No Happy Ending For My Fav Lesbian But Still A 11/10
no happy ending for my fav lesbian but still a 11/10
wanna be yours — vi (league of legends) !
⟢ synopsis. in the gritty underbelly of zaun, you find yourself entangled in the life of a new pit fighter: vi, a hardened fighter who wears her pain like armour. as a medic working in the fighting pit, you are tasked with patching up her wounds after matches, and you realize that while you can heal vi’s injuries, you can’t mend the broken pieces of her heart that belong to someone else.
⟢ contains. afab!reader, arcane!vi, feminine characteristics, angst, lesbians, lots and lots of longing, kinda enemies to lovers (but worse), nsfw, fingering, 17+ kinda explicit.
⟢ word count. 15.2k+
⟢ authors note. i spent the last few weeks working on this fic and i am really happy with how it turned out!! eek!! happy reading!! <3 :)
You’ve grown used to the sight of blood.
It streaks across the tiled floor in dark smears, trails on the edge of your workbench, and stains the tattered cloths shoved into the waste bin. The scent of copper lingers in the air, mingling with the faint tang of disinfectant.
You’ve made it work, though. You have to.
Your bench is lined with the tools: sutures, gauze, tape, and a half-empty bottle of antiseptic you’ve been meaning to replace. You keep it organized, and meticulous because chaos out there demands control in here. The pit fighters appreciate it, and you, in their own way. There’s always a pep in their step when they leave your little corner, heading to the bar with fresh bandages and a story to tell.
Some linger longer than they need to, chatting while you clean up. The regulars know your rhythm—when to crack a joke to ease the tension or when to stay quiet and let you focus. The brawlers come to trust you, and trust is hard to come by lately.
Maybe it was because you weren’t trying to punch the lights out of their eyes.
The room itself is far from perfect. Cramped, poorly lit, and barely adequate, it feels more like a storage closet someone forgot to clear out than a proper medical station. You’ve done what you can to make it your own. A few paintings hang crookedly on the walls—cheap prints, but bright enough to cut through the gloom. Candles flicker in the corners of your desk, casting a soft glow that doesn’t do much for the lighting but makes the space feel warmer, more welcoming.
The pit fighters notice. They never say much about it, but you catch the way they relax when they sit down, their shoulders loosening just slightly as the room wraps them in its quiet. It’s your small rebellion against the harshness of Zaun, a reminder that even here, there’s room for gentleness.
Sometimes they repay that gentleness in their own way—a drink after a fight, a nod of thanks, or a protective presence when the streets get dangerous, walking you home. You’ve been here long enough to know that loyalty is rare in Zaun, but somehow, you’ve earned it.
The fighting arena roars with life, the crowd’s cheers rumbling through the walls like distant thunder. Tonight’s fights have been loud—louder than usual. People running around with their coloured tickets based on who they were betting on. You glance at the clock.
There’s been a buzz all week about a newcomer, someone fresh and untested.
Vi, they call her.
Scrappy and wild, with a chip on her shoulder and fists to match. The kind of fighter who comes in all swagger and leaves in pieces.
You haven’t met her yet, but the bookies’ chatter alone has you bracing yourself. First fights are always the worst—too much pride, not enough sense.
The door rattles, hard enough to make the jars on your shelf tremble and you can hear muffled shouting from the other side.
It slams open, rattling on its hinges, but you don’t look up right away. Your focus is on threading a needle carefully through the gash along the side of Ryker’s jaw—a nasty wound from an earlier fight. Ryker’s been coming here for years, but never with complaints. He’s one of the good ones, fighting not just for himself but for his daughter, scraping by on the cash these matches earn him. He sits hunched over, still radiating the heat of adrenaline.
“Don’t fucking shove me,” a voice grumbles from the doorway. “Fuck off, Loris!”
Your attention shifts to the two figures stumbling into the room. One of them—a broad-shouldered man with a face like he’s eaten rocks for breakfast—could easily pass for one of the fighters. But it’s the girl he’s dragging by the arm that catches your eye.
She’s all jagged lines and sharp edges, her messy, dark pink hair sticking up in uneven tufts. Blood drips lazily from her nose, smudging against the back of her hand when she wipes at it, and her scowl is carved so deep it feels like her only expression.
“I don’t need a medic,” the girl—Vi, you hear the man mutter—snaps, yanking her arm free. “I need a drink.”
“Protocol,” He replies flatly, giving her a shove that nearly sends her sprawling.
Vi catches herself with a stumble, shooting him a glare before surveying the room with obvious disdain. Her gaze lands on you, and her lip curls faintly. “This it? Cozy,” she mutters, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
You ignore her, focusing on the final stitch on Ryker’s jaw. “You can take a seat,” you say evenly, nodding toward the empty couch by the far wall.
“No thanks,” Vi shoots back, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. She leans against the wall instead, glaring at nothing in particular.
“Too proud to sit down, blue belly?” Ryker mutters, casting a sharp glance from his seat. His voice is low, edged with a warning. “Or has the guilt of hunting your own finally caught up with you?”
“Ryker,” you say softly, your tone a quiet scold. The last thing you need is a fight breaking out here.
But his words make you look at Vi more closely. Her features are familiar, in a vague, nagging way. It clicks as you take in the hard set of her shoulders, the stubborn way she holds herself, and the bruises already blooming across her cheekbone. A new batch of enforcers had swept through Zaun a few weeks back, leaving havoc and clouds of Grey in their wake. They’d brought their brutality, painted their violence into the walls of the city, and then disappeared like ghosts, leaving Zaun more broken than before.
That’s how it usually went with them.
However, you had never heard of someone from the undercity becoming an Enforcer before.
Vi scoffs, slurring her words just slightly. “I don’t know—d’you wanna find out?”
You pause, needle halfway through a stitch, tension coiling tight in the air. “Don’t,” you warn softly, already sensing where this is headed.
Ryker shifts forward on the bench, his battered knuckles flexing. “You wanna go another round?”
Vi pushes off the wall, stepping closer. “You wanna lose again?” she challenges, her voice low and sharp.
“That’s enough,” you snap, moving quickly to step between them. Loris mirrors your movement, his larger frame serving as an immovable barrier.
“Sit. Down,” Loris growls at Vi, his glare enough to make her hesitate. With a huff, she leans back against the wall again, though her fists remain clenched in her jacket pockets.
You shake your head and turn back to Ryker, finishing the last stitch with practiced ease. “You’re done,” you tell him, rummaging through your cabinet and handing him a small bottle of pain meds. “Keep it clean, change the bandage twice a day, and stay out of trouble—for your sake and your daughter’s.”
Ryker stands slowly, still throwing a glare Vi’s way. But his expression softens when he looks at you. “Thanks,” when he says your name, his voice is warmer than before. “You’re too good for this place.”
You offer him a faint smile. “Take care, Ryker.”
He leaves, brushing past Vi with a grunt, and the room feels quieter—tense but quieter. You turn your attention to the newcomer, who’s leaning against the wall, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp, tracking your every movement.
“Alright,” you say, already washing your hands and gathering fresh supplies. “Your turn.”
Vi doesn’t move from the wall. “I’m fine,” she insists, “patch up the ones who actually need it.”
Your gaze flicks over her—the bloody nose that’s started to run again, the gash seeping through her sleeve, and the raw swelling on her knuckles. “Sit,” you say, your voice firm.
She doesn’t budge.
You meet her gaze, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably long, a quiet standoff neither of you seems willing to break. Your fingers tap once against the counter, but your glare doesn’t waver. You won’t repeat yourself.
Loris, the man who dragged her in, steps forward with a roll of his eyes, giving her a nudge with his elbow. “Sit down, Vi.”
She winces at the pressure on her back, her bravado faltering for just a split second. With a low grumble, she finally drops onto the bench, slouching with exaggerated indifference, her arms crossing tight over her chest.
You grab a clipboard and step closer. She watches you like you’re some kind of nuisance.
“Name?” you ask, clicking your pen.
“Vi,” she mutters, her eyes fixed on the far wall.
“Vi what?”
“Just Vi.”
You suppress a sigh. “What’s your full name?”
“I said, just Vi.”
There’s an edge to her tone, enough to make you glance up. Her jaw is set, her expression daring you to press the issue. You don’t. Instead, you scrawl it down and move on. “Fine. Age?”
“Old enough to fight.”
Your pen stills mid-note, the corners of your mouth tightening as you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Of course, you are,” you say dryly, setting the clipboard aside with a little more force than necessary. “Alright, let’s start with the obvious,” you say, gesturing at her face. “Your nose is bleeding. Tilt your head back.”
Vi’s brow arches like you’ve just said something funny. “I said, I’m fine.”
“And I said, tilt your head back,” you reply, your voice steady but no less firm.
Her gaze sharpens, a flicker of defiance lighting in her eyes, but she tilts her head back with a dramatic huff. “Happy?”
You ignore her tone, stepping closer to inspect the injury. The faint scent of sweat and iron lingers between you, and for a moment, you notice the heat of her skin where your gloved fingers gently tilt her chin.
“Doesn’t feel broken,” you mutter, reaching for a clean cloth to dab away the blood. She flinches as the fabric touches her skin, her muscles twitching under your fingers. “Relax,” you say softly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” she mutters.
Your hand falters, just briefly. There’s a weight to her words, a sharpness you weren’t expecting, but you push past it. “Well, I mean it,” you reply quietly.
Her silence stretches as you work, less hostile but no less charged. The closer you look, the more details you notice: the faint scars lining her skin, the inked letters etched into her cheekbone, the edge of a tattoo just barely visible beneath her collar, and the faint shine of her silver nose ring.
“Jacket off,” you say, gesturing to the gash on her arm.
Her gaze snaps to yours, wary and sharp. “Why?”
You give her a flat look. “Because I can’t stitch it through fabric.”
For a second, she doesn’t move, her body tensing as if bracing for something. Then, with a muttered curse, she shrugs out of her jacket, tossing it onto the bench beside her.
Her arms are a mess—old fighting hand wraps soaked with blood and dirt wrapped tightly around her forearms. You offer to replace them, but she cuts you off. “I’ll do it myself.”
You let it go, focusing instead on cleaning the fresh wound. Her muscles tense every time you touch her, but she doesn’t flinch again. “You can relax, you know,” you say, trying to sound light. “I’m just trying to help.”
Vi lets out a bitter snort. “You’re not the first to say that.”
You pause, but you don’t press. She’s lashing out on you. That’s the most you can make of it.
The silence stretches again as you stitch the wound, her eyes watching you closely, unreadable. When you finally glance up, your movements stilling, she shrugs.
“What?” you ask, unable to help yourself.
“Nothing,” she says, leaning back.
You hold her gaze for a beat longer before shaking your head and returning to your work, wrapping the freshly stitched wound with clean bandages. She stays quiet, watching until the silence becomes heavy again.
Then, without warning, she speaks, her voice quieter but cutting. “You know, you’re wasting your time on these people. Half of them wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”
The words hit like a punch, sharper than anything she’s said before. You freeze mid-motion, your fingers hovering over the bandage as you process her bluntness. Slowly, deliberately, you resume wrapping her arm, tucking the end of the bandage into place with more care than you think she deserves at that moment.
“Good thing I don’t do this for their gratitude,” you reply evenly, though the edge in your voice betrays a flicker of irritation. You’re trying not to let it get to you.
She’s new. Clearly, she’s fighting off some kind of pent-up frustration. She must have anger issues or something. You wonder how many hits Ryker got on her before she knocked him out.
Her chuckle is low and humourless, more of a scoff than anything else. “Right.”
You hope he got a solid six or seven punches in.
You step back, peeling off your gloves with a deliberate snap. There’s a moment where you consider saying something more, but you swallow the impulse. Professionalism, you remind yourself.
“You’re all set,” you say curtly, gathering up the soiled supplies. “I’d suggest taking tomorrow off. You know, to let the wound heal before you go back out there.”
Vi grabs her jacket, standing in a single fluid motion. She doesn’t look at you when she replies, her tone casual but dismissive. “I’ll live.”
You wish Ryker had broken her nose.
You shake your head, already turning back to tidy your workstation, unwilling to watch her saunter out.
Loris, standing by the door, offers you a small, almost apologetic smile. “Thanks,” he says, his voice warmer than hers ever was.
You manage a smile back, but it’s shallow, worn. The door swings shut behind them, leaving you alone in the cramped room. The exasperation settles in like a weight, not heavy but persistent.
For a moment, you stand there in silence, staring at the supplies on your counter. You shake your head again, this time at yourself.
What the fuck is her problem?
You know you shouldn’t be surprised when Vi stumbles into the medic room again the very next day. The fights at Antis’s brawling ring are infamous for their relentless schedule, especially on weekends when the bets come pouring in before sundown. It’s barely dusk now, but the underground buzz is already unmistakable—the muffled cheers and jeers vibrating through the walls.
Vi comes alone this time—or at least she leaves Loris waiting outside the door. You catch a brief glimpse of him through the crack in the door, leaning against the wall with a drink at his lips, shaking his head like this is just another day for him.
The door slams shut as Vi shoulders her way in, her boots heavy against the floor. She’s holding one hand against her face, blood dripping sluggishly through her fingers and trailing down her arm.
You have to bite back a smile at the sight.
She’s ditched her jacket, and the sleeveless collared top she’s wearing looks like it’s seen more fights than she has—worn thin, patched up in places, and stained with a lifetime of blood and sweat. Her hand wraps are shredded and still filthy, hanging loosely around her forearms. The gash on her arm has reopened, the stitches torn apart as if they were never there to begin with.
You take all of this in within seconds, and something tightens in your chest—a mix of frustration and satisfaction. “You can’t fight back-to-back nights,” you say, your voice sharper than intended as you grab your gloves and a fresh set of supplies.
Vi grunts, brushing past you to sit on the bench. “I can do what I want,” she snaps, her words muffled by her hand still pressed to her face. Her defiance is unshaken, but the tremble in her shoulders gives her away. She’s hurting.
Now you start to feel bad. But just a little bit.
You’ve seen this before—new fighters crashing into the medic room with the same mix of bruised pride and bloodied skin. They fight like there’s no tomorrow, each punch is thrown carrying something more than just adrenaline. Some fight for money, some for escape, and others just because they don’t know how to stop. There’s always a reason. You can’t help but wonder what—or who—Vi is fighting for.
With a quiet exhale, you turn to the counter and grab your supplies. The clatter of tools fills the silence as you steel yourself for the inevitable pushback. “Let me guess,” you say, glancing over your shoulder at her. “Antis needed someone to keep the bets high, and you couldn’t say no.”
Vi drops her hand from her face, and for the first time, you see the full extent of the damage. A deep bruise blooms across the bridge of her nose, nearly swollen shut in one eye, while blood smears across her mouth and drips down her jaw.
She glares at you through the mess, her voice sharp. “It’s none of your business.”
“No,” you admit, stepping closer and gesturing for her to tilt her head back. “But I’m the one who has to patch you up. So humour me.”
She scoffs but tilts her head back, letting you inspect the damage. Up close, the bruise looks worse—angry and dark, already spreading across her pale skin. Her nose isn’t broken (unfortunately), but it’s close, and the blood smeared across her upper lip makes her look like it’s been bitten off. You grab a clean cloth and start wiping the blood away. Your movements are brisk but careful, and she winces slightly as you press the cloth to her skin. Still, she doesn’t pull away, just sits there stiff and unyielding.
“You’re going to tear open the stitches every time you fight like this,” you mutter, reaching for the antiseptic. “You’ve gotta take it easy. I know how these guys fight out there—”
“I don’t need your pity,” she cuts in, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.
“Not pity,” you reply, keeping your tone even. “Just words of advice.”
“I don’t need that either,” she snaps, her jaw tightening as you dab antiseptic on the wound. “Just patch me up so I can go. I’m only here because Antis won’t clear me for my pay otherwise.”
“Yeah, it’s protocol,” you say, capping the bottle and setting it down beside you.
“It’s stupid.”
“It was my idea.”
Her head jerks slightly, her eyes flicking toward you for a beat. There’s something almost vulnerable in her expression before she quickly looks away. She doesn’t answer right away, her gaze fixed firmly on the far wall. When she finally speaks, her voice is quieter, almost bitter. “...Still stupid.”
You smile faintly as you reach for fresh bandages. “Yeah, well, stupid or not, it’s keeping people alive. Even stubborn ones like you.”
Stubborn is definitely a nicer word than what you really want to say.
She doesn’t respond, and the silence stretches between you as you unwrap the old bandage around her arm. Her fingers twitch against her thigh, like she’s itching to leave, but she stays seated, her posture rigid. You can’t tell if it’s pride or exhaustion keeping her there—or maybe both.
For the rest of the session, Vi is quieter than usual. Her sharp retorts are replaced by a heavy silence that seems to weigh down the air in the room. Outside, the muffled roars of the crowd echo through the thin walls.
As you work to clean and re-stitch her arm, you glance at her every so often, noting the way her jaw tightens and her fingers tap restlessly against her thigh. It’s like she’s bracing for a blow that might never come, her body constantly coiled, ready to spring.
You take a step back, pulling off your gloves with a snap. “You’re good to go,” you say, your voice softer now. “But you need rest.”
She snorts, grabbing her jacket off the bench without looking at you. “Can’t rest. I’m on a winning streak.”
You arch a brow. “You’ve only been here two days. I wouldn’t count that as a streak.”
“Don’t really care what you think.”
“You should. You’re sleep-deprived, by the way. Your eyes barely focus. Get more sleep. And you need to drink more water.”
Vi huffs a dry, sarcastic laugh, “Sure, doc. Whatever you say.”
You want to argue, but she’s already out the door, leaving behind only the faint scent of iron and the lingering weight of words left unsaid. Loris nods at you through the open door as she stalks past him, his gaze flicking back to you briefly.
The door swings shut behind them, leaving you alone with the distant hum of the crowd and the bloodstained bench. For a long moment, you just stand there, staring at the scraps of torn bandages scattered on the floor, the mess she left behind.
It’s not long after that you learn her name is Violet.
The knowledge of it nearly makes you laugh.
Violets. You’ve never actually seen them, but a friend of yours, a painter, once gifted you a piece featuring soft, delicate purple blooms. It hangs over your bedside table, a rare touch of beauty in an otherwise bleak city. You like to imagine those flowers are violets, though you’re not entirely sure. Flowers aren’t exactly a common sight in Zaun.
The irony of her name strikes you every time you think about it. Violet. There’s nothing soft or delicate about her—not the way she fights, nor the way she speaks to you.
She didn’t tell you her name herself, of course. That would require her to speak more than three sentences in your direction, which feels like an impossible feat. No, funnily enough, it was Loris who let it slip, though you suspect he knew exactly what he was doing. It wasn’t much of a ‘slip’ rather than straight-up telling you her name.
