lonerslug

[lonerslug]

Oh. My.

it starts like it always does—with that look.

sevika’s sitting at the edge of the bed, legs spread like she owns the fucking place. like she owns you. her mechanical arm rests across her thigh, the other hand lazily bringing a cigar to her lips, smoke curling around her. the grin tugging at the corner of her mouth ruins the whole act though; like she’s trying not to enjoy herself too much, but failing miserably.

“needy tonight, huh?” her voice is low, rough, that perpetual rasp scraping over every word. she exhales smoke through her nose, eyes cutting down to you: already half-naked, flushed, squirming. “whined all goddamn morning, now you think you get whatever you want?”

you swallow hard, thighs pressed together. “please, sev,” you murmur, breath hitching as your hand trails down your stomach. “need you.”

she clicks her tongue, shaking her head slow, like she’s disappointed but so amused.

“nah,” she mutters, voice thick with smoke and something darker. “you need you right now.”

you shudder because you know this game. you love this game.

“touch yourself,” she orders, cigar bobbing between her fingers. “show me how bad you want it.”

her tone leaves no room for arguing, not that you would. your pulse kicks up, every nerve alight under the weight of her stare. you reach between your legs, fingers already slick, and rub slow circles over your clit, the kind of pace you know drives her wild.

the first moan spills out and sevika shifts. straightens up, elbows on her knees, that grin sharpening. pupils dark and blown like she’s tasting the sound.

“good girl,” she praises, voice lower, more gravel than silk now. she taps ash off the cigar, then her metal hand comes down; gripping your thigh, heavy and cool. not where you want her, but grounding. possessive. like a reminder of who you’re doing this for.

“look at that,” she hums. “so fuckin’ wet already. thinkin’ about me all day, weren’t you?”

you nod frantically, eyes fluttering. your pace quickens, thighs starting to shake, stomach tightening.

“say it,” she snaps, voice firm, eyes cutting into you. “say who you’re thinking about.”

“you,” you gasp. “only you.”

she chuckles, deep and dark, the kind that coils low in your belly. “damn right.”

you’re close. it’s embarrassingly fast, but you can’t help it, not with her watching like that. your hips buck into your hand, breath coming in shallow, and she sees it. she knows.

her grip on your thigh tightens: hard, bruising.

“eyes on me, baby,” she growls, smoke curling out from between her teeth. “wanna see your pretty face when you cum.”

and that’s it. the knot snaps, your body going taut as pleasure crashes down, white-hot and dizzying. you moan her name, voice breaking, tears prickling your lashes from how fucking hard it hits.

she watches it all, like she’s memorizing every twitch, every sound. greedy. worshipful in the way only she could be.

when your body slumps, chest heaving, sevika grins. she stubs the cigar out with a click of her metal fingers before crawling up the bed, slow and heavy. her mouth brushes your thigh first, then your stomach, then your still-shaking hand, kissing each like she’s claiming them.

then she’s hovering over you, breath warm, her grin all teeth and promise.

“that was cute,” she mutters against your lips, voice dripping with cocky satisfaction. “real cute.”

her hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

“but now it’s my fuckin’ turn.”

and you know—you just know—you’re not walking straight after this.

ib: grotesquevi

DO NOT STEAL, COPY, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK. ©PRIMAVIVA.

[lonerslug]

Say Please

You met Lady Medarda once, in passing, when your mentor brought you to Piltover for your first diplomatic conference.

You were barely out of school. Polished shoes, a trembling handshake. You didn’t even understand what the meeting was about. Just a shadow sitting two seats away, just a presence.

Until she looked at you.

No, through you.

And when she spoke? You felt it like thunder under your skin. Like your body recognised something ancient in hers. Something you had no business craving.

Months later

You’re working late. You’ve been posted to Navori as part of a diplomatic liaison. Mostly you fetch coffee and try not to embarrass yourself in front of people whose rings cost more than your entire education.

That night, it’s just you in the empty conference wing. You’re carrying too many papers, shoulders tight, lip caught between your teeth,

“You shouldn’t walk alone at night.”

You jolt. Almost dropped everything. But then you turn and freeze.

She’s leaning in the doorway, dressed in regal black with gold trim, her arms folded over her chest. Bigger than you remembered. Broader. The kind of tall that makes you feel like a child. her eyes don’t leave yours.

“You remember me,” she says.

You try to speak. It comes out weak. “Lady — Lady Medarda!”

She pushes off the doorframe and walks toward you, slow and deliberate, like a lioness with no need to rush.

“I remember you too,” she murmurs, circling you slightly. “You blushed every time I said your name. So sweet. So afraid.”

“I wasn’t…”

You cut yourself off. You’re blushing now.

Her smile turns dangerous. “Still sensitive, I see.”

Later that week

She corners you again. Alone, late, behind closed doors. Always controlled. Always careful.

But she touches you with intent.

A hand on your back. Her voice brushing your ear:

“You really shouldn’t be left unattended. Someone might ruin you.”

And you? You just melt. You stammer. You shake. You almost forget your name.

—

She waits.

She waits until you’re the one who cracks.

You’re flustered, trembling, unable to breathe unless she’s in the room. And one night, with her thigh between your legs and your head tipped back on the silk of her bedspread, she cups your face and whispers:

“You want me to take care of you, don’t you, little thing?”

You nod. You whimper. Your body gives her every answer. And then she’s kissing down your neck, unbuttoning your blouse like it offends her, her hands dwarfing your trembling form. You’re panting before she even lays you down. Practically crying once her fingers stroke between your thighs.

“Oh, poor thing,” she croons. “You’re so wet already. All this for me?”

You squirm, nodding helplessly, thighs twitching.

“Sensitive and obedient,” she laughs softly. “You’re going to be perfect for me.”

Then her fingers slide in, two at once, thick and stretching. and you cry out, back arching. Her other hand pins you by the hip, smirking as you flail.

“You like that?” she purrs, watching your eyes roll back. “You’re so small. You can barely take me.”

You’re gasping, clinging to her wrist like it’s the only thing keeping you alive. And when you try to cum too fast, hips stuttering, she slows down just enough to make you whine.

“Not yet,” she warns. “Good girls wait.”

You sob. You nod.

She kisses your temple, slow and soft. “That’s it. You’ll learn, sweet one. I’ll teach you everything.”

She drags you across her lap, bare thighs to leather, mouth still wet from kissing the soul out of you. You’re shaking. You’re flushed. Her thighs are massive, spread wide, and she’s got you straddling one, your pathetic little self, flushed and whimpering.

“Keep grinding for me,” she says, lazily sipping wine with one hand, the other heavy on your waist. “Don’t stop until I say.”

You’re dripping on her thigh, making a mess, and she’s just watching you, eyes half-lidded, mouth twitching as you try to hold back your noises.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she coos. “You’re not very good at being quiet, are you?”

You whimper, head falling forward, cheeks burning.

She shifts, flexes her thigh beneath you, and you cry out like it hurt.

“That’s it,” she breathes, finally setting her glass down. “So needy. So easy. You were made for this, weren’t you? For me.”

You nod desperately. You’re so far gone. Then she’s tilting your chin up and kissing you filthy. Tongue in your mouth, teeth tugging at your bottom lip.

And then,

“Off,” she says, lifting you like you weigh nothing. “Lie down. Spread your legs for me, sweet thing.”

You’re shaking as you do, thighs slick and twitching, still throbbing from riding her. She kneels between them, massive and divine, and leans in with a low growl.

“I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” she says, dragging her tongue from your knee all the way up your thigh. “You’ve got the softest little cunt I’ve ever seen.”

You moan, covering your face. Her hands yank them away.

“No hiding,” she warns. “I want to see you fall apart.”

And then her tongue is on you. Hot and slow, then faster, then deeper, her lips wrapped around your clit, sucking you like she’s starved. You’re already so worked up you start shaking immediately.

“Oh f-fuck Ambessa, please!”

“Good girl,” she mumbles against you. “Sound sooo pretty when you beg.”

She holds you open with both hands, huge, scarred, overwhelming, and devours you like you’re dessert. She doesn’t let up. She doesn’t stop.

You cum too fast.

Once, then twice.

And you think she’s going to give you a break…but she doesn’t.

She slides two fingers inside you, thick and slow, as her mouth stays locked on your clit. You’re writhing, thighs trembling, sobbing.

“Can’t, can’t Ambessa!”

“You can.” Her voice is dark velvet. “You will. You’re mine now.”

You cum again. Harder. Messier. She holds you through it. Watches you fall apart with a quiet, pleased smirk.

And when you go limp, when you twitch from the overstimulation and try to roll away, she grabs your thighs and pulls you right back down.

“Oh no,” she purrs. “We’re not finished yet, baby.”

She reaches for the drawer. Pulls out the harness. Thick, black, sleek. The strap-on is intimidating, even with your legs spread and your pussy already throbbing.

You blink fast, already tearing up.

“Oh?” Ambessa tilts her head, smug. “Scared of a toy, baby?”

You shake your head, lip wobbling, but it’s obvious. You’re blushing, squirming, slick dripping down your thighs.

She chuckles, deep and warm, and finishes buckling it on like she’s done it a hundred times. The sight of it jutting from her hips, huge and heavy, makes your thighs instinctively try to close.

“Don’t even think about it,” she warns, grabbing your knees and spreading them wide again. “I haven’t even started and you’re already crying?”

“You wanted this, remember? Asked me to fuck you, begged me to ruin you.”

You’re sniffling now, nodding with glassy eyes.

“Then be a good girl,” she breathes, lining it up, dragging the tip through your soaked folds.

“And take it.”

She pushes in slow. Just the tip.

You choke on a moan, hand shooting to her forearm like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

“Shhh,” she soothes, though her smirk never fades. “There you go. So tight, little one. Can barely fit me, huh?”

You’re so full already. And she’s not even halfway in.

She watches every twitch of your body, studies your gasps, your hiccupping whines, the tears slipping down your temples.

“Look at you,” she croons. “You gonna cry already, baby?”

You nod again, lip quivering. She leans in close, her hand cupping your face.

“That’s okay,” she whispers. “I like crybabies.”

And then, she sinks in fully.

You scream. A broken, hiccupping sound that dies against her throat when she kisses you, deep and open-mouthed.

“Fuck, that’s it. That’s my girl,” she moans, rolling her hips slow and deep.

“Taking me so well, even with those pretty tears. You were made for this, weren’t you? Made for my cock.”

You’re babbling now. “Too big, too much m’bessaaa!”

Her hand grabs your jaw, firm but not cruel. She forces your teary eyes to meet hers.

“Yes you can. Breathe, baby. You’re okay.”

You cry harder, but you clench around her, too turned on to stop. Your hips roll up instinctively, greedy for more.

She laughs, full and amused, the sound of a woman in total control.

“Ohhh, you like crying for me. Is that it?”

“You like being fucked dumb by a woman twice your size?”

She snaps her hips once, hard, and you scream again, legs shaking. Your hands scramble, trying to grab something, her arms, the sheets, anything.

“Say ‘thank you, Ma’am.’”

You sob, mouth barely working: “Th-thank you, Ma’am.”

“Good girl.”

“Now cum.”

And you do. You convulse around her, legs kicking, face soaked with tears and spit and too much heat. Your body trembles under her as she fucks you through it, slow, grinding thrusts that keep your orgasm dragging out forever.

When it’s too much, when your body jerks and twitches and you try to pull away, she grabs your hips and keeps you there.

“One more.”

You sob. “C-Can’t…”

“You can.”

“Give me one more, crybaby.”

And now? She’s fully inside you now, thick and long and buzzing deep, the strap humming low and hot against your walls with that cursed, beautiful pulse.

You can feel it.

Pulsing inside your cunt like a heartbeat.

You’re shaking under her, babbling nonsense, wet and open and so far gone.

“Feels like I’m really inside you, doesn’t it?”

“This pretty pussy’s clenching like she wants to milk me dry.”

You choke on a sob. You don’t even know if you’re moaning or crying anymore. You’re too full, too sensitive, the pressure inside you building so tight your legs won’t stop trembling.

“Aw, poor baby,” she coos, dragging her tongue up your neck. “Is the pulsing too much? Hmm? Gonna cry again for me?”

You nod, completely fucked dumb.

