★ — Between The Lines

So I just had this idea hope fic writers pick it up!!!❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Sevika (or more arcane femdoms)x reader they are watching a scary movie (presumably one with a lot of gorey scenes like Evil Dead Rise). Reader is very scared of the movie but still tries to watch it, flinching at scary scenes hiding her face face in sevika's chest hugging her biceps and stuff because she is scared

I may writer it but pls pls pls if the fic writers see it pls write one with this I am dyyyinggggggg to read one like this 😭😭😭😭

After hours

NOTE: i don't think this was my greatest work, but it is something. please go easy on me, it's been a while since i wrote 😩🙏. also, it got angsty, i kept listening to "Let down" by Radiohead, so ummm... yeah... also happy 200!! i <3 you all so much!! xoxo 🥰💕

this is the inspo for this (i changed some bits so it fits better)

synopsis: oldergf!Sevika doesn't believe she's good enough for you, but does her insecurity run so deep that she's not willing to be with you anymore?

CW: feminine reader, angsty, modern setting, no usage of y/n, not edited, age gap (reader is twenty-five and sevika is forty-one), mentions of alcohol and smoking (not detailed), power dynamic (sevika is technically reader's boss but not directly), office romance, sevika is whipped for you (like really bad)

word count: 4 000+

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Sevika was the best gift that life could give you. Whenever you were with her, it felt too good to be true. Being with her made you realize that nothing could ever compare to her or any experience you've had in the past. She was older than you, but that didn't stop love from blooming.

She didn't mean to fall for you. She did everything in her power not to, but as soon as you smiled at her and thanked her for helping you with directions, she felt she had no choice. After that, she kept seeing you around. She hadn't realized that you would be the new hire at work. If she had known that, maybe she would have done more to prevent her heart from beating for you. Thankfully, you worked in a different department, which helped Sevika focus on her work. But it was as if you were following her, as though you knew she was falling for you and that she was resisting you. Every time you walked past her office to go to your cubicle, she savoured the view, memorizing the outfit you wore and how you styled your hair. She liked every hairstyle on you, but her favourite was when it was down. Sevika was often spellbound by the way it bounced when you walked away. She learned your schedule, and when she discovered that you liked to arrive at the office earlier than everyone else, just so you could settle in, she began to come in earlier than necessary; she didn't need to be there in the mornings, but she did so just to catch a glimpse of you. Sevika knew she couldn't have you, but that's what she liked about you.

You have kind eyes. Full of curiosity about the world, about her. The first time she had gotten to you was at an after-work event. It was a successful quarter, and to celebrate, everyone had made plans to go to a bar, the Last Drop. Sevika wasn't planning on going but was convinced after hearing that you would be present as well. Silco, her business partner, didn't question her about her sudden change of mind. He was simply entertained.

You were making your rounds, talking to everyone and catching up. Everyone seems to love you, and honestly, who wouldn't? You were so kind and sweet. You baked for the office, even providing a gluten-free option for those who wanted it. If someone confided in you about late work, you would offer to help them, and you simply wanted nothing in return. You were an angel, and Sevika had never wanted anyone more.

Sevika stayed put by the bar, talking to Vander and Silco, catching a glimpse of you here and there. By the second hour, the two men had grown sick of her longing, lovestruck stares.

"Why don't you just go up to her? Talk to her instead of staring at her." Vander suggested, giving her a knowing look. The trio has known each other for a while, going to college together. 

"I can't," Sevika groaned into her hands.

"And why not?" Now it was Silco's turn to tease the scary lady of the office.

"Because… that's just inappropriate," Sevika stated the obvious, but she knew deep down she was just using that as an excuse. She technically wasn't your boss, but the boss's boss. Still, Sevika wasn't one to mix business and pleasure. For the past two decades, Sevika has put her life and soul into this company she's built with Silco. She knows nothing but work. As she grew older, she realized she needed to set boundaries with herself. No one was there to take care of her, so she needed to. Work ended as soon as she left the building. No matter how important it was, she's made it clear not to call or email her after hours.

"Besides, I don't think she would be very interested in an old lady." Even with the sheepish smile on her face, Sevika's tone of voice was serious, meaning she didn't want to be pressed on. Vander stirs the conversation elsewhere, now asking about how it was nearing 20 years since the establishment of the company. 

The bar has gotten louder than what Sevika would have liked. Vander occupied the bar, fixing drinks while Silco was now entertaining a group of employees. Her leather jacket was now slung over the back of her chair, the white tee clinging to her body, and her muscles were on full display. Despite her age, Sevika was still a very fit woman. A couple of silver rings splayed on her thick fingers, she nurses a drink that’s gone warm while the ice melts in defiance of the glass. She’s halfway through weighing if it’s time for her to take her leave. There wasn’t much of a point in staying; she had already played a couple of rounds of cards with the others that she had promised. As she plans her exit, you decide to sit beside her. 

Not near her. Not across the bar where she can pretend she doesn’t see you.

Beside her.

Sevika’s fingers tighten around her glass. 

You glance over, bright-eyed and a little flushed from whatever conversation you peeled away from. “I didn’t expect you to stay this long in the night.” You say, voice light, like you had already talked before. Like, Sevika wasn’t your boss’s boss, who people usually avoided unless something was going wrong, so she could be the one to break the news to Silco. 

She doesn’t smile, not because she doesn’t want to, but because she doesn’t trust herself. 

“Didn’t expect to stay this late,” she mutters, eyes fixated on her drink, like it was the most interesting sight she had ever seen. “Thought I could finally make my quick escape.” 

You giggle - and fuck, it’s angelic. “Guess I ruined that plan.”

“You have a habit of doin’ that?” The words come out before she can stop them. Too casual. Too easy. 

You arch a brow, “ruining plans?”

“Making it hard to leave.”

She sees how your expression falters, just a flicker, before you giggle again - a curiosity blooming within. This was the first time you were talking to one of the big bosses, and you didn’t expect it to be like this. You weren’t going to complain, though. She swears under her breath and quickly finishes her drink. 

This was a bad idea. You shouldn’t be encouraging this. She shouldn’t be looking at you like this. There are unspoken lines, and she’s made a career out of respecting them - keeping her hands clean even when her knuckles are split open. And yet here you were, with a soft curiosity in your voice, like she’s a puzzle you want to figure out. Like she’s not someone who’s already lived too many lives to count.

“You’ve been with the company for a while, right?” You ask, not realizing your proximity is a problem. Sevika noticed but decides against doing anything about it. This was probably the only time she could be this close to you; she will savour it. 

She’ll relish your lavender perfume, the way your dress was snug, accentuating your waist. Your hair had loose curls just the way she liked. Sevika sees the curve of your smile and the sight of your dimples, making her stomach twist in a way it hasn’t in years.

“Longer than you’ve been drinking,” she says dryly.

You make a face, “Ouch. Was that a dig at me?”

“A warning,” she mutters. “You need to be careful talking to me like this.”

You blink. The teasing fades, confusion creeping in its place. “Like what?”

Sevika exhales slowly, jaw tightening. You’re not doing anything wrong. She knows that, and it’s not like she’s acted on anything. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re looking at her like she’s just some stranger at a bar, and not someone who knows exactly where you sit in the company hierarchy. She knows how good you are with people. How you brought tea to the receptionist when she was sick and found a sincere compliment for everyone you walked passed. You have no idea what you’re doing to her. 

“I’m your boss’s boss,” she plainly states, each word like it’s being dragged from her throat. “It’s… inappropriate.”

You tilt your head, lips pressed together like you’re trying to decipher the true meaning behind her words. Questioning if this was her sense of humour. 

Except, she wasn’t joking. 

She’s trying not to fall.

“Oh.” You responded after a moment. Then, gentler, “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

She knows. Of course you didn’t. You’re just the young, sweet and friendly new hire at work.

“I know,” Sevika acknowledges, looking back down at her glass. “Doesn’t mean I don’t.”

Your brows furrow. She can see the puzzle pieces trying to fit together behind your eyes, but she won’t give you enough to complete the picture. She can’t. It’s not right. 

She’s not right.

Still, you don’t leave. That’s the part that gets her. 

You were supposed to leave. Yet, you stayed and ordered another drink. Sipping it slowly, feet swinging just barely above the ground from your seat. Instead, you talk about a project you were assigned to, about how cold the office gets, so you have to bring an extra cardigan, and about a stupid joke someone made in the elevator today. Sevika simply listens, occasionally grunting in acknowledgement, but not letting herself relax. Not until the end, when your glass is empty and your eyes linger on her a little longer than they should. You slide off the stool and turn to her. “You know,” thinking of your words carefully, “I was going to ask if you wanted to get coffee sometime.”

Sevika looks at you, sharp and still. Her heart clenches. She shouldn’t. 

You smile - not flirty, not even expectant. Just… warmth.

“But maybe I’ll let you ask,” you add. “When it’s appropriate.”

And with that, you walk off and find your colleagues that you were meant to drive home for the night. Only to leave Sevika alone at the bar, heart pounding against ribs that suddenly feel too small. 

Sevika doesn’t sleep that night. She tells herself it’s the whiskey. Maybe she left the bar too late, or something she ate didn’t sit right. But deep down, she knows it’s you. It could only be you. The memory of you - your smile, the way your voice dipped low when you said you’d let her ask, like it was some kind of permission. 

And maybe it was.

She tosses and turns, constantly catching a glimpse of her phone, debating whether or not she should go for it. In the end, she decides against it.

Three days pass. She sees you once, she was stuck in a morning meeting while you were on the other side of the glass, sitting at your desk with headphones in, eyes narrowing at the screen in front of you like the rest of the world didn’t exist. You don’t notice her looking at you. Maybe it was for the best. She’s done many things in life that toe the line, but this? This was where she drew the line. 

Friday hits, and Sevika’s in her office after hours, finalizing details of a new deal. The building was quiet, there was a stillness as the cleaning staff hadn’t even made it to this floor yet. Her phone buzzes. A calendar reminder she never turned off. 

Coffee with HR, 4 pm - cancelled.

And for some reason, that’s what does it.

She picks up her phone, thumb hesitating over your name. You’re saved in her contacts as just your first name - no emoji, no last initial, no indication of what you mean to her beyond professionalism. 

It takes three drafts. Finally, she sends a simple message.

You still up for that coffee?

Not bothering to wait for a reply. She locks her screen and throws her phone down, heart hammering like she just pulled the trigger on something she can’t take back.

The coffee shop is quiet. It was one of those corner places where no one wears a uniform, and all the pastries are homemade and slightly burnt. A place she wouldn’t be caught dead in. You were already there, tucked in a booth near the back, hands wrapped around a mug like you’re holding onto something precious. You spot her before she spots you - but not by much. She sees the smile playing on your lips, soft and surprised, and her chest goes tight. She slowly walks over, not wanting to ruin the moment by rushing. 

“Didn’t think you’d come,” you commented, voice low enough to carry.

“Neither did I,” Sevika admits, sliding into the seat across from you. There was a coffee already there, waiting just for her. You offer her half of your muffin without asking. She declines. You expected that.

There’s silence, but it’s not an awkward one. Just… suspended. Like both of you are waiting for the first move that’ll tip the scales.

“Still inappropriate?” You ask, sipping your coffee. 

“Janna, yes,” Sevika mumbled, rubbing a hand down her face. “You have no idea.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So, what changed?”

She looks at you for a long time. Long enough that it starts to weigh on you. Then, she says, “I got tired of pretending it didn’t matter.” 

You blink, the answer catching you off guard. Not because of what she said, but how it was so Sevika. Blunt. Honest. Gruff and vulnerable in the same breath.

“Does it matter?” You questioned.

She doesn’t answer right away. She leans back in the booth, arms crossed, her jaw tight, not with anger, but restraint.

“It shouldn’t,” she finally says. “But it does.”

You nod, eyes on her like you’re searching for something. “I’m not trying to cause trouble.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not a kid.”

“I know that as well.”

Your voice dips quieter, softer. “So maybe we just… have coffee. No expectations. No titles. Just two people who might like each other.”

Sevika huffs a breath, something between a laugh and surrender.

“Dangerous words, kid.”

“I’m not scared of you, Sev.”

That gets her.

She looks at you. Really looks at you - and it hits her all over again how goddamn doomed she is. Because you’re right here, giving her a chance she knows she doesn’t deserve. 

But she wants it anyway, and she’ll do anything to be worthy of you. 

She lifts her coffee and clinks her mug gently against yours. “One coffee.”

You grin. “One for now.”

And she’s fucked. 

She’s smiling now, too. 