It happened a night at a bar near your work. You’d gone with some friends, seeking a much-needed reprieve. The bartender, a friend of yours, had slipped you a couple of free drinks, and in a haze of warmth and exhaustion, you noticed Loris at the bar. He looked out of place, all gruffness and silence amid the lively chatter, so you invited him to join your table.
Several drinks in, your curiosity got the better of you. You leaned closer to him, your voice barely cutting through the music and chatter as you asked him about his pink-haired friend.
Loris wasn’t much of a talker, you realized. He’d spur out a few words or two, maybe a grunt or nod.
Loris made a face, his usual stoic front slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of amusement. He leaned in, his breath heavy with the scent of cheap beer, and gave a rare grin. “Sleeping,” he said simply, before adding, almost as an afterthought, “Her name’s Violet, by the way.”
Violet. You didn’t expect that, and it must’ve shown on your face because Loris chuckled softly.
It doesn’t take long for her name to start climbing the ranks at Antis’s. Fighters and spectators alike talk about her with equal parts fear and admiration. “Antis’s money-maker,” they call her, and it’s not hard to see why. When word spread about the unbeatable pink-haired girl, business began booming. Crowds flooded in, the promise of blood and spectacle drawing them like moths to a flame.
At first, she was just another new fighter, opening matches against scrappy, overconfident rookies. But that changed quickly. Within weeks, she was headlining brawls, her name alone enough to pack the stands. She didn’t just win—she dominated, often taking on two, three, even four opponents in a single night. And you? You kept count. You had to.
She tore through supplies faster than you could restock them. Bandages, antiseptics, meds—all of it consumed at an alarming rate. You’ve patched her up more times than you can count. But what stands out most isn’t just the state of her after a fight—it’s what she leaves behind.
Her opponents don’t come to you for minor injuries. No, they stumble in half-broken, their faces smashed and unrecognizable. Each night growing worse for wear. She fights with a ruthlessness you’ve rarely seen, a fury that feels almost personal. You can’t help but wonder what drives her. Is she trying to make a point?
She’s changing, turning into something the crowd craves. Her old, worn clothes have been replaced—black jeans, already ripped at the knees, and a sleeveless black tank that clings to her frame. She’s losing pieces of herself, or maybe just hiding them.
You still can't believe that there's a girl named Violet out there beating the shit out of people for money.
One day, you accidentally walk into her in Antis’s office. You’re here to drop off some invoices for medical supplies, your mind preoccupied with balancing the clinic’s dwindling stock against the rising demand. But when you open the door, you find Vi and Antis inside, deep in conversation.
Antis looks up first, his sharp eyes narrowing at your intrusion. “You’re early,” he grunts, though there’s no real annoyance in his tone. If anything, he seems amused. “Perfect timing. We were just talking about her look. What do you think?”
Vi shifts uncomfortably, her arms crossed over her chest. She doesn’t meet your gaze, her expression unreadable. You glance between them, caught off guard. “Her… look?”
Antis gestures to Vi with a sweep of his hand, his grin wolfish. “Yeah. Gotta sell the whole package, y’know? The crowd loves her, but they’ll eat up a good aesthetic, too. We’re thinking something that screams ‘unbeatable.’ Right, Vi?”
Vi’s jaw tightens, and for a brief moment, you think she might snap at Antis. But she doesn’t. Instead, her gaze flicks to you, like she’s waiting for something—your reaction, maybe, though you can’t figure out why it matters.
You clear your throat, hoping your voice doesn’t betray you. “She doesn’t need to change anything. She’s already pretty... unforgettable.”
Antis’s booming laugh fills the room, but you barely hear it. Your focus is locked on her. Something flickers in her eyes—a fleeting softness, vulnerability, gratitude, maybe?—before she schools her expression and looks away. You tell yourself it’s nothing, just a trick of the dim light.
A few days later, she shows up in the medic room again. But this time, it's different—she’s not limping in, not dripping with sweat or covered in bruises. She’s just there, standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a casual air that catches you off guard. Her knuckles brush the doorframe absentmindedly as if she’s unsure whether to knock or let herself in.
“Do you need something?” you ask, glancing up from where you’re restocking the shelves. “Are you hurt?”
She shrugs, pushing off the door and stepping inside. “No, just… it’s quiet in here.”
Your brows knit together. Quiet?
She didn’t seem like the kind of person to seek out quiet, especially not in a place like this. “You came all the way here because it’s quiet?”
“Yeah,” she says simply, her tone flat, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. She grabs the chair from your desk, spins it around, and sits backward on it, resting her arms over the backrest. “Problem?”
“No... it’s just…” You trail off, unsure how to articulate the strangeness of it. Instead, you turn back to organizing supplies, aware of her eyes on you. “Never mind.”
These visits became more frequent whenever she didn’t fight. And she even stays back for a bit after you patch her up. Sometimes she speaks, but more often than not, she doesn’t—simply sitting in that chair, letting the distant noise of the arena, the cheers and shouts, fade into the background. She’ll stare at the walls or absentmindedly tap her fingers against the chair’s edge, lost in thought, but there’s a serenity about her, an unfamiliar stillness that you start to recognize.
She never tells you what brings her in—if something is weighing on her mind or if it’s just a need to escape the chaos. And you don’t ask. Instead, you begin to anticipate her visits, a strange comfort taking root in the space between you.
The conversations are sparse, but you begin to notice the small things: the way her body relaxes when she settles into the old couch, the weight lifting from her shoulders as she stretches out, the way she’ll let herself drift off into a light sleep. It’s almost like you’re giving her a moment of rest she didn’t know she needed.
Vi strides in, her steps heavier than usual, and tosses a small, overstuffed bag of coins onto your desk. You recognize it immediately—one of the payout sacks Antis gives to the fighters, filled with their share of the betting pool. This one looks heavier than most, jingling with an unmistakable weight as it lands right on top of your paperwork. You pause, your pen hovering midair, and stare at it.
Her grin spreads as she catches the look on your face—wide-eyed and mildly incredulous. “Don’t worry, it’s not for you,” she teases, her tone light and mocking.
You roll your eyes, setting the pen down with an exaggerated sigh. “This from your fight last night?”
Vi nods, her grin twisting into something sharper, a little more wicked. “Some of my best work,” she replies, her voice carrying the faintest edge of pride.
You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow as your gaze sharpens on her face. “I don’t know,” you counter dryly. “He broke your nose, and the whole side of your face is swollen. Doesn’t sound like your best to me.”
Standing up, you step closer, brows knitting together in concern as you get a better look at the mess of bruises she’s sporting. Without thinking, your hands lift, reaching toward her face to assess the damage.
Vi flinches. It’s quick, almost imperceptible, but enough to make you hesitate. Your hands hover in the air, faltering. “Sorry,” you murmur, your voice soft.
She coughs awkwardly, shifting her weight. “No, uh—no. It’s fine,” she says, a little too fast.
This time, when you move again, she doesn’t flinch. She lets you gently brush your fingers over the swollen, splotchy skin along her cheekbone and jaw, and you feel the heat radiating off the inflamed area. Your touch is careful, clinical, but you can’t help wincing at the sight. “You’re kidding yourself if you call this your best work, Vi” you mutter. “Did you even ice this like I told you?”
Her eyes roll so hard you’re almost worried she’ll sprain something. She grabs your wrist—not roughly, but enough to lower your hand—and shrugs. “You should’ve seen the other guy.”
You give her a deadpan look. “I did.”
Her smirk returns, a little more genuine now, though she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she sits on the edge of your desk and starts digging absently through the bag of coins, her fingers brushing over the shiny hexes and cogs. She doesn’t pull anything out, just lets her hand linger there.
“I brought you food,” she says suddenly, her voice casual.
You blink, momentarily thrown. “Food?”
She lifts a greasy paper bag into your line of sight, and you realize you hadn’t even noticed it when she walked in. “Yeah, you know. The stuff you eat when you’re hungry.”
“Okay, asshole,” you mutter, but the corner of your mouth quirks up despite yourself.
She shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Got it for Loris and I, but he’s, uh… busy. Doing... someone else.” Her tone is flat, like she couldn’t care less, but there’s a flicker of something there—an edge of amusement, maybe. “So, more for us.”
You watch her for a second. You like to think that you can see right through her sometimes, that you can read her, but as usual, she’s an enigma. There’s something in the way she said us that makes your chest feel a little lighter, but you don’t let it show. “Thanks,” you say simply.
“Well, don’t get used to it,” she shoots back. There is kindness she tries to hide, though it’s written all over her expression.
She settles onto the old medical bench, pulling out boxes of food from the bag. You wince internally at the sight, thinking about the number of people who’ve bled, puked, and worse on that very bench. Just hours ago, Vi had been sitting there herself, nose snapped out of place, grinning through bloody teeth and swollen lips and teary eyes. Now, she’s perched there like it’s nothing, tearing into her meal with that same reckless ease she carries into every fight.
“Is this where I’m supposed to remind you how unsanitary this is?”
She shrugs mid-bite, unbothered.
You don’t bother arguing. Instead, you take the box she pushes toward you and settle in. The two of you eat in silence.
The days begin to blur into one another as Vi’s visits grow more casual. At first, you barely tolerated her—a pit fighter like so many others, bruised and bloody and reckless, shuffling into your medic room with the same bravado they all wore like armour. But somewhere along the way, you start to realize you actually don’t hate her company.
And as Vi continues her rise with pit fighting, you realize you also like to take care of her afterwards, even if it is your job or not. Each fight ends quicker than the last, her victories coming faster and fiercer. With every knockout, her confidence blooms—bold, intoxicating.
You’ve always been able to tell why people fight. Some thrive on the violence, seeking it out like a drug, their eyes lit with a manic fire that never seems to dim. Others do it out of desperation: to keep a roof overhead, food on the table, some semblance of stability in their lives.
At first, you were certain Vi belonged in the first category. The way she took punches, how she barely flinched when you patched her up—she didn’t just endure the pain. She absorbed it. Relished it. She wore her scars like trophies, and it almost seemed like she was chasing something more with every bruise and break.
But then you started noticing other things. How her clothes, once old and frayed, began to look newer. The leather jacket she bought just last week, the new earrings glinting against her skin, the sturdy boots she’s traded her worn ones for. Loris mentioned she moved out of his apartment recently and got her own place, though most of her money seemed to go toward booze.
You realize that fighting for Vi isn’t just about survival or enjoyment. It’s an outlet—a way to lose herself in the chaos and the violence, to drown out whatever it is she doesn’t want to face.
One night, you do something you’ve never done before: you buy a ticket to one of her fights. You’ve seen enough carnage in the medic’s room to last a lifetime, but something about Vi pulls you in, like gravity. The crowd is as raucous as ever—cheers, boos, the metallic clang of Antis’s bell marking the start and end of each match. You don’t join in the noise. You just watch, feeling out of place among the spectators who are here for the bloodlust.
And then Vi steps into the ring.
It’s the first time you’ve seen her fight, and it’s nothing like you imagined. You’d seen the aftermath—the blood, the bruises, the broken bones—but witnessing her in action is something else entirely. She’s skilled, fast, brutally efficient, her punches calculated yet devastating.
The man she’s up against is nearly twice her size, but it doesn’t matter. She ducks under his swing with ease, her fist connecting with his jaw in a single, bone-crunching motion that sends him sprawling. The fight is over in less than a minute, and the crowd roars its approval.
Your eyes linger on her, unable to look away. Her back is to you, sweat gleaming on her exposed skin, highlighting the intricate tattoo that snakes across her shoulders. When she turns, she seems to know exactly where you are, her gaze locking onto yours even in the chaos of the crowd.
Your breath catches. The rise and fall of her chest, the bead of sweat tracing down her neck, the raw, undeniable power in her every movement—it’s overwhelming.
Something stirs deep inside you, hot and wanting.
You leave before her second fight starts, slipping through the crowd and into the tunnels. The line waiting for you in the medic room feels endless, yet the blur of bruised faces and bloody wounds can’t distract you. Vi’s image lingers—sweat on her skin, her breath heavy after the fight, and the way her eyes found yours in the crowd.
You never bring it up, and Vi doesn’t either.
But something changes.
That night, as you treat her wounds again, it feels different. She’s quieter than usual, her usual cocky smile missing. You notice how her eyes linger on your hands as you work, following the glide of your fingers over her skin.
Your gloves feel thinner tonight, or maybe it’s just your imagination. You’re hyperaware of every small movement—how her skin feels warm under your touch, the sharp contrast of the calluses on her knuckles against your palm when you steady her hand to examine it.
She doesn’t flinch when you press a damp cloth to the gash on her temple. Normally, she’d tease you, mutter something about your bedside manner, or complain about the sting even though the both of you know she can take it. Instead, she just watches you, her gaze unwavering.
It’s almost unbearable.
Sweat, blood, and alcohol. That is what she smells like. Thick and hanging on your tongue like smog.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” you finally say, your voice softer than you intended.
Vi’s lips quirk, but it’s a faint ghost of her usual grin. “Just tired, I guess.”
It’s a lie, and you both know it.
You focus on cleaning the cut, trying to steady your hand. But her closeness throws you off. She’s sitting on the edge of the cot, her knees brushing against your thighs whenever she shifts. The room feels smaller.
“Almost done,” you murmur, though it feels like you’re saying it more to yourself than her.
Vi tilts her head slightly, giving you better access, and the movement draws your attention to the curve of her jaw. There’s a bead of sweat lingering there, catching the dim light, and you have to force yourself to look away.
“Take your time,” she says.
Your fingers pause for just a second before you continue cleaning the wound. Her words hang in the air, charged and heavy, and you wonder if she knows how they’ve started to affect you. You reach for the bandages, your hands brushing against her skin again. Her breath hitches—just barely—but it’s enough for you to notice.
“There,” you say, pulling back slightly. “Done.”
But your hands linger for a moment too long, your fingers still ghosting over her cheek. You’re not sure if it’s you or her that doesn’t pull away first.
Vi’s eyes are on you again, darker now, and the air between you crackles with something unspoken. You don’t know if it’s the proximity, the adrenaline still lingering from her fight, or the way her lips part slightly like she’s about to say something—but you can’t take it anymore.
“I should clean up,” you say abruptly, turning away to gather the used bandages and cloths.
For a moment, she doesn’t move, and you think she might say something to stop you. But then you hear the rustle of her leather jacket as she stands, the creak of the cot as her weight leaves it.
“Thanks,” she says.
You glance over your shoulder, just in time to see her slip through the door. She doesn’t look back.
Her visits dwindle after that night. Fewer and fewer until she stops coming altogether. She starts fighting nights back to back, ignoring protocol and refusing to see you after each one.
You try to shake it off.
To ignore it until you can't.
And then you visit her one day.
It’s not in the medic room or the fighting ring. It’s at her door, and it’s jarring, her address scribbled on a small piece of paper that Loris gave you.
You can’t tell if Antis is pushing Vi to fight more or if Vi willingly puts herself through it every day. She is always in rotation, more so than any other fighter. It’s gotten to the point where people are betting on how long Vi could remain undefeated.
You hate how you immediately perk up when her door opens.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, her voice low and guarded.
Her hair is black, dripping wet and staining her pale shoulders with inky streaks. The change startles you, but what’s more disarming is the sight of her like this—stripped-down, raw. Bandages are wrapped haphazardly around her chest, serving as an impromptu shirt. Her arms, usually hidden beneath gauze and gloves, are bare, revealing the countless scars that crisscross her skin. You can kind of see where her tattoos start and end. You think they’re beautiful.
You open your mouth, but the words don’t come. Why are you here? For some reason, you hadn’t thought much about it before knocking. Now, standing here in her doorway, it feels like a mistake.
You’re not really friends.
“Uh,” you stammer, fumbling for an answer. Your gaze keeps straying to her hair, the stark black making it look longer, heavier. The pigment stains her hairline, dripping in uneven streaks along her temple. You notice how the damp strands cling to her neck, how the water pools in the hollow of her collarbone. It feels intrusive to look, but you can’t help it.
She’s staring at you, her shock quickly shifting to irritation. “You gonna stand there all day, or what?”
“I—your hair,” you blurt out. “It’s… different.”
She scoffs, brushing past you as if you’re not worth the effort of a proper reply. The door swings open wider, an unspoken invitation—or maybe just a lack of concern if you follow. You hesitate, then step inside.
Her apartment is small and dim, almost claustrophobic. The air is stale and thick with a faint tang of alcohol. The small bed in the corner is unmade, the sheets rumpled and half-pushed onto the floor. A punching bag hangs in the center of the room, its surface worn and cracked from overuse. There’s a stack of clothes shoved into the corner, and a few empty bottles litter the floor near the bed.
But it’s the quiet that hits you the hardest. It’s so different from the loud, chaotic energy she carries at the ring or the silence in the medic room. Here, everything feels muted, almost sad.
“You dye it yourself?” you ask, trying to fill the awkward silence as she settles onto the edge of the bed.
She glances at you, the bottle in her hand tipping slightly. “Yeah.”
“Antis didn’t make you do it?”
Vi snorts a small, humourless sound. “No. He suggested green.”
You try to picture her with green hair and fail. “Why black?”
“Needed a change,” she says simply, taking a swig from the bottle. The way she winces as she swallows tells you it’s not her first drink tonight. “Why are you here?”
The bluntness of the question knocks you off balance. For a moment, you forget. Then the weight of the box in your hands reminds you. “Oh, uh, I brought you some new hand wrappings. I saw them at the store and thought you could use them since yours are... shit. Yours are shit.”
Her eyes snap up to yours, something unreadable flickering in them before she looks away. “Thanks.”
“It’s no problem,” you reply, though your voice feels stiff and awkward. You shift your weight, unsure whether to stay or leave. Her gaze returns to you, steady but unreadable, and you feel the strange urge to say something—something meaningful.
“You... you okay, Vi?” you ask softly, not even sure why the words come out. You immediately want to take it back.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
You look at her, really look at her. Not in the way you do at work, but right now, as a friend(?), guest(?) in her space. The dark circles under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders, the way she grips the bottle of cheap beer as if it’s the only thing keeping her upright. She looks… tired. Beaten down, in a way you’ve never seen before.
“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice quieter now, careful. “I guess you just… you haven’t come by in a while. It looks like you need a good patch up again, no? Don’t worry, I won’t charge.”
The words sound too casual, too light like you’re trying to make a joke—and you are, but you can see the way her face stiffens after you say it. The faint bruises on her face, the bandages on her arms and hands, they’re a clear sign of how badly she’s been pushing herself—she’s been taking supplies from you without checking in, and you’ve noticed. You know she hasn’t gotten her pay yet. You haven’t had the chance to clear her for it since she stopped coming by after fights. It’s a faint sore spot between you both, an unspoken thing she won’t acknowledge, but you know she’s not getting the care she needs.
