreadable. Solid. Completely unshaken by the chaos around her. And for some reason, that is the most unsettling thing of all.

“Yeah, well…” you mutter, pulling open the door. “Get used to it. This is only just a quiet night.”

You feel her eyes follow you out. And it’s not until the door swings shut behind you that you realize,

you're not entirely sure which one of them you should be more worried about.

──────────

You’re barefoot on a fake leather couch that squeaks every time you shift. Your heels are kicked off by the door, one of them scuffed—probably from when you chased Jinx off the fire escape earlier.

Your phone is at 6%.

The Notes app is open to an aggressively polite draft that reads:

“We’re aware of the situation that occurred between performers Jinx and Vi at tonight’s event. At this time, we…”

You delete the whole sentence in one angry swipe. This is fucking ridiculous. If Jinx just manages to keep her damn hands to yourself and her mouth shut, none of this would be necessary! You swear you’re going to grow gray hairs at this rate. With the two unhinged sisters going on tour. You had a feeling some shit was going to happen. Christ, this was only just the fourth show so far, and they have already messed up so much. But then again, who else would deal with their chaotic selves?

Regardless, a knock interrupts your train of thoughts.. Except not really. More like a dull tap tap against the open door frame.

You don’t look up.

“You're still here?” you mutter, thumbs pausing over the screen.

Sevika’s voice rumbles in like the bassline of a threat. Or a reassurance, “Didn’t hear an all-clear.”

You glance up. She's leaning in the doorway like she owns the place—jacket draped over one arm, sleeves rolled, expression unreadable. The overhead light hits her jaw just right. Of course it does.

“I didn’t realize I needed to declare the room emotionally decontaminated.”

Sevika walks in anyway.

She grabs one of the unopened water bottles from the counter, cracks it open, and drinks half without blinking. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to say anything. That silence is part of the intimidation package, probably.

You go back to the message:

“...mutual artistic tension between the performers is part of their established brand and we do not condone—”

No. God, no.

You throw your head back with a groan.

“I went to school for this,” you say out loud. “Media strategy. Corporate theory. Top of my class. And now I’m negotiating apologies between two adult women who threw mic stands at each other like they were on fucking Jerry Springer.”

Sevika huffs something that might be a laugh. “Sounds like you’re good at it.”

You glare at her over your phone. “Is that supposed to be comforting?”

“Nope.” She shrugs, then crosses to the armchair across from you and sits with the kind of heavy ease that only people like her can pull off. Like she's never once rushed a thing in her life. “Just calling it.”

You squint at her. “Do you even do anything? Or is looming your main job?”

“I stop things before they break,” she says, tone even. “You’re the one walking in when they’re already cracked.”

That hits. A little too accurately. Jeez she just started working too, you wonder how many similar scenarios she had seen compared to this. You go quiet. The only sound is the soft buzz of your phone warning you it’s now at 5%.

“I didn’t know about you until today,” you say finally, softer. “PR only told me after the Vi thing. That they were bringing in someone to... ‘manage conflict.’” You put the air quotes in hard.

Sevika nods once, unbothered. “They wanted someone who didn’t scare easily.”

You snort. “And yet you flinched when Jinx tried to light her setlist on fire.”

“That wasn’t flinching,” she says dryly. “That was calculating fire risk.”

You glance at her, then back at your phone, hiding a smile behind your knuckles. No, that wasn’t funny. Stop.

“I’m used to security being in the background,” you say after a beat. “Not...participating in group therapy by proximity.”

“You yell loud,” Sevika says. “Hard not to overhear.”

“That was just me being calm.”

She leans back a little, studying you. “Right. I’ll brace myself for when you’re actually pissed then.”

Another pause. Not awkward. Just...stretched.

You close the Notes app, giving up with a headline to fix the situation right now.

“They make me care too much,” you admit, voice quiet. “Jinx. Vi. All of them. And they don’t even know it. Or worse—they do, and they don’t care.”

You regret saying it the second it leaves your mouth. Shit, that made you sound vulnerable didn’t it? Worst part was they probably don’t even realize the amount of effort you put in just to keep their band going.

But Sevika doesn’t mock you. Doesn’t offer a half-assed platitude. She just nods, slow and steady, like she understands without needing to say it.

“You can’t fix people,” she says. “You just hold the line.”

You blink at her.

“I thought you weren’t here to give advice.”

“I’m not,” she says, standing again, stretching one shoulder with a quiet roll. “Just figured you looked like someone who needed to hear it.” She starts toward the door, jacket slung over her shoulder. But she stops before she leaves.

“You should plug in your phone,” she adds without turning around. “I’m assuming tomorrow’s gonna be worse.”

You smile despite yourself. “Thanks for the pep talk, Sevika.”

That scarred eyebrow lifts slightly. “Wasn’t one.”

Then she’s gone.

And you’re still sitting barefoot on a couch that smells like Jinx’s hairspray, staring at your phone screen, wondering what the hell just happened—and why it felt like someone finally saw you through all the damn chaos. Maybe she wasn’t so shady after all..