It had now become a routine. Not the kind that dulls over time, but the kind that settles into the bones like warmth after a long winter. It started with a shared elevator ride after work. You would wait by Sevika’s office, leaning against the wall with a knowing smile, and Sevika would pretend she hadn’t been watching the clock all day, would grab her coat with forced indifference. 

Then came the walk through the lobby, shoulders brushing, conversations stitched with quiet laughs. The world outside the office felt muted when you two were together. 

Now it was you in her apartment. Sevika would cook most nights. You always insisted on helping, but she would only let you cut the vegetables and keep her company. You two would eat by the window, legs tangled under the table, with the city lights flickering like background music. Later that night, on the couch, Sevika would read while you’d lie across her lap, playing with the hem of her sleeve. There was always a moment, just one, where Sevika would look down at you, and everything in her chest would clench so tightly it almost hurt. A mix of awe and fear. A feeling she hadn’t let herself want in years.

Half asleep and curled against her, you mumbled, “You look at me like I’m going to disappear.” To you, it was simple teasing, but that summed up what Sevika has always thought. 

Sevika didn’t respond. Just stroked your hair and kissed the top of your head like she was trying to promise something, knowing she wouldn’t be able to keep it. 

It all began to unravel slowly.

Sevika found herself staring a little too long when you would laugh with a co-worker. She started pulling away after kisses. She lingered in the kitchen too long and tried to avoid dinner overall. She had snapped, once, over something small, you were late to dinner. Sevika apologized immediately, but it clung to her like guilt.

She was too old for this. Too jaded. Too experienced in the art of being left. You were still young and bright. Sevika loved that about you, but part of her felt like she smudged all that warmth. 

So, one quiet night in her apartment. The kind of quiet that settled deep, only the soft clinking of ice in your glass and the low hum of a jazz record spinning lazily in the background. You were on her couch, legs tucked under you, reading through one of Sevika’s books. You wore an oversized shirt, which hangs off your shoulder, paired with flared leggings. The sight of you wasn’t anything new, but it was still hard for Sevika to believe that this was her reality now. 

Sevika stood by the kitchen counter, leaning her weight on one arm, a half-finished drink in the other hand. Her hair was down tonight, and the sight of it sent something warm and stupid fluttering in your chest. Neither of you had talked much since dinner. Not out of discomfort, just that easy silence you’d started to fall into more and more. She didn’t fill space unless it needed filling, and you… You were getting good at listening to what she didn’t say.

Then, out of nowhere.

“I think you should stop coming here.” 

You flinched from your spot, not sure if you had heard her right. You looked at her from your seat, and she looked just as startled as you were. That quickly went away and was now replaced with a stoic expression. 

“What are you talking about?” You questioned. 

“This,” Sevika forces a steadiness into her voice. “Whatever this is, it’s not going to last. You should be with someone your age. One day, you’re going to wake up and wonder what the hell you were thinking being with me. I’m not going to wait for that.” That last part came out quieter, almost like she regretted saying it the second it left her mouth. 

“Are we really doing this now?” You raised a brow. 

She turns her gaze to where you were sitting. Tired eyes, scarred skin, that permanent weight she carried even when she wasn’t talking about it.

“You’re twenty-five,” she explained, like that was enough to understand. Like that should be the end of it. You stood, putting your book down on the coffee table, walking toward her slowly. “And you’re what? Walking away from this before I even get the chance to prove you wrong? So, I can end up with some clean-shaven corporate guy who has a dog and doesn’t smoke?”

She flinched. Just slightly. 

Sevika didn’t expect you to fight her on this matter. She underestimated how much you want this. She fights the little voice in her head telling her that she shouldn’t continue.

“I’ve seen how people look at us,” she mutters, turning away from you. “Like I’m dragging you down. Like you’re just… playing house until something better comes along.” 

You step back, “Is that what you think of me? That I would use you?” You tilt your head, trying to catch a glimpse of her. Was this really the same person who held you at night? The woman who made sure you got home safe? The one who would look at you like you were the only thing that mattered because you were.

“Do you think of me so lowly?” 

“I’m protecting both of us.” Sevika bit her lip. She knew she was taking the coward’s way out, but if that’s what it took for you to realize that she’s not the woman you want, then so be it.

“You’re not,” you utter. “You don’t even want to try.” The frustration starts to build up, you run a hand through your hair, not believing what you’re hearing. There was a long pause, raw and aching.

“I’m not worth the fight for you… Am I?”

Sevika wanted to say yes. She wanted nothing more than to declare you’re everything to her. That this could work out between you two. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

After a moment of processing, a realization that this is the path she wants for you. You gathered your things and left. You didn’t slam the door. There were no tears in your eyes, not yet at least. You simply walked out quietly, you knew that trying to stay would only make it worse. 

Weeks have gone by.

Sevika went home alone. No one sang in the car or made fun of her ‘old people’ music. She cooked for one. Nobody was there to help her with the dishes. She read books that didn’t hold her attention. Not a single soul was there to play with her hair and ask a million questions about her day. The apartment had grown too cold. 

You two would still see each other in the office. You would pass by her, being the cordial and polite person you were, you would smile, but it didn’t meet your eyes. Sevika started avoiding you, purposely leaving early or staying as late as possible because anything was better than seeing you in pain. 

She’d lie awake at night, gripping what was once your side of the bed. She swears it still smells like you. Sometimes she’d reach over, pathetically, like muscle memory hadn’t caught up to heartbreak. 

The worst part was the silence. She missed your laugh because she completely missed the joke you made. The way you tried to speak Hindi, even though your pronunciation wasn’t the greatest, it was the fact that you tried. The way you looked at her like she was something good. 

It was late one night when Sevika broke. 

She stood outside your door, her heart thudding out of her chest like it had something to say before she did. She hesitated; it wasn’t fair that she was crawling back to you for something she broke off. She was a coward. About to turn back, the door swings open, and Sevika looks up to see you. 

You didn’t look surprised to see her. Just tired. 

Tired and lovely, and still hers, in some unspoken way.

Sevika cleared her throat, trying to gain some control of herself. “I was wrong. I got scared and in the end I’m the one that hurt you.”

You said nothing, but instead observed her. You watched the way her breath catches up to her. Her fingers fidgeted on her sides, trying to grab something but falling short. 

“I still think you deserve better than me,” Sevika went on. “But I also know that I’ve never wanted someone this much in my life.”

A pause.

“I miss you,” she whispered.

You studied her for a long moment. Then, with a soft sigh, you step aside and open the door wider. And there it was. The same doe eyes looking at her, the day she gave you directions. The soft smile playing on your lips. 

And this time, Sevika walks in. No fear and not one doubt in her mind.

Just hope.

THIS MOMENT

synopsis: what’ll happen when Yamaguchi Tadashi realizes he likes boys— his best friend, Tsukishima Kei, to be exact?

a/n: did i make myself cry while writing this? yes, yes i did. but this is for all you TsukkiYama shippers ;)

cw: *let me know if i missed something* angst, bullying, violence, blood (kinda), use of sexual slur, fluffy ending

i wanna give a huge thanks/shoutout to @usami-ichigo for helping w the title and beta-reading 🥺

word count: 1,593

Yamaguchi Tadashi and Tsukishima Kei have been friends since primary school; Tsukishima having helped the latter from some bullies. They have been by each other’s side since then- it’s rare to see one without the other.

For some odd reason, Yamaguchi had begun to- at times- get shy around Tsukishima in their last year of middle school- his stomach feeling weird and tingly. He would also find himself daydreaming about the latter. Wait, he’s my best friend, so why is this happening. I can’t like him; it’s impossible because I’m supposed to like girls- not boys.

Yamaguchi was very open with his mother and explained his feelings to her. “Tadashi, baby, I believe you may have a crush on Kei.”

Tearing up, he said, “b-but I’m supposed to like girls- not boys.”

“Tadashi, look at me,” there she goes with her soft voice and equally soft hands grabbing his face, turning it towards her. She wiped the tears off his cheeks with her thumbs while sending him a warm, comforting smile with a soft look in her eyes. “It’s okay if you like boys. You’re allowed to like whoever you want.”

“But won’t kids make fun of me? Won’t Tsukki be disgusted by me?” Just the thought alone is enough to send him into a panic. His mother hugged him, cooing words of consolation.

That night was when Yamaguchi Tadashi realized he had feelings for his best friend, Tsukishima Kei.

Fast forward a few months from his middle school promotion to his first year in high school: his feelings only grew as time passed. Thankfully, he was able to hide them from Tsukishima. But not from his classmates.

One day before volleyball practice, Yamaguchi was turning a corner when he bumped into someone. The person pushed Yamaguchi to the ground, looking at him with a look of disgust. “Watch where you’re going fag,” he spat out, emphasizing the last word. Yamaguchi looked down at his pants, his face flushing out of embarrassment.

“Hey, he’s blushing. I think he liked it,” the guy’s friend said, causing him to cackle.

“Oh, so you like that degrading shit? You kinky ass fag.”

“Repulsive.” The two looked at each other for a brief moment before nodding and kicking Yamaguchi. All the poor boy could do was curl into a ball and protect his head with his hands. The first boy grabbed him by the collar, yanking him up and off the ground, and gave him a harsh blow to the face; he’s going to have a black eye and busted lip after this. He threw Yamaguchi back on the ground and spit on him before walking away, laughing, with his friend.

None of the bystanders that watched the whole thing did anything to help him; they all just stood there, watching everything unfold as if it were some MMA match on TV. Yamaguchi heard some of the whispers from those that were around:

“I heard that he’s sucked off some of the teachers for a better grade.”

“I heard he gives himself up for money.”

“Guys like him disgust me.”

“He should go to hell for being gay.”

Yamaguchi tried to fight back the tears threatening to spill out from his eyes. He stood up from his place on the ground and continued on his way to the boys’ locker rooms.

He was relieved to see that it was empty. He wasn’t ready to be interrogated by his teammates. He stripped himself of the white uniform shirt- which had some faint tints of red. Yamaguchi drew his eyebrows together in confusion and looked down to examine the wounds; they were already forming dark purple bruises and had some small cuts. He opened his locker door and spared a glance towards the small mirror attached to the inside of it.

He was right; he did have a busted lip, and a bruise was also forming around his right eye with a small cut on his brow bone. Lightly bringing his fingers into contact with his swelling eye, he winced in pain. Tears started to form in his eyes again, no, not now. Just wait until later. I can’t cry right now. So he finished changing into his clothes for practice, slamming the locker door shut, and walking to the gym.

Stepping into the gym, Sugawara greeted him. “Hey, Yamaguchi!” and the latter mumbled a small hey in response. Sugawara’s eyes grew wide once he saw Yamaguchi’s state: busted lip, bruised eye, and slightly limping.

“Yamaguchi, are you okay?! What happened?” His senpai questioned, rushing over to him; this gained the other members’ attention, their eyes also blowing wide.

Yamaguchi ignored his question, only causing Sugawara to grow more worried. “Hey, what happened?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled in response. Once he got to his usual spot in the gym, he saw Tsukishima looking at him, concern and anger laced into his usually stoic expression. Yamaguchi tried to avoid his best friend’s gaze but couldn’t. Just one look into Tsukishima’s eyes was enough to have tears stream down Yamaguchi’s face.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Tsuksihima asked in a hushed voice. Yamaguchi gave a small nod in response and told his best friend what had happened- only loud enough for the latter to hear.

“So what if you are [gay]? Why the fuck do they care?” There was pure anger in Tsukishima’s voice, face gaining a tint of red from it. “Who was it? You know what,” he walked away from his spot and sped walked out of the gym.

“Tsukki? Where are you going?” the latter asked, rushing after him.

“I’ll just find them myself.”

“Stop.” Tsukishima kept walking, ignoring Yamaguchi’s attempts to stop him.

“Please, just leave it be.” Still, Yamaguchi was being ignored, which only made him grow frustrated. “Tsukishima Kei!” the other came to a sudden halt hearing Yamaguchi call him by his full name. “I said,” Yamaguchi’s voice was shaky, “stop. Leave it alone.”

“I can’t!” the other shouted, throwing his arms in the air out of frustration.

“Tsukki, stop.”

“I can’t!” Yamaguchi flinched at his shout.

“Please, Tsukki.”

“I can’t just let this go; why don’t you understand that, Yamaguchi?”

“Because it’s nothing! You’re just going to make things worse. It doesn’t matter anymore. It already happened; it’s in the past. Just let it go.”

Yamaguchi started walking away when Tsukishima grabbed his arm and pulled him into a hug. “Ts- Tsukki?” He just stood there, in the other’s arms, confused.