For a moment, her face hardens, and you wonder if you’ve crossed a line, if she’s going to snap at you. Instead, she just stares at you, her jaw tight, her eyes narrowing like she’s trying to figure out what your angle is.
You feel her gaze like a weight pressing down on you, making your skin itch.
Then, she exhales slowly, the tension in her posture easing just a fraction.
“I’m fine,” she says finally, though the words lack conviction. She shifts, setting the bottle down on the floor. “You done?”
You’re about to say something else—maybe ask again, maybe push for more—but then you realize it’s not your place. You step back, suddenly feeling like an intruder. “Yeah.”
You place the box of hand wraps on the counter, but your hands feel clumsy as you do. You want to say something more, something comforting, but the words stick in your throat. “Good luck tonight, Vi.”
She doesn’t respond right away. You turn to leave, your feet dragging slightly, unsure if you should even be leaving at all. It feels like there’s something more to say.
Just as you reach the door, her voice stops you. It’s softer than you expect, quieter, almost hesitant.
“Thanks.”
As you walk down the hallway, the ache in your chest lingers, a nebulous knot of worry, pity, and something else you can’t quite pin down. It tightens with each step, and you wonder, not for the first time, what weight Vi carries with her—and why it feels like it’s starting to settle on you too.
You shake it off, reminding yourself that you're not working this weekend. A rare luxury. Vi doesn’t need to know, and honestly, you doubt she’d even care. If anything, she’d probably be glad to be rid of you for a few more days.
That’s what you tell yourself.
The next time you’re sitting in your cramped little medical room, fussing over how some of the things on your desk are now out of place, the door creaks open just a sliver. You pause, mid-motion, and glance at the shadow shifting on the other side. When whoever it is spots you, the door swings wide with an almost violent energy, smacking against the wall behind it.
“Hey,” Vi stumbles inside, the loud thud of her boots and the echoing cheers from the fighting pit outside spilling into the room with her.
You stand abruptly, the chair scraping back against the floor as you take her in. “Vi?”
It takes you a second to recognize her. The black hair throws you off again, though the pink is already creeping back into the ends, the dye washing out like it’s given up trying to keep up with her. Paint smears her face—thick streaks running from her eyes down to her chin like some warped battle mask. She’s gripping a large bottle in one hand, cradling it as if it’s precious, her knuckles stained red.
Her smirk is crooked, her words slurred. “Won’t believe it,” she drawls, letting herself fall unceremoniously onto the old, battered couch in the corner. The springs squeak loudly in protest, and she almost knocks over one of your carefully hung paintings. “Hey.”
You frown, stepping closer. “Are you drunk?”
Her smirk widens, playful and defiant. “No.”
“No?”
“I just won,” she says, like that explains everything. “Again. Beat that big guy—metal jaw. You know the one. Knocked it clean off.”
She’s grinning like she just told a funny joke, but you don’t laugh. Fighters don’t go into the pit drunk, at least not that you’ve ever seen. They also don’t win, which is why Antis is strict about that; drunk fighters are bad fighters, and bad don’t bring in any money—he’ll kick anyone out who even smells like shimmer, let alone someone stumbling around with a bottle of booze.
You move closer cautiously, studying her.
She sits up straighter as you approach, her hair falling messily across her face. You catch a glint of her blue eyes through the strands—sharp, even with the haze of alcohol dulling the rest of her. Her gaze flickers down to her bloodied knuckles, and so does yours—red seeps through the white of her hand wraps, staining them in uneven patches.
She murmurs something, but it’s too soft to catch.
“What?”
“You weren’t here.”
Her words surprise you.
“Yeah,” you say, unsure how else to respond.
“Four days.”
“I know.”
“Why not?”
You hesitate, caught between wanting to downplay your absence and knowing she’ll see through it. “I’ve been busy. I have a life outside this place, you know that, right?”
“Right,” she mutters, though there’s something bitter in the way she says it.
She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her fingers gripping the bottle loosely. She stares ahead, her face unreadable, and for a moment, the room feels impossibly quiet despite the muffled roar of the crowd outside. You’re counting the seconds until someone from the pit shows up looking worse for wear, but she just sits there, unmoving.
Finally, she speaks. “Loris and I are going out for drinks at the bar next door.”
“More of them?”
She scoffs, but there’s a faint smile playing on her lips. “Fuck off. I was gonna invite you.”
“You want me there?”
“Sure,” she shrugs, leaning back against the couch. “Since you and Loris are so close.”
You roll your eyes, grabbing a plastic bag and filling it with ice. “Oh, yeah. Best friends. I thought you knew.”
She grins at that, her expression lazy but amused as you press the makeshift ice pack to her cheek. She winces, hissing under her breath, but doesn’t pull away. The familiarity of the moment settles between you, a rhythm you hadn’t realized you missed. You didn’t know how much you liked being around her, with all her flaws and quirks, until it was gone.
When she stands to leave, there’s a lightness to her movements. She pauses at the door, glancing back over her shoulder.
“But you’re coming, right?” she asks, her voice softer, less guarded.
You nod, tugging absently at the rings on your fingers. “Yeah. I’ll stop by after I finish up here.”
Her smile catches you off guard. It’s not the smirk or grin you’re used to—it’s warmer, something you’ve never seen before. “Good.”
And then she’s gone, leaving you alone in the stillness of the room. The ache in your chest hasn’t gone away, but it feels different now, lighter somehow, settling into the pit of your stomach like a flutter of butterflies.
You can’t wipe the smile off your face even if you tried.
Your night stretches on, each task blending into the next. Stitches to pull, bruises to ice, concussions to monitor. This is your rhythm—calm, focused, efficient. You don’t dwell on the blood staining your gloves or the bruised faces looking back at you. Usually, there’s a detachment, a quiet understanding between you and the fighters. You help them, and they leave.
But tonight feels different. The weight of the work presses a little heavier, the hours crawling by as the thought of Vi’s smile keeps replaying in your head. You remind yourself to focus, to get through the line of battered fighters who rely on you, but every second drags, making your usual rhythm feel offbeat.
It’s not just Vi’s smile—it’s the invitation, her softer tone, the way she paused at the door like your answer mattered more than usual. You don’t let yourself overthink it, but you do catch yourself checking the time more often than you’d like.
When the last fighter leaves, mumbling a tired thank-you, you exhale in relief. The medic room is quiet now, the faint smell of antiseptic lingering in the air. You pack your supplies, stuffing gloves, gauze, and a few stray pins into your cabinets. The bathroom across the hall catches your eye as you pass, and for once, you pause.
The bathroom is dimly lit, the bulb above buzzing faintly as it flickers. The mirror is cracked in one corner, the surface smudged and grimy, but it still reflects more of you than you’re ready to see. Your sleeves are stained, and your hands are scrubbed raw but not clean enough. The uneven greenish light only makes you look worse, casting harsh shadows on your face.
You roll your sleeves up and run water into the sink, trying to scrub the splotches from your clothes. The water’s cold and your hands ache from the effort, but it feels worth it—like a small chance to put your best self forward. You straighten your shirt, brush off your jacket, and fix your hair as best as you can.
It’s not enough.
It’ll never be enough for a bar full of fighters, let alone for her. You think about going home to change, but it’s already late, and the idea of missing her is ridiculously unbearable.
Clutching your jacket tightly, you step into the downpour outside. The rain pelts against your skin, soaking through your boots as you jog the few steps to the bar. The hum of voices reaches you before the neon glow of the sign above the door does.
Inside, the place is alive.
Most of the crowd from the arena spills into the corners of the bar, still riding the high of the night’s fights. Tables are crammed with victorious fighters and their friends and sponsors, their voices rising above the heavy bassline of a song playing in the background. The air is thick with the smell of sweat, beer, and the faint tang of spilled liquor.
The dim lighting casts a warm, golden hue over the room, softening the rough edges of the crowd. People laugh, shout, and toast to victories. Some are already slumped over the bar, lost in exhaustion or celebration.
Your eyes scan the room, searching for her. Instead, you spot Loris first—his brick-like frame standing out even among the chaos. He’s leaning casually against the bar, arms crossed, but his face lights up when he sees you.
He waves you over, and you weave through the crowd, dodging dancing bodies and familiar faces who call out greetings as you pass. Your heart beats faster, a mix of nerves and anticipation, as you approach.
“You made it,” Loris says, his grin wide and genuine.
You huff, brushing a damp strand of hair out of your face, but you can’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “Hi.”
Loris gives you a nod, his usual gruffness softened just a bit for you. He calls the bartender over, jerking his chin toward you to signal it’s your turn to order.
You glance at the menu briefly, though you already know what you want. After placing your order, the two of you settle into a quiet rhythm. Loris doesn’t seem like the type to fill silence for the sake of it, and you don’t mind. There’s a strange comfort in his presence.
You find yourself scanning the crowd without thinking, your eyes searching for pink hair at first, a flash of brightness that would stand out even in a place like this. Then you remember her hair is black now. Your eyes adjust, searching instead for the sleek leather of her jacket or the familiar glint of its spikes catching the dim, shifting light.
The bartender sets your drink down in front of you with a solid thud, breaking your focus. Your heart skips a beat, and you reach for the glass more out of reflex than thirst. The cool edge of it presses against your palm, grounding you.
“Happy you’re here.”
Loris’s voice cuts through the noise, low but steady. You look up at him, caught off guard. His eyes remain fixed on his drink, but there’s a weight to his words that makes your chest tighten.
“Maybe it’ll keep Vi from doing something stupid,” he adds after a beat, his tone rough but not unkind.
Your eyebrows knit together as you bring your glass to your lips. The liquor burns on the way down, but it’s nothing compared to the unease settling in your stomach. “What do you mean?”
Loris hesitates, his fingers drumming against the counter as he considers his words. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, almost reluctant. “She gets into fights sometimes.”
Your stomach sinks further. “Here?”
“Only happened twice,” he says quickly like it’s supposed to make you feel better.
“Oh.” You set your drink down, your fingers lingering on the glass. “Why?”
Loris exhales through his nose, his shoulders shifting as if the question itself is a burden. “Dunno. She won’t talk about it.”
You blink, caught off guard. “She doesn’t seem…” You trail off, unsure how to finish that sentence.
“Like a drunk?” he finishes for you. “She’s good at hiding it, most of the time. But she’s been drinking more. Gets worse when she’s stressed.”
You bite your lip, your fingers tightening around your glass. “Stressed about what? Fighting?”
He shakes his head, never answering. “She’s stubborn as shit, you know that. But something’s been eating at her, and I don’t think she knows how to deal with it.”
The words hang between you as the clamour of the bar continues around you. You glance down at your drink, the amber liquid catching the dim light, and take another sip. It doesn’t burn as much this time, but it doesn’t settle the knot in your stomach, either.
“I can keep an eye on her,” you say quietly, more to yourself than Loris. “She’s not supposed to be in the pit intoxicated anyway.”
He nods, a faint hint of gratitude flickering in his eyes. “She’s lucky to have you.”
The comment catches you off guard, and you look at him sharply, but he’s already turning back to his drink. You swallow, your cheeks warming for reasons that have nothing to do with the alcohol.
You look away.
And then you spot her.
Vi pushes her way through the crowd, a storm parting the sea of bodies on the dance floor. Her scowl deepens as she brushes off someone’s outstretched hand, her movements sharp, purposeful. The smudged paint on her cheeks—likely streaked from the rain—gives her the appearance of someone worn down by more than just the weather. Faint lines trace across her face like tears.
Your eyes trail to her arms, bare and flexing slightly as she adjusts the leather jacket slung over her shoulder. The spikes catch the dim, flashing lights of the bar, their edges softened by the haze of the room. In her other hand, she grips a glass of something amber and strong.
Your heart jumps, and you realize you’ve been staring when her gaze lifts to you. For a moment, she pauses in her tracks and just looks at you, her eyes scanning your face as if confirming you’re really here. Then, she grins—a slow, crooked thing that tugs at her lips and sends your pulse hammering in your chest.
The smile is lazy but unmistakably pleased.
She changes course, heading straight for you.
She doesn’t look drunk—not like before—but the memory of her swaying slightly in your medic room comes rushing back. You don’t miss the way her drink is already nearly empty, or how smoothly she downs the last of it before setting the glass on the bar with a clink.
When she reaches you, the faint scent of rain and leather clings to her, mingling with the sharper tang of alcohol.
“Hey,” Vi says, your name rolling off her tongue in that low, slightly rough voice of hers, and she leans against the counter next to you.
“Hey,” you grin, trying to keep your voice light even as your pulse races and Loris laughs at you. “You seem surprised to see me.”
“Not surprised,” she replies quickly, her eyes flicking to yours and then away, her smirk faltering for just a second. “Just… glad.”
The simplicity of her words sends your thoughts scattering, but before you can respond, she tilts her head toward your glass. “What’re you drinking?”
You lift it slightly, letting the dim light catch the remaining liquid. Vi eyes it for a moment, nodding in approval. “Good choice. Finish it.”
You blink, “What?”
She nudges your elbow lightly, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Come on. You’re here to have fun, right? Finish your drink, and I’ll show you what that looks like.”
Her tone is playful, almost teasing, but there’s an edge of sincerity beneath it. You hesitate, then take a longer sip, her expectant gaze making it impossible not to comply. The drink burns a little less this time, and when you place the empty glass down, she’s already holding out her hand.
“Come with me,” she says, and it’s not really a question.
Her fingers are warm when they curl around yours, her grip firm and steady as she leads you toward the heart of the bar. The crowd thickens as you move closer to the dance floor, the music pounding louder with every step. The bass thrums through the floor, climbing up your legs and settling in your chest, and the swirl of bodies around you becomes a blur of movement and heat.
Vi doesn’t let go of your hand, even as she turns back to glance at you, a faint smile pulling at her lips. For the first time in a while, there’s a lightness in her expression, a spark of something you’ve missed seeing.
Her usual confidence is there, but it’s softened, almost shy. You follow her lead, feeling awkward at first, but her laugh—low and husky—eases some of your nerves.
The two of you move together amidst the shifting pulse of the dance floor, the heat of the crowd wrapping around you like a living thing. You’re acutely aware of every brush of her fingers against yours, the subtle way her body angles toward you as if she’s drawn to your orbit.
You’re staring at her, looking at the few freckles on her cheeks you can still see under the smudged paint, at the pink ends of her dark hair, at the way her leather jacket has found itself back on her shoulders, muscular arms hiding inside the sleeves.
You think you’re a little obsessed with her.
The question forms on your lips before you can stop it. “Why did you stop coming by?”
Your voice is soft, barely carrying over the music, but it’s enough. Her gaze sharpens as she hears you, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face.
“I like taking care of you, Vi.”
For a moment, she freezes. Then, almost imperceptibly, she steps closer. Her hand slides to your waist, the calluses on her fingers warm against the thin fabric of your clothes. She doesn’t answer—not with words. Instead, she tilts her head slightly, her thumb brushing against your jaw, coaxing you to look at her.
Her eyes search yours, hesitating just long enough for you to realize what’s about to happen. Her breath, warm and faintly tinged with alcohol, fans across your lips, and a shiver runs down your spine.
And then she kisses you.
It’s quick at first, almost testing the waters—a soft brush of her lips against yours that leaves your breath caught somewhere between your heart and throat.
You pull away from her, face burning, when you notice her eyes are still closed, only to flutter open questioningly. Bright, piercing blue meets yours, and for a moment, you see panic flare in her expression.
“Fuck,” she mutters, running a hand through her rain-damp hair. “Fuck, I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have—”
“No.” The word comes out instinctively, you cannot get rid of that stupid smile on your face. “No, don’t apologize.”
Your fingers find their way to the lapels of her jacket. Her face scrunches up, caught somewhere between hope and disbelief, but you’re not looking at her eyes anymore. You’re focused on her lips, on the faint scar cutting across the corner of her mouth.
You tug her closer.
You kiss her back.
She exhales sharply against your lips, the sound half a gasp, half a groan, as her hands come up to cradle your face and the nape of your neck. It’s as if something inside her has snapped, all her restraint slipping away as she pours herself into you.
The world around you dissolves—the music, the crowd, the cacophony of Zaun’s nightlife fading into a muted hum. It’s just her, her warmth and her touch, her breath mingling with yours as she holds you like you’re the only thing anchoring her to the moment.
Her lips move against yours with a fervour that borders on desperation, her hands mapping out the curve of your waist, the small of your back, your hips, and your ass with her eyes closed. She’s eager to have you close, to feel you.
You respond in kind, your hands sliding up her abs, your fingers tangling in her hair, tugging slightly as her groan vibrates against your mouth.
The sound she emits makes your head spin. Vi’s warmth is all-consuming. A tangle of heat and want that leaves you both breathless by the time she finally pulls back, her forehead resting against yours.
“I need to—” she starts, her voice hoarse and trembling. She glances around, as if suddenly aware of where you are. “Let’s go somewhere. Outside.”
She doesn’t wait for a response, her hand finding yours again as she guides you through the crowd. You barely register the shift in the air until you’re stepping into the rain-soaked streets of Zaun.
The alley she leads you into is dimly lit, the flicker of a neon sign casting faint, wavering light against the wet pavement. The rain is light but steady, cool droplets clinging to your skin as she turns to you, her chest rising and falling like she’s been running.
Her gaze is intense, unwavering, as she steps closer, crowding you against the brick wall. “You’re making me crazy,” she murmurs, her voice low and rough. Her hand cups your jaw, her thumb tracing a slow, deliberate path along your cheekbone.
“I could say the same,” you admit.
And then she’s kissing you again, this time with a fervour that leaves no room for hesitation.
It’s embarrassing how fast you tangle together after this, melding together into a pathetic heap out on the sidewalk for god and everyone in this podunk city to see. This time, you note with a ticklish glee settling in your stomach, your lips moving in tandem. They slit against each other with ease.
The rain seeps into your clothes, cold against your skin, but Vi’s touch is fire. Her hands are everywhere, rough and sure as they explore your body, pulling you closer, as if afraid you’ll slip away.
You thread your fingers through her hair, pulling her to you, matching her passion with your own softness. She groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, and you take the opportunity to deepen the kiss, your tongue brushing against hers in a slow, deliberate caress.
Her grip tightens on your hips, fingers digging into damp fabric as she presses you harder against the wall. The rain patters around you, mingling with the sound of your ragged breaths, the occasional distant noise of the bar fading into irrelevance. She parts your thighs with one of her own and places a steadying hand right next to your face. She takes you in, wholly and completely and you let her.
The rain beats down relentlessly, plastering your clothes to your skin, but you barely notice it. Not when Vi is kissing you like this—like she’s trying to consume you like she’s been starving for this. Her body is warm, her lips are hot, insistent, and messy against yours, her teeth occasionally graze your lower lip in a way that sends shocks through your entire body.