So she grinds. Doesn’t thrust, just circles her hips slow, letting the toy’s steady pulse hit your g-spot over and over, like it’s knocking at the door of your next orgasm.

“You’re such a good girl,” she whispers, voice deep and warm against your temple. “Taking it like you were made for me.”

One hand grabs under your thigh, spreading you wider. The other cups your belly, just over the bulge of the toy inside you.

“Look at this,” she breathes. “Can see how deep I am.”

You sob, body twitching.

“You gonna cum for me again, baby? All over my cock? Hmm?”

“Show me how desperate you are. Cry on it.”

And you do.

You break.

You cum like your body can’t take any more, cause you really cant. Hips bucking, mouth open in a silent scream, fingers digging into her arms. You cum with a shudder that leaves you limp and shaking, still stuffed full of the pulsing toy.

She holds you there.

Kisses your forehead as you tremble and whine.

“There you go,” she whispers. “My sweet little crybaby. You did so good.”

You’re twitching, tears slipping down your cheeks, unable to form words. And she’s stroking your thighs, slowly pulling out the toy, soaked, dripping, buzzing low in her hand.

But she doesn’t throw it aside.

She grabs you gently by the jaw.

“Open your mouth.”

You obey. Dazed. Fucked-out. She presses the toy to your lips, lets you lick it clean, slow and messy.

“Taste yourself,” she murmurs. “You earned it.”

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[lonerslug]

HEY ALL‼️ just a quick question —

[lonerslug]

—Hot Line (firefighter sevika x reader)

chapter 1 - next

synopsis: You’re fast asleep in your comfy little apartment, when the building fire alarm rips you from slumber like a personal attack. Groggy, annoyed, and barefoot, you stumble outside with the rest of your neighbors, expecting a false alarm and nothing more

What you don’t expect? A real fire. And an even realer firefighter—tall, broad-shouldered, absolutely gorgeous, and of course it’s her you choose to ask if you can go back to your home safe.

words: 2.2k (masterlist)

cw: meet-cute, slow burn, girls kissing/making-out, sexual tension, curious hands, fluff and crack. We’re going to horny jail, better touch grass

! comment to be tagged in next chapter !

You wake up to the ear-splitting screech of the fire alarm like it owes you money.

One second you’re dreaming peacefully about a stupid story that makes no sense, and the next—you’re blinking in the red glow of your bedroom alarm light, heart pounding like you just committed arson yourself.

“Damn,” you mutter, groaning as you swing your legs out of bed.

The room is cold. Too cold for your stupid little cotton nightgown, the one with the lace trim you swore you’d only wear for yourself and God. But whatever. You’re not thinking straight, not with the alarm still wailing like a banshee on fire.

You shove your feet into the first shoes you find by the door.

Combat boots. Good. Cute. Functional.

A tragic pairing with the nightgown, but you’re not in the mood to curate a fire-evacuation lookbook.

Out in the hallway, a few other residents are doing the same walk of shame—half-asleep, confused, wrapped in robes or dragging blankets like dramatic ghosts. You all shuffle down the stairs in a quiet, shared misery.

The air outside is biting, and you wince as the night air hits your legs. The boots weren’t a bad idea, actually. Your neighbors gather in loose clusters on the sidewalk, exchanging annoyed looks and whispered complaints. You squint up at the building.

And that’s when you see it.

Actual flames.

Real, orange, moving fire flickering through the window of old Mrs. Donnelly’s apartment on the second floor.

Your mouth falls open. “Wow.”

Mrs. Donnelly isn’t even in the country. She left three weeks ago and swore she’d be back with questionable wine. There’s no reason her apartment should be doing… that.

Before you can process anything else, a big, warm shape appears in front of you. A firefighter—tall, serious, and clearly used to dealing with confused people in weird pajamas—drapes a yellow emergency blanket over your shoulders like it’s totally normal for you to be out here half-dressed at 2AM.

“It’s just procedure,” he says, not unkindly.

You nod dumbly. “Sure. Thanks. Procedure. Okay.” You smile politely, but the man doesn’t get the time to see it before walking away to his duty.

You sit down on the edge of the fire truck because your legs are cold and honestly, you don’t know what else to do. You watch the glow of the fire through the second-floor window, blanket tucked around you like you’re camping in hell.

You’ve been sitting on the edge of the fire truck for what feels like forever, legs swinging absently, the cold biting at your knees even with the yellow blanket still around your shoulders. Most of the building’s lights are back on now. A few neighbors have returned inside. One of the firefighters gives the all-clear to an older man wrapped in a bathrobe, and you start to wonder if maybe it’s safe for you to crawl back into your sad little bed and pretend this never happened.

But instead of waiting, you hop down from your perch—boots hitting pavement with a soft thud—and you walk over to one of the firewomen standing near the truck. The blanket around your shoulders shifts, and you clutch it tighter on instinct, suddenly aware of how ridiculous you must look—wrapped in yellow polyester like a very sad burrito in combat boots.

She’s tall. Tall enough that you have to tip your head back slightly to look at her face. Her jacket’s unzipped just enough to see the dark tee beneath it, and her sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, revealing a strong arm dusted with ash and soot and a mech one. She looks like she walked out of a calendar made specifically to ruin lives, not save them.

You swallow, smile, and try not to stare too hard.

You clear your throat gently. “Evening.”

Her eyes flick to yours. There’s a pause. Then, in a voice like smoke and gravel:

“Evening, ma’am.”

You blink.

Oh.

Okay.

You weren’t expecting the ma’am. Or the low rasp. Or the fact that she says it without an ounce of sarcasm—just calm professionalism, like she doesn’t notice the way you’re standing there in a nightgown and combat boots like some kind of unhinged fairy tale character.

“I just—” You gesture toward the building with one hand. “Wanted to ask if everything’s alright now? If I can head back in? I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to, like… break protocol or something.”

Her brow lifts slightly, amused.

You swear you see the corners of her mouth twitch—just a bit—as she gives you a slow once-over. Not rude. Just observant. Curious. Like she’s trying to make sense of this nightgown-clad puzzle who showed up at her fire scene like it’s totally normal to be this adorable and mildly flustered.

“You always wear boots with a nightgown?” she asks, dry but not unkind.

Your eyes widen. “Oh my God.”

You immediately look down, suddenly so aware of your chaotic outfit. The emergency blanket doesn’t help. You grab at the edge of it, fidgeting without thinking.

“I forgot I was still wrapped in this thing,” you say with a soft, flustered laugh. “Sorry, you must think I’m completely—”

Before you can finish, she steps forward—not close, but enough to bridge the space between you—and lifts the blanket clean out of your hands.

“I’ll take that,” she says, smooth as anything.

You go quiet, watching as she turns slightly and drapes it over the open ledge of the truck behind her. She doesn’t miss a beat. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“Name’s Sevika,” she says when she turns back, meeting your eyes. Confident. Solid. Like she knows her name sounds good coming out of her mouth.

Of course it does.

You swallow and nod, smiling despite yourself.

“Sevika,” you say again, immediately regretting it. “Wow. Sorry. I—uh— my name, yes.”

That smirk returns. The brow lifts just a little higher. She doesn’t press. Just waits.

You tell her your name this time, correctly, and she nods once.

“Nice to meet you.”

You feel warm. Still slightly ridiculous. But her voice is steady, her eyes are dark and calm, and even though she’s clearly got a job to do, she hasn’t walked away yet.

Sevika shifts her weight, glancing briefly toward the building, then back to you.

“You’re good to head in,” she says. “We’ve cleared everything. Just keep your windows open for a bit. Air the place out.”

You nod. “Got it. Windows. Air. Okay.”

She doesn’t move right away. Her eyes linger on you for a second too long, and then—just as she turns slightly, like she’s about to step away—she throws it in, so casually you almost miss it:

“Sleep tight, Miss Nightgown.”

You freeze mentally.

Heat rushes straight to your face like someone lit you on fire. You try to play it cool—you do—but the smile that pulls at your lips is instant and completely helpless. You laugh, soft and embarrassed, eyes dropping to the ground before darting back up to her face.

“That’s not gonna stick, is it?”

Sevika just smirks, one eyebrow raised again like that’s an answer in itself. You’re pretty sure that’s her default expression and also your new religion.

Not to be too dramatic, of course.

Your cheeks are burning. Your heart’s doing something completely uncool in your chest. But you still nod, still somehow manage words.

“Okay then,” you say, backing up a half step, giving a little awkward wave. “Good night. Goodbye. I mean.” You blink. Panic.

“Jesus. Alright. Bye.”

And then you turn. Walk away. Definitely not fast. Definitely not running. Even if you want to. Just… leaving. Like a normal human who wasn’t just flirted with by a hot firefighter while standing in boots and a literal nightie.

You’re halfway across the sidewalk when you hear it—faint, under her breath, but unmistakable:

A quiet chuckle.

That night, after you manage to get back inside and shed your smoke-scented dignity at the door, you crawl into bed and stare at the ceiling for a full minute before reaching for your phone.

You don’t text about the fire. You completely forget about the fire.

Instead, you send your best friend a single, life-altering message:

A firewoman named Sevika just called me Miss Nightgown.

A follow-up comes exactly two seconds later:

She was like 6ft tall and hot and said ma’am and smirked at me. She wants me.

Your friend replies immediately with twenty-seven capital letters, several selfies of her screaming, and a helpful “go back outside and fake a fainting spell.” You’re tempted.

But you don’t see Sevika again.

Not that week. Not the next. Two whole weeks go by and to your ultimate, soul-destroying despair, the firefighter of your dreams seems to have disappeared off the face of the planet.

You still pass the station on your way to work. It’s not even out of the way—you just happen to take that street. That slow, steady walk past the glass windows where you may or may not slow down slightly and glance (longingly) in. No Sevika.

Once, you think you spot her—broad shoulders, a familiar ponytail—but it’s just a different firefighter. You go through all five stages of grief in under a minute.

At work, it’s easier to forget. You love your job. It’s a small, sunny café tucked between the library and the post office, and it has that cozy, well-loved feeling that draws all the best kinds of people. In the mornings, students settle in with their laptops and noise-canceling headphones. Elderly regulars read the paper and talk politics with anyone who will listen. On weekends, families flood in for pancakes and coffee and croissants that go suspiciously fast.

You know half the orders by heart. The baristas are your people. The espresso machine’s temperamental, the fan in the kitchen rattles in a terrifying way, and the register lags if you hit the wrong key—but you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

It’s a slow Tuesday morning when it happens.

Today, you’re working the morning shift, dressed comfy-cute in baggy jeans, a soft cami top, and your favorite Mary Janes. Your hair’s doing that nice thing it rarely does, and you’re actually in a really good mood. You and Sana are laughing behind the counter, and you’re putting the finishing touch—cocoa powder in a soft heart shape—on a perfect cup of hot chocolate for an old woman sitting outside.

You glance up.

And then your entire soul leaves your body.

Sevika.

Walking in.

With four other firefighters, all laughing about something—one of them says something about how “you owe me a muffin, I was the one on the ladder,” and it doesn’t matter because Sevika is right there, in the middle of your café, looking terrifyingly hot in her off-duty black tee and tactical pants, like she didn’t just vanish into the ether for two weeks and leave you wondering if she was a shared hallucination.

You mentally scream.

Out loud, you say nothing. Absolutely nothing.

But your coworker sees your face—sees the way your brain visibly shuts down mid-sentence—and whips around.

“Oh my God,” she hisses under her breath. “Is that her??”

You nod mutely.

Before you can say another word, Sana suspiciously straightens up and goes, “Oh shoot—I forgot to refill the pastry counter. Give me the chocolate. You’ve got the front?”

“What? No—Sana—” you whisper.

“Thanks, love you, bye!”

And she vanishes.

You’re alone.

You take a breath. Smile. Step up to the register with the warmth of someone who’s definitely not dying inside. You can do this. Just firefighters. Plural. Whatever.

The one at the front of the group steps up to the counter.

A man. Tall, friendly face, dimples. “Hi maam,” he says. “We’ll take five coffees—three black, one with oat milk, one hot chocolate. And…” he glances back at his crew. “Uh, two muffins and one of those little lemon tarts if you’ve got any left.”

You nod, too fast. “Consider it done!”

You definitely don’t look behind him. You try not to.

But you feel it.

You feel a gaze on you. Like heat. You know it’s her.

And then—

“Miss Nightgown.”