“I can’t let this go,” Tsukishima’s voice was softening, “because it pains me to see you like this.”

“Why do you care?” Yamaguchi tried to say sharply, but instead, it came out shaky.

“I’ve always cared, and I’m sorry for not showing it.”

He pushed the other away, “just stop. You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

“Yamaguchi,” he lowered his voice. He closed his eyes and started leaning in when the latter, once again, pushed him away, getting out of his hold.

“Tsukki, stop. You’re just going to lead me on.” Shit, he realized he had indirectly confessed. Fuck, why’d I had to say it aloud? Tears started to stream down his face because he could no longer hold them in.

It pained the tall blonde to see Yamaguchi crying and so vulnerable. He had to do something, but he didn’t want to do the wrong thing. He opted for pulling Yamaguchi in for a hug: one hand holding his head and the other rubbing small circles on his back.

“Tsu-”

“Please, just let me hold you.” Yamaguchi gave in to his words and hesitantly wrapped his arms around the latter. Tsukishima held him a little tighter with the fear of the other running away if he were to loosen his hold; he was already prepared for the other to run away. But to his surprise, Yamaguchi snuggled his face into the crook of his neck, causing Tsukishuma to stiffen a bit.

“Please,” Yamaguchi croaked out, “please don’t leave me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because I’m… because I’m gay, and,” he paused, tears once again spilling from his eyes.

Tsukishima felt the warmth of his tears on his neck, then reassured him by softly saying, “I’ll stay no matter what you say.”

“And because,” he took a deep breath. “I like you,” he mumbled into his shoulder.

Tsukishima pulled away just enough to see Yamaguchi’s face, holding it with his hands and wiping the few tears on his cheeks. Yamaguchi leaned into his touch, closing his eyes. Was he always this pretty? Gosh, I’m definitely in love with him. Tsukishima took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he was about to say. “Yamaguchi,” the boy looked into his eyes, “I’ve always had this weird feeling when I’m around you.” Yamaguchi tried to turn his face away. He’s just trying to make me feel better. He doesn’t mean it.

Tsukishima held his face in place, “and now I think I understand the feeling. I love you, Tadashi.” And that was it, he said them. But did he mean it? He must have meant it if he used Yamaguchi’s given name, right? He just has to say back, even if Tsukki is lying.

“I love you too, Kei.”

“I promise I won’t leave you.” He planted a kiss on Yamaguchi’s forehead. The two boys stood there- foreheads now pressed together.

What does this mean? What will happen to their friendship? Those are questions to be answered another time. Right now, all they’re thinking about is savoring this moment.

© putmeinyourdeathnote

Hii i love your works so muchh and I just wondered if you could do an Ambessa x reader (angst), where Ambessa was supposed to die from the black rose but it ended up being the reader. Thank youuu🫂💗

An Altruistic Act

Contains angst, death of reader

You knew the time would come, you did but never had the guts to really tell Ambessa.

You were married to her, step mother to Mel who seemed to despise you with all that was in her.

Whatever the case was, Ambessa's orders were clear, "Stay where you are, don't intervene, don't move," and so you did when you watched Caitlyn Kiramman initiating a fight with Ambessa, a move you would've normally said was foolish.

But you could sense something darker underlying, you didn't know what to do. Every cell in your body was yelling from you to intervene but you didn't want to let Ambessa down.

Then it happened.

Caitlyn’s quick reflexes severed Ambessa’s protection—her talisman, the one safeguarding her from magic.

The moment it was ripped away, the room seemed to still. A sinister force coiled in the air like a serpent ready to strike.

But you didn't want to let it. You couldnt.

Ambessa had to live, she couldn't die this way.

The next few events went in a total blur, you lunged in front of her is all you remembered. White hot pain shot through every single vein of your body, agony gripping you, threatening to eat you whole and then you landed on the ground with a thud.

All the air knocked out of you.

Vision blurring with tears from pain.

Absolutely everyone watching was petrified, transfixed wherever they were as they stared, trying to comprehend Ambessa's reaction only there was none.

The woman walked closer to your limp body, sinking down on her knees for once, cradling your head.

Ambessa tilted your head delicately as if afraid your head would come detached into her hands, "Why?" She questioned, she couldn't cry. She couldn't let herself.

"Ambessa," her word was a whisper on your lips, hand raising to cup the side of Ambessa's face. "I'd rather die, than live without you." Your thumb rubbed against her cheek in a soothing manner.

"But you were supposed to live," Ambessa said, voice almost strained with emotion but she wouldn't let her resolve crumble.

"So were you," you chuckled weakly but then your hand fell limp from her face, Ambessa grabbed your hand tightly in her own.

You could see from your peripheral vision— Caitlyn and Mel stood there, horrified by what just happened. Not only did they miss their shot at Ambessa, they shot someone else completely.

"Stay with me," Ambessa said although she knew it was of no use, pressing her forehead against yours with oh-so desperation as if it would magically cure everything.

"Ambessa, promise me," you said, dark edges creeping in your vision, "Promise me, you'll win this battle and every other one after this."

Ambessa nodded, "I promise," she said with so much emotion, no Noxian had ever heard her like this.

Ambessa felt you fading from her arms, golden eyes raising with pure rage to lock over Caitlyn and Mel.

Perhaps nobody had ever heard Ambessa being so vulnerable before but now? No one would ever hear that again.

There was nothing more to lose for Ambessa for they had taken away what kept her going at the worst times in her life.

You.

⋆ arcane headcanons but they're all vampires.

multi. vampire!f!characters x f!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: what it says on the tin, baby doll.

cw: vampire-related violence, mentions of gore (nothing graphic), mentions of blood-drinking (duh), dom/sub, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, masturbation, cunnilingus, power dynamics, power play, impact play, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, semi-public sex on occasion, unhealthy relationships (in the sense of vampires + their fledglings! no abuse i swear), manipulation, gothic themes, mutual obsession, age difference, older woman/younger woman, morally gray characters.

notes: this includes jinx, caitlyn, ambessa, sevika, + vi. i just watched nosferatu and it’s now one of my absolute favorite movies. i loved it and so now i must invoke the spirit of the vampire into every fictional woman i’m desperately in love with.

this is also fully for @digit4lslut who wanted more evil women. i concur.

The winter is long and arduous and you find yourself hungering for something dark and warm. The world has always seemed to press against you, take from you, eat at you. You’re in bed now, and the spot next to you is plush and warm from your lover’s recent departure. Your neck stings and you press a hand to it, pull it away to find a gleaming sweet mixture of venom and blood. Beyond your hand the door opens and with a few more steps the curtain shielding from around the bed are pulled back. 

This is your lover's return. You look at her, smile softly as she crawls over you and hovers with a blood-wet mouth. Her chest rises, body fevered and aching after a hunt. She places a hand on your stomach, pushes down until you gasp and clutch at her. Yes, this is your forever. You cup her face, turn her toward the light. 

You see her. You see your history. Who is she? What is your history? What is her name?

jinx.

♱ you both were small when you first met. you had a tendency to sneak out into the gardens, tuck yourself under the thicket of white hydrangeas and stare out into the water. one day, the darkness shifted and she was staring back.

♱ she was all wild hair and wilder eyes, skin pale as moonlight. her hair was crystal, ocean blue. you weren't scared—maybe you should have been. instead, you reached out your hand and she took it, fingers cold against yours. 

♱ you let her trace your palm, intertwine your fingers. something began to hum deep and low in your body and her eyes went pink, bright and starlike. she smelled so overwhelmingly of rose and plum, almost sickly sweet. you breathed in deeply, from your stomach up through your chest—like you were swimming.

♱ that was the beginning.

♱ for years, she was your shadow companion. you'd meet in the garden at midnight, sharing secrets and stolen sweets. You’d tuck a cake under the flat of her tongue and she’d hold it, smile close-lipped while it turned to ash. she'd braid flowers into your hair while telling you stories about magic and monsters to distract you while she spit it out.

♱ then one spring, she vanished. you woke to nothing but a puncture wound on the flesh of your palm, the holes almost tender with their dried blood and lack of pain. you didn’t know it then, but she’d spread her saliva, her venom over it to spare you from any pain.

♱ the hydrangeas bloomed without her, and you learned what it meant to mourn someone who left no trace behind. you grew into yourself slowly, carefully, always feeling half-formed without her there.

♱ when you saw her again, you were twenty-three and she was everything you'd dreamed of in the dark. she stood in her cousin's drawing room, all sharp edges and sharper smile. "this is jinx," they said, "she's been abroad." you knew better—the girl from your garden had never left, she'd just become something else entirely. maybe she always had been.

♱ her cousin, viktor, spoke of marriage within weeks. you agreed, but your eyes were always on her. you caught her watching you too, gaze heavy with something that made your blood sing. this was what you'd been waiting for, you realized. this hunger. this need.

♱ you couldn’t be alone with her. you recognized your lack of will, your deference almost immediately and set about avoiding her when you could. you only realized she allowed it, was indulging your fancy, when she cinched your waist with an arm just outside of the dining room and pressed her thumb into your chin until your jaw hinged wide enough for her to see the tissue of your cheek.

♱ “enough of this,” she told you, and then closed your mouth. she leaned forward, flooding your mind with her saccharine perfume as she held your head inbetween her spindly fingers and pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

♱ she took to painting you. at first, it was formal portraits, the kind viktor commissioned. but soon the paintings changed—you in the garden, surrounded by hydrangeas, then by roses. you sleeping, hair spilled across silk pillows. you with bitten lips and eyes that held secrets. 

♱ you never told anyone how you'd pose for her in the dead of night, how your skin would flush under her gaze.

♱ "you're my best work," she'd whisper, fingers trailing over fresh canvas. "my masterpiece." her studio became your sanctuary, far from viktor's polite affections and careful touches. she never kissed you, but god, how you wanted her to.

♱ the sculptures started after your engagement was announced. you in marble, you in bronze, you eternally preserved in cold, beautiful stone. she worked feverishly, possessed by something you both couldn't name. "i'm making you immortal," she'd say, and her eyes would glow like embers. "isn't that what you want?" it was. it is.

♱ you found her old sketches one night—drawings of you as a child, then a teenager right before her abandonment of you, then a woman, dated through all the years she'd been gone. she'd never stopped watching you, never truly left. 

♱ the pages were stained with something dark at the edges. you traced them with your fingers, understanding finally what it meant to be beloved by something inhuman.

♱ "do you ever think about that night in the garden?" she asked once, hands covered in clay as she shaped your likeness. "when we first met?" you nodded, remembering the cold touch of her hand. "i knew then," she said, "that you'd be mine. but you didn’t understand it." 

♱ the way your heart raced at those words should have frightened you. instead, you whispered back, "i understand now."

♱ viktor speaks of jinx with a mixture of fear and reverence. "she's not right," he whispers against your neck one night, and you feel nothing but impatience at his touch. "the things she does in that studio..." but he never finishes the thought. the family—the coven, jinx’s voice corrected you—needs her, so they keep her close. 

♱ you need her too, but for entirely different reasons.

♱ sometimes she watches viktor touch you—at dinner parties, in the garden, during your dancing lessons. her eyes are molten in those moments, and later you find your face torn to pieces, canvas slashed with violent strokes of red. 

♱ anyone else would be terrified, but the desperation with which she wants you makes your body riot with heat. you begin to leave your windows open at night, hoping she'll come to claim what's hers.

♱ "sit still," she commands, and you do. you always do. she's sculpting your hands now, obsessing over every line, every vein. "beautiful," she murmurs, and her fingers trace the paths her chisel will follow. your pulse jumps beneath her touch. she smiles, knowing. you smile back, trembling and wanting.

♱ the studio walls are covered with you now. sleeping, laughing, reading, dancing—moments you don't remember posing for. "my muse," she calls you, but it feels more like worship. every angle of you captured, preserved, devoured by her artistry. you wonder if this is what it feels like to be transformed into myth, and if she would lash out at your desire to be her priestess instead of her god.

♱ you find her one night in the garden, beneath your hydrangeas. she's painting with something dark and wet, and the flowers are turning red beneath her brush. she’s upset, her spin flexing agitatedly. "your wedding is in a month," she says without looking up. "i'm running out of time." 

♱ you kneel beside her in the dirt, press your fingers to her cold cheek. "what do you need me to say in order for you to just take me?" you whisper. her eyes flash in the dark.

♱ the paintings change again. now they're fever dreams—you with wings of thorn, you with a crown of bones, you surrounded by writhing shadows. in every one, there's a crimson figure reaching for you. in every one, you're reaching back. they're no longer paintings but prophecies, and you ache for their fulfillment.

