Hi!!!! I was wondering if we can have some dark BG3 but with Karlach.. if you can because ohhhhh I love your stuff for her literally every time I read it I fall in love THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING BTW
Ah thank you so much !
oooo okay y'all I'm writing this as a one shot, she's not being added to the list (for now), I will most likely add her when I'm adding the cambions which will be when requests are finished. This is gonna be set when she takes control of the nether brain.
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The infernal glow of Avernus spread before you like a sick parody of a sunset, blood-red skies choked with smoke and ash. The smell of brimstone clung to everything, a constant reminder of where you were and what you had become a part of. Karlach stood at the edge of a jagged cliff overlooking the battlefield below, her fiery mane whipping in the hot wind. Imps and cambions swarmed around her like moths drawn to a flame, eager to do her bidding.
You watched her, your heart aching. This wasn’t the Karlach you had fallen in love with—the one who had fought so fiercely for others, who had carried a blazing heart of courage and compassion. But you understood how she had come to this. Her pain, her rage, her betrayal by the people of Baldur’s Gate—it all made sense. And that was what hurt the most. You understood her too well.
When she turned to you, her eyes were wild with fury and determination, but there was something else buried deep within them. Something you could barely see but refused to give up on.
“They’ll all pay,” she growled, her voice like a low rumble of thunder. “Every last one of Zariel’s lapdogs. Just like those cowards in Baldur’s Gate who let Gortash rise to power. They’ll all burn.”
You stepped forward, hands trembling but held open in a gesture of peace. You were covered in ash, grime and splatters of blood that belonged to those you called friend.
“Karlach,” you began softly, but your voice broke under the weight of what you were about to say. “You were one of Zariel’s servants once. Remember? There are people down there—innocents, just like you were.”
Her expression twisted, her lips curling into a bitter smile.
“Don’t,” she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut as she pointed her index finger at you. “Don’t you dare compare me to them. I escaped. I broke free. They don’t deserve your pity, and they sure as hell don’t deserve mine.”
You reached out a trembling hand toward her, desperation thick in your voice. “Please, Karlach. This isn’t who you are. You’re better than this—better than all of this. Be fair, give them a chance. Don’t let this place consume what’s left of your humanity.”
For a moment, you thought you saw her flinch, the barest flicker of hesitation crossing her face. But then her expression hardened, and she let out a dry, humorless laugh.
“You think I don’t see what you’re doing?” she said, stepping closer to you, her towering form casting a shadow over your trembling figure. “You’re trying to control me. Hold me back. You’re lucky I love you, babe! So damn lucky!”
She snapped her fingers, and before you could react, two cambions stepped out of the shadows, their claws digging into your arms as they grabbed hold of you. You struggled and cried out, but their grip was ironclad.
Karlach grinned, the flames dancing around her face making her look almost demonic. She sauntered up to you, cupping your cheek with a hand that burned hot against your skin.
“Don’t worry,” she purred, her voice dripping with mock affection. “I want you to see everything. Front row seat, just for you.” She turned to the cambions, giving them a wink. “Make sure they don’t miss a thing.”
The cambions dragged you toward the edge of the cliff, forcing you to kneel as Karlach strode back toward the battlefield below. Her war cry echoed across the hellish plains, and her army of imps and demons surged forward with savage glee.
Tears streamed down your face as you watched the carnage unfold, helpless to do anything but plead silently with the woman you loved—the woman you knew was still in there somewhere. You whispered her name, over and over again, a prayer against the storm.
Somewhere in the chaos, you thought you saw her pause. Just for a moment. A flicker of something human—a memory, perhaps, or a feeling she couldn’t quite extinguish. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep your hope alive.
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y'all how dare you force me to do that to my baby girl.. jk jk i can't lie making her evil was very fun. I hope you guys enjoyed these dark karlach scraps, i think there is another dark karlach request in the queue so y'all will be fed again at some point - Seluney xox
If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x
✞⛧ How Sevika Asked You Out: Sevika didn’t so much ask as she told. After weeks of lingering stares, possessive behavior, and light teasing, she finally said, “You’re with me now. Got it?” It wasn’t romantic, but her intense, unwavering gaze left no room for argument.
✞⛧ She’s not big on grand gestures, but the way she stood protectively by your side and made sure no one got too close already told you everything you needed to know about how much she cared.
✞⛧ Dating Sevika is like having a walking fortress at your side. She’s incredibly protective, always scanning the room for potential threats, even in casual settings. Her presence alone is often enough to make others back off.
✞⛧ Daily life with her involves late nights and slow mornings. She’s usually out gambling, working, or drinking until the early hours, but she always comes home to you. She’s grumpy in the mornings but softens when she sees you still curled up in bed.
✞⛧ Despite her rough demeanor, Sevika makes an effort to keep you out of her dangerous lifestyle. She refuses to let you get involved with the darker side of Zaun, no matter how much you argue about wanting to support her.
✞⛧ If you’re ever in danger, though, Sevika becomes a one-woman wrecking crew. Anyone who so much as thinks about hurting you gets a first-hand demonstration of what her shimmer-enhanced arm can do.
✞⛧ She’s incredibly blunt, sometimes to the point of being rude. If you’re wearing something she doesn’t like, she’ll say, “You’re really wearing that?” But her tone softens when she sees the hurt in your eyes, and she’ll mutter something about it “not being that bad” while avoiding your gaze.
✞⛧ Sevika has no patience for dramatic displays of affection in public, but she does enjoy having you on her lap while she’s gambling. She loves the way it makes others jealous and isn’t shy about showing off her claim on you with a possessive arm around your waist.
✞⛧ She’s not great at verbalizing her feelings, but her actions speak louder than words. She’ll fix things around the house, bring you small gifts (even if they’re practical like a new knife), and always make sure you’re taken care of.
✞⛧ Intimacy with Sevika is intense, raw, and passionate. She’s rough and demanding, always in control, and loves seeing you fall apart under her touch. She knows her strength and isn’t afraid to use it to pin you down or pull you closer.
✞⛧ However, there are rare moments of surprising tenderness. When she notices you’re nervous or vulnerable, she’ll slow down, her touch becoming softer as she whispers in your ear, “I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.”
✞⛧ Sevika loves teasing you, especially when you’re needy. She’ll smirk and say things like, “What’s the matter, princess? Can’t handle waiting?” even though she fully intends to give you exactly what you want.
✞⛧ She absolutely hates being vulnerable, so don’t expect her to apologize outright during arguments. Instead, she’ll silently sulk for hours before eventually throwing you over her shoulder and carrying you to bed to “make it up to you” in her own way.
✞⛧ Sevika is fiercely loyal, but she doesn’t trust easily. If you ever lie to her or betray her trust, it’ll take a long time to earn it back—if ever.
✞⛧ Despite her hardened exterior, Sevika has a soft spot for you that she tries to hide. She’ll grumble when you insist on patching her up after a fight but secretly loves the attention and care.
✞⛧ She refuses to let you anywhere near Shimmer. “That shit ruins lives,” she growls. “You’re not touching it, not while I’m around.”
✞⛧ Sevika is terrible at expressing her love in words, but in the quiet hours of the night, when she thinks you’re asleep, she’ll hold you close and murmur her feelings against your skin.
✞⛧ She’s surprisingly domestic in small, subtle ways. She’ll fix things around the house, make sure you’re eating enough, and even cook for you occasionally—though her meals are usually simple and practical.
✞⛧ Sevika secretly loves when you take care of her, whether it’s cleaning her wounds, making her coffee in the morning, or just curling up next to her after a long day.
✞⛧ She’s a heavy smoker and drinker, and while she won’t quit for anyone, she does make an effort to tone it down around you.
✞⛧ Despite her gruff demeanor, Sevika is incredibly romantic in her own way. She’ll pull you into her lap during a slow song at the bar, her prosthetic arm resting protectively around your waist as she murmurs, “Dance with me.”
✞⛧ She has a sarcastic sense of humor and loves teasing you, but if anyone else tries to do the same, she’ll shut them down immediately. “You don’t talk to her like that,” she growls, her tone leaving no room for argument.
✞⛧ Sevika is highly protective of you, but she’s also fiercely proud. She loves showing you off, whether it’s at the bar or during a big event in Zaun.
✞⛧ She’s not one for cuddling, but on rare occasions when she’s particularly tired or vulnerable, she’ll pull you into her arms and refuse to let go. Her warm hand will trace lazy patterns on your back as she mumbles, “Don’t get used to this.”
✞⛧ Sevika loves seeing you wear her clothes, especially her poncho. She won’t say anything, but the way her eyes linger on you speaks volumes.
✞⛧ If you ever get hurt, Sevika is absolutely ruthless in tracking down whoever’s responsible. She doesn’t stop until she’s made sure they’ll never hurt you—or anyone else—again.
✞⛧ She’s incredibly tactile, always finding small ways to touch you—whether it’s a hand on your back, an arm around your shoulders, or pulling you into her lap.
✞⛧ Despite her tough exterior, Sevika is secretly terrified of losing you. She’ll never admit it, but the thought of you getting caught up in her dangerous world keeps her up at night.
✞⛧ Sevika’s love is fierce, protective, and all-encompassing. She’ll fight for you, protect you, and hold you close in the quiet moments—but don’t expect her to say those three little words. She’d rather let her actions do the talking.
Nsfw:
✞⛧ Sevika’s drawer is stocked with an intimidating array of gear, including a selection of strap-ons in various sizes and textures. She prefers larger, more challenging toys because she loves the visual of you trying to adjust to her.
✞⛧ Her favorite toy is a heavy strap with ridges and a powerful vibrating attachment. She loves pinning you down, watching your reaction as she slowly drags it along your body before pressing it into you.
✞⛧ Her metal arm adds a unique dynamic to your intimate life. She knows exactly how to use it—trailing the cool metal along your skin to tease you or using it to hold you down effortlessly.
✞⛧ Sevika loves pushing boundaries but is always careful not to cross them. If there’s something you’re hesitant to try, she’ll push you just enough to test your limits, all while keeping a close eye on your reactions.
✞⛧ She’s not above using her strength to remind you who’s in charge. Pinning you against a wall, throwing you over her shoulder, or holding your wrists above your head are just a few ways she asserts her dominance.
✞⛧Her kinks include: Power play. She thrives on control and loves seeing you submit to her fully. Orgasm denial. There’s nothing Sevika enjoys more than keeping you on edge, whispering in your ear, “Not yet, baby. Be a good girl for me.” Impact play. She loves the sound of her hand meeting your skin, especially if it leaves a mark. Praise kink (on her terms). Though rare, she’ll occasionally reward you with phrases like, “That’s my good girl,” if you’ve been especially obedient. Possessiveness. Sevika gets off on reminding you that you’re hers and hers alone.
