╰┈➤ 18+ None Of These Stories Belong To Me! This Is A Masterlist Of All The Fanfics I’ve Read

money talks.

ghost. part i ┃ sevika x reader WC: 4.7K

ⓘ: i don't know jack about the 80s, the stock market, new york...just read some articles and surfed google maps. f it we ball ⚠︎: alcohol consumption, mild homophobia if you squint, mild misogyny, blood, psychological horror/thriller elements

A shaky exhale escapes your parted lips as you enter the office, the tense atmosphere of the bustling trading floor hitting you like a gust of wind. You remind yourself that you’re fine—you can do this. Sevika didn’t help you land this job just so that you could stand about and be a nervous wreck.

Tentatively, you navigate through the maze of desks, heels clicking against the scuffed vinyl flooring. Cackling laughter and a potent scent of tobacco infiltrates your senses, causing your nose to scrunch in disgust. The air is thick with bravado and smoke, punctuated by the piercing ring of phones and the rapid click of typewriter keys.

In the cramped lunchroom, clusters of coworkers lounge around battered tables, cigars drooping from their lips. You set your briefcase down and pour yourself a cup of coffee, grateful for the sharp aroma that cuts through the haze.

You can feel their eyes on you and hear the undercurrent of the shift in conversation. What had seemed to be a friendly chat regarding the current market faded as their voices dropped low and conspiratorial. Your lips press into a frown, unease growing once more at the initial hostility.

Suddenly, the chatter dims. You turn, mug in hand, and spot Sevika in the doorway.

You brighten, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Sev, hey.” the nickname slips out, almost naturally. 

Her lips upturn as she saunters over. “Hey, doll. You gettin’ settled in?” She leans against the counter, arms crossed.

You shrug, gesturing to your coffee. “Well, I just got here.”

She hums, studying your expression, attempting to gauge your emotions. “You nervous?” 

You nod, a little sheepish. “A bit… I’m still new to all this finance stuff.”

Sevika waves off your concern. “Nah, don’t worry. You’ll do great.” Her eyes flick to the men in the corner; they shrink under her gaze. She huffs, amused, then turns back to you.

“C’mon, I’ll show you where your desk is.”

You follow her past rows of nearly identical desks—laminated wood, each with a Quotron terminal and a heavy black phone. At the end of the row, she stops.

“This one’s yours,” she says, gesturing.

You set your briefcase on the desk, nerves prickling under your skin.

She lingers, sensing your unease. “Hey, look at me.”

You meet her eyes.

“You’re gonna do just fine, yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“Good.” She sighs as the energy in the room ramps up—shouts from the trading floor, the clatter of keys, the low thrum of ambition. “Listen, I’m pretty swamped today, but if you need anything, just ask. My desk is up front.” She points across the room.

“Thanks, Sevika.” Her hand is reassuring on your arm for a moment, the softness in her gaze reserved just for you. Then she straightens, her expression hardening as she strides away, leaving you to settle in.

You lower yourself into the chair, the worn leather creaking softly beneath your weight. The faint scent of polished wood and stale cigarette smoke lingers in the air around you. With a small, tentative smile, you unzip your briefcase and pull out a stack of files, a thick phone book dog-eared from use, and a few personal trinkets.

Carefully, you arrange the little objects—a faded photograph, a small figurine, a lucky charm—on the bland laminate surface of your desk. They stand out against the sea of beige and gray, providing you with a sense of individuality.

The soft hum of the Quotron terminal buzzes nearby, and somewhere in the distance, the acute ring of a phone cuts through the murmur of voices. You glance around the room, feeling the weight of the day settle in your chest, but for a moment, your little corner feels like your own.

You jump straight into work, taking calls from clients and offering trading advice with as much confidence as you could muster. You scribble notes on a legal pad, flipping through your phone book for client numbers, the plastic receiver pressed tight to your ear.

As the afternoon sun slants through the grimy windows, casting golden rectangles across the scuffed floor, the office door bangs open. A man in a striped suit strides in, cell phone pressed to his ear—one of those chunky Motorola flip phones, the kind only the higher-ups can afford.

He dumps his briefcase on the floor, shrugs off his jacket, and slings it over the back of the chair beside yours.

“Honey, listen, we just can’t afford any more of these shopping sprees,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, yeah, I know it’s from the catalogues, but those prices add up.” He glances at you, rolls his eyes theatrically. “Listen, hun, once I get my check on Friday, we can go out and shop, how’s that sound? Yeah, okay. Love you too, sweetheart.” He snaps the phone shut, finally giving you his full attention.

His gaze lands on your desk, lingering on the faded photo of you and Sevika. There’s a flicker of something—judgment, maybe amusement—in his eyes.

“Ah, you’re the new girl,” he says, voice flat as a subway announcement.

You offer a polite smile, extending your hand. “Yes, my name is—”

He cuts you off, waving a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah, no need for that. Just try not to screw up, alright? Boss’ll have our heads if we lose another client.” He pushes up his rectangular glasses, already dialing the phone on his desk. The rotary clicks echo in the small space.

Your smile falters, but you nod and turn back to your work, jotting down a note about a client’s position in AT&T. The hours blur together—you grow accustomed to calls, quotes, and the constant drone of voices that filtered through the space.

Eventually, your neighbour swivels in his chair, eyeing you over the rim of his glasses.

“So, you from Manhattan?” he asks, one eyebrow arched.

You shake your head. “Oh, no, I’m from Brooklyn.”

He lets out a low whistle, spinning a pen between his fingers. “Brooklyn, huh? Don’t sound like it. You lose the accent or somethin’?”

You start to explain, but he barrels on. “So, how the hell do you know Sevika?” He leans in, curiosity piqued.

“Oh, uh, we met a few years back and—”

He waves you off. “Yeah, yeah, good for you. So, you two, what, friends?”

You frown, but he keeps going. “I mean, Christ, she’s pretty intense, eh? Knows a whole lotta shit.”

You nod. “Yeah, she’s sharp. Real sharp.”

He cackles, slapping his knee. “Sharp? That woman could run this place if she wanted. Knows more than the damn manager, I swear.”

You laugh, a little awkward. “Sounds like Sevika.”

He leans back, propping his feet on the edge of his desk. “You drink, little missy?”

You hesitate. “Sometimes…?”

He grins, wide and wolfish. “You should come out with us tonight. Bunch of us are hittin’ up somewhere in Tribeca, a real swanky joint. First round’s on me.”

You hesitate, but he waves a hand. “Eh, don’t gimme that look. Think of it as celebrating your first day. Besides, you gotta learn how to unwind in this business, or you’ll burn out before your first bonus.”

You manage a small, grateful smile. Though it carries a hint of disquiet. “Yeah, okay. Sounds fun.”

The day rolls on. Your phone rings again, and you pick up, pressing the receiver to your ear.

“Williams & Co., this is—” you begin, but the voice on the other end is clipped, commanding.

“This is Jerry Williams. I wanted to go over my holdings in Johnson & Johnson and see what you think about the market this week. I heard there’s talk of a rate hike—should I be worried?”

You flip through your notes, recalling Sevika’s advice: always keep your cool, never let them hear you sweat. “Mr. Williams, there’s been hints at a rate increase, but the Street’s already priced most of that in. J&J’s fundamentals are still strong—steady dividend, solid earnings. If you’re looking for growth, we could discuss reallocating a portion, but I’d recommend holding for now.”

There’s a pause. You hear a woman’s voice in the background—biting, impatient.

“Give it here, Jerry, let me speak to the girl.”

The phone’s coiled cord digs into your palm as you grip the receiver, and Mrs. Williams’ voice shrills in your ear. The Quotron terminal on your desk flickers with green numbers, but you can barely focus on the shifting prices. Sweat beads at your temple, and you fumble for a pen, nearly knocking over a stack of trade tickets.

“I—I understand, Mrs. Williams, but—”

Her tirade cuts you off. Around you, the office hums with the clatter of keys and the low drone of a dozen other calls. You catch a few sidelong glances from your coworkers—some amused, some pitying.

Just as you open your mouth to respond, a gentle tap on your shoulder pulls you back. Sevika stands over you, her gaze steady, her presence a sudden anchor in the chaos.

“What’s goin’ on, doll?” she asks, her voice low enough that only you can hear.

You cover the mouthpiece, voice trembling. “It’s the Williamses. I think I messed up, and they’re… not happy.”

She squeezes your shoulder—her hand cool, the pressure oddly reassuring. “Easy, doll. Let me talk to them.”

You hand her the phone, your fingers shaking. Sevika leans in, her eyes flicking to the Quotron screen, then back to the call. She speaks with practiced ease, referencing last week’s market dip and the Williamses’ recent portfolio gains, weaving in a mention of Jerry’s fishing trip. The tension in Mrs. Williams’ voice softens, and after a few minutes, Sevika ends the call with a warm, “You take care now—tell Jerry I want to see those photos.”

She hangs up, sighs, and turns to you. You start to stammer an apology, but she cuts you off with a gentle touch, her thumb brushing your cheek. “It’s all good now, dolly. They won’t speak to you like that again.”

For a moment, you lean into her touch, the noise of the office fading. Then she pulls away, her expression hardening as she glares at your onlookers, sending them back to their work.

A shaky exhale escapes your lips—It’s as if she knew exactly what Mrs. Williams needed to hear before the words were even spoken—you think to yourself, your hand gingerly coming up to touch the spot she had caressed. Her hand was cool, almost unnaturally so, but a piercing ring shatters the silence and derails your train of thought.

Reluctantly, you answer the phone, effectively silencing any rattled sentiments that lingered. And most importantly, the butterflies that flew around in your stomach.

The day wears on without any more confrontations. When the clock finally hits five, the office erupts into motion—phones slammed down, jackets shrugged on, and the stale scent of tobacco growing sharper as people pack up. Matt, the man at the next desk, glances over at you with a crooked grin.

“Ready to head out, missy?” he asks, already gathering his things. A few other guys from the bullpen wander over, slapping each other on the back, the energy shifting from cutthroat to casual.

“Yep, just gotta—” you start, but Matt’s already calling across the room.

“Hey, Sevika, you joinin’ us tonight?”

Your gaze flicks to Sevika. She looks tired, her eyes shadowed from a long day, but she scoffs as she slips on her suit jacket, rolling her shoulders.

“Hell no, I’m not goin’ to no damn bar with you fools,” she shoots back, her tone dry but not unkind.

Your expression falters, and she catches it, one brow arching in your direction.

“You goin’ out, doll?” she asks, her voice softer for you.

You nod, trying to sound casual. “Yeah… I mean, might as well.”

Sevika sighs, running a hand through her hair. She glances at Matt, then back at you, then back at Matt. “Fine. But I’m not babysitting when you idiots start doing shots and tryin’ to outdrink each other.”

The guys just cackle, clearly pleased Sevika’s coming along. Her presence shifts the dynamic—You can tell she’s respected, maybe even a little feared, and the men tone down their jokes just a notch.

As you all head for the elevators, the chatter turns to which bar to hit—somewhere downtown, maybe. The city outside is just waking up for the night, neon flickering in the dusk.

The guys and Sevika pile into the elevator, still bickering over which bar to hit first. The cramped space fills quickly, and you hesitate at the threshold, eyes flicking to the crowded interior.

“Oh, uh… I’ll just wait for the next one,” you murmur, stepping back.

Before you can move, Matt’s hand shoots out, gripping your arm firmly. You stumble forward with a soft “oof” as you bump into Sevika. Her prosthetic arm snakes around your back, steadying you.

“Easy,” she gruffs, shooting Matt a sharp glare—one that lingers a beat longer than necessary.

Matt just shrugs, unfazed, as the elevator doors slide shut. The air inside is heavy with the scent of cheap cologne and aftershave, mixed with the faint trace of tobacco smoke. The elevator hums softly, the mechanical whirring punctuated by the occasional muttered argument over which floor to select first.

You shift slightly, trying to make yourself as small as possible, standing close to Sevika, whose presence feels like a shield in the crowded space. Her eyes remain fixed straight ahead, expression unreadable but tense.

Matt leans against the wall near the buttons, grinning. “C’mon, doll, don’t be shy. You’re one of us now.”

Sevika’s jaw ticks, her voice low and flat. “Watch it, Matt,” she says, not taking her eyes off the elevator doors. “That’s not your word.”

Matt simply cackles in response, leaning against the wall with crossed arms. “You call everyone ‘doll’, or just the ones out of your league.”

Sevikas' eyes narrow, and she scoffs. “Don’t,” she warns. The simple one-word response still isn’t enough to shut him up as he presses on.

“C’mon, don’t be a bitch, I'm just—”

“Keep it up and you’ll find out real quick why I'm the only one who gets to say it.”

Matt’s laughter falters as Sevika fixes him with a look that brooks no argument. The space seems to shrink around them, the rest of the group falling silent as her words hang in the air. The elevator lurches downward, and you swallow hard, caught between the buzz of the group and the quiet weight of Sevika’s steadying touch.

You step out onto the street, the clean scent of rain washing away the office’s stale air. The elevator chatter has faded, but Sevika’s earlier sharpness still lingers, hanging awkwardly between the group. You clear your throat, trying to break the tension. “Uhm… have we decided where we’re going?” you ask, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

Matt shrugs, glancing at the others, then at Sevika, then back to you. “Dunno yet. Was thinkin’ Tribeca, but the boys had another idea.” He flicks open a pack of cigarettes, lighting one with practiced ease.

Chris takes a long drag from his own cigarette, exhaling a thin plume of smoke. “Well, I was thinkin’ we hit up King Cole.”

Your eyes widen just a bit. “Isn’t that place super expensive?” you ask, reluctance clear in your tone.

Chris grins, nudging you. “Yeah, but c’mon, it’s the King Cole. Place is a classic—old-school New York, you know? You ever seen that mural behind the bar? Things’ worth more than my apartment. Besides, first round’s on Matt.”