Breathy moans expel from your mouth in tandem with curses as her leg creates delicious friction against the lace of your underwear.
“Vi,” you manage, though it comes out as more of a broken whine, breathless and desperate.
Her name on your lips pulls a moan from her, low and guttural, and the sound is enough to make your knees weaken. You think you might collapse if she weren’t holding you so tightly.
Your head spins. You feel like you’re dissolving, every nerve alight as you lose yourself in her touch. Your lungs burn, screaming for air, but you can’t pull away. You don’t want to. Instead, you cling to her, fingers tugging in her hair.
It’s overwhelming—her heat, her strength, her desperation. She’s chaos and want, all Violet and nothing else, and you’re caught in her pull, like a leaf tossed about in a gale. It terrifies you, the way she consumes your thoughts, your senses. It feels like being set aflame, every kiss, every touch fanning the fire until you’re sure you’ll burn to ashes.
Her hands slide lower, shoving into the back pockets of your pants, and she grips you firmly, guiding your hips to rock against her. The movement is deliberate, slow at first, but the friction makes you whimper, a sound that seems to drive her further. Vi pulls you closer, dragging your body against hers in a way that makes you shudder.
Your breaths come in sharp, uneven gasps, each one punctuated by her low moans. You don’t think you’ve ever felt like this—untethered, your body moving on instinct as you grind down against her leg. Her hold on you tightens, fingers digging into you, her strength reminds you of all the noses she’s broken, all the wounds you had to tend to because of her. The thought makes you dizzy, makes you crave her more.
Vi’s hips roll up into you, meeting your movements with a messy rhythm that leaves you trembling. The heat pooling in your stomach builds steadily, like a fire that refuses to be sated, even under the torrent of rain.
You let your hands wander, sliding up the hard planes of her stomach, your fingers tracing the ridges of muscle through her soaked bandages. You’re struck by how solid she feels, how strong, and it makes your chest tighten with something you can’t quite name. When your palm presses lower, cupping her over her pants, she keens—a quiet, needy sound that has you aching to hear it again.
Oh, you want her to do that again, you’re going to make her do that again.
Her grip on your hips becomes almost bruising, her breath coming faster as she sighs into your mouth. “Fuck,” she mutters, the word a rough exhale that sends a shiver down your spine. And then, barely audible, she mumbles, “Cait.”
You falter, the word barely registering over the storm and your own pounding heartbeat. It’s unfamiliar and foreign, and it sticks in your mind like a splinter.
Her lips are on yours again, insistent and wild, her teeth catching your bottom lip as her hands slide up under your shirt. Her fingertips are warm despite the rain, leaving trails of fire along your skin as she pushes the wet fabric higher. You shudder under her touch, goosebumps rising in her wake, your body arching instinctively toward her.
Your mind is a tangle of emotions and half-formed thoughts. You’re hyper-aware of everything—of the rain soaking through your clothes, the way her breath mingles with yours, the quiet groans she can’t seem to hold back.
She moves with purpose, her lips finding the sensitive skin along your jaw, then lower, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. Each touch sends a fresh wave of heat through you, making it harder to think, to breathe.
Your fingers are clumsily slipping into her underwear and then you’re there, fingers brushing right against her clit—she’s so wet that your fingers brush right through her folds, gliding like silk.
“Vi,” you whisper again.
Her answering hum vibrates against your skin, and she pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. Her eyes are half-lidded, the blue of them dark and turbulent, like the sea during a storm.
You lean in, pressing your lips to the sensitive spot just below her jaw. It’s a place you know well, one you’ve touched countless times in the dim light of your medic’s room, dabbing at bruises and wiping away blood. Each time, she’d jerk away ever so slightly. Now, you press your lips there with the same precision, but the sense is wholly different.
She shifts beneath your touch, her breath hitching as your mouth moves deliberately along her neck. The breathy moans she leaves by your ear fuel you, spurring you on as you focus on the rhythm of her breathing, the way her body responds to you.
“Good,” she mutters, her voice rough and uneven. “Fuck, feels so good.”
Her hand moves beneath your shirt, her palm rough and calloused against the softness of your skin, digging under your bra. She cups your breast, her thumb brushing over your nipple, and the sensation sends a jolt through you, sharp and electric. Her other hand tangles in your hair, tugging just hard enough to make your scalp tingle.
It aches, but you’re smiling, even as the rain continues to pour, soaking through your clothes and plastering your hair to your face. You sneak a glance at her, and the sight nearly undoes you. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her dark lashes clumped together with rain and dark, smudged makeup against pale, bruised skin. Her lips are parted, searching for something—your lips, your skin, something to kiss.
You don’t make her wait. She bites at your neck, teeth grazing your skin, and you gasp, your hand instinctively moving to her hair. You tug, and the sound she makes—a guttural, desperate moan—sends heat pooling low in your stomach.
She mutters your name, her voice soft yet filled with a hunger that shakes you to your core. There’s a plea disguised in her tone, a silent plea to give her everything, to let her take all you have to offer.
And you will. You’ll give her everything. Your time, your care, your thoughts and prayers, every piece of yourself. Your leg, an arm, the air you breathe, and the food you make. You’d give her your heart, too, if only she’d take it.
Her body trembles against yours, her chest heaving as her breath comes in sharp, shallow bursts. You can’t tell if it’s from the cold rain seeping into your bones or from the way your fingers move against her. You trace light circles over her clit, teasing, testing, and the way she reacts—hips jerking, her hands clutching at you desperately—you think she wants your warmth, and you hope that is what she chases after.
When you slip a finger inside, she gasps, her voice breaking into soft, fractured sounds that make your chest ache. It takes a few tries, careful adjustments to find the spot that makes her fall apart, but when you do, it’s like a floodgate opens. Her moans grow louder, more desperate, her body tensing beneath your touch as she winds tighter, tighter—
“Cait…” The same name from before slips from her lips like a whisper at first, so faint you almost miss it.
Then she says it again, her voice catching on the syllable, and your world tilts.
“Cait… Cait…” she chants, the name tumbling from her lips in fervent prayer, each utterance cutting through the haze that had clouded your mind.
It tastes bitter. Bitter like the alcohol still lingering on her breath. Bitter like the realization sinking into your chest.
You freeze, suddenly sober.
Your hands falter, and Vi doesn’t seem to notice at first, still panting, still trembling, her forehead pressed against yours. The furrow in her brow deepens when you pull back, untangling yourself from her arms.
“What—? Why’d you stop?” Her voice is hoarse and confused, the desperation still thick in her tone.
“Who’s Cait?” The words leave your mouth before you can stop them.
“What?”
Vi blinks, her face a mask of confusion before her expression shifts. Guilt flashes in her eyes—raw and unguarded. It’s a look you’ve seen before, maybe once or twice.
“You keep calling me ‘Cait.’” You can’t meet her gaze as you say it. Your chest tightens, your throat burns, and suddenly, the space between the two of you feels suffocating.
You reach for her hand still under your shirt, running your thumb over her split knuckles. It’s a gesture that feels too tender now, and you pull her hand away from you, stepping aside to put distance between your bodies.
“I don’t know…” Your voice cracks as you say it, your mind grasping for anything to make sense of this moment.
“Shit. Shit.” Vi curses under her breath, running a hand through her wet hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I didn’t—Cait’s just… someone I used to know, alright?”
The rain pours harder, the chill sinking into your bones as you cross your arms tightly against your chest. You glance down the alley, to where the streetlights cast faint glows on the wet pavement. Anywhere but her face.
“Um… I think I need to go,” you mumble.
“You just got here.” Her voice is low and unsure, and it makes you stutter for a moment. She takes a step toward you, one hand lifting as though to touch you, but she freezes mid-motion, her fingers curling into a fist.
“I know.” You force the words out. “But it’s been a long day.” You take a step back, and then another.
“Please.” Her voice cracks on the word. “Don’t leave.”
You pause, your breath hitching at the desperation in her tone. It tugs at something in your chest, something that still wants to turn around, to reach for her and say everything is fine. But it’s not fine. Not anymore.
“Vi…” Her name feels raw on your tongue. “You’re drunk. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”
“No.” She cuts you off, the panic in her voice sharp enough to pierce through the rain. “No, don’t say that. I’m not drunk—”
“You are.”
Her words are rushed, and frantic, like she’s trying to convince herself as much as you. You shake your head, stepping back again, the cold of the brick wall scraping against your palm as you steady yourself.
“You’re clearly not in the right state of mind right now,” you say, your tone firmer this time. It feels like a lie, like a mask you’re slipping on to hide the crack forming in your resolve. “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright? Just… rest easy. You fight early tomorrow.”
She exhales sharply, a sound halfway between a sob and a growl, her hands clenching at her sides. “Fuck. Fuck!” The frustration explodes out of her as her fist slams into the brick wall beside her, the dull thud reverberating in the air.
The sound makes you flinch, your shoulders stiffening as you start walking away. Her voice chases after you, raw and broken, but you can’t bring yourself to turn back.
Your lips burn where her mouth had been, a phantom heat that refuses to fade despite the freezing rain. You wipe your hands against the damp fabric of your pants, but the scent of her lingers—smoke, leather, and something wholly hers. It clings to you like a ghost.
The sunlight catches you off guard the next morning. It filters in through the grimy window of the medic room, cutting golden beams through the usual haze of smog. The light feels almost intrusive, prying into the shadows you’ve grown accustomed to.
You glance at the old clock on the wall, your eyes heavy from lack of sleep. Last night replays in your mind like a broken record—Vi’s voice, raw and regretful, the taste of her still lingering on your lips, and that name, Cait, slipping like a shard of glass between your ribs.
Outside, the faint hum of Zaun waking up filters through the walls. Fighters pass by the door, their voices carrying muffled excitement or hushed murmurs about Vi’s loss.
“She’s never been this off her game,” someone says as they pass. “Wonder what’s eating her.”
You tighten your grip on the bandage roll in your hand, trying to ignore the way your stomach clenches.
The sunlight persists, illuminating every imperfection in the room—the cracks in the walls, the scuff marks on the floor, the faint stains on the counter. It’s the first time you’ve seen this much light down here, and yet it only seems to highlight everything you want to forget.
You try to focus on your work, lining up supplies that don’t need organizing, folding bandages that don’t need folding. You think about how Vi’s presence, chaotic as it was, had somehow made this job bearable. Her grins, her dry wit, the way she sat in that chair like it was her throne—it had all made this dim room feel a little less oppressive.
But today, the chair stays empty.
Word of her loss had swept through the Pit hours ago. Even the ones who bet against her—out of spite or fear—seemed shocked. You’d caught snippets of conversations, whispers about how Vi had gone down hard, how her opponent’s hit had landed with a sickening crack that echoed through the arena.
Ryker confirmed the details when he came in, his voice low as he described the sound her body made hitting the floor. The image had stuck with you, sharp and unrelenting, as you waited.
You expected her to show up the way she always did—bleeding but defiant, swaggering in with that cocky grin, already downplaying her injuries. But as the hours stretched into evening, the worry settled deeper.
Maybe she’d gone straight to the bar again, skipping protocol out of spite. You wanted to believe it, even if it wasn’t fair. If anyone had the right to be upset, it should be you.
You paced the cramped room, the sound of your boots scraping against the floor the only thing keeping you grounded. You told yourself you didn’t care—it wasn’t your job to chase after fighters who wouldn’t take care of themselves. But deep down, it stung.
The thought of her turning back to old habits—of her brushing you aside like you never mattered—settled in your chest like a bruise you couldn’t rub out.
And then the door creaks open.
Vi steps inside, her silhouette framed by the soft, golden light spilling through the window behind her. She hesitates in the doorway, a shadow of her usual self. Her confident swagger is gone, replaced by a tired, battered figure. The black paint streaked across her shoulders has smeared into her skin, blending with dried blood and sweat. Her leather jacket hangs heavily from her hands, and her makeshift top is damp, torn in places, and caked with dirt.
Her face tells the rest of the story. A swollen eye, a nose bent at an angle that makes you wince just looking at it, and a constellation of bruises across her cheekbone and jaw. Blood has dried in crusty patches along her hairline and temples, merging with the remnants of the black paint she hadn’t bothered to wash off.
She lingers there, gripping the edges of the doorframe like she’s bracing herself for rejection. You’re about to speak when her gaze finds yours, cutting through the silence like a knife.
“Hey,” she says, her voice scratchy and low.
You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, willing your tone to stay steady. “Took you long enough,” you say lightly, turning toward the counter to grab the salve and bandages.
When you glance back, the ghost of a smirk flickers on her lips, but it vanishes just as quickly. She steps further inside, lowering herself into the chair with a muted groan. There’s no quip this time, no offhand joke. She just sits there, shoulders sagging, staring at her bloodied hands like they belong to someone else.
You pull on your gloves, the snap of latex breaking the silence. “What happened?”
Her shrug is stiff, “Guess I wasn’t fast enough.”
There’s an edge to her voice, sharp and bitter. It’s self-directed, steeped in frustration, and it takes you by surprise. You soak a cloth in antiseptic and step closer, gently dabbing at a jagged cut above her eyebrow. She flinches but doesn’t pull away.
“Why didn’t you come sooner?” you ask, your tone soft but firm.
Her jaw tightens, and her hands curl into fists on her lap. “Didn’t think you’d want to see me.”
You pause mid-motion, your hand hovering just above her skin. Her words feel like a slap, and you’re not sure if the sting comes from the accusation. “I still like to take care of you,” you say quietly.
Vi scoffs, the sound is humourless and tired. “That’s your job.”
“Yeah, but,” you counter, meeting her gaze head-on. “I like doing it.”
The confession hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken between you. Her shoulders tense as she processes your words, her eyes darting away like she can’t bear to look at you.
You try to focus on cleaning her wounds, “You should’ve come earlier. You shouldn’t do this to yourself.”
“Why not? Seems to be what I’m good at.”
Her words strike a chord, a pang of hurt and anger swirling in your chest. You step back, giving her space as you set the cloth down. The sunlight streaming through the window catches on her hair, painting her in a halo of gold. She looks almost ethereal, and it breaks your heart, because you know she doesn’t see it.
“Vi…” You hesitate, unsure of what to say.
She looks up then, her eye searching your face. Her voice cracks when she speaks. “I don’t get it. I’m a jerk, right? Always have been to fucking everyone, even Loris and my sister and I... I mean, I’ve been a dick to you since day one. Why don’t you just… let me fuck myself up?”
“I’ve thought about it,” you admit, a hint of teasing laced in your voice. “But then I’d be a pretty shitty medic, wouldn’t I?”
Her lips twitch upward again, but it doesn’t quite stick. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice so quiet you almost miss it. “For everything.”
You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.
“I didn’t mean to…” She trails off, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
The sincerity in her voice twists the knife deeper, but it doesn’t change the truth. “It’s okay,” you manage.
“No, it’s not.” She finally looks at you, her blue eyes clouded with something you couldn’t quite place. Regret? Shame? “I… You deserve better than that. Better than me.”
Her words hit like a punch to the gut. You swallowed hard, forcing a small smile. “You’re being dramatic. I’m fine, really.”
Vi shook her head, leaning back against the chair. “You’re not. You’re just too good to say it.”
Her eyes flick up to meet yours, and for a moment, it feels like the world has stopped spinning. You can see the pain in her expression, the regret and the sorrow, but there’s something else, too—a longing that mirrors your own.
But it’s not enough.
You step back, and the distance between you feels like miles. “You should rest. I gotta fix your nose.”
Vi nods, leaning back in the chair. The sunlight catches on her bruises, highlighting every mark, every scar. She looks like a warrior, battle-worn and beautiful, and you know you’ll never forget this image of her.
As you work in silence, you can’t help but wonder what it would’ve been like if things were different—if whoever Cait was didn’t haunt her, if she could see you the way you see her.
But deep down, you know the answer.
She’ll never be yours.
But you’ll always be hers.
When you finish, Vi hesitates for a moment longer than you expect, her movements slow and deliberate, as though she doesn’t know where to go next or what to do. She stands, and the way her shoulders rise, like she’s summoning what’s left of her strength, makes your heart ache.
“Thanks,” she says.
“Of course. It’s what I’m here for.”
As the words leave you, they feel hollow. You want to reach for more, to say something else, to make her understand. You want to scream, to tell her that you could be enough for her if she’d just let you. You could make her believe that she’s worth more than the pain she’s carrying. But instead, all you do is smile. It’s soft, strained, and bittersweet.
She doesn’t meet your eye as she turns toward the door. You watch her move, each step deliberate, like she’s carrying an invisible weight. For a fleeting moment, it’s as if she’s pulling the room with her, dragging everything back into the shadows.
And then, she’s gone.
The door clicks softly behind her, leaving the room eerily silent. You sit back in your chair, the quiet pressing in around you like a heavy fog. The warmth from the light seems to linger, but it doesn’t reach you anymore.
You sit back in your chair, staring at the empty space. The room feels colder and quieter, and you realize that, no matter how much you wish otherwise, she’ll always carry pieces of someone else with her.
More Posts from Jannesyjane and Others
Monopoly | Sevika
⤑ Sevika x Hyper!fem reader
⤑ Summary: You were being extra flirty with your clients. Vika's stone glare icing every curved contour of your breasts spilling out of your v-neck,your hips, and your ass… you knew you were in massive shit.
⤑ Warnings: Language, Possessive!Sevika, Jealousy, Prostitute!Reader, Toxic Relationship, Ownership Kink, Smut (+18) mdni, Dark fic, Pleasure dom!Sevika, Thigh riding, Impact Play, Ownership kink, Hard Dom!Sevika, Sub!Reader, Dirty Talk, Needy!Reader, Masochistic !Reader, Sadist!Sevika
Yall remember that fight scene when Cait bit Sev… mhm, yeah…
She was pissed.
More than pissed if such a thing even existed.
"Aren't you overdoing it, just a tad?" When you look over at your co-worker, all you can see warring in her pale grey eyes is nothing but intense fear. Vika has that effect on people.
You try to disassociate.
You wage war with your own consciousness, pretending his hand was hers.
That's the only way you could get through these clients and their slithering hands drifting along your exposed thigh, urging you to have 'just one more drink' so you could be drunk enough to be used for whatever their lascivious little minds could think of.
Your current client, bless his soul, was chatting animatedly to his crooked group of gang members while his hand creeped over your shoulder, pulling you into his side. He didn't feel like her.
He's far too skinny. Such a jagged edge. It is difficult to imagine it was her hardness you are pressing your softness up against.
You are currently knee-deep in your job, keeping a couple of clients company in a neon lit corner of The Last Drop. Your co-worker speaks to you over the thick arm of her own client who uses her as nothing more than a thing to grope, while the gang speaks amongst themselves. Your conversation is subtle enough so as not to disturb the narcissistic man from his tedious, incredibly one-sided conversation.