That voice. That exact voice.

Low. Rough. Slightly teasing.

You look up slowly, controlled. You’re about to implode but no one knows that.

And there she is.

Now, she’s leaning casually near the doorway, half her weight on one leg, arms crossed, hair tied back, and smirking.

Sevika.

The man at the front pays for the order with a cheerful “thanks,” and you manage to give him a very normal, very composed wide smile, despite the heat crawling up your neck.

The group starts to move toward the seating area, boots thudding against the floor, and just as they pass Sevika—still lounging near the door—one of them lets out a low whistle.

Sevika doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even look at him. But her smirk deepens just enough to make your knees wobble.

You glance up at her again, biting the inside of your cheek to hide the grin threatening to take over your face.

“I told you my name, you know,” you say, voice playful, meaning clear.

She raises an eyebrow. Slowly. Like she’s enjoying this way too much.

“Yeah,” she says, voice low. “But Miss Nightgown suits you better.”

You feel your soul leave your body.

Somewhere behind you, you’re pretty sure you hear Sana drop something and mutter ‘Jesus Christ’ under her breath.

The other firefighters have already settled into their seats, talking among themselves, leaving Sevika alone by the counter while you—red-faced and smiling like a fool—start prepping their drinks.

You grab a cup, trying very hard not to spill as you pour. “So… how’ve you been?”

Sevika leans an elbow casually on the counter. “Busy. Fires don’t wait for polite hours.”

“Rude of them,” you say, half-laughing as you reach for another cup. “Some of us are trying to sleep in nightgowns.”

Her eyes glint. “Tragic.”

You glance at her, and she’s already looking at you—calm, confident, like she’s got all the time in the world.

Your heart is not behaving.

You hand her the first drink, your fingers brushing hers just slightly, and you almost combust on the spot. She doesn’t move away right away. Doesn’t rush off. Just lingers.

“Still wearing boots with your sleepwear?” she asks, teasing but soft.

You laugh, warm and embarrassed, shaking your head. “No, just emotional armor these days.”

She huffs out something like a chuckle. It’s quiet but real. You’re quite proud of yourself.

And then you’re pouring the oat milk one, hands moving automatically, wondering if she can see how red your face is from across the damn counter.

You hand off the last drink—carefully balanced tray in Sevika’s hands—and wipe your fingers on a napkin like it’ll help your pulse settle.

She doesn’t move.

Not yet.

“I’m not overnight today though,” she says, casually. Like it’s nothing. Like your brain isn’t already slipping out of your ears from the way she says it.

You blink. “Oh?”

She tilts her head just slightly, eyes still on you. “What time’s your shift done?”

You open your mouth, but the words stall. There’s a pause—just one heartbeat—and then you’re smiling like you can’t help it, cheeks warming fast.

“Seven,” you say, voice soft. “I close up at seven.”

Sevika just nods, like that’s what she wanted to hear. Her smirk is subtle, but it lands. Right in your chest.

“Wait for me at the station.”

She says it simple. No flourish. No unnecessary fluff. Just direct. Like it’s obvious you will.

You bite your lower lip to stop from grinning. It does nothing. Your whole face is giving you away.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Okay.”

And then she turns, finally, drinks in hand, and heads back to her crew like she didn’t just drop a bomb on your day. You watch them leave—hear the bell above the café door jingle as it swings shut.

No beta read, maybe it doesn’t make much sense sometimes, sorry for that— I start to feel crazy when I spend too much time on a fic

I’m having fun with this, like there’s definitely going to be sexual tension and kinda smutty scenes but nothing spectacular ? Just enough to make us damp down there. My bad, that was the wind

The cafe part is definitely inspired from reality 🫠 there’s this police and this firefighter station next to my fav cafe I go to every week and I talked a few times with the police officers and the firefighters women… heh, lucky me 🔥

dividers: @/cursed-carmine

taglist: @lonerslug @blessupblessup @riotstemple29 @sevikasswifee @ahintofchaos @archangeldyke-all (tell me if you wanna be removed off the taglist for this fic since it’s multi chapters and you don’t wanna be updated)

[lonerslug]

hello everyone! Requests are open as always.

buttttt, I won’t be able to answer and write to them within a few days/weeks 💔💔💔 exams are coming up

so here’s the thing— REQUEST ARE STILL OPEN! So request anything!! but I won’t be able to answer them as how I normally can ☹️

Ur request might take a few weeks/a month to be posted! but do spam me in those inbox’s 😭

[lonerslug]

Came back from war, I’m more mentally able to text you… but I’m a dramaqueen and I wanna post on here anyway

How’s my wife doing ? How are the kids ? Are you well fed ? Are the crops growing good ? 😔

—Jess

sadly I’m going to war now 💔😔

exams are coming up and it’s not just a few days of exams… ITS LITERALLY 2 MONTHS OF THIS SHIT 😭

I’m doing well, but also not because now I’m using my iPad to use tumblr instead of my phone… which has been confiscated by my parents, I didn’t even got time to close all my tabs before he snatched it 😵 and since my dad knows that I know all the hiding spots, he took it with him to Japan, also I keep telling him to stop treating me like I’m 11… WHY IS MY PHONE TAKEN AWAY?! IM A WOMAN NOW

okay but I understand it’s for the best of me cause I got my big exams coming up and I’ve been using my phone tooo muchh

I’m well fed yes, feeding the kids now, busy af

nice to know someone cares 😫

[lonerslug]

Warlords Plaything

one piece au, crocodile!sevika x bandit!reader, smut

⚠️: smut ;; gun use ;; fighting ;; cigarettes ;; size kink ;; degration ;; praising ;; bondage ;; oral ;; blood play.

amab sevika crocodile!sevika x bandit!reader— oneshot

a/n: guys ‘crocodile’!sevika ain’t that animal, it’s a character from an anime show, one piece… i had fun making this fic :)

The gold on this ship practically gleamed in the dark.

You hadn’t expected it to be this easy. No guards on the lower deck, no alarm, no traps. Just a smooth walk down the obsidian halls of the infamous Warlord’s flagship, dagger in your boot, heart beating steady.

She must’ve grown complacent. That was the problem with warlords, they got too comfortable at the top. And you? You were good. Fast, smart, reckless, and too damn pretty to rot in a prison. If you pulled this off, your crew would be set for months. And if you didn’t…

You shook the thought off, boots silent against the polished floor. Even the wood smelled expensive, like lacquered cedar and smoke.

You weren’t some amateur. You’d stolen from worse. Still, your hand trembled just a little as you pushed open the gilded doors to her private quarters.

She had everything.

Stacks of beri, glittering artifacts, maps inked in ancient languages. Weapons hung on the walls beside animal pelts and gold-plated pistols. Everything about the room screamed ego, every last inch polished to perfection. Her bed sat in the far corner, four massive posts draped with silk, dark sheets rumpled like she hadn’t bothered to make it after fucking some poor sailor into it.

“Damn, warlords living the life huh,” you mumbled to yourself, eyes searching for the chest. You found it, under a table.

You knelt beside it, grin sharp, fingers slipping beneath the lid.

Click.

Your blood ran cold.

The floor rippled.

No.

The floor moved.

Sand. It surged up like a living thing, wrapping around your wrists before you could grab your knife. It yanked your arms back, forced you to your knees, dragging you into the center of the room like prey.

Then you heard her.

Heavy boots. Slow. Intentional.

The scent of cigar smoke filled the air.

“Now what,” came that low, amused voice, “do we have here?”

You didn’t have to look up to know who it was.

Sevika.

The warlord. The monster. The one your captain explicitly said not to engage.

And yet…here you were.

You forced a smirk to cover the panic. “Nice ship. Shit security.”

Another step. Then another. Her boots stopped right in front of you.

“You’ve got a mouth on you, little thief.”

You looked up, mistake.

She was massive.

Broad shoulders, bare chest under an unbuttoned coat, cigar burning between sharp teeth. Her face was half-shadowed, but the glow of her prosthetic sandy arm lit up the glint in her gold eyes. She looked at you like she was bored. Like you were a stain on her floor.

She exhaled smoke down at you.

“Tell me,” she murmured, stepping closer, “did they send you, or did you just want to see what my cock looked like up close?”

Your smirk faltered.

She grinned wider. Her hand, flesh one, reached down to cup your chin, calloused thumb dragging along your lip.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll get a good look.”

You didn’t whimper.

You clenched your jaw and glared at her like you had a chance in hell.

“Kill me,” you growled, testing the sand around your limbs. “go ahead.”

She blew smoke in your face.

“Oh, I’m gonna do something wayyy better than that.”

With a twist of her wrist, the sand uncurled, only a little. Enough to let you move, but just barely. A test. You rolled your shoulders, breathing shallow as your blade slipped back into your palm.

She saw the twitch in your fingers.

And she smiled.

“That’s cute.”

You lunged.

She didn’t flinch.

The sand beneath your boots shifted, tripping your stance, but you powered through, swiped your blade at her side, teeth bared. She caught it. With her bare hand. Steel fingers snapped closed around the blade, stopping it mid-swing. Your eyes widened.

“Mm. Not bad,” she murmured, before twisting your wrist so hard your vision flashed white. “Ouch! Damn!”

You gasped as the knife clattered to the ground.

Her knee drove into your stomach, and you crumpled, breath stolen. You tried to scramble back, but the sand bit your skin, tiny scrapes blooming red as you were dragged backward like a ragdoll. You coughed, palms bloodied, a cut trailing along your lower ribs. You wanted to curse her. Wanted to spit again. But the sight of her looming above you, cigar clenched in her teeth, cock straining thick behind black slacks, blood dripping down her fingers, god, it made your thighs twitch.

“Look at you,” she rasped, reaching down to grip your chin. Her fingers were slick with your blood. “Tried to fight me and ended up wet.”

You hated how right she was. Your heart was pounding. Your chest heaved. And your pulse, it fluttered when she smirked, dropped her cigar to the floor, and crushed it under her heel.

She tore her coat off in one motion.

Shirt open, Scarred abs. Shoulders built like cannons. Then,

Fuck.

She undid her belt.

That cock dropped like weight, dark and heavy. You choked on your own breath. She was fucking huge, and already hard, already leaking, dragging her palm over the tip like she was just getting started.

“I was gonna kill you, brat,” she muttered, voice low and hot with something feral.

“But now I’m thinking…”

She stepped between your thighs, metal arm catching your throat, and leaned in.

“Maybe I’ll just fuck the fight outta you.”

And just like that, the sand grabbed your wrists again, yanked them over your head.

You were pinned.

Bleeding.

Breathless.

And soaking for her.

You couldn’t stop staring.

That cock was fucking massive.

The kind of dick that hurt to look at. You’d teased Marines for coin before, played coy with nobles, but this? This was different.

You were still on the floor, chest rising fast, blood dripping from your ribs. The cuts from the sand stung hot, and your hands were pinned again, wrists forced together above your head by a cruel swirl of sand. You squirmed, trying to get your legs beneath you, but Sevika just tutted and grabbed your hair.

“Tried to rob me, tried to cut me, and now you’re looking at my cock like you want to cry,” she muttered, voice thick with heat. “What a fucking waste.”

You snarled. “I’ve had bigger.”

She snorted just before slapping her cock down on your face so hard it smeared your cheek.

Splack.

You hissed. Precum splattered, your cheek, your nose, a streak even hit just under your eye. You flinched, and that only made her laugh.

“Cute, you look pretty like this,” she growled, adjusting her grip in your hair. “Open your mouth.”

You didn’t. Of course you didn’t.

So she forced it open.

The sand slid around your jaw, scraping it, wrenching it down just wide enough, your teeth aching, neck strained. She grabbed the base of her cock and fed it in. Fed it. Slowly, like she had all the time in the world. Letting the head press past your tongue, dragging her slit over your tastebuds while you gagged on the precome pooling in your throat.

“There you go,” she cooed, wiping a bloody thumb over your cheek. “That mouth’s better like this.”

You glared up at her through your lashes, lips stretched, spit dripping down your chin.

And then you bit her, to prove you could.

Her whole body stilled.

The sand around your ribs tightened, scraped raw along your side until you gasped in pain, throat convulsing around her cock. You tried to cry out, but your mouth was stuffed full, nose buried in the scent of her.

“…You little shit.”