Actually, speaking of shady. Now you’re curious about Sevika, because she came out of nowhere earlier in the VIP room. A thought crosses your mind. You jump up to plug your phone in before it dies on you. Your phone has truly been through hell, at this point you need to be sponsored by high quality brands just to feel content.

Regardless, you grabbed your computer from your bag and went to sit back down on the fake leather couch, it giving that obnoxious squeak sound. You just rolled your eyes. Your fingers were quick to log in, as you clicked on a new browser typing in;

Sevika. Faultline security.

Nothing immediately comes up. You try just ‘Sevika’, and suddenly you’re scrolling through blurry photos: her towering outside venues, sunglasses on even at night, arms folded, always near chaos but never in it. One grainy paparazzi shot has her with her hand braced against someone’s chest—is that a Medarda? Anyways, she was holding her back mid-argument. The title reads:

“SECURITY OR BOUNCER BAE? WHO IS FAULTLINE’S MYSTERY MUSCLE?”

You chuckled, and kept scrolling.

She’s private. That much is clear. No Instagram, no interviews, no tags you can trace. But the fan forums are already on it. There’s a Reddit thread titled “Sevika thirst trap central” with hundreds of reposts.

You click it. Just for research. Obviously..

Clearly the entire page was just full of thirsty girls and possibly some blurry pictures here and there of Sevika. Eventually, you pause, thumb hovering over a photo of her from backstage—cigarette between her lips, arm slung over a crate like she owns the building. Professional interest, you tell yourself. But your stomach’s doing that thing.. and it shouldn’t. Ugh.

As you scroll, your thumb slows as you hit a post buried halfway down a forum thread titled "Faultline's Realest Ones". Most of it is memes and low-res gifs, but then— a user named spittinimage32 posts a screenshot of a blurred-out article, dated three years ago. The headline is cropped, but you can still make out part of it:

“...Security Contractor Under Investigation After Club Incident Leaves Two Hospitalized.”

Underneath is a zoomed-in still from grainy security footage. The photo quality is awful, but you recognize her—Sevika, unmistakable even in motion blur and shadow. Standing over a man doubled over on the pavement, one arm outstretched like she’s just landed a punch.

The caption under the post reads:

→ “Pretty sure this was her before she started working with musicians. Some private club Zaun. No charges were filed, but the story disappeared fast.”

You tap the article link. It’s dead. Damn, that’s some good management. Wish you had power like that.

Another comment below says:

→ “Medarda’s firm handled it. Probably paid the guy off.”

You stare at the screen, heartbeat picking up just slightly. The Medarda’s. They’re wealthy business owners, and wealthy like— dollar dollar bills wealthy and they don’t stop till they get what they want. This must’ve been serious, you think to yourself.

No official record. No explanation. Just that photo. Her fist. And two men in the hospital.

You suddenly remember how calm her voice was when she told you earlier, “I don’t step in unless I have to.”

Apparently, when she does, someone ends up in a trauma ward. But are you surprised? Not really. If she gets the job done then.. That's that. Although now you’re left wondering what truly happened in that situation.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You wake up to the buzz of your phone—fifteen unread messages, three voicemails and especially one from your boss saying ‘fix it’, then at least ten push notifications from media outlets.

“BREAKING: Vi Allegedly Wants Out of Faultline,” “Is the Band Imploding?” and your personal favorite, “PR Nightmare or PR Genius?”

You scroll faster, heart thudding. There’s multiple blurry shots of Vi storming off stage, Jinx yelling with a microphone in her hand as if she’s about to throw it, and somewhere in the background—your face, mid-horrified gasp. You try to breathe, but the headlines keep coming. Sponsors threatening to pull out. The tour manager "checking in." The label asks where your “statement” is. And all of this before coffee.

Fucking hell you expected this. After the whole chaotic mess from last night, you didn’t think it would be this bad. But this? This is beyond fucked.

You're not even dressed when the emails start rolling in—

"URGENT: Clarify band status." "What’s the narrative here?" "Is Jinx okay?" "Is Vi leaving?"

You throw your phone on the bed. Immediately regretting it, picking it back up.

Your team’s group chat is useless. Two interns are arguing over font sizes for the Instagram apology and your assistant is asking if she should cancel the shoot or wait for someone else to make the call. Not even that but when you call both Jinx and Vi, neither of them picks up. You’ve probably messaged them more than a dozen times, acting like a damn desperate ex.

They’re lucky the next show isn’t until three weeks. But that only means three weeks to fix all of this shit.

You’re now pacing your hotel room in a hoodie, coffee going cold on the counter. There are like five open tabs on your laptop, and every headline feels like another layer of anxiety pressing down. The one that sticks out the most to you:

“Insiders say PR is losing control.”

and only probably because they’re right. You are losing it.

You hastily get dressed, the least thing you're doing is only making yourself look neat with your hair up and your makeup done but barely noticeable. The shirt you have on feels like a damn compressor against your chest as if it's restricting you to breath, and your jeans— god you look and feel like a fucking mess.

