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In 3 weeks, I'm going to get back to writing, so I was wondering which fic sounds more exciting.

P.S I'm going to write all of them; I just want to know your opinion.

*also! yes, I'm going to finish gears and grace. thank you for your patience♡ :")

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|Grayson's ck ad|

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Shimmer will give you wings...

Attempt to paint like a Greek artist... TOOK 12 HOURS...

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|Ambessa's CK ad|

[Uncensored version on x : bhr_bby]

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@onlyvika's CK ad

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Because you weakened me...

Ps: mel plucked some flowers for mother's day...

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I have questions. Many, many questions.

@onlyvika @tismrizzzandrifles

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Had it with you two! @onlyvika @tismrizzzandrifles (they're in time out until they prove that they can be... civil)

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I'm unwell... LOOK AT HER

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(Mommy... I MEAN YUMMY)

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So here's fresh out of shower sevika... in only a towel...

@imaginesleeping requested it🤭

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⋆·˚ ༘ *Horror story's comfort⋆·˚ ༘ *

You need to learn to rely on them... they have a solution for that OR arcane women scaring you with horror stories so they could see you clinging to them [absolutely fluff].

Ambessa

It's late. A storm rages outside the heavily fortified windows of medarda's estate, rattling the thick glass.You're laying beside her on a chaise lounge, your body stiff, pressing yourself not to her body but to the backrest, watching her twirling the wine in her glass. The relationship is still new enough that seeking comfort feels... abnormal, But ambessa, senses your slight unease with the storm, decides this is an opportunity. for comfort, and perhaps, for… demonstration.

"Storms like this," she begins, her voice calm, "remind me of the siege of Fae'lor. The sky wept for three days, and the wind carried the screams of dying right through the stone walls." She pauses, gauging your reaction. You edge slightly closer to her warmth. Good.

"The defenders," she continues, her voice dropping slightly, becoming more intense, "believed they were protected by ancient forest spirits. Superstitious fools." She takes a sip of her wine. "They performed nightly rituals, leaving offerings of blood and bone." Her eyes flick towards the shadows in the corner of the room. "Some say the spirits did answer. Not with protection, but with hunger."

You swallow hard, trying to appear unaffected, but the combination of the storm, the flickering firelight, and her chillingly matter-of-fact tone is getting to you. You subtly shift closer, your arm now brushing against hers.

"On the third night," Ambessa goes on,putting down her glass on the low table beside the lounge, her voice barely above a whisper now, compelling your attention, "our scouts reported… movement within the trees. Shapes that were not quite animal, not quite man, drawn by the scent of fear and desperation. They say those unlucky enough to be caught outside the inner walls..." She lets the sentence hang.

A particularly loud clap of thunder makes you jump, letting out a small gasp. You instinctively press close against her side,hiding your face in her chest, seeking solace from the storm outside and the one she’s conjuring inside. Success. Ambessa's arm comes around you immediately, pulling you firmly against her solid frame. Her earlier narrative coolness vanishes, replaced by warmth.

"Easy now," she murmurs, her tone shifting. "Just ancient history. Long dead ghosts." Her hand strokes your back reassuringly, though there’s a faint smile playing on her lips, hidden from your view. "And even if they weren't," she adds, her voice regaining its confident edge, "they wouldn't dare trespass on Medarda soil. Not with me here." She holds you tightly, enjoying the feel of you clinging to her, seeking her strength.

Sevika

You're huddled together in your small living space, than... power flickered out momentarily, plunging you into near darkness, the only light now coming from the burning tip of her cigarette. The relationship is still finding its footing, so even though you're scared, you can't exactly voice it. Sevika, sensing your nervousness in the dark, sees an opening.

"Dark like this," she begins, her voice low and gravelly, cutting through the silence, "reminds me of the stories they tell about the sump." You instinctively shift closer to her on the worn sofa. "Said sometimes... they'd pull things up from it that weren't fish, weren't junk." She takes a slow drag from her cigarette, the tip glowing brightly before fading. "Things that had too many limbs, or eyes that glowed green in the dark, hungry."

Her voice is flat, matter-of-fact, which somehow makes the story more chilling.she puts her cigarette out, in the ashtray on the table beside the couch, before continuing "One crew vanished entirely. Found their dredger adrift weeks later, empty. Just... slime trails on the deck and this godawful clicking sound echoing from the empty cabins." She deliberately makes a soft clicking sound with her tongue.

You jump, letting out a small squeak, and grab onto her arm, hiding your face in her neck. Bingo. A faint smirk ghosts across Sevika’s lips in the darkness.

"Just stories," she says dismissively, like she didn't just try to scare you. her arm, the flesh-and-blood one, comes around your shoulders, pulling you firmly against her side.like she’s securing you. "Probably just chem-mutated eels or sump-crocs." Her hand gently caressing your skin, gentel and kind despite her nonchalant tune. "Still," she adds, her voice dropping again, "wouldn't want to meet one alone in the dark." She tease further but quickly comfort you with the next sentence, "Good thing you ain't alone, huh?" She enjoys the feeling of you pressed against her, seeking refuge, confirming her strength and your reliance on it. The scary story was just the bait; the real prize was feeling you instinctively turn to her for protection.

Grayson

It’s a dark, stormy night, perfect for staying in. You’re sitting together on Grayson’s comfortable sofa. Seeing you jump slightly at a loud clap of thunder, a playful, slightly mischievous glint appears in her eyes.

"You know," she begin casually, "this weather reminds me of an old case file I found in the cold archives. Never officially solved. They called it 'The Watcher on Widow's Walk'." She lowers her voice slightly, adopting a conspiratorial tone. "Supposedly, on stormy nights like this, people reported seeing a figure standing in the dark, watching the houses near the sump."

You try to look nonchalant, but you lean a little closer. Grayson notices, hiding a small smile. "The reports were always vague," she continues, "Shadowy figure, glowing eyes according to one witness... probably just reflections, of course. But then things started happening. Objects moved in locked rooms of the same houses that reported the figure. Whispers heard when no one was there." She pauses dramatically. "One family fled their house overnight, claimed the watcher had started appearing inside, tapping on their bedroom window..."

Another crash of thunder punctuates her story, and you can't help it ...you flinch hard, pressing close against her side, grabbing her arm. Mission complete. Grayson's arm immediately wraps securely around you, pulling you into a protective hug. "Hey, hey," she murmurs soothingly, her playful tone gone, replaced by warmth. "Just an old ghost story, sweetheart. Probably kids playing pranks, or subsidence causing strange noises." She holds you tightly, rubbing your back. "Besides," she adds, her voice dropping to a low, reassuring whisper near your ear, "even if there was a watcher, he wouldn't get near you. Not while I'm here." She enjoys the feeling of you clinging to her, finding comfort in her.

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♡•°You look too good for your own good°•♡

or arcane women reaction to you dolled up for them (warning: reader has make-up on)

Ambessa

Ambessa’s breath would catch in her lungs, impracticably, yet a strong reaction. her eyes would sweep over your form slow, missing nothing. The colour of the clothing, the style, the colour of your lips and the blush on your cheeks.

She prides herself on having exquisite taste, and seeing you embody that, looking more magnificent than ever, for her, fills her with a deep sense of pride, more than usual.

While tempted to keep you all to herself, say damn with the occasion and just take you there and than... showing you off is also appealing! Although it's a test for her patience... patience is a tool that she wields effectively, tonight though... the desire to touch, to kiss, would be a tangible force simmering beneath her calm exterior.