Matt snorts. “Not if we’re going there. But hey, I don't see why Sevika couldn’t help cover a round. For her dolly, of course"

Sevika’s eyes narrow, her tone sharp but cool. “Don’t worry about my ‘dolly,’ Matt. I’m not letting you stick her with a thirty-dollar martini just so you can play big shot.” She flicks her gaze to you, voice softening. “You want to see the mural, we’ll see the mural. I’ll pay for you.”

You hesitate, starting to protest, “Oh, well, we don’t have to—”

Chris cuts you off with a grin, “Then it’s settled, let’s go.” He strides toward his car, the others following.

You huff softly and glance at Sevika, who just rolls her eyes. “C’mon, doll, ride with me,” she says, her voice low but firm.

You nod, falling in step beside her as you both head to her vehicle. The sun sets behind the city skyline, casting a warm glow over the flashy lights that begin to flicker on around you.

The silence between you is thick until Sevika’s voice cuts through like a knife. “How was your first day?”

You rub the back of your neck, laughing awkwardly. “Uhm, it was alright... besides getting cussed out by Mrs. Williams.” Your eyes meet hers, her appearance illuminated by the sundown. “Don’t beat yourself up, doll.”

You start to protest, “Yeah, but—”

“Doll,” Sevika interrupts gently, her eyes locking with yours for a moment before returning to the road. “Mr. and Mrs. Williams own the company. They’re very picky about who helps manage their money, among other things.”

Your eyes widen at the blatant realization, a flush of embarrassment creeping in. “I—she was really mad, Sev... I must’ve messed up.”

Sevika shakes her head, hand moving to brush lightly against your knee, steadying the wheel with her prosthetic. Her cool fingers trace a fleeting path across your upper thigh, sending a shiver through you.

“You didn’t. You did just fine. Besides, you heard me—I handled it.”

You bite your lip. “Yeah, but I should’ve handled it myself.”

She sighs softly. “It was your first day, doll. Just… forget about it for now, yeah? We’re almost at the bar.” Her hand squeezes the plush of your thigh gently—a quiet reassurance, though you’re not sure if you feel comforted or rattled by such contact.

Upon arriving at the Bar, Sevika keeps her hand firmly on your lower back, guiding you through the plethora of well-dressed patrons spilling onto the sidewalk. The polished wood-paneled room hums with conversation, jazz floating beneath the clink of glassware. The famous mural presides over the bar, its vibrant colors and enigmatic smiles catching the light as you pass beneath the king’s gaze

Your coworkers have already claimed a table tucked into a corner, half-hidden from the main crowd. Matt waves you over, a smirk plastered on his face. You and Sevika make your way through the maze of cocktail tables, her touch a quiet anchor until you both sit. She keeps her arm around you for a moment longer, her thumb tracing slow circles on your back before she pulls away to flag down a server.

Matt and Chris immediately start in on you, tossing out drink suggestions—Chris pushes for the bar’s signature cocktail, while Matt insists you try something “with a kick.” You glance at Sevika, trusting her judgment. “I’ll have what she’s having,” you say, and she gives you a small, approving nod before ordering for you both.

As the evening wears on, the table grows louder, laughter and stories tumbling out with each round. Matt and Chris become increasingly animated, their cheeks flushed, voices rising above the commotion. Even you feel the alcohol begin to warm your body, eyes glossing over ever so slightly. Sevika, in contrast, remains composed, her glass barely touched. She watches the group with a steady, discerning gaze, always keeping you within arm’s reach.

At one point, Chris leans in a little too close, his tone dripping with sleaze. “You know,” he says lowly, “I bet you’d look a lot better if you smiled more. Don’t be so serious all the time, doll.”

You stiffen, the words hanging in the air like a weight. The laughter from the table falters for a moment, the easy camaraderie suddenly strained.

Sevika’s hand tightens around her glass, her gaze snapping to Chris with a cold intensity. Without breaking eye contact, she leans forward slightly and says, “That’s enough, Chris. Show some respect.”

Chris chuckles nervously, leaning back a little, but the unease lingers. The bar’s hum resumes, but the moment leaves a quiet tension beneath the surface.

You peer over at Sevika, her agitation written in every tense line of her body—jaw clenched, shoulders rigid, fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the table. You frown, concern flickering across your face, but mask it with a feigned yawn. Gently, you tug on her jacket, letting your fingers linger just a moment longer than necessary. “Sev, I’m tired…” you murmur, your voice softer than usual.

She looks down at you, her eyes scanning your flushed cheeks and the way you blink a little too slowly. For a beat, her gaze remains on your expression—longer than it should, maybe, if anyone else were paying attention. You catch the way her lips part, as if she wants to say something else, but she just clears her throat, her voice rough around the edges. “…Okay, doll, let’s get goin’.”

Sevika stands, her hand finding the small of your back with practiced ease, fingers splaying out in a gesture that feels both protective and possessive. She leans in close enough that you catch the faint scent of her cologne, her breath warm against your ear as she addresses the table, “We’re heading out—she’s wiped.”

Matt raises an eyebrow, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips, but Sevika’s gaze flicks to him, daring him to comment. You feel a flutter in your chest at her silent defense, and as you both turn to leave, your hand brushes hers—neither of you pulling away immediately.

Outside, the city air feels electric, charged with something unspoken. You glance up at Sevika, catching the rare, fleeting softness in her eyes, and realize you’re not the only one reluctant to let the moment end.

She clears her throat, looking down at you. “We’ll call it a night at mine. You’ll feel better in a quieter space.” She insists casually, thumb rubbing soothing circles on your lower back.

You can’t help but nod mindlessly, your eyes glued to her sharp features. The night sky compliments her appearance, grey eyes twinkling under the stars. 

She helps you into the passenger seat, leaning over to buckle your seatbelt. Your cheeks flush at the close proximity, breath-hitching as the scent of her cologne penetrates your senses.

“I could’ve done it myself,” you mumble, craning your head up to meet her gaze. 

A small, almost negligible smirk ghosts her lips. “I know.”

The ride to Sevika’s place is quiet, the silence interrupted solely by the soft sounds of your breathing and low purr of the engine. 

After she pulls into the parkade of her apartment complex, she helps you into the building and up the stairs. Though she notices you aren’t as exhausted as you had claimed to be, causing her grip to loosen. “Thought you were tired?”

A giggle escapes your lips as you brace yourself against the doorframe, slightly lethargic from the drinks. “Jus’ wanted to get out of there…” You shrug, kicking off your shoes upon entering her apartment.

“Yeah…don't blame ya, the guys can be a lot.” She hums in agreement, shrugging off her blazer in one fluid motion. You enable your eyes to linger, tracing the curve of her shoulders and the subtle play of muscles beneath her shirt. Yet you make sure to look away right when she turns to face you.

“You hungry?” She asks.

You shrug, glancing up at her. “A little, you?”

She nods. “Yeah, I could eat. Didnt get a chance to take lunch today–too busy.”

You laugh softly, falling into step beside her as she heads to the kitchen.

“Same here.”

Sevika heads to the fridge and pulls out a few vegetables, setting them on the counter. “How about a quick stir-fry? I’ve got some rice left over from last night.”

You nod, rolling up your sleeves. “Sounds good. Want me to chop?”

She hands you a knife, then grabs a pot for herself. “Yeah, if you don’t mind. I’ll start on the sauce.”

You start slicing a bell pepper, the steady rhythm of your knife filling the kitchen. “You always this busy, or was today just extra rough?”

She snorts, measuring out soy sauce. “It’s Wall Street. There’s no such thing as a slow day.”

You grin, sliding the chopped peppers into a bowl. “Fair point. I’m still getting used to it.”

She glances over, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’re doing fine. Better than most, actually.”

You shrug, reaching for another vegetable. “Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You cut into an onion, the knife feeling heavier than it should in your hand. The alcohol still buzzes in your veins, making your movements a fraction too slow, a touch too loose. You blink, trying to focus, but the kitchen lights seem too bright, casting long, warped shadows across the counter.

Then, the blade slips.

A sharp, hot sting blooms across your finger. You gasp, dropping the knife. It clatters against the tile—a jarring, metallic sound that seems to echo far too loudly in the suddenly silent kitchen. Blood wells up, thick and vivid, trailing down your skin in a line that feels both illusory and painfully present.

“Shit,” you mumble, more out of shock than pain, stumbling toward the sink.

Behind you, Sevika gasps. The sound is harsh, grating, almost inhuman. You glance over your shoulder, expecting a look of concern, maybe annoyance. Instead, you see her standing absolutely still, every muscle in her body tensed and coiled, her hands gripping the edge of the counter so tightly you hear the wood creak.

Her eyes are fixed on you—or rather, on your bleeding hand. They’re wide, pupils blown, the usual warmth gone, replaced by a cold, predatory hunger. For a moment, she looks like a stranger in her own kitchen.

You try to laugh, the sound brittle. “Guess I’m more drunk than I thought—”

“Don’t,” Sevika says, her voice low and raw, barely recognizable. She doesn’t blink. She doesn’t move. The shadows seem to grow longer around her, swallowing the edges of her figure. The air thickens, heavy and oppressive, as if the room itself is holding its breath.

You turn back to the sink, running your finger under cold water, but the blood keeps coming, swirling in the basin. The metallic scent fills your nose, sharp and nauseating. Behind you, Sevika’s breathing changes—shallow, ragged, almost animalistic. 

You glance back again. Her lips are parted, jaw clenched so hard you can see the muscle twitch in her cheek. Her eyes are locked on the blood, and for a split second, you catch a glimpse of something—something impossibly sharp and white—behind her lips.

A chill races down your spine, prickling your skin. Your heart thuds, slow and heavy, as if your body’s trying to warn you of something ancient and terrible.

“Get out,” she growls, her voice guttural, vibrating with a note you’ve never heard before. It’s not a suggestion. It’s a command—urgent, desperate, dangerous.

You freeze, hand still under the water, blood still dripping. Sevika brings her hand up to her mouth, pressing it hard against her lips, as if she’s holding something back. Her eyes flick up to meet yours, and for the first time since you’ve known her, you see fear—real, bone-deep fear—fighting with something darker. Something…horrifying.

“Go,” she chokes out, louder, barely holding herself together.

The room feels wrong, warped, as if you’ve stepped into a living nightmare. The familiar kitchen is gone, replaced by something cold and ravenous. You stumble backward, nearly slipping on the tile, your gaze never leaving Sevika’s face—her wild, desperate eyes, her trembling hands, the shadow of fangs behind her lips.

You don’t ask questions. You don’t look back. You run, the sound of your own heartbeat drowning out everything else, the image of Sevika’s monstrous hunger permanently burned into your mind.

taglist: @half-of-a-gay @sapphiccup @iamaboringrattat @spinback-kiva @theoreticalfreak @moodient @diouna @helaenabugmom @womenlover360 @sumisamente @thatsmadiculous @madzorwhatever @vkumi @boom58 @h2pinky @glittzygorilla @koralinebox @kay-khronicals @belldonic

note: so sorry if this was shit fr, i just wanted to explore writing horror elements heheheheeh

I don't want to be a party pooper but the lesbian community still has so much fatphobia and lookism to unlearn, it's genuinely sad. I always want to elaborate but every time this topic comes around it feels like screaming at the wall.

Learn to love fat femmes. Not "because they are soft", not because there "is more to bite". Love and respect fat femmes for who they are.

Same goes for fat butches, they are not only lovable because "they are beefy" or "they can put their weight on you" or some other shit. They are lovable because they are themselves, just like you are you.

You don't have to make us feel better about ourselves with all these backhanded compliments. Just make us feel like everyone else and start viewing fat bodies as normal and desirable ones without making it weird.

★ — Between the lines

CW : meanie sevika, artist reader, hockey player vi and sevika, modern au, highschool shenanigans, fluff?

A/N : no smut first chaptor :(

Summary : star hocky player sevika has to take an art glass in order to graduate from highschool, fate assigns her to the same class as you and her rival

Sevika hated this. She was on the brink of graduating, being the final semester of her senior year of highschool. She had gotten a hockey scholarship to college, she was supposed to meet with the counselor on the first day after Christmas break to talk about further plans. She was on her high horse, until—- “Sevika you haven’t taken any art classes at all.” Her eyes widened at the counselor's words “what? Of course I have I mean my freshman year I probably have?” She tried to reason, sitting up from her relaxed posture. “It’s okay. We can fix this. You can take an art class for this semester and if you pass you can graduate” Sevika smiled, it’s art. Easy peasy. She can do that, it's just a bunch of wusses coloring? 

You were a junior in highschool. You’ve known what you wanted to do since 6th grade. You wanted to be an artist, and you were good at it too, passing all of your art classes with ease. Anytime you had any open periods you would take an art class, it doesn’t matter if you’ve already taken it. You rub your face while sitting in your car taking a deep breath in before stepping out . It was January so it was still cold out, you cross your arms shielding your hands from the cold. as you walk to the building. The chatter of the hallways filled your ears. You groan, moving your hands to your ears. You’d rather freeze to death then spend another minute with these assholes

You walk to your locker noticing two people making out, blocking you from the locker. “Um excuse me?” You say softly “sorry babe I’m busy” the taller one says, you recognize her immediately, sevika. You narrow your eyes. Everyone else would move on, not wanting to risk a broken nose, but you were different to say the least. “Dude! Move.” The 3 of you look over at the voice. Violet, also a hockey player, and sevikas arch nemesis. Sevika narrowed her eyes wrapping her arm around the woman's shoulder “don’t make me ask again.” Vi crossed her arms as Sevika rolled her eyes and walked away with the girl. 

You breathe a sigh of relief, looking back at vi. “Thanks, vi” you say, opening your locker. “Guess what?” Vi leaned against the locker next to yours “hm?” You rummaged through your locker “I talked to my counselor and…” she handed you a piece of paper. You turn to her as you look down “what’s this?” You say reading it, it was…her class schedule? Your eyes landed on the text that said she had 5th period art. Your eyes widened “we have the same class together?” You smile looking up at her “it’s art. It makes your favorite class even better..you know, cause I’m there” vi said as you raised your eyebrow “ehhh actually puts a dull on it.” You tease, trying to hide your smirk “you can deny all you want, sweetheart.” You roll your eyes at the nickname 

“Bye, violet” you close your locker and start walking to your first class.