She pulled out slowly, the tip popping free with a thick line of spit trailing after.

“You wanna bite?” she muttered, dragging the metal of her prosthetic across your lips. “Fine.”

The next thrust had no mercy.

She slammed her cock back in, deep, hot, fast, and didn’t stop. Sand held your head in place, and all you could do was take it, throat flexing, jaw aching, eyes watering as she used your mouth like it was nothing.

You choked, full body, loud, gagging, spit flying. She didn’t stop.

“You’re mine now, thief,” she spat, curling a knife from her belt and pressing it to your cheek while you gagged around her. “Might as well fuck the rebellion out of you.”

You tried to breathe through your nose. Couldn’t. Your throat was bulging around her girth, the salty taste of her cock choking your every thought. The blood was drying down your ribs, and now sand was crawling across your thighs, scratching, stinging, slicing you open just enough to make you twitch.

She groaned above you.

“Fuck, look at that. Throat’s squeezing me. Like your body knows it was meant to serve.”

You were humiliated, drooling, half blind with tears.

But your hips bucked.

She saw it. Of course she did.

“Ohh, you like this,” she growled, sliding the flat of her blade down your chest, smearing your own blood in a slow stroke. “You’re just a little cockdrunk toy, huh? Thought you were a thief, turns out you’re just a fucking cumrag.”

You sobbed around her.

She shoved in deeper.

“Breathe when I let you,” she hissed. “Or don’t.”

You could barely think, barely breathe, just drool, spit, and salt in your throat, blood smearing your ribs like war paint.

And Sevika still wasn’t done.

She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth like she’d just finished a fight, then grabbed your collar and hauled you up off the floor like you were weightless. The sand retracted just enough to let you stumble forward, knees buckling,

She shoved you.

You landed on her bed. Silk sheets, dark as oil, expensive as hell. It didn’t suit her, until you saw her sit back, cock still soaked in your spit, legs spread like a goddamn throne.

you weren’t scared anymore…well, okay, a little, but mostly because her cock twitched when she looked at you like that. Like she could do anything. Take anything. Break you down and rebuild you around her dick.

You crawled between her thighs, blood still dripping faintly from the cut on your ribs, mouth raw and sore. But you opened it again anyway, tongue out, just the way you knew would make her twitch.

“You better suck like your life depends on it.”

So you did.

You licked from base to tip, slow and steady, worshipful, sucking at the head until she groaned low in her chest. You wrapped your lips around her thick cock, let her weight press against your tongue, and then you started to move.

Steady rhythm. No choking this time. Just sucking her deep and wet, drooling all over her lap, bobbing your head like your mouth had been made for it.

And Sevika… lost it.

Her hand tangled in your hair again, but softer now, possessive. Her thighs tensed under your hands. Her head dropped back against the silk pillow, dark lashes low as she watched you take her down to the root.

“Shit…” she rasped, biting her lip. “Fuck, look at you. Nobody’s ever —”

Her hips bucked. You swallowed around her.

“Yeah, just like that. Fuck baby, suck it. You want it that bad? Want my cum that fuckin’ bad?”

You moaned around her cock.

She twitched. You hollowed your cheeks.

“Fuck keep goin’, I’m gonna —”

But she stopped herself. Grabbed the base and pulled you off with a wet pop. Your jaw ached. Spit trailed down your chin.

“You’re not gettin’ my cum that easy,” she growled. “Not until I’m inside that fuckin’ hole.”

You blinked up at her. Your legs already shaking.

She stood. Grabbed your body and flipped you like you weighed nothing.

Hands to the bed. Knees spread. Face down, ass up. You kicked weakly, instinct.

The sand bit your ankles.

Restrained. Again.

You writhed, tried to crawl forward, but it was useless.

“Try it,” she said darkly behind you.

“Try to run. I dare you.”

You felt the head of her cock slide against your hole, hot, leaking, way too fucking thick. You whined, fingers twisting in the sheets.

“P-please…”

“Now you beg?” she growled. “That mouth had so much to say earlier.”

And then,

She slammed in.

You screamed into the sheets

Her cock was inside you, all the way, and it was like your body didn’t know what to do with it. Too wide. Too deep. It split your hole open like it was meant to, and your body clenched around it so tight it felt like your guts were gonna give out.

You choked on a sob, drooling into the sheets, thighs shaking as her hips pressed flush against your ass. She hadn’t even moved yet. You could feel every vein, every hot pulse of her cock buried in your insides like a brand.

“Tight fuckin’ hole,” Sevika hissed behind you, voice molten. “You act like a brat, but you’ve got a virgin’s fuckin’ ass.”

You moaned, humiliated.

And then she pulled out.

Not all the way. Just an inch.

Then slammed back in.

You screamed.

“Shhh,” she purred, sand wrapping around your arms, your ankles, your hips, forcing your back to arch, forcing your legs open wider. “Don’t fight it. Take it. Take that cock, baby.”

slap

Her hand cracked across your ass, sending a jolt straight through your spine.

slap

Again, this time harder, your skin stung, burned.

You whimpered, tears spilling as her thrusts started, steady, brutal, her cock pistoning into you like it owned the space inside your body.

“Fuckin’ tight little hole,” she growled, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. “Too small for a cock like this, huh? You weren’t made to take it, but you’re still trying.”

smack.

She slapped your ass again, harder. Then grabbed your hair and yanked your head back, lips brushing your ear.

“You’ll learn.”

She fucked into you, hard, fast, violent. Skin slapping against skin. Blood smeared down your side where the sand had cut you earlier. Her hips were streaked red now. Her cock slick and messy inside your hole, making lewd, wet sounds that made your face burn.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” she groaned. “Bleedin’ for me. Cryin’ for me. Look at you.”

You tried to speak. Couldn’t. Only managed a choked-out sound as she thrust again, deeper, somehow.

“You’re not even full grown, are you?” she said, and your whole body twitched.

“How old are you, twenty? Twenty one?”

“Should’ve known a cocky little pup like you’d be this tight.”

Her sand pushed your thighs apart even more.

You sobbed into the sheets.

“Too young to steal. Too small to fight. Too fuckin’ pretty to waste,” she hissed. “So I’ll keep you like this. Bent over. Stuffed full. Bleeding on my bed.”

She grabbed your hair again, fisted it in her metal hand, yanked your head back so hard you cried out. Her cock slammed in harder, faster, so deep it punched the breath from your lungs.

“Gonna make you feel me for days, little thief. Gonna make your crew smell me leaking outta you.”

Your hole clenched around her.

“That what you want?” she rasped. “Want me to fill you? Breed this fuckin’ hole like it’s mine?”

“P-please!”

“That’s it,” she growled. “Beg for it.”

“C-can’t Sevikaaa!! too much!”

“Too fuckin’ bad.”

Her pace snapped into a brutal rhythm, loud, fast, deep, making your legs jerk uselessly against the restraints. You were drooling, crying, skin raw and stinging, your ass sore and open around her, cock untouched, leaking onto the sheets like a ruined little thing.

She growled behind you, feral.

Then

She came.

Hard.

You felt it, deep inside you, hot and heavy, flooding your cunt in thick, brutal pulses. Her hips stuttered, her cock twitching as she held you down, forcing you to take it all.

“There it is,” she groaned, panting. “Take it. Take all that fuckin’ cum, baby.”

You collapsed, trembling. Her cock stayed inside.

“Might fuck it in deeper,” she added. “Just to make sure it sticks.”

Your limbs were jelly. Your back hurt. Your jaw throbbed. And your pussy… your pussy was wrecked. your cum and hers was leaking slowly down your thighs, thick and warm, smeared with streaks of red where the sand had cut you earlier. The sheets beneath you were soaked.

And Sevika?

She was still inside you.

The cock didn’t soften, not right away. She stayed there, buried to the hilt, like a seal, one hand stroking your hip where her blood-slick fingers had left prints.

“Fuck,” she muttered, exhaling slow. “You’re such a mess.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your throat was raw, lips swollen, eyes glassy. But you moaned, just a little, as her metal hand slid along your spine, grounding you.

Eventually, she pulled out. Your hole clenched around nothing, fluttering.

You whimpered.

“Shhh.” She leaned over your back, lips brushing your temple. “You did good.”

You tried to lift your head. It dropped again.

The sand slowly released you, your wrists, your thighs, your ankles, all scraped and aching, but free. Her strong arms caught you before you collapsed fully. You were weightless in her hold.

She carried you like nothing.

Dropped back on the bed, spread her thighs, and cradled you in her lap, chest to chest. You barely realized she was stroking your back, her blood-warmed hand trailing lazy patterns along your ribs, soothing the ache.

“I could’ve slit your throat the second I saw you,” she murmured. Her voice was low again, almost soft, but never safe.

“Could’ve let the sand strip the skin off your bones.”

She pressed her lips to your jaw.

“But I didn’t.”

You blinked slowly. Your fingers twitched against her chest.

“Why?” you rasped, voice hoarse.

She smirked. Took a cigar from the tray beside the bed, lit it one-handed. Her other hand stroked your sore ass, squeezing just enough to make you flinch.

“Cause I liked your mouth too much, baby.”

She took a drag. Blew the smoke behind you, not in your face this time.

“And maybe…”

“I like the idea of owning you more than killing you.”

You swallowed hard.

Her cock still rested against your thigh, half-hard again already.

“You ever think about joining a real crew?” she asked, tapping ash off her cigar.

“Cause I got a spot. And a leash. And a bed just like this one waiting for you.”

You shifted weakly in her lap, thighs still twitching, legs refusing to close.

“Thought I was just a cumrag,” you whispered.

She chuckled, slow and dangerous.

“Still are.”

“But now you’re my cumrag now. my bandit. mine”

She kissed you again, your neck, your shoulder, your collarbone. “You’re not leaving this ship, baby.”

Her hand slid between your thighs again, petting you lazily.

“Welcome aboard.”

taglist: @sapphicstrawcore @sevikaswinkinghole @shanesevikasfuckdoll @sevikas-whore @barelykiramman @joyispunk @riotstemple29 @littlelovelunette @lucidfairies @amri0ram @illbecanon @georgiahs-stuff

[lonerslug]

Do more katarina fics please....

⤿ Red Means Ruin

smut. vibrator and fingers

you’re lying back against your bed, wrists pressed into the sheets like you’re holding yourself together. Your thighs twitch at the edge of her grip, Katarina’s knelt between them, still fully clothed in her red and black outfit, gloves off but boots still on. You’re naked beneath her, heart racing, skin prickling with anticipation.

She holds the vibrator in her hand — a sleek, silver bullet you stupidly confessed you’d never used. She flicks it on and the low hum fills the room.

“You’re gonna feel this for days,” she murmurs, dragging it slowly along the inside of your thigh. “But I want you begging before I let you cum.”

You suck in a breath, hips twitching. The first press of vibration to your clit makes you gasp, your back arches off the bed and Katarina chuckles darkly, holding you down by the stomach with her free hand.

“So sensitive,” she whispers, tongue brushing your inner thigh. “You like that?”

You whimper, nodding, your hands fisting the sheets. Her lips are so close to your core, but she doesn’t kiss you there. Instead, she moves the vibrator in lazy circles, just enough to keep you trembling, never enough to let you tip over.

“Katarina!” Your voice breaks.

“I know, baby.” Her voice is mocking sweet. “But I want to see you fall apart first.”

You’re soaking, clenching around nothing, panting as the pressure builds and burns. She watches your face with narrowed eyes, cataloging every twitch of your lip, every flutter of your lashes. When she finally lets the vibrator stay pressed to your clit without teasing, you cry out, your thighs shaking uncontrollably.

But before you can cum, it’s gone.

“No,” you whimper.

“Yes,” she corrects, slipping the toy aside. “Not yet.”

Two fingers press at your entrance. You’re still wet, stretched open from the teasing, but the sudden press makes you moan, your first real penetration.

“Relax,” she coos, and god, it’s the first time her voice sounds almost gentle. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Her fingers are slow, deliberate, curling just enough to make you see stars. She scissors them carefully, letting you get used to the stretch, and once you do? She starts fucking them in with perfect rhythm, her thumb circling your clit in time.

The pressure returns instantly, ten times worse, ten times better. You feel your orgasm crash over you fast and hard, your hips bucking into her palm as you cry out her name, shuddering, dripping around her hand. Katarina keeps going until your thighs shake, until you’re a trembling mess, and then slowly withdraws.