Your're warning her that she shouldn’t kiss you and smudge your makeup? She'd likely kiss you anyway, perhaps with a low murmur about reapplying it later. The immediate gratification often wins, especially when driven by such potent appreciation. Her kisses would be more possessive, staking her claim before you leave.

"Patience is a virtue... but you test it severely looking like that." She will say, her voice low, a protest to how you weaken her patience before pulling you in for a demanding kiss.

She might gift you a piece of jewelry right there, she was planing to give it to you later that night, but deciding that it would complements your look perfectly she would fasten it herself with lingering touches.

She would take your sight in, once more ,after the jewels claim their place on your body. a slow smile spreading. "Magnificent. You embody beauty as you embody strength, my dove." She will whisper into your ear. Lovingly.

"Tonight, all eyes will be on you... and they will know you are mine." She will add, her tough lingering on your neck, soft, grounding.

You step out, ready for the exclusive Noxian gala Ambessa is taking you to. You’ve spent hours preparing, dressed in a stunning clothing she had commissioned for you. Ambessa stands waiting, resplendent in her own formidable attire. She turns as you approach, and her usual sharp focus softens into something deeper, stunned, though her posture remains imperious. Her gaze travels down your body and back up, slow and appreciative. "Truly," she breathes, stepping forward, her presence commanding the air around you. She reaches out, her fingers lingering against your skin. "You eclipse the stars themselves." A ghost of a smile plays on her lips as her gaze drifts down to your mouth.you smile up at her. "Perfection. Though," her thumb brushes your painted lip, a possessive glint in her eyes, "this might not last the journey." She leans in before you could protest, or warn her to not ruin your lipstick... She kisses you, a deep, possessive claiming that leaves you breathless, not caring in the slightest about your meticulously applied lipstick. She pulls back slightly, eyes blazing with a mixture of desire and triumph. Her gaze lingers on you for another moment, a genuine awe softening the possessiveness in her expression. "Turn around," she murmurs, her voice a low command, "Let me admire my conquest...hmm...They will envy me tonight."

Sevika

She'd likely give you a slow, deliberate once-over, maybe raising an eyebrow or letting out a low, almost inaudible whistle. she won't stammer or blush outwardly, but the intensity in her gaze betrays her, telling you everything you need to know.

Internally? System overload. Externally? A smug smirk might appear. "Well damn... you worth the trouble tonight" The gruff compliment is high praise from her. But her yearning mostly translates into needing to touch.

Patience isn't her strong suit when desire hits. Seeing you looking like this would spike her possessiveness. She'd want to immediately pull you close, maybe back you against a wall, reinforcing her claim before anyone else gets to see you.

She absolutely would kiss you, makeup be damned. impulse override aesthetics. If anything, the slightly smudged look might appeal to her more!... evidence of her touch. The kiss would be hard, demanding, staking her claim.

Her hand would be constantly on you... running her thumb over your clothed body or hip, a silent gesture that promise more...to both of you.

You emerge ready for a rare night out, maybe trying to blend in at a slightly less grimy Undercity establishment than the Last Drop. You’ve made an effort... clean clothes that fit well, even eyeshadow around your eyes. Sevika's waiting, leaning against a corroded pipe infront of your door, looking unimpressed with the world as usual. Her gaze flicks towards you, then stops, doing a slow, thorough appraisal. Her usual cynical expression shifts almost imperceptibly, a flicker of heat in her grey eyes. A low grunt escapes her, followed by a slow, smug smirk. "What a sight" she says gruffly, pushing off the wall and stalking towards you. She stops right in front of you, close enough to feel the heat from her body. Her flesh hand comes up, thumb brushing against your cheekbone "you look too...distracting tonight" Without further warning, she grabs your jacket, pulling you into a bruising kiss that tastes like cheap spirits and possessiveness. She forces herself to pull back, eyes dark. "Gods that's going to be a hell of a night for me..." but seriously the one in trouble is you, after the night is over.

Grayson

Grayson would be genuinely floored. Her usual composure might crack into a wide, appreciative smile, maybe even a moment of speechlessness. She sees the effort and feels incredibly special that it's for her.

Expect heartfelt compliments delivered in her signature raspy voice. She’s not shy about expressing admiration for you.

She adores the sight of you everyday as is...but seeing you like this, she just can't help herself but stare. While the temptation to stay in would be strong, she's a woman of control.

But she'd definitely kiss you, and that she can't control. She'd probably apologize afterwards, even though she doesn't mean it,you know it because she continues it, even after her apology.

The kiss would be full of warmth, passion, and sheer adoration.

"Wow... , you look... absolutely breathtaking." She would say her eyes lingering all over, trying to take in everything she can.

You're ready for your date. perhaps a rare evening at a respectable Piltover restaurant. You put extra care into your appearance, wanting to match the effort Grayson always puts in. She arrives at your door, looking sharp in her off-duty attire. When you open the door, her polite greeting dies on her lips. Her green eyes widen, sweeping over you with undisguised admiration. A slow, genuine smile lights up her face. "Good evening, Sheriff," you tease. "Goodness," she voices softly, stepping closer and gently taking your hand, raising it for a light kiss to your knuckles, her gaze never leaving your face. "You look... stunning. Truly. I'm the luckiest woman in Piltover tonight." She leans in, cupping your cheek. "Forgive me," she murmurs, before kissing you deeply, full of warmth and appreciation. She pulls back, slightly breathless. "Okay. Now, as much as I hate to stop there...but, shall we?" She offers you her arm.

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The lipstick

Apparently having a neatly applied lipstick is a luxury that the warlords wife can't offered. but worry not, you can have smudged lipstick together.

You’d spent the better part of the afternoon chasing the perfect shade. Not just any crimson, but one that held a certain defiance, a boldness that mirrored something within you. Finally, after mixing and blotting and layering, there it was. You leaned back from the vanity mirror, a satisfied sigh escaping your lips as you admired your work.

The door to your shared quarters creaked open, and you glanced up in the mirror to see Ambessa. Moving with a quiet grace. She stepped in closing the door, her gaze instantly finding you.you smiled at her,acknowledging, but continued working on your make-up nonetheless...stillness settled over her, the usual sharp angles of her expression softening ever so slightly as her golden eyes remained fixed on you with an intensity.

Then, she moved, her steps measured as she closed the distance between you. She reached out, her touch surprisingly gentle as she tilted your chin up with a single, calloused finger, turning your head towards herself. Her thumb brushed lightly under your lower lip as she studied your handiwork with a critical eye, a smile showing up on her lips.

"That color..." Ambessa began, her voice a low murmur, her gaze still locked on your mouth. "...it's magnificent on you."

A playful flush warmed your cheeks. "Really? You think so?" you asked, looking up to her... a hint of pride in your voice.

A slow, almost predatory smile touched the corners of her lips. "Hmm," she mused, her golden eyes gleaming. "Let's be certain."

And then she leaned down, her kiss taking you by surprise with its sudden intensity. It was a hungry kiss, demanding and possessive, her lips molding to yours as if she were claiming a piece of you, her tongue demanding to enter,and as soon as you allowed it, she began tasting you, savouring all she could. Time seemed to melt away as the kiss deepened. It went on for a long moment, she nipped at your bottom lip before finally pulling back, leaving your lips tingling and yourself utterly breathless.