Vi smirked as you walked away. She couldn’t help the bubbling feeling in her chest when she talked to you, you were Gorgeous and so smart. So talented. She thought to herself. She turned around stopping herself taking a step when she saw, pow– jinx standing there “oh-” she said looking her sister up and down “your so mindlessly in love with her, its sad” jinx smirked “ha ha” vi said sarcastically as she started walking with jinx to there class “im serious” jinx said bluntly. They fall into conversation

Sevika tried to finish her…session with the girl. But she couldn't help but feel a bit bored.  “sevika?” the girl looked up at her “what's wrong” she tilted her head. “Sorry, I uh need to go. My hockey scholarship stops me from being late, "Sevika looked down at the girl. She stepped away without another word even when the girl tried to convince her to stay. Your face kept flashing in her mind, you were so annoying. And so easy to tease, such a waste of a pretty face. Yeah she thought you were pretty, she would never say it to your face however. And it was worse. She and Sevika almost got into a few fights and risked being kicked off the hockey team, and she followed you around like a lost puppy.

You sigh, doodling on your paper with your head resting in your hand. The bell brings you out of your thoughts. You blink starting to pack up “remember your welcome back essay is do on friday!” the teacher yelled. Everyone groans, including you. You hate writing, as soon as you sit down to write your mind goes to shit. You sigh, putting your bag on, walking to your last class of the day, art. Your face flushed at the fact I went out of her way to spend time with you, of course you liked her, she was so funny and strong.

You walk into art, being one of the first people there. You sit down and pull out your pocket sketchbook. Thinking of what to draw, you sigh staring off into space. You look up at your name being called, your favorite teacher, mr wilson he was a good teacher and runs most of the art department “glad your taking this class again” he said as you smile “good too see you too” you say softly looking up at him “i need to talk to you after class.” he said “don't worry. You're not in trouble.” he said before you could ask. He goes on a rant about his break about some nightmare ski trip with his husband. You zone him out when vi walks in. She looks over at you and smiles big, walking over and sitting next to you. as the room filled in and the final bell rang

Mr Wilson goes on about the syllabus for the new students, nothing you haven't heard before so you look around at everyone, a few new students, students that she already knew and— your eyes dart over the figure in the corner, sevika. You narrow your eyes as you look towards the front of the room. Trying not to stare too long, you take a deep breath. Mr wilson handed out the syllabus to everyone but you. “There's a student you all should know,” Mr Wilson said as he wandered around the room, your heart drops as he says your name “she has taken this class at least 3 times and has passed it every time, she is who you should look up to.” you sigh looking down, avoiding everyone's gaze. Vi smirked, clearly enjoying the social embarrassment you were getting.

Sevika looked at you. Why is she here? She thought to herself. Whatever, maybe if she kept her distance it'll all be— “sevika!” Mr Wilson looked over at Sevika, she looked up. “Uh- yes?” she asked “i feel like you would do better sitting next to one of my more- experienced students” he said nervously “come sit here.” he points to the seat next to you “god damnit” you mutter looking down. Vi looked over, narrowing her eyes as her hand clenched into a fist “great.” she said way so loud “excuse me?” sevika said as she sat next to you. You were sandwiched between both of them, they were giving each other the death stare as you hold your head in your hands

The whole room was quiet, including the teacher, waiting for some kind of action between vi and sevika. “Anyway-” he said walking to the front of the room “for the first project of the semester we are doing a watercolor landscape” sevika chuckled to herself, "too easy “is this hard?” vi leaned over to you. You hesitate “i mean when i did it for the first time, it wast but it's different for everyone” you whisper back. “Its water color, we did this in grade school” you both look over at sevika “nobody asked you for your opinion” vis tone was like poison “don't.” you whisper, putting the fight down before it even started “yeah listen to your bitch” sevika muttered looking down at her note book

Before you could even process what was going on. Vi had already punched sevika, pinning her to the ground as she got a good few hits in before sevika rolled over and started hitting back. The whole class was yelling as you tried to pull sevika off of her “okay! Okay!” Mr Wilson quickly stopped the fight. Eventually sevika got off vi, vi had a black eye and sevika had a bloody nose and a few bruises on her face. “The 3 of you go to the office!” you stand up straighter, looking around almost second guessing if the teacher was talking about you “wh-what?” your voice broke “i said go.” mr wilson said 

“This is unacceptable!” the principal yelled. You three were sitting in the office. Fate decided for you to be sandwiched between them again. Vi was holding an ice pack to her eye and sevika was holding a tissue to her nose. You are trying to stop your breath from accelerating “i don't know what to do for you 2. I- i mean i give you detention! Put you in the same class” the principle stuttered, pinching his nose “see that was your first issue. Putting this orge in the same class as me!” vi said leaning forward “orge?! I'll show you orge” sevika looked over at vi “enough!” he yelled.

Your eyes were still locked on him. Vi and sevika look back at him and take a deep breath “transfer her out!” vi yelled “why don't you transfer?!” Vi opened her mouth to reply but didnt know how. Your face flushes. “Okay! Okay!” he yelled sitting down. “Sevika, vi you both get one week of after school detention, this includes any hockey practices!” sevika and vi were quick to protest. He says your name and you look up “one day of after school detention” you start hyperventilating “oh my god-” you stumble over your words “oh my god i've never been in trouble before!” you look down “calm down, prissy” sevika said “out of my office and go straight to detention. No goofing off” 

“I can't believe I'm in detention because of you!” you yell at sevika as the 3 of you walk down the hall “because of me?! Why don't you blame your girlfriend! She's the one who attacked me!” she looked down at you “she's not my girlfriend!” you yell and vi looks at you, a pang of pain punches her in the chest. She looks away. You look around for a moment before going a different way then them “where are you going detention is this way?” vi said as sevika did care she just kept walking “i'm gonna see if i can work on my art project in detention. Ill meet you there”

You tuck a peice of hair behind your ear. Pushing the door open to the art room. You couldn't hide the anger on your face if you tried “mr wilson.” you say as he looks over. You wanted to yell at him in front of everyone but you were too late. He said your name, smiling “how'd it go?” you raise your eyebrow at his words “i have detention.” you hiss “for how long? A week?” he asks not even looking up from his paper “a day.” he looks up at you “just a day? That's not so bad!” “Do you understand this can go on my permanent record? Fuck up any chance at college?” you walk forward “a day of detention? It'll be okay.” he said looking down at his paper “whatever” you rub your forehead “can i do whatever i missed in detention please?” you ask crossing your arms 

“An artistic delinquent?” he smirked “how poetic” he grabbed a large thick piece of paper and handed it to you “dont start.” you say walking out of the art class “don't get into trouble!” he yells as you walk away. “Ha ha” you mutter walking back to detention quickly. You sigh “you're late.” the monitor said “i know- i'm sorry-” “i don't care. Sit down.” you look at the classroom, sevika was sitting in the corner and vi was sitting as far as she could. You walk over to vi and sit next to her “you are here for the next hour and i hope you reflect on your actions” he sits at his desk and rests his head on it “is he sleeping?” you whisper “shh-” vi said looking back at you “give it a minute” she whispered 

After a few minutes his snores filled the room. You raise an eyebrow as you look at vi a weirded out expression on your face “I know.” vi said. You pull out your pencil bag and start sketching your landscape “i'm mad at you.” you say “why?” her voice switched to concern. You shoot a look at her. she shuts up quickly “im sorry, no one should talk about you like that.” vi argued looking you up and down “I can fight my own battles.” you say leaning forward “it seemed like you were going to just let her say that about you” vi said glancing at sevika for a moment

Sevika was trying to nap, leaning in her chair with a book covering her face. She couldn't help but listen to your conversation. The goal of the insult was to rile vi up not insult you. She felt bad but she would never actually apologize. She falls asleep thinking about you and before she knew it, it was time to go home. She blinks rubbing her eyes as she grabs her bag and hauls it over her shoulder. Catching sight of your sketch…it was beautiful. You slide it into your bag “you need a ride?” you ask looking at vi “i need to run some errands, i'll take the bus” vi smiled and cupped your cheek “you're a sweetheart.” vi said as she walked out of the class, trying to hurry in order to catch the city bus leaving you and sevika alone

“She likes you.” Sevika walked over, standing behind you. You didn't say anything as you finished packing up and threw your bag on. She walks over and grabs the strap of your bag. You look over at her with an angry face “listen. That comment…” she hesitates “i didn't mean to bring you into me and vis fight” she sighed as your gaze softens “if anyone gives you trouble, come to me not your pipsqueak of a girlfriend.” sevika didn't let you protest “she not-” sevika walked out of the room and your left standing there

Did she just– apologize?

It is so unfair I have thick plush thighs but no dyke to lay her head on them :(

Hi! Could I request something? I just saw you accept new request again! I was thinking of yearning. Them yearning for oblivious tav.

I just love a good old yearning prompt

yesssssss the yearning the pining the dramaaa

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

Karlach was trying her best to keep it together. As she sat by the campfire, her eyes kept drifting toward you, her massive frame leaning slightly forward as if she could somehow close the gap between you just by willing it. You were tending to a few weapons you’d scavenged earlier in the day, completely oblivious to the way her molten eyes lingered on you, the way her hands fidgeted with a piece of stray leather to distract herself from the ache in her chest.

Wyll, sitting nearby with a mischievous grin, had noticed. Of course, he had noticed. The Blade of Frontiers had a knack for picking up on unspoken emotions, and Karlach was as subtle as a roaring forge.

“You know,” Wyll began, his voice low and teasing as he leaned toward Karlach, “if you keep staring at them like that, you’re liable to set the poor one on fire.”

Karlach froze, her cheeks flushing as embers flickered to life along her horns.

“What?” she whispered sharply, her voice cracking. “I wasn’t staring! I was just—”

“Yearning?” Wyll supplied with a grin, leaning back casually.

“I don’t yearn,” Karlach snapped, though her voice lacked conviction.

“Oh, come now,” Wyll said, his tone smug. “The sighing, the pining, the tragic glances when he’s not looking—it’s downright poetic.” He tapped his chin theatrically. “It’s almost enough to compose a ballad.”

Karlach shot him a glare, her flames flaring slightly around her shoulders. “Wyll, I swear, if you don’t shut it—”

But it was too late. Her embarrassment sent her infernal engine into overdrive, and the flames on her body surged. The sudden flare caught your attention, and you glanced up from your work.

“Karlach?” you called out, your voice filled with concern as you stood and crossed the campfire toward her. “Are you okay?”

The sheer earnestness in your tone made her heart lurch painfully in her chest. She quickly tried to wave you off, her hands fanning at her shoulders as if she could dampen the flames.

“It’s nothing! Just—hot, you know?” she stammered.

“Well, yeah, you’re always hot,” you said, grabbing a nearby waterskin. “But this seems worse than usual.”

Karlach froze, her eyes going wide at your words. Did you—did you just call her hot? Surely, you didn’t mean it like that, right?

“Here, let me help,” you said, uncapping the waterskin.

“No, no, really, I’m fine—”

Too late. You doused her with a splash of water, and instead of calming her flames, it only made things worse. The steam hissed around her, mingling with her rising panic, and her flames flared even brighter.

“Gods, I’m sorry!” you exclaimed, looking horrified. “Did that make it worse?”

Karlach buried her face in her hands, groaning loudly. “No, no, it’s fine, just—don’t worry about it.”

Wyll, watching the scene unfold, laughed openly now. “You’re really outdoing yourself, Karlach. I think the entire camp will see those flames soon.”

You shot Wyll a confused look. “What’s he talking about?”

Karlach peeked through her fingers, her flames dimming slightly as her mortification reached its peak.

“Nothing! He’s just… being a prat,” she said quickly, glaring at Wyll, who only grinned wider.

“I’d call it encouragement,” Wyll said lightly. “After all, someone here needs to take a hint.”

You blinked at him, clearly puzzled, but before you could ask what he meant, Karlach stood abruptly, the ground under her feet crunching as her weight shifted.

“I’m gonna, uh, go check on—anything else,” she muttered, stomping off toward the edge of camp.

You watched her go, bewildered, before turning back to Wyll. “Did I do something wrong?”

Wyll chuckled, shaking his head. “Not wrong, no. Just oblivious. Don’t worry—you’ll figure it out eventually. Maybe.”

You frowned, glancing back toward where Karlach had disappeared into the shadows, her flames still faintly flickering in the distance. You didn’t know what you’d missed, but something about the way she’d looked at you before she left lingered in your mind, warm and unexplained.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The campfire crackled gently, casting a warm glow across the assembled group. You sat on a log, sharpening your blade, blissfully unaware of the undercurrents running through the evening.

Minthara, sitting a few paces away, had her sharp red eyes trained on you, a faint furrow in her brow. Her usual composed demeanor was slightly off tonight—her movements a touch too deliberate, her glances toward you lingering just a second too long.

Shadowheart, one of the resident camp gossips, noticed. She always did.

“Why don’t you just say something, Minthara?” Shadowheart drawled lazily, her lips curling into a smirk as she toyed with a loose strand of her hair. “It’s not as though subtlety is your strong suit. Or theirs, for that matter.”

Minthara’s sharp gaze snapped toward her, irritation flashing across her face.

“I do not need your advice, cleric,” she said coolly.

“Oh, I think you do,” Shadowheart said, undeterred. “Because whatever it is you’ve been doing clearly isn’t working. They haven’t even noticed.” She tilted her head toward you, who were now carefully oiling your weapon, oblivious to the tension building around you.

Minthara’s grip on her dagger tightened, her knuckles turning white. “They have other matters to attend to. The fault lies not with my approach but their… distraction.”

Shadowheart chuckled. “Distraction? They’re so dense they probably think the moonrise is flirting with them. You’ll have to carve it into the side of their tent before they catch on.”

That was the last straw. Minthara stood abruptly, her dark cloak billowing behind her as she marched across the campsite toward you.

“Minthara?” you said, startled as her shadow fell over you.

Before you could say another word, she grabbed you by the front of your tunic and pulled you to your feet with a surprising amount of force. Her crimson eyes burned with frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“You,” she snapped, her voice ringing out across the camp, “are impossibly blind.”