You lift your cup full of untouched whiskey to your mouth, pretending to take a sip but really using it as a screen to hide your lips when you whisper back, "Overdoing what? My job?"
"Chatting these lowlifes up to give them severely underpriced blowjobs was your job. Not anymore." You didn't like the way she said 'was’. You really didn't like the way your client put his hand on your exposed thigh. It seems he had taken your miniskirt as an invitation to press his rough hands against your full, touching thighs. He still speaks to his friends as if you're not a real person, just something there. Something to touch.
"It's still my job, I'm still a whore-"
"Your girlfriend has been glaring at our table since she came in." Her words send an electrifying kind of rattle down your spine, forcing your eyes to briefly meet the dead ones of the woman seated directly across the dance floor. Dead, cold eyes stare at you, have been staring at you since she saw you hard 'at work'. You attempted to evade all eye contact over the course of the night and you had succeeded for the most part.
She didn't get to do that.
She didn't get to claim you and then simultaneously refuse to be seen with you.
Naturally, you would do the same.
"Vika's not my girlfriend," you hated the way you quickly ushered the words out of your mouth, immediately drowning them with whiskey so as to not feel their effects so poignantly.
"Vika?" Your co- worker scoffs in amusement. “I haven't seen a more volatile couple in a while,” She raises her glass to you, “Thanks for the front row seats” While your co-worker’s chuckles carry across the congested bar (what is in actuality, a thinly veiled brothel), Sevika feels her heavy fists clench. She stays in the same spot she's been sitting at. Her legs spread, her elbows resting on her knees. Glaring. Drinking. Glaring some more.
She's far grumpier than usual. Anyone could see it.
Her eyes never leave your table as she downs her nth glass of the strongest whiskey The Last Drop has to offer and she watches how effortlessly you betray her. Just last night, it had been her name tumbling from your trembling lips in drunken spurts as your cunt fought to take every one of her fingers. It had been your drunken, half lidded eyes that had looked up at her like a God, pleading for her to let you cum for umpteenth time as you bucked wildly against her. You came because she allowed you to. Like a loyal dog, you had dutifully accepted everything she gave you.
So why were you being such a brat?
Sevika has had to watch you bat your eyes up at unfamiliar men. All she could think of is dismembering each and every one of those hands groping at you and making you watch as the blood splattered. The thought alone caused a rough sort of groan to rumble from her mouth. She was bloodthirsty and horny and luckily that was your speciality.
Sevika downed the final drops of whiskey that had accumulated from the bottom of the bottle. Wiping her plump, toned lips with the back of her hand, she finally rises, making a direct beeline for your table.
As she nears, your heart hammers, yet still you refuse to look at the woman and her intimidating height or her even more intimidating arms. She wasn't wearing her cloak tonight, so you could see everything. All 185 centimeters of pure strength. Your legs clenched under the table as you looked innocently up at her.
"Move," Sevika gruffs out the very second she stands in front of the table, effectively silencing everyone present. The crass rap song bleeding from unseen speakers continues in the backdrop.
“Who the fuck are you talking to?” Your client begins to ask, stunned yet remarkably shaken up. Despite trying to sound gruff, you could feel a slight tremor in his bones. The way his shoulders shrink under Sevika's shadow makes you roll your eyes.
Sevika's voice is calm but menacing. “Look, I get it. She has the body of a goddess and she fucks like she doesn't have a father-”
“H-Hey-” she doesn't spare you a single glance. Continuing to stare down the little man. Never once stumbling over her words.
“If you don't wanna lose your life, I suggest you give her to me.”
“You're dating Sevika?” he asks, very clearly rattled but masking it, albeit terribly.
“I'm not-” you begin but Sevika interrupts once more.
"My whore, please," she says, sounding bored.
"Your whore?” The man who had been on the verge of slipping his hand between your thighs, stops almost abruptly. He watches Sevika with a mixture of confusion and thinly-veneered fear.
"Fucking, Move." She does not expect you to have her say it again. By now, you should have heeded her first command. Very quickly, actually. Very obediently
With your head tucked against your heavy chest.
The fact that you weren't listening to her had her hand aching to grab you by the neck and force the submission out of you.
"I don't really have to do what you say." You cross your arms over your chest, turning your head petulantly. She hated it. She hated how much she fucking loved it.
You lean forward. Not sure where this confidence came from but praying it doesn't abandon you. Confidence is all you have in her presence. Without it, you're defenseless. And Sevika is a shark. She'll smell your weakness and it'll arouse her.
She places her hand on the table, and rests that menacing mechanical weapon there, too. The glasses rattle. She looks dead at you as she says, "If you don't get up right this second, I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill everyone at this table.” By now, the hand that had been inching along your thigh is gone. Almost everyone around you has made a clear point to distance themselves, like you caught some weird disease named Sevika. One that you just could not shake. It pisses you off.
“You're bluffing.” You say.
“Am I?”
She does something.
Something that makes that new mechanical arm of hers steam and hiss like it's begging to be used. The blood drains from not only your face, but from the faces of every patron at the table. The vibe has been ruined. It lay in rubble at Sevika’s feet. ‘She-She's all yours,” your client all but pushes you away from their booth, right into Sevika's good arm.
“Seriously!?”
Her hand immediately wrestles into your hair, pulling your hair tie out while letting your braids rush down.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” She places her hand, warm and fucking menacing, right behind your neck as she steers you to the central stairs. Your eyes are wild and pleading as you attempt to make eye contact with anyone brave enough to save you and stand up to her. All eyes immediately flit away from you, leaving you stranded. You might as well be wearing one long leash, being dragged across the dirty bar floor on all fours as you followed your master wherever she pleased.
You can feel the entire table, probably the entire bar watching you make your humiliating ascension on the wooden staircase. You knew where she was taking you. One of the many doors on the second floor that were left unchartered by normal patrons.
“You're brave,” Sevika's mouth reaches the top of your head and you have to crane your head back at her, “I'll give you that.”
“Vika- I-”
“Oh it's ‘Vika now?” Her voice sounds playful, but behind the bangs falling over her lifeless eyes, her face is stone.
“P-Please,” you stop outside a wooden door. You're not sure what you're whimpering for, probably a sliver of mercy.
Mercy you knew she wasn't in the business of giving. Something like her couldn't give mercy.
“I fucking love to hear you beg,” she groans, before pushing you into the darkened room.
“You should've led with that,” The second you enter the cold, damp room, your back is pressed against the hard wood with a firm, large grip cutting off your oxygen. You're clawing desperately at her fingers, thinking, this is it. She's come to finally kill you. Somehow you always knew you would die at her hands. Whether it's while she's strumming you to a mind-numbing orgasm. You knew she'd end you.
“Who told you to continue selling what's mine?” There is no air, and your vision is collecting black spots. Vika forces you to gaze upon her, that deep frown forever plastered on her face and that incredibly flattering haircut. The fight in you is dying. “You don't get to go anywhere. You don't get to pass out on me, little girl, were just getting started-”
In a splitting, heavenly moment, right when you're about to crash, she unlocks her fist, bringing the air rushing back into your lungs. “Who the fuck said you could just go back to your day job like you don't belong to me?” Her hand, restless and angry slips from your throat, down to your chest. You're not wearing a bra, standard uniform for someone in your sordid line of work. It makes her anger heighten and you wince as she twists your nipples through the thin fabric of your ridiculously tight top. Her eyes rove over every curvy contour, your soft, protruding stomach, and your exposed thighs. “My body is the way I make money, Sev-” a gasp so furious wrenches itself from your throat as Sevika wastes no time pushing her thigh against your legs. She's so tall, you worry for a second as your feet lift slightly off the floor and you're made to straddle her thigh.
Sevika's mechanical arm does away with your top as if it's nothing.
Soon, the clumsy, cheap material lay in pieces on the ground. She does the very same with your skirt. The arm has teeth. Teeth that rip at fabric so easily you fear it might get hungry and bite out a chunk of your skin. But Sevika controls it well. And now you’re completely naked with only a string of cultural beads hanging from your waist. Your chest is completely exposed to her hungry eyes.
She can't take her eyes off them. Your heavy breasts and darkened nipples have her pushing her leg further between your thighs, urging you to ride her.
Despite your soft yet heavy curves she handled you like you were nothing.
“I shouldnt even fucking touch you,” she spits, despite her hand very hungrily squeezing your tit. “You make me fucking sick.”
“So why touch me then?” That tone was back. Sevika cranes your head back with a firm but oppressive grip on your cheek. Your smile is manic, teeth dripping with saliva as you spread your legs for her thigh. Immediately bucking your hips against her.
“If I'm such a filthy fucking whore, why waste your time on me, huh? You that obsessed with me Sev-”
A slap, so hot and scalding bloom across your cheek, tears sting your eyes. You rear your head back, eyes flooded with shock and gratitude because thank God she hadn't used her other arm.
All you see is death in her eyes. The air is quiet as you both contemplate her slap.
“F-Fuck-” the moan oozes out of you until you're slowly starting to rut against her leg once more. She's outrageously intrigued to find you more turned on than you had been a second ago. Her stoney visage cracks at the way your hips move hurriedly against her thigh, she could feel a damp spot forming.
“Being a brat makes you more insatiable than you usually are,” her voice is thick with unmistakable lust. "You’re fucking my thigh- shit-”
Your eyes are rolled back as you focus on humping against her like the insatiable little puppy you were made to feel like, “M'not a brat ‘Vika,” she loved the way you groaned. The way you're trembling little arms move up to secure themselves around her thick shoulders as you use her to milk your own pleasure.
“So just a bitch then?” She asks, panting, as she bends down until your lips are inches apart. She nips at your pouting bottom lip and she doesn't miss the way the word ‘bitch’ has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. You nod dumbly, so far gone, “Oh, you are a worthless little bitch huh?” Your hips stutter as a particular wave of pleasure has you humping her faster. “Look at you, you're fucking drenched and you expect me to share you?”
“M-My body is the way I make money.” You repeat. Too far gone to realize your slurring words have become incoherent. “Y-You can't monopolize on that-”
“You're mine-” a smile, evil and lascivious curls at her lips and you immediately lean forward to kiss them but her hand slithers up to keep your neck at bay. “-And you’re gonna cum soon- look at how fucking bad you want it,” She digs her hands into your braids forcing your head downwards. You're forced to watch your hips buck against her thigh. You immediately tweak your own nipples as your orgasm crests. “Shit- Sev, Fuck I'm gonna-”
“Watch that fucking tone..."
“I’m gonna cum- please hit me agai-” the second her palm contacts your skin, she's kissing against your cheek where the pain blooms. You come undone.
“F-Fuck, oh my God.” you ride her thigh like a bitch in heat and somehow Sevika feels accomplished when you use her like this, she feels like she might just cum watching you slip into your own orgasm and it drives her nuts.
Her fist slams against the wall at the side of your head as your hips stutter over your thigh, her breath is warm at your ear. “Fuck-” she hates the way she nearly cums from watching you alone. She hates the thought of anyone else easing this reaction out of you. They wouldn't know how to work your body like she does. They wouldn't know how to get you compliant like she can. And as you're high on the clouds of your orgasm, Sevika clamps a thick metal band around your neck. Aftershocks have your speech slurred and your eyes heavy.
“Wha- what's this? Sev, what the fuck is this-”
“My gift.” she kisses the side of your head, having yet to move her leg between yours.
You swallow thickly as a very real fear sets in.
“A fucking collar?! Sev-”
She kisses away your protests.
bounded by business (2)
part one here!
peaky blinders x fem!reader, thomas shelby x fem!reader
type: fluff/angst(?)/smut(ish)
summary: a second class powerful gang in the south of london reaches out too a strong working class gang in the south east of birmingham for a union. Whilst the wedding takes place, unwanted guests break in, causing the newly wedded couple to panic.
timeline: preferably at the start of season 2, maybe even before, but after grace’s betrayal. (Arthur is not married to Linda yet.)
warnings: swearing, gang talk, arranged marriage, weapons, kissing, toxic uncle(?), mention of cheating bf, violence, mentions of blood, reader getting sh, mentions of slight sexual interaction, smoking, drinking, brief mentions of guests getting high,
note: guys i apologise if the wedding isn’t correctly done as i am brown, and i don’t often go to weddings outside my culture, however, i have tried my hardest by following how weddings within the show went including some research. i highly apologise! thank you💗
masterlist.
requests are open❗️
Three days have passed since the meeting with the Peaky Blinders. It’s rather late and you’re at one of the posh pubs your family owns, drinking away the sorrows for the next day. Tomorrow’s the day you’re dreading. Oh how you’d rather get thrown in the cut than marrying some man that threatens to cut people with razor blades - a man you barely know.
“It’ll be alright,” you hear your best friend say, placing her drink down, snapping you out of your little daydream, offering comfort by giving you a little side hug. “He’s probably not as scary as you think.”
“(best friend’s name), He’s feared by the whole of Birmingham.” you speak in an obvious tone, turning your head to face her, raising your brows.
She, smiles, clearly amused. Whilst pressing her lips against the glass of wine, she teases, “Looks like you’ve done your research on your soon-to-be-husband.”
That earned her a wack on her waist.
“Ow!”
“Shush.” you remark, smirking lightly, watching her playfully glare at you from the corner of your eye, whilst sipping on your wine.
“I am NOT doing this!” you yell out, pushing away from your uncle and mother who are practically dragging you into the church.
“y/n you’re marrying him whether you like it or not!” your uncle growls out harshly, anger fueling his eyes, grabbing onto your arm again, harder than before.
“Mum!” you whine out, moving your pissed gaze from your uncle towards your mother.
“y/n, darling, just do this for your dad, you know how bad he wanted you to get married.” she calmly and sympathetically answers with, unlike what your uncle is doing. Your father died in the war, by an unexpected bombing attack from the German troops.
Trying to resist your uncle’s harsh grip, who’s attempting to get you into the church without messing your gorgeous white gown, flawless makeup and hair, you snap a light remark towards your mum, “I’m sure he would have actually wanted me to marry someone I love, not some wannabe gangster who waves his razor around.”
“Well that ‘wannabe gangster who waves his razor around’ provides you protection.” your uncle interrupts your mum from speaking, mocking your words, raising his voice towards you, “My brother- your father, would rather have wanted a man who’d protect you till his last breath than a guy who cheats on his girlfriend with a whore!”
You want to say something back, but the mention of Andrew stung, you thought you’ve drank the pain away, but of course, it’s still there.
“Now you’re going to fucking go into that church and marry him.” he yells in fury, pushing you towards the church harshly, each word being spat with anger, there’d be no surprise if the people inside the church heard, “I don’t want you causing any of your fucking scenes in there, you understand? No fights, no arguments, i don’t want any of that shit!”
When he hears no response, he snaps, scaring you,
“Do you understand?!”
Your mum shoots you a warning look, both of you knowing that if you don’t respond, he’d drag you in by your hair that has been curled gracefully by your older sister.
“I understand.” you softly mutter through gritted teeth.
“Now get in.” he pulls your arm, dragging you towards the church, your mother following behind.
“Tommy there’s still time y’know,” John mutters to his older brother, who’s stood at the alter, “You barely even know the woman! Who knows, she could probably one of those fuckin’ pointless activists?”
“John, listen to me, yeah? We might not know what she’s like, but are we going to drop a really fucking good deal over some woman, aye?” Thomas raises his brows at his younger brother.
“But Tommy-” John starts, however getting stopped when he notices you beginning to walk down the aisle. The younger Shelby sighs, cursing under his breathe, moving himself away from Thomas and towards Esme.
As the ceremony begins, everyone hushes down, watching you and your uncle, who’s masked his irritation, walking down the aisle, your veil coving your face, disguising your fury which you’re trying to stop from releasing, for the sake of the wedding. You keep your eyes low, avoiding everyone’s gaze.
Now stood infront of the Altar, your uncle passes you to the feared brummie gangster you’re forced to marry, you feel his thick, calloused hands taking your slimmer soft ones carefully, as if you’re glass that can be easily shattered. Those same hands now lift your veil up, revealing your neatly done makeup which is applied onto your soft, pretty, gorgeous face. His piercing blue eyes study you, yet keeping a stern expression, making you feel interrogated. Your gaze can’t help but lightly examine Thomas in return, noticing the way his expensive suit decorates his muscular build.
Breaking away from your gaze, both you and Thomas now turn, facing Jeremiah Jesus - a close friend of the Shelby’s.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join together in holy matrimony, Thomas Michael Shelby and (reader’s full name).” Jeremiah speaks aloud, “Thomas Micheal Shelby and (reader’s full name), have you come here to enter into a marriage without coercion, freely and wholeheartedly?”
“I have.” Tommy replies, beside you, in his usual raspy tone. Jeremiah’s eyes now land on you, as you haven’t said your confirmation.
“I have.” you mutter carelessly, looking away.
Jeremiah then lightly nods, “Are you prepared, as you follow the path of marriage, to love and to honor eachother for as long as you both shall live?”
“I am.” you both now say, you now wanting to get this shit over with.
“Since it is your intention to enter the covenant of Holy Matrimony, join your right hands, and declare your consent before God and his Church.” Jeremiah continues, watching how both you and Tommy hold hands.
“I, Thomas Micheal Shelby, take you, (reader’s full name), to be my wife. I promise to be faithful to you, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. To love you and to honor you all the days of my life.” Tommy states his vows, repeating after Jeremiah, in a stern, cold tone, with his usual brummie accent, staring down at you, his piercing blue eyes glued onto you.
“I, (reader’s full name), take you, Thomas Micheal Shelby, to be my husband. I promise to be faithful to you, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. To love you and to honor you all the days of my life.” the vows come out your mouth, unwillingly, not wanting to have come out of your plump lips. You return his stern look he gives you.
Jeremiah then continues on with his speech, finishing off with 'Amen'. He then sprinkles the wedding rings, that bound you with Thomas, with holy water, handing one to you and to Thomas.
“(reader’s full name), receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father and the Son, and the holy spirit.” the feared Birmingham gangster announces the vows Jeremiah indicates him to say, as he places the wedding band onto your left, ring finger, sliding it on.
“Thomas Micheal Shelby, receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father and the Son, and the holy spirit.” you repeat the words, failing to hide your light annoyance as you place the wedding band onto Thomas’ left, ring finger.
“Now let us humbly invoke God's blessing upon this bride and groom, that in his kindness he may favor with his help those on whom he has bestowed the Sacrament of Matrimony.” Jeremiah states to everyone within the church, “In the sight of God and these witnesses, I now pronounce you husband and wife. The husband may now kiss the bride!”
As Jeremiah speaks the last sentence, your now husband, carefully cups your face, bringing his face closer towards yours, pressing a kiss onto your lips, instantly melting into it, you hesitantly place your hands onto the nape of his neck, closing your eyes, the kiss now turning quite intimate. Cheers erupt.