You blinked, trying to gather your scattered thoughts, kiss drunk...that's what you were. "Ambessa!" you exclaimed, lingering pleasure in your voice. That was until you saw her lips...the smudge crimson stain on them...gods she had ruin your makeup...you turned to look back into the mirror "ambessa!!" You called her name again this time with annoyance

Ambessa simply met your gaze in the mirror, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips, she put her hands on your shoulder, leaning so her stained lips could meet your ears. "Reapply it."

You sighed dramatically, picking up your brush again, carefully retracing the blurred lines. "Let me see" she said turning your face once again nodding at your clean work she leaned in once more, suddenly , her lips met yours again, a swift, decisive kiss that for sure was going to leave another mark...you whined in her mouth hitting her shoulder lightly before she pulls back with that smug expression... she was holding back her laughter...you could tell. You glared.

"Okay, fine! If you love it so much..." You stood up grabbing her arm, pulling her (she allowed it) down to sit on the chair infront of the vanity, she looked at you with amusement...her smile never fading. "Your turn. Hold still," you commanded with mock seriousness as you picked up your brush.

With exaggerated care, you began to apply the crimson lipstick to her lips. Ambessa watched you, her hands coming up to rest on your hip, her thumbs tracing a pattern, surprisingly compliant. she allowed you to do your work in silence. Her golden eyes followed your every move. When you were finally done, you stepped back, as much as her hands allowed, admiring your work.

Ambessa turned her face towards the mirror examined her reflection, looking at the newly colored lips thoughtfully, she raised her eyebrows at the shade, good enough. A slow, wicked smile spread across her face as she turned back to you, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Well," she purred, her voice laced with amusement and something deeper. "What kind of wife i am if I Don't treat us both...equally."

Before you could respond, she pulled you in,one her hand coming up to the back of your neck. She kissed you soundly, leaving yet another imprint of her crimson-stained lips on yours, ruining the perfect application, before letting go of your head, her hand on your hip tugged you close, now making you sit on her lap.

You were poker upon the sight of her ruined lipstick...narrowing your eyes at your wife.

She laughed.

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♡°•| Gears and grace |•°♡ 2

Mechanic!sevika x pastor's daughter!reader click for pt1

The day after your encounter in the church restroom felt strangely...normal! you arrived at Sevika’s garage, the big door was rolled up as usual, the familiar scent of oil and metal welcoming you. Sevika was already absorbed in wrestling with a stubborn motorcycle engine, her greeting a familiar grunt.

Something had shifted within you, though. The raw intensity in sevika's words, the foreign adrenaline that rushed through your veins in that hidden space,it hadn't just terrified you! it had emboldened you in subtle ways. You still felt the fear and the guilt... but layered over it was always that sweet sense of wanting more...of needing more, and that silenced the fear and guilt with a thrilling excitement, a thrilling excitement that nagged in your mind to be more...present, in her life! She already invaded your world and you were the kind to simply return the favour.

You watched Sevika curse under her breath as she dropped a greasy wrench, narrowly missing her foot, she was too busy with her hands, trying to stop the engine oil from dripping,so you stepped forward, picking up the wrench, and grabbing a rag from the workbench. You wiped it down with surprising meticulousness before handing it back to her.

Sevika paused upon seeing you stepping forward from your safe corner, looking from the clean wrench to your face, one eyebrow slightly raised. She took it without comment, but her eyes lingered on you for a second longer than usual.

Later, while Sevika was focused on fine-tuning the engine, you busied yourself judging the chaotic state of her main workbench...tools scattered haphazardly, empty cans shoved aside, layers of grime.before you know it your hand moved tidying a small section, arranging wrenches by size, wiping down surfaces.and soon enough You became absorbed in the simple task. Inevitably, a smear of dark grease transferred from a tool handle to the sleeve of your pale blue cotton dress. You frowned at it for a moment, a familiar pang of ingrained neatness protesting, but then… you shrugged inwardly. It felt strangely insignificant compared to the other lines you’d already crossed.

As you worked, sorting bolts into little piles, a melody surfaced unconsciously. You began humming softly, a simple hymn tune you’d known since...forever.

Upon hearing your melodic voice sevika froze, the sounds of her working ceased. You glanced up quietening, thinking she needed something. But she was just standing there, leaning against the motorcycle's frame, watching you. Her expression was unreadable, but she wasn’t annoyed. She was… in thought, her eyebrows frowning as she looked to her side, the humming it was...disturbing...disturbingly good,yeah, she could get used to that, she noded her head "continue" she murmured as she went back to work, she was letting you in so easily, that made you think it was her intention to have you there in the first place.

~၄၃‎~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°

A few days later, the motorcycle was finally humming smoothly, a deep, throaty rumble that vibrated through the concrete floor. Sevika gave the throttle a final twist, a rare glint of satisfaction in her eyes as the engine roared and settled. She cut the power, the sudden silence ringing.

She kicked down the stand and looked over at you, a calculating look entering her eyes. "Ever ridden one of these?"

You shook your head immediately. Motorcycles seemed loud, dangerous, utterly outside the realm of your quiet, predictable life.

"Want to?" The offer was casual, almost a challenge.

Your first instinct was refusal. It wasn't safe. Your parents would disapprove. It wasn't… you. But then you looked at Sevika, the confidence radiating from her, the implicit promise of something new, and new things with sevika, they never failed to make you...happy. The experiences you’d had with her, even the frightening ones, were also the most exhilarating of your life. Hesitantly, you nodded. "Okay."

Sevika smirked, clearly pleased by your agreement. She procured a spare helmet from somewhere ("Don't want the pastor blaming me if you crack your skull"), secured it under your chin,she putted on her own hamlet and her jacket then swung her leg over the bike. "Get on. Hold on tight. And don't wiggle."

Getting onto the seat behind her felt clumsy, illicit. You tentatively placed your hands on her waist. "Tighter," she commanded gruffly over her shoulder. You complied, wrapping your arms more firmly around her solid torso, feeling the muscles and the raw strength beneath the worn leather jacket, the warmth radiating from her back.

With another roar, the bike lurched forward, you pressed yourself against her with a muffledgasp against your hamlet. The garage, the street, the familiar houses blurred past in a rush of speed and wind. Fear warred with exhilaration. You squeezed your eyes shut for the first few blocks, then cautiously opened them. The world looked different from this vantage point, faster, more vibrant like how your life felt since she entered it. You held onto Sevika, like a life line.

She drove further than you expected, leaving the neat suburban streets behind, heading out onto country roads you’d never travelled. Eventually, she slowed, turning onto a rough track that led upwards. The bike bumped along until you emerged onto a scenic overlook.

Below, the town was spread out like a toy set, familiar yet distant. Beyond it, rolling hills faded into a hazy blue horizon. You’d lived your whole life down there and never known this place existed. You slid off the bike with her help, pulling off the helmet, you walked to the edge, speechless. A breathless laugh escaped you, pure, unadulterated joy bubbling up, from all the new things, feelings, and from the exiting ride.

"It's beautiful," you whispered, turning to Sevika, your eyes shining.

She hadn't taken her helmet off, watching you from beside the bike. The usual hard lines of her face seemed softer behind the visor. She wasn't looking at the view... she was looking at the unrestrained happiness illuminating your features. A strange warmth spread through her chest, unexpected and unfamiliar. It wasn't the thrill of possession or the satisfaction of control. It was simpler, quieter... a profound contentment derived purely from seeing you happy, from being the one who brought that unburdened joy to your face. She just nodded slightly in response.