“W-what?” you stammered, your mind racing to figure out what you’d done wrong this time.

“I have fought by your side,” she began, her voice rising. “I have trusted you, protected you, respected you. I have given you every sign imaginable, and yet you remain oblivious to the fact that I—” She stopped abruptly, taking a deep breath, as if even saying the words aloud were a battle she needed to win. “That I desire you, you fool!”

The camp went silent. Even the fire seemed to crackle a little softer as everyone turned to stare.

You blinked, utterly dumbfounded. “You… you desire me?”

Minthara groaned, her head tipping back in exasperation before she fixed you with an incredulous look. “Yes! Must I spell it out further? Or perhaps I should inscribe it on your blade since that seems to be where your attention is always focused!”

Shadowheart, who had been watching the entire exchange with barely suppressed laughter, finally burst out into an uncontrollable giggle.

“Oh, gods, this is better than I could’ve hoped,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye.

Minthara turned her glare on her, her lips curling in irritation. “If you say one more word, Shadowheart, I will—”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupted, holding up your hands. “Everyone calm down.” You turned back to Minthara, your voice softening. “I’m sorry if I missed the signs, Minthara. I honestly didn’t realize.”

Her anger seemed to waver, replaced by a flicker of vulnerability.

“How could you not?” she asked, almost to herself. You hesitated, then placed a tentative hand on hers, still gripping your tunic.

“Because I’m an idiot,” you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips. “But I’m an idiot who’s honored and… maybe a little thrilled by what you just said.”

For the first time that evening, Minthara seemed at a loss for words. Her lips parted slightly, her sharp demeanor softening as she searched your face.

“Thrilled, you say?” she murmured, the barest hint of a smirk returning.

“Thrilled,” you confirmed, your cheeks warming under her intense gaze.

The tension in the air shifted, no longer charged with frustration but with something warmer, something promising. Minthara released your tunic, smoothing it out almost absently. “Then perhaps next time, you won’t require such… dramatic measures to understand me.”

Shadowheart made a kissy noise behind you, and you shot her a glare over your shoulder. Minthara, however, ignored her entirely, her focus solely on you.

“Now,” she said, her voice back to its usual measured tone. “Shall we continue this conversation somewhere with fewer interruptions?”

You nodded, feeling a grin spread across your face. “Lead the way.”

As you walked off together, Shadowheart’s laughter echoed behind you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. For once, the fog of obliviousness had lifted, and you were exactly where you wanted to be—at Minthara’s side.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

Lae’zel had always been a force of nature—her sharp tongue, battle-hardened demeanor, and unyielding confidence left no room for doubt. And that’s exactly how she preferred it. To anyone observing her, she was the epitome of githyanki discipline and control. But deep down, behind the steel exterior and fiery eyes, she was at war with herself.

She had a massive, undeniable crush on you.

It was maddening. Every time you smiled at her or even so much as glanced her way, her heart would race—a sensation she would have sworn was impossible for her kind. She had tried everything to make her interest known: sparring sessions where she pushed you to your limits (and a bit beyond), blunt declarations of your 'adequacy' in her eyes, and even offers to 'crush your enemies together in glorious combat'. But somehow, none of it seemed to land.

Instead, you remained oblivious, flashing her that infuriatingly kind smile and treating her like a valued ally rather than someone she desperately wanted to claim as her partner.

One day, during a training session, Lae’zel’s frustration reached its peak. She had you pinned beneath her, her blade at your throat, and instead of fear or admiration, you chuckled.

“Nice move,” you said, your grin wide. “I’ll have to remember that one.”

She grit her teeth and growled, pressing the blade a little closer—not enough to hurt, but enough to make her point.

“You do not take me seriously!” she snapped.

You raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about? You’re one of the most serious people I know.”

“Not in battle, fool!” she snarled, pulling back and stalking away, her blade sheathed with a sharp clang, as you walked bewilderdly back to your tent.

From a short distance, Halsin, who had been watching the training with an amused glint in his eye, stepped forward to intercept Lae’zel. She stopped abruptly, glaring at the druid as if daring him to speak.

“Lae’zel,” Halsin said in his calm, measured tone, “may I offer you some advice?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You may offer. I will decide whether it is worth hearing.”

He chuckled, unfazed. “I’ve noticed your… interest in our leader.”

Her nostrils flared, and she crossed her arms. “And what of it?”

“You are a warrior, and I admire your strength,” Halsin began, “but perhaps your methods of courtship are… misplaced.”

“What nonsense is this?” she scoffed. “I have made my intentions clear. I have praised their competence. I have challenged them in combat. What more is required?”

Halsin smiled gently. “Perhaps a softer touch. Words that reveal your feelings without the shield of aggression. A gesture that shows your care rather than your strength.”

Lae’zel looked utterly baffled, as if he had just suggested she surrender to a mind flayer.

“Softness is weakness,” she spat.

“Not always,” Halsin countered. “Sometimes, it takes more strength to be vulnerable than to wield a sword.”

She opened her mouth to retort but found herself at a loss. Instead, she grumbled something unintelligible and stalked off, leaving Halsin shaking his head with a knowing smile.

The next morning, Lae’zel approached you at camp. There was an uncharacteristic stiffness to her posture, as if she were preparing for battle, yet her hands were empty.

“Leader,” she began, her voice clipped but quieter than usual.

You looked up from your map, offering her that same smile that never failed to undo her. “What’s up, Lae’zel?”

She hesitated, the words catching in her throat. For a moment, she considered abandoning this foolishness and returning to her usual methods. But Halsin’s advice echoed in her mind, and she forced herself to continue.

“I… value your presence,” she said, the words sounding foreign and awkward.

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Uh, thanks? I value yours too.”

“No, you do not understand,” she snapped, then took a deep breath to steady herself. “I… value you. Your strength. Your wit. Your… idiotic charm.”

Your confusion deepened. “Lae’zel, are you feeling okay?”

She growled in frustration, her hand twitching toward her sword out of habit before she forced it to her side. “Do I need to spell it out for you, fool?”

“Apparently,” you said, still clueless but clearly trying to follow.

She stepped closer, her amber eyes burning into yours. “I desire you, leader. As my equal. My partner. My… lover.”

The words hung in the air, and for the first time, you saw Lae’zel in a new light—not just as a fierce warrior, but as someone deeply passionate and utterly vulnerable in this moment.

“Oh,” you said, the realization dawning on you. “Oh.”

Her jaw tightened, and she crossed her arms defensively. “If you find this amusing, I will—”

“I don’t,” you interrupted, a small smile playing at your lips. “I just didn’t think—well, I didn’t know.”

“Because you are blind,” she muttered, though there was no real venom in her tone.

You stepped closer, reaching out tentatively. “Lae’zel, I’m flattered. Truly. And… I’d like to see where this goes.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, she looked as though she didn’t quite believe you. Then, with a sharp nod, she straightened her back and let a rare, genuine smile grace her lips.

“Good,” she said simply. “Now, let us prepare for the day. We have enemies to slay, and I will not let them distract you from what is ours.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, warmth blooming in your chest. Lae’zel might not have mastered the art of softness, but in her own way, she was perfect.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

Shadowheart had always been composed, her expression a careful mask of neutrality, but recently, every time she caught sight of you, her calm façade wavered. Her chest tightened, her thoughts scattered, and her usually sharp words became softer, laced with an uncharacteristic warmth. She knew the truth of it: she had fallen for you. Hard.

And yet, despite her every effort to show you her feelings, you remained utterly oblivious.

At breakfast that morning, Shadowheart decided to take another approach. She brushed past you as you prepared the fire, the faint scent of lavender trailing in her wake.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice soft but laced with what she thought was a hint of allure.

You looked up, smiling warmly. “Morning, Shadowheart. Did you sleep well?”

She nodded, sitting beside you with deliberate closeness. “As well as I could, knowing what awaits us each day. And you?”

“Fine, thanks. Just trying to get this fire going,” you replied, your focus returning to the task at hand.

She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a murmur. “You’re very skilled with your hands. It’s… admirable.”

You blinked at her, utterly missing the meaning behind her words. “Thanks! I guess all those years of camping have paid off.”

Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly, but she refused to give up. Throughout the morning, she found small ways to stay near you, brushing her fingers against yours when you handed her something, complimenting you with what she thought was a sultry tone, and even laughing at your jokes—some of which, she had to admit, were terrible.

Still, you seemed completely unaware.

By midday, Shadowheart was frustrated beyond measure. She found Karlach near the edge of camp, inspecting her weapons, and stormed over.

“Karlach,” she said, her tone clipped but tinged with exasperation.

Karlach looked up, her fiery heart pulsing warmly. “What’s up, Shads?”

"Please don't call me that," Shadowheart crossed her arms, her frustration bubbling over. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve been dropping hints—no, practically throwing myself at them, and they just… don’t notice!”

Karlach blinked, then grinned, clearly enjoying the situation more than she should. “Wait, you’re talking about—?”

“Yes,” Shadowheart snapped, her cheeks tinged with pink.

Karlach let out a hearty laugh, her flames flickering slightly brighter. “Oh, this is rich. You? Pining? I never thought I’d see the day.”

Shadowheart glared at her. “This is not amusing. I need advice, not mockery.”

Karlach wiped a tear from her eye, still chuckling. “Alright, alright. Let me think. So, you’ve been… what, flirting?”

“I’ve tried everything,” Shadowheart admitted, throwing her hands in the air. “Compliments, proximity, even subtle touches. And nothing! They treat me the same as everyone else.”

Karlach hummed, tapping a clawed finger against her chin. “Maybe they’re just really dense. Or, y’know, not used to someone as… uh, mysterious as you.”

Shadowheart raised an eyebrow. “And what do you suggest I do? Write it out in blood on their tent?”

Karlach snorted. “Hey, that might actually work. But no, maybe you need to be more direct. Like, ‘Hey, I think you’re cute, let’s share a bedroll tonight.’”

Shadowheart stared at her, aghast. “I am not saying that.”

“Your loss,” Karlach said with a shrug. “But seriously, just talk to them. Be honest. I bet they’d love it.”

Shadowheart sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Honesty. Of course. The one thing I’ve been avoiding.”

“Hey, they like you for you,” Karlach said, clapping her on the shoulder. “Well, they would if they had half a brain and knew what was good for them. Go get ’em, tiger.”

Later that evening, as you sat by the campfire, Shadowheart approached you with purposeful strides. She was determined to take Karlach’s advice, even if it made her heart pound and her palms sweat.

“Can I join you?” she asked, her voice steady despite the storm inside her.

“Of course,” you said, shifting to make room for her.

She hesitated for a moment, then sat beside you, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

You turned to her, your expression curious but kind. “What is it?”

Shadowheart opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she let out a shaky breath and looked into the fire.

“I… I care about you,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, completely misunderstanding. “I care about you too, Shadowheart. You’re a great friend.”

She groaned inwardly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No, I mean I care about you in a… different way.”

Realization dawned on your face, your eyes widening. “Oh.”

“Oh?” she echoed, feeling both vulnerable and absurdly exposed.

“I didn’t—Shadowheart, I had no idea,” you said, your voice filled with genuine surprise and warmth.

“I noticed,” she muttered, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips despite herself.

You reached out, gently placing a hand on hers. “I’m sorry if I’ve been clueless. I guess I just… never thought someone like you would feel that way about someone like me.”

She looked at you, her expression softening. “And why wouldn’t I? You’re… remarkable.”

The sincerity in her voice made your heart skip a beat, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Well, I guess that makes two of us, then.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “You… feel the same?”

“Yeah,” you said, your cheeks flushing. “I guess I was just waiting for a sign.”

Shadowheart laughed softly, the sound lighter than you’d ever heard from her. “Apparently, I need to be less subtle.”

As the fire crackled between you, the tension that had been simmering for so long finally gave way to something warmer, something real. And for the first time in weeks, Shadowheart felt at peace.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

Jaheira was not a woman who pined. Or so she told herself. A High Harper, disciplined and pragmatic, she had weathered countless battles and heartbreaks. Yet, here she was, sneaking glances at you across camp, her chest tightening whenever you smiled or laughed. It was maddening. How had you managed to worm your way so deeply into her thoughts?

Despite her years of wisdom, Jaheira found herself at a loss. She didn’t know how to bridge the gap between the two of you, not without risking her pride or the delicate balance of your group.

The worst part was your complete and utter obliviousness. She’d tried subtlety—lingering conversations, offering you extra help with tactics, even sharing stories of her youth that she told no one else. You simply smiled warmly, thanked her, and went about your day as though her heart hadn’t been laid bare in every word.

One evening, after another frustrating day of yearning and getting nowhere, Astarion finally had enough.

“Jaheira, darling, may I have a word?” Astarion said, sidling up to her as she sharpened her blade near the fire.

“What do you want, Astarion?” she asked, her tone brusque.

He smirked, clearly unbothered by her irritation. “Oh, nothing much. Just to offer my… expert services in matters of the heart.”

Jaheira blinked, her sharpening stone pausing mid-stroke. “What are you talking about?”

Astarion gestured dramatically toward you, where you sat chatting animatedly with Karlach. “I’m talking about your obvious pining for our dear leader. It’s positively tragic to watch.”

Jaheira’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly turned back to her blade. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion said, rolling his eyes. “You practically glow whenever they’re around. It’s adorable, really. But I must say, your approach could use some… finesse.”

Jaheira scowled at him. “I am not some lovesick fool, and I certainly don’t need advice from a vampire with more charm than sense.”

“Perhaps not,” Astarion said, unfazed. “But consider this: have your current tactics worked? Have they so much as noticed your affection?”

Jaheira’s silence was answer enough.

“I thought so,” Astarion said smugly. “Now, listen closely. You need to be bold. Direct. Use your natural charisma and authority to your advantage. And if all else fails, a little flirtation never hurt anyone.”

Jaheira narrowed her eyes. “I am not a charlatan like you, Astarion. I won’t lower myself to cheap tricks.”