♱ "he'll never see you like i do," she tells you, circling your latest statue. “i know,” you answer. "he'll never capture your essence." her hand hovers over the marble's heart. “i—i know.” "he'll never make you eternal." the way she says it sounds like a promise. "i know,” your breathing is erratic now. “i don't want him to," you answer. "i only want you." 

♱ the sculpture shatters that night; neither of you mention the blood on her hands.

♱ you start finding dead hydrangeas on your pillow, their petals black with age. beneath them, sketches of you in a wedding dress, the train stained scarlet, the veil made of lace and gray shadow. her signature is always in red. you press the flowers between book pages, collecting them like love notes.

♱ "tell me about the night you disappeared," you ask her once, lying among the ruined canvases of her studio. she traces patterns on your throat instead of answering. "i had to become worthy of you," she finally says. "i had to learn how to keep you forever." you turn your head, bare your neck and spread your legs. she lies against you, begins to drag two finger to your center. "show me," you breathe. “please.”

♱ she eats you like she does everything else: wildly, insatiably, and relentless. you feel out of control, grasping at your thighs as you finish over her.

♱ the night before your wedding, she asks to paint you one last time. viktor warns against it, but you go anyway. her studio smells of copper and roses. 

♱ she doesn't use canvas this time. instead, her fingers trace runes on your throat, your wrists, your heart. "art needs sacrifice," she says, and her teeth gleam in the candlelight. "and i've waited so patiently. given you up for long enough." you think of all the years she watched, waited, wanted. your hands find her hair.  “stop waiting."

♱ your first night as her creature, you understand why she always painted in red. the world explodes into color you never knew existed—violets deeper than bruises, blues that pulse like veins, reds that sing of life itself. "everything's so beautiful," you whisper. she laughs against your throat. "this is just the beginning, baby."

♱ viktor never makes it to the altar. the coven whispers that he fled, abandoned his bride-to-be. only you and jinx know the truth of his final portrait, painted in shades of crimson and hung in the deepest chamber of her studio. his last gift to art. you understand now—true art should hurt a little.

♱ the garden blooms year-round now, hydrangeas stained perpetually dark with your midnight feedings. 

♱ "do you remember when you were afraid of me?" she asks one night, centuries after. you're both covered in bed, her mouth slick from where she’s been drinking. "i was never afraid," you correct her, licking the color from her fingers. "i think i just always loved you and found myself incomplete. that’s terrifying at thirteen, seventeen, nineteen, twenty. and it never stops.”

♱ “good” she murmurs, and you know then that if you ever die she will be the thing that kills you.

caitlyn.

♱ she's been watching you grow into yourself for years. quiet, careful, always maintaining that perfect distance. you think she's just being professional—the respected vampire mediator, keeping an eye on the human liaison to her kind. 

♱ she knows better, knows what you are. she feels the pull every time you enter a room, like gravity shifting to accommodate your presence.

♱ you begin to speak to her, lay yourself bare. you find that she’s so attentive when she listens, her body twisting to match the shape of yours as she leans her chin on hands and never breaks her gaze.

♱ "you'll find them," she tells you one night, when you're crying in her study about another failed relationship. her hand hovers over your shoulder, not quite touching. "your perfect one is out there." 

♱ the lie tastes of rot in her mouth. she knows exactly where your perfect match is—sitting across from you, centuries old and terrified of how young you are.

♱ you bring her wine she can't drink and tell her your secrets. your life spills out of you, a thin timeline that is a speck in how long she’s lived. she collects each one like precious stones, storing them away with all the other pieces of you she's gathered over the years. 

♱ "i just want someone to look at me and know," you confess. she grips her desk until the wood creaks, fighting the urge to say: i know. i've always known.

♱  she can’t help herself in some ways. there are some things she can't hide, one of them being her favor. books appear on your desk about subjects you mentioned wanting to learn. your favorite flowers stay blossomed in winter outside your window. a shadow follows you home on dangerous nights. you think she's just being kind. she's being careful—so, so careful.

♱ "do you ever feel it?" you ask her once. "that pull toward someone? like your whole body already knows them?" she looks at you for a long moment, memorizing the way moonlight catches in your dilated eyes. for a moment, she zones out and listens to your body pump and pulse. she hears your sudden arousal, the sticky syrupy run of your cunt as you watch her the swell of her chest.

♱ "yes," she says finally, slightly breathless. "i know exactly what you mean." you smile, relieved to be understood. she turns away, centuries of control cracking.

♱ when you finally find out, it's not gentle. there's a fight, an ancient vampire who gets too close, wounds you and tells you too much. 

♱ "ask your protector why she keeps you close," he sneers before caitlyn tears him apart. "ask her why she won't let anyone else have you."

♱ you're magnificent in your rage. "all this time!" you seethe, hurling books at her head. "watching me cry about being alone. letting me think—" she catches a particularly heavy tome before it hits her face. 

♱ "i was trying to protect you," she starts. "from what?" you roar. "from me," she whispers. 

♱ you settle and she finds it worse than the rage.“caitlyn, you are my mate. out of everyone, you could only ever save me.” 

♱ "i've lived centuries," she tries to explain. "i've seen everything this world has to offer. i didn't want to take your chance at a normal life. you will resent me as time passes. that is the truth." you laugh, bitter and broken. "that wasn't your choice to make. and it was the wrong one. resent you? it’s as if you don’t even know me."

♱ she finds you in her study at midnight, surrounded by her journals. centuries of entries about you, dreams at frist—about the pull, about fighting it. then you came into the world and it was real, more terrifying. 

♱ "when?" you ask, voice raw. "when did you know?" she kneels beside your chair, finally letting herself touch your hand. "the moment you walked into my office five years ago. it felt like walking into sunlight after an endless night."

♱ "i've memorized all your habits," she confesses one night, when you're still angry but can't stay away. "the way you tap your fingers when you're thinking. how you always have to turn to an even-numbered page in a book before you leave it. the exact sound of your heartbeat when you're about to cry." 

♱ you want to hate how well she knows you. instead, you ache.

♱ she starts leaving collections of letters for you, months of longing bound in leather. you read about the first time she saw you smile, how she had to leave the room because the wanting was too much. about all the times she nearly shattered, nearly told you, nearly gave in. 

♱ "i wrote novels of you," she whispers when you confront her. "i just couldn't let you read them."

♱ "i want to know," you demand one evening, tired of careful distance. "show me what it feels like." 

♱ she presses her hand to your chest, lets you feel the pull that's been tormenting her for years. it's like drowning in fire, like every love poem ever written condensed into a single touch. 

♱ "oh," you breathe. "why did you keep this from me?"

♱ you find her old paintings hidden away—you in every season, every light. she's captured moments you didn't even know she witnessed. 

♱ "i told myself it wasn't possessive if i never showed anyone," she admits. you trace a picture of yourself sleeping, rendered in oils and longing. you turn to her, face open and wet. "what if i wanted to be possessed?"

♱ the first time she kisses you, it's like coming home. "i'm still angry," you murmur against her lips. “furious even.” her hands shake as they frame your face. "i know. i'll spend decades earning your forgiveness." 

♱ you bite her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. "decades? is that all?"

♱ she tries to maintain control even now—always asking permission, always holding back. you learn to break her resolve with casual touches, with bared skin, with whispered confessions. "let go," you tell her, pressing closer. "i want you to trust yourself so implicitly, that you let yourself go. i'm not made of glass." 

♱ when she finally does, there are stars exploding behind your eyes and gunfire in your head. you will never forget the feel of her, her cunt swollen and pink and weeping against you.

♱ "i used to stand outside your door at night," she admits, tracing patterns on your bare shoulder. "listening to you breathe, making sure you were safe." you should find it creepy. instead, you think of all the nights you felt protected without knowing why.

♱  "next time," you say, "come inside."

♱ you start finding little gifts—first editions of books you mentioned loving, antique jewelry that matches your eyes, pressed flowers from centuries ago. "i've been collecting things for you," she explains, shy suddenly. "since before the day we met." 

♱ you wear her history around your neck, let her sink into your blood.

♱ sometimes you catch her watching you with that old hesitation. you've learned to read it now—the fear that she's taking too much, loving too deeply. "i choose this," you remind her, pressing your wrist to her mouth. "i choose you." she kisses your pulse point like a prayer.

♱ "i thought i was protecting you," she whispers one night, when you're tangled in her sheets and her guilt. "but i was really protecting myself. from how much i could love you. from how much it would destroy me to lose you." 

♱ you kiss the confession from her lips. "you will never lose me. but i will ruin you, if you ever try to keep me from you again. in any fashion.”

♱ she shivers, understands that you are saying this as a vow. she rolls you over, climbs on top of you, tries to tear apart your body to find a place to stay.

ambessa.

♱ she never looks at you. not really. you're furniture to her, useful and invisible. you clean lip stains from her wine glasses, replace torn sheets, erase all evidence of her endless parade of lovers. sometimes you find drops of blood on the marble floor and wonder what it would taste like to be wanted by her.

♱ "excellent work as always," she says without turning around. you've just finished clearing away another morning-after scene—scattered clothes, broken crystal, the lingering scent of sex and copper in the air. her praise feels like acid in your chest. 

♱ you want her to see you. you want her to devour you. you want, you want, you want.

♱ you keep track of her lovers in your mind, a masochistic catalog. the willowy blonde who screamed her name. the dark-haired man who left claw marks on her sheets. the redhead who stayed for three nights (a record). 

♱ none of them last. none of them matter. but they get to taste her, and you're just the ghost who cleans up their remains.

♱ "my perfect attendant," she calls you, when she bothers to speak to you at all. she doesn’t even know your name, yet you know every detail of her life—how she takes her blood (warm, with a drop of rum), which silk sheets she prefers (harvest gold, 800 thread count), the exact temperature she likes her chambers (a cool 65 degrees). 

♱ you know everything except what her fangs would feel like against your throat.

♱ it breaks on a tuesday. you find another lover's scarf wound around her bedpost, stained with blood and something else. your hands shake as you untie it. maybe they were kept captive with it. ungrateful. she wouldn’t have to hold you down for anything. you would prostate, beg for her. you would be good.

♱ "leave it," her voice commands from the doorway. you turn, and finally, finally she's looking at you. but all you can see is the fresh bite mark on her neck, already healing. 

♱ something about it needles at you, guts you. she usually doesn’t let them bite her back. "no," you whisper. then louder: "no." 

♱ she raises an eyebrow, amused at your defiance. "excuse me?" the scarf falls from your trembling fingers. 

♱ "i can't—i won't do this anymore. i can't keep cleaning up after them. after you. i can't—" your voice breaks. tears spill down your cheeks. her amusement vanishes. 

♱ “my entire life, i’ve been right there. and i know you know. i know you can smell it.” you practically hiss it. “every day, i debase myself in front of you. i can never hate you but i want to get close.”

♱ "you're dismissed," she says quietly. you laugh through your tears. of course. of course she'd throw you away the moment you showed weakness. 

♱ you leave without packing your things, without looking back. you don't see her expression as she watches you go, the way her fingers dig into the doorframe hard enough to splinter wood.

♱ another coven takes you in. lesser nobles, but they're kind enough. you don't have to clean up after anyone's trysts. you don't have to smell blood on sheets or wonder about the sounds coming from behind closed doors. you should be happy. 

♱ instead, you dream of her every night. hot, detailed, torrid visions that make you wake weak and wet.

♱ a month passes. then two. you learn to breathe again, to exist in spaces that don't smell like her perfume. "you seem sad," your new mistress says. you force a smile. "only tired." 

♱ gyou don't tell her that every room feels wrong, that every bed you make feels empty without gold upon it.

♱ she comes for you on a moonless night. you're changing linens (always changing linens, even here) when the temperature drops. "did you think i would let you go so easily?" her voice slides down your spine like ice. you don't turn around. you can't. “i thought you’d have returned by now, would have reconsidered what you gave up.”

♱ "look at me," she commands. you've never been able to deny her anything. she's exactly as beautiful as you remember, but her eyes are different. starved. "my perfect attendant," she purrs. "do you know how many lovers i've taken since you left?" you flinch. she smiles. "none."

♱ "come home," she says, like it's that simple. you gather your pride around you like armor. “why should i?” her eyes flash. "because you're mine." you laugh, bitter and bright. "i am—i’m not a medarda. i was never yours. i was your furniture, remember? you didn’t even call me by name." 

♱ for the first time in centuries, ambessa medarda looks uncertain.

♱ she starts leaving gifts—not just jewelry and silk, but tokens of attention. oysters, shelled and presented to make your consumption easier. books you'd mentioned wanting to read, when you thought she wasn't listening. a bottle of the perfume you wear, worth more than your yearly salary. you send them all back. she needs to learn that you can't be bought.