──────────

You storm into the temporary backstage office at the venue from yesterday’s show, clipboard in hand and murder in your eyes. There’s a junior label rep there—smug, unhelpful, sipping a green juice and scrolling on their iPad. You ask if they’ve handled the sponsor callback list. They blink at you. “We’re waiting to see how the narrative evolves.” They pause before adding, “Oh and— we’ve lost two sponsors.”

That’s when it happens.

You scream.

Something about "narrative evolution" and "branding alignment" and “how this isn’t a goddamn improv troupe, it’s a multi-million-dollar tour and we are hemorrhaging public goodwill like a gunshot wound!” You’re near tears. Frustrated. Helpless. And fucking livid. You’re talking too loud, your voice is breaking, and nobody is doing anything.

The room goes quiet. People freeze. Hell, some even have the audacity to back out of the room from you.

Then—

A low voice from behind you cuts through the static.

“Hey.”

You spin around, breathing heavily, expecting more bullshit. But it’s Sevika. She’s leaning against the wall with arms folded, unreadable as always. Where the hell did she come from?

“You done yelling at the kid?” she says, calm. Not mocking. Just... grounding.

You blink. Realizing your hand—matter fact your whole damn arm is shaking. Your breathing’s off. Your face is most likely red.

She steps forward, slow, steady, and without touching you, positions herself between you and the others in the room. She says nothing else. Doesn’t need to. The tension starts to bleed out of the air.

Someone asks if they should reschedule the press call.

Sevika looks at them. Just looks.

They scurry out.

She turns back to you. “Come on. Breathe.”

You inhale. Exhale. You hate that it works. Hate more that she’s the only one who’s helped all day.

“I’m going to snap,” you whisper, not entirely joking, as your hands clenched into a fist.

“No,” she says. “You’re not. Because you’re the only one who knows how to keep this thing from falling apart. And you’re not about to give them the satisfaction of seeing you lose it.”

You’re still shaking, but her voice, low and steady, keeps you anchored. Your phone buzzes again. You silence it this time. You nod once. Just once. Enough to say; I’m still here.

And Sevika steps aside. Not leaving. Just letting you move forward again. But now with someone behind you who’s actually watching your back.

Eventually, you’re working with the other interns and your assistant to handle the chaos that is currently circulating around the damn internet. You decided to take on the press call only hoping this will smooth the headlines out for now. You still keep checking your phone just in case you get a message or a call from either of the sisters.

But you doubt that will happen.

Not really a choice made but it came to a conclusion that you have to take an overnight red-eye trip for a crisis briefing. Great. Just another thing to look forward to. You sighed softly, throwing your clipboard aside for now. The room had been emptied out for the day. You hadn’t even realized that you all were working the entire day to fix this mess.

You lean back against the couch, your head resting back staring at the ceiling. You felt the couch dip beside you, already knowing who it is.

You don’t bother to look.

“I’ll come with you,” Sevika says.

“There’s no need”

“I’m not asking, it’s protocol” she says in a tone that is non-arguable.

You scoff, slowly turning your head to look at her. But for some reason you don’t really mind that she’ll tag along with you. Infact you find it better that you have company rather than handling it alone, like always.

But seriously?

“Protocol my ass..” you muttered out, going back to gazing at the ceiling. But she didn’t say anything back.

You both knew it was her choice.

Before you knew it, you were in the car with her as she drove. The place was only just a couple hours from the previous show. Both your bags in the back as the car was silent throughout the drive. Some small talk here and there as she stopped for gas, and as well getting you some snacks. Other than that, the ride was silent.

Silence was slightly awkward though. Sometimes you’d catch her glancing at you, or vice versa. There was still tension from before. It wasn’t anything bad but— there was something lingering between you two. You couldn’t help but notice her wearing casual attire. The sleeve hugging against her biceps, the dark brown complimenting her skin color as her as the slight makeup she used on her face. Just some eyeliner and brown lipstick.

Yeah— you definitely couldn't deny it now. She was very attractive. Her sleek jaw, hair pulled back into a half up ponytail, the way her lips were the perfect amount of thickness, and those biceps— christ. You knew you were beyond screwed. She was beautiful, handsome even.

And you?

Probably not even her type regardless. Or so you thought.

“You think this crisis meeting will solve anything?” Sevika asks, breaking the silence and odd tension from your trance.

You sighed from exhaustion before responding, “The best that will come out of it right now will probably be controlling the headlines and to avert their attention from Jinx and Vi to something else. Probably the next show or something..” you pause, rubbing your temples before continuing, “This will only be properly fixed once they get their shit figured out. And to answer their damn phone calls.”

You checked your phone to see if either of them had texted, but nothing. You sighed, setting your phone down.

“You’ll figure it out” She says after a beat, glancing at you.

“Yeah I’m the only one who ever does” You retorted, scoffing as you met her eye for a moment.