“Who said anything about cheap tricks?” Astarion replied, feigning offense. “Think of it as… a strategic maneuver. After all, you wouldn’t hesitate to outwit an enemy in battle, would you?”

Jaheira sighed, considering his words. As much as she hated to admit it, he wasn’t entirely wrong. “Fine. I’ll listen. But if this backfires, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”

“Splendid,” Astarion said, clapping his hands together. “Now, let’s start with a little more confidence in your approach…”

The next morning, you noticed something strange about Jaheira. She was… different.

She approached you with a faint smile that seemed just a touch too practiced, her movements deliberate and graceful in a way that reminded you of someone else.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice smooth and measured. “Did you sleep well?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah. I did. And you?”

“Perfectly,” she replied, her eyes lingering on you in a way that felt… odd. “Though I couldn’t help but think of our conversation from yesterday. You truly have a fascinating mind.”

You tilted your head, trying to piece together what was happening. Something about her tone, her body language—it was familiar. And then it hit you.

“Wait a minute,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “Why are you acting like Astarion?”

Jaheira froze, her carefully crafted façade slipping for just a moment. “I… what?”

“You’re doing the thing he does,” you said, mimicking a dramatic hand gesture. “The suave, overly charming thing. It’s not like you.”

Jaheira’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly turned away, muttering something under her breath.

From across camp, Astarion burst into laughter, doubling over as he clutched his stomach. “Oh, this is too good!”

Jaheira shot him a withering glare before turning back to you, her expression softening. “Perhaps I’ve been… trying too hard. Forgive me if I seemed unlike myself.”

You smiled, your warmth cutting through her frustration. “You don’t need to try so hard, Jaheira. I like you just as you are.”

Her breath caught, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. Then, with a small, genuine smile, she nodded. “Thank you. That means… more than you know.”

As she walked away, Astarion approached, still grinning. “Well, that could have gone better, but at least they noticed you.”

Jaheira shook her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Never again, Astarion. Never again.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

The late afternoon sun hung low, painting the riverside in warm golds and soft shadows. Gale, waist-deep in the cool water, had his arms crossed in front of him as if the sheer act of holding himself together could quell the maelstrom of feelings raging inside. His crush on you was a storm that refused to abate, leaving him with sleepless nights and days filled with longing glances.

From the riverbank, Minthara watched him with a look of abject irritation. Minthara had ordered him to take a dip in the cold water after he had decided to unleash his love-filled ranting unto her ears as they collected water. She assured him she would be fine to take the water back by herself, and when he thought she had left he keenly stripped and waded into the water. But Minthara had not left, no, Gale's lovesick demeanor had created a vendetta against her and she decided to take action.

"Pathetic," she muttered under her breath. She didn’t think it was possible for wizards to get worse, but Gale was proving her wrong. With a smirk, she moved silently to where Gale had left his clothes folded neatly on a nearby rock. With the swift efficiency of a seasoned tactician, she gathered them up and strode back toward camp.

You were enjoying a moment of quiet when Minthara approached, holding a bundle of robes in her arms.

"The wizard is by the river," she said bluntly. "It seems he’s in need of assistance."

You frowned, glancing at the clothing. "Assistance? With what?"

Minthara’s lips quirked into a thin smile. "He appears… indisposed. Perhaps you should go and see for yourself."

Before you could ask more, she tossed the robes into the fire and strode away, leaving you thoroughly puzzled but intrigued. You could have sworn those were Gale's. With haste, you made your way towards the river and when you arrived at the riverbank, you called out, "Gale? Everything alright?"

Gale startled, his head whipping around to face you, his hair slicked back and glistening in the sunlight. Clearly he had been searching for his robes. "Ah, no! I mean, yes—yes, everything’s fine!"

You raised a brow, stepping closer to the water’s edge. "Are you sure? Minthara said you needed help."

At the mention of her name, Gale groaned. "Of course, she did. And I suppose she also absconded with my robes?" He shot a wary glance toward the shore, clearly trying to maintain some distance.

"Unfortunately so. What’s going on?" you asked, scanning the area. Then you noticed the way his face burned red, his expression a mix of embarrassment and frustration. "Why are you still in the water? It’s getting late. and the river's current is about to pick up, you need to get out, now."

He hesitated, his fingers flexing nervously beneath the water’s surface. "It’s… complicated."

"Complicated how?" You looked around, spotting no immediate danger apart from the increasing current. "Do you need a hand getting out? I can lend you my cloak."

"You don’t understand!" Gale blurted, his voice cracking slightly. "This isn’t about the cold—or the current. It’s…" He trailed off, visibly warring with himself.

You tilted your head, curious and slightly amused. "Then what is it about? You’re not exactly making it easy to help you."

Gale sighed deeply, sinking a little lower into the water until only his nose and eyes peeked out. Then, in a low, hurried tone, he confessed, "I’m afraid my feelings for you have… manifested in a rather inconvenient manner."

Your brow furrowed. "Feelings for me?"

"Yes!" Gale said, his voice growing more desperate. "Feelings. Strong feelings—romantic, longing, entirely improper feelings for someone as… exceptional as you."

You blinked, the weight of his words settling over you like the warmth of the setting sun. "You—wait. You like me?"

"Yes," he muttered, his face practically steaming despite the cool water. "Which is precisely why I can’t leave this river at the moment."

The realization dawned slowly, but when it clicked, a grin spread across your face. "Oh," you said, fighting back laughter. "Oh."

"Yes," Gale grumbled, his mortification complete. "You see now why this is problematic."

You couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped. "So, let me get this straight. You’re saying your feelings are… visible at the moment?"

Gale pinched the bridge of his nose. "If you insist on phrasing it that way, then yes."

You laughed harder, the sound bright and unrestrained. "Gale, that’s not the end of the world."

"Easy for you to say," he muttered. "You’re not the one at risk of a compromising exit."

Still laughing, you crouched by the water’s edge, your cloak in hand. "Come on. I promise I’ll look the other way. Just wrap this around your waist - tightly, and let’s get you back to camp."

Gale hesitated, clearly torn between his pride and the practicality of your offer. The river was rising, and the current becoming less forgiving. He didn't know what would be worse, coming out in this state or having to have you rescue him whilst he was in this condition. Finally, he sighed. "You’re infuriatingly kind, you know that?"

"Only to people I like," you teased, winking at him.

That earned you a small, genuine smile, despite his predicament. Slowly, cautiously, he edged closer to the shore, his blush never fading. You diligently kept your eyes closed, but there was that little devil inside you willing you to take a peak. He wrapped the cloak around his waist, only for you to hear a small, defeated sigh.

"You cannot laugh at me, but please may I request that I carry your shoes back to camp?" He asked, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Wow you must really like me-"

"-The shoes please!"

Still giggling to yourself, you took off your shoes and passed them to him, allowing him to use them as a shield to his nether region.

You were finally able to look at him, his cheeks flushed beet red as he murmured, "I am going to kill Minthara, or at least try to."

"You know, Gale, I think Minthara might have done us both a favor."

Gale groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Never speak of this again. And especially do not encourage her behaviour."

"No promises," you said with a grin, walking beside him as you both headed back to camp. "Perhaps, I might want to get caught short with you."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

Astarion was not accustomed to being ignored, least of all by someone who had managed to captivate him so thoroughly. Yet here you were, brushing off his every flirtation, every lingering glance, every word dripping with a charm that could make others fall at his feet.

You were different, infuriatingly so. Every smirk, every sly compliment, every touch of his hand to your arm was met with a polite laugh, a nod, or—worse—a casual thanks before you moved on as though he hadn’t just thrown his best seductive lines at you.

For someone like Astarion, whose every move had been meticulously calculated for centuries, this was unbearable. He was practically seething with frustration as he watched you across the camp, laughing at something Karlach had said. He sighed dramatically, slumping onto a nearby log, the perfect picture of a man whose heart was in shambles.

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand why you might be cautious around him. He wasn’t blind to his own past or the scars it had left on his soul. But this? This obliviousness wasn’t caution—it was sheer ignorance of his very obvious yearning.

And so, out of options and desperately needing help, he did something he never thought he would: he sought out Gale.

Gale was sitting by the fire, absently flipping through his spellbook, when Astarion approached him. The vampire’s usual smirk was replaced with something that looked suspiciously like a grimace.

“Gale,” Astarion began, his voice unusually subdued.

Gale looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Astarion? To what do I owe this… peculiar honor?”

Astarion waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, spare me the preamble. I need your help.”

“My help?” Gale blinked. “What kind of apocalyptic disaster requires my assistance? Surely not something involving a certain someone we both know?”

Astarion’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes. Them.”

Gale set his book down, his interest piqued. “Ah, I see. You’re pining.”

“I am not pining,” Astarion snapped, though the blush creeping up his pale cheeks betrayed him. “I am… strategically pursuing. Subtly, I might add.”

Gale snorted. “If by subtle, you mean utterly transparent, then yes. You’ve been as subtle as a fireball in a wheat field.”

Astarion scowled. “They don’t see it that way. They think I’m just… charming. Which, of course, I am, but there’s more to it than that.”

“And you want my advice?” Gale leaned back, crossing his arms. “Me, the man you’ve spent weeks mocking for my ‘tragic romanticism’?”

“Yes, yes, revel in the irony if you must,” Astarion said impatiently. “But you’re annoyingly good- most of the time, at all this grand gesture nonsense, and clearly, I need a new approach.”

Gale chuckled, a little too pleased with himself. “All right. Let’s see. The key here is sincerity. You can’t just charm your way through this one. You have to show them how you feel.”

Astarion frowned. “And how exactly do I do that?”

“Think of something meaningful to them,” Gale suggested. “An act that demonstrates you understand them, that you care about them deeply. And,” he added with a smirk, “maybe tone down the smirking and innuendo for five minutes.”

The next day, Astarion put Gale’s advice into action—or at least, his version of it. You were sitting by the riverbank, enjoying a rare moment of peace, when Astarion approached you, holding something behind his back.

“Ah, there you are,” he said, his tone softer than usual.

You smiled up at him. “What’s up, Astarion?”

“I, uh… I noticed something the other day.” He cleared his throat, looking uncharacteristically awkward. “You mentioned how much you missed those silly little biscuits from Baldur’s Gate, the ones with the sugar glaze.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I did?”

“Yes, you did,” he said quickly. “And, well… here.” He produced a carefully wrapped package and handed it to you. Inside were a handful of the biscuits, slightly crumbled but still intact.

Your eyes widened. “How did you…?”

“Don’t ask questions,” he said, his smirk creeping back despite his best efforts. “Just enjoy them.”

You looked up at him, touched by the gesture but still utterly oblivious to the deeper meaning. “Thanks, Astarion. That’s really sweet of you.”

He stared at you for a moment, waiting for something—anything—to click. When it didn’t, he sighed dramatically and flopped onto the grass beside you.

“Are you truly this dense, my beautiful fool?” he muttered under his breath.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” he said, flashing you a too-bright smile. “Enjoy your biscuits, darling.”

From a distance, Gale watched the exchange with a shake of his head, muttering, “Some people are beyond help.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

Wyll was not used to being ignored, especially when it came to matters of the heart. He prided himself on his charm, his courtly manners, and his ability to woo with a single smile. Yet, when it came to you, all his gentlemanly gestures seemed to bounce right off you like a deflected blade.

He would offer you his hand to help you over rough terrain, only to receive a simple "Thanks, Wyll!" and a cheerful pat on his shoulder. He’d bring you breakfast, perfectly arranged, and you’d compliment him on his “team spirit.” He’d even tried a few subtler lines, but you always brushed them off as his natural charisma, as if his feelings weren’t entirely focused on you.

So, after one particularly frustrating evening where you didn’t even notice how his gaze lingered on you by the firelight, Wyll decided he needed help.

And who better to consult than the camp’s most direct and fearless member, Lae’zel?

Lae’zel was sharpening her sword when Wyll approached, his usual confident demeanor slightly crumpled under the weight of his unspoken affection. She glanced up, her sharp eyes narrowing.

“Wyll,” she said bluntly, “you look as though you’ve swallowed a blade sideways. Spit it out.”

He cleared his throat, glancing around to make sure no one else was in earshot. “It’s about… them,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lae’zel’s expression didn’t change. “Ah, the object of your obsession.”

Wyll winced. “It’s not an obsession.”

“Call it what you will,” she said, shrugging. “You pine for them like a fledgling seeking a mate. What of it?”

“I don’t know how to… tell them,” Wyll confessed, his usual eloquence failing him. “They seem entirely immune to my advances.”

Lae’zel snorted. “Perhaps because your ‘advances’ are weak. Soft. You dote on them like a mother hen, not a warrior. If you want their attention, you must assert dominance.”

“Assert dominance?” Wyll repeated, looking increasingly alarmed.

“Yes,” Lae’zel said firmly. “Challenge them. Best them in combat. Show them your strength. Then, when they are weak and trembling, you proclaim your intent to claim them as yours.”

Wyll’s face turned scarlet. “That’s—That’s not how courtship works!”

“Of course it is,” Lae’zel said, waving a dismissive hand. “You prove your physical and sexual prowess through battle. What better way to ensure compatibility?”

Wyll sputtered, his composure unraveling. “I—I don’t think they’d appreciate being ‘claimed’ like a prize after a fight.”

“They would respect it,” Lae’zel insisted. “And likely find it arousing.”

“Lae’zel!” Wyll’s voice cracked, and he buried his face in his hands, his flames of embarrassment rivaling Karlach’s.

From across the camp, you noticed the commotion and Wyll’s obvious distress. Concerned, you got up and made your way over. “Wyll? Are you okay?”

Lae’zel’s smirk widened as Wyll’s blush deepened. He scrambled to his feet, fumbling for words. “Ah—Yes! Fine! Everything is fine!”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of them. “Are you sure? You look like you’ve just lost a sparring match.”

Before Lae’zel could open her mouth to make things infinitely worse, Wyll quickly grabbed your hand and pulled you aside.

“Just a minor… disagreement,” he said quickly, his voice cracking again. “Nothing to worry about.”