“Alright, calm down you both, no need to eat eachother up, you’ve got a whole house to do that shit in!” a deep, joy fall teasing voice erupts behind Thomas, snapping you both out of eachother’s mouths, seeing the owner of the voice, Arthur, smirk. You pull away from him, your brownish pink shaded lipstick now lightly smudged onto his lips, looking away, moving your gaze around, seeing your uncle nod lightly - in approval - his stern facade still remaining. As you look around, your eyes then land on a couple of Spanish lads, rivals of yours,
they surely weren’t on the wedding list.
“Right everyone, let’s get the fuckin’ family photo done!” Arthur yells aloud, snapping you out of your train of thoughts, making everyone get outside the church, where the wedding photo is meant to be taken.
As both yours and Thomas’ family gather around you both, infront of the camera, Arthur bellows for space to be made, guiding the less important guests away from the camera. You then look towards the field on your right, the same group of unknown Spanish men huddled together, seemingly discussing something suspiciously. Unexpectedly, you get pushed, loosing your balance on your heels, you fall into your husband. He quickly reacts by grabbing your waist, letting the cigar be held with his lips, holding you upright as you regain balance.
“Alright?” you hear him ask you, through the cigar, softly, yet his Birmingham accent present, looking down at you.
“Yeah, thanks...” you mutter, your light London accent contrasting his, as you straighten yourself, avoiding to look at him, still stubbornly furious at this wedding.
The rest of both families now finally find places to stand for the photograph. As the photographer announces the photo will be taken, Thomas snakes his arm around your waist, catching you off guard as he pulls you closer to him, your arm unconsciously resting onto his back, hand placed onto your shoulder. The Spanish men depart, moving away from others, you notice and can’t help but feel a hint of panic growing within you, you weren’t aware of their presence being made at the wedding.
As the photographer states that the photo has been taken, both families now disperse, mingling with each other. You notice how John and your younger brother getting along, having a laugh with one another. Yet your mind is still on those group of lads.
Family and friends now gather around you - same with your husband, you feel arms wrap around you in a friendly hug, you then notice it's your best friend, your chosen bridesmaid.
“I told you it'll be alright.” she mutters into your ear.
Unable to hide your light smile, you step back, letting go of her. “Don't get too full of yourself.” you mutter back, teasingly. She now moves to the side, as your mother embrace you. “Your father would be proud.” your mum states, cupping your face, smiling lightly.
You smile very lightly, placing your hands upon your mothers. “For dad.” you mutter.
Time passes, family and friends congratulate the newly weds. Finally, your uncle approaches, patting Thomas on the back, congratulating him and the rest of the Shelby family, the rest of your family following along on bidding their now in-laws a congrats, the Spanish not to be seen.
After a while, the party makes their way to the Arrow House for the reception. Thomas makes his way towards you, placing his hand on the low of your back, guiding you towards the chariot.
“Let's take you to your new home, aye?” he says as he helps you up into the chariot.
“I can get on it myself.” you snap lightly towards him, refusing his help, causing his corner of his lip to curl upwards into a very tiny smirk.
The ride to the Arrow House was silent. As the chariot approaches your new home, you can't help but notice how gorgeous the victorian house is. You look up mesmerised by the beauty. Thomas notices but doesn't say anything, instead he gets off the carriage and puts his hands out to help you down, which at first you refused to take, until you realised your wedding dress weighs you down, giving you a high chance to face plant the floor. Stepping into the house, you look around, captivated by its stunning decor, looking at the paintings with decorate the walls. The wedding party follows behind, cheering and laughing with one another.
“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Shelby.” you hear an older woman say, you turn your head to where the voice was coming from, realising it was a maid.
“Is everything set, Frances?” he mutters, exhaling smoke.
“Yes, Mr. Shelby.” she replies.
Everyone settles in, music erupts in the hall, couples singing and dancing, getting drunk and high. You observe around the room, figuring out where the Spanish lads have wondered off too.
A woman, seeming a couple of years younger smiles at you, “Welcome to the Family.” she passes you a glass of irish whiskey. “I'm Ada, Ada Thorne, Tommy's younger sister.”
You gladly take the whiskey offered to you, taking a long needed sip, “Thanks, Ada, i'm y/n I/n-”
“Shelby.” Ada corrects, a light smirk plastered on her face as she sips on her own glass of whiskey.
“Oh don’t worry, darling, you’ll be hearing ‘Mrs.Shelby’ all the time, it’ll stick.” an older woman speaks, smirking at you, standing next to Ada, sipping on her champagne.
Ada then speaks up, gesturing over to the woman beside her who looks you up and down, “This is Aunt Polly.”
“If Tommy ever lays a finger on you, or even says or does something horrible, you come straight to me.” Aunt Polly added in a strong womanly tone, “I’ll sort the man out.”
You and Ada let out a light chuckle.
“Pol, you’re making him seem like he’s fucking crazy!” Ada states.
As you’re in a commotion with the two shelby’s, drifting the worry caused by the Spanish off your mind, giggling whilst drinking, your older sister and your 5 year old niece, walks over to you. Your niece then smiles up at you, embracing you, you lift her up, and let her nuzzle into you. Your sister leans over and whispers in slight worry into your ear. “y/n, I don’t know where (uncle’s name) is, (younger brother’s name), (older sister’s husband’s name) and (male cousin) is looking for him, Mum’s just told me there’s unwanted guests here, I think it’s the Spanish.”
As she speaks your smile falters, the two Shelby’s notice the change of your dementor and how panicked your older sister seemed. “Is everything alright, loves?” polly asks, her happiness now being replaced with concern.
“I- yeah…” you mutter out, staring at your sister in disbelief, you then look around the hall, downing the rest of the whiskey and putting the glass down, “I saw a couple of them…”
“And you didn’t think of telling us?” your older sister says, in a more lecturing tone, backing up, so she can see your face.
“I-” you try to reason, but judging on the look on her face, you knew there was no point, you look around the room, trying to spot any of the Spanish, or anyone involved with them.
“What's going on?” Polly now questions more seriously, Ada now backing her up.
Your sister turns to face your in-laws, “There's uninvited guests here, some of our enemies...”
Polly's face darkens and Ada's brows rise.
Polly then turns her head looking around and then her gaze lands on 3 young lads. She takes a couple of steps across the room.
“Mum?” one of the younger lads, seeming the eldest out the three, furrows his brows up at polly, and then eyes you and the others around you, “Is everything alright?”
“Micheal, I want you to go to Tommy and let him know there's unwanted Spanish guests here, enemies of the l/n foundation.” Aunt Polly states in an authoritative tone, “Isaiah, Finn, just keep an eye out for the Spanish.”
All three boys nod and does as they're told.
The door to Thomas' office gets swung open, revealing a panicked Micheal, “Tommy!”
The Shelby gangster looks up from the paperwork, a string of smoke releasing his lips, he promised to polly that it would take only a couple of minutes, yet has been stuck in his office for half an hour, “Micheal, what's wrong?”
“Tommy, there's unwanted Spanish guests here, enemies of the l/n foundation.” Micheal walks towards his desk, eyeing the paperwork.
Tommy then stands up from his seat, stubbing his cigar out, placing his pistol into his holster, “Make sure everyone stays put, Micheal.”
Thomas leaves the office, Micheal following behind into the hall.
“John, Arthur!” He motions for the two to come over, joining your sister and niece, your mother, your auntie, polly, Isaiah, Finn ada, esme, Micheal and himself.
As the family has all came together, your mother begins to fill the family in on how no one knows where (uncle’s name) is, (younger brother’s name), (older sister’s husband’s name) and (male cousin) are looking for him as well as the fact there are unwanted Spanish enemies here, as guests.
Tommy looks around the group.
“Is everythin' alright?” Arthur asks his younger brother, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Where the fuck's my wife?” he spits out in protectiveness, his gaze darting around the room for his spouse. You're his wife now, you're his woman now, you're his responsibility.
“She was with us a moment ago.” ada blurts out, worry overtaking her body, worried for her sister in law she just grew a strong bond over.
“Where is she now!?”
“Who's that?” Esme states, motioning over towards an older lad, who's walking at a fast paste, across the dance floor, standing out, like a white crayon in a box full of black ones.
Everyone looks at the guy Esme gestures towards.
“John, Arthur, come with me. Everyone else, keep guarded.” Tommy then follows the older man with his two brothers following behind.
“Mum, she'll be fine, she's capable of anything.” your older sister wraps her arms around your mum's shoulders, assuring her you're fine. Polly passes her a glass of whiskey, knowing how the worry feels, as she felt the same when Tommy, John and Arthur went off to war.
“She's a strong woman.” your auntie adds.
“Auntie y/n the best!” your niece butts in, making the family chuckle.
Your fist meets one of the Spanish men's nose, causing him to stumble back into the wall holding onto his broken, bloody nose, a couple of the enemies lay on the floor, dead, blood covering your white wedding gown.
“You bitch!” a strong Spanish accent is heard behind you, causing you to turn and grab the wrist that was aimed at you, pulling the lad forward, putting him into a headlock, “Oh, I'm the bitch?” you sarcastically spit out, facing him towards the other man, him watching as you shoot the man in the headlock, dropping dead.
The guy with the broken nose looks at you in horror, horrified at what such a pretty, naive-looking woman could do, he clearly underestimated you. You're no naive woman, you're a woman with power and intelligence. In your eyes, no msn can own you, snd you'll make sure that Thomas Shelby's well aware of that.
Another bullet releases from your pistol, piercing the heart. He falls dead. As the bullet was shot, you get pushed to the side, harshly against the wall, getting pinned. You groan at the harsh contact. The man lifts his gun up. Unable to react in time, he wacks the gun across your face, face snapping to the right, pain shoots through, a few cuts begin to let out blood. Without being able to process what just happened, he punches you, your face snapping the other direction. You let out a painful grunt.
A cold, metal barrel meets your chin, face now tilting up, looking at him coldly and with deadly eyes, even though he could end your life in seconds.
“I knew you were sexy, but I didn't think that having you under me, with the ability to end your life in seconds could be sexier.” he growls out in a strong Spanish accent, “What should I do hm, darling? You've killed all the others.”
You stare up at the man as he looks you up and down, checking you out in the bloody white wedding gown with the stained veil decorating your head.
He then grinds his hips into yours, causing you to back yourself more into the wall, you've never felt so vulnerable, “Should I fuck you and then kill you, or just kill you, huh? What would your husband think when he sees you dead, my cum traveling down your legs?”
You close your eyes, not wanting to look at the older man, disgusted, “You dirty fucking bastard.” you mutter out, clearly not wanting to admit how you're in a dead end.
That earned another sack across your face, you whine out in pain, the gun barrel retuning to where it first laid. He clearly didn't like your attitude.
Bang.
part three coming soon!
dm to be added on the taglist!
taglist: @meadowshelby @iceyyycapsicle @lunxrstellx @jbrownta
Sevika x Fem!Bar Owner!Reader - The One Who Pours the Drinks
Pt. 3 (can be read as standalone)
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Summary: After their (very homosexually-charged) estrangement a few weeks ago, Angel tries to bury the sour Sevika left in her heart. Sevika does the same, dismissing any meaning to be found in how she still makes sure to walk by the Five-Copper Furnace at least twice a week.
But one thing remains true: No one threatens the one who pours the drinks.
a/n: i'm a dirty filthy liar, i finished pt. 3 for bar owner reader before i even started my warmup for writing sevika's character LMFAO. will still do that prompt at some point!!
w/c: like 4.3k ish
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The world doesn’t stop spinning because of one person.
It’s a sentiment you were forced to be fond of in your life before the one you had now. People had always come and gone, it was the nature of the crime life, and it was certainly the nature of the Zaun one too. To stop and mourn for too long was to die.
And you had a business to run.
You did your best to count your lucky stars every night, reminding yourself as you wiped down the bar that there were other people. Plenty of women with smokey laughs and eyes like the moon. You were a good-looking bastard, you’d find the next one. You had all the time in the world now, away from the strife that used to follow you like a shadow.
Pay no mind to how you always swiped harder at the bar as you had these thoughts, slamming tumblers and plates into their places beneath the bar with extra vigor. Nor to how Zaun was about as different from Bilgewater as steel to iron.
Sevika’s men and their presence started to dwindle with hers, albeit more slowly; many of them almost seemed hesitant, apologetic. You caught one of them on your way into the bar to open it for the evening.
“I’m real sorry, Angel,” he’d said.
“I’m sure she’s got other work for you,” you said, waving him off as if it was- and indeed, it was- nothing personal. You only had problems with one ex-frequent of your bar. You weren’t even all that inclined to include the heavy muscle she brought in with her on the last visit.
“Always other work where the boss is concerned,” he affirmed, “But… this has been one of the better gigs.” You stayed static outside your bar for a moment as he walked away, your key still stuck in the lock.
It’s not like you needed protection in the first place, you were more than capable. Not that Sevika knew that. You grumbled to yourself as you organized the prep area behind the bar; you hadn’t had to give much mind to security the past several months, Sevika handled the matter in its entirety without you so much as having to ask.
It’s a sentiment you were forced to be fond of in your life before the one you had now. People had always come and gone, it was the nature of the crime life, and it was certainly the nature of the Zaun one too. To stop and mourn for too long was to die.
You’d have to add that back into your list of tasks. Along with putting all the stools up at closing time. And what were you supposed to do with all these damn cigarillos you had behind the counter? You didn’t smoke nearly as much as she did.
You smacked a hand that wasn’t yours away from the aforementioned stash, smirking when you heard a small, “Ow, jerk!”
“You’re not old enough to smoke.”
“It’s Zaun, babies would smoke if they could,” the boy, a little tail of yours named Kix, retorted, pouting as he hopped up on the counter. You sighed. “I finished that book you gave me.”
“Yeah? How was it?”
“Pretty good! And, I think, as a reward for finishing it, I should-”
“Yeah, I’m gonna stop you right there,” you said, stepping away to move the lemons you just sliced into a container. Your tail, of course, followed.
“Fine, can I at least finally get a knife?”
“When you can wield one of those batons without smacking yourself in the face, yeah. ‘Til then, hell no.”
“That’s a bad word!”
“Like you care!” You could only breathe out a laugh. The children of Zaun were sharp, often leaving you deeply amused and incredulous.
“Ugh,” he said dramatically, flailing against the bar. You shot one of your patrons an apologetic look at the antics of Stray Wet Cat #1. “But you have so many, Angel!” He exclaimed, “How’d you get those anyway? Did you kill somebody?”
I killed a lot of people, you wanted to say, but something told you that wouldn’t have been appropriate. “I told you before, Kix,” you started, voice gentle like a teacher’s, “Zaun isn’t the only place in the world where you need to defend yourself. The world is way bigger.”
“Doesn’t feel like it,” he muttered to himself, pushing away from the bar and trudging back to the lounge area connected to the kitchen, where a few of the other kids spent their time. You frowned as you watched him walk away, then looked down at the paring knife in your right hand.
For the children of Zaun, life depended on which end of the knife you found yourself on, and oftentimes nothing more. How much were you really doing for them, giving them sandwiches to eat and rudimentary lessons on how to hold a blade? They all had to leave the bar at the end of each day, stepping back into the streets waiting to swallow them whole on their treks back home.
“Don’t be so hard on ya’self, Ang’,” the patron you’d shared a look with earlier interjected. You looked up at him in a daze, quickly putting on a thoughtful smile.
“I’m okay,” you replied simply.
“And so are those kids, thanks to you,” he said, “A little bit goes a long way in Zaun. These kids can stretch an inch of kindness, always have been able to.”
You saw eyes like slate in your mind as the gentleman went back to nursing his drink, and your smile faltered.
Weren’t these the kids Sevika claimed to be doing her righteous work for? What could she tell them as she chipped away at their safe haven, showing up bi-weekly just to take away a little more? You growled lowly as you swiped a cigarillo from beneath the counter, abiding the thought to linger in your mind- as if you could condition yourself to hate her faster.
You were busy staring down the end of the cigarillo as you lit it, almost too busy to notice how a wave of quiet had washed over the Five-Copper Furnace. Your eyes flicked to the door just in time, though.
Your busy mind halted all thoughts more trivial than the now, a low voice reminding you of the shotgun beneath your bar, the knives in your sleeves, and the preeminent experience in violence that scarred your skin. Four men wearing all manners of weapons, and gleaming belt buckles of meridian silver, stalked into your bar.
𒀭 𒀭 𒀭
Sevika was, for whatever reason, a woman well-versed in the department of odd and unwanted talents. Being weirdly good with kids was at the forefront.
“Oh! Captain-General Metal Arm Lady!” Well, she knew which kid that was*.*
“Why is my name so long?” She muttered to herself as she stopped anyway, and turned on her heel to face him. The boy, one of Angel’s little henchmen named Kix, skidded to a stop in front of her. “What is it, kid?” She asked gruffly.
“Where’ve you been? Are you and Angel having a lover’s quarrel?”
Isn’t he like twelve?? Sevika picked her jaw up from the ground as quickly as it’d fallen. “Who the hell even taught you what that is?” She asked incredulously.
“That’s a bad word. And I read it in a book. Are you coming to the Five-Copper?”
“No, I’m busy,” Sevika said flatly. Her brow furrowed at the way his face fell. Not like a child who’d been told no, but a boy who had something to fear. “…Why?”
“Well, uh… m-maybe you could just stop by?” He rocked back on his heels, looking over his shoulder at the bar in question. He’d caught Sevika so close to the place, he just needed to get her through the door… “I think Angel might… u-um…”
Sevika sighed. “Before tomorrow, Kix.”
“I think Angel might need you.”
Sevika scoffed, turning with a small flare of her cloak (drama queen), “She’s a big girl, she can handle herself just fine, kid. I gotta go.” A small, surprised grunt rose out of her when she felt a tug on her metal arm. She looked down at the boy, shooting him a glare that lacked even an inch of fire.
“Please, Miss Sevika! A bunch of guys just walked in and I don’t know them, a-and they have really ugly, scary faces, and-”
“Okay! Okay. C’mon, let’s go,” Sevika rattled her arm out of Kix’s grasp, sweeping it back beneath her cloak. The boy let out a small cheer as her broad form turned in the direction of the Five-Copper Furnace, and he fell into step under the cover of her shadow. “And don’t call me ‘Miss Sevika’. Just Sevika is alright,” she made a small, grossed-out sound.
“Okay! Does that mean we’re friends?”
“No,” she replied, giving his head a small nudge as they walked.
“Ack! Bully!”
The smile that began to flicker across her features promptly melted back into her perpetual frown as she watched almost half a dozen patrons leave the Five-Copper in succession. “How many of them were there, kid?” She asked in a low voice.
“Uh, I think four?”