Even though it wasn't loud, you heard her chuckle under her breath. Your lips quirked from amusement hearing that from her. You eventually look away as you two fall into silence again. Comfortable silence.

──────────

You’ve both just endured a brutal crisis meeting. You're exhausted, emotionally fried, but still high on tension. Sevika’s been calm the entire time—cutting through the bullshit in the room when you couldn’t, quiet when she needed to be, but fiercely in your corner.

You’re both walking into the hotel, late-night check-in, bags slung, the hallway quiet.

You walked up to the front desk, giving the receptionist your last name that you booked the rooms under.

“Looks like we’ve got you down for just one deluxe king suite!” the lady behind the desk replied cheerfully as she prepared the card for you.

You blink.

“That better be a mistake” You say, staring at the receptionist lady with a deadpan stare.

“Sorry honey, we’re fully booked tonight otherwise” She had replied, sliding the key to you on the desk.

Are we fucking serious.. you think to yourself.

You slowly turn to Sevika with an unreadable look. She raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

“Fucking perfect,” You muttered under your breath.

The check-in desk had one job. One. You blink at the concierge like they just slapped you.

“There were supposed to be two rooms by the way,” you say, tone brittle enough to cut tile.

The receptionist gives you that polite corporate shrug that means “not my problem.” You don’t even have it in you to argue. Not after the crisis meeting that felt more like a firing squad. Not after watching half the label toss blame back and forth while you took notes on how to be their next scapegoat. Not after Sevika said absolutely nothing the entire time but still managed to make you feel like someone was in your corner.

Now this? One room. One bed. You feel the eye twitch coming on.

“Whatever,” you mutter, snatching the keycard and stomping toward the elevator. Sevika follows. Silent. Heavy boots. Calm shadow. It shouldn’t make your skin burn hotter, but it does.

You don’t speak again until the hotel door swings shut behind you.

And then—you explode.

“Two rooms! Two. That’s all I asked for. Not world peace. Not someone’s kidney. Just two fucking rooms!”

Your heels hit the floor hard. You toss your bag onto the bed—the one bed—and just stand there for a second, teeth gritted. Sevika closes the door behind you with that quiet, deliberate calm she always has. Doesn’t say anything. Just watches.

“And that meeting?” you scoff. “They want a rebrand. They think Vi might go solo. They think I’ve lost control.” You turn around, anger rising like a wave. “What am I supposed to do? Photoshop a damn friendship back together!?” You gesture wildly around the room.

Sevika is leaning against the door now, watching you pace like a hurricane in heels. She raises an eyebrow. Still leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Shrugs a little. “You handled it.”

“Bullshit. I’m dangling by a thread,” you snap, voice tight. “I’m fucking done. I’m trying to put out fires and you’re just, what, always just fucking standing there? With your one-word replies and your constant brooding like a hot, grumpy—”

She steps forward. Not fast. Just enough to break the space between you. You stop mid-rant.

“You think I don’t see it?” she says, voice low. “You holding it all together. No one thanks you. No one listens. And they’d all fall apart without you since you’re the backbone of this entire band.”

Your breath catches. You don’t want that to land. But it does.

Your lip curls like you’re about to say something biting—but it falters. Because Sevika’s close now. So close. And the silence between you feels… different.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter quietly.

“Like what?” she says.

“Like you can see through me.”

“Maybe I can.”

You’re still fuming. But it’s twisted now—burning hot under your skin in a different way.

She looks at the bed. Then at you.

“We flipping a coin or...?”

“Fuck the coin,” you say, voice hoarse, “I’m too tired to care.”

You move past her like you’re going to grab something—but she grabs your wrist. Not rough. Just enough.

“You need to let it out,” she says. “Whatever it is.”

You look up at her. Chest tight. Anger still vibrating in your bones but buried under that — that need.

“Yeah?” you whisper. “And what are you gonna do if I do?”

She doesn’t answer. Because she's on you within seconds. Your back pinned against the hotel wall as her hand was on the back of your head to prevent it from hitting the wall too harshly. You let out a sharp gasp from the impact.

You both just stared at each other. The electricity crackling between you two. The moment felt like everything slowed down for a second. You stared into her eyes.

Then you surged forward.

Your mouth crashes into hers with all the fury of the day behind it—messy, desperate, teeth clashing. She catches you easily, hands gripping your waist, pinning them against the wall. Your hands were gripping her shirt tight, pulling her closer than she already is. You let your hand trail down her chest, letting them roam free. Your fingers pressing against the shirt as you felt the firmness of her stomach, trailing them down under her shirt—

Oh fuck.

The minute you felt her V line beneath your fingers you let out a moan into her mouth, one she quickly swallowed up in the filthy and greedy kiss you shared.

You gasp as she lifts you by your thighs, pinning you there. You wrap your legs around her instinctively, fingers tangled in her jacket as her mouth drags hot, slowing down your neck.

“Fuck,” you breathe, nails scraping along her shoulder. “This is such a bad idea.”