~၄၃‎~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°~

The following Saturday found your church hall buzzing with activity, preparing for the annual charity bazaar. Boxes overflowed with donations, tables needed arranging, and banners needed hanging. You were darting around, trying to help everyone, feeling increasingly overwhelmed by the sheer volume of work still left. Your father was busy coordinating, your mother arranging baked goods, and volunteers were stretched thin. They needed muscle, someone strong enough to haul the heavier tables and boxes.

An idea sparked, bold and slightly terrifying but again... almost everything in your life is like that, lately. You slipped out getting on your bike, paddling towards your street.

You found her leaned against the workbench, a beer can in her hand. she looked as surprised upon seeing you there as you were for coming to her "weren't you supposed to be in your charity thing?" She asked eyes narrowed "did you sneak out to see me?" She added than with a smirk, teasingly, making you roll your eyes at her.

"are you busy?" You asked looking over her garage. the same nervousness that filled you, when you asked her to came to church, even though more subtle, filling you

"What d'you need?" She cut to the chase, finishing off her drink.

You took a deep breath. "We're setting up for the church charity bazaar. And we're really short-handed. There's a lot of heavy lifting… and I was wondering… maybe… if you could possibly help? Just for a little while?"

She paused, then a low chuckle skipped her. "Where's the shy little Pastor's kid now? Trying to recruit me for free church labor?" She said feigning shock to your audacity

"It's for charity... please? For just an hour or so..." you insisted, feeling your cheeks warm, now looking back to her face.

Another chuckle. "Fine."

You two arrived twenty minutes later,you left your bike at her garage, deciding to walk the distance since you refused to ride her motorcycle when your parents were there plus with sevika looking just as out of place in the bustling church hall as she had during the service, you drew enough curious glances for different reasons already...

Later, as things started to settle down and early attendees began to trickle in, you decided to help at a children’s craft table. Sevika leaned against a nearby pillar, arms crossed, observing. There was no more work for her and...she kinda earned the right to let her gaze linger... just for a little bit...

Anyhow, You couldn't judge people for looking too much at her, when you couldn't get your gaze off of her...her and the effortless way she started hoisting heavy tables that two other volunteers had been struggling with

She was working efficiently, silently, following your somewhat flustered directions. initially, she kept glancing at her watch making witty comments about how there's too much work and how she's going to leave you with all of them, but as the hour mark came and went, she didn’t leave. She just kept working, moving boxes, setting up stalls, her presence a solid, capable force amidst the gentle chaos that made you smile...it was so like her to be your safety net...even though most of the time she herself would provoke you to get in the water.

But as the afternoon wore on, Sevika found her gaze drawn back to you repeatedly...when you were laughing with an elderly woman buying cookies,or when you were carefully helping another child glue glitter onto a picture frame. She was feeling the same warmth in her chest that appeared when you were at the overlook, the fascination that went beyond the surface, beyond the game, beyond the simple thrill of corrupting the pastor's daughter.

And maybe that was the reason that made her stay until the very end, that and the way your eyes glow everytime you looked to see if she's still there,that damn sparkle and adorable smile made her stay long after her promised hour, helping carry the unsold items and leftover boxes back into storage without complaint.

~၄၃‎~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°~

One afternoon, you arrived to find something new standing in your usual spot near the workbench. a chair. Not a folding metal one, nor an overturned crate, but a proper, sturdy wooden chair with a surprisingly comfortable-looking padded cushion. It was simple, yet clearly chosen with some thought. You stopped, staring at it.

The rhythm of your visits to Sevika’s garage stayed the same... comfortable, if still subtly charged, routine. You continued your quiet tidying, now an accepted part of your presence there along with the occasional humming a tune, and the grease stain on your clothes (another shared thing between your two worlds) became a badge of honor you carefully washed out each evening.

Sevika glanced up from the engine she was meticulously cleaning, noting your focus. "What?" she grunted, feigning indifference like she didn't spend the whole day till now imagining your reaction

"The chair," you said softly, gesturing towards it. "You...bought me a chair?"

"Found it cheap," Sevika cut in gruffly, turning back to her work. "Sick of you perched on that damn crate like a nervous bird. Figured you could use it." She waved a dismissive hand. "Don't let it get to your head."

A warmth spread through your chest, unrelated to the garage's lingering heat. She'd thought of you. She'd gone out and bought a chair for you because now your presence in her life was as big as her presence in your life. Despite her dismissive tone, the gesture felt enormous.a wide smile touching your lips.

Sevika finally looked up, her gaze sharp. She saw the undisguised pleasure on your face, the softening in your eyes. It made the annoying warmth within her chest grow, something dangerously close to... She immediately clamped down on it, reverting to her usual defense mechanism. She strode over, backing you off towards the chair. "I bought it," she said, her voice dropping to a low growl,she pushed you down to sit on the really comfortable cushion "because it keeps you put. Gives me better… access."

Before you could process the shift, her hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you forward. Her mouth crashed down onto yours in a hard, possessive kiss that stole your breath and effectively shut down any further sentimental discussion.

~၄၃‎~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°

One rainy afternoon, while rummaging through a box of old manuals in the garage looking for something Sevika needed, you unearthed a tattered paperback novel tucked amongst the greasy diagrams. You pulled it out curiously. Sevika wasn't the tidies but she wasn't the kind to keep, trash...not in her stuff at least.

Sevika glanced over. "Huh. Forgot about that."

"You've read...a novel?" you asked.

"Started it," she admitted, a rare flicker of something almost nostalgic in her eyes. "When I was a kid. Found it somewhere. Liked it, but never finished it. It got torn and lost before I get the chance. Don't even remember the title now, or who wrote it." She shrugged, picking up a wrench. "Something about a girl who could talk to machines… And a broken compass. Stupid kid stuff."

That fragmented memory lodged itself in your mind. A story Sevika had liked, left unfinished. Nope...you couldn’t have that. you visited the town library, spent hours searching through young adult fiction archives, armed only with the vague clues: girl protagonist, talking to machines, a broken compass. You checked out a stack of books that seemed remotely plausible.

Thus began a new ritual. While Sevika worked, the sounds of clanging metal and whirring tools would be accompanied by your voice not humming a tune,but reading aloud from one of the library books. You’d sit in your comfortable chair, book propped on your lap, carefully enunciating each word.

"…and so Elara whispered to the rusty automaton, hoping it would understand," you read one afternoon.

"Nope," Sevika grunted from under the chassis of a car. "Not that one."

Another day and another book "...following the cracked needle of the peculiar compass, Lyra ventured deeper into the whispering woods..."

"Nah, wasn't woods," Sevika's muffled voice replied. "More city, I think. Keep going."

Book after book proved fruitless. After finishing a particularly dull chapter about a girl befriending sentient kitchen appliances, you sighed in frustration. This wasn't it either... closing the book with a gentle snap. "Fiddlesticks" you said angrily.

From the depths of the engine bay she was working on, Sevika let out a sudden, barking laugh... that rare, genuine sound that always made your heart skip. She slid out, approaching you, a wide grin splitting her face. "Fiddlesticks? Seriously?" She shook her head. "Oh my God. Do you kiss me with that mouth, Pastor's kid?"