♱ "tell me how to fix this," she demands one night, appearing in your chambers. you're still in your evening dress from serving at the coven's gathering, throat on display and adorned with delicate chains. her eyes fix on your nervous swallow. 

♱ "you can't just command everything better," you say softly. "not this time."

♱ she follows you to another gathering, watching from shadows as you serve blood-wine to lesser vampires. you're dressed in black silk, your neck a graceful line adorned with gold. the whole room's attention shifts when you move—too many hungry eyes, too many sharp smiles. you pretend not to notice. the attention means nothing; it isn’t hers.

♱ you hear her growl when one of them gets too close, asking if you'd like to "serve privately." before she can move, you handle it yourself: a polite smile, a steel-edged refusal. you've learned to navigate these waters. you don't need her protection.

♱  (but oh, how your heart races when you feel her rage across the room. you’re almost sick with it.)

♱ "they want to devour you," she seethes later, cornering you in an empty hallway. "i can smell their desire. their need." you meet her gaze steadily. "now you know how it feels." 

♱ understanding dawns in her eyes, followed by something darker. "is this what you felt? watching me with them?" you turn away. her hand catches your wrist. "answer me."

♱ "yes," you whisper. "every night. every morning. watching you choose everyone but me. wanting—" your voice breaks. her grip tightens. "wanting what?" you pull away. "everything. anything. just one taste of being yours."

♱ she moves differently after that. 

♱ no more commands, no more assumptions. she courts you properly, like you're something precious. leaves letters detailing all the things she noticed but never said. how graceful your hands are when you pour wine. how your hair settles against your back when you sleep. how she missed your scent in her chambers.

♱ "i may have taken you for granted," she admits one evening. you're both in her study, you perched carefully out of reach. "i thought you would always be there. my perfect girl." her laugh is self-deprecating. "i didn't realize i was losing my only match."

♱ another gathering. another dress. this time when the vampires stare, she's at your side. "she’s spoken for," she says evenly. you raise an eyebrow. "am i?" her hand finds your waist, possessive but questioning. "if you wish to be."

♱ "make me believe it," you challenge. she watches you, then sinks low. she’s kneeling before you and the sight makes you dizzy—ambessa medarda, on her knees. the room goes silent. 

♱ "i have loved you," she says, loud enough for all to hear, "in all the wrong ways. let me love you properly." you touch her chin, tilt her face up. "prove it."

♱ she relearns you slowly, deliberately. no more invisible servant—now she watches openly as you move through her chambers. "tell me if you want me to stop," she says, but you don't. you want her to see everything she missed before.

♱ "you've redecorated," she notes one night, when you finally return to her rooms. you've replaced the golden silk with deep purple, changed the artwork, rearranged the furniture. made it yours. "i'm not here to clean up after you anymore," you remind her. she traces a finger along your jaw. "no. you aren’t."

♱ the first time she feeds from you, it's like death— you are breaking apart all at once; you are coming together and it is sweet.

♱ "you taste like nectar," she breathes against your throat. you thread fingers through her hair, holding her close. "you taste like mine," you answer. she shudders against you.

♱ the next time she kneels for you is in the drawing room, her head beneath your skirts and your legs on her shoulders. she laps at you, pulls orgasm after orgasm from you until you kick at her back. even then she continues, with fingers instead of tongue. the pain, the pleasure—it’s endless.

♱ old habits die hard—sometimes she still tries to command rather than ask. but now when she slips, you arch an eyebrow and wait. "please," she'll correct herself, the word foreign and stilted on her tongue. you reward her with kisses that always spiral out of control.

♱ you keep one of her old lover's scarves, tucked away in a drawer. sometimes when she's being particularly imperious, you take it out, let her see it. "i could leave again," you remind her. she pulls you into her lap, buries her face in your neck. "you won’t. it won’t be as easy. you know this." you gasp as her teeth sink in.

♱ "do you miss it?" she asks once. "taking care of me?" you run your fingers along her spine. "i still take care of you. i just do it as your equal now."

♱ she presses you into silk sheets, whispers "show me" against your skin. you do.

♱ you catch her watching you dress for bed, something vulnerable in her eyes. "what is it?" you ask. "i suppose i keep waiting," she admits, "for you to decide that you would like something different." you straddle her lap, cradle her face in your hands. "i decided that i deserve exactly what i chose."

♱ the other covens still whisper—about how the great ambessa medarda let a servant become her consort, about how she kneels for you in private (did it in public, even). they don't understand that she's never been stronger than when she's yielding to you.

♱ besides, it is you who often submits. she drives you insane with how much you need her. you just force her to work for it. 

♱ "sweet girl," she calls you now, never attendant. occasionally, she speaks your name, usually in the midst of pleasure. you're arranging flowers in her study (old habits), and she's watching you like you're something holy. 

♱  you meet her eyes in the mirror. "yes, mistress?" 

♱ her eyes darken. she rolls up her sleeves, comes over.

sevika.

♱ she comes to collect on a sunday. you're serving tea to your mother when the door creaks open—no knock, no warning. just sevika, silco's enforcer, filling the doorway like an omen. 

♱ "time to pay up," she drawls, flashes teeth. your mother starts to cry. you pour another cup of tea.

♱ "would you like some?" you ask, steady-handed despite your racing heart. she blinks, caught off-guard by your composure. "what?" you gesture to the cup. "it's jasmine. very soothing." 

♱ her laugh is sharp as broken glass. "you think tea will save you from your family's debts?" "no," you say simply. "but it might buy me an hour to pack." 

♱ she studies you over the rim of the teacup she doesn't remember accepting. you pretend not to notice how she watches your throat when you swallow hard. "one hour," she agrees. you hide a smile in your cup.

♱ one hour becomes one day. becomes one week. becomes one month. you're clever with your delays—always just reasonable enough, always with something to offer. "you're playing a dangerous game, priya," she warns you. 

♱ your fingers brush hers as you hand her another cup of tea. "i know."

♱ she begins to linger after delivering silco's threats and your family home becomes a strange fairytale in this winter—ice flowers blooming on windows, shadows moving like living things, sevika's footsteps echoing on wooden floors. you serve tea in your grandmother's bone china cups, and sometimes there are teeth marks on the rims that weren't there before.

♱ you always meet in your mother's parlor, all faded elegance and desperate pride. snow falls outside like ash, and the samovar steams in the corner, waiting. when sevika enters, the dark worn world follows her—frost crawling up the windows, ice crystallizing in your lungs. you never stood a chance at escape. so you just shift the goal.

♱ you learn that her mechanical arm aches in the cold, the phantom of the real one haunting her. that she has a secret fondness for your mother's butter cookies. 

♱ "you're stalling," she tells you over and over. "yes," you agree. "is it working?"

♱ your mother catches on first. "oh, clever girl," she whispers, watching sevika watch you over dinner. "but be careful. a jaguar is still a jaguar even if it hides its teeth." you think of the way sevika's hands shook when you touched her last, how she pulls back if you flinch even slightly at her approach. "mmm. the jaguar is still a cat."

♱ your first kiss tastes like smoke and metal. she's furious about something—another clever excuse, another day bought—and you silence her with your mouth. she pulls back, eyes wide. 

♱ "you can't seduce your way out of this," she tells you, her voice almost dead. you trace her bottom lip with your thumb. "i’m not trying to. my desire for you is a separate thing."

♱ she brings you gifts that feel like warnings: a silver hairpin sharp enough to kill, a red cloak lined with raven feathers, a ring set with stones that look like frozen blood. "are you trying to save me or damn me?" you ask, letting her fasten the clasp at your throat. she kisses your pulse point. "both. neither. everything."

♱ you find out she's older than your great-grandmother's grandmother. "does it bother you?" she asks roughly. you're curled in her lap, mapping the scars on her human hand. "does what bother me? that you're ancient?" she pinches your side. you kiss her neck. "you're just well-preserved."

♱ eventually, your meddling works. after one too many unsuccessful collections, silco summons you both. 

♱ "fascinating," he muses, taking in sevika's protective stance, your carefully blank expression. "you've found quite an interesting solution to your family's situation." you meet his knowing gaze. you let your heart marr your face with its emotion. "oh, how sweet,” he murmurs. “marry my enforcer, erase the debt. is this what you want?"

♱ “i want to live,” you answer, with your jutting out. you feel sevika turn and look at you, feel the realiztion come that she’s been a (delightful) means to an end. 

♱ "you’ve been using me," she accuses later, pressing you against your bedroom wall. "from the first day.” you wrap your arms around her neck. pull at her hair until her head falls back."yes." she shudders. "why?" you kiss her mechanical knuckles. "because i see you and you see me. really see me. you know i am wicked and you still drink my tea.”

♱ she fucks you hard, fast. your stomach is bruised from where she holds you, your legs nicked by her claws as she grabs you when you try to scramble away. she’s mean, understandably confused and maybe even feeling betrayed. you let her rut her frustration onto your cunt, gasp softly as she laps her slick from between your folds. 

♱ “i should drain you,” she murmurs into your sweat-slick neck. you pull away, grasp her jaw. “i often thought that you should eat me. dreamed of it. sometimes,” you confess, “i even came. i had to squirrel away the sheets before my mother could find them.” she shakes, slips a finger inside of you. “liar,” she accuses. “if that makes it easier,” you respond.

♱ "my mother believes i did this to save us" you tell her one night, snow gathering on the windowsills like secrets. "she thinks i'm sacrificing myself." sevika's hand whirs as she pulls you closer. "aren't you?" you smile against her throat. "i only reward myself in this life. it’s not a sacrifice if you really want it."

♱ your wedding preparations become a dance of power and submission. you choose a lavish black dress with silver threading for the rehersal, drape yourself in diamonds cold as death. "you look like you're already one of us," sevika murmurs, and you can't tell if she's pleased or terrified. "isn't that what you really want?" you ask. her silence tastes pleasant.

♱ the night before your wedding, you find her in the garden, snow melting around her feet. "having second thoughts?" you ask, wrapping your arms around her waist. she rocks into you. "wondering when exactly i lost control of this," she admits. you press closer, sharing warmth she doesn't need. "bold of you to assume you ever had it."

♱ your wedding is a power play, a business transaction, a love story written in blood and tea leaves. you wear red and gold, traditional colors for a vampire's bride. sevika looks at you like she's drowning. "still think i'm just a clever little girl?" you whisper during your first dance. she kisses you hard enough to break your jaw. "you're the most dangerous woman i've ever met."

♱ you move into her quarters in silco's mansion—all dark wood and darker secrets. at night, you hear screams from the lower levels, but you never flinch. instead, you pour tea rigidly in cups rimmed with gold, light candles that smell of grape and amber, create a home in the heart of a monster's lair.

♱ "you should be more afraid of me," she tells you one night, after you've watched her tear someone apart. you're helping her clean blood from her joints, gentle and thorough. "what’s the point? i’m in this now. anway, you should be afraid of me," you counter, pressing a kiss to her gore-stained knuckles. her laugh catches in her throat.

♱ silco watches you at dinner parties, amused by how you've tamed his beast. but he doesn't see how you feed her morsels from your fingers, how your soft touches leave her trembling, how your love is its own kind of violence. how you aren’t afraid to lash her with it, refuse her affection to keep her in line. you know she needs this, that she’s rarely had it before.

♱ "you've made her weak," he accuses. you smile, all teeth. "i've made her mine."

♱ you develop rituals together, sacred as prayer and sharp as knives. every night, you clean her mechanical arm—each gear, each plate, each deadly piece. your hands never shake, even when they're stained with someone else's blood. "my good girl," she murmurs, and you pretend not to notice how her voice trembles.

♱ the tea ceremony becomes something close to holy between you. your grandmother's samovar, polished until it shines like a mirror, brewing tea dark as sin. you pour with steady hands while she tells you about the night's violence. 

♱ sometimes you taste copper in the cup and realize she's kissed the rim, leaving traces of her work behind. you drink it anyway.

♱ you draw her baths after hunts, water turning pink with vicera that isn't hers. she lets you wash her hair, lets you trace the scars on her back, lets you piece her together again. "i could kill you just like this," she says when you massage her scalp. you kiss her shoulder. "i’d drag you down."

♱ on cold nights, you brush and braid her hair, weaving in strips of leather and small, sharp blades. your touches are gentle but your intentions aren't, and she knows it. "am i pretty enough yet?" she teases. you rest your chin on her shoulder, dig down. "you’re easily the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen." her pupils dilate and her legs part, so you reach a hand around her waist to drag between them.