✞⛧ She’s mean but in a way that makes you crave her attention. Her teasing is relentless, and she loves making you beg for her touch. “Is this what you wanted? Then maybe you should’ve asked nicely instead of acting like a brat.”
✞⛧ However, she never demeans you in a way that feels personal or cruel. Her meanness is purely for the sake of the dynamic, and she’s quick to drop it if you show any sign of discomfort.
✞⛧ Oral is one of her favorite ways to please you. Sevika takes her time, drawing things out with deliberate, slow movements. She revels in the power she holds when she’s between your legs, watching you lose control.
✞⛧ She’s skilled with her tongue, knowing exactly how to bring you to the edge again and again. Sevika takes pride in leaving you breathless, smugly wiping her mouth on the back of her hand when she’s done.
✞⛧ Aftercare is subtle but present. Sevika isn’t the type to cuddle and coo over you, but she’ll clean you up, get you water, and ensure you’re comfortable. If you ask her to stay close, she’ll grumble but won’t hesitate to pull you into her arms.
✞⛧ Sevika loves marking you—whether it’s with hickeys, bite marks, or the faint imprint of her hand on your skin. She wants everyone to know you’re hers.
✞⛧ She’s rough, unapologetically so. Her touch is firm and demanding, leaving you breathless and overwhelmed. “You wanted this, didn’t you? Don’t act so surprised now.”
✞⛧ Control is everything to her. She decides when, where, and how things happen, and you can’t help but love the way she takes charge.
✞⛧ Eye contact is a big deal for her. She loves locking eyes with you while she’s on top, her smirk widening as she sees you losing control.
✞⛧ Sevika’s stamina is unmatched. She’ll keep going long after you’re spent, teasing you for how easily you give up while pushing you to your limits.
✞⛧ She enjoys introducing new things into the bedroom but is always respectful of your boundaries. If you’re hesitant, she’ll say, “Trust me,” in that low, husky voice that always makes you melt.
✞⛧ Public teasing is her favorite game. Sevika loves whispering filthy things in your ear when you’re out together, watching you squirm while she keeps a perfectly composed expression.
✞⛧ She’s a firm believer in rewarding good behavior. If you’ve been especially obedient, she’ll take her time, lavishing you with attention and making sure you’re completely satisfied.
✞⛧ On the flip side, disobedience is met with strict discipline. “You think you can get away with that? Guess I’ll have to remind you who’s in charge.”
✞⛧ Her hands are a weapon. Sevika knows exactly how to use them, whether it’s wrapping them around your throat, gripping your hips, or pinning you down with just one hand.
✞⛧ While she’s not particularly vocal during intimacy, her low, husky grunts and growls are enough to drive you wild.
✞⛧ Despite her tough exterior, Sevika has a soft side that occasionally comes through during intimacy. She’ll kiss you deeply, her hands roaming your body with a surprising tenderness.
✞⛧ Sevika thrives on your reactions. Whether it’s the way you gasp, moan, or arch into her touch, she feeds off your responses and adjusts her actions accordingly.
✞⛧ She’s not overly romantic, but her love shows in the little things. The way she looks at you, the way she holds you afterward, and the way she ensures you’re always satisfied are proof of how much she cares.
✞⛧ Sevika doesn’t believe in half-measures. When she’s with you, she’s all in—dominant, commanding, and utterly devoted to making sure you never forget who you belong to.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Karlach:
The quiet of the night was shattered by a loud, insistent banging on your door. You jolted awake, heart pounding, as the noise continued with an almost frantic urgency. Glancing at the clock, you realized it was well past midnight. Your child, already asleep in their room, was oblivious to the commotion. You hurriedly dressed and made your way to the door, the unease in your chest growing with every step.
When you finally opened the door, your breath caught in your throat. There stood your child's absent father, a man whose presence had long been a source of pain and disappointment. His disheveled appearance and haggard expression were a stark contrast to the composed demeanor you remembered from the past.
“What are you doing here?” you demanded, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s the middle of the night. My child is asleep.”
He pushed past you, ignoring your protest. “I’m here to see my child,” he said gruffly. “I’ve come to make things right.”
You stepped in his way, blocking his advance. “No. You don’t get to waltz back into their life whenever you please. You had your chance, and you squandered it. Now, you need to leave.”
His face reddened with anger, and he sneered at you. “So, you think you can just keep me away? You’re nothing but a petty little obstacle. It’s my right as a father to see my child.”
Before you could respond, you heard the heavy tread of footsteps behind you. Karlach, ever vigilant and protective, had come to investigate the commotion. Her presence was like a storm rolling in, radiating an aura of fierce, unyielding strength. Her eyes locked onto the intruder with a look that could melt steel. Karlach stepped forward, her voice low and menacing.
“You’re in no position to make demands, buddy” she said, her tone cold and dangerous. “This is a warning. Leave now, or you’ll find yourself on the wrong end of a veteran’s wrath.”
The father’s eyes widened in shock as he took in Karlach’s formidable presence. She was a force to be reckoned with, her imposing frame and battle-hardened demeanor making her a terrifying figure. He took an involuntary step back, clearly unnerved by her.
Karlach continued, her voice like gravel. “I fought in the Blood War. I’ve faced demons and horrors you can’t even imagine. Do you really think you want to test me now?”
His bravado crumbled under the weight of her words. He stared at Karlach, then at you, and finally, with a defeated sigh, he turned on his heel and stumbled away into the night, leaving you with a mix of relief and lingering anxiety.
You closed the door with a trembling hand, your heart still racing. The fear that had gripped you was slowly giving way to a profound sense of gratitude. Karlach’s fierce protection had ensured that your child remained safe from harm, and her presence had been a steadying force in a moment of distress. Turning to Karlach, you took a deep breath and let out a shaky sigh.
“Thank you,” you said, your voice filled with both relief and admiration. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
Karlach’s expression softened, though her fierce demeanor remained. She placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You’re welcome,” she said, her voice gentle yet firm. “I’d do anything to keep both you and the little one safe. You don’t have to face this alone.”
You nodded, feeling a wave of appreciation for her unwavering support. “I know,” you said softly. “And I’m grateful for everything you’ve done. Truly.”
Karlach’s lips curled into a mile. “Well, then,” she said with a hint of her usual fire, “let’s make sure that anyone who tries to come near you both knows that they’ll have to go through me first.”
You couldn’t help but laugh softly at her resolute tone, feeling the last of your tension dissolve. As you made your way back to your child’s room, Karlach followed close behind, her presence a comforting shield against the uncertainties of the night.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Minthara:
The night was calm and still, the kind that promised peaceful rest, but that illusion was abruptly shattered by the sound of frantic yelling. You jolted awake, heart pounding, and glanced at the clock. It was well past midnight. The cries and shouts came from your daughter’s room, and your immediate concern propelled you out of bed.
Without a moment’s hesitation, you shook Minthara awake. Her eyes snapped open, her expression shifting from drowsy confusion to alert determination quicker than light. Together, you raced down the hallway, the sounds of the confrontation growing louder with each step.
Bursting into your daughter’s room, you were met with a sight that filled you with dread. Your daughter, barely able to contain her fear and anger, stood her ground against her father, who had somehow managed to infiltrate the sanctuary of her room. His imposing figure loomed over her, and his presence was both unsettling and unwelcome.
“Leave me alone!” your daughter shouted, her small voice trembling but filled with determination. “I don’t want you here!”
Her father, a grizzled mercenary with a hardened demeanor, looked down at her with a mixture of annoyance and condescension.
“You’re not in a position to make demands,” he sneered. “I’m your father, and you will listen to me.”
As you and Minthara entered the room, your daughter’s eyes met yours, and she bolted towards you. You wrapped her in a comforting embrace, holding her tightly and whispering reassurances. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” you murmured. “I’m here.”
Minthara’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the intruder. Without a word, she strode purposefully towards him, her demeanor cold and menacing. With a swift, practiced motion, she grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall, pinning him there with a strength that left no room for argument. The mercenary struggled, but Minthara’s grip was unyielding. He attempted to boast about his exploits, his voice full of bravado.
“I’ve fought in countless battles,” he said, his tone dripping with arrogance. “I’ve taken lives, dealt with worse than you—”
Minthara interrupted him with a harsh, mocking laugh. “Please. You’re nothing can even compare to me,” she said, her voice laced with disdain.
Your daughter, still clinging to you, looked up with wide, fearful eyes. “Can you make him leave?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
You looked over to Minthara and gave her a slight nod, the type that Minthara takes as nothing is off limits. Minthara glanced at your daughter with a reassuring nod, then turned her gaze back to the mercenary.
“You heard the child,” she said, her tone cold and final. “It’s time for you to leave.”
As the mercenary started to raise his voice again, Minthara’s patience snapped. With a swift, decisive blow, she knocked him out cold. His body slumped to the floor, and she turned to your daughter with a gentle, reassuring smile.
“Don’t worry,” she said softly. “I’ll deal with him.”
Your daughter’s face brightened with relief as she held onto you tightly, nodding her head eagerly at Minthara. Minthara gave you a curt nod before she dragged the unconscious mercenary outside, her expression a mixture of determination and satisfaction. As she left, you held your daughter close, whispering soothing words of comfort.
When Minthara returned, she found you and your daughter in your shared bed, your daughter nestled against you, her tiny frame trembling slightly from the recent ordeal. Without a word, Minthara climbed into bed beside you after, of course, washing off the grime from her... excursion. Your daughter, still shaken but comforted, immediately latched onto Minthara and snuggled into her, finding solace in her presence.
You watched as Minthara, despite her usually stoic demeanor, gently stroked your daughter’s hair, her expression softening as she comforted the child.
“There, there,” Minthara murmured softly. “Everything’s going to be alright.”
Your daughter looked up at Minthara, her eyes heavy with sleep but filled with trust. “Goodnight, Mother,” she whispered, before closing her eyes and curling up closer.
You smiled softly at the sight, feeling a deep sense of gratitude and warmth. Minthara’s actions had been more than protective; they had been a testament to her unwavering dedication and love for both you and your daughter. You reached over, careful not to disturb your daughter and took Minthara's hand, giving it a soft squeeze in thanks, forever grateful for her.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Lae'zel:
At home, Lae'zel had been adjusting to her role as caretaker, the initial discomfort giving way to a surprising degree of warmth. Your son, now peacefully napping in his room, was nestled under a soft blanket, completely unaware of the impending danger.
The tranquility of the house was abruptly shattered by a soft but deliberate creaking of the door. The estranged father of your child, driven by a mixture of unresolved feelings and a twisted sense of entitlement, had managed to break into your home unnoticed. His presence a dark shadow against the peaceful setting as he made his way to the child’s room.