She sits back on her heels, licking her fingers clean. “You came so pretty,” she says, voice husky now. “Maybe next time I’ll use my mouth.”

[lonerslug]

Sooo would like to ask about what sevika would do if you hid being sick from her—just feeling shamed about it possibly. And when sevika starts to get freaky, and you just don’t look as you usually do…. What would she do?

⤿ sick day 、

aftercare

You didn’t mean to hide it. Not really.

It started with the faint dizziness that morning, barely noticeable. You chalked it up to not sleeping well. Then your body ached more than usual, but you’d worked out yesterday, right? That had to be it. Even when your head throbbed and your stomach curled a bit, you’d kept moving. Kept brushing it off.

You didn’t want to cancel on Sevika.

Not when she’d looked at you like that the second you walked through her door, like she needed to feel you, needed to be inside you.

You’d kissed her a little slower, and she took it as teasing. Tension rising, she’d backed you into her bedroom, laughing low in her throat when your fingers slipped to her jaw.

And now her strap is buried inside you. Her body warm against yours, her forearm braced beside your head. The room smells like leather, sweat, and you, your body hot and pulsing beneath her.

But something’s wrong.

She feels it.

You’re not making the sounds you usually do. You’re breathing hard, yeah, but not right. Not the way you usually arch into her, press up for more. You’re…shaking. Trembling. Your eyes are glassy. You turn your head like the light’s too much.

“Baby?”

Sevika’s voice cuts low between your ribs.

You try to answer but it’s thin. You just nod.

That’s all it takes. She stills completely. Hands sliding down, grip soft but firm on your hips as she draws the strap out of you. You flinch, not from pain. From the loss of contact.

But then she hisses. Actually hisses, lifting one hand, slick with your wetness and more than that, heat.

“You’re burnin’ up.”

Her brow knits. That smug heat in her chest turns instantly to ice. You try to speak, but your voice croaks and you wince, curling away from her slightly. That shame settles in your bones, hot and ugly. “I didn’t wanna cancel. Thought it’d pass.”

Sevika’s eyes narrow. She doesn’t yell. Instead, she leans in, cups your face with the same hand she just used to steady her strap. Her fingers are rough but so careful now.

“You hid this?” she murmurs.

You close your eyes. “I didn’t want you to think I was being weak or… ruining the mood…”

That breaks something in her. She pulls back just long enough to grab a cloth and the blanket, cursing under her breath. Her voice is low, dark, not with anger but with worry.

“Shut up with that weak shit,” she mutters, dabbing your forehead, sliding the strap off and tossing it aside like it’s nothing. “You’re mine, yeah? You think I want you pushin’ through this just so I can get off? That’s not what this is.”

You feel her sit beside you on the bed, tugging you up to rest against her chest. She’s already tucking the blanket over you, holding you in place.

And she’s so warm, her arm around you, grounding you. She smells like smoke and steel, always, but her lips are soft when they brush your hair.

“You’re hot as hell. You got chills?” she asks, and when you nod, she’s already adjusting the blanket tighter. “Fuck, baby. You shoulda told me.”

You bury your face in her neck. “Didn’t want to disappoint you.”

She huffs. Kisses your temple. “You think riding my strap like a fevered-up angel and still worrying about my disappointment is something to be ashamed of?” She cups your jaw, lifts it gently until you’re looking at her. “That’s love, dumbass. But next time, love me back by telling me, yeah?”

You nod, sniffly. Tired. Softening into her.

She tucks you closer. “I’ll get meds. Soup too. Then I’m keepin’ your ass in bed all night.”

And then she smirks, half-laughing as she kisses your cheek.

“…Not the way I planned, but you’ll live.”

[lonerslug]

VOTE VOTE VOTE ✊😤

[lonerslug]

Sevika x reader with a child. Said child wants to be a mini Sevika, they literally admire sevika sm, they try to copy the way she dresses and tries to act like her and even tries to follow her on missions

Like Mama Sevika

Sevika’s got a cigarette hanging loose from her lips, one arm resting lazily on the back of the couch when the sound of tiny boots clunking across the floor makes her lift her head.

“Look!” your daughter announces proudly, striking the most dramatic pose her tiny limbs can manage. She’s wearing Sevika’s spare coat, the leather one, far too big on her it trails behind her like a cape, a red marker line scribbled across her cheek like a fake scar, and she’s holding a toy wrench like a weapon.

Sevika blinks.

Then lets the cigarette drop from her mouth. “…The hell?”

“Language,” you say automatically from the kitchen, holding a spoon threateningly.

“She looks like me,” Sevika mutters, eyes narrowed. “She’s doing me. That’s my slouch.”

“I am you,” your daughter pipes up. “I’m like mama sevika!”

Sevika shoots you a look like, this is your fault.

You grin and shrug. “She says you’re the coolest person in Zaun. Her words.”

“She’s not wrong,” Sevika mumbles, but you can see it, the slight twitch of her lip, how her gaze softens. She doesn’t do well with compliments. Especially not from a six-year-old in combat boots three sizes too big.

Mini vika stomps closer, arms crossed like Sevika does when she’s being a little too smug. “I’m coming on your next mission.”

“No, you’re not,” Sevika says immediately, firm but almost laughing.

“But I have the scar.”

“It’s marker.”

“I have the coat.”

“You’re swimming in it.”

“I trained,” she insists, puffing out her chest. “I punched a pillow and everything.”

Sevika rubs a hand down her face, but the sound that escapes is a huff of affection. “Kid, you can’t come. Missions are dangerous.”

“I’m not scared.”

“I am.” Sevika glances at you like she didn’t mean to say it out loud.

You smile, heart melting a little.

Your daughter, undeterred, climbs up beside her on the couch, booted feet kicking. “Then I’ll protect you.”

Sevika pauses. Looks down at this tiny version of herself with scuffed knees and too much heart.

“…Shit,” she whispers, shaking her head.

“Language,” both you and your daughter say at the same time.

Sevika groans. “Great. Two of you now.”

You walk over and ruffle your daughter’s head, then kiss Sevika’s temple. “You’re a good role model, you know.” Sevika snorts. “No I’m not.”

But she doesn’t stop your daughter when she curls up under her arm like a baby bear, fake scar smudging against her shirt.

She doesn’t stop her the next day either, when the kid shows up at breakfast wearing a makeshift mechanical arm made out of cardboard and foil.

“She called it the Clanker 9000,” you whisper, laughing into your hand.

Sevika just sighs, but she’s biting back a grin. “God help Zaun if she actually becomes me.” You lean on the counter, watching your two girls, one grown and rough around the edges, the other all dreams and scraped knees. “I think Zaun would be lucky.”

And for once, Sevika doesn’t argue.

[lonerslug]

sleepy sex with sevika pleaseee, she had a long day but knows reader has been missing her

Sevika comes home late again.

Her jacket’s slung half on her shoulder, hair mussed from stress and smoke, and you’re already curled up in bed, legs pulled in like you’ve been waiting hours, eyes glassy from sleep you keep refusing without her.

She notices. She always notices.

“M’back,” she mutters, locking the door behind her like muscle memory. You barely lift your head, but she’s already sitting on the edge of the bed, undoing her boots with a groan. “Didn’t mean to be out so late, baby.”

You whine and reach for her with one hand. “Missed you.”

That’s all it takes.

She’s tired, god, so tired but the way you look at her, needy and starved, undoing her belt for her with clumsy fingers? It lights a fuse under her fatigue.

“Lay back,” she murmurs, already tugging her shirt over her head. “I gotchu.”

It’s different when she’s like this. Slower. Heavier. She kisses you like she’s been underwater all day and you’re the first breath she gets to take, deep and slow. Her strap’s already harnessed underneath her boxers, and tonight she uses the one that finishes with her, thick, warm and loaded. Her hand’s on your chest, holding you down gently, thumb brushing a nipple as she slips inside, and your breath catches from the fullness.

“Been thinking about you all day,” she murmurs into your ear, voice raw from exhaustion and smoke. “Fucked myself in the bathroom just thinkin’ about your mouth.”

Your hands claw at her back, your thighs open wider, begging silently.

And Sevika, tired as she is, grinds in slow and steady, dragging the whole length out before pushing in again. It’s lazy, indulgent, like she’s trying to put herself to sleep inside you.

“Thought about you lookin’ up at me all sweet, beggin’ me to come in your pussy.” Her voice drops, and her hand reaches down, hooking your thigh over her hip. “Came so hard I had to wipe it off my shirt.”

You’re squirming “Sevvv…”

Then comes the final thrust, deep, shuddering, and the strap twitches. You gasp as it fills you with warmth, Sevika holding you down through it, her hips pressing flush.

“Yeah,” she breathes, forehead pressed to yours. “That’s it. Take all of me.”

Your fingers are trembling as you hold her close, still whimpering as she fucks the slow spill deeper with her fingers rubbing lazy circles against your clit.

You fall asleep that way. Her fingers still inside you, strap still buried in you, her hand on your belly as you breathe in time.

she takes a warm cloth, slowly cleans between your thighs while watching her pretty girl sleep.

And Sevika finally rests.

[lonerslug]

hell yes 🙌

Nights Like This

NSFW

You and Sevika go out for date night drinks and dinner, but will Sev make it through the night with a vibrator inside her?

CW: afab!reader, pet names, mentions of reader on period, face riding, public sex, porn with very little plot, Sevika drinks but isn’t drunk

Word count: 2.4k

The dark of night peaked over the horizon outside of the large window you peered through. The golden amber and pink swirls of the sun setting added to the romantic aura of the jazz restaurant you sat in with your love next to you. It was date night for you and Sevika, and you suggested a new jazz club with raving reviews and a great wine menu.

The night was going perfectly so far, you sat in a dark booth near the back next to the window, had ample privacy, and a great view of the stage where a jazz band sat playing old hits and romantic ballads.

You hummed softly as you looked at the expansive menu, casually looking at the wine selection and caressing your girl’s trembling thigh. Sevika sat beside you with her head in her hands, thighs shaking under the table as she wiggled around uncomfortably. You bit back a smile as you opened your phone, trying to keep a neutral expression on your face while looking at the settings of the app controlling the vibrator inside Sevika. Your mind wandered back to a few hours ago…

⋆°•☁︎⋆

“Love, are you almost ready?” You called out, fixing your earrings and smoothing your dress out in the full length mirror in front of you. You wore a simple black satin midi dress, the softness of the fabric draping over your curves as you paired it with kitten heels and a striking red bag for a pop of color.

Sevika walked over from the other side of the room and admired your figure, her large flesh hand running over the soft fabric of your dress in adoration. You couldn’t help the flutter in your stomach at the sight of her in the mirror, she was truly a marvel to look at. She wore plain slacks and a matching black button up with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows to show off her muscular arms and freshly polished prosthetic. Her short hair covered her eyes as she brushed her knuckles against the smooth satin of your dress and pressed a gentle love filled kiss on your shoulder.

“Ready when you are doll, but,” She paused and picked up a small box off your shared dresser “Wanted to try this tonight..”

She held up a vibrator box in the mirror, the image on the front showing the shape of the phallic object. The oblong head was shaped like an egg, and it trailed off into a long tail with a smaller vibe at the tip of it. Sevika bought it during your last anniversary as a gag gift and you never had an opportunity to put it to use.

You glanced at the box and continued with fixing your outfit, trying to ignore the throbbing heat that began between your thighs. “I came on my period this evening hun, I’d make a mess all over the restaurant..” your words trail off as you spin around in Sevika’s strong arms, running your hands along her broad shoulders with an innocent smile “But we could always test it out…some other way”

⋆°•☁︎⋆

Sevika panting softly brought you back to the present, her body tensing and releasing every few seconds while the vibrator hummed low and slow inside her spongy core. The agonizing vibrations burned and wrecked her in ways she hadn’t felt before, and the vibrator was only at a low setting. She had never been the object of this level of torture, and the intense pressure that gathered below her navel was something she couldn’t get used to. The constant low buzzing and lewd thoughts clouded Sevika’s mind to the point where she could barely speak.