You gave him a curious look, but his obvious flustered state distracted you from pressing further. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

Lae’zel watched you go with Wyll, shaking her head and muttering, “Coward. They would have respected a proper duel.”

Meanwhile, Wyll was doing his best to calm his racing heart and come up with a less mortifying way to tell you how he felt—ideally without Lae’zel’s "help."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

Halsin prided himself on his control, his connection to nature, and his ability to remain grounded in even the most chaotic of circumstances. But when it came to you, all of that composure seemed to dissolve like frost under the morning sun.

You were utterly magnetic to him—your presence so compelling that his heart would stutter every time you entered the same space. He found himself enchanted by the curve of your smile, the warmth in your voice, the kindness in your touch. And it was unbearable. Literally, because every time you touched his arm or leaned in to speak to him, his instincts would flare wildly out of control.

The first time it happened, you’d brushed some stray leaves off his shoulder after he returned from foraging. “Halsin, you’ve brought back half the forest,” you joked, smiling up at him.

Halsin opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, a rush of heat overtook him, and— bam—he was suddenly a large, startled elk.

You jumped back with a yelp of surprise, staring wide-eyed at the animal in front of you. “Halsin?”

The elk gave a deep snort, its head hanging low as if mortified.

It happened again not long after, when you touched his hand while passing him a flask of water. This time, he transformed into a wolf, looking up at you with ears pinned back, practically radiating sheepishness.

“Halsin,” you laughed, kneeling down to scratch behind his ears, “you’ve got to warn me if you’re going to do that.”

By the time the third accidental wildshape happened—this time as a squirrel after you had simply smiled at him—Jaheira had had enough.

The older druid cornered Halsin after dinner, arms crossed and an unimpressed look on her face. “You’re a leader, Halsin. A figure of strength and wisdom. Yet here you are, hiding in fur and feathers because of a crush.”

“It’s not just a crush,” Halsin muttered, his deep voice unusually uncertain. “It’s… consuming. Every time I try to speak to them, I lose myself. They are radiant, Jaheira. I can hardly stand near them without—”

“—turning into livestock, yes,” Jaheira interrupted, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re a druid, not a child. Get a grip, Halsin. They won’t notice your feelings unless you make them clear. And for the love of Silvanus, do it without shifting.”

Halsin sighed heavily but nodded. “You’re right. I must face this head-on.”

Jaheira clapped him on the shoulder. “Good. Now go before you sprout wings or something ridiculous.”

Halsin found you sitting by the campfire, a jar of honey and a piece of bread in your hands. The firelight danced across your features, and Halsin felt his heart thrum painfully in his chest.

“Is everything okay, Halsin?” you asked, looking up at him with a concerned smile.

Halsin cleared his throat, forcing himself to remain steady. “Yes, I… there is something I need to tell you.”

You tilted your head, some honey glistening on your lips. “Of course. What is it?”

And that was it. The sight of your lips, the gentle curve of your expression—it was too much. Despite every ounce of willpower he had summoned, Halsin’s body betrayed him. With a flash of light and a muffled groan, he was suddenly a massive brown bear, sitting heavily on the ground.

You blinked, staring at him for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Halsin! You did it again!”

From across the camp, Jaheira let out a long, exasperated groan, throwing her hands up. “I give up!” she muttered, stalking off.

The bear lowered its massive head, letting out a low huff of frustration. You reached over and gently placed a hand on his fur.

“It’s okay, big guy,” you said, grinning. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”

If Halsin could have blushed, he would have. Instead, he let you pet him, resigning himself to the fact that his feelings were much harder to control than he’d ever anticipated.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This was so so so so so much fun to write !! Especially Gale's icl hehehe. Hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

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

ok... i feel ill

the subtle way she ages..

'your daughter calls me daddy too' -> 'your daughter calls me daddy AND is pregnant with my child' headass

"A fighter" sevika x fem reader angst

Summary: If there was a soul mate for everyone, sevika would think "and was sure" there's none for her. people,they are connected by their scars their pain and how they could heal one another. People see the broken pieces and offer what they have in exchange for what they want and sevika had nothing to give and plenty to get. she was so broken that the scars on the surface, were the surface. and one should reach out too deep to find a sign of her and only than to try healing her. and sevika wouldn't be that cruel to anybody. that was until you came along and sevika found herself for the very first time...wishing for something selfish...something entirely hers

Sevika is a fighter. not that she likes it or she gets off on it but she is one simply because there's the need for it. she needs to be one, silco needs her to be one, the nation of zaun and all of the people of undercity, needs her to be one...so she became one...and to hold that title she is required to be tough, to man up and forget her weakness...to avoid weaknesses and lately you're becoming one.

she needs to keep her distance from you and she was telling herself that from the day she met you. But somewhere along this mission she failed. somewhere between the beautiful smile you gave her everytime you saw her and the sweet little voice of yours telling her "good morning sev" every morning. Somewhere in the way your beautiful eyes shine everytime she talks to you and somewhere when she felt that tingling feeling inside of her heart after seeing you.

And frankly she thought she could do it. She thought whenever she absolutely had to, she can just cut you off for the greater good. That's what being in the top of the chain of power requires, so she would do it. I mean how hard could it be, she could just forget about all of that there was and get on with her life, with the plan big enough to save thousands of lives... at least she tells herself that before thinking of you and drifting off to sleep.

Why she doesn't do it now?she just simply wants another taste...everytime she tells herself that. she only need one more good morning, one more worried look whenever she shows up beaten, one more time of having you clinging by her side when she's fixing her arm, one more time seeing you looking at her with awe when she wins in card games.

And every time she repeated that sentence that "just one more time and I'm done" it's a fucking lie. she's becoming addicted to you and everyone can see it except herself.

Everyone knows they're not to mess with you and it's showing on their attitude towards you. creep wouldn't dare to look at you in a bad way and the meanest people who won't give a damn about anything bite their tongue before anything bad about you leave their lips because they know better to mess with sevika and getting their shit rearranged.

And that was what encouraged you to take the first step and ask her to have a dinner with you at your place. Because although sevika seemed interested enough for someone like her more than enough you knew she wouldn't take the first step or at least she wouldn't use her words for it, so you would get stuck in between a lot of nothings. So you asked her...

And when you did so your heart was in your throat, you could feel the coldness and numbness creeping up your fingers and toes as you played with the hem of your clothing. daring to only take one breath per second.

Sevika on the other hand was stunned. what did she do to make it to this second, standing infront of you, noticing how you were more dolled up compere to the other times and how you were trying to distract yourself from her gaze and avoiding it with all your might and even though it was just a few seconds, she felt like she's missing it...she's missing how your pupils dilated at the sight of her and how your eyes would tremble everytime it was forced to hold her gaze more than mere seconds.

"Sure why not"

She was fucked...not because she said yes...because she didn't even thought of saying no and it would only become harder and harder with every and each passing day. knowing you was both a blessing and a curse because the more she got to know about you she fell more onto the depth of loving you more.

Everytime she got to wrap her hands around you when you were sleep, easily pulling you in her embrace. breathing at the nape of your neck welcoming the most beautiful dreams that she never had she would fell lower.

When she would wake up seeing your messy hair tickling on her neck and chest while sun shining on them made them a little bit lighter she would fell lower and lower.

When she kissed that very kissable lips of yours taking in your lipstick from them and painting them with a flushed redder look that she adored so much she would fell lower and lower and lower.

And when she would make your face blushed make your body get cover in a thin sheet of sweat, quivering underneath her with sweet sweet moan skipping you lips, calling her oh so beautifully she would fell lower and lower and lower to the bottom of that pit.

And than she hit the ground.

When silco warned her about how she was growing too clumsy too much eager to get back home before getting the job done. how she's losing the sense of survival, how she's failing as a fighter a warrior.

And it hit her, the bottom of that pit the end of the days she was living for herself...

She came home that night,trashed, wasted. stumbling on her feet, eyes seeing two for one and stomach burning with dread and alcohol, struggling so long to put the keys in the keyhole that you heard and opened it at last...when she thought of that she was glad that it was you that came to the door that night opening the door her for the last time...she had plenty of time to open that door by herself to an once again empty house.

"Sevika... are you okay? what happened?"

You called her and her ears despite her drunken mind picked up on the sound, devouring everything you gave, every call you create. placing them in the back of her mind, safe from the chaos.

"Get out"

She rasped out as she stepped in, voice hoarse from all the unnecessary yelling and cussing and drinking. she quickly get done with that, ripping of the bandage like she always does. she didn't spare you a look as she made her way to the kitchen grabbing another bottle.

"What do you mean?"

You were shocked to say the least not knowing it's just drunk talking or she's fucking serious right now you. frown in shock a rare sight.

"Do I have to repeat it now"

She said with a calmness in her tone that was far away from the mess unfolding within her. she slammed the bottle down on the counter, turning to look at you with her gray eyes, drowned in emotions so much you couldn't even see anything in them.

"Get out of my life"

She continued, taking an step forward.

"Get all of your bubbly shit all the hope you're trying to put on me all your sickening love and get the fuck out"

You looked up, wide eye feeling like someone dumped hot boiling fucking water all over you your lips moved without any sound coming from it.

"What...what do you mean...where is it coming from...did I do something?I swear to god I didn't"

You sound...desperate voice shaking and body trembling. you could feel the coldness creeping up to your fingers you could feel your heartbeat in your throat but you weren't playing with the hem of your clothes anymore, only thing playing was time with the both of you.

"Stop it"

She cut your voice

"I'm tired of it...I'm tired of you taking my life trying to fix things that I built under pressures that you have no fucking clue about...get out I'm done playing this game"

You didn't know how you left how you put everything you could in a bag sobbing as you close the door fat tears coming down your cheeks sevika didn't know how she could bare the sound of your cries that night and you didn't know how you're going to live from now on...and so did sevika.

Enemies to lovers sevika.

Sevika absolutely despises reader, and yet reader is still so nice to sevika always smiling at her and offering her nothing but kindness…sevika hates it.(no she doesn’t)

Could be either fluff or smutty just an idea

✞⛧ Tension and Temptation ✞⛧

Warnings: emotional vulnerability, slow burn, developing relationship, implied tension, brief violence, slight injury, angst, reluctant affection (no smut..sorry gang-)

Word count: 5.3K

The air in Zaun always feels heavier, weighed down by the grinding industrial machines and the lingering scent of decay. The narrow streets are filled with the constant hum of activity, the hustle and bustle of a city where survival is a day-to-day struggle. You've barely stepped foot into Silco's territory, but the tension that thickens the air makes you feel as though you've already failed the moment you arrived.

And standing before you, arms crossed, is Sevika.

She's a force of nature, towering and imposing, with the kind of presence that could crush a man just by staring at him. Her broad shoulders and muscular frame practically hum with power, her every movement radiating command. A scar runs down her face, another testament to her brutal world, and her grey eyes, cold as steel, meet yours with a flicker of disdain. Her hair falls in dark waves over her sharp features, partially obscuring the fierce, calculating look she's giving you. The metallic sheen of her copper-colored prosthetic arm glints in the low light, its shimmer-enhanced strength evident even in the way she holds herself.

The first thing you notice is how she's completely unapproachable, the natural aura of violence that wraps around her as tightly as the red poncho draped over her shoulders. You almost feel sorry for the fact that she's been stuck with someone like you. You're just a recruit, fresh off the streets, trying to earn your place. You can already tell she doesn't want you here.

"I don't need a damn assistant," Sevika spits, her voice like gravel scraping against metal. Her tone cuts through the heavy air, sharp and immediate. "So don't get any ideas. Just stay out of my way."

You can't help but smile—soft, almost out of place. It's your natural instinct to meet coldness with kindness, even if it seems pointless. You've always believed that if you show warmth to the right people, maybe you'll get something back in return. But Sevika? She's a brick wall. Her sharp eyes narrow, assessing you as if you were a problem she needed to solve.

"Yeah, whatever," she mutters, dismissing you with a wave of her hand. "Don't make me regret this."

You follow her closely as she turns, stepping with heavy purpose down the grimy streets of Zaun, her boots clicking against the ground in rhythm with the pounding of your heart. Despite the tension crackling between you, you do your best to keep your tone light. "I just want to help. I can handle whatever you need."

Sevika doesn't respond. Instead, her eyes stay fixed ahead, ignoring you completely. The silence between you feels suffocating, but you persist. "I know it might not seem like it, but I'm here to learn. I'm not looking to get in your way, I promise."

Her scowl deepens. "Then keep your mouth shut, and maybe I'll consider it," she growls. Her voice is low, a constant hum of irritation. But it's not just her words that make you pause. It's the way her eyes flash briefly toward you before her gaze returns to the horizon. There's something about the sharpness in those eyes, something that makes the air around you feel charged.

It's like trying to strike a spark in a cold, barren landscape. The more you try to offer, the more Sevika pushes back, her harsh words biting through your calm demeanor.

Still, you can't help but offer a small smile as you keep up with her. You've always believed in the power of kindness. Maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to crack through her tough exterior.

By the time you've reached your destination—a crumbling building where Silco's orders are handed down—you've managed to learn that Sevika has little patience for anything, let alone for someone who dares to try and offer kindness. You find yourself standing in the shadows as she barks out orders to a group of men, her posture demanding respect. There's an undeniable force behind her words, a presence that commands the room as much as her stature does. Her copper arm gleams under the dull lighting, the intricate mechanics of the prosthetic arm seeming almost alien in the harsh, industrial environment.

You're not sure why you still persist. Maybe it's because something about Sevika's rugged exterior, her unrelenting loyalty, and the way she carries herself pulls at you. Or maybe it's the fact that you can see through her cold exterior—there's more beneath the surface, and you're determined to figure it out.

As the hours drag on, the work piles up. It's hard, grueling, and entirely mundane, but you keep at it, offering help when needed, sticking close to her side. There's something about Sevika's quiet, controlled rage that fascinates you. The way she moves, the way she handles everything—each gesture calculated and efficient—reminds you of a well-oiled machine. But machines don't need kindness. People do.

Sevika finally throws you a glance as you hand her a cup of tea, carefully prepared just the way you think she might like it. She takes it from your hand with a grumble, muttering something under her breath about unnecessary gestures, but you know you've won a small victory.