With a furtive glance around to ensure no one was watching, he slipped inside. The sight of your sleeping son stirred a pang of something akin to remorse in his eyes, but it was quickly overridden by a sense of possession. He reached down and scooped up the toddler, cradling him in his arms. The action was abrupt and rough, causing your child to stir and awaken with a frightened whimper.
The sudden disturbance woke Lae'zel from her own moment of repose. Her heightened senses detected the commotion in the room, and her instincts immediately went on high alert. She could tell immediately that this was not your son's ordinairy fussing, she moved swiftly to the source of the noise, pushing open the door with a forceful shove. Her eyes widened in alarm as she saw the man holding your son against his chest.
Lae'zel’s expression hardened into a fierce scowl as she took in the situation. Her hand moved to the weapon at her side, and with a practiced flick, she drew it. The blade glinted ominously in the light.
“Put the child down!” she commanded, her voice a growl filled with righteous fury. The man’s eyes flickered with a mix of surprise and defiance.
“This is my son,” he declared with a scoff, his tone dripping with contempt. “I have every right to him.”
But the reality of the situation was starkly different. Your son, still half-asleep and disoriented, immediately began to fuss and whimper, reaching out with tiny, pleading hands towards Lae'zel. The distress in his voice was unmistakable as he called out, “Mama! Mama’zel!”
Seeing the child’s evident fear and his desperate need for Lae'zel, the warrior’s resolve hardened. She took a step forward, her weapon poised with deadly precision. “You are not taking him. He needs to be with someone who cares for him, that is not you.”
It seemed the father had suddenly realised that danger he was in now he was at the blade's end of a Githyanki silver sword. In a panic and with a final, reckless gesture of defiance, the man threw your son into the air. The sudden action was shocking, and Lae'zel’s heart raced as she watched in horror. Without a moment’s hesitation, she dropped her sword and leaped forward, catching your child with a protective embrace as he fell. Her fierce determination was evident as she cradled him close, her blade still held firmly in her other hand.
The man, seizing the opportunity bolted for the door. Lae'zel’s focus was on your son, and as she made sure he was safe, she allowed the man to escape. She did not let her guard down, but her priority was to protect the child, and the man’s escape was a calculated risk she was willing to take.
Outside, the commotion had drawn attention. As Lae'zel made her way to the front of the house, her eyes fell on the scene unfolding before her. You stood over the unconscious form of your estranged partner, your knuckles bruised and bloodied from the confrontation. There was relief in your expression as you looked up to see Lae'zel, your son safely and happily in her arms. Lae'zel approached you with a careful but determined stride, holding out your son to you.
“He is safe now,” she said, her voice steady but laced with concern. “He was frightened, but I kept him close.”
“Thank you, Lae'zel,” you said softly, your voice filled with emotion after pressing a kiss to Lae'zel's cheek “You saved him.”
Lae'zel nodded, her face a mix of weariness and satisfaction. “It was my duty,” she replied simply. “I will always protect him.”
You took your child into your arms, feeling a surge of relief and gratitude. As you held him tightly, Lae'zel’s eyes softened with a rare gentleness, she had faced a thousand horrors but nothing was as terrifying as the thought of your child, her son, getting hurt.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Shadowheart:
The sun cast a warm, golden glow over the farm, where Shadowheart and your young daughter were enjoying a peaceful afternoon. The fields were alive with the joyful sounds of chirping birds and playful animals. Your daughter, her face alight with happiness, was darting around the farmyard, feeding the animals and laughing at their antics. Shadowheart, her demeanor relaxed and gentle, followed closely behind, occasionally helping with tasks and sharing in your daughter’s exuberant joy.
The scene was idyllic: cows mooed softly, chickens pecked at the ground, and your daughter’s gleeful giggles blended harmoniously with the sounds of the farm. Shadowheart’s protective nature shone through as she tended to the animals alongside your daughter, clearly enjoying the role of caretaker.
But this serene moment was abruptly interrupted when a familiar figure emerged from the edge of the farm. Your daughter’s father—who had been absent from her life—appeared with a look of determination on his face. His eyes scanned the farmyard until they landed on your daughter. Relief washed over his features as he strode forward, his expression a mix of desperation and authority.
“There you are!” he called out, his voice carrying across the open fields. “I’ve finally found you. Come here!”
Your daughter’s face went pale as she spotted her father. She immediately bolted behind Shadowheart, clutching at her skirts. Her small voice quivered as she looked up at Shadowheart with wide, frightened eyes. “Mama, make him go away! I don’t want him here!”
Shadowheart’s eyes narrowed, her protective instincts kicking in immediately. She placed herself between your daughter and her father, her stance firm and resolute.
“You need to leave,” Shadowheart said, her voice steady and commanding. “She doesn’t want to see you.”
Your daughter’s father scoffed, clearly irritated by the interruption. “Oh, come now. She’s my daughter. She needs to come with me, I want to spend time with her.”
"She doesn't need to do anything." Shadowheart’s jaw tightened. “No. I will not allow you to upset her further. Leave, now.”
The father’s eyes flickered with annoyance, but he disregarded Shadowheart’s command. He took a step closer, his intent clear—he was determined to take your daughter regardless of Shadowheart’s interference. As he reached out a hand toward your daughter, Shadowheart’s reaction was swift and decisive.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Shadowheart drew upon her time spent as a Sharran. Her movements were a blur as she executed a series of precise and powerful strikes. Your daughter’s father barely had time to react before he was struck down, collapsing to the ground in a heap, unconscious and defeated. Face first in the mud.
Shadowheart stood over him, her breath coming in measured gasps as she surveyed the scene. She turned to your daughter, concern etched across her face.
“Are you alright?” she asked gently. Your daughter’s initial shock quickly transformed into awe. Her eyes widened as she looked up at Shadowheart, a mixture of admiration and excitement shining through her fear.
“That was amazing!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with wonder. “Can you teach me how to do that? Please? Pretty please!”
Shadowheart’s concern softened into a smile as she saw the spark of admiration in your daughter’s eyes. She knelt down, placing a comforting hand on your daughter’s shoulder.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said softly. “But learning how to fight and defend yourself is not something to take lightly. You have to practice lots and lots.”
"I don't care!" Your daughter’s enthusiasm remained undiminished. “I want to learn! I want to be strong like you! That was so cool!”
Shadowheart’s smile broadened, touched by the girl’s resolve. "Okay, okay, little fighter, let's go ask your mother about it and see what she says, okay?"
Your daughter sprinted off, bellowing your name, the previous incident seemingly forgotton. Shadowheart couldn't help but chuckle and then sighed as she looked at the father's crumpled form. With a hand on her hip and a snap of her fingers a portal opened. Shadowheart was sure that he would have a much better time in the neighbouring farm's fertiliser tub. Maneure was so good for crops this time of year.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Gale:
Your daughter’s school fete was abuzz with excitement, the large open park filled with the chatter and laughter of parents and children. The annual talent show was in full swing, and each performance was met with enthusiastic applause. It was a time for the students to showcase how far their wizarding skills had developed. You couldn't tell who was more excited, your daughter or Gale.
You and Gale stood near the front, eagerly awaiting your daughter's turn to showcase her magic. The weeks of practice and preparation between Gale and your daughter had culminated in this moment, and both of you were a mix of pride and nerves.
Gale was showing signs of his own anxiety—fidgeting slightly, his eyes darting to the stage and then back to you. It was clear that he cared deeply about how this would go for your daughter.
Just as your daughter's name was called out to get ready to go on, she began making her way to the backstage area to prepare, until her face suddenly fell. You turned to see what had caused the abrupt change in her demeanor, and then you heard the unmistakable voice of your ex—her estranged father—cutting through the ambient noise of the school fete.
“Hey there, little one! Where’s my hug?” he called out, his tone laced with a mixture of familiarity and condescension.
Your daughter hesitated, her small frame visibly tensing as she reluctantly approached her father. With a forced, apprehensive smile, she gave him a quick hug. The look of discomfort on her face was evident as she pulled away, and with a quick look of worry to you, she darted to the backstage entrance where she began to prepare to perform with the other kids.
Confident your daughter was out of sight and earshot, you felt a surge of irritation and disbelief. You hadn’t expected him to show up here, let alone disrupt your daughter’s big moment. Turning sharply, you confronted your ex, your voice edged with frustration.
“What are you doing here?” you demanded, crossing your arms. “Why show up now?”
His face remained a mask of faux innocence. “I’m here to support my little girl, of course,” he replied with a shrug, but his eyes betrayed a glint of something darker as he glanced at Gale. “Had to make sure that new boytoy of yours isn’t a bad influence.”
Your eyes narrowed, and you were about to launch into an argument when your daughter's teacher approached, her expression soft but serious.
“Excuse me,” the teacher said, addressing you and Gale. “Your daughter has developed a case of stage fright, bless her, and has asked for her father.”
Your ex immediately stepped forward, a smirk spreading across his face as he assumed the teacher was referring to him. But the teacher’s next words made it clear they were talking about Gale.
“I'm sorry, but I’m actually referring to Mr. Dekarios,” the teacher clarified, gesturing toward Gale. Gale’s face brightened, and flashed your ex a smug smirk, only for it to fade into concern as he followed the teacher, catching sight of your teary daughter waiting nervously backstage. She ran over to him, looking up at him with a mix of hope and distress.
“Gale!” she said, her voice trembling, “I need your magic!"
Gale knelt down to her level, his expression softening. “Sweetheart, I can’t help you with the performance,” he said gently. "I promise you will do amazing, you've been working so hard and-"
"-No, I need your magic to make him disappear!" Your daughter sniffed and Gale realised what she had meant.
"Ah, well that I can do," Gale whispered with a smile and your daughter’s face lit up with relief, and she threw herself into a hug with Gale.
“Thank you, dad!” she said, her voice now full of gratitude, those tears gone and a smile plastered on her face. With a renewed sense of determination, she ran back to the stage, her earlier anxiety replaced by a brighter, more confident demeanor. Gale watched her go, then returned to your side, where you will still arguing with your ex in hushed whispers. At the sight of him, you both quietened, keen to hear what had happened.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” he said, his voice filled with quiet confidence. “But there's something I have to do.”
With a subtle flick of his fingers and a murmur of arcane words, Gale cast a spell. Moments later, your ex’s face appeared puzzled as he was enveloped in a shimmering aura, his protestations fading as he was magically transported away. Gale turned back to you, his face reflecting a blend of satisfaction and affection.
“One less distraction for her,” he said, giving you a warm smile.
You felt a surge of gratitude and admiration for Gale and without warning grabbed him, pressing a kiss to his lips. "I adore you, you know that".
"Not as much as I adore the both you," Gale assured you, “Now, let’s enjoy the show.”