“Best one I’ve had all day,” she growls against your throat, biting down hard against your neck, erupting a strangled whine from the back of your throat.

You yank her shirt up, your hands finding skin—warm, solid muscle. She peels off your jacket without care, lets it fall. Her hands are everywhere: gripping, kneading, claiming. Your mind goes white.

Clothes hit the floor in frantic pieces. Your heels are thrown to the side of the room. The room’s too hot, your back hits the mattress, and she’s above you—hair falling into her face, pupils blown, looking at you like she’s about to wreck you.

“This is wrong” you mutter as your hands went down her back to grope her ass.

She groaned in response, her hips bucking closer to yours, “Then why aren't you stopping me?”

“I can’t” you whispered in her ear before pulling her into another filthy kiss. One that's messy, where your tongues are fighting for dominance. Your hands rake in her hair, pushing it back slightly before giving it a sharp tug. In return her hand finds your tit and gropes it, making you moan pathetically into the kiss. You feel her smile against the kiss. That fucking menence smile.

You felt her hand go down your stomach as you felt her fingers spread through your soaked folds, eliciting a soft moan from you.

“You’re fucking soaked..” she mutters against your lips, glancing down between the two of you.

“Fuck you” you panted against her, lips swollen and red from the kiss as your eyes were already half lidded, gazing down at her neck.

“I’m trying” you hear her mutter before she dips her head down to your neck, tongue flicking out as she traced a wet path along her collarbone, her mouth latching onto an aching peak deliberately sucking at your skin that sends shivers down your spine.

“Sevika..” you breathe out as your fingers dug into her shoulders, with your back arching and trembling against her touch.

“Tell me what you need”

God its almost like you were drunk and were unable to fucking speak properly. But somehow, you managed.

“Your fingers—you. I don’t care” you managed to say helplessly as she obliged.

Her thumb slowly pressed against your clit as you felt her slip two fingers in your core. Your hips buck from the contact as your fingers dig against her shoulders, dragging them down your back.

“Oh god” you groaned as you bit at her neck which made her inhale sharply, her fingers curling in you that hit your sweet spot.

Oh fuck.

Your body doesn't know what else to do other than your hands profusely scratching at her back. Your hips buck trying to find friction but you fail, all you can do is just squeeze against her fingers. But it's not changing her speed which makes you writhe in place. “You're gonna cut my fingers off at this rate” she says, almost condescendingly, smirking against your skin.

“You— you’re not helping” you bite your lip to refrain yourself from whining for more, “go faster” you whisper, burying your face in the crook of her neck planting wet, open mouths kiss under her jawline.

“You're lucky you’re pretty” she whispered before another finger was slipping inside your drooling cunt. Her pace becomes faster as her fingers curl repeatedly against your g-spot which makes you choke on a moan, letting yourself succumb to the pleasure.

Your arousal that coated her fingers makes the most obscene noises that filled up the hotel room, Sevika’s own hips were grinding at your thigh as you both chased for your climax. Your mouths captured into a kiss as you swallowed each other's moans, you propped your leg up as you felt the slick from her pussy against your thigh.

Your hand found their way to her swollen nub of her clit, with your touch being firm and insistent as you kept rubbing hard and fast. Which had added another layer of pleasure and desperation in the movement of Sevika’s hips grinding against your thigh.

“fuck— keep it like that. Just like that baby” she growls near your ear as you feel her pump her fingers in and out of you quicker.

“Sev— Sevika!” you almost fucking screamed her name out as your eyes fluttered for a moment from the pleasure. Your back arched from her touch as your free hand pushed her hips down against your thigh as the other rubbed vigorously at her clit. The minute you chased your orgasm, your hips bucked in her hand as you clenched tightly around her fingers, with you moaning her name from exhaustion at this point.

Her fingers were still curled inside that wet pussy of yours as she kept grinding against your thigh, her movements becoming sloppy as leaned her forehead against your shoulder.

“Shit..” Sevika moans against your ear which makes you clench around her fingers again as her words are followed by a few more curses as she shivers out her orgasms.

Her fingers slowly pulled out of your dripping cunt, retreating them back to her mouth, licking every drop.

“Fuck, you taste just like I imagined..” She says hoarsely before capturing your lips in another kiss, this one being more sloppy as you taste yourself. Your hands went to her neck as she flopped beside you on the bed. Legs tangling with each other capturing yourself in a moment of bliss and the aftermath of such pleasure, lost in each other's arms.

Eventually you two pulled away from each other panting, her arm around her waist pulling you chest to chest.

“I still hate this room,” you murmur, eyes half-lidded and lips swollen.

She huffs something like a laugh, brushing her knuckles down your thigh.

“Not how it sounded five minutes ago.”

You roll your eyes. But you don’t pull away.

“This doesn’t mean I like you.”

“Sure,” she says, dragging her mouth lazily across your shoulder. “That’s why you’re still shaking.”

You shove her, half-hearted.

She doesn’t move. Just smirks.