♱ the other vampires think it's sweet, how you wait up for her. they don't see how you position yourself by windows, arranging your reflection to watch all the doors. how your devotion has teeth.

♱ you keep her schedule in a leather-bound book, writing in codes you invented as a child. meetings marked in red ink, kills in black, feeding times in gold. "my good little wife," she coos, but you catch her studying the patterns you create, trying to decode your secrets.

♱ sometimes she brings you presents from her hunts—jewelry still warm from its previous owners, books with bloodstained pages. you accept them with genuine delight, arrange them carefully in your shared space. "magpie," she calls you fondly. "collecting pretty things." you don't tell her that she was your first collection. your most prized.

♱ your bedroom becomes a museum of decadent violence—diamond necklaces with broken clasps, antique daggers hung like artwork, silk sheets that have seen both birth and death. you keep her arm's spare parts in a velvet-lined box beside your perfumes.

♱ "do you ever regret it?" she asks one night, watching you stitch up a wound on her human arm. your needle is silver, your thread is silk, your hands are sure. "falling in love with someone—someone like me?" 

♱ you tie off the suture with precise fingers. "you simply have claws and i’ve always believed love was meant to scar." she kisses you, surging forward to suck you up.

bonus: vi. 

♱ you first notice her at the local underground fighting rings, all raw power and feral grins. you can smell what she is - werewolf, obviously - but she's so young and unrefined in her movements that you assume she must be newly turned. still, something about her draws your centuries-old heart.

♱ you only dare to attend the fights under the guise of accompanying your brother, a known patron of these brutal entertainments. each night you tell yourself you'll stop coming, stop watching her. each night you fail, drawn to the way she dominates the ring with savage grace. you wonder if she could make you fall like that. 

♱  she catches you watching one night, corners you in the shadowy hallway with a grin that's all teeth. "see something you like, vamp?" she asks, and you flush. 

♱ you turn, run away, your chest clenching tightly as you remember her in the privacy of your rooms. your fingers work deep inside you and you let out a small wail as you think of her tattooed hands inside you instead.

♱ she keeps showing up at your usual haunts, those golden eyes following you with an intensity that makes your dead heart flutter. when she finally approaches you again, her flirting is clumsier but endearing, and you find yourself charmed by this baby wolf despite yourself. 

♱ “it’s good to meet you under proper circumstances, vi,” you say and her eyes shine at her name.

♱ your "guidance" begins with teaching her to hunt properly, but she always seems to know exactly where to find her prey. you chalk it up to natural instinct until you notice how the other wolves defer to her in passing. still, the way she looks at you with those eager eyes makes you forget your suspicions.

♱ quiet moments become your undoing - the way she brings you still-warm blood in crystal glasses, how she curls around you on cold mornings like you're pack. you find yourself sharing centuries of secrets, and she listens with an ancient patience that should have been your first clue.

♱ the first time she takes you to her territory, deep in the woods where the trees whisper ancient songs, you feel the power thrumming through the earth. she presses you against the bark and holds you as you’re ravaged by the first feel of the werewolf bond. you let her. her hands leave bruises that heal too quickly.

♱ you convince yourself it's only in your head, her unwavering attention, just the mental thrill of forbidden fruit. but then she starts leaving little gifts where only you'll find them - a baby blue ribbon for your throat or hair, a wolf's tooth on a golden chain. each token makes your dead heart ache with something you dare not name.

♱ but the world cannot allow you peace. the tension between covens and packs grows thicker than old blood. you see it in the way your kind bare their fangs at passing wolves, in how the wolves' eyes gleam with barely contained violence in return.

♱ still, you meet her in secret, pretending the world isn't fracturing around you.

♱  when the council announces the marriage alliances, you volunteer quickly - anything to make living easier for her. she is young, has so much ahead of her. you arrive at court in your finest blacks, ready to do your duty. then you see her standing among the pack leaders, power radiating from her like the sun.

♱ it's when, in the middle of this supernatural court, that someone addresses her as "heir apparent" and your world tilts on its axis. the realization hits like a stake to the heart. 

♱ vi, heir to the most powerful pack in the territory, had been letting you believe she was some untrained pup. the way you’ve been treating her is deeply disgraceful. you can feel her eyes burning into you as you swear your agreement to whatever contract, make your excuses, and flee under the pretense of preparing for the following diplomatic talks.

♱ your pride wounded, you avoid her for days that stretch into weeks. but she's persistent - leaving gifts at your door, handwritten notes that smell of earth and pine. your resolve weakens with each gesture, even as you try to stay angry

♱ she finds you anyway, because of course she does. she corners you in your own haven, and there's nothing puppy-like about her now. her power fills the room like smoke, making your knees weak. "enough games," she orders, and when she kisses you this time, there's no pretense of submission.

♱ "i know i withheld, but i only wanted to keep this.” you say nothing, raise a hand to sound the servants bell. she grasps your fingers, holds your hand. “i know you’re upset, but did you really think i'd let them marry you off to some other wolf?" she’s walking you forward, backing you against the library shelves. 

♱ "i've been working for months to position myself as the logical choice for this alliance." her laugh is dark and rich against your throat. “even brought up the damn idea myself.”

♱ “i wasn’t listening,” you finally say. “i only answered to leave faster. to be less humiliated.” she softens at that.

♱ "that wasn’t ever the intention, my love.” you look away. “but did you really think i was some newborn pup?" she whispers against your throat, teeth grazing your skin. "i've been alpha-in-training since before you noticed your first gray hair, little bat."

♱ "all those nights at the fights," she continues, "watching you try to hide your interest from your brother, from everyone. knowing you thought you were being so careful with the naïve little wolf." her hands grip your hips possessively. "when really, i was just waiting for the perfect moment to claim what's mine.”

♱ the way she manhandles you onto your own bed leaves no doubt about who's really in charge. 

♱ "my sweet girl," she groans as she marks your throat, your chest, your thighs. "watching you try to show me how to track when i could smell your desire from miles away. how to fight when i've led warriors. but gods, the way you touched me like i was new to this world…"

♱  she bullies her fingers into you, milks you until you cry. after, her mouth finds your cunt and she eats of you—slurping so loudly that you cover your face with embarrassment. she only grins, laps at you harder. you white out as she orders you to cum again.

♱ and so the war that threatened to tear your worlds apart becomes the very thing that lets you keep her. your nights are filled with new lessons now - how her pack honors the old ways, how the moon-song flows through her bloodline. in public, you play the part of diplomatic necessity. in private, she follows your body like law until your weeping and can barely stay up.

♱ she returns from hunts, blood-drunk and fierce but still gentle as she pulls you close. you think that perhaps being prey wasn’t the worst thing. this was your way of finally belonging to something wild and true.

© hcneymooners.

Hi!!!! I was wondering if we can have some dark BG3 but with Karlach.. if you can because ohhhhh I love your stuff for her literally every time I read it I fall in love THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING BTW

Ah thank you so much !

oooo okay y'all I'm writing this as a one shot, she's not being added to the list (for now), I will most likely add her when I'm adding the cambions which will be when requests are finished. This is gonna be set when she takes control of the nether brain.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Dark!Karlach x reader | Blood-drenched Sunset

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The infernal glow of Avernus spread before you like a sick parody of a sunset, blood-red skies choked with smoke and ash. The smell of brimstone clung to everything, a constant reminder of where you were and what you had become a part of. Karlach stood at the edge of a jagged cliff overlooking the battlefield below, her fiery mane whipping in the hot wind. Imps and cambions swarmed around her like moths drawn to a flame, eager to do her bidding.

You watched her, your heart aching. This wasn’t the Karlach you had fallen in love with—the one who had fought so fiercely for others, who had carried a blazing heart of courage and compassion. But you understood how she had come to this. Her pain, her rage, her betrayal by the people of Baldur’s Gate—it all made sense. And that was what hurt the most. You understood her too well.

When she turned to you, her eyes were wild with fury and determination, but there was something else buried deep within them. Something you could barely see but refused to give up on.

“They’ll all pay,” she growled, her voice like a low rumble of thunder. “Every last one of Zariel’s lapdogs. Just like those cowards in Baldur’s Gate who let Gortash rise to power. They’ll all burn.”

You stepped forward, hands trembling but held open in a gesture of peace. You were covered in ash, grime and splatters of blood that belonged to those you called friend.

“Karlach,” you began softly, but your voice broke under the weight of what you were about to say. “You were one of Zariel’s servants once. Remember? There are people down there—innocents, just like you were.”

Her expression twisted, her lips curling into a bitter smile.

“Don’t,” she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut as she pointed her index finger at you. “Don’t you dare compare me to them. I escaped. I broke free. They don’t deserve your pity, and they sure as hell don’t deserve mine.”

You reached out a trembling hand toward her, desperation thick in your voice. “Please, Karlach. This isn’t who you are. You’re better than this—better than all of this. Be fair, give them a chance. Don’t let this place consume what’s left of your humanity.”

For a moment, you thought you saw her flinch, the barest flicker of hesitation crossing her face. But then her expression hardened, and she let out a dry, humorless laugh.

“You think I don’t see what you’re doing?” she said, stepping closer to you, her towering form casting a shadow over your trembling figure. “You’re trying to control me. Hold me back. You’re lucky I love you, babe! So damn lucky!”

She snapped her fingers, and before you could react, two cambions stepped out of the shadows, their claws digging into your arms as they grabbed hold of you. You struggled and cried out, but their grip was ironclad.

Karlach grinned, the flames dancing around her face making her look almost demonic. She sauntered up to you, cupping your cheek with a hand that burned hot against your skin.

“Don’t worry,” she purred, her voice dripping with mock affection. “I want you to see everything. Front row seat, just for you.” She turned to the cambions, giving them a wink. “Make sure they don’t miss a thing.”

The cambions dragged you toward the edge of the cliff, forcing you to kneel as Karlach strode back toward the battlefield below. Her war cry echoed across the hellish plains, and her army of imps and demons surged forward with savage glee.

Tears streamed down your face as you watched the carnage unfold, helpless to do anything but plead silently with the woman you loved—the woman you knew was still in there somewhere. You whispered her name, over and over again, a prayer against the storm.

Somewhere in the chaos, you thought you saw her pause. Just for a moment. A flicker of something human—a memory, perhaps, or a feeling she couldn’t quite extinguish. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep your hope alive.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

y'all how dare you force me to do that to my baby girl.. jk jk i can't lie making her evil was very fun. I hope you guys enjoyed these dark karlach scraps, i think there is another dark karlach request in the queue so y'all will be fed again at some point - Seluney xox

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

Hiiii! Can you do arcane women having “I’m not better than a man” moment?

of course! thank you for the request <3

sunder by hibou on repeat rn

summary; arcane women having an ‘i’m no better than a man’ moment (aka being distracted by your assets).

characters included; jinx, vi, mel, sevika, caitlyn, maddie.

tags/warnings; SUGGESTIVE, no explicit nsfw, fluff, mentions of drinking, crack kinda, arcane women being whipped for u

men and minors dni.

jinx;

✧.* jinx is a tit girl, no doubt about it. she doesn’t care the size, the shape, how they sit, she’s just utterly obsessed with your boobs. she tries to keep her hands to herself, she really does, but sometimes she just can’t help herself.

✧.* though she does have to show some self-restraint sometimes, as torturous as that is. as much as she'd love to, jinx knows it's probably best that she doesn't smother you and keeps her hands to herself until you're behind closed doors... which makes days like this so difficult.

✧.* today, it's hot out, and zaun gets humid. for that reason it's optimal to dress wisely, you'd picked a simple tank top and pair of loose-fitting shorts in hopes of not sweating yourself half to death. you and jinx had a day planned together, a day of visiting street vendors and exploring the undercity. not much necessarily, but you've found that anything can be fun as long as jinx is around.

✧.* you've run a bit late, and you're internally hoping that your girlfriend won't be mad. she's never exactly punctual herself, but you always feel awful running behind on plans with her. what if she thinks you stood her up, or even left her? though your worries melt off of you as you step into her view, and you see her lips curling into a smile.

✧.* "hey, babe, i'm so sorry for the wait, i was running l-" you're cut off by jinx's index finger on your lips, while her own tug into that grin you've come to love. "don't worry about it, you're here now."

✧.* within seconds, you're grabbing her hand and leading her right into the street market, eager to make up for lost time. jinx thanks janna above that you're preoccupied with looking for a stall to visit, because her gaze is... elsewhere.