You both watched your daughter take the stage with a confident smile was a moment of pure joy, made even more meaningful by the support and love surrounding her.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Astarion:
The schoolyard buzzed with the end-of-day excitement as children and parents alike gathered to leave. Astarion, impeccably dressed as always, stood near the gate, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd with the kind of aloof interest one might expect from him. Today, he was tasked with picking up your daughter from school as you ran an errand.
As Astarion waited, he noticed a commotion near the gate. Your daughter, spotting him through the throng of people, waved frantically and beckoned him over with an urgency that immediately set off alarm bells in his mind. His instincts, honed by years of surviving in a dangerous world, quickly jumped to the worst-case scenario.
With an exaggerated flourish, Astarion swept toward the commotion, his cloak billowing behind him like a cape of night. He shoved parents and children alike out of the way, his expression shifting to one of fierce determination as he approached the source of the disturbance.
“What seems to be the problem here?” Astarion demanded, his voice carrying an edge of authority that was both commanding and melodramatic. His gaze fell upon a man who was arguing heatedly with one of the teachers. The man’s expression was a mix of frustration and entitlement.
The teacher looked visibly relieved upon seeing Astarion. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here! This man claims to be your daughter’s father, but he’s not on the approved pickup list.”
Astarion’s eyes narrowed in disdain as he took in the man’s appearance. “Really now? And just who do you think you are, daring to disrupt the well-being of a child? My child.”
The estranged father, clearly unperturbed by Astarion's theatrics, argued back. “I will have you know that, I am her father! And I have every right to pick her up.”
Before Astarion could retort, your daughter bounded over, her face lighting up with joy at the sight of her Papa. She launched herself into Astarion’s arms, who caught her with practiced ease.
Astarion beamed down at her and gave her a subtle wink before pretending to hear something you had said and then looked on to growing crowd with feigned surprise and distress. “Oh dearest, what have you told me, my little one? Did he say he was going to do something terrible?”
Your daughter, catching onto the game, nodded vigorously, a playful glint in her eyes. “Yes, Papa! He said he was going to kidnap me!”
Astarion’s eyes widened in exaggerated horror, and he tightened his hold on your daughter, pulling her close to his chest. There was a concerned murmur among the other parents as they looked at your daughter's father accusingly. “Oh, my gods! We mustn’t let him near you then. Neither should you fellow parents! Come, we’ll have to leave immediately!"
The father, growing increasingly agitated, protested loudly. “This is absurd! I’m her father! I am not trying to kidnap her.”
With a smirk, Astarion began walking away, your daughter securely perched on his hip. However the father began to follow the two of them. At this Astarion called out over his shoulder with a dramatic flair, “Help! Someone call the authorities! This man is stalking us!”
Your daughter, struggling to suppress a giggle, chimed in, her voice a high-pitched wail. “He’s following us! Help!”
Astarion shot her a playful but stern look. “Shush, darling. We mustn’t blow our cover!”
Despite her best efforts, your daughter couldn’t entirely suppress her laughter, and Astarion had to shush her with a gentle but firm hand on her mouth.
As they made their way towards the school gate, Flaming Fist had arrived, drawn in by the commotion. They quickly assessed the situation, and the paretns quickly took Astarion's side. He was the one afterall who would pick her up from school, he was the one who would begrudgingly sew the costumes for the school play - even when no one asked him to. He was the one your daughter called papa, not this stranger.
Astarion, still holding your daughter close, offered a graceful nod to the Flaming Fist as they dealt with the situation. With the father now in custody, Astarion made a clean getaway, carrying your daughter away from the scene. Once they were safely out of the school’s vicinity, Astarion finally allowed himself a genuine smile as he set your daughter back down on your feet. “Well, that went rather splendidly, didn’t it?”
Your daughter looked up at him with adoration, her earlier anxiety completely forgotten. “Thank you, Papa!”
Astarion’s expression softened as he looked at her, . “You’re welcome, my dear. Just remember, I’ll always be here to keep you safe.”
As they walked hand in hand away from the school, the sunset painted the sky with hues of orange and pink, a perfect backdrop for a day’s adventure turned into a cherished memory.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Wyll:
The kitchen was filled with the comforting aroma of spices and simmering sauce as you and Wyll busied yourselves preparing dinner. Your son sat at the kitchen table, deeply engrossed in his coloring book, his small tongue sticking out in concentration. The evening was shaping up to be a peaceful, if ordinary, family affair.
The pleasant hum of conversation and the clinking of pots and pans were suddenly interrupted by a loud knock at the door. Before anyone could move, the door swung open, and your ex, carrying an impressive stack of brightly wrapped presents, barged into the kitchen. His arrival was as abrupt as it was unwelcome, and his presence brought a palpable tension into the room. You braced yourself, a tight smile forced onto your face as you faced him.
"What are you doing here?" you asked through gritted teeth, trying to keep your voice steady. The birthday for your son had been last month, and you had hoped that was the last of these unscheduled visits.
“Better late than never,” your ex replied with a nonchalant shrug, as if the delay of several weeks was an afterthought.
Wyll, standing by the stove, appeared taken aback but quickly regained his composure. He extended a hand, offering a polite greeting. “Hello, I’m Wyll. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Your ex ignored Wyll’s outstretched hand completely, his focus solely on your son, who looked up from his coloring with a mix of curiosity and confusion. "Hey little man look what I've got for you! From your good ol' papa!"
“Thanks for the gifts,” your son said, his small voice full of genuine appreciation. “But I have a new dad now.”
Wyll’s face brightened with a mix of pride and relief and he placed a proud hand on your son's shoulder. “That’s right!... I’m his new dad now.”
Your ex’s face darkened, and he tensed visibly. “Wyll isn’t your real dad, kid. I’m your real dad.”
Your son, still focused on his coloring, paused to think. “Nope, Wyll is my dad. He picks me up from school, reads me bedtime stories, and he loves me. That’s what a dad does.”
Your ex’s face flushed with anger, and he started to call your son ungrateful. However, before things could escalate further, Wyll stepped in, his tone firm but calm.
“Let’s settle this outside,” Wyll proposed, his expression resolute.
Your ex, who was taller and bulkier than Wyll, agreed with a snort of disdain. You watched with a mix of apprehension and curiosity as Wyll winked at you before stepping outside with your ex.
You followed them to the door, your heart racing as you anticipated the confrontation. As the door closed behind them, you heard a sudden, odd sound—a poof of magic followed by the unmistakable bleating of a sheep.
Confused, you stepped outside to see Wyll standing there, looking smug and decidedly pleased, while your ex was transformed into a sheep, bleating in protest. Wyll turned to you with a grin, clearly proud of his handiwork.
“I knew I held onto that polymorph scroll for a reason,” he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
You couldn’t help but laugh, your tension dissolving into mirth. “What am I supposed to do with a sheep now?”
Wyll’s grin widened. “Well, you could always sell him to a butcher, if you’re feeling particularly adventurous.”
Your laughter rang out freely now, the absurdity of the situation breaking through any lingering stress. The evening’s peace was restored, and as Wyll and the transformed sheep made their way inside, you felt a renewed sense of warmth and relief. The family dinner would go on as planned, now with one less complication and a story for the ages.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Halsin:
The afternoon sun filtered through the dense canopy of trees, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. You and your son had spent a pleasant day foraging among the underbrush. Your son, his spirit as free as the woodland creatures around him, had been frequently shifting in and out of his wildshape, delighting in the thrill of his magical transformations. You watched with a fond smile as he scampered around, shifting effortlessly between human and animal forms, the laughter and joy in his eyes brightening the entire forest.
As you crouched to inspect a patch of herbs, the distant sound of wheels on a forest path reached your ears. Your heart skipped a beat, a gnawing sense of unease creeping up your spine. The sound grew louder, and you recognized the unmistakable clatter of a carriage—a carriage that seemed all too familiar. Your pulse quickened as you straightened and scanned the surrounding trees.
You spotted the carriage as it emerged from a narrow forest trail, its ornate design and gilded trimmings unmistakable. The insignia on the side confirmed your worst fear: it was indeed from your ex’s noble family. The wheels crunched over the fallen leaves, and you felt a cold wave of apprehension wash over you.
With a determined, but calm demeanor, you called out to your son. "Sweetheart, you need to go back to the grove right now. Run to Halsin and stay with him, okay? Mama has someone she needs to talk to."
Your son’s face, still flushed from his wildshaping fun, looked up at you with wide, uncertain eyes. "Mama, what’s wrong?"
"Just go quickly," you urged, kneeling to meet his gaze. "I’ll explain later. Go, now."
Hesitantly, he nodded and bolted down the forest path, his small figure quickly disappearing among the trees. As your son sprinted, his tiny feet pounding against the earth, the distant sound of the carriage faded into the background. The urgency in his heart spurred him on faster, each step propelled by a mix of fear and determination. His breath came in quick gasps, the forest blurring by as he made his way back to the grove.
The grove came into view, and your son’s eyes scanned the area frantically. He spotted Halsin, who was tending to a small group of the squirrels, and ran up to him, his face flushed and eyes wide with panic.
“Papa! Papa!” your son called out, his voice trembling as he urged himself forward. “Mama needs help! My evil papa is here!”
Halsin’s expression shifted from calm to concerned in an instant. He dropped what he was doing and knelt down to your son’s level, his eyes searching your son's face. “What happened? Where is your mother?”
Your son, barely able to contain his anxiety or catch his breath, explained hurriedly. “This big carriage came, and-and Mama told me to run back here and-and she said she needed to talk to someone, but-but I know it’s my evil papa who’s come. 'Cause I only see Mama that upset when- when he’s around.”
"Take a breath, little one, it will be okay. Stay here and stay safe, go play with the other children” he instructed firmly, giving your son's shoulders a squeeze. “I’ll go see what’s going on.”
“No!” your son protested, his small fists clenched. “I’m coming with you!”
And as if to make a point you son clung onto Halsin's leg, Halsin looked down at him with uncertainty, he knew he would get an earful from you later, but your son really cared. Your son’s determination had won out. Halsin let out a sigh and nodded. “Very well. Hold on tight.”
Meanwhile, you continued to argue with your ex.
"So, here you are," he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "I must say, I didn't expect to find you in such... rustic surroundings."
You squared your shoulders, fighting back the rising tide of frustration. "What are you doing here?" you demanded, your voice steady despite the anger simmering beneath.
A haughty smile curled on your ex’s lips. "My family is pressing me for an heir. The pressure is mounting, and I’ve come to collect my son. It’s time he fulfilled his role in our family’s legacy."
The words felt like a physical blow, each syllable carrying the weight of his disregard for your family and your son's well-being. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. "You can’t just waltz in here and demand him like he’s some sort of accessory. You’ve been absent for years. You have no right to claim him now."
Your ex’s gaze hardened. "I have every right. I am his father, after all."