You hate that she’s right.

You hate it even more that you already want round two.

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abbyssgf · 15 days ago

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I need to bite on those biceps. NEOW!

Like it's biblical atp.

Can yall tell i have a type

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abbyssgf · 18 days ago

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More Abby fluff maybe?🥺 I’ll read everything from you

𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔

━━ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

♒︎ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 abby anderson x reader / 0.4k words ♒︎ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 fluff - just pure cute fluff ♒︎ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 hi hi, sorry this took so long to write but here's some cute little abby fluff, i hope u like it!

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

The porch’s quiet, only filled with the subtle background buzz of the cicadas and a breeze of summer air. One glass of homemade lemon peach tea in one hand and the other shielding your eyes from the low sitting sun already setting across the land.

“There you are.” Abby’s voice floats from within the house, followed by footsteps, soft and unmistakable against the wooden flooring. A slow soft smile forms on your lips, like it’s second nature, like she’s the only person capable of drawing it from you.

“Hey, baby.” She settles beside you, shoulders brushing in a comforting manner. You hand her the bell shaped glass - one of Abby’s findings.

All of your dishes and cutlery are mismatched after all, small trinkets she found beyond the walls and brought to the house to make it more like a home, a home for you and her.

Abby takes a sip, a satisfied hum leaves her throat. “You made that?” You nod, already slipping your hand in her free one.

“Yeah, Miss Campbell gave me the peaches, the tree grows in her backyard.” She takes another sip and sets the glass down between you two. Her hand squeezes yours gently. “It’s really good - almost sweeter than you.”

You snort, delighted and so full of love all at once. She’s such a dork. “That was cheesy.” You chuckle softly, leaning your head against her shoulder.

“But you love me anyways.” And she’s right - you do love her. All her edges, her snores which she denies exist. Her braid which you have to force her hair out of every night to let her scalp breathe - all these little things which make her, her.

“Yeah, I do.” You mumble back, already lulled into the comfort of her. Never would you have thought that you could have this - a girlfriend to come home to, a place to call home in the first place.

Your life has always revolved around survival - losing people you love and pushing through the grief. Life isn’t easy now either but it’s softer, more bearable and definitely worth staying alive for with her by your side.

“I love you a lot.” You whisper into her shoulder like a confession, like something soft just for her and Abby presses a kiss to the crown of your hair, gentle and loving.

“Love you too, baby.”

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abbyssgf · 18 days ago

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please please PLEASE a mean!dom!sevika x bratty!reader fic PLEASE

worst behavior

❀ you were on your "worst behavior" at dinner and sevika reminds you what happens to bratty girls

❀ work count: 2.5k

❀ me pushing the kwn = sevika agenda, hope this is good and mean enough!!! 😁

"You are no longer my good girl."

Each of Sevika's words is punctuated with a kiss on your lips as she cradles your face in her hands before she pulls back to see you. Her sharp gray eyes narrow as she stares down at you, her frustration evident in the furrow of her brow. "You need to remember what happens when you are a brat."

A grin tugs at the corners of her lips at her words, the same bratty glint in your eyes as you bite back your excitement. "But I wasn't being a brat," you whine, feigning innocence. Heat rises to your face as she kisses your pouting lips softly.

"So you didn't have an attitude with me the entire time at dinner?" Sevika challenges, raising an eyebrow as she looks at you. You shake your head, grinning mischievously.

"You know what's gonna happen now?" Sevika's voice drops to a low whisper as she leans in to kiss along your neck, her breath warm against your skin. "What?" you breathe out, feeling a shiver run down your spine at her touch.

Sevika's lips curve into a smirk as she whispers, "You're going to have to make it up to me."

You wrap your arms around her neck as she kisses her way to your lips, making you wait for a moment before finally capturing them in a searing kiss. Sevika pushes you against the nearest wall, bracing herself with one hand while the other wraps around your throat, squeezing just enough to make you gasp softly.

She deepens the kiss, pressing her body against yours as she slips her tongue into your mouth, swallowing every sound that escapes you. Her hand slides from your neck down and under your dress, trailing higher up your thigh. You can't help but spread your legs slightly, silently begging her to touch you where you need her most.

Sevika breaks the kiss to taunt you with a smirk as she whispers in the small space, "You want me to touch your pussy, don't you, baby?" Your head drops back on the wall as you pant softly, nodding eagerly in response.

Sevika's fingers lightly drag along your covered clit, rubbing the sensitive bud in slow circles before grabbing your jaw firmly and bringing your gaze back to hers. "You think you deserve it after that shit you pulled earlier?" she asks, pressing her fingers harder against your clit, making you gasp and twitch in her hold.

You shake your head, struggling to form words as you grind against her hand, trying to relieve the ache building between your legs. Sevika tuts softly, lightly slapping your face as a warning, "No, don't go dumb on me now, use your words," she commands, grabbing your face again.

"N-no, I don't," you manage to stammer out, feeling your panties dampening with arousal at her roughness, "'M sorry, Sevi."