You flushed, embarrassed but also happy to see her laughter. "It's a perfectly fine word!"

"For a five-year-old maybe," she chuckled, leaning in, her grin softening . "No, but seriously," she added, tapping your chin lightly with a greasy finger, "we really need to work on your dictionary." The moment was...light.

~၄၃‎~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°

The knock on your bedroom window came long after midnight, soft but insistent. You froze, heart leaping into your throat as you got up from the bed. Pulling back the curtain revealed Sevika’s silhouette against the moonlit lawn, looking up expectantly. You slid the window open quietly.

"What are you doing here?" you whispered frantically, like your parents could hear you from down the hall.

"Couldn't sleep," she replied simply, her voice low. "Felt like a ride. Coming?"

Sneaking out? The very idea sent a thrill of pure terror mixed with irresistible temptation through you. This was a line you’d never imagined crossing. But looking down at Sevika, waiting for you in the dark, the thrill won. With painstaking slowness, you crept out of your room, down the stairs, and slipped out the back door, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

The motorcycle ride was different at night. The world was hushed, bathed in silver moonlight and deep shadows. The wind felt cooler, the engine roar seemed louder in the stillness. You clung to Sevika’s back, burying your face against her leather jacket, breathing in the familiar scent of smoke and oil, feeling utterly reckless and surprisingly safe all at once.

She took you back to the overlook, the town lights twinkling below like fallen stars. You sat on a large, flat rock near the edge, the silence broken only by the chirping of crickets. Sevika produced a can of beer from her jacket pocket, popping the top with a soft hiss.

"What if my parents wake up?" you fretted, hugging your knees to your chest.

"They won't," Sevika said, taking a long sip.

"What if I pass out from… from the excitement or something?" you whispered, the anxieties tumbling out.

She lowered the can, "you won't ." The flat certainty in her voice was oddly comforting.

"What if… what if someone dangerous comes up here?"

Sevika turned, setting the beer can down. She leaned in, silencing your worries with a kiss. It wasn't hard or demanding this time, but slow, deliberate, almost gentle. It tasted faintly of beer and the cool night air. When she pulled back, her eyes searched yours in the darkness. "Than I kick their ass" she stated softly, definitively. And somehow, pressed close to her side under the vast, starry sky, you believed her.

Pt3 people? {•~•}

Tags: @megamultifandomtrashposts . @zthebean27

[bbybhr]

♡°•|Gears and grace|•°♡

Mechanic!sevika x pastor's daughter! reader

The arrival of the new neighbor wasn't subtle to say the least. The rumble of a heavy moving truck disturbed the usual quiet of the street, followed by the sharp clang of metal ramps hitting asphalt and the gruff shouts of movers. You were standing on the porch, two houses down, watching with quiet curiosity. Your mother, watering the flowers, tutted softly. "Bit of a commotion, wouldn't you say?" You hummed.

Then she emerged from the cab of the truck. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair pulled back severely. Even from this distance, the glint of metal replacing her left arm was unmistakable, catching the morning sun. A thick cigarillo was clamped between her lips, smoke curling lazily upwards as she gestured emphatically at the movers, her voice a low, authoritative rumble that carried easily down the street. Dark ink snaked visibly up her exposed right arm, disappearing under the sleeve of her tank top. She hefted a heavy box herself, biceps straining, moving with a brusque efficiency.

Your mother clicked her tongue again. "Well, everyone needs a place to live, I suppose. Bless her." There was a tightness in her voice, a familiar blend of piety and judgment that made you frown a little.

Later that afternoon, after the worst of the noise had subsided, your mother placed a foil-covered dish on the kitchen table. Perfectly baked blueberry muffins, still warm. "dear, be a good neighbor and take these over to... to the new arrival. A welcome gesture." Her eyes held a warning. Be polite. Be proper. Don't stare.

Clutching the warm dish, you walked the short distance, quietly. The house looked much the same, but the open garage was a stark contrast to the manicured lawns surrounding it. Tools lay scattered across a workbench, engine parts were piled in organized chaos,some boxes were still sealed on the ground and the air smelled faintly of oil and metal.

And there she was, wiping grease from her mechanical hand with a rag. Up close, she was even more imposing. The tattoos were intricate, dark patterns against her tanned skin. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, flickered over you as you approached the edge of the driveway. You felt suddenly very small, very... plain.

"Um, hello," you managed, holding out the dish as if shielding yourself infront of her gaze that seemed to capture everything. "My mother... we live down the street. She baked these. As a welcome." Your voice sounded breathy, unsure. You never had problem talking with strangers, you loved it in fact!but somehow your new neighbors had an...effect!

She paused, her gaze lingering for a second longer than necessary, taking in your attire. It wasn't unkind, exactly, but it was intense, appraising. She took the dish, her organic fingers brushing yours briefly. A strange jolt went through you at the contact that she didn't miss...she was seasoned woman she knew she had this kind of...effect, but you didn't seem to be one of those girls who would get effected, Not by her,not with the modesty that clinged to your style and every move even in your nervous state! well, don't judge a book by it's cover.

"Right. Thanks," she muttered, her voice rough, smoke-tinged. She didn't smile, didn't offer small talk. She just nodded curtly, turning back to the boxes, the muffins seemingly forgotten on the workbench.

You retreated, feeling oddly breathless, your cheeks warm which made your brows frown in confusion. She was unlike anyone you'd ever met. Rough, intimidating, undeniably powerful in a way that was both frightening and utterly captivating. Maybe that was the subject of your...nervousness.

That first encounter set a pattern. Drawn by an invisible pull you didn't understand, you found your way to her garage at least once a day. A pitcher of lemonade on a sweltering afternoon ("Mom made too much"). A plate of cookies ("Church bake sale leftovers"). the chain on your old bicycle conveniently slipped just as you were riding past her house. (You certainly didn't have a part in it). Soon enough because of your bike brave sacrifices you learned way more than just her name...

Your bike was a good excuse everytime that you didn't brought something over. Sevika would look up from welding something, visor flipped up, eyes narrowed behind protective goggles. You would explain the problem, feeling foolish but determined. Without much comment, she'd gestur for the bike, fixing it in minutes with deft, efficient movements of both her hands. You’d thank her profusely. She’d just grunt.

Through all these visits, You sat quietly on an overturned crate just inside the garage beside the work bench, observing her work. The focused intensity, the sure way she handled tools, the mesmerizing blend of human flesh and complex machinery in her arm. You noticed the details ... the way her muscles flexed, the calluses on her human hand, the occasional frustrated sigh when a part wouldn't cooperate. You learned to read the subtle shifts in her expression, even though she rarely spoke directly to you.

Sevika, for her part, noticed you too.picking up a fact or two about your family, your demeanor, and your preferences whenever your quiet voice filled the garage. She registered your quiet presence, the way you never seemed to fidget, your hands always neatly folded in your lap, a calmness that was unlikely in her world. She noted the modest, proper clothes,your shiny Mary Jane that never seemed to get dirty, your way of doing your hair that looked effortlessly neat, again, so different from anything in her own world. And beside this things she absolutely noticed the unwavering admiration in your eyes. It was plain, undisguised, and it stroked a part of her pride she hadn't realized was listening. The pastor's daughter, all innocence and propriety, looking at her like that.

When she found herself thinking about that quiet admiration that seemed to drop from your eyes whenever they layed on her,thinking about what might be in your mind, she wanted to laugh.It was absurd. Hilarious, even. Her and the preacher's kid? Two worlds separated by an unbridgeable chasm. Oil and holy water. Grit and grace. Impossible. Impossible?