Big strong Sevika was utterly speechless and at the mercy of you with a stupid app and a little vibrator that made her feel so soft and pliable, she was kinda getting off on it. The lack of control, the feeling of being so exposed in the crowded restaurant, everything about the evening pushed her so far out of her comfort zone that she couldn’t help but throb with need for release. You turned from your phone to check on your poor baby, your hand gently reaching out to caress her hair. You wiped away the sweat that started to bead along her hair line as you saw her body freeze under the feeling of your touch.

“How you doin’ Vika? Hm?” You cooed, her head peering up from her shaking hands to glance at you. Her pupils dilated as her lower lip trembled.

“I-Im…uh..good….” She mumbled, trying to clear her throat from the strangled noise that threatened to slip out. You bit back a smirk at seeing her all flustered, it wasn’t easy to get Sevika so riled up, but you could tell the effect of the vibrator was wearing into the older woman.

A perky waitress soon walked up to your table with water and silverware, she then introduced herself before pulling out a little pad of paper and a pen to take your order.

“We’ll start with a bottle of merlot for the table, and do you want anything else my love?” You asked Sevika with a sweet grin, her eyes flickering to you before shaking her head silently. The waitress nodded and left with a turn of her heel, leaving you giggling in your seat. Sevika’s silence and obvious struggle made you feel so powerful, having your girlfriend’s pleasure in the palm of your hand and seeing her so wrecked was intoxicating. It gave you a rush that you knew you’d have to chase until one (or both) of you were satisfied. Your hand moved to rub slow circles in Sevika’s back as your thumb pressed a button on your phone, increasing the vibrations from low to medium.

Sevika sat upright and groaned low and rough, her head leaning back against the booth chair as her eyes squeezed shut. The tail of the vibrator had a smaller clit stimulator at the tip, which rubbed painfully against Sevika’s sensitive nub. She was practically leaking through her boy-shorts as the vibrations ruined her from the inside. You could barely hear the hum of the vibrator, but the look on Sevika’s face told you it was enough to wreck her. Her flesh hand balled up into a tight fist while her mech hand gripped the table for dear life, trying to stabilize herself in the most discrete way possible. The vibrator was lodged so deep inside her pussy, the tip of the egg rocked against her aching g-spot deliciously, the intensity making her back arch away from the palm of your hand.

“Baby if it’s too much please let me know,” You whisper as you lean in closer to her ear, lips dangerously close to the sensitive skin as your nose nuzzled against her neck “It would be a shame if you made a mess all over the seat~” You chuckle darkly, your teasing words egging you both on in a game neither of you had a chance of winning. Sevika whined softly and tried to scoot away from your crude words, but her sudden movement made the tail end of the vibrations nudge her clit harder.

Sevika’s whole body jolted forward, her trembling hands finding their way back to hide her blushing face. She was so utterly embarrassed, the vibrations were fully controlling her mind and body to the point where she couldn’t even think straight. Her mind was fogged over with such pleasure, she had to resist using your hands to get her off right there under the table.

The waitress soon after brought over the bottle of wine in an ice bucket and two glasses, setting them in front of you both before asking about food and appetizers. You could tell Sevika would barely last through the bottle of wine, let alone a full dinner and possibly dessert.

“I think we’ll just stick with the wine for tonight,” You spoke clearly with a polite smile, Sevika’s silence remaining as she yanked the wine bottle from the bucket and poured a full glass for herself. The waitress nodded and furrowed her brow at Sevika’s actions before walking off.

You watched as your flustered girlfriend downed the first glass of wine, wiping her mouth clean before going in for another glass. You grabbed her hand and tried not to laugh at how desperately she gripped the glass with her mech hand.

“Vika slow down! The wine might make it worse.” You spoke with a cheeky grin as Sevika shook her head.

“Need s-somethin’ to distract me..” She grumbled and poured another glass, leaving you with less than half of the bottle left. You shook your head and laughed softly as you poured your own glass, knowing the night would end much differently now.

Sevika was at her wits end by the last sip of her third glass of wine. She was sweating profusely as her hips unceremoniously grinded against the seat below her, waves of intense pleasure coursing through her worn body. As you suspected, the expensive wine with notes of cherry and chocolate, only added to Sevika’s aching desire. The rich red wine coursed through her bloodstream and greatly added to the intense heat radiating off her (and inside her). And with the added pressure of you turning the vibrations on high, your girlfriend was past the point of caring about anybody else in that restaurant. She was soaking wet and ready to finish.

Before you could even register her movements, she pushed you out of the corner booth and onto your feet, pulling you by the hand towards the back of the building.

“Sev wait!-” You exclaimed as she pushed her way through people to get to the single use bathroom. She kept a look out for workers as she pulled you inside, locking the door quickly behind you as her large frame pinned you against it. Sevika panted heavily, her sparkly grey eyes pleading with you wordlessly as her thighs shook from intense pain and pleasure.

“H-Help me doll..it’s too much i’m f’nna lose it….” She groans, mech hand placed against the door for stability as her flesh one wrapped around the back of your neck and pulled you in for a filthy kiss. It was all tongue and warm breath as you french kissed her, your hands moving to loosen the belt secured along Sevika’s waist. You pulled down the belt and slacks before Sevika used her grip around your neck to pull you away from the indecent kiss and push you down onto your knees.

She pulled down her underwear to expose the obscene wetness dripping from them, it soaked through the thin fabric and coated her muscular thighs, your mouth drooling as you watched a droplet of slick drip from the neon pink vibrator going mad inside of her. She slowly pulled the vibrator out of her wrecked pussy and moaned as it exited, moving her mech hand from the door to grip your lower jaw and force your mouth open.

“Open wide..” She growled, the drenched toy still buzzing as she pressed it against your tongue, letting you taste the mess she created. You moaned at the salty taste of the toy as your tongue swirled around it, Sevika’s pheromones driving you wild as your spit mixed with her wetness that dripped from your mouth. The pornographic moan that escaped your mouth only made you hungry for more as you looked up at her through fluttering lashes. She pulled the toy from your mouth and moved her mechanical hand to grab a forceful fist of your hair, pulling your head back as she angled her hips over your mouth.

“You caused this mess, clean it up” Sevika smirked as she pushed your face directly into her warm mound. Your nose rested in the thick dark hair on her mons as you buried your tongue deep between her folds, lapping up her sweet secretion like you’d never eat again. The aromatic musk of her skin and sweat filled your nose while your hands found their way up to her ass, you gripped the plump skin desperately as Sevika moaned and whimpered on top of your face. The previous stimulations had her so gone that her needy thrusts against your warm mouth were uneven and haste, her approaching orgasm evident.

“F-Fuuck that mouth…” Sevika groaned seductively, the lewd sounds escaping her mouth making your thighs rub together to sooth your own throbbing “Got me s-so riled up, need you so bad baby..” The older woman babbled hopelessly over you, chasing the growing orgasm that threatened to rip through her very soul.

Her hips humped into your mouth fervently, strangled moans leaving her drooling lips as you hollowed your cheeks to suck on her clit. Your finger nails dig deep into her skin as your eyes open to watch the show on top of you. Sevika was coated in a thin layer of sweat, the sheen on her brown skin elevating her beauty as strands of hair stuck to her slick forehead. Her soft grey eyes were clamped shut as her hips moved in lazy circles against your wet tongue. The pleasure was so intense, she couldn’t bear to look at how perfect you looked on your knees in a dirty bathroom just to get her off.

The thought alone made the climbing orgasm in her stomach boil over and wreck through her body, her grip on your hair tightening as she let out a depraved moan while rutting into your sore mouth to ride out her high. Your jaw burned at just how hard she fucked your mouth, but you wouldn’t have it any over way.

You slowly pull away as thin strands of spit and slick connect you to Sevika’s pulsating core. You groan greedily and press an open mouth kiss directly on her sensitive nub, wishing you could surgically attach yourself between her muscular legs. She winced and flinched away, chuckling low and evil as she grabbed her pants and underwear from the floor.

“Enough of that, let’s get home so I can return the favor sweetness.” Sevika smirked as she helped you off the floor, this allowing you to dust your knees off while she put her slacks back on.

“I’m on my period remember?”

“Did I ask?” Sevika spoke with a dark look in her eye as she unlocked and opened the bathroom door, tapping your ass as you walked through it and towards the exit of the restaurant.

You couldn’t help the blush on your cheeks as you headed home with Sevika, the slight wobble in her step matching your bruised knees in perfect synchronicity.

Hi sweetiesssss! ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

writers block has been fucking me raw with no lube so,,,i'm sorry for disappearing! it will probably happen again 😅

You know the drill, ily ily ily and thank you for reading!!! drink some water and remember to eat <3

Love,

Squuoosh ❤︎₊ ⊹

Taglist: @lonerslug , @sapphicstrawcore

[lonerslug]

PART TWO TRACK MARKS?? THAT WAS THE MOST DELECTABLE PIECE OF LITERATURE IVE EVER CONSUMED HOLY.

hey girll damn i’m sorry that was a oneshot and to be honest i don’t really know what happens next.. 😭 i’m sorry

maybe reader is out in the woods, alone just for a few hours, then a bear comes behind reader and she tries to shoot it but gets injured instead? the. sevika runs to reader, trying to save her but readers already badly injured, losing a lot of blood?

i’m not sure, i usually make ending sad 💔😔😭

[lonerslug]

BROO I MISS READING YOUR STUFF SO MUCH😭😭Uni hates me fr. ANYWAYS HOW ARE YOUHU!?!?!?

AHHH hellooo 🩷🩷

make sure to get some rest and study well!! and yes, read fics when u have time 😭🫶

i’m doing great!! i just have alottt of people in my inboxes requesting stuff 😔 and i’m catching up on my school work so that’s good..

[lonerslug]

okay this was like AMAZING, even if u don’t write smut.. LIKE ITS SO GOOD IN WAY I CANT EXPLAIN

—The Bridesmaid (sevika x chubby reader)

synopsis: Sevika does not want to be at this wedding. The suit itches, the music’s cheesy, and if one more person tries to get her to dance she’s walking into traffic. But the alcohol is strong, the venue’s surprisingly gorgeous, and—oh for fuck’s sake—the bridesmaid in pink and green is crying again. She’s a walking, sniffling ball of emotions, and Sevika should be running in the opposite direction.

Instead, she finds herself sticking around. Maybe it’s the whiskey. Maybe it’s the funny fairy in heels who looks like she might dissolve into glitter and tears at any moment. Either way, Sevika’s not leaving just yet.

words: 3.8k, masterlist

cw: sevika is down bad for you, she wants you so bad, you’re a crying mess, fluff and crack, girls kissing, getting freaky before and after midnight, sevika is going to horny jail. better touch grass after this one.

Sevika didn’t want to come to this wedding.

Didn’t want to RSVP. Didn’t want to pick a meal option. Didn’t want to figure out what “orchid-themed cocktail chic” was supposed to mean. And yet—somehow—here she is, standing stiff in the middle of a garden that looks like it was built by rich flower fairies with no concept of restraint, nursing a drink that tastes like fruit-scented regret.

She doesn’t even know why she came.

Weddings aren’t her thing. Emotional people in bright and pastel colors aren’t her thing. Crying in public definitely isn’t her thing. And still, here she is—hot, uncomfortable, and wearing a dark red suit she bought specifically for this, because black was ‘too funeral’ apparently. Dress code and all that shit. No one asked her to follow it. No one would’ve cared if she didn’t. But she did. For some goddamn fucking reason.

There are orchids everywhere. On the arch. In the carpet. Floating in the cocktails. They’re even printed inside the glassware—like little flowery ghosts judging her from every angle. Bright colors everywhere she looks, making her feel even more like a bloodstain someone accidentally invited. The mech arm is not helping.

She hates it. And somehow, she’s still here.

There are only two kinds of people at weddings: the ones who are painfully, aggressively happy to be there—and the ones who look like they’re dying inside.

Sevika’s never felt more aligned with the second group in her life.

Everywhere she looks, people are either giddy with emotion or gripping their drinks like lifelines. There’s no in-between. She catches someone tearing up just from reading the damn program. Another guy looks five seconds from bolting through the hydrangeas.

The bride spots her from across the chaos, glowing like a lantern and waving like Sevika’s long-lost twin. Sevika raises a hand halfway in return, gives what could generously be described as a grunt, and prays that the whole wedding planning whirlwind keeps the bride too busy for a hug. It works. She disappears back into the swarm with a distracted smile, and Sevika exhales slowly through her nose.