She doesn't throw the cup at you. She drinks it instead, in silence.

The longer you stand beside her, the more her icy exterior seems to thaw—if only just slightly. You notice the subtle shifts in her posture when you speak, the way her lips curve in the briefest of smiles, though she quickly hides it behind her usual scowl.

"Stop smiling at me like that," she growls, her voice softer than before, yet still biting. "It's fucking irritating."

But you don't stop. In fact, you make it your mission to be even kinder, to offer more help, to make her realize that you're not a threat, that you're not here to steal her spotlight, but to be part of the team.

Later, when the day's work is done, Sevika's frustration with you seems to grow. She's angry, but it's not the same anger she directs at the people she dislikes. This one is different. It's more internal, a tension she can't shake, like you're pushing a button deep inside her. She doesn't understand it, and it only makes her hate you more.

"Why the hell do you keep doing this?" she asks, her voice rough with something unreadable. "You think your smile will make this any easier? You think I care about your little act of kindness?"

You stand your ground, though your heart beats faster. "Maybe I'm just trying to help."

Sevika scoffs, but it's not as cutting as before. She glances at you once more, her gaze unreadable, and for a second, it's almost like she's looking at you, really looking at you, for the first time.

"You're wasting your time," she mutters, her tone almost tired.

But when she turns away, there's a slight shift in her movements, an imperceptible change in the way she carries herself. You're not sure if she's getting used to you, or if she's just too exhausted to push you away anymore. But the more she resists, the more determined you become.

In the quiet aftermath of a long day, Sevika lingers at the edge of your vision. She's still rough around the edges, her anger still a flame that burns bright, but there's a small part of her that's starting to crack.

You can see it. She can't hide it from you forever.

And that's when it hits you—despite her constant grumbling, despite her sharp words and cold silences, you're not just an annoyance to her. You're a challenge. One she can't seem to escape.

As Sevika walks away, her prosthetic arm catching the light in a way that makes her seem even more formidable, you smile softly to yourself.

You won't give up on her.

The weight of Zaun hangs heavy in the air, thick with the scent of oil, decay, and danger. The city is a constant, humming machine of chaos and violence, a place where only the strongest survive. And you? You're still trying to prove yourself, trying to make your place known in Silco's ranks. But standing next to Sevika, as always, feels like a constant struggle.

Her presence is like an impenetrable wall of steel—intimidating, unyielding, and cold. Every time you speak to her, it's like your words just bounce off her, sliding into the abyss where they're quickly forgotten. But you're not deterred. You can't be. Her icy demeanor is nothing new. What is new, however, is the way you can't seem to stop smiling at her. Even when she glares at you like she's about to snap your neck, there's something in you that refuses to back down, refuses to let her coldness defeat you.

And it's that same smile you offer her now as the two of you walk through the dark, abandoned streets, on a mission to secure a deal with another faction. You've learned by now that Sevika doesn't deal well with pleasantries, doesn't like the niceties most people in Silco's empire try to pretend at. She's raw, blunt, a woman who cuts to the heart of the matter without hesitation. But despite her sharp words and colder gaze, you remain the same—cheerful, optimistic, and unnervingly kind.

"Quit looking at me like that," Sevika growls, her voice low and gravelly as her grey eyes flick to you. Her gaze pierces through you, as if she's trying to burn holes into your skin. The low hum of her prosthetic arm moving against the fabric of her sleeve is a constant reminder of her strength, her sharpness, and the danger she can unleash with a single movement.

"Like what?" you ask, genuinely curious, despite knowing the answer. You can feel her irritation like a thick cloud around her, but it doesn't deter you. Not today.

"Like you think I'm some sort of charity case," she snaps, the muscles in her neck tensing as her jaw clenches. "If you think you can win me over with your fake little smiles, you're sorely mistaken."

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can say anything, the sudden sound of footsteps echoes in the alleyway ahead. A low hiss of tension fills the air, and instinctively, you tense up, your eyes scanning the shadows.

Sevika's hand immediately goes to the grip of her weapon, her fingers flexing in anticipation. You've seen her in action before—the way she moves, the way her presence fills a room with both fear and respect. But this? This is different. She's on edge, and that makes you on edge too.

"Stay behind me," Sevika orders, her voice a low command as she steps forward, her posture suddenly coiled with dangerous intent. Her left prosthetic arm gleams under the dim light, the cracked blue and purple veins in her skin pulsing faintly beneath the surface. She looks like a force of nature, ready to strike at any moment.

You don't argue. You've learned by now that arguing with Sevika is a pointless endeavor. Instead, you keep your head down, staying close to her as the two of you advance. But as you round the corner, you don't expect what happens next.

Gunshots echo through the alley, and in an instant, you're caught off guard. A burst of shrapnel flies toward you, the sound of the blast ringing in your ears, and before you even have time to react, a sharp pain explodes in your side. The world tilts on its axis as you stumble, your knees buckling under you as you fall hard against the cold, unforgiving ground.

Your breath hitches, the shock of the attack leaving your limbs weak. Blood starts to pool beneath you, and panic surges in your chest. You're not sure how bad it is, but you know you're hurt. You're not sure if you can stand again.

Sevika doesn't hesitate. She spins around with the speed of a predator, her metallic prosthetic arm coming down with the force of a battering ram. The gunmen are taken down quickly, their bodies slumping lifelessly to the ground, but you're not focused on them. You're focused on the sharp, burning pain in your side, the fear creeping in that you might not be able to move.

She doesn't see it at first. She's too caught up in the immediate danger of taking out the rival faction. But when she turns back to look for you, that's when she sees it.

Your hand is pressed tightly against your side, blood seeping between your fingers as you struggle to stay conscious. The shock is setting in, your head spinning, your vision blurring around the edges.

For a moment, Sevika's eyes narrow, her face unreadable as she assesses the situation. The emotions in her eyes flash too quickly to read—fury, disbelief, and something else you can't place. Her lip curls, the usual scowl deepening, but she doesn't turn away.

You try to force yourself up, to stand, but your body refuses to cooperate. Your legs shake, and you collapse back onto the cold concrete, gasping for breath.

Sevika swears under her breath, her brow furrowing in a rare display of concern. Her prosthetic arm shifts, clicking with the precision of machinery as she strides toward you, her pace quickening, her boots slamming against the ground.

"You're fucking useless," she mutters under her breath, the words as harsh as ever. But when she kneels beside you, there's a hint of something else in her voice—a softness that's quickly masked by her usual cold exterior. "Stay down."

Before you can say anything, she's already tearing off a piece of her red poncho, using it to staunch the bleeding. Her hands are surprisingly gentle as she presses the cloth against your wound, her fingers rough from years of fighting but oddly careful in their touch.

"You better not fucking die on me," she grumbles, though her voice lacks its usual bite. "I don't need another person I have to drag around."

You can feel her frustration radiating off of her, but there's something else beneath it, something that tugs at the very core of you. She's trying to save you. Despite the way she treats you, despite how cold and distant she's always been, there's a flicker of something deeper in her actions—a recognition, maybe, of your sacrifice for her.

You offer her a weak smile, the corners of your lips pulling up despite the pain. "I'm not going anywhere, Sevika," you say, your voice hoarse but steady.

She freezes, her hand pressing down harder on the wound. The faint glow of purple lights up her eyes for a split second as she injects shimmer into her bloodstream. It makes her scarred veins pulsate, the colors glowing brighter, but it's the softening of her gaze that you notice first.

"Don't make me regret this," she mutters, but it doesn't feel like an insult. It feels more like an acknowledgment of something she doesn't want to face. It's a rare moment of vulnerability, one that she quickly hides behind her usual hard shell. She doesn't want to care. She can't afford to.

But she's already made the choice.

When she pulls you into her arms, lifting you effortlessly as if you're nothing more than a weightless bundle, you feel the odd warmth of her body against yours. The clash of her cold demeanor and this rare moment of tenderness sends a shock through you, a realization that perhaps she's not as immune to kindness as she makes herself out to be.

As the two of you make your way back to safety, Sevika's hand never leaves the cloth pressed against your side. She's steady, unyielding, and yet... there's something in the way she holds you now, something that wasn't there before.

You know she won't admit it. She can't. But for the first time, you see a crack in her armor.

And you can't help but smile, despite everything.

She's still the same Sevika, tough as nails, unrelenting, but underneath it all? You're starting to see that she's capable of something more.

You won't stop smiling—not even for her.

It's the middle of the night, and you're wide awake, groaning softly as you try to adjust your position on the bed. The wound on your side, though healing, hasn't quite been fully stitched up yet, and tonight, it seems, it's decided to protest. The dull ache from earlier has turned into something sharper, something more insistent, as you shift again and feel the sting of stitches pulling loose.

You sit up, pressing a hand to the wound, biting your lip as the pain spreads. Damn it, you can't let this go unchecked. The medic has already gone home for the night, and the last thing you want to do is try to deal with it on your own. You've only been out of the infirmary for a few days, but you know that if you don't do something about it, you could risk making things worse.

So, you do the only thing that comes to mind: you go find Sevika.

She's always there when things get rough, even when she doesn't want to be. Whether she likes it or not, you're stuck with her. So, you pull on a loose shirt, the fabric brushing against your skin, and you make your way toward her quarters in the heart of Zaun's underground complex.

The hallways are quiet, and the dim light overhead casts long shadows across the stone walls. You hesitate for a moment, the familiar nervousness creeping up your spine. What if she's not in the mood for this? What if she snaps at you, tells you to figure it out yourself? But you push the thought aside, biting your lip and walking with more determination toward her door.

You knock twice, a hesitant but firm tap. The response comes quickly—a grunt followed by the sound of heavy footsteps on the other side. The door creaks open, revealing Sevika in nothing but her sleeveless top, her metallic prosthetic arm gleaming faintly in the dim light. She's standing there, as imposing as ever, eyes narrowing when she sees you.

"What the hell do you want?" Her voice is rough, like gravel grinding underfoot, but there's an edge of concern in her gaze that she doesn't bother to hide.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, the wound on your side still aching painfully. "I—uh, I think my stitches came undone." You gesture weakly to your side, a little embarrassed that you've come to her for something like this. "I need help."

Sevika's brow furrows, and before you can say anything else, she steps aside, ushering you in with a sharp, "Get in here."

You hesitate, but the pain is still there, gnawing at you. You wince as you step inside her quarters, and the familiar scent of leather, metal, and the faint, earthy smell of Zaunite air fills your senses. Sevika's space is sparse, functional—a bed, a few chairs, some scattered tools, and a small table with a few half-drunk bottles of something strong.

She gestures for you to sit on the edge of her bed, the sheets slightly askew, but she doesn't seem to care about the mess. You sit carefully, lifting your shirt to reveal the bandages around your side, only to wince again when the motion tugs on the wound.

Sevika doesn't say anything, just walks to the small table and grabs some fresh gauze, a roll of medical tape, and a few tools. You notice the way her gaze flicks to your side, her lips pressing into a thin line.

"Don't just sit there like a damn idiot," she mutters, her voice unusually soft as she crosses the room, "Take that shirt off. You're making it harder for me."

Your heart skips a beat, and your cheeks flush with warmth, even though you try to hide it. You've never been this close to Sevika before, especially not in this context. Her usual scowl is softened, but there's an undeniable hardness to her presence, making your pulse quicken.

You take a deep breath and pull the shirt off, revealing your bandaged side and the remnants of your wound. You're left in just your bra, feeling a little exposed, but you try to push the nervousness down. Sevika doesn't seem to care at all about your state of undress. Her attention is entirely on you, her sharp eyes scanning the injury as she leans over.

The air feels suddenly thick with an intensity you haven't noticed before. Her movements are methodical, but there's an odd tenderness in the way she handles the gauze and the bandages, even though her touch remains firm and practical. When she leans in closer, you can feel the heat of her body as she works on your side, her breath brushing against your skin.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The room is filled only with the sounds of Sevika's breath and the faint click of her prosthetic arm as she moves. You focus on trying to steady yourself, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Hold still," she orders in a low voice, and you comply, not trusting your words to come out steady.

She works in silence, her focus entirely on the task at hand. Her fingers are gentle as she adjusts the bandages, her calloused hands brushing against your skin every so often. You can feel her eyes on you, though she doesn't look up. The soft touch of her hands against your skin is a stark contrast to her usual coldness, and you can't help the way your stomach flips at the intimacy of it all.

When she finishes, she steps back slightly, her gaze lingering on you for a moment before she clears her throat. "There. That should hold for now. Don't make me do this again."

You glance up at her, catching the faintest hint of something soft in her grey eyes, but it's gone as quickly as it appears. She's back to her usual self—stoic, guarded, but there's still that unspoken understanding between the two of you.

"Thanks," you say quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the vulnerability of the moment. "I really appreciate it."

Sevika rolls her eyes but doesn't say anything else. Instead, she tosses the supplies onto the table and walks back to the chair in the corner, leaning back with her arms crossed. "You're welcome," she mutters, sounding almost gruff, but there's a softness in her tone that wasn't there before.

You glance at her, a small, teasing smile creeping across your face. "You sure you're not going to throw me out now that you've seen me in my bra?"

Her eyes flick to you, the faintest spark of irritation flickering before she grunts. "Don't get any funny ideas, alright? This doesn't change anything."

You smile at her, watching her try to keep up her tough exterior. It's the first time you've ever been this close to her in this way, and you can't help but feel a sense of warmth that spreads through your chest.

"Sure, Sevika," you say softly, "whatever you say."

Sevika doesn't answer, but as she watches you, her lips twitch into the smallest of smiles, just for a fraction of a second.

You never quite get used to the sight of Sevika after a mission gone wrong. It doesn't matter how many times you've seen her come back battered and bruised, bloodied and bruised, a quiet part of you always hopes the next time won't be as bad. But it's always worse. Each time she walks in with a limp, a scowl, and that dark gleam in her eyes, you know it's only a matter of time before it breaks you.