"You have no understanding of what it means to be a parent," you said sharply, taking a step closer. "You think you can just come and take him after all this time? You’ve done nothing but make his life more difficult."
Your ex’s face twisted into a sneer. "And you’ve done a remarkable job of corrupting him with your… unconventional lifestyle."
The words stung, but you refused to let them show. You took a deep breath, trying to maintain your composure. "If you think you can just come in and take him away, you’re mistaken. He has a family here who loves him and a home where he belongs."
Your ex’s face twisted with disdain. "You think your little forest dwelling and its inhabitants can replace what I can offer him? He needs to be in a proper environment, one befitting his heritage."
The sharpness of his words cut through you, but before you could respond, the situation took a dramatic turn. The footmen who had been idly standing by suddenly turned aggressive, encircling you with threatening movements. Just as you prepared to defend yourself, a small, but fierce bear cub you recognised skidded into the clearing. It growled and snapped at the footmen, causing them to flinch and hesitate.
"It's only a cub! Kill the little beastie!" your ex barked, his arrogance masking his growing anxiety. He turned to retreat, but was abruptly met with a much larger, imposing figure.
A massive grizzly bear roared ferociously in your ex’s face, its powerful form blocking his escape route. The footmen, their bravery crumbling in the face of the beast, fled into the forest with cries of terror, leaving your ex isolated and vulnerable.
You let out a relieved laugh as you scooped your son up in your arms. He had shifted back to his human form, his face alight with mischievous joy.
"You’re safe now," you murmured, holding him close as he giggled.
The massive bear continued to roar, rising up on its hind legs in an intimidating display. Your ex, panicked and covering his face, braced himself for an attack that never came. Instead, the bear suddenly shimmered with a golden light and, in a swirl of magic, Halsin emerged from the transformation, his human form standing tall and resolute. His stance, however, was no less aggressive. Halsin’s eyes locked onto your ex with a steely, unyielding glare.
“You’re not welcome here,” Halsin’s voice rumbled, each word measured and threatening. “You are not taking my son. I suggest you leave before something unfortunate happens.”
Your ex, shaking with a mix of fear and anger, attempted to regain his composure. “This is outrageous! I have every right to take him. I am his father!”
Halsin stepped closer, his presence radiating a potent blend of authority and menace. “You have no right to disrupt his life after being absent for so long. He is my son, and you are trying to take him from his home, from the family who loves and cares for him. You have no claim here.”
Your ex’s bravado faltered as he looked around at the animals—deer, wolves, and other woodland creatures—gathering once more, their eyes fixed on him with a watchful, protective intensity. The forest itself seemed to close in around him, adding to his sense of encroaching dread.
“You can’t do this!” he shouted, his voice rising with desperation. “This is a matter of family legacy and honor!”
Halsin’s gaze remained unyielding. “No, this is a matter of what is best for my son. You are an intruder here, and if you do not leave immediately, you will face consequences beyond your understanding.”
Your ex’s gaze darted around, his composure crumbling as he realized the gravity of his situation. The animals’ eyes glinted with an unspoken threat, and Halsin’s unrelenting stance made it clear that he would not back down. With a final, resentful glare, your ex backed away, his movements hurried and clumsy.
“This isn’t over,” he spat, before turning and stumbling back to his carriage. He climbed in hastily, his footmen still cowering in the forest, and the carriage lurched away with a trail of dust.
As the carriage disappeared from view, Halsin let out a long, slow breath, his form relaxing as the immediate threat passed. He turned to you and your son, his face softening with concern.
“Are you both alright?” he asked, his voice gentle now, though still laced with the remnants of his earlier fury.
You nodded, your heart still racing but calming with each passing moment. “We’re okay. Thank you, Halsin. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”
Halsin reached out and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “No need to thank me. We are a family, and we protect each other.”
As you all made your way back through the forest, the weight of the day’s events began to lift, replaced by a profound sense of relief and solidarity.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Rolan:
The market was a bustling tapestry of colors and sounds, a vibrant mosaic of stalls and vendors peddling everything from fresh produce to handcrafted trinkets. You, Rolan, and your young toddler son meandered through the market, enjoying the lively atmosphere. Your son, perched on Rolan’s shoulders, was giggling and pointing at the various sights and sounds, his eyes wide with wonder.
Rolan had a firm but gentle hand on your child’s legs, ensuring he was secure while still allowing him to enjoy the view. You walked beside them, occasionally glancing at the stalls, picking out small treats or intriguing items. The air was filled with the delightful aroma of fresh bread and spices, mingling with the cheerful chatter of vendors and patrons.
As you approached a stall selling brightly colored fabrics, a familiar yet unwelcome figure emerged from the crowd. It was your ex, looking disheveled and distraught. His clothes were tattered, and he seemed to be making his way through the market with an air of desperation.
“Please!” he cried out, dropping to his knees in front of you. His voice was choked with emotion, a stark contrast to the authoritative tone he had once used. “Please, I’m begging you. I want to be a part of our child’s life. I’ve made mistakes, but I’m ready to make things right. Just give me a chance.”
You stopped in your tracks, your heart hardening at the sight of him. The memories of his absence and the pain he had caused surged up, making it difficult to maintain your composure. You took a deep breath, summoning all the resolve you could muster.
“You had your chance when our child was born,” you said firmly. “You walked away, leaving us behind. You don’t get to waltz back into our lives now just because it suits you.”
Rolan, standing close by with your son, nodded in agreement. His face was set in a serious expression, his eyes reflecting the protective nature he had come to embody.
“You had no part in his life before,” Rolan said, his voice calm but unwavering. “And you’ve shown no effort to make amends until now. It’s not fair to our family to let you back in on a whim.”
Your ex’s face twisted with a mix of desperation and anger. “I’ve changed,” he pleaded, his voice rising with frustration. “You can’t just shut me out like this. I’m his father!”
Without warning, he lunged towards you, a sudden movement fueled by desperation. The instinct to protect surged within Rolan. His eyes narrowed, and with a decisive flick of his wrist, he cast a thunderblast. The crackling burst of energy erupted with a deafening roar, sending your ex stumbling backward.
Your ex’s eyes widened in shock and fear as the spell hurled him through the air. He landed with a splash in the nearby fountain, the water erupting around him in a frothy surge. The sight of him floundering in the fountain, soaked and sputtering, was both dramatic and almost comical.
Amid the chaos, your toddler, who had been watching the scene unfold from Rolan’s shoulders, burst into fits of uncontrollable giggles. His laughter was a bright, musical sound that cut through the tense atmosphere, his tiny hands clapping with glee at the sight of the man he had only heard about but never seen in such a state.
You couldn’t help but smile at your son’s reaction, the tension of the moment dissolving into a shared moment of levity. Rolan, still standing tall and composed, watched as your ex scrambled out of the fountain, his dignity as drenched as his clothes. The crowd that had gathered looked on with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, whispering among themselves.
With a final glance at your ex, who was now pulling himself out of the fountain with an air of defeat, you turned to leave.
You and Rolan guided your son away from the market, his laughter still echoing in the cool evening air. The market’s lively bustle continued around you, but you walked with a renewed sense of security and unity.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Raphael:
The weight of the day’s stress seemed to settle heavily on your shoulders as you sat in the study of the grand estate, trying to focus on the papers spread before you. Your ex had reappeared in your life with a demand that rattled you to your core: he wanted to see your daughter more often, and, worse, he was insistent on having a greater role in her life. The mere thought of him attempting to insert himself into her world again filled you with a sense of dread and frustration.
Raphael, who had been surprisingly supportive of your emotional turmoil, took it upon himself to reassure you. Despite his usual aloofness, he had shown an unexpected level of concern. Yet, as you talked through your frustrations with him, you noticed a shift in his demeanor—a subtle, almost imperceptible pang of hurt hidden behind his devilish exterior. The notion of your daughter potentially calling another man "papa" seemed to strike a chord with him, even if he refused to vocalize it.
Of course he had to do something about it, somebody had to save your wretched little souls and why shouldn't it be the devil that loved you both?
One night as you held your daughter close to your chest, worst case scenarios tearing through your mind like a nightmare on repeat, Raphael took a seat necxt to you and placed a hand on your thigh.
“It's been dealt with, dearest,” Raphael said, his voice smooth and reassuring. “You needn’t worry about him any longer. He’s been… persuaded to leave you and your daughter alone.”
His words were confident, but you sensed an undercurrent of something more complex, though Raphael’s expression remained inscrutable. You chose not to press further, trusting that he had the situation in hand. Days passed, and true to Raphael’s word, your ex disappeared from the scene, making no further attempts to contact you or interfere in your life.
You couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of relief and unease. The problem had been resolved with unsettling speed, leaving you feeling as though a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. One evening, as you and Raphael relaxed together, you finally broached the subject of your ex’s sudden disappearance.
“What exactly did you do to get him to leave us alone, my love?” you asked, trying to keep your tone casual, though a thread of curiosity laced your voice.
Raphael’s smirk was back in place, though there was a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. He shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, nothing out of the ordinary. I made a deal with him.”
His casual response did little to quell your lingering curiosity. “A deal? What kind of deal?”
Raphael’s expression remained carefully neutral, his voice maintaining its smooth, unaffected tone. “Just a little something to ensure his cooperation. You know me, darling. I always have my methods.”
You couldn’t pry further, and Raphael’s words left you with more questions than answers. You did notice, however, that your ex was no longer a problem—an outcome that seemed almost too convenient.
Unbeknownst to you, the deal Raphael had struck was far from ordinary. Raphael had promised your ex immortality—a promise that seemed generous at first glance. In reality, Raphael’s “gift” trapped your ex’s soul in a form of eternal confinement, bound within the House of Hope—a luxurious prison within the estate.
In the House of Hope, your ex found himself a mere spectator, condemned to watch as Raphael embraced the role of father to your daughter. He was forced to endure the sight of Raphael’s effortless integration into your family, witnessing the tenderness and affection Raphael showed to your daughter, which he could never again claim for himself. The once-dreaded presence had become a ghostly observer, unable to interfere but ever-present in the periphery of your life.
Raphael’s decision, though cloaked in his usual bravado, was driven by a complex mix of feelings. The thought of another man being a father figure to your daughter stirred a pain he struggled to admit even to himself. Yet, by ensuring your ex’s permanent removal from your lives, Raphael had also managed to secure his own place in your family, albeit in a way you would never fully comprehend.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Oof this was a big one, I have been binge watching dexter which definitely inspired this. I hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox
If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x
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.
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note: so sorry if this was shit fr, i just wanted to explore writing horror elements heheheheeh
you cannot tell me this isn't just Vi's life as. Whole 😭😭😭bby girl went through so much this reminds me of herrrr what I feel like she deserves to say out loud
barges through the wall like the kool-aid man
Buy Sevika flowers.