Close call.

When the ceremony starts, Sevika picks a bench somewhere in the middle—close enough to be seen, far enough to not get dragged into any group photos—and sits like she’s preparing for a root canal. The floral arrangements are aggressive. Everything smells like pollen and money.

She adjusts her sleeves for the tenth time and seriously contemplates texting a fake emergency to herself just for an excuse to leave and—holy fuck.

She sees you.

Standing beside the priest, bouquet in your hands, hair pinned like something out of a soft-focus romance movie. You’re wearing this ridiculous pink and green dress that should look like a melting sorbet but somehow doesn’t. It hugs soft curves Sevika immediately, shamelessly notices—round arms, full cheeks, breast barely held by the straps of the dress, a stomach pressed sweetly against the satin. You look like you were sculpted out of whipped cream and heartbreak.

What the fuck.

You’re not crying—yet. Your eyes are clear, your smile easy, and she watches your mouth move as you lean toward another bridesmaid and whisper something that makes her stifle a laugh behind her bouquet.

Okay. Maybe Sevika can stay for one drink after the ceremony. Just to… process.

Okay.

So she’s gorgeous. Whatever. That’s not a crime.

It doesn’t mean anything. Pretty girls exist. Even ones with cheeks like peaches and dresses that shouldn’t be allowed in public. Doesn’t mean she’s—

Sevika squints.

You’re gesturing with your hands as you talk to the other bridesmaid, and something catches her eye. Your nails—painted perfectly to match your ridiculous dress—pink with tiny swirls of green and gold, like some fancy little dessert. It works way too well. It’s ridiculous that it works this well.

But that’s not what makes Sevika blink.

It’s the length. They’re gel, maybe press-ons, clean and glossy and shaped to the nines—but two of them. Two. On your right hand. Way shorter.

Her eyebrows twitch.

No fucking way.

She stares, then looks away, then stares again just to make sure. You’re still talking, still laughing, totally unaware that Sevika is currently having a small crisis in the middle of the ceremony about your damn nails.

Seriously? Even for a wedding? You shortened two fingers strategically?

Sevika exhales slowly and looks down into her drink, like it’ll help cool her face.

“Okay,” she mutters to herself. “She might be into girls.”

Might. Probably.

God help her.

The ceremony goes on.

There are vows being exchanged. People are crying—soft sniffles here and there, the occasional wet nose blown into overpriced handkerchiefs. Sevika’s tuned most of it out. She’s doing her best to focus on the pattern of the carpet, the condensation on her glass, literally anything but—

A sound pulls her attention back.

It’s quiet. Barely there. She looks up.

You’re crying.

Not loud or messy. It’s almost impressive how contained it is. Just one hand dabbing under your eye with a finger, the other clutching your bouquet like it might anchor you to the earth. Your stupid glossy lips are forming a pout. Your shoulders shake just slightly, like you’re trying not to make a sound. Not to disturb anything.

Sevika watches, stunned, as you wage a silent war against your own face. Your mascara should be running, but somehow it’s holding up. A miracle of modern makeup science. Still, the bride catches a glimpse of you mid-sniffle and has to bite down a laugh right in the middle of her partner’s vows. You grimace like a child caught crying in class and shoot her a look. She mouths something that looks suspiciously like “pull it together.”

It’s chaos. Subtle, beautiful chaos.

And Sevika—

Oh no.

It’s worse than she thought.

She’d already decided you were beautiful. Already mentally flagged you as dangerous. But now she’s watching you try to have an emotional breakdown in high heels without ruining your eyeliner, and it’s hitting something deep and humiliating in her chest.

She shifts in her seat, runs a hand down her face.

This is so bad.

She’s not supposed to be having feelings at a wedding. Especially not for the crying fairy in a fruity tight dress with suspiciously short gel nails and a death grip on her bouquet like someone just shot Bambi’s mother in front of her.

Sevika sighs. She’s going to need another drink. More than two. And it’s just the beginning.

By the time the vows are done and the bride kisses her partner, you absolutely lose it.

It’s not even subtle anymore. No more polite dabs at the corner of your eyes, no more careful blinking. You’re just sobbing—quietly, yes, but with the full tragic force of a woman who feels everything all at once. Shoulders shaking, breath hitching, nose a little red, lips glossy and pouty like you just stepped out of a perfume commercial and the theme is heartbreak.

The other bridesmaids are laughing. Not in a mean way—more like this has happened before. One of them hands you a tissue like it’s part of a ritual. Another pats your back with practiced timing. You’re trying so hard to keep it together and failing spectacularly, bouquet crushed to your chest, trying to inhale without hiccuping.

Your mascara is still perfect. Your lipstick? Not smudged. Your eyeliner wing? Still sharp. It’s like some divine force is protecting your face while your soul disintegrates in slow motion.

Sevika stares, stunned. Somewhere in her mind, a voice mutters, who the fuck invited a crying fairy to this wedding?

She has to look away before she starts getting ideas like “talk to her” or “make sure she’s okay” or worse—“tell her she looks pretty.” No. Absolutely not. She came here to suffer quietly and leave early, not fall in love with a pastel emotional disaster.

Still… Later, at the reception, she sees you again.

You’ve recovered—barely. Dignity half-patched together. You make your way to the open bar with your chin held high, heels clicking like you’re still on a mission despite having fully wept through a legal ceremony, your hips swaying. Your nose is still a little pink. Your hair’s a little messy. Your tits look amazing in that dress and Sevika is trying so hard not to look. You were crying. It would be rude.

She glances anyway. Just once.

Then grabs a drink off a tray like she didn’t just do that. Fake casual. Totally normal. She’s got one hand in her pocket and a half-smile on like she’s not already planning her opening line in case the gods of coincidence let you stop near her.

It’s fine. She’s fine. Everything’s great.

Except that you’re walking this way.

And Sevika, drink in hand, hands in pocket, shoulders loose like she’s chill and casual and not at all spiraling, realizes with a creeping horror that she is now about to face her destiny. And that destiny has shiny eyes, messy hair, and—Jesus Christ—breast that deserve their own zip code.

Focus. She tells herself she’s not going to look again. Then immediately does.

It’s fine. You’re probably just walking by.

Except you stop. Right in front of her.

You smile, all shaky dignity and flushed cheeks, and give her a bright, slightly breathless, “Hi.”

Sevika blinks.

“Hey.”

There’s a pause.

You tilt your head, a little sheepish, cocktail in hand and a tiny purse on your shoulder. “So,” you start, smiling, “sorry if I ruined the ceremony a little. I tend to get… emotional.”

Sevika huffs softly. “Yeah. No shit.”

You laugh, all warm and self-deprecating and dangerous. It hits her in the spine.

“Well. Glad someone noticed my breakdown.”

Sevika scratches the back of her neck, vaguely aware that her ears feel a little hot. “Hard to miss.”

You glance at her again, curious now. “I’ve never seen you before. Bride’s side or groom’s?”

“The bride,” Sevika says. “I guess I’m her favorite bartender. She dragged me here.”

That makes you laugh again—louder this time, cheeks a little pink from the alcohol and the lingering emotion and maybe, hopefully, the fact that Sevika said something actually funny.

“That tracks,” you say. “You’ve got that vibe.”

She raises an eyebrow. “What vibe.”

You smile, sharp and sweet. “Tall, quiet, and secretly judging everyone.”

She huffs a laugh despite herself. Danger. Tits. Danger.

The conversation goes… suspiciously well.

Like, you’re funny. Not just “haha I cried at a wedding” funny, but actually sharp, a little bold, the kind of funny that makes Sevika forget she’s at a place full of tulle and acoustic guitar covers of pop songs. You talk with your hands, your drink, your eyes—God, those eyes—and Sevika’s nodding along like she’s not fully being dragged into your orbit.

And you’re still standing so close.

Sevika’s not good at this part. The small talk. The mingling. The charming banter that most people seem born knowing how to do. She’s more of a barstool-and-cigarettes type, and this—this is dangerous territory.

So, naturally, she flirts.

“You looked good up there,” she says, casual like it’s no big deal. It is a big deal.

You blink at her once—then grin. That big, tipsy kind of grin that wraps around your whole face.

“Yeah?” you say, tilting your head. “You sure it wasn’t just the sobbing that did it for you?”

Sevika opens her mouth. Closes it.

You laugh again, triumphant. “Gotcha.”

Okay. That was hot. She has to leave immediately.

“Well,” Sevika says, stepping back, “I should—uh. Probably go check if there’s still whiskey that doesn’t taste like vanilla.”

“Oooh,” you say, following immediately, like you were just waiting for her to move. “I’ll come too. I need a refill.”

She stops. Looks over her shoulder.

You’re still behind her. Right behind her.

Still glowing somehow, like your makeup hasn’t moved an inch despite your soul leaving your body half an hour ago. Your hair’s a little more undone, and there’s a sleepy flush on your cheeks that makes Sevika feel like the floor’s tilted sideways.

She clears her throat and keeps walking. “You following me now?”

“Mmm,” you say, sipping your drink. “Let’s say I’m escorting you.”

“You always escort strangers to the bar?”

“Only the tall, broody ones who compliment me.”

She shakes her head, muttering, “Fucking fairy.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Must be the wind.”

She holds the bar rail like a lifeline and signals the bartender. You lean next to her like you belong there, one hip against the wood, drink almost gone, eyes still locked on her like this is a date.

You’re both tipsy. You’re both in trouble. And Sevika’s not leaving this wedding early after all.

Eventually, the music softens, the lights shift, and someone starts herding the guests toward the dinner tables like glittery, tipsy sheep. Sevika, who had been nursing her third whiskey and pretending she hadn’t just flirted her way into an emotional trap, finally glances around for her name card.

She finds it at Table Four. Front and center. Not too far from the bride, which she regrets immediately. Too close to be forgotten.

There’s already someone in the seat next to hers.

You. Of course it’s you.

You’re sitting there like it’s the most natural thing in the world, drink in hand, bouquet finally ditched, eyes a little glassy and your smile as soft as your tits look in that damn dress.

Sevika almost hopes—almost—that she’s the chair you just sat your ass on.

Then she hates herself. Then she hates this wedding.

Then you turn to her and beam.

“Oh my God, it’s you again!” you say like you weren’t following her twenty minutes ago. “Guess we’re table buddies.”

Sevika clears her throat, sits down stiffly. “Yeah. Lucky me.”

You lean in just slightly, conspiratorial. “Still haven’t told me your name.”

“You didn’t ask.”

You gasp, hand to your chest. “I was crying! You can’t expect me to do everything.”

Before Sevika can answer, the clinking of glasses draws everyone’s attention. The bride and her now-spouse stand at their table, hands raised for a toast.

The room quiets. People smile. Phones come out.

And next to her, Sevika hears the softest, most tragic hiccup.

She doesn’t have to look. She knows.

You’re crying again.

Quiet, reverent tears. Your chin trembles, your mouth turns down like someone just played a puppy rescue video at full volume. You’re trying to dab at your eyes discreetly with your napkin, your mouth pressed shut in a dignified little pout like you refuse to sob through the soup course.

Sevika turns her head. Stares at the centerpiece. Orchids. Pink. Of course.

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters under her breath.

And somehow, for some ungodly reason, she smiles. Because of course the fucking fairy is crying again.

And of course she’s sitting right next to her. And of course she still doesn’t know her name.

This is either the best or worst night of Sevika’s life.

The best if she ends in a bed with the orchid fairy. The worst of she goes home alone. And the night is not even finished yet.

At some point, she’d slipped out the back like some kind of tuxedoed shadow, lit a cigarette with hands that were only mostly steady, and stared at the garden lights like they might offer salvation. It was quiet out there. Blessedly fairy-free.

Ten minutes, two cigarettes, and one accidental moment of reflection later, Sevika walks back in through the side door—less tipsy, more resigned. She weaves her way toward the dance floor, passing drunk uncles and cousins.

One of the bridesmaids—short dress, big shoes, and bigger energy—spots her and waves.

Sevika stops. Points at her drink. “Quick question.”

“Shoot.”

“Where’s the crying fairy?”

There is zero hesitation. The bridesmaid just grins, tips her head toward the buffet like they’ve all had this conversation before.

Sevika turns.

And there you are.