Sevika grins before removing her hand from your clit and stepping back, leaving you aching and desperate. She chuckles at the pout forming on your face, her hands on her hips as she watches you squirm in frustration. "You're not sorry, baby, but you will be. Now, go to the bedroom."

You reluctantly comply, hearing Sevika follow close behind you as you walk to the bedroom. As you enter the room, Sevika stops behind you, watching you with a hungry look in her eyes before she speaks again, "Take off your dress and bend over the bed."

You do as you're told, purposefully making a show of slowly removing your dress to tease Sevika even more. You look over your shoulder to meet her eyes at the sound of her amused chuckle.

"Quit playing and bend over," she commands, making you pout in faux disappointment as you comply, bending over the bed as instructed. You can't help but feel a rush of excitement as Sevika steps closer, letting her hand roam over the curve of your ass.

With a low hum, she slips a finger between your legs, dragging it over the growing wet spot on your panties. Your eyes flutter shut and you push back against her hand, moaning softly as she continues to tease you. Sevika presses herself against you, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, "You don't get to cum until I say you deserve it, okay?"

"Okay," you breathe out, agreeing with anything she says as long as she keeps touching you like this. A frustrated whimper leaves your lips and your eyes snap open as she suddenly pulls away, bringing you back to reality. Sevika smirks at your reaction, groping and squeezing your ass before delivering a sharp spank that makes you jump.

"Fuck," you gasp in surprise, fisting the sheets beneath you as she rubs over the stinging skin. She drags her nails lightly over the now sensitive skin making you flinch before delivering another sharp slap on your ass. You can feel your panties growing damp as the mess between your legs grows with each slap, knowing Sevika can see how wet you're getting.

All you can do is bite your lip, trying to hide your whiny moans and yelps of pain as her hand comes down again and again, turning your skin red and sensitive with each strike.

Tears well up in your eyes and you bury your face in the sheets, letting out muffled whimpers as you try to reach back and push her hand away, but she grabs your wrist in her free hand, pinning it to the small of your back.

"Don't make me tie you up, baby," she warns, "You were doing so good, don't fuck it up now." You can only nod in response, moaning desperately into the sheets as Sevika continues to spank your ass, hoping she slows down soon. Sevika finally stops, soothing over the now red skin with a gentle touch.

"Look at that," she murmurs to herself as she admires the marks left on your ass. "You took it so well," she praises, kneeling down to kiss your tender skin making you squirm. Sevika stands up straight, a satisfied smirk on her face. "You think you can take more?"

You shake your head vigorously, looking back at her with furrowed brows, "Please no, Sevi."

"But you wanna cum for me, don't you, baby?" She asks, looking at you with a mocking tilt of her head.

"Of course, I do."

"Then you can take more," she shrugs before walking over to the bedside table and pulling out her favorite bullet vibrator to use on you as you stand up. "Lie on the bed."

You quickly comply, laying your head on the pile of pillows, sitting up on your elbows to watch Sevika's every move. You stare in anticipation as she sits beside you, setting aside the toy before leaning down to kiss you deeply, her hand roaming your body like she owns it. You run a hand through her hair, pushing your body closer to hers as her hand comes up to your tits, groping them possessively.

As her lips move to your neck, she traces circles around your nipples, teasing the buds until they harden under her touch. A whiny whimper escapes your lips as Sevika pinches and tugs at your nipples, toying with them roughly as you arch into her touch.

Sevika makes her way back to your lips, kissing you hungrily as her hand slips down between your legs, feeling the wetness seeping through your panties.

"God, you're fucking pathetic," Sevika groans against your lips before slipping her fingers underneath the fabric, sliding them along your slick folds. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp, your head falling back on the pillows as Sevika rubs tight circles around your clit.

"Just a fucking needy slut, aren't you, princess?" Sevika whispers, kissing your slack jaw, "Yeah? You would let me do anything to you as long as I let you cum, wouldn't you?" she taunts, her words sending another wave of arousal through you as you nod mindlessly in agreement. Sevika slowly takes her hand away, shushing you harshly as you whine in protest before grabbing the vibrator she set aside earlier.

"Take your panties off," she commands, and you immediately lift your hips and pull your panties down, keeping your eyes locked on Sevika as you do so. She moves to sit in front of you, flashing her canines in a wicked grin as she spreads your legs wide with one hand, the vibrator buzzing quietly in the other.

You cover your mouth to hide the pathetic whimper that threatens to escape when Sevika spreads your folds, exposing your drooling cunt to the cool air of the room. She hums in satisfaction at the sight of you, "Such a pretty pussy, baby, practically begging me to touch her." She slowly brings the buzzing toy closer to your clit, teasing you with light touches. You let out a shaky sigh and fist the sheets below you, trying to hold back from chasing after the vibrations.

"Please, baby," you beg, your voice breaking and hurried with need, "please don't tease me."