Please. Please she probably never received a beautiful bouquet before and I desperately yearn for soft hours with Sevika
SHE SO DESERVES FLOWERS I AGREE I AGREE
i will take good care of you
content warning(s): none
"and all the quiet nights you bear seal them up with care no one needs to know they're there for i will hold them for you."
~~~
** set post canon, Councilor!Sevika x reader. because oh my god i cannot accept that she’s all alone in there **
~~~
You stand in the doorway. Sevika hasn’t seen you yet.
She is at her desk, the way she is every night. The desk of rich Noxian wood, inlaid with swirling patterns of gold. The desk came with the apartment, which came with the seat at the Council, which came with a new kind of fight that you had to watch Sevika go through day after day.
The battles were won, the losses counted, the blood spilled and cities destroyed and rebuilt. Ambessa was dead. Hextech destroyed. The sister cities were forced to reconcile in the face of the realization that they had come very, very close to the end of the world.
Piltover is quiet at night. Nothing like the undercity, where you would hear fights breaking out on the streets every hour of the day, drunks wailing from filthy doorsteps, dogs howling in the alleyways. No; Piltover was like a slumbering golden beast.
And your Sevika, the new leader of the underdogs, the voice of the city the two of you had grown up in—the city that never slept. If Piltover was the idle lion, Zaun was the hungry wolf. You see the hunger still in your wife’s eyes. You see how she charges into every debate, every argument at the Council Table the same way she charged into battle years ago. Every reform, every proposal she makes, is met with a near unanimous opposition. A mandate that would have taken half a day to pass from a Piltover Counselor took weeks when it came from the Zaunite Counselor.
Sevika has hung up the arm Jinx had made for her on the wall behind her desk, and it gleams in the lamplight like a trophy. Still she hasn’t noticed you—she is poring over the files on her desk, the endless paperwork awaiting her every night seeming to have no end.
You want to take her in your hands tenderly, you want to crush the burdens she carries into an insignificant ball. You want to tell her to rest. But you've learned Sevika didn't like words that have no meaning: she cannot rest, and you and Sevika both know this.
So you show it through actions.
You walk up to her, standing behind her. She glances up briefly.
“How was the academy today?”
“Fine,” you say. “The pupils learn fast.”
“Hm.” She is preoccupied with the paperwork. You rest your hands on her shoulders and find them tight with tension. Your fingers knead her muscles, their strength making her groan involuntarily.
“You work too hard.”
She laughs dryly. Her prosthetic arm is off—the new one she bought from the Piltover mechanic, a simple and elegant arm of light gold, no weaponry assets. She’s still wearing the formal cape, and from where you’re standing she looks smaller and wearier than you remember.
“Come to bed,” you say, massaging the tension out of her neck. You feel her relax at your touch, the muscles softening beneath her warm skin.
“In a minute.”
“Not in a minute. Now.”
“You go ahead, baby.” She sighs. “I have to get this done.”
You never feel so helpless as in moments like these, when she seemed to be trapped between one duty and another, when it felt like the world expected your wife to be everywhere at once, doing everything at the same time.
You don’t know how to ease her load. There just seemed to be no end to it. You try to think of the last time you saw her smile, really smile, and find you can’t remember.
You look around her office. The walls are plain, devoid of paintings. Besides Jinx’s mechanical arm on the wall, there isn’t much to relieve the somber atmosphere.
“Sevika,” you say suddenly, “what are your favorite flowers?”
“Flowers?” she repeats in an absent tone, looking over a text on trade policy. “I don’t know. I don’t think much about flowers.”
A pause, and she looks up at you, as if surprised to see your question was serious.
“I remember picking moonflowers when I was small,” she says.
“Moonflowers?”
“Yeah, the pale blue ones that grew near the mines. The only things that could survive in that air. More weeds than anything.” She shrugs. “I remember picking one a day to give to my mom when she came back from work. She never threw them away, even after they wilted. Then one day she didn’t come home at all.”
You squeeze her shoulder. Her mother had died in a cave-in at the mines when she was young. You had lost your own parents to the same kind of accident.
Sevika looks at you, amusement in her eyes. “I don’t remember the last time we ever talked about something like flowers.”
~~~
The next day you ask your academy supervisor permission to take off work early. Since you have no afternoon classes anyway, the permission is granted. You walk briskly down to the marketplace and go into the florist’s shop.
When you ask the leopard vastaya man at the counter for a bouquet of moonflowers, he shakes his head. “Those are just weeds from the undercity. I don’t sell them in bouquets. You can buy a full bouquet including them as decoration.”
“I want only the moonflowers. You can take them out of every bouquet and gather them together, I’ll pay however much it costs.”
He looks at you as if you’re crazy, but he sets to work. You leave the shop fifteen minutes later with a bunch of moonflowers in gleaming wax paper tied with a ribbon. They are beautiful with notes of gray, and in flashes they hold the same color as Sevika’s eyes. They look like hope. They look like Zaun.
When Sevika comes home that night you present them to her with a tentative smile. All day you’ve angled them this way and that in her office, changing the vase twice to try to find the right look. You’re not sure if she would even like the gift, or if she would find it painful.
Sevika stares at you. “What’s this?”
“Moonflowers,” you say dumbly. Both of you can clearly see that. You can’t read her expression, and you start to feel nervous. “I just wanted…I wanted to make you feel lighter.”
Lighter. Happier. You want to give her the world. You want to give her the moon, the stars, the warmth of your very soul. You want to show her she is not alone in this fight.
Sevika takes the flowers and buries her nose in them, eyes closed. Then she looks up at you. “They’re beautiful,” she says, her voice husky.
Sevika sees her childhood in their petals. She sees the hope in the heart of the little girl inside her. She sees the wrinkles of her mother’s tired smile. She sees the bright eyes of young Zaunite children.
“Sevika,” you say, worried, “Sevika, are you crying?”
She wipes roughly at her eyes, giving you a smile as genuine as sunlight. “No, darling. Thank you.”
~~~
note: ah...this was meant to be fluff but it turned out angstier than i intended... i can still call it fluff if it involves flowers right...?
thank you @demothers-empty-blog for the req :)
“you’re a scary lady” suuuuure
→ 50 sevika headcanons (sfw) no nsfw
>> during intense cold weather / snow days sevika notices you’re cold and grabs your hand and slips it into her coat pocket for warmth
>> sev holds you by your waist to reach high above the shelves (even if you aren’t short, she just finds excuses to hold your waist)
>> takes lazy sundays serious & sleeps in till late
>> sevika ties your shoes for you in public, she’ll even let you place your shoe on her thighs / pants no matter how dirty the bottom of your shoe is
>> sevika sleeps with white noise, ac, and the tv on. she sleeps like a bear in hibernating
>> sevika snores in her sleep especially on nights she’s worked long hours or when she’s extremely tired
>> sevika loves to be the little spoon
>> sevika loves to be the big spoon as well!
>> sevika makes sure you have most of the blanket on your end. she will freeze to death to make sure you’re covered & warm
>> sevika hates to admit she loves watching cheesy romamce movies
>> after long day’s at work sevika loves to embrace you and burry her head into the nape of your neck and smell you
>> sevika is a waist grabber (ALWAYS!) in public and behind closed doors
>> jealous!sevika loves to grip / hold your thigh in public spaces
>> jealous!sevika prefers you light her cigarettes and sit on her lap when she plays poker
>> jealous!sevika hates seeing men try to flirt with you in front of her and decides to hold your waist / push you closer towards her cups your face and leans for a deep passionate kiss without room for you to catch your breath
>> sev is the type to suck her teeth very loud, yawn, and grunts to display boredom in the failed attempt at men flirting with you
>> sev hates ending the conversation with you abruptly. no matter how bad the argument she still kisses your forhead and says she “loves you” before she walks out.
>> sevika hates when you drive yourself anywhere, she prefers escorting you places instead
>> sevika hates when you worry financial issues. she loves spending money on you and showering you with gifts
>> sevika buys you flowers every few weeks and admires how you take the time to trim them + display them in a vase for the apartment
>> sevika is a cat person. she can’t help herself from running by the nearest convenience store and buying food for a stray cat
>> sevika enjoys a shopping haul. mainly because she likes seeing you change in front of her so many time. soaking in your body and gorgeous curves.
>> sevika hates the summer. however, she enjoys colder climate, foggy weather, and rainy nights.
>> sev lets you do her skin care for her. she had no idea why it’s important, but loves to feel your soft hands on her face
>> when sev is away on long business trips she likes to write hand written letters to you, because it’s more sentimental
>> sevika’s loyalty goes beyond the relationship, she treats your friends and family with respect and kindness as well
>> she hates sweet coffee. black coffee 100%
>> sev likes to buy your lingerie & dresses. she picks the colors that flatter your skin tone the most.
>> she never makes you lift a finger. she opens doors for you, holds your hand walking down the steps, carry’s you on her back if your feet begin to hurt.
>> sev is an animal lover! she feeds all stray animals and considers to take up fostering as a side hobby but gets attached to the animals fast.
>> sevikacan’t find her glasses for 5hrs and calls you to ask if you’ve seen them. you ask her if she’s checked the top of her head and she hangs up from embarrassment
>> sev hates the doctor. she rather you give her first aid and touch her wounds instead of a stranger
>> she loves thrifting, record stores and antique shops that hold a lot of history
>> sevika loves helping at the foster care facility on weekends
>> she’s an awesome baby sitter and children are easily attached to her. they liked to climb her like a tree and she gives free piggyback rides
>> sev admires your smile. she hates seeing you upset, she’ll do anything to end the day with a smile on your face
>> sevika gets flustered when you call her boyfriend or husband!
>> she hates when people get your order wrong / forgot something. she’ll go back to make sure they get it correct the second time
>> sevika hates social media! she prefers talking face to face instead of texting. deep conversations is more genuine
>> sev doesn’t understand how texting works, but she enjoys sending a good mirror selfie of her biceps and abs at the most random times throughout the day (you get shy opening them in public)
>> for some reason sevika is instagram famous. she has 7k followers, but she only follows you and likes / comments your post ONLY
>> sevika hates when people flirt with her in front of you. she holds your hand and squeezes it tightly to remind everyone she’s taken by you. she hates when people make you feel invisible
>> although you and sevika aren’t married she treats you like her wife & calls you her wife 24/7. she doesn’t care if it’s not official yet!