Lit up by the warm glow of reception lights, swaying your hips ever so slightly to the beat of some pop song Sevika doesn’t recognize. You’re laughing at something your friend just said, but you’re also fully focused on the tiny lava cake in your hand—taking delicate bites like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you, eyes fluttering shut with every mouthful, lips smudged slightly with chocolate like some romcom daydream come to life.

You’ve got a second mini cake balanced on your plate.

Sevika stares, utterly hypnotized. She’s not sure what looks more delicious—you, or the cake currently sliding into your mouth like it’s being seduced.

She doesn’t even like lava cake, too sweet and sticky. but now she might. Never too late for a first, right.

And she still doesn’t know your name.

And I mean, she could’ve gone back to her seat. Could’ve walked over, played it normal, real human-like, picked up the card on your chair and finally learned your name like someone with a functioning brain.

But no, she goes back to the bar instead.

Because if she’s going to be stupid, she might as well be comfortable. She settles onto a stool, orders another whiskey, and stares into the middle distance like she hasn’t been watching you eat cake like it’s foreplay.

She’s not looking. She’s definitely not looking toward the buffet. Tries not too, at least.

And she’s actually waiting. Because five minutes later—of course—you come strolling over like gravity doesn’t apply to you.

You’re licking your fingers with a napkin balled up in one hand, your hair a little more undone now, your eyes still warm and glassy from champagne and sentiment. You slide onto the stool next to her with a little hum, like this is your seat now and always was. Sevika looks down, and— oh Jesus Christ those thighs.

When you sit, your thighs press together and spread in the softest, most tantalizing way, the hem of your dress riding just high enough to make Sevika forget every vowel she’s ever known. The fabric clings like it knows exactly what it’s doing. Your stomach is pressing against the soft fabric of your dress. Your legs cross slowly, elegantly, like they’re aware of the audience.

“Hey again,” you say, completely oblivious to the war crimes happening in Sevika’s brain.

She nods, says, “Hey,” like she’s fine.

She is not fine.

You pat your lips with your napkin one last time, glance at her glass. “Back at the bar ?”

“Yeah. It’s safer here.”

You tilt your head. “From who?”

“Cake fairies who cry at weddings.”

You gasp, delighted. “Still don’t know my name?”

Sevika shrugs, sips her drink. “I figured you’d come tell me eventually.”

You smile, all glint and gloss. “So you were waiting for me.”

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to.

You’re already leaning in, lips still sweet, eyes all mischief.

It’s late, the sky is a deep dark blue, pop music in her ears.

Thought they would kiss now ? They don’t.

They get drunk instead.

Sloppy, warm, grinning drunk. The kind that makes your knees wobbly and the air feel like velvet. Sevika has another two whiskeys. You switch to something fruity and pink that stains your mouth the exact same shade. You laugh like every sentence deserves a celebration, and Sevika finds herself saying things she doesn’t even mean to say—dumb things. Honest things.

You drag her outside. Not to the garden, but to the little back staircase by the kitchen, where no one goes except the caterers and the ghosts of past bridesmaids. You sigh dramatically as you sit on the step, immediately kicking off your heels with the kind of groan Sevika might remember forever.

“God,” you moan, “I’ve been reborn.”

She laughs into her cigarette. “You’re drunk.”

“So are you.”

“I’m hiding it better.”

“Barely.”

You lean back on your hands, legs out, toes wiggling in the night air. Your thighs spill softly over the edges of your dress now, all golden and plush under the moonlight, and Sevika has to look away just to stop herself from making a sound.

You talk about nothing. You tease each other. You flirt so shamelessly it’s a miracle no one throws rice at you out of instinct.

You lean in once—so close—and then laugh and fall back again, like you’re playing chicken with your own heart. You poke her thigh once, lightly, like she’s a button.

She blinks at you. “What was that?”

“Seeing if you’re real,” you murmur. “You’re so grumpy, and tall, and still. Like a very hot tree.”

She stares at you for a long beat.

Then: “That was the worst line I’ve ever heard.”

You grin. “Did it work?”

Sevika doesn’t answer. She leans in.

And this time you don’t fall back.

You’re already halfway to her, breath hot and shallow, both of you blinking slow like you’re too dizzy to think straight anymore—and then your mouths meet. Clumsy. Crooked. Hungry.

You miss each other’s lips a little the first time—she tilts too far, you smile into it—and the second attempt is messier. Warmer. Your hands fumble at her collar, dragging her closer, while her hand lands heavy on your thigh like she’s staking a claim. She kisses you like she’s been holding back all night, and you kiss her like she’s the prize in the bottom of your champagne glass.

Your lip gloss is half gone in seconds. Her mouth is rough, her teeth scrape your bottom lip once and it makes you whimper, just quietly, just enough for her to pause and breathe, “Fuck,” against your mouth.

You don’t stop.

The kiss tastes like sugar and smoke, tipsy and wet and way too much tongue—and not enough all at once. You tilt your head, let her deepen it, your fingers threading through the short, dark ends of her undercut while her hand slides around your back like she needs to anchor herself before she floats off the damn staircase.

You both break the kiss, breathless. Still too close. Still dizzy.

You whisper, “Okay. That was good.”

Sevika snorts. “You’re welcome.”

You lean back in. And this time, you don’t miss.

You’re still curled into each other on that old stone step, your lips swollen, your hair a little messy, your heel-less feet resting in Sevika’s lap like they belong there. She hasn’t moved in minutes. Just watching you catch your breath with the dumbest half-smile tugging at her mouth.

She sighs, pretending she hasn’t been staring at your mouth for the past full minute. “So,” she says, voice low, lazy. “When are you leaving this wedding?”

You glance up at her through your lashes, still a little flushed. “Now,” you say easily, slipping your hand into hers. “Wanna come with me?”

Sevika doesn’t hesitate. “Hell yeah.”

You grin. She leans in for one more kiss, slow and soft this time, like sealing a deal. Then you sit up, stretch a little, and groan as you slide your heels back on like you’re doing it for the last time in your life.

“You sure you don’t wanna carry me?” you tease, adjusting the strap of your dress.

Sevika rolls her eyes. “Don’t tempt me.”

You stand. She stands. You both wobble a little on your respective heels and boots, then laugh like you’ve known each other forever.

And just like that—two drunk idiots, one dark red suit, and a crying fairy in heels—you disappear into the night.

It might be Sevika’s best night of her life.

Weddings are long, and so is this fic. It was extremely funny though, I love writing this woman so gay and desperate when I’m not writing her in-character and canonverse

dividers: @/cursed-carmine

taglist: @archangeldyke-all @lonerslug @blessupblessup @riotstemple29 @sevikasswifee @ahintofchaos

[lonerslug]

5 Hours. Two Coffees. One Girlfriend

inspired by this post. Masterlist

sevika x workaholic!nerd!reader ;; slow burn ;; smut

a/n: my bad if this is too short 😤 and tbh, i’m not a nerd myself, in fact i’m barely passing my subjects 💔 is this okay lunette??

It starts with the scratching of your pen.

The soft but relentless scratch against yet another page of ruled paper, your fingers smudged with blue ink and your highlighters organised like soldiers around a war table, yellow for definitions, pink for formulas, green for those little acronyms you invent to memorise entire essays. There’s a cold mug of coffee on the edge of your desk. You’ve forgotten about it, of course. Because who has time to reheat it when there’s a quiz on Monday and you only scored second-highest on the last one?

Sevika watches you from the doorway, one shoulder propped against the frame, her eyes trailing down the curve of your spine as you hunch over your notes like some sleepless gremlin. She’s got a cigarette between her lips. An oversized hoodie thrown on lazily over her tank top. She’s been awake for maybe thirty minutes. while you’ve been awake for… way too fucking long.

“You been up since what, seven?”

You don’t look up. “Four-thirty.”

Sevika whistles low. “Jesus.”

“I needed to redo my calc notes. My vectors were sloppy.”

“You know that’s not a normal sentence, right?”

Still, you don’t stop writing. You’re already flipping to another page, scribbling in little corner diagrams with calculated chaos, and Sevika takes another step forward. You can feel her gaze on you now — lazy, amused, concerned. And something else, something darker and fond and dangerous all at once.

“Baby,” she says, voice dropping an octave. “You haven’t even eaten.”

“I had a protein bar.”

“Half a protein bar. Last night.” Sevika walks in fully now, rounds your desk with the patience of a hunter stalking skittish prey. “And now it’s Sunday. You’ve been glued here since Friday night. You think I didn’t notice?”

You roll your eyes, still not meeting her gaze. “I have exams.”

“You’re gonna die.”

“Dramatic.”

But then suddenly, your chair tilts back. A firm hand wraps under your thighs, the other around your back. You yelp, flailing like a cat scooped off a windowsill as Sevika effortlessly lifts you into her arms.

“Hey, HEY! What the fuck?!”

“Break time.”

“I have notes to finish, Sevika!”

“You’ll live.”

“I have an exam on —”

“I’ll kill it for you.”

“That’s not how college works! Put me down. put me down!”

She only laughs, walking the both of you to the bedroom as you kick and wiggle in her arms, notebook slipping from your fingers and landing somewhere on the floor. You slap her shoulder, thighs squirming in protest.

“You’re such a dick!”

“And you’re a brat,” Sevika mutters, kicking the bedroom door open. “An overworked, stressed out, over caffeinated, tight little brat.”

You jolt. Her voice curls around that last word, low and heated, and your squirming stills.

Sevika lays you down on the bed and grabs your blanket, flipping it around your body with ease. You squeal as she wraps you tight, tucking the ends under you like she’s wrapping up her favorite snack for later. You can’t even move your arms. All you can do is glare at her, nose wrinkled, cheeks hot.

“I swear, I will bite you.”

She leans in and presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your cheek.

“Do it.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

You try to wiggle out of the blanket burrito, but Sevika just presses her weight down next to you, caging you in as her hand slides under your head, fingers combing gently through your hair. Her thumb brushes your temple, soothing. She rests her forehead against yours.

“You don’t gotta kill yourself for this shit, y’know,” she murmurs. “You’re already brilliant.”

You swallow hard, your chest still rising like a cornered animal. But her touch makes it slow. Makes it ache.

“I’m not,” you mumble.

“Mm. Shut up,” she says, lovingly.

You don’t shut up. But your eyes do flutter.

You try to stay still, but you’re warm now. Too warm. Her fingers are still in your hair, and now her lips are on your neck, slow, grazing, gentle at first. Then lower. Then she shifts the blanket down, inch by inch, until your tank top is visible, and then not.

“Hey…”

“Shhh.” Her lips replace her hand. “Lemme take care of you, baby. Let me help you rest.”

“But my notes!”

“You’ll memorise them better after I fuck the stress out of you.”

You gasp, because she never says it like that. Not when you’re like this, wrapped and soft and sleepy. But she’s serious.

Her fingers slip under the waistband of your shorts, down beneath the soft cotton of your panties, and you’re already wet. Stupidly, shamefully wet. You try to bury your face into her hoodie, but she grabs your jaw and makes you look at her.

“Look at you. Can’t even relax without me making you.”

Her middle finger slides between your folds, hot and slow and maddening, curling just enough to make your hips jolt.

“Fuck.”

“That’s it. Cry for me. All that stress? Let me fuck it outta you, baby.”

She slides another finger in. Pumps slow. Thumb circling your clit like she’s cranking down the gears on your anxiety, melting it into moans.

Your legs tremble under the blanket, twitching. She chuckles when you whine.

“Sensitive little thing. Your brain’s all overworked. But your pussy’s dumb as hell, huh?”

You nod helplessly. You don’t even try to pretend anymore.

She pins you down with one hand and fucks you slow, dragging it out until you’re begging. Until your hips are grinding against her palm like you need it. Until you’re chanting her name, crying out, undone.

Then, finally when she knows your body’s burning, she leans in and whispers, low:

“Cum for me, nerd.”

You do. Hard. Clamping down on her fingers, thighs twitching, breath caught. And when you open your eyes, Sevika’s already kissing your cheeks again, tucking the blanket back around you. Pressing her hand to your stomach. Holding you.

You fall asleep drooling on her hoodie.

Your notes can wait.

taglist: @sapphicstrawcore @littlelovelunette @sevikaswinkinghole @shanesevikasfuckdoll @sevikas-whore @illbecanon @butchpuppyy @barelykiramman @riotstemple29