"You take what I give you, don't be so greedy," Sevika scolds, spanking your cunt harshly as a warning before pressing the toy against your swollen clit. Your pained whimper turns into a broken moan as the sudden vibrations overwhelm you, causing your back to arch and your thighs to shake uncontrollably.

Sevika keeps a bruising grip on your hip, forcing you to take everything she gives you, even as tears blur your vision. You grind against the toy, moaning whorishly and reaching up to grope your tits, tugging at your nipples in desperation.

"Does it feel good?" Sevika asks, watching your brain turn to mush as you nod eagerly.

"So good, Sevi," you gasp out, your eyes fluttering shut as you roll your hips in time with the toy.

"You close already?" Sevika taunts, increasing the intensity of the toy with a cruel smirk on her face. You nod frantically, crying out when she pulls the toy away, ruining your impending orgasm.

"No, no, please," you sob, tears of frustration streaming down your face as Sevika just laughs, brushing her fingers over your weeping pussy.

"You know you can't cum until I say so," Sevika shrugs, running her thumb over your clit, "no matter how much you beg." She suddenly spanks your pussy, chuckling at your broken sob and the way you jump before doing it again. You can't help but try to close your legs, but Sevika easily holds them open with one hand.

"Please, baby, I wanna cum," you whimper, jutting out your bottom lip into a pout to try and gain some sympathy from your girlfriend as you look at her with teary eyes.

"Nuh uh, not yet."

"But it hurts, Sevi, please," you plead, your body shivering as she trails her fingers along your inner thighs.

"I don't care if it hurts, you'll cum when I say you can," Sevika replies sternly, holding the vibrator just over your puffy clit before slowly tracing circles around the bud.

A high pitched moan is ripped from your throat as Sevika presses the vibrator firmly against your clit despite your desperate attempts to squirm away. You fist the sheets tightly, your breath coming in short gasps and your eyes roll back as you lie there, letting Sevika control your body and orgasm.

Sobs and whimpers flow freely from your lips, unable to hold them back as she rubs the vibrator against your abused clit, feeling the tension building up in your belly. "Fucking look at you, god you're a mess," Sevika growls, pushing your leg up to your chest, making her curse at the sight of your drooling pussy.

You reach a shaking hand out to hold her hand, squeezing it tightly to anchor yourself as your body trembles under her touch. "P-please Sevi," you beg in a quiet voice, not knowing exactly what you're asking for.

"Please what, c'mon use your words," she demands, speeding up the vibrator to mess with you even more. Your mind goes blank and you struggle to form a coherent thought as Sevika leans down to whisper in your ear, "Tell me what you want, baby, I can't read your mind." You moan softly as she licks a slow trail up your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

"I wanna… wanna cum for you," you finally manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper as you cling onto her arm.

Sevika chuckles softly, pulling the vibrator away as she kisses your tear stained cheek, whispering, "You think you deserve to cum?" You cry out in defeat, digging your nails in her bicep as she ruins your orgasm once again.

"I've been so good, please, just let me cum," you plead, looking into her gray eyes. Sevika hums in consideration, kissing her way down to your chest before looking back up at you.

"You're right," she nods, kissing around your sensitive nipples, "How about I eat your pussy just how you like it and let you cum all over my face since you've been so good?" She suggests, continuing to kiss down your stomach before lying down between your legs, "Does that sound good, baby?"

You nod eagerly, reaching to run your fingers through her hair as she kisses your inner thighs. "Yes, please," you pant, shivering at the feeling of Sevika kissing the top of your pussy, parting your folds with her fingers.

You bite your knuckle and look down at her as she begins to lick and suck on your clit, making you throw your head back. "Oh god, thank you," you moan, grabbing onto her hair with one hand and groping your tits with the other as she takes your clit into her mouth.

Sevika groans into your cunt, placing a hand on your lower stomach to hold you in place as she moves in sync with your rolling hips. Your thigh threatens to close around her head, making Sevika push them further apart to give herself better access to your sensitive spot.

She slaps you on your pussy and a warning look before slipping two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that spot she knows you love. "God, you taste so fucking good," she growls, her breath hot on your thigh as she continues to fuck you with her fingers, looking up to watch your face as she flicks her tongue across your clit.

"'M gonna cum, please don't stop," you moan, squeezing your eyes shut as you grab onto anything within reach. Your moans grow louder as she picks up the pace, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. A string of thank you's spill from your lips as you finally reach your peak, your body trembling as she fucks you through your orgasm.

You collapse back onto the bed, a layer of sweat coating your skin as you try to catch your breath, feeling Sevika kiss your inner thighs as she strokes your shaking legs. Sevika kisses her way up your body, reaching your lips and taking them in a deep, passionate kiss.

"There's my good girl," she whispers against your lips, running her hand along your side before coming up and wiping the tears from your eyes with her thumb, "You just wanted to be put in your place, huh?"

You can't help but laugh softly, nodding as you hold onto her bicep tightly, "Maybe I like it when you're mad at me.”

I hate the beginning but I’m tired and this took forever so spare me

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