>> she doesn’t understand the hype behind TikTok couple dances. she’s stiff as hell. she’ll make attempts only because it makes you happy
>> sevika take’s selfies like an old boomer. still throws up the peace sign and does the millennial pause before taking a video
>> sevika enjoys taking you baths. she’ll run to get a hot bath ready for when you come home to work. she loves making things easier for you and more romantic
>> sevika is the type to win you very BIG prizes and stuff animals at the carnival and make all the men their look 10x weaker
>> sevika loves to lay her head on your lap and give you puppy eyes. she loves when you give her kisses on the nape of her neck and run your hands through her hair till she gets all sleepy
>> sevika admires your cooking! licking the plate and all… probably inhaled dinner without room to breathe
>> sevika is a crash out when it comes to gaming. this is the 4th pc set up she purchased in one year because she keeps punching the screen
if you’re coming here from twitter, thank you so much for the love and support. if you’re new then I hope you enjoyed! plenty of post in the works.
Hii i love your works so muchh and I just wondered if you could do an Ambessa x reader (angst), where Ambessa was supposed to die from the black rose but it ended up being the reader. Thank youuu🫂💗
An Altruistic Act
Contains angst, death of reader
You knew the time would come, you did but never had the guts to really tell Ambessa.
You were married to her, step mother to Mel who seemed to despise you with all that was in her.
Whatever the case was, Ambessa's orders were clear, "Stay where you are, don't intervene, don't move," and so you did when you watched Caitlyn Kiramman initiating a fight with Ambessa, a move you would've normally said was foolish.
But you could sense something darker underlying, you didn't know what to do. Every cell in your body was yelling from you to intervene but you didn't want to let Ambessa down.
Then it happened.
Caitlyn’s quick reflexes severed Ambessa’s protection—her talisman, the one safeguarding her from magic.
The moment it was ripped away, the room seemed to still. A sinister force coiled in the air like a serpent ready to strike.
But you didn't want to let it. You couldnt.
Ambessa had to live, she couldn't die this way.
The next few events went in a total blur, you lunged in front of her is all you remembered. White hot pain shot through every single vein of your body, agony gripping you, threatening to eat you whole and then you landed on the ground with a thud.
All the air knocked out of you.
Vision blurring with tears from pain.
Absolutely everyone watching was petrified, transfixed wherever they were as they stared, trying to comprehend Ambessa's reaction only there was none.
The woman walked closer to your limp body, sinking down on her knees for once, cradling your head.
Ambessa tilted your head delicately as if afraid your head would come detached into her hands, "Why?" She questioned, she couldn't cry. She couldn't let herself.
"Ambessa," her word was a whisper on your lips, hand raising to cup the side of Ambessa's face. "I'd rather die, than live without you." Your thumb rubbed against her cheek in a soothing manner.
"But you were supposed to live," Ambessa said, voice almost strained with emotion but she wouldn't let her resolve crumble.
"So were you," you chuckled weakly but then your hand fell limp from her face, Ambessa grabbed your hand tightly in her own.
You could see from your peripheral vision— Caitlyn and Mel stood there, horrified by what just happened. Not only did they miss their shot at Ambessa, they shot someone else completely.
"Stay with me," Ambessa said although she knew it was of no use, pressing her forehead against yours with oh-so desperation as if it would magically cure everything.
"Ambessa, promise me," you said, dark edges creeping in your vision, "Promise me, you'll win this battle and every other one after this."
Ambessa nodded, "I promise," she said with so much emotion, no Noxian had ever heard her like this.
Ambessa felt you fading from her arms, golden eyes raising with pure rage to lock over Caitlyn and Mel.
Perhaps nobody had ever heard Ambessa being so vulnerable before but now? No one would ever hear that again.
There was nothing more to lose for Ambessa for they had taken away what kept her going at the worst times in her life.
You.
TOO FINE TO HATE!!
The only 6'9 senior citizen i want!!🥴🥵❤️
How do you think arcane characters would react to burn scars? I have them on the back of my thighs and thought I can't see them everyone who can says they cover most of my thighs and there dark
Your burn marks are a symbol of strength, not flaws. They tell a story of resilience, and that makes you uniquely beautiful. <3 please never feel otherwise.
Burn scars.
⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨୧
♡ ◞ includes: caitlyn, jayce, jinx, mel, viktor, vi, ekko
☆ ◞ summary: arcane characters reacting to your burn scars
△ ◞ warnings: gn! reader. A lot of sensitive topics like, burn marks , insecurities, self doubt, the way the reader got the scars are not mentioned, if anyone is uncomfortable in reading about scars or is triggered I suggest to please not read this
The evening was warm, the kind of night where the city hummed with quiet life outside the lab’s tall windows. Jayce sat on the floor of his apartment, leaning against the couch, his arms stretched out behind him as he watched you.
You were sitting on the edge of his bed, legs stretched in front of you, absentmindedly rubbing at your thigh.
The moment your fingers brushed over a particular spot, you flinched.
Jayce noticed immediately.
"You okay?" His voice was soft, careful. Not his usual booming confidence, but something gentler.
You hesitated. "Yeah, just..." Your fingers ghosted over the area again before you sighed. "Old scars."
His brows furrowed, eyes dropping to your legs. And that’s when he saw them.
Burn scars.
uneven marks stretching across the back of your thigh, the kind that told a story—one you clearly weren’t eager to share.
You shifted under his gaze, suddenly aware of his silence. "They’re not a big deal," you said quickly, a half-hearted attempt to brush it off. "I don’t even think about them most of the time."
Jayce didn’t look convinced.
"Can I?" He gestured slightly, not reaching out but offering the space for you to decide.
You hesitated.
Most people pretended not to notice them. Others stared without thinking, their curiosity poorly disguised. But Jayce... he was just waiting.
After a long moment, you nodded.
Carefully, he reached out, his fingers brushing over your skin—warm and deliberate. He didn’t recoil, didn’t wince, didn’t try to mask any reaction.
He just held you.
His thumb traced the edges of the scars with something close to reverence, his touch featherlight but grounding. "You know..." His voice was quieter now. "Scars aren’t something to hide."
You scoffed, a weak attempt at a laugh. "Easy for you to say. You don’t have—"
"I don’t," he admitted. "Not like these. But I know what it’s like to carry something from the past. And I know it doesn’t make you any less..." He swallowed, searching for the right words. "You."*
Your chest ached at the sincerity in his tone.
Slowly, his hand slipped down, intertwining his fingers with yours. "You don’t have to pretend they don’t exist," he murmured. "And you sure as hell don’t have to pretend they don’t bother you."
The knot in your throat tightened. You weren’t sure what to say—if you even could say anything. So instead, you squeezed his hand, letting the weight of his words settle between you.
Jayce squeezed back.
And in that moment, the scars didn’t feel quite as heavy.
------------------------------------------------
The warm glow of candlelight flickered against the silk-draped walls of Mel’s quarters, casting long shadows across the ornate furniture. A gentle breeze drifted in from the open balcony, carrying the scent of jasmine and the distant hum of Piltover’s nightlife.
You sat curled up on the velvet chaise lounge, legs draped over the side, basking in the rare quiet moment. Mel was beside you, her fingers tracing absent-minded patterns along your arm as she studied a painting she had been working on earlier.
"You’ve been quiet tonight," she observed, her voice smooth but laced with curiosity.
You hesitated before shrugging. "Just tired."
She hummed softly, setting aside her brush before shifting to face you fully. Her golden eyes roamed over you, perceptive as always, until they landed on where your pants had shifted slightly—just enough to expose the back of your thigh.
Her fingers stilled.
"Come here," she murmured, voice softer now.
You hesitated for a beat before sitting up, allowing her to gently tug you closer. With a delicate touch, she brushed the fabric further up, revealing the burn scars beneath.
You watched her expression carefully, waiting for the usual flicker of pity, the well-meaning reassurances you’d heard a hundred times before.
But Mel Medarda did not deal in empty sentiments.
Her eyes traced the scars slowly, as if committing every detail to memory. "These..." she started, her fingers ghosting lightly over the uneven skin. "They remind me of gold leafing."*
You blinked. "Gold leafing?"
"Mhm." She tilted her head, her braids shifting over her shoulder. "In my homeland, when something is broken, it is often mended with gold—highlighting the cracks instead of hiding them. It is meant to show resilience. Beauty in imperfection."
Your throat tightened slightly. "I don’t think most people would call these beautiful."*
Mel’s fingers curled under your chin, tilting your gaze to hers. "Most people lack vision."
The weight of her words settled between you, unspoken but understood.
Then, her lips brushed against the scarred skin—slow, deliberate, reverent.
A shiver ran through you at the intimacy of it, the way her breath warmed your skin, the way her fingers trailed up your thigh with featherlight precision. She placed another kiss, then another, until the tension in your shoulders melted under her touch.
"You are art," she whispered against your skin. "Even in the places you try to hide."
A shaky breath left your lips, but for once, you didn’t pull away.
For once, you let yourself believe her.
------------------------------------------------
The lab was quiet except for the steady scratching of Viktor’s pen against paper and the occasional hum of machinery. You were seated on the workbench across from him, stretching your legs out absentmindedly after a long day.
It had been a particularly warm evening, and in the comfort of the empty lab, you had rolled up your pants slightly to cool off. You hadn’t even realized that in doing so, you had exposed a part of your thigh—until Viktor’s gaze flickered over, and he stilled.
His pen halted mid-word. His golden eyes lingered, brows furrowing slightly.
"You are injured?" His voice was quiet, yet laced with something unreadable.
You blinked, following his line of sight before quickly tugging your pant leg back down. "No, it’s just... scars," you muttered, suddenly feeling hyper-aware of his stare. "Old ones."
Viktor didn’t look away. "May I see?"
You hesitated. Not because you didn’t trust him, but because most people either avoided acknowledging the scars altogether or gave you the same well-meaning but rehearsed reassurances.
But Viktor wasn’t most people.
With a quiet breath, you slowly rolled the fabric back up, revealing the uneven burn scars across the back of your thigh. You didn’t look at him—didn’t want to see whatever expression he might be wearing.
Seconds passed in silence.
Then, the gentle scrape of his chair as he moved closer.
Viktor didn’t reach out immediately. Instead, he observed them carefully, like he was reading something important—tracing the pattern with his eyes as if piecing together a puzzle only he could solve.
"Scars are... interesting things," he murmured, voice softer now. "They are proof of endurance. Evidence that pain was felt, yet you remained."
You swallowed thickly. "That’s one way to put it."
His gaze lifted to yours, and for the first time, you caught something in his expression—understanding.
Slowly, Viktor shifted, rolling up the fabric over his own leg. The scars along his knee and shin were different—ones born of overuse, surgeries, the toll of time—but they were scars nonetheless.
"People see these and assume they know my story," he said, tilting his leg slightly. "They assume pity is required. That weakness is present." His golden eyes flickered back to you. "But we are not weak, are we?"
Something tightened in your chest. "No," you said softly. "We’re not."
Viktor studied you for a moment longer before, carefully, he reached out. His fingers hovered over your thigh—giving you space to pull away.