✧.* naturally, with it being warmer out today, you'd opted to wear lighter clothing. this included a spaghetti-strap tank top with a very low neckline, where she could see your cleavage just right. her mind immediately went to all the places she knows it shouldn't. you're in public, in broad daylight. but they're right there, and she can't help it.

✧.* what would it look like if you bent over- would they start spilling out? or if you started bouncing on your heels? she thought about how she could see your bra straps, how she might be able to see the clasp from the back. what she'd do to unclasp it right now.

✧.* you pull her to a stall with old records, seemingly donated or imported from piltover. they're not exactly cheap- but still, they're nice to look at. you and your girlfriend have spent many an hour browsing stands like this, with jinx swiping a few vinyls for her stereo more often than not.

✧.* the boxes of records instantly draw you in, all organized by genre and decade. you take a record from one of the first boxes you see, holding it up for jinx- this is one you've been looking for for months, and they have it. finally.

✧.* "baby, look!" you smile, holding the record up. her eyebrows raise, jinx has clearly heard you, but her gaze is... downcast. "uh, babe? what's wrong?" until it clicks. she's looking at your tits.

✧.* "oh- jinx!" you gasp, as one of your hands flies to cover your cleavage. it's a playful gesture, yet still earns a scoff from the girl. she rolls her eyes in response, her voice slightly exasperated. "what? they're right there, and you expect me not to look?"

✧.* this only earns a light shove on the shoulder from you before you return to browsing through records. it's almost comical how hard it is for jinx to resist looking at you like this, but you can't exactly complain.

vi;

✧.* you and vi visit a sports bar in piltover around once a month now. you've made it a routine after she stumbled upon the place by chance, and you both ended up actually enjoying the experience. the bartenders were friendly, the drinks were fairly priced (for piltover), and the patrons were respectful enough.

✧.* it was the same routine: you'd tell vi when you were on your way, she'd swing by your place to pick you up, you'd walk hand-in-hand or with linked elbows to the bar, and you'd have a few hours of fun.

✧.* it's no different this time, with you slipping on a simple yet fun outfit for your night out. vi wasn't ever much of one for dressing up, but she tried for you, and it was always adorable seeing her efforts.

✧.* so when vi shows up at your door and hears a shouted "coming!" from inside, she's rocking back and forth on her heels, anxiously waiting your arrival. she just saw you a few days ago, yet she already misses you- can you blame her?

✧.* you swing the door open with a soft smile on your face, slinging your bag over your shoulder. you make your way down the steps to take vi into your arms, pressing a light kiss to her cheek. "hi, baby," you hum, smiling into the skin. "hi, cupcake. i missed you. you ready?"

✧.* with a nod, the two of you head off. vi had noticed your outfit when you opened the door- a simple lacy tank top with black bell-bottom jeans. it was simple, a bit dressy, but appropriate for the location. yet it wasn't until you turned around to lock the door before taking her hand that she noticed your ass.

✧.* she takes hold of your hand, taking the short walk to the bar with you. though her hand is clammy, more than usual, and she's trying so damn hard to focus on what you're saying to her while she can only think of how incredible you look in those pants. how much better you'd look if she took them off.

✧.* "so then my manager said i needed to ease up on the customers, but i was just being fair! he told them the same thing i did!" "i- yeah, that's not good. not good at all."

✧.* you both arrive at the spot, take your usual place at the bar. the bartender greets you, seemingly a new one- but she seems friendly enough. you both order your usual drinks, but you're still hung up on the work situation you'd been ranting about. you need to get it off your chest, and vi has always been such a good listener.

✧.* with your elbows braced on the bar counter, you turn back to her, "i mean, i just don't understand why the need to be so adamant! i told them that we were out of it, what did they expect?"

✧.* though your girlfriend seems to be distracted still, with her blue eyes fixated.. somewhere else. you can't figure out exactly where, though. snapping your fingers a few inches from her face seems to do the trick, though, as she quickly shakes her head. "huh?"

✧.* "are you listening?" you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. "i- yeah, i'm listening! your manager, a customer insisting on something that you don't have, uh..."

✧.* you nod slowly, raising a brow. she's listening enough to catch the gist of it, though the girl's tone is starting to worry on you. still waiting on those drinks, you lean a bit closer. "hey, what's up? is something wrong? you seem kinda distracted."

✧.* it's in that moment that vi feels her heart drop. she's been caught. she has no other option than to simply confess, or that's what she thinks.

✧.* "i'm sorry, it's just... your ass looks really good in those jeans."

✧.* your eyes widen for only a moment, and vi is preparing for the worst to happen. she's never shied from intimacy or letting you know the depths of her attraction, but while you're trying to talk to her? the last thing she wants is to be disrespectful. though what follows isn't you getting up, isn't a scoff or you telling her off. it's a bark of laughter, followed by a gentle shove of the shoulder.

✧.* "come on, you could've just told me that! i knew they were doing something for me, but damn!"

mel;

✧.* mel frequently brings you to gatherings. aside from being an influential councilwoman, she's also something of a socialite. being a woman of high status like herself and having the influence she does, she has to get out, to network, make meaningful connections that will not only help her career, but serve as good friendships.

✧.* and mel has never been shy about you, either. while she believes the personal details of your relationship should be kept private (for the most part), she also adores you, and wants the entire city to see that. it's often that you'll be her date to galas, to conferences, to progress day celebrations of all kinds.

✧.* when your girlfriend invites you along to a cocktail party, it's nothing out of the ordinary. she tells you that the dress code is formal, the venue is small yet still lavish- as always. she'll arrange transportation for you, and meet you in the lobby so you can go together.

✧.* choosing a dress certainly took time, though it was an effort you enjoyed. you'd never been one for events or clothes like this before meeting mel, but getting to be part of her world was fun. seeing the life of a powerful politician and socialite like herself was exciting, something entirely new to you.

✧.* you didn't see the point in buying outfits you'd only wear once, though, so you took to rentals for these events. deciding on a cocktail dress proved a bit more tricky than others, but you managed after several hours of trying on garments, switching sizes, checking price tags, and asking for second opinions from shop attendants. a long satin dress in a dark color with a slit up the right side. not too pretentious for an event like this, but far from casual.

✧.* after arriving at the venue, you'd taken a moment to simply take in your surroundings. white marble floors, gold accents on the doorways, marble pillars and framed portraits in the lobby. the attention to detail in this place was nothing short of incredible.

✧.* "there you are," you hear from behind you, prompting you to turn over your shoulder. a smile tugs at the corner of your lips the moment you recognize who it is. "i couldn't find you. i was getting worried."

✧.* mel places a light kiss on both cheeks, before pulling back to take your hand. though as she pulls back, she can't help noticing the slit up your dress, and just how high it runs. it stops just below your hip, and shows off the smooth skin below when you step to the side. it's tantilizing.

✧.* though she's a professional. she swallows, she rolls her shoulders back, and leads you into the main room. she has to keep herself under control- not just for your sake, but for the public's. what would the other guests do if they saw her looking at your legs like that?

✧.* and still, with a cocktail in one hand and her own hand in the other, even as you're making small talk with other guests, mel can't help her wandering eyes. lingering on that oh so high opening along your dress. her mind drifts to what's under that, how much she'd love to tear that dress off of you right now- but she can't. so she takes a quick sip of her drink, and tries to distract herself.

✧.* yet as soon as you notice exactly where her eyes are, you can't help the low chuckle that escapes you as you teasingly stick your leg out just a little more, revealing that much more of your upper thigh. "distracted, miss medarda?"

✧.* "i'm not distracted," she protests, but you can hear the hitch in her breath when you step out just that bit more. "gods, that isn't fair."

✧.* you only roll your eyes in response, giving her hand a firm squeeze. "save it for later," you whisper. a promise- something to look forward to. "we've gotta behave for now."

✧.* mel isn't able to focus on much else for the rest of the night, to say the very least.

sevika;

✧.* you and sevika live together, for the most part. although you've still got your own place that you pay rent on, you're at sevika's more often than not. it's small, rather run-down and cramped, but it's home. she keeps it clean, keeps your belongings around so that it feels more familiar, even started burning candles once you started coming around for a more welcoming atmosphere. she cares, she truly does.

✧.* though there are some times you want to take some time to yourself. sevika gets it. she's been by herself for much of her life, and the only person occupying her living space would be her. if you need a day or two every few weeks to yourself, then so be it.

✧.* you parted with a kiss to her cheek, and a whispered, "i'll be back, baby." she has your number, so it's not like you won't be talking- and your address, in case of an emergency.

✧.* the two days you took to yourself were uneventful, spent relaxing. you'd read a book, cleaned the place, caught up on laundry, rearranged furniture (several times, out of indecisiveness) and called your girlfriend at odd hours of the night to hear her rough voice. though you decided it was time to go back once you noticed there was nothing left to do, nothing you wanted to do. you enjoyed your own company, but you were ready to be in sevika's.

✧.* you'd worn a simple bralette and pair of sweatpants to her doorstep, your overnight bag slung over your shoulder. you clicked your key into the lock, slowly pushing the door open and stepping into the living room. you never had to announce yourself, sevika was usually there.

✧.* though as she looks up from the book she's reading, you swear you can see her eyes widen. if only for a moment. it's unclear what exactly they're focused on, but you assume it has something to do with your choice of outfit.

✧.* "sorry, didn't feel like a shirt today," you chuckle, situating yourself next to sevika on the couch. placing your overnight bag on one of her side tables, you look up at her, and now you see. now you can see very clearly that your girlfriend's light eyes are lingering on your breasts, and the fact that the lace of the bralette is rather... sheer.

✧.* "yeah, uh- don't worry about it," she mutters, her eyes flitting to the side. for the love of janna, you've just gotten back. she can't be all over you right now. "you... you can start unpacking, if you want."

✧.* you cast her a sidelong glance, though slowly get up from the couch. you take the bag and unzip it, beginning to take out some clean clothes you've brought and turning on your heel to put them away in her room. yet still, you feel sevika's gaze lingering on you. on your tits.

✧.* "that distracting, huh?" you tease, casting a look over your shoulder. sevika lets out a heavy sigh, but nods- there's no point in denying it. she's never been particularly shy about her fondness for your boobs, either. "yeah. something like that."

caitlyn;

✧.* you and caitlyn have a dinner date planned tonight. it's the day before your anniversary- you would've loved to celebrate on the actual day, but something that your girlfriend couldn't get out of came up at work. though it wasn't ideal, you understood. you still have today to celebrate, don't you?

✧.* so naturally, you pulled one of your best dresses from your closet to wear. a light color that compliments your complexion, something simple enough that it's not too much for a restaurant- but still formal enough for the occasion.

✧.* caitlyn had also taken care to wear one of her best dresses, style her hair, do her makeup in a way she knew would draw you in (despite you thinking she's beautiful no matter what she does).

✧.* you'd agreed to meet each other at the place, but caitlyn had taken care to make sure it was within walking distance from both of you. the attention your girlfriend paid to detail never ceased to amaze you, neither did her consideration.

✧.* upon arriving at the restaurant, you take a few moments waiting. you sit down on one of the benches offered, patient, until a hostess spots you and asks if you need help. you inform her that you're waiting for somebody, only to be told that caitlyn is already sat at your table. you're at the table within seconds.

✧.* "i'm so sorry, i didn't keep you waiting, did i?" you breathe out, slinging your bag over the back of the chair. "not at all," she assures, giving a gentle smile. her piercing blue eyes soften every time they fix on you, something you've come to know and love. "i got here early, anyways. i'm just glad you're here."

✧.* but before you sit down, cait's eyes travel down, down, to your hips. the way the dress you chose perfectly hugs them and accentuates the curve. she's always had such a weak spot for those hips, and this dress isn't helping.

✧.* "...you look beautiful, by the way," she says, clearing her throat shortly thereafter. you're in public, caitlyn, behave yourself. she orders her food, she makes small talk with you over your drinks, she makes a point to try and distract herself with the fact it's your anniversary. this is a refined celebration, anything else can wait for later.

✧.* and it's working, until you tell your girlfriend that you have to go to the bathroom quickly, you'll be back. you step out to the side to get up, and her eyes are immediately drawn back to your hips and just how incredible they look in that dress. then you turn to walk in the direction of the bathroom, she sees them sway, and caitlyn is gone. her mind wanders to how they'd look if she pulled your skirt up just that bit, or how they'd look bent over her desk.

✧.* caitlyn tries to finish her meal in peace, she really does. but she finds it increasingly difficult with just how distracted she is. once you return, she's flushed, she's playing with her food, she's stumbling over her words. "cait, baby, is everything alright?"