Sevika hummed, stopping beside the entrance. She pulled Kix aside by the collar with her, as even more patrons filed out. “Are your friends in there?” She asked. The boy nodded. “Okay. Go get ‘em through the back. And go home.”
“But-!”
“Uh-uh. She’s already pissed at me enough, can’t imagine how mad she’d be if you brats got hurt once this goes down.”
“So…” Sevika felt a few grey hairs grow in at the same time Kix’s frown faded into a grin, “…it is a lover’s quarrel?”
“Kix!”
“Okay, bye Sevika!” He hopped up and down as if to charge himself up before sprinting off. Sevika watched as he nearly tripped over himself when he quickly halted again. “Uh… you won’t let them hurt Angel, right?”
“She’ll be fine,” Sevika said. She sighed as his feet stayed planted in the ground. Her voice was softer when she spoke again, “You have my word, kid. Angel will be okay.” He gave her a final grin, before darting off. Sevika cracked her neck as she zeroed back on the entrance to Angel’s bar. “Guess collections is early this month,” she muttered wryly, before pushing the door open.
𒀭 𒀭 𒀭
“These people don’t even know, do they?”
You breathed out tendrils of smoke from your nose, lowering your voice in line with the bounty hunter’s. His friends had stayed mute, opting to survey your patrons and the bar itself like three angry lighthouses.
You smiled slightly at those who hadn’t left yet, whose postures were coiled tightly like metal springs.
“I can’t imagine it’d change a thing,” you replied. You picked up the wanted poster (old fashioned, you were aware) he’d thrown on the counter, giving it another flippant once-over. Your likeness had been- rather skillfully- illustrated in the center, with meaningless words like ‘Wanted’ and ‘approach with care’ swimming around it.
God, I’m good-looking, you thought with a smile and a nod.
“And yet you have ‘em call you a different name. Bury your old one with the rest of your money, huh?”
“Oh, that isn’t buried. Not one bit,” Your face spread into a grin, wolfish teeth crushing the filter of the cigarillo. You saw the hunger that flickered in his eyes, a greed so romantically entwined with the people of Bilgewater that men died for it. Like this one would.
“Well, good to know! Between that and the hundred Golden Krakens on your head, you’ll make a fine cashout,” the rancid man said, “Angel.”
Your eyes widened slowly, mockingly. “A hundred Golden Krakens?” You echoed, “…Can I turn myself in?” Your eyes flicked casually to the door as you heard it open once again.
“Very funny. Now…”
Whatever the hunter had to say ceased to matter as you watched her walk in. Wide shoulders curved inwards, entering with the same intent your remaining customers all had. Sevika met your eyes immediately.
On one hand, not only was your safety further secured, but a return in a casket to your old city was all but out of the question now. Sevika wouldn’t let you die, at the very least, you knew that much.
On the other hand… Sevika was in your bar. Your eyes narrowed at her, and you gave her a look that practically screamed ‘piss off’ in spite of your other senses relaxing. She shook her head at you, matching your rising agitation with an annoyed curl of her lip.
Kix, she mouthed. Oh, thanks, kid. What a wingman.
You would’ve found it silly the way she stuck to the walls as she moved through the bar. Trying to get closer to you, you realized. A hand slamming down on the table and another grabbing your collar brought your attention back to more pressing matters.
Sevika felt her heart jump higher in her chest, and she resisted the urge to rush right to you and pluck that man’s head from the rest of him. A firm hand on her shoulder was all that prevented her, and she leveled her gaze with the fool who’d stepped in her line of view.
“We called dibs on this job, you’re too late,” the hunter said. Sevika furrowed her brows in brief confusion, but the pieces came together quickly in a mind as sharp as hers.
Bounty hunters? For you?
He gave her shoulder a shove, and Sevika let herself be moved. Some distance to deploy her left arm’s blade, good. “Go on,” he growled.
A scream from the bar counter swiveled all heads in that direction.
Sevika’s eyes widened as your name started to rise in her throat, until she saw the main perpetrator sink like a stone in water… his hand left behind in your grasp. You wiped the knife on your apron, throwing your still-burning cigarillo at him as he writhed on the floor.
Sevika threw her cloak to the ground before her sensibilities turned to steel.
𒀭 𒀭 𒀭
You would’ve made a fine alchemist, if you hadn’t chosen the more profitable industry of alcoholism instead.
You also would’ve been far less likely to have ever encountered Sevika and the all-consuming rage she inspired in you if you’d started an Apothecary. What with her- very much expected- aversion to seeking out any medical assistance of any sort.
“Ow.”
“Stay still.”
“Ow.” Sevika hissed when you pressed the tonic-doused cloth to her wound with the exact same vigor as before, thrashing away from you. You sat up straight, leveling her with a look that seethed with your indignance.
“You’re acting like a wuss.”
“And you’re acting like a child who didn’t get her way,” she snapped. Your eye twitched, and so you closed them to take a moment to gather yourself.
You missed the way Sevika’s gaze fell slowly to your lap, eyes creasing as she frowned at your battered hands. You hadn’t had time to pull your gun from beneath the bar before shit went down, and so you’d resorted to hacking with hand and blade. Sevika had been at your back like a magnet, sticking to you and letting the hunters come to her. You’d held your own valiantly.
She only serviced you a lukewarm glare as you moved back to her, this time gently easing the cloth onto her wounded cheek. You held her in place by the other side of her face. “You can take a punch but not a wound disinfectant,” you quipped.
“I took more than just a punch recently, princess.” Sevika side-eyed you when your touch faltered, letting out a shallow huff from her nose.
“Unbelievable…” you muttered.
“Who the hell were those guys? What could they possibly want with you?” Sevika asked. You jutted your lip at her in annoyance when her movements shifted the cloth.
She looked down to ponder the fight from a few hours ago (the lower floor was still an absolute wreck, but that was a problem for you to deal with tomorrow). Silver teeth; and weaponry not at all reminiscient of anything you’d find in Zaun, or Piltover. They had moved with an erratic tick to their attacks, not completely unlike the Shimmer-dependent henchmen Silco kept; although their addiction ran strictly red.
“They weren’t Zaunites,” she mused aloud.
“…No. They weren’t. They were from Bilgewater.”
You freed your other hand to reach for your wanted poster you’d nabbed before heading upstairs, and handed it to Sevika. There was a hanging silence between you as she read the same words over and over again.
“They got your likeness wrong,” she said. You pursed your lips, waiting. “Your head is bigger than that.”
“Shut up.”
Sevika chuckled; or at least gave a limp attempt at it. Her hand holding the poster fell with a soft crunch as she sighed. You let your own hands rest in your lap as she closed her eyes, and leaned her head over the back of your couch.
She had such a pretty neck. The lines of that strange scar were like wisps of blue smoke on her skin. You wanted to reach out to touch them, to thank her sweetly for defending you even as you spat fire on her wounds. You wanted to kiss all the smooth and rough patches you could see, lull her into a soft sleep-
“This is gonna get back to Silco in a couple of days tops.”
You scoffed. “What, is he gonna raise my rent? Doesn’t he have a revolution to claim to run?”
Deep down, you were impressed with what Sevika let you get away with saying to her. Inadvertently discounting her life’s work was no small thing, and you’d seen her put others on the ground for less. It was even more surprising when she gave a real answer to your poor-faithed question.
“You should’ve kept your head low. And let me deal with it. Not- cut a guy’s hand off.” She shook her head, rubbing her forehead. You opened your mouth to refute your lost honor, but she beat you to it, “You’re too… competent. He’ll wanna bring you in now. And you’re no good to the Undercity if he pockets you.”
You’re about to ask her why the hell does she work for him then, but another piece clicks into place before the words surface. Sevika watches the realization cross your face. “So that’s why you…”
“Trust me,” Sevika took hold of your wrist as she raised her head to stare scrutinizingly at your wall, and guided you to press the cloth back to her face. “The collections I take from you are cheaper than really being under his heel. You should see what he takes from that Sheriff up in Piltover.” She breathed out a humorless laugh. Your eyes widened, as the scope of Silco’s reach did too. **
You were a fool. Had going straight truly dulled your cunning mind? (Or was it just the handsome woman sitting in your living room…)
“That’s the discounted price too, by the way,” she muttered. You were pulled from your thoughts with a soft laugh.
“I knew you were fond of me.”
“I like what you do for the kids.”
“It’s nothing,” you said softly, surveying the injury on her face and deeming it sufficiently stabilized to move onto the next. You were glad, at least, that the brunt of the pain had been inflicted on you two rather than your good-willed customers.
Sevika’s brow furrowed as she watched you go through the motions of prepping her next injury. Truthfully, she didn’t know why she let you drag her upstairs in the first place; the way you coupled your attentive- if not presumptuous- touch with barbed jabs at her gall for walking into your bar should’ve pissed her off. But she let you move her like you were a breeze.
Your movements were practiced, like you’d spent a whole lifetime sweeping up the broken pieces of stupid, pointless fights. Sevika looked down at the wanted poster again. “…How much is 100 Golden Krakens?” She asked.
You hummed as you tried to think of the best comparison in Zaun’s economy, “Probably eightteen months’ worth of what I make running the bar.”
“Janna-”
You laughed heartily as you carefully peeled the wax paper from a bandage. Subconsciously, you rubbed over the wound once it was patched to soothe the ache, not noticing how Sevika’s gaze immediately went to your nimble hand. “Why, you thinkin’ about turning me in?” You teased.
“Funny,” she deadpanned, “Would be one less pain in the ass for me, though.” She gave you a pointed onceover. Her feigned exasperation melted into a grin when you slapped her leg (albeit very weakly).
“You just said you like me!”
“That isn’t what I said,” she said, still feigning dismissal so smugly. You hated how well she wore a petty smirk, or how pretty her teeth were when she gleaned a real smile.
(You wanted to kiss that stupid look right off her face.)
Instead, all you did was roll your eyes, collapsing on the opposite end of the couch. In Sevika’s mind, she just won that encounter.
“You mind if I smoke?”
You waved your hand, looking out the window of your kitchen, “Worse has happened in my house today.” She didn’t pull your gaze back to her until you heard her shifting around for a longer amount of time than it should’ve taken for someone to find a cig and lighter. “Lose your lighter?” You mocked, taking in the cigarillo hanging out of her mouth as she patted down her pockets with mild frustration on her face.
“One of the bastards must have knocked it out of my pack,” she said with an agitated sigh. Her eyes perked up at the metal clink of… your lighter. You laid your head back against the arm of the couch, resting the open lighter slightly above your abdomen. Sevika’s breath caught as she realized how close she’d have to get to you- how close you’d make her get to you- to get a light.
Her eyes narrowed into a glare as they slid up to meet your gaze. She wasn’t about to make a coward of herself now, though. She held your expectant stare as she leaned down between your legs, one of her hands boldly bracing on your shin with a slight squeeze. She cupped her hand protectively around yours as she lit the end of her cigarillo. The way your eyes widened and your chest stopped rising with breath wasn’t lost on her.
I take it back, Kix, she thought, I don’t think she’s all that pissed.
She turned her head to the side as she blew smoke from her mouth. “Tell me something,” she said, her voice nearly a purr. You had to fight with your own goddamn eyes to tear away from the small puffs of smoke that left her mouth as she spoke. You cocked a brow. “Were you a pirate or something?” She asked. Her eyes widened slightly when you met her with silence. “Oh, sweet hell…”
“Don’t laugh!”
She laughed. You loved that she did.
“That was… a long time ago,” you waved your hand like you could bat the memories away, but they’d never felt more with you than today. You had nearly forgotten how easy it was to snatch someone’s life away. You’d made a fortune on it once, and yet… the muscle of ruthlessness had grown weak and disoriented with lack of exercise. You frowned to yourself, shaking your head. “I did a lot of things I’m not proud of.”
Sevika shrugged, taking another drag. “We don’t choose where life puts us,” she replied. You shouldn’t have been surprised by such a… thoughtful sentence leaving her mouth. But your brows still raised slightly as you looked at her. “I’m not gonna be the one to judge you around here.”
You frowned, guilt jabbing in your gut. “But I did you.”
“Maybe you weren’t wrong for it,” she retorted softly. Your eyes widened. She inhaled softly before continuing, swiveling her gaze to meet yours again. “I used to try an’ push Silco to do more for the kids. Get books smuggled in in between all the Shimmer requisitions,” she scoffed, shaking her head. Your heart squeezed as you watched her carefully begin to pull the curtains around her true self back- for you. “Give people resources, just… something. I didn’t realize I let four years go by ‘til I saw you doing all that for the kids the moment you touched down here.”
You sighed, swinging your legs over the edge of the couch to rub your face with both hands. “You really think I won’t be able to help them at all once Silco comes knocking?” You asked, biting your lip as you felt like what was the only answer was slowly enclosing around you.
Immediately though, Sevika shook her head. Your mouth opened slightly in confusion as she stood up from your couch. “No. I’m gonna handle this,” the determination in her step would have been beyond adorable if it weren’t for your utter bemusement. “I… owe you,” she said slowly. You wanted to laugh at how her fierce bravado seemed to come to a skidding stop the moment she had to make an admission on her pride.
“Oh yeah?” You teased.
She rolled her eyes as she pulled her cloak back on over her shoulders, concealing that absolute unit of a figure from your prying eyes. You smiled at how her broad shoulders were still very apparent, and the beginnings of her v-line peeked out with that damn cropped vest- get it together, Angel. “He’s gonna know I was here anyway, might as well make something out of it,” she explained (right, you bought that…), pausing again to scrutinize you, “You’re all good?”
Trigonometric equations started floating around in your head as you tried to decipher what she could possibly mean with that question, until her arched brow turned judgemental at how long you were taking to answer.
Oh. She was just asking about your… general wellbeing. Aw!
“O-oh, yeah, I’m all good,” you said. Truthfully too, you were more used to fighting the Bilgewater types than her, and had come out of the confrontation mostly unscathed. Your jaw stuttered as if to say more when she hummed and took a swift step forward, tilting your head up with her index and thumb.
“You’re not lying?” She asked lowly, turning your head gently from side to side.
“E-even if I was, it’s none of your business,” you snapped defensively. Dumbass. Did you have any idea how red your face was?
With an amused exhale from her nose, Sevika gently let go of your chin, fleetingly brushing her crooked index over your cheek. “Whatever you say, princess,” she said. She didn’t even give you a chance to shoot back something clever (as if you had something prepared) before she was sweeping towards the door, fixing her cigarillo in the corner of her mouth. “Your bar’s a mess,” she quipped over her shoulder, just to be a dick.
“Fuck you!” You called after her, the smile on your face crystal-clear in your tone. The last thing you saw was her pretty side-profile as she half-glanced at you with smug amusement lining her face, before she closed the door behind her.
You slumped back on the couch, letting out a heavy sigh. “That goddamn woman…” you muttered, “Fuck.”
A Walk Around the Block (Bucky Barnes x Reader)
Summary: A chance encounter with a charming soldier leaves you reeling after a kiss you never meant to give. You swore you’d never fall for a man in uniform—but James Buchanan Barnes isn't easy to forget. Then he shows up outside your door...
“Wherever you want, doll. I’d walk to the end of the world with you.”
Set in 1940s Brooklyn, before James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes is deployed in the beginning of Captain America: The First Avanger and long before he becomes the Winter Soldier.
"You know I would have bought these red pumps with the cute bow for you! They looked so adorable!", Y/BFF/N gushed as you two walked down a road in Brooklyn on your way to your home.
"I know you would have...but", you sighed: "You know I don't want that."
You had just been shopping in the city center and carried your bags home now. Y/BFF/N’s family was one of the richest on Long Island, therefor she always offered to get you all the nice things you couldn’t afford, but you never let her – the one exception being your birthday. To outsider’s it seemed like you didn’t have much in common, but you were inseparable ever since you had bet at thirteen-years-old in a theater workshop in central park.
"It's so sad that you have to work today...we could have gone dancing again!"
"I'm sorry...but I promised my father to check our books today.” The weak excuse came in handy. You had in fact promised your father to help in his car repair shop, but you also weren’t keen on dancing as well.
You were still thinking about the night before and about the man you had danced with. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky. Of course, you remembered his name, how were you supposed to forget it? Or the kiss?
Why had you been so stupid? Of course, you had danced with men before or had talked to one for an entire evening at one of these parties, but you had never kissed one of them! And a soldier?! What on earth were you thinking?
You were looking out for a decent young man with whom you could fall in love, not for a soldier! They weren't looking for love, they just hoped to get in as many girls' pants as possible for the short time they were home.
But Bucky had been so nice...a bit direct and a tease for sure, but funny and polite. God and the kiss!
"We should have taken your driver", you sighed with a smile on your lips.
"Oh no. He only would have told my parents what we have been doing all the time, and I hate that!"
"I know. I get it", you nodded: "What did they say when you came home so late last night?"
"Same as always", Y/BFF/N shrugged.
"You know you can always stay at my place for the night, my parents wouldn't mind and-"
"Oh my", Y/BFF/N suddenly gushed and stopped in her track as a devilish smirk appeared on her face: "Look who's leaning at a lamp post next to your house. Your little soldier."
"My what?", your eyes widened, and your gaze drifted to the lamp post next to the entrance to your father's car repair shop which was located on the ground floor underneath the flat your family was living in. Y/BFF/N was right!
Casually standing there -this time dressed in normal clothes rather than his uniform- was Bucky. What was he doing here?
"What is he doing here?", you whispered to your best friend.
"Looks like he wants to see you. Let's not disappoint him, come!", she dragged you in his direction. What on earth was she doing?
You tried to loosen your friend's grip and attempted to escape until Bucky spotted you - then, of course, you tried to seem as casual and relaxed as possible.
You hadn't told Y/BFF/N about the kiss. It was unnecessary! You would have bet you'd never get to see Bucky ever again. And the kiss simply wasn't like you!
When Bucky saw you, a grin found its way to his lips. A grin which immediately made your chest hurt.
Trying to act all cool you laughed from a distance: "Oh Sergeant, to what do I owe the honor?"
"Wanted to see you.", he smirked.
Sure. Only because you didn't get what you wanted last night.
"In this lighting he looks even more handsome than these shitty dim lights yesterday", Y/BFF/N whispered and she was right. Bucky was the most handsome man you had ever seen.
"Do you want to go for a walk, doll?", he suddenly asked when you stood in front of him.
You rolled your eyes in Y/BFF/N's direction and said: "If anything, it's darling. Not 'doll'."
Which only resulted in Y/BFF/N gently pushing your shoulder with hers.
"If I went with you...where would we go?"
"Wherever you want, doll. I'd walk to the end of the world with you."
You rolled your eyes yet again at his words trying to cover up your blushing cheeks, but Y/BFF/N had somehow already answered for her when you took your bags from her. God, she really wanted you to go with him. But did You?
"Okay fine Sergeant Barnes, let's go. But only because I don't have anything else to do right now!"