And perhaps that was the crux of it. Sevika didn't do impossible. The very notion grated against her core. If something, or someone, seemed unattainable, it wasn’t a barrier! Oh no! it was a challenge. A puzzle to be solved, a situation to be controlled, dominated. The quiet admiration was flattering, yes, but the impossibility… that was intriguing. That sparked something deliberate within her. She would prove herself wrong. Or rather, prove the situation wrong.

One Saturday afternoon, the air thick with the smell of gasoline and summer heat, you were watching her wrestle with the stubborn engine of an old sedan. You sat in your usual spot, lost in the rhythm of her work.

Suddenly, her voice cut through the clatter of tools. Calling you.

You blinked, startled. She rarely addressed you so directly. She’d slid out from under the car, wiping grease on her jeans. Her mechanical hand rested on her hip.

"Yeah?" you squeaked.

"You just gonna sit there gawking all day?" Her tone was gruff, but lacked its usual edge. "Might as well learn something useful. Hand me that 10-mil wrench. No, the socket wrench."

Hesitantly, you stood up, your legs feeling stiff. As you stand up turning towards the workbench, she described the tool. You found the it on the cluttered workbench and walked cautiously towards her. Both of your figure now hidden behind the car from the street. The space felt charged, smaller than usual.

"Here," you offered it.

Instead of just taking it, Sevika reached out, her human hand closing over yours as you held the tool. Her skin was rough, calloused, grease ingrained in the lines, yet surprisingly warm. her thumb brushing against your knuckles as she talked. "Now, look here."

She guided your hand towards the engine block, pointing out a specific bolt. You were acutely aware of her closeness, the scent of metal and something uniquely her... smoke, maybe leather? Your breath hitched. Your mind, usually so ordered, felt scattered, unable to reconcile the strict teachings of your upbringing with the thrilling, terrifying proximity of this woman. Guilt pricked at you for reading too much into it, a familiar sting, but it was drowned out by a confusing wave of… excitement? Fascination?

Sevika demonstrated how to fit the wrench, her instructions low and steady, but her eyes weren't entirely on the engine. They flickered to your face, noting the flush on your cheeks, the slight tremble in your hand beneath hers, the wide, confused gaze you directed at her. The control she felt in that moment was intoxicating.

"You gotta... apply steady pressure," she murmured, her mechanical fingers brushing against your arm as she adjusted your stance slightly. The contact, metal against the soft fabric of your sleeve, sent a shiver down your spine. Time seemed to slow. The sounds of the neighborhood faded, replaced by the hammering of your own heart.

You looked up, needing to understand the shift, the sudden intensity crackling in the air. Your eyes met hers. Sevika's gaze was dark, unreadable, yet held a spark of something possessive, challenging. The air thickened, heavy with unspoken tension. Confusion warred with a strange, burgeoning awareness within you.

In that stretched moment, with your hand still held loosely in hers over the cold metal of the wrench, Sevika leaned down. There was no hesitation, no warning. Just a deliberate, decisive movement. Her lips met yours.

It wasn't gentle or tentative. It was firm, demanding, tasting faintly of smoke and something else entirely foreign that made your knees weak and your grip loose over the tool. The kiss was a claim, a spark igniting in the forbidden space between your two worlds, and your mind went utterly blank, consumed by the shocking, impossible reality of Sevika kissing you. Her lips moved ever the slightest on yours, it wasn't like her to kiss like that! But she knew it wasn't like you to have any experience in that filled...she was taking it slow, for your sake.

The kiss broke as deliberately as it had begun. Sevika pulled back, not far, just enough to observe you. For you, the world felt tilted off its axis. Your lips tingled, hypersensitive, the taste of her cigarillo that she smoked hour ago now was on your lips. Your lungs burned from lack of air you hadn't realized you weren't taking, and heat bloomed across your face, a tell-tale blush you desperately wished you could control. It had been… overwhelming. A clumsy, shocking collision on your part, met with a practiced, undeniable expertise on hers. You hadn't known how to respond, simply frozen under the sudden, firm pressure of her mouth.

Sevika, in stark contrast, looked entirely steady. Her breathing was even, her stance relaxed, mechanical hand leaving your arm and now resting once more on her hip. One dark eyebrow arched slightly, and a ghost of amusement flickered in her assessing eyes as she took in your disheveled state looking down on you face with the wide, stunned eyes, the slightly parted lips, the ragged catch in your breath. She saw the shock of a first kiss etched plainly across your features. Hooked, a low, satisfied voice murmured in the back of her mind.

"Well, " she murmured, her voice a low rumble that vibrated through the charged air between you. "Someone looks like they just got kissed for the very first time." She said feigning shocked.

Her words were a teasing prod, hitting the nail squarely on the head. Heat flared brighter on your cheeks. It was your first kiss, a monumental, terrifying, exhilarating first. But admitting that? Showing her just how profoundly she'd rocked your carefully ordered world? No. Some instinct, buried deep beneath the panic and the strange, fluttering excitement, urged you to mirror her coolness, to pretend this wasn't the earth-shattering event it felt like. You swallowed hard, trying to regain some semblance of composure, acutely aware that only the bulk of the sedan shielded this moment from any curious neighborhood eyes. If she wasn't standing right there, pinning you with that knowing gaze, you might have actually screamed, or maybe jumped up and down from the sheer, terrifying novelty of it all.

"Don't know what you're talking about," you managed, the words sounding thin even to your own ears. You avoided her gaze, focusing instead on a grease stain on the concrete floor.

Sevika merely smirked, a slow, confident expression that said she knew exactly what she was talking about, and knew that you knew it too. She didn't push it further then, just turned back to the engine with a grunt, leaving you reeling in the sudden silence, the ghost of her kiss burning on your lips.

Days bled into weeks. The garage, once just a place of curious observation, became a space charged with a different kind of tension. The dynamic shifted, subtly but irrevocably. Sevika began to punctuate the greasy silence not just with the clang of tools, but with kisses. They were unpredictable, never announced. Sometimes, while you were handing her a wrench, her hand would linger on yours, fingers brushing deliberately against your skin before she leaned in for a brief, firm press of lips. Other times, she might corner you against the workbench, the kiss deeper, more demanding, leaving you breathless and shaken.

She was terrifyingly good at reading you. Sevika seemed to possess an innate understanding of just how far she could push before genuine panic set in, before the ingrained guilt and fear instilled by your upbringing threatened to overwhelm the burgeoning, addictive thrill of her attention. She learned the subtle tells ...the hitch in your breath that signaled anticipation, the slight widening of your eyes when she crossed a boundary, the way you’d unconsciously lean into her touch despite your obvious nervousness. She played this knowledge expertly, doling out affection and intimacy with calculated precision, always keeping you slightly off-balance, always wanting more.

She knew exactly what she was doing, the practiced ease of her touches, the confidence in her kisses, designed to unravel you. A part of her, the arrogant, prideful part, relished the idea of someone seeing the pastor's pious daughter, willingly entangled with someone like her. It would be a delicious scandal, a testament to her power of influence. But she also recognized the brittle fear beneath your fascination. Pushing you into the public eye too soon would likely shatter the delicate connection she was forging, send you scurrying back to the safety of your prescribed world. So, for now, she granted you the privacy of the garage, the shared secret intensifying the illicit thrill for both of you.