✧.* "mhm. yes, yes, everything is wonderful. don't worry about me," she rushes out, taking a quick bite of her food. though something tells you she's not telling the full truth- but by the flush dusting her cheeks and the tips of her ears, you have a feeling you'll find out later.

maddie;

✧.* you and maddie have frequent sleepovers, alternating between your own apartment and hers. it's a routine of sorts: maddie will come to your place after work with a bag full of her things for the night, greet you with a kiss on the cheek and a firm embrace. she often brings gifts for you as well: little things. snacks, a bracelet she saw while window shopping, the likes.

✧.* today is no different. maddie had to take a double at work, so she's taking a bit longer than usual, but this isn't out of the ordinary. being a junior officer is nothing if not time-consuming. until then, you've decided to occupy yourself by making dinner for your girlfriend. she's done all this work, she deserves it- besides, you know she'd do the same for you.

✧.* it's rather late, you having already showered and changed into your pajamas. you've eaten your dinner, now it's just a waiting game for your girlfriend.

✧.* as soon as maddie walks in the door, she's hit by the aroma of dinner cooking. her favorite, too. it's a familiar smell, and makes her all the more eager to finally see you. though when she walks into the kitchen, she sees you in a loose tee, and... sleep shorts. tight ones, that hug the shape of your ass just right. maddie's always had something of a dirty mind, and it immediately goes to all the things she could be doing with that ass. but she hasn't even said hello yet.

✧.* so she forces herself to reign it in, snaking her arms around your waist from behind. the girl rests her chin on your shoulder, gently brushing her lips against your temple. "hi, gorgeous," she hums, nestling a bit closer to you. "sorry i took so long."

✧.* you shake your head, giving her a reassuring smile before kissing her cheek in return. "don't worry about it. i know how work is. dinner's almost ready, okay?"

✧.* she nods in response, but doesn't loosen her grip on you. she's glad you're doing this for her. you've always been so thoughtful, so sweet when it comes to her, but still, her mind keeps going back to how incredible you look in those shorts. how badly she wants to take them off.

✧.* once you announce that dinner is ready and set down a steaming plate on the table, maddie reluctantly pulls herself from you to sit down. she starts eating, of course. she's grateful for what you've done for her. "i'm gonna clean up a bit, okay?" you hum, before turning back to the counter, and maddie nearly chokes.

✧.* she's watching you move swiftly throughout the kitchen- wiping down the counter, organizing spices, washing dishes, cleaning cabinet handles. yet she's not watching any of the actual tasks, only the way you look in those little sleep shorts. good gods.

✧.* but you can feel her gaze on you from behind, searing into you. burning, almost. without turning around, you pause at one of the cabinets. "...you're staring," you state. not a question, but an observation. "is it that interesting?"

✧.* maddie takes a moment to swallow, slowly shaking her head as if you could see her. "not exactly, just... you look amazing in those shorts, yeah?"

vague continuation of this; sfw; angsty; apt neighbor!vi au

apartment neighbor!vi who comes home with bloody knuckles and a split lip, bruises the color of overripe plums blossoming along her cheek. you catch her in the elevator, once, running downstairs to grab a taco bell delivery at 2am, and she's just coming home. at first, you almost don't recognize her, with her hood pulled up, her shoulders scrunched up towards her ears, her body a live-wire tangle of tensed muscles and clenching fists.

apartment neighbor!vi who, when you ask her what's wrong, does everything she can to avoid the question, dodging and making up excuses, looking anywhere but at your eyes --

"just got into it with some dude at the bar -- you know how it gets rowdy sometimes."

you stare at her, a frown digging into the space between your brows.

"violet, you can look at me?"

it takes her a beat too long to comply, her fingers stretching open before curling back into her palms as she forces her face towards you, her expression stony as a tomb.

"i'm looking."

you let your eyes flicker between both of hers, and a few seconds later, you throw your hands up in a classic sign of surrender, shaking your head.

"alright, alright -- i won't ask --"

you hear her let out an audible exhale; you glance up to catch her mourning dove eyes watching you from beneath her thick, night-lanced lashes.

"i was thinking of trying to make hainanese chicken and rice this weekend."

vi grins, her shoulders relaxing, her posture loosening like a picked-out knot, "sure -- i'm free on saturday. what do you need?"

apartment neighbor!vi who is not slick, no matter how hard she tries to pretend. and the first time you come knocking at their door on a sunday afternoon, powder answers with a power drill in one hand, a capri-sun in the other.

"oh. its you," she falls a few steps back, waving her power drill haphazardly through the air, "c'mon in! make yourself at home! vi's not here -- if you're wondering. she's..." powder scoffs, an utterly disbelieving, derisive sound, "out."

you pause by the kitchen counter, staring at the pile of dishes in the sink for a second before your gaze swings back to powder, now bending over a strange contraption laid out in a million pieces on the living room floor.

"what do you mean, she's out?"

powder makes a noncommittal sort of grunting noise as she leans in to fit a screw to the tip of the drill, squinting as she presses it to what looks like a slab of broken-off drywall --

"i mean she's out -- doing whatever the hell she's doing... thinkin' she can just lie to us -- ugh, as if --" her voice trails off into a mutter, as if she's talking to herself, and a second later, all sound is drowned out by the drone of the power drill screeching as powder sets to work again.

you stare for a solid three seconds before sighing and turning back to the dishes in the sink. it takes about fifteen minutes before powder turns back around to realize that you're still here --

"what... are you doing?" she asks. you jump, jerking forward at the sound of her voice right next to your ear.

"oh shit! sorry -- uh -- i, i thought i'd help do these while vi's out -- it looks like they've been stacking up for a while," you offer, somewhat weakly as powder squints at you, leaning forward with apparently zero compunction for invading your personal space.

"huh. you're... a weird one -- has anyone ever told you that?" powder asks, falling back onto her heels, giving you a hard once-over. you lick your lips, feeling an unfamiliar heat creeping up the length of your spine.

"i -- i mean, vi helped me a lot when i was moving in so..." you lean a hip against the kitchen counter, a half-washed mug still held aloft in your right hand.

"right... and that's why you're..." powder's smile hooks, her eyes flashing bright as beatle-wings , "helping us with our dishes?" she jerks her chin towards the soapy mug.

you flush, turning back to rinse off the mug and set it on the rack to dry.

"it'll be one less thing for you guys to worry about."

apartment neighbor!vi who refuses to see you for days at a time, even though you text to ask her if she's alright (she leaves you on read). then, miraculously, she'll show up at your door on a tuesday night with an apologetic grin dominos (and all your favorite toppings), asking if you had any plans (she knows full well you don't -- you two have a standing movie-date on tuesday nights, though neither of you have had the balls to call it a date).

apartment neighbor!vi who makes up the dumbest excuses -- i was outta town, i got the flu, i was visiting my long lost... uh... cousin in... nebraska.

"nebraska?" you pause over a bite of pizza, eyes flicking up to catch vi watching you. the moment your gazes meet, she looks away, clearing her throat and reaching out for another slice, folding in half before shoving nearly the whole thing in her mouth.

"yeah -- my uh -- my dad's brother's... kid..."

"uh huh," you say, nodding around another skeptical bite, picking off a piece of pineapple to pop into your mouth.

vi sighs, "just... it's complicated, okay?"

you purse your lips, licking at the pizza grease, "you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, vi -- i just wanna know that you're... safe."

she chuckles, a ragged, mirthless sound, "thanks for worrying about me, sugar -- but i'll be okay."

you swallow passed your last mouthful of pizza, reaching for a napkin. you do not try to point out that okay and safe are two completely different things.

apartment neighbor!vi who goes to the gym an inordinate amount -- whenever you text her, it seems like she's at the gym. and whenever you pass by the large glass doors on the 5th floor, she's almost always there, going at one of the punching bags or doing some insane lift or other.

"are you a fitness influencer or something?" you ask one day as vi lounges on your couch (you know, the one she helped you build), watching as you pipe icing onto the tops of a dozen cupcakes (it's become something of a thing for her to come over on the weekends -- at least the one's she doesn't disappear -- and watch you "stress-bake"; and if the things you're stress-baking just so happen to be all of vi's favorites... well, that's neither here nor there).

"huh?"

you glance over your shoulder, your hands paused over the large plastic bag of cream-colored icing.

"you're always at the gym, so i thought you might be --" you shrug, "i dunno -- training for something or like a fitness influencer or something." you go back to your piping.

"oh!" vi's voice pitches unnaturally high before she clears her throat and settles back on to the couch, a scowl slotted between her brows, her eyes fixed on her phone screen even though her finger hasn't moved in a solid half minute, "nah -- i just -- it just helps me clear my head, y'know. gotta... train the body before you train the mind."

you nod, keeping your eyes fixed on the cupcakes as you flourish through the final bit of icing, reaching out with a finger to snag an extra bit from the tip, turning only to find vi hovering behind you, a strange, halfway-light caught behind her eyes.

wordlessly, you offer her your finger. and without ever breaking eye-contact, she leans down to lick the frosting from you. her tongue swirls around the pad of your finger and you feel a gasp stitch up the front of your chest.

"g-good?" you ask, cursing silently at your inability to keep the stutter from your voice.

vi licks her lips, the flash of her tongue across her lips shouldn't look so stomach-churningly delicious. and yet --

she gives her head a single, abortive nod.

"yeah... really good..." her voice comes out a whisper, barely more than a caught breath in the air between you. it hangs, pendulous as a pearl on a gossamer gold string, until --

"y-you should take some back for powder -- i know she likes sweets almost as much as you do, and some for --" you swallow, falling back half a step, your hip bumping into the kitchen counter; you wince, and vi's arm shoots forward, but she pauses just short of touching you, her palms hovering over your arm for a brief second before she tucks it into her hoodie pocket and forces a grin.

"yeah! for sure -- she'll -- she'll appreciate it, and -- i'll grab some for uh -- vander and --" she waves a hand; you nod, gulping down air as you turn and scramble to grab a box for her, busying your hands so you don't give into the inexplicable urge to reach out and touch her, to feel her skin beneath your fingertips.

"yeah, great!" you chirrup, your voice saturated with false cheeriness.

the moment unfurls in slow motion, her reaching out to try and help you grab the tupperware box on the highest shelf, you dropping back down and turning around to tell her it's alright --

your chests press, your noses are so close they might as well be touching. you can taste the sweet of her breath against your tongue -- frosted vanilla sugar.

apartment neighbor!vi who kisses like she's trying to swallow you whole, who presses you back into the hard marble of your kitchen counter with a hand on your hip, the other skating up the length of your spine to cup at the back of your head, cradling you closer. who moans low and long and desperate when you finally gasp open for her and she gets that first, mind-rending taste of your mouth against hers.

she kisses you like she want's to break you. she kisses you like she wishes you'd break her too.

her lips are trembling when you pull back for a heady breath, a soft laugh puffing out of you at the sheer incredulousness of the entire situation -- weeks of held-breaths and averted eyes, jumping pulses and late-night movie dates, of knees pressing, the back of your hand skimming along the back of hers.

of uncertainty. of this celestial dance, you and her, like twin stars in orbit, to a song old as the universe itself.

but there's a hardness crystalizing at the edge of her voice as she swallows, her throat bobbing around a hissed our breath --

"shit --" she pulls back, and you have half a mind to chase her. she tastes like cupcake frosting and a life's worth of words unsaid.

she runs a hand through her hair, her eyes fractured in the mid-afternoon light.

"vi?" you ask, and your voice seems to jolt her out of her strange reverie. but as her gaze focuses back on you, an crumpled expression flashes across her face as her hand flies up to rub over her mouth, as if she can still feel the phantom heat of your lips on hers.

she shakes her head, taking another step back. you feel something inside you shatter as she turns and heads for the door, her shoulders hunched, her fists clenched at her sides.

"vi -- wait --!" you call after her, stumbling after her, but she turns to slate you a glance that rhymes so much with heartbreak it stops you in your tracks and roots you to the ground.

she lets out a shuddering breath, her voice unsteady as she says --

"i'm -- i'm sorry but -- i -- i can't do this --"

and then she's gone, the door clicking shut behind her, the batch of freshly frosted cupcakes sitting on the kitchen counter, the cupboard with one door open, as if waiting for something other to happen but this.

you blink, stunned at the sudden silence that permeates the air of your living room. you stare at the place where vi had been just a few ago before slumping back against the counter with a dull thunk and pressing a hand to your own mouth.

you can still taste the remnants of sugar on her tongue as she'd licked into your mouth. and for long moment, all you can muster into the accusatory quiet is --

"what the fuck was that?"

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

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

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

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

Sevika x Fem!Reader

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

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

Safe to say it hurt as fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Anytime."