You didn’t.
His touch was light, barely there, but warm nonetheless. "Your scars do not lessen you," he murmured. "They do not take away from who you are. They are merely a part of your story. And if anyone tells you otherwise..." He huffed a small breath, a ghost of amusement in his voice. "Well, they are simply not as intelligent as I am."
A small, breathy laugh left your lips despite yourself. "Oh? And what makes you so sure of that?*"
Viktor smirked faintly, withdrawing his hand only to tap lightly at his temple. "Genius, remember?"
You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest lingered.
And for the first time in a long time, the scars didn’t feel like something to hide.
------------------------------------------------
It had been a long day of patrolling the streets, and Caitlyn had returned to her estate looking exhausted. The moment she stepped through the door, she was greeted by the warmth of the fireplace and the soft hum of the house’s familiar sounds. It felt like a reprieve from the intensity of the day.
You were already curled up on the couch, a book in your hands, though your mind was elsewhere. Caitlyn’s presence always brought a sense of calm, but today, there was an unease you couldn’t shake.
As Caitlyn removed her coat and began to relax, she noticed you glancing at your legs, the slight fidgeting of your hand around the hem of your pants. She’d learned to read you like a book, noticing the smallest shifts in your behavior. Something was off, but she wasn’t sure what.
She walked over to you, gently resting a hand on your shoulder, her voice calm but insistent. "What’s going on, darling?"
You hesitated for a moment before you replied, your voice quieter than usual. "It's nothing, just... been thinking."
Caitlyn’s eyes softened, but she didn’t push. Instead, she perched herself on the armrest, her gaze never leaving yours. "About what?"
You sighed, feeling the weight of her gaze press on you. It was a warmth that made it hard to hide things from her. Slowly, you moved to pull your pants up slightly, revealing the scars on your thigh—old, deep burn marks that you had long since grown used to but never really let anyone see.
Caitlyn’s breath hitched, and her hand instinctively reached for yours, her thumb brushing gently across your knuckles. "You’ve never mentioned these before..."
You swallowed, not wanting to look at her, but you couldn’t help it. "They’re just scars, Cait. They don’t mean anything."
She tilted her head, clearly not convinced. "I don’t believe that for a second." Her voice softened, and she slowly knelt down beside you, her fingers brushing the skin around the scars with tenderness, her touch barely grazing you as if you were something fragile. "Scars tell stories, but they don’t define you. Not to me."
You felt your breath catch in your throat. It wasn’t the first time Caitlyn had said something so reassuring, but it was the first time it felt like she truly meant it. The quiet compassion in her voice was enough to make you feel vulnerable in a way you weren’t prepared for.
"You don’t have to hide them," Caitlyn continued, her gaze meeting yours with gentle intensity. "You don’t have to hide anything from me, ever."
Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you quickly blinked them away, not wanting to seem weak. But Caitlyn, ever perceptive, noticed the shift in you. With a soft sigh, she wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace.
"You don’t have to carry the weight of this alone," she murmured against your hair. "I’m here, always."
You allowed yourself to lean into her, the warmth of her embrace easing the tension in your chest. The touch of her fingers against the scars felt like a promise, a silent vow that no matter what had happened before, no matter how you felt about those marks on your skin, Caitlyn would always see you for who you were—not for the pain you’d been through, but for the person you had become.
"I’ll always be here," Caitlyn whispered again, her voice low and steady. "And I love you, scars and all."
You didn’t reply with words. Instead, you let yourself melt into her arms, the comfort of her presence washing over you. For the first time in a long while, the scars on your body didn’t feel like something to be hidden. With Caitlyn, they simply became another part of the story, and it was a story you were no longer afraid to share.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
The rain had finally stopped, leaving behind the smell of damp concrete and rust in the air. Vi kicked off her boots as she stepped into your shared apartment, shaking the water from her hair with a tired groan.
"That was a hell of a patrol," she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck before flashing you a lopsided grin. "Miss me?"
You looked up from the couch, giving her a small smile. "Always."
Vi plopped down beside you, tossing an arm over your shoulder with easy affection. "What’s up, sweetheart? You’ve been quiet."
You hesitated, shifting slightly, but Vi felt the tension immediately. She leaned back, studying your face, and her playful grin softened.
"Talk to me," she coaxed, voice dipping into something more gentle. "Something’s on your mind."
You sighed, glancing away. "It’s stupid."
Vi gave you a pointed look. "Babe, you know I don’t do ‘stupid’ when it comes to you. Spill it."
You hesitated before slowly rolling up the hem of your shorts, exposing the burn scars on the back of your thigh. You felt Vi go still beside you. Her usual warmth, her teasing nature, all of it quieted in an instant.
You braced yourself for some kind of pitying response, for words you didn’t want to hear. Instead, Vi’s fingers brushed over your skin—rough, calloused hands moving with the gentlest touch.
"How long have you had these?" she asked, her voice unreadable.
"For a while," you admitted. "I just… don’t really show them to people."
Vi was quiet for a long moment, her fingers tracing the edges of the scars, slow and deliberate. You could feel her exhale against your shoulder before she finally spoke.
"You know," she murmured, "scars tell me more about a person than their words ever could."
You huffed out a dry laugh. "Yeah? And what do these tell you?"
Vi smirked, but there was something softer behind it, something careful. "That you’re tough as hell. That you’ve been through shit and still came out standing."
You swallowed hard, something twisting deep in your chest. "I don’t always feel tough."
Vi shifted closer, pressing her forehead lightly against yours. "That’s ‘cause you don’t see yourself the way I do." Her hand curled around your thigh, grounding, steady. "But I see you. Every single part of you."*
Your breath hitched when she leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss over one of the scars. Then another. And another.
Your fingers curled into her shirt as she whispered, "You’re beautiful, scars and all."
---------------------------------------------------
Jinx was never good at staying still. Even now, as she lay sprawled across your lap, she fidgeted—twirling a wrench in one hand while her other absentmindedly traced shapes on your arm.
"You’re awfully quiet today, sugar," she mused, tilting her head up to peer at you. "Not planning to ditch me for some boring, normal life, are ya?"
You gave her a small smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. "Nah, just thinking."
Jinx flipped onto her stomach, resting her chin against your thigh. "Ugh, thinking’s overrated. What’s got you so—" Her words trailed off as her gaze flickered lower, landing on the burn scars on the back of your thigh.
For once, Jinx went completely still. No jokes, no teasing—just silence. You knew she’d seen them before in flashes, but you had never sat down and talked about them. And Jinx? She never pried.
Until now.
"Where’d ya get these?" Her voice wasn’t mocking, wasn’t playful. Just quiet.
You shrugged, trying to pull your leg away, but she caught your knee, holding you in place. "They don’t matter."
Jinx’s lips pressed into a thin line. "Kinda seem like they do, since you never let me see ‘em."*
You exhaled sharply, feeling uncomfortable under her gaze. "I just… don’t like how they look. It’s not a big deal, Jinx."*
"Uh, yeah it is."
She sat up abruptly, straddling your lap, and before you could react, she reached for a marker off the table. With an impish grin, she clicked it open and began doodling over your scars.
"What are you doing?" you asked, baffled.
"Making ‘em cooler," she replied, sticking her tongue out in concentration. "I mean, these could totally be lightning bolts—oh! Or flames. Hell, we could even add little skulls, make it look all badass, like, ‘yeah, I survived a hellstorm, what of it?’"
Despite yourself, you laughed. "Jinx—"
"Shh, shh, artistic genius at work," she interrupted, tapping your nose with the marker.
You shook your head, but you didn’t stop her. Her focus shifted as she ran a gloved hand down your thigh, fingertips barely grazing over the scarred skin.
Then, softer, she murmured, "Does it still hurt?"
Your chest tightened. "Not physically."
Jinx hummed, twirling the marker between her fingers. "Yeah… I get that."
For a second, there was nothing but the sound of the city outside. Then Jinx leaned down and pressed a kiss to one of the scars, quick but sincere.
"There. Now it’s magic. You’re stuck with me forever."
You rolled your eyes, but your heart felt lighter. "Is that how magic works?"
"Duh." She kissed another one, then another, grinning against your skin. "You’re mine, and I’m yours. No stupid scars change that."
You reached up, brushing her cheek. "You’re a menace, you know that?"
Jinx beamed. "And you love it."
And yeah. You did.
------------------------------------------------
The Firelights’ hideout was quieter than usual tonight. Most of the crew had already turned in, leaving just you and Ekko sitting on the worn-out couch, the soft hum of old music crackling from a beat-up radio.
Ekko had his legs stretched out, arms draped behind his head, watching you with that easygoing gaze of his. "You’ve been weird today," he finally said. "What’s up?"
You hesitated, fingers curling around the hem of your shorts. "It’s nothing."
Ekko arched a brow. "Right. And I’m Councilor Jayce Talis."
You huffed a laugh, but it quickly faded as you shifted uncomfortably, trying to keep your legs tucked beneath you. Unfortunately, Ekko was too damn observant for his own good. His eyes flickered downward, catching the movement—then landing on the burn scars on the back of your thigh.
His expression faltered. "Yo... what happened?"
"It’s nothing," you said quickly, shifting to pull your legs away, but Ekko reached out, stopping you with a hand on your knee.
"Nah. Don’t do that." His voice was gentle but firm. "You always let me ramble about my scars. What makes yours different?"
You swallowed hard, staring at the floor. "Because they’re ugly."
Ekko frowned. "Ugly?"
"Yeah." You exhaled sharply. "People stare. Whisper. It just… reminds me of shit I don’t wanna think about."
Ekko was quiet for a moment. Then, without warning, he shifted, adjusting his weight until he was kneeling in front of you, his hands braced on either side of your legs.
"Look at me," he said softly.
You hesitated before finally meeting his gaze. His eyes weren’t filled with pity. No forced reassurances. Just raw, quiet understanding.
"You know what I see when I look at you?" he murmured. "Somebody strong enough to still be here. Somebody who’s been through hell and didn’t let it break ‘em."
His fingers traced feather-light over the scars—not afraid to touch, but careful, like he was memorizing them. "You think these make you ugly? Nah. They just prove that you survived something meant to take you out. That’s powerful."
Your throat tightened. "I don’t always feel powerful."
Ekko huffed out a small smile, leaning in to press a slow, lingering kiss against one of the scars. "Then let me remind you."
Another kiss. And another. His lips were warm, grounding, a silent promise in every touch. You closed your eyes, exhaling as you let yourself lean into his presence.
"You’re still you," he murmured against your skin. "Scars don’t change that. They never will."
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I must apologize to all of you because of such a delay I have been dealing with alot lately and also last year of highschool so much Happening BUT PUSHING THROUGH please send requests tho! I LOVEEE em!