Today felt different. An edgy anticipation hummed beneath your skin. You hadn't seen Sevika yesterday, a planned church event keeping you occupied, and the day before that, she'd been engrossed in a complex wiring job, offering no more than curt instructions and ignoring your hopeful glances. The absence of contact, after the growing pattern of unpredictable intimacy, left an annoying ache, a restlessness you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You were leaning against the workbench, watching her meticulously clean a carburetor part. She moved with that same focused intensity, her mechanical fingers surprisingly dexterous with the small components. The late afternoon sun slanted through the open garage door, casting long shadows. You traced a pattern on the dusty bench with your finger, trying to appear nonchalant.

Sevika straightened up, wiping her hands on a rag. She needed something from the higher shelves behind you. She moved towards you, her proximity instantly setting your nerves on high alert. Your breath caught. Is she…? She leaned in close, the familiar scent of oil, metal, and smoke filling your senses. Her face was inches from yours; you could see the faint lines around her eyes, the dark intensity of her gaze as she reached past you for a can of cleaner on the shelf.

Your heart, which had leaped into your throat, plummeted with disappointment. She pulled back, turning away without a word, without even a glance.

An involuntary sound, a small huff of frustration, escaped your lips before you could stop it.

Sevika paused, halfway back to her task. She turned slowly, that knowing, slightly cruel smirk playing on her lips again. "Something bothering you, Pastor's kid?"

You flushed, caught out. "No. Nothing."

"Really?" She took a step closer, invading your space again, her presence magnetic and intimidating. "Sounded like you were expecting something." Her eyes glittered with challenge. "If you want something," she said, her voice dropping lower, rougher, "you need to learn to ask for it."

The implication hung heavy in the air. Ask for it? Ask her? For a kiss? The very idea sent a wave of heat crawling up your neck. Your strict upbringing, the ingrained modesty, the sheer audacity of voicing such a desire warred with the memory of her touch, the addictive thrill of her attention, the frustrating ache of wanting it now. Embarrassment tightened your throat, but her challenging stare, the sheer force of her personality, pushed you.

"I... I just..." The words tangled on your tongue, thick with mortification. You couldn't look at her. "Maybe... could you...?"

Before the full, humiliating request could stumble past your lips, Sevika moved. Her human hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up forcefully. Her mouth crashed down onto yours, harder than before, a kiss that wasn't teasing but staking a claim, punishing your hesitation and rewarding your tentative compliance all at once. It stole the air from your lungs, demanding a response you were barely capable of giving, lost in the sudden onslaught. You would plead more often if this is the reward you'll be getting.

But then, just as you felt yourself start to sway, the kiss shifted. Her lips left yours, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline, down the sensitive column of your throat. You gasped, your head instinctively tilting back, granting her access. It was uncharted territory, a shocking escalation that sent shivers racing across your skin. She paused there, her breath warm against your pulse point, her eyes, dark and intense, searching yours. It wasn't a question asked in words, but the query was unmistakable: May I?

Every warning bell from your past screamed 'no,' screamed 'danger,' screamed 'sin.' But the feeling of her lips against your skin, the possessive grip on your jaw, the raw, predatory focus in her eyes… it silenced everything else. You couldn't speak, couldn't think, could only feel the frantic beat of your heart against her proximity. You didn't pull away. Your eyes fluttered shut.

That was answer enough.

Sevika smirked against your skin before her mouth closed firmly over the juncture where your neck met your shoulder. You jolted at the sharp, sucking pressure, a sound somewhere between a gasp and a whimper escaping you. It didn't exactly hurt, but it was intense, startling, possessive. She lingered for a moment before pulling back slightly, her thumb brushing over the spot.

She surveyed her handiwork, a dark, blooming mark against your skin, a visible sign of her claim. A low sound of satisfaction rumbled in her chest. She leaned close to your ear, her voice a rough whisper that sent another wave of shivers through you.

"That's right," she murmured, the words a praise for you bravery of coming out of your comfort zone. "Good girl. Now you will know who you belong to everytime you look into the mirror."

Weeks passed, sevika ever the presistor never let the mark leave your neck, you had to constantly choose clothing with high collar but the smile on your lips screamed "worth it". Dinners at your parents’ house was usually a quiet affair, governed by polite conversation and the rhythmic clinking of silverware. Tonight, though quiet, felt different inside you. A secret warmth curled in your stomach, a buoyancy that made it hard to keep the corners of your lips from twitching upwards. You kept your eyes mostly on your plate, the high, stiff collar of your blouse feeling both protective and suffocating against the sensitive skin of your neck. The dark marks hidden beneath were a constant, thrilling reminder of Sevika, a secret language only the two of you shared.

"Mrs. Gable mentioned seeing you chatting with our new neighbor quite often, " your mother commented casually, placing a serving spoon back in the mashed potatoes "Sevika, wasn’t it?"

The sudden mention of her name made you inhale sharply, a piece of roast potato lodging itself in your throat. You coughed, eyes watering, as a strangled gasp escaped you. Your father immediately passed you the water glass, patting your back gently.

"Goodness, dear, careful," your mother fussed, though her expression held only mild concern, misinterpreting your reaction as simple surprise. "I was just saying, it’s nice you’re being so welcoming. Perhaps," she continued, turning a thoughtful look on you, "you could invite her to service this Sunday? It would be a kind gesture. Show her some community spirit."

Your father nodded approvingly. "That’s a fine idea," he said to your mother than after a pause he turned back to you "I’m really proud of you, dear, for looking past appearances and extending friendship. That’s true Christian spirit."

Guilt twisted sharply in your gut, mingling uncomfortably with the secret thrill. Spirit? Friendship? If they only knew. The image of Sevika’s lips against your neck, the possessive heat in her eyes, flashed in your mind. "Oh. Um, yes. Maybe I could," you mumbled, agreeing weakly. The thought of Sevika, Sevika with her utter lack of reverence for anything, stepping foot inside your father’s church was terrifying.

The next afternoon, back in the familiar territory of the garage, the anxiety from last night returned tenfold. You perched on your usual crate, watching Sevika work, but your usual quiet observation was replaced by a nervous fidgeting you couldn’t control something so out of ordinary for you. Your mind was occupied, What if she laughed in your face? What if she said no and thought you were trying to force your beliefs on her? Worse, what if she said no, and your parents took it as a sign she wasn’t receptive to ‘friendship’ and curtailed your visits?

Sevika, predictably, noticed immediately. She put down the wrench she was cleaning, her sharp eyes narrowing on your tense posture. She wiped her hands on a rag and walked over, stopping far too close, that familiar invasion of your personal space that still made your heart hammer. Her human hand came up, calloused thumb brushing softly against your cheekbone, a gesture that had become unnervingly familiar, a prelude to intimacy.

"Alright, Pastor’s kid," she said, her voice low. "Spit it out. You’ve been wound tighter than a spring nut since you got here.”"

Her closeness, the casual intimacy of her touch, momentarily scattered your thoughts. You took a shaky breath. "My parents… they, uh… they want me to invite you to church. On Sunday." The words tumbled out in a rush, braced for refusal or mockery.