And tonight, it's the worst it's been in months. Her left arm, her prosthetic, is badly damaged, sparks still crackling from the shattered circuitry as she stumbles through the door. Her breathing is shallow, uneven. The shimmer-enhanced blue and purple veins pulse under her skin, glowing faintly in the dim light of the warehouse. The glint of her copper prosthetic, normally a symbol of her unyielding strength, now looks like a taunting reminder of the fragility that even she can't escape.

You feel your chest tighten as you rush to her side, hands instinctively reaching out to steady her.

"Shit," Sevika mutters, her voice rough from the effort it takes to stand. "I'm fine. I don't need your help." But her words lack the usual bite. They're hollow, like she's trying to convince herself more than anyone else.

You ignore her, not caring about the gruff tone or the coldness that oozes from every word. You've seen it before—the way she hides behind that wall of indifference, masking the cracks with bravado. But tonight, there's something different. Her guard is slipping. Maybe it's the injury, maybe it's something else, but for once, she's not pushing you away.

Her heavy, labored steps are slow as you help her to the nearest chair, your hands steady as you guide her down. She winces as her weight shifts onto the seat, the strain evident in the furrow of her brow and the clenched jaw.

You sit beside her, your eyes tracing the damage to her arm, the shimmer scars that mar her skin. Your stomach knots. She's always been tough, but this time, there's a vulnerability to her that you've never seen before.

"You need to rest," you say gently, your voice softer than you intended. "You've been pushing yourself too hard. It's okay to take a break, Sevika."

She snorts, her usual sharpness returning, but it's forced. "I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity," you insist, your gaze meeting hers. "It's care. You're not invincible, Sevika. You're allowed to feel things. You don't always have to be the tough one."

Sevika's eyes narrow, and for a moment, you think she's going to snap at you, throw out another biting retort, but she doesn't. Her lips curl downward, and she looks away, focusing on the floor as if the weight of your words is suddenly too heavy for her.

For a long beat, there's silence between you two. The sound of Sevika's ragged breathing fills the space, and you can hear the faint crackling of her prosthetic arm, still sparking erratically.

"Why do you always act like this?" you ask, your voice quiet but steady. "Like you're untouchable. Like you don't need anyone."

Sevika's shoulders stiffen, her jaw tightening, but you don't let her retreat into herself this time. You place a hand gently on her arm, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the cool metal of her prosthetic. Her gaze flicks to your hand, and for a moment, you think she'll pull away, but she doesn't. Instead, her breath hitches, and she stares at you as if seeing you for the first time.

"What do you want from me?" Her voice cracks, a sharp edge to it. "I'm not some fucking damsel in distress. I can handle myself."

You lean closer, your eyes softening as you study her face. The harshness of her features, the furrow in her brow, the tightness around her eyes—all of it is a mask. A mask she's been wearing for years, hiding the truth underneath.

"I don't want anything from you, Sevika," you say, your voice soft but firm. "I just want you to stop pretending you don't need help. Stop pretending you don't need someone who cares about you. You're not weak because you need someone. You're human."

Sevika's eyes flash with something—anger, fear, uncertainty—before she looks away, her fingers tightening around the edge of her prosthetic. "I don't need anyone," she mutters, though it sounds more like a plea than a statement.

You shake your head. "You do. And I'm here. You're not in this alone."

Her gaze flickers back to you, her expression conflicted. You see the war in her eyes—the part of her that wants to let go, to accept your care, and the part of her that's terrified of doing so. You know she's been through hell, fought battles that no one should have to face, and survived in a world that doesn't give a damn about her. But you also know there's more to her than the walls she's built.

The silence between you both grows heavier, but instead of pulling away, you stay. You let the quiet linger, giving her space to process the unspoken things hanging in the air.

Sevika exhales sharply, and for the first time tonight, she doesn't try to hide the exhaustion in her voice. "You think I'm just some cold-hearted bitch who doesn't care about anything. But you don't know...you don't know what it's like. To care. To have someone depend on you and then—" She cuts herself off, her eyes flicking to the floor. "It hurts, alright?"

You don't say anything right away. You just listen. Because it's the first time she's admitted that. The first time she's let someone see the cracks in her armor.

"You don't have to carry everything on your own," you say, your voice soft but insistent. "You don't have to be perfect. Not for me. Not for anyone. I'm here. Let me help."

There's a long pause, but eventually, Sevika lifts her gaze to meet yours. Her eyes are dark, but there's something different there now. Something softer, less guarded. She blinks, the tension in her shoulders slowly dissipating.

"You really are ridiculous, you know that?" she says with a faint smile, but it's not mocking. There's something genuine about it. "You don't know when to quit."

"No," you reply with a small grin, "I don't."

She sighs, the weight of the moment finally sinking in. "You're right," she mutters, almost to herself. "I'm not good at this. At...letting people in."

"I know," you say, reaching out and placing your hand over hers. "But you don't have to do it all at once. We can take it slow. Just...let me be here for you. When you need it."

Sevika's eyes flicker down to your hand, her thumb brushing over your skin, and for the briefest moment, it feels like the world pauses. The connection between you two is palpable now, not just a shared silence, but something deeper. Something that neither of you can ignore.

Her lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile before she leans forward, her face inches from yours. "You're not like anyone I've met before," she murmurs, her voice low and rough. "And that's...frustrating."

"Why?" you whisper, barely able to keep the distance between you two.

"Because you make it hard to be a cold-hearted bitch," Sevika says, her voice laced with a mixture of frustration and something else you can't quite place.

Without another word, you close the distance. Your lips meet hers in a kiss that's soft, tentative at first, but soon deepens as the tension between you two finally gives way. The kiss is slow, exploring, each touch of your lips against hers a silent promise, a moment of vulnerability shared between two people who have spent so long hiding from each other.

When you finally pull away, Sevika rests her forehead against yours, breathing heavily. There's no more need for words between you two. The connection is enough.

For the first time in a long time, Sevika lets herself feel what she's been hiding, and you, quietly, let her.

A make out drink with this ladies would heal me!!!🙇‍♀️✂️

ok so i have a request but first i just wanna say ur writing is so cute 😭 like it gets me every time i'm giggling and kicking my feet ily

anyway can u write smth with jinx where her gf is in the hospital cause she got caught up in some kind of riot (kinda like the one isha got swept up in) and she had to get some kind of surgery and she's all loopy on the meds so when jinx is holding her hand she's like ??? I have a gf??? except jinx literally is her gf and she thinks it's funny so she's like 'yeah? what's your gf like?' and r accidentally insults her without meaning to and at the end the anesthesia wears off and she's like 'why're u laughing at me what did i say?'

just smth cute like that

of course!! thank you for the request <3

i appreciate the words a lot you’re so sweet! ilyt, i hope i did your request justice :)

summary; jinx’s girlfriend gets injured during the riot. she wakes up in the hospital, loopy, and forgets she has a girlfriend.

characters included; jinx, sevika (platonic), isha (mentioned, platonic/familial)

tags/warnings; fluff, crack (kinda), very minor hurt/comfort, mentions of war/combat, r gets injured

men dni.

you're not sure exactly what happened, and jinx isn't either.

it started with a rally in the undercity to protest against the brutality of piltover's enforcers. gas, mass arrests, and sheer brutality drove the people of zaun to organize, though what they wanted most was jinx.

jinx, zaun's royalty as they saw her- a young woman who wasn't afraid to stand up against piltover's regime. they saw her as a symbol, but those who knew jinx can attest that she never wanted that status. she's always been a bit selfish, seeking only to protect herself and those she loved. being dubbed a symbol was of no interest to her, and being at a rally was even less interesting.

but it happened, and jinx curses herself for not having been there.

all she's been able to gather is from word of mouth. you got beaten pretty badly apparently, having been slammed up against a metal fence, stabbed in the side, and punched until you damn near lost consciousness. then kicked until you did. it wasn't until around twenty minutes after that a medical team was called, and it took even longer for them to actually get there. distance between cities aside, piltover has never been enthusiastic about providing the undercity their services.

and that's all she's been able to get. nothing about your recovery, your whereabouts, if they were able to get a pulse from you and bring you back to consciousness. nothing.

not only did isha get sent to stillwater, but you were severely injured. even as your girlfriend was ecstatic to retrieve isha from her cell and free other zaunites, it all circled back to you.

she doesn't just want you, and doesn't just want isha. she wants the family that she's built together. she goes through the motions of playing with the little girl, trying to put on a brave face while they set off glitter bombs and isha's infectious laughter rings through the air. but it doesn't compare to you being there, the both of you playing with her and making her laugh.

you should be by jinx's side, holding her from behind and peering over her shoulder at isha's newest adventure. brushing the girl's hair while jinx (tries to) makes food for the three of you, helping paint the toys jinx made, but you're in a hospital bed somewhere in piltover that nobody has been able to crack yet. it drives her near insane.

the door to the hideout opens though, and sevika half peers through. jinx can hear creaking, but only rolls her eyes without turning around.

"not interested," she deadpans.

"i'm sure you're not," sevika huffs, but that doesn't deter her. "she's in a hospital not far from the council building. apparently she's awake. thought you might want to know that, at least."

that catches jinx's attention. her head snaps around, brows furrowing. "you're serious?"

"would i have come here if i wasn't?"

of course she wouldn't have. sevika's a busy woman and time is her currency- so within seconds, jinx is tossing her boots on and bolting toward the exit with a one-track mind.

"stay here with isha, would you?"

with the way the girl is rushing out, it doesn't give sevika much choice. she sighs, looking over to the little girl absorbed in coloring and sits next to her.

"looks like it's you and me for a while, kid."

✧.*

you're lucky jinx loves you, because it took a good twenty minutes just for her to be cleared to visit you.

"no, i don't have any explosives, no, i'm not here to push an agenda, no, i'm not causing any trouble. i just want to visit my girlfriend."

"but-"

"janna above- just let me see her. you'd think this stuff would be easier..."

her heart is beating like a war drum when she approaches the room. there's a clear door and a little curtain obscuring her view of the bed, but she can see an iv bag. numerous tubes connecting to your hidden body, and a heart monitor. she doesn't know much about medicine, but the steady beep, beep, beep of the monitor is a momentary relief to the girl. at least you're stable.

she steps inside, knocking on the inside of the doorframe slowly.

"hey, toots..." she starts, slowly opening the curtain to reveal your form. you're still bruised, but the swelling that must've been there before is mostly gone. your eyes are lost in a far-off stare while she carefully sits down on the edge of the bed. "i'm so glad you're okay. i wanted to visit earlier, i did, just..."

her slender fingers slowly slot between yours, and she finds your gaze meeting hers within seconds. there you are, she thinks. there's those pretty eyes. "hey," you murmur.

just that word is enough to bring tears to jinx's eyes. it takes everything in her power to not just pounce on you, bury her head in your neck while she trembles and cries and clings to you, but that's the last thing you need. especially after just getting out of surgery.

"i should've been there," she breathes out, her voice trembling softly. "i'm your girlfriend, you got hurt and i was just sitting on my ass, and... oh, fuck, i'm so sorry."

a beat of silence, and your brows furrow. then you tilt your head... what is going through your head right now? this isn't the reaction jinx was expecting.

"...i have a girlfriend?"

the words are like a blow to the girl's chest, her eyes widening as her face inches closer to yours. suddenly, the tears are gone.

"uh, yeah? you've had a girlfriend for the past what- eight months?"

you let out a little gasp, your mouth forming an 'o' shape. "really?"

how could you not remember that? you and jinx have been together for close to a year now and near inseparable, and now you just... forgot? but she looks around, she sees the monitors and wires and breathalyzer... right. you just got out of surgery. you're loopy.

"wow..." you murmur, your words slurring together the slightest bit. "i do? what's she like?"

and, well.. jinx would be a damn fool if she didn't have at least some fun with this. she sits back on the edge, flicking one of her braids over her shoulder with a toothy grin.

"well," she starts. "she's amazing. smoking hot, of course, and super smart. like, a genius. she's funny, and talented, she's something of a hero... you know. the whole shebang."

your eyes light up at the description, and it takes everything jinx has to not burst out laughing on the spot.

"she sounds great," you gasp, lips tugging into a little smile. in this barely-there state where you're seeing this beautiful girl you barely recognize in front of you, these words are a shock. you've had a girlfriend this time, and you didn't know? "when can i see her? where is she?"

jinx chuckles softly, letting out an amused sigh and shaking her head.

"you'll see her soon enough. she's closer than ya think, love."

you're about to sit back against the pillows again before a thought occurs to you.

"do you have a girlfriend?"

the girl stares at you incredulously for a minute, blinking. you must be really out of it- but it draws an actual laugh from her.

"i do, yeah," she huffs. "she's great, too. beautiful, talented, funny, sweet... basically perfect."

"aw, damn it..."

✧.*

a few hours, jinx getting food from the hospital's cafeteria, and jinx is back at your door. she would've been there sooner, but those pesky doctors just had to run some tests to make sure you were in stable condition after the operation.

she peers in the slightest bit to see you writing in something, a journal, presumably. she just barely steps in before your gaze lands on her, and you're beaming.

"jinx, you're here!" she hears from inside the room, and there's that smile she loves so much. she's quick to sit back on the edge of the bed, and you're even quicker to wrap your arms around her waist. the best you can while hooked up to tubes, anyways. "i wanted to talk to you, just.. i still haven't gotten my phone back."

and while she's ecstatic that you actually remember her now, she can't help but stifle a laugh. because you don't remember a damn thing about earlier.

"...hey, what's that look for?"

the dam breaks. she's laughing, doubled-over full belly laughing and you're left there, wide-eyed and bewildered.

"babe- hey! what's so funny?"

"i... jeez, i'm sorry, just, earlier you said-"

this only causes further confusion as your brows knit together and you try to turn your girlfriend to face you once again, though to no avail.

"you visited earlier? oh shit- i... what did i say?"

jinx is breathless between laughter and trying oh so hard to keep it together so she can just tell you. you were so damn loopy on those painkillers that you don't remember completely forgetting you have a girlfriend and asking if she was single, and she doesn't know if she has the heart to tell you.

"yeah, uh," she breathes out. "don't worry about it. it was nothing."

maybe she'll tell you after you've been discharged.