Sevika’s expression didn’t change much, perhaps a flicker of surprise deep in her eyes, quickly masked. Church? Her? The idea was ludicrous. She hadn’t stepped inside one since… well, she couldn’t even remember. Honestly, she couldn’t care less about stained glass and sermons. But then she looked at you, properly looked. Saw the genuine anxiety knotting your brow, the way you chewed on your lower lip, the plea in your wide eyes. Seeing you this worked up, this vulnerable… fuck it. How bad could one boring hour be? Besides, the image of walking into his domain, the pastor’s holy ground, with his daughter marked and claimed by her… the sheer audacity appealed to her confrontational nature. But it wouldn’t be Sevika if she didn’t make you work for it, just a little.

She pulled her hand back, folding her arms, leaning against the workbench with feigned contemplation. “Hmmm, church,” she drawled, tapping her mechanical finger against her bicep. "Don’t know. Not really my kind of place, you know? Lotta judgment, usually."

"No, it’s not like that!" you rushed to assure her, desperation making your voice high-pitched. "Everyone’s really nice, and Dad’s sermons are… well, they’re good! Please, Sevika? It would make my parents happy..." and I don't know what will happen if you decide not to you though to yourself.

Sevika watched your earnest pleading, a slow smirk building. She already knew she was going, but the game was too enjoyable you were too adorable to resist like this. She pushed off the workbench, to lean in close again. Her eyes dropped pointedly to the high collar of your shirt. Before you could react, her fingers deftly hooked under the fabric, pulling it aside just enough to reveal the fading, but still visible, mark she’d left days before. Her head dipped, and her lips attached themselves firmly to the spot, a deliberate, possessive reclaiming. You gasped, hands automatically coming up to grip her forearms, clinging as the familiar heat and pressure sent tremors through you. She lingered, tasting her claim, reinforcing her ownership right there in the greasy light of the garage.

She lifted her head, eyes dark and intense. The smirk was gone, replaced by smoldering satisfaction. "Okay," she said, her voice rough. "I’ll go." She released your collar, letting it snap back into place, hiding the freshly renewed evidence. Her gaze held yours. "But you owe me one, Pastor’s kid. Big time. One day, I’m gonna ask you to do something for me, and you’re gonna do it. No questions asked. Got it?"

Staring into those commanding eyes, feeling the phantom heat of her mouth on your skin, you didn’t really know what else you could possibly give her, what favor she could possibly want that she hadn’t already begun to take. But trapped in the force of her will, you could only nod dumbly. "Got it."

Sunday morning arrived with a nervous flutter in your stomach. You stood near the entrance of the church with your parents, greeting familiar faces, your eyes constantly darting towards the heavy wooden doors. And then, she arrived.

Sevika stood framed in the doorway, a stark contrast to the pastel dresses and neat suits surrounding her. She wore dark jeans, sturdy boots, and a plain, dark button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal both her mechanical arm and the intricate tattoos snaking up her human one. She looked… out of place, yes, but also undeniably powerful, her usual intimidating aura somehow amplified in this setting of quiet reverence.

Your father, ever the gracious host, stepped forward immediately, hand outstretched. "Sevika! Welcome, welcome! We’re so pleased you could join us."

Sevika took his hand, her grip firm. "Pastor," she acknowledged, her voice neutral. Her eyes, however, immediately found yours across the small space. And they widened, just slightly.

You wore a simple white dress, knee-length, with short sleeves and a modest neckline it was your typical Sunday attire but sevika had never seen it. seeing you like this, bathed in the soft light filtering through the stained-glass windows, your hair neatly done, a gentle, almost shy smile gracing your lips as you met her gaze… Sevika felt an unexpected jolt. You always looked neat, proper. But today, surrounded by the trappings of your faith, you looked… breathtaking. Ethereal. An innocence so potent it was almost provocative. That kind smile, directed at her… damn it all, she wanted to drag you out of here right now, push you against the ancient stone walls and kiss you senseless, wipe that serene look right off your face and replace it with the dazed flush she was becoming addicted to.

The service began, and you found yourselves sitting side-by-side in a wooden pew. You felt Sevika’s restlessness beside you, the slight shifting, the way her mechanical fingers tapped silently on her knee. You assumed it was discomfort the unfamiliar hymns, the prayers, the sheer foreignness of the environment for someone like her. You risked a small glance; she wasn’t looking at the altar or your father in the pulpit. She was looking at you. Specifically, at the way your hands were clasped loosely in your lap as you bowed your head in prayer, your expression earnest and focused. Adorable. Utterly, maddeningly adorable.

Leaning closer during a moment swallowed by the organ’s swell, Sevika’s lips brushed your ear. Her warm breath sent shivers down your spine despite the sacred surroundings. "Where's the Restroom?" she whispered, her voice a low, rough command against the delicate shell of your ear. "End of the hall." You whispered back gesturing with a tilt of your head to the direction. "Great, yo have five minutes to come after I go" she voiced in a stern tune that didn't allow any argument.

You jolted, turning wide eyes to her. Now? Here?

Sevika merely raised a knowing eyebrow, a silent reminder of the debt you owed. Pride flared in her chest ... cashing in the favor so soon, so brazenly, right under the nose of the Pastor himself. She gave your knee a quick, firm squeeze under the cover of the pew, then stood smoothly and slipped out into the side aisle, heading towards the back.

Your heart hammered against your ribs. This was insane. Sacrilegious. But the memory of her kiss, the weight of her promise, and the undeniable pull she exerted overrode everything else. After what felt like an eternity, but was probably only two agonizing minutes, you mumbled an excuse about needing water to your mother and slid out of the pew, legs trembling as you followed Sevika’s path.

The restroom was small, utilitarian, smelling faintly of bleach and old plumbing. Empty. The lock clicked shut behind you, loud in the sudden silence. Before you could even take a breath, Sevika had you backed against the cool tile wall, her mouth descending on yours in a hungry, almost frantic kiss. It was all pent-up frustration from the service, the forced restraint, the maddening sight of you looking so pure and untouchable.

Her hands were immediately busy, fingers fumbling with the small pearl buttons at the neck of your white dress. One, two, three gave way, exposing the smooth skin of your collarbone and the tops of the marks she’d already left. Her lips abandoned yours, attaching themselves to your neck with bruising intensity, licking, sucking, biting lightly, drawing a choked gasp from you.

"So damn beautiful," she muttered against your skin, praising the way you trembled under her assault. Her hands roamed, sliding over the fabric of your dress, mapping the curve of your waist, the swell of your hip, then drifting higher to cup your breast through the material. She was trying to maintain some semblance of control, trying to just "put out the fire," as she’d thought of it, but touching you, marking you here, in this forbidden place, was intoxicating.

Her mouth moved lower, leaving a trail of fire across your collarbone, then lower still, finding the delicate skin just above the swell of your breast, hidden by the loosened dress. She nipped gently, then soothed the spot with her tongue, leaving another dark bloom against your skin.

She pulled back abruptly, breathing hard, her eyes blazing with a barely contained inferno. Her mechanical hand cupped your cheek, tilting your face up to hers. You looked dazed, lips swollen, eyes wide and dark, the picture of illicit surrender.

"You’re making me crazy, Pastor’s kid," she growled, her voice thick with desire. "Making me want things I shouldn’t, especially not here." She leaned her forehead against yours for a second, trying to regain control. "God help you when I finally stop holding back."

And with that lingering threat, that promise of future intensity hanging heavy in the small, sterile room, she released you, leaving you trembling against the wall, marked and claimed within the very heart of your father’s church.

An: do we want pt2? (•-•)