"Of course not", he nodded and winked at you.
"I'll see you tomorrow", you said to your friend and followed Bucky, after your friend had answered with an excited squeal.
"So you remember my name, doll?"
"Of course I do", you looked at him surprised: "But apparently you forgot mine, doll."
"How could I, Y/N?", he grinned at you and walked beside you, with enough distance between you, so you would't accidentally touch.
"Okay, maybe you haven't."
"I never forget a pretty girl's name."
Of course not. You sighed.
"James, what do you want from me?"
"Bucky. And like I said I wanted to see you. I figured you wanted to see me as well after you showed me where you lived."
Damn it! Why had you let him walk you home last night?
"Maybe...", you bit your lower lip.
"I really enjoyed our last night!"
"Could you please lower your voice? What are the people going to think?", you nervously looked around if one of the people passing you had been paying any attention.
"Why?", the soldier laughed: "We've only been dancing! Nothing inappropriate, doll."
"I'm not your doll!", you pouted but the smirk on your lips gave it away.
"Not like I wouldn't be down for inappropriate things", he grinned and stopped so he was able to look at your face better.
He was more than one head taller than you and was looking down to you with bliss in his stunningly blue eyes.
"But you set the pace, beautiful", he whispered and tugged a lose strand of hair behind your ear which left you speechless for a second.
"Pardon?"
"Pardon?", he grinned innocently and walked on certain you would follow once you had overcome the obvious and adorable shock. And you did.
"Sergeant Barnes, this is not something- I mean...I'm a lady! And I would appreciate if you'd put a little more effort into treating me as such!"
"Oh but I do", he said as he picked a white flower from a low hanging flower box and tugged it behind your: "Milady."
"That's a lot better, Sergeant", you smiled softly while the red of your cheeks turned even brighter: "Plus, I think I like 'milady' a lot better than 'doll'."
He laughed...and God, his laugh...
"So...tell me, where do you want to go?"
"Just walk around a few blocks?"
You knew you still had work waiting for you at home.
"How boring! I told you I'd walk to the end of the world for you!"
"But isn't boring like a welcome change for you?"
"Shouldn't I be at home all day, laying around if that was the case?"
"I just thought..."
"It's alright", he smiled: "A few blocks it is."
"I'm sorry if that disappoints you."
"It doesn't", he demanded and winked at you with a cheeky grin: "I'd rather just walk a few blocks with good company than to lay around at home."
"Your family must be very happy you're home", you smiled but he just shrugged and tugged both of his hands in the pockets of his trousers.
"My family is rather small actually. Consists of exactly one person, although my best friend would be very pissed if he heard that, he's like a brother."
He tried to joke it off and acted all casual, but you had realized how his mood had changed.
"Oh...so you're all alone?"
Somehow she couldn't quite believe that. A happy person like Bucky was so lonely, how could that be the case? And why did the idea of it hurt so bad?
"Yes, but it's okay, really. Don't worry about it. I get along just fine on my own."
"I can imagine", you nodded: "Bet nobody is dumb enough to mess around with Sergeant Barnes!"
"Exactly, so you better behave, doll, and stop calling me Sergeant! Except you really like it."
You rolled your eyes yet another time, you just couldn't help it.
"You know , you look adorable when you do that, don't you?"
"When I do what?"
"Roll your eyes at me. Through that I can tell you must really like me!", he teased her.
"Oh really?", you raised your eyebrows: "If I wasn't raised properly I would definitely call you an idiot right now, Sergeant."
"That only proves it even more."
"Dream on!"
"So you're saying you kissed me without even liking me? Now you hurt my feelings, doll, you really did!", he acted over the top hurt and upset.
"You mean you kissed me", you lowered your voice and your entire body tensed.
"Relax, doll", Bucky laughed and took a step closer towards you: "You are right. I kissed you", and whispering into your ear he added: "But it did not seem like you didn't enjoy it."
You felt your heart starting to beat faster when he came closer but his gentle touch of your cheek and earlobe had been swift and he quickly leaned back again.
You swallowed visibly before you said with a thin voice: "I...Bucky, I'm not like that. I don't know what came over me yesterday and-"
"Don't worry. That's every girl's reaction to me."
How could he say that?! That was every girl's reaction to him?! Well, if that's the case.
"Apparently you're really nothing but an impatient womanizer", you shook your head and went past him with quick steps.
Why had she been dumb enough to even imagine he could be a decent man?
"Hey, wait, Y/N", he rushed after you: "I'm just teasing you, doll! It's all fun!"
"I'm not your toy, Bucky!"
"Got it. No games."
"Okay...", you gave in again. God, why did he have to look at you with these stunningly beautiful eyes?
"Do you have any plans for tomorrow?"
"Why?"
"We could go dancing in the evening again", he offered: "Or if you finally figure out a destination a bit further away than just a few blocks I could pick you up in the afternoon and we drive wherever you want to go, how does that sound?"
"You have a car?", you raised your eyebrows and eyed him critically, trying to figure out if he really meant it.
"No, but I would organize one."
She chuckled: "Okay, but I have to work tomorrow. What about the day after?"
"I'll be there."
--> MASTERLIST
midnight cowboy
warnings: smut, reverse cowgirl, kinda mean!sevika, brief spanking, BIG MAMA (she is a warning.)
this was inspired by JADE’s song, ‘midnight cowboy’
Neon lights glare through the window, illuminating the dark space, and the two figures inside. Flashes of purple and blue casting over their silhouettes. Muffled bass thumps, echoing from the nightlight outside. It’s almost silent other wise, heavy breathing filling the void.
Sevika’s mechanical arm rests behind her head, leaning back on it, her cold grey eyes alert, watching. There’s a smug look on her face, smoke pouring in spirals from her nose as she takes a drag from the blunt between her lips. She tears her eyes from your naked form, down to your hands and grunts when you roughly tighten the harness around her thigh. Saddling her up. “Easy.” She bites.
You simply chuckle in response, knowing fine well she likes when you try to play a little rough.
Sevika’s purplish strap stands tall on her hips, thick and ridged, made to make you feel everything. Your cunt throbs at the sight, thighs squeezing. It suited Sevika perfectly, big and intimidating. Her free hand comes to wrap around it, stroking the thick length up and down. You’re staring hungrily, folds dripping with slick, eager to have Sevika inside you.
Her head tilts, “You gonna get on with it, or what?” She asks gruffly, daringly. Eyes trailing down to the mess between your thighs, demeanour faltering ever so slightly at the sight of your glistening cunt. Sevika hums, patting her thigh, “Come ‘n ride me, gorgeous. Show me what you’re made of.” She challenges through another puff of smoke, settling back against the headboard.
Lip caught between your teeth, you nod dumbly, “Need your cock, Sevika,” you sigh, climbing her eagerly, watching her smirk. You turn around on her lap, straddling her thighs. It takes Sevika by surprise, which doesn’t happen often, having expected you to ride facing her. Now she has a full view of your back, her eyes trailing down the length of you. She admires your curves, the swell of your ass and fuck, your cunt.
Which was winding down on the tip of her strap, coating Sevika’s cock in your sticky juices. She catches on your entrance and you gasp, walls fluttering as you tease yourself.
Sevika’s groan dances with your long moan when you finally sink down on her cock. Feeling lightheaded as you stretch around the size of her, so deep inside your cunt, you can feel her in your throat. Sevika’s groan turns into a dark laugh, flesh hand wiping to snatch the blunt from her lips, tossing it aside. “You really are just fucking nasty, aren’t you, girl?” her words are harsh as she sits up, the movement forcing her cock deeper. You whine, cut off by Sevika’s arm wrapping around your chest, tugging your back flush against her.
“Fuckin’ slut, look at you,” she drawls, mechanical hand finding your waist, running down, freezing against your hot skin. “Fuck, look at these curves. Just move-yeah that’s it. Nice and slow,” Sevika guides you, grip on your waist urging you to grind down on her, hips rolling for her hard eyes to admire.
Your soft moans echo, whimpers slipping out whenever her cock hits those spots inside you that have you lost for breath. “Sevika, please,” you have no idea what you’re pleading for. Sevika simply grunts in response, leaning down to attack your neck with her mouth. Sucking hard enough to leave marks, looking down your body as you continue to rock your hips back against her. You suck in a sharp, deep breath, Sevika watching how your tits move as you heave, perky nipple just begging to be pinched and bitten. So she does, pawing and groping at your tits until you’re whining and squirming on her cock.
You start to grind down harder, faster, desperate for more. More noises slip past your lips, growing louder with each rut of your hips. You want to bounce on her cock, feel her sliding in and out of your soaked pussy. Yet Sevika lays a sharp smack to your thigh, “What did i just say?” she murmurs nipping your skin, “Slow.”
With a whine you sit back on her cock, “I need more,” you punctuate with a hard roll of your hips, the pressure giving Sevika friction to which she groans. “Lemme ride you. Give me more, please. I wanna feel you in my tummy.” You sound pathetic, and it gets Sevika off, wanting to see just how desperate you can get. “Please, Sev-“ You cut yourself off with a whimper as you attempt to bounce on her, feeling her cock shifting deliciously against your fluttering walls. “More,” you sigh quietly, lost in the pleasure.
It’s short lived as you’re suddenly shoved forward onto your hands, Sevika scoffing behind you. “You want more?” She sneers, laying a slap to your ass. “Take it.” You’re looking at her over your shoulder, eyebrows raised. Sevika rolls her eyes, her impatience evident as she gestures to you sitting still on her cock. “Get on with it. Fuck yourself dumb, doll, gimme a good show.”
You start slow, lifting off her cock until only her tip sheathed. Letting Sevika see how well you take her as you sink down to the hilt, curses falling from your lips in whispered whines. Sevika hums her approval, eyes trained on the way you begin bouncing on her cock. Quickening the pace of your thrusts, your head falls back in pleasure. Bracing yourself using her thighs, you pant out little whines and whimpers, feeling her so deep, gliding against your sensitive walls.
“Sevika, fuck!” you cry out, voice strained, “Feels s-so good.” That coil beginning to wind up in your stomach, making you clench and attempt to keep her lodged in your cunt. You can hear Sevika’s heavy breath behind you, clearly affected by watching you ride her. Yet her tone is smug, her voice dropping lower, “Come on. You can do better than that.”
Her hands slide to cup your ass, the contrast of hot and cold sending sparks flying across your body. She spreads you open to her gaze as you start to pick up pace, slamming down harder on her cock. She watches the way your cunt swallows her whole, how you were gripping her cock whenever she slid out. Sevika curses behind you, low and husky, “That’s it.”
The need to cum overpowers the ache in your legs, the need to please Sevika. Your eyebrows are furrowed, moans spilling as you bounce up and down, again and again. Fucking yourself hard on her cock, making your head feel fuzzy. “I- fuck,” it feels so good. She’s so deep in your tummy, hitting all the right spots. “I’m gonna…fuck…i’m gonna cum,” you manage, whining, feeling the pressure building up in your core.
Sevika doesn’t even answer, entrance by the crease, the jiggle of your ass against her hips. Your thighs start shaking, inching closer and closer. It drives you wild, riding Sevika like a goddamn cowgirl. Your nails dig into her skin, hard, and she only groans at the feeling. You’re chanting her name in a whispered prayer, voice rising in pitch as your orgasm begins to take over.
It washes over you dramatically, wave after wave. You can’t get a word out, mouth dropped in a silent moan, convulsing atop her. Your cunt is squeezing her rhythmically, like a vice, unable to comprehend the feelings taking over your body. Your thrusts become weaker, attempting to fuck yourself through it. You aren’t given a chance to ride out your high before you feel Sevika’s hand fisting your hair. She grips your hair like a ponytail, tugging your head back as she readjusts herself. And then she makes you scream.
Sevika pistons her hips to meet your thrusts, fucking up into you with an aggression. Your moans come out in broken sobs as she overstimulates your cunt. Your neck strains with how tight Sevika holds your hair, pulling you so far back you could nearly see her upside down. “Got another one in you, don’t ya’?” Sevika growls, grunting with each thrust of her cock into your dripping cunt. Strings of your slick are falling to the bed beneath you, soaking Sevika’s thighs, leaving a ring of cum around the base of her cock.
It’s too much. Far too much. But still not enough. The way she’s rutting into you like a dog in heat, making you see fucking stars. Having not recovered from your first orgasm and she’s already fucking you into the next one. Her free hand finds your hip, gripping tightly and using her strength to bounce you on top of her. “Good fucking girl,” she drawls through a grunt, “Taking me so well.”
You sob out in pleasure as a response, listening to the obscene wet sounds. Paired with the slapping of Sevika’s hips against your ass. It was filthy, pornographic, but it simply made you want it more. Sevika was pushing you past your limits, and a sick, twisted part of you got off on it. The way she used you like a toy.
And you let her, body pliant as she fucked up into you, cock hitting deeper than you ever thought possible. Your legs were trembling, so close to giving out beneath you. “Fuckin’ look at you. Making a mess of my dick,” Sevika practically snarls, tugging your hair harder and rutting into you deeper. “Gonna cum, doll?”
You couldn’t speak, attempting a weak nod as you whined. Your cunt was tightening around her cock again and you were gasping for air. It was all too much. The feeling of her cock, the fuzziness in your head. “Please, please, please please,” you whimper, needing to let go.
Sevika chuckles darkly, gripping your hip tighter. “Want it bad, huh?” Her tip was pushing into that spot with each thrust, pulling on your hair until she was able to latch her teeth into your neck.
That was your breaking point, the coil in your tummy snapping. Sevika forces another orgasm out of you. She grunts with each thrust, fucking you through the near unbearable pleasure. Your moans release in broken screams and squeaks, arms giving out as you fall back into her. Sevika wraps her arm around your middle, cooing in your ear, rutting her hips up over and over, letting you feel everything.
“Ohhh,” you’re shuddering in her hold, “Oh my god!” Your hand shoots behind you to grab a hold of the back of her neck, grounding yourself. You don’t even register the tears falling from your eyes from how hard she made you cum. You have to turn your head and bury your face into her, panting for breath, still shaking. You can feel Sevika stroking her mechanical thumb over your hip, offering a form of comfort.
She’s laughing in your ear, smug expression gracing her face. She lets go of your hair to grab your face, smushing your cheeks. “I think it’s my turn, doll.” She says quietly, gruffly, breath hot against the shell of your ear, “Gonna ride that pretty face of yours. Let’s see how much you can take.”
After seen arcane I always had the question of Sevika knows that the person who killed Silco was Jinx….
hers | s.a
summary: your bright personality unexpectedly draws in sevika and she can’t help but fall for you. when finn makes a comment that he can’t take back, sevika reminds him and you how much you mean to her.
pairing: fem!reader x sevika arcane
contains: mature language and content (18+), set sometime between act 1 and act 2 of season 1, established relationship, sunshine!reader, sensitive!reader, reader is described to wear more feminine outfits and makeup, finn being a WEIRDO to reader like omg, minor violence to men who deserve it, smut including — no foreplay, strap-on (hex-strap <3) r!recieving, sevika calls reader pet names such as sunshine, pretty girl, baby, sweet girl, angel, rushed ending.
word count: 4.4K
a/n: i’m ready to bear her children. a little treat before what we might endure in act 2. muah muah i love you angels <333 i am so sorry for posting this so late within the day. i had a hectic day at work but i pushed through for yall!
Sevika would never be described as a bright person.
Her position as Silco’s right-hand woman made her eerily unapproachable. She wore a poker face, gambled with ease, and was expertly skilled in combat. Fear struck in those who dared to try her.
Except, well, you.
When you first took the position as a waitress at The Last Drop, you were immediately drawn to the so-called scary woman. You heard whispers amongst the customers of her actions but all you saw was a tall, gorgeous woman.
Chuck, at least you assumed that was his name as the little 12-year-old girl with bright blue hair repeatedly called him in when she was lingering around, noticed your longing gaze at the woman. He warned you that someone as preppy as you is not someone Sevika would enjoy in her presence.
You were aware of your bubbly personality that, to most, was a bit overwhelming to be around. Your outfits drew attention as you enjoyed more frilly and bright things, always wearing jewelry or makeup or both to color coordinate with your outfits. It brought you joy and you weren’t ashamed of it.
You ignored him as you thought he was being ridiculous. How could she judge you so quickly without even getting to know you?
“I’m going to say hi!” You state with a nod to Chuck. “Do you know her favorite drink?”
You lean against the counter, beaming charmingly at the man. He hesitates as he doesn't want you to get yelled at or scoffed at for even trying.
“I-I don’t know. Sevika’s not… fond of being interrupted during her poker games.”
You blink as you turn back around to watch her shuffle the cards with one clawed and flesh hand, a cigar hanging from her beautiful lips. As much as you wanted to go over there and admire her up close; Chuck was right.
You didn’t want to be rude.
“I’ll just wait until she’s done then,” you nod to confirm.
And that’s what you do. You watch as her opponents angrily toss their forfeit onto the table, muttering curses at the woman. The larger woman keeps her cool composure, a winning smirk on her face. You grin happily at her now empty table, grabbing the drink Chuck had reluctantly handed you to deliver to the woman.
You control the pep in your step as much as you can as you didn’t want to spill the drink. Sevika gathers the coins into her leather pouch when you first approach her table.
“Hi!” You smile warmly.
Sevika, much to your surprise, doesn’t ignore you as Chuck made you believe she would. In fact, she sits back in her seat, her gray eyes trailing up and down your figure as you set down the drink.
“I thought I’d bring you a celebratory drink and introduce myself,” you beam as you clasped your hands behind your back. “You’re Sevika, right?”
And she was even more devilishly charming up close. That was a given but you were able to admire her little marks much closer now. You even noticed blue scars running up the side of her face, trailing down the side of her mechanic arm.
“You’re new, aren’t you?” Sevika hummed as she moved her gaze to your awaiting eyes.
You nod, trying not to burst out with excitement so you wouldn’t scare her.
“I am! Just started a week ago, I think. I saw you when I first started and wanted to go say hi and Chuck told me not to,” you wave off like the man was ridiculous with a lovely chuckle. “Everyone says you’re scary but you don’t seem scary to me.”
Sevika’s eyes had flickered over to the bar where Chuck was avoiding her sharp gaze as you unknowingly ratted him out. She decides to let whatever he said slide and focus on the vision that is you right in front of her.
With one more once over your frame, Sevika actually grins at you.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to scare someone as pretty as you, angel.”
Sevika takes her cigar from her lips to blow out the smoke away from you and reaches across the table to grab the drink. You were obsessed with the way she called you ‘angel’, wanting to hear her voice on a loop forever.
“You think I’m pretty?” You swore your face was stretching due to how much you were smiling.
Sevika hums as she takes a slow sip from the slightly rusted glass.
“The prettiest,” she affirmed your question before leaning in close so she could look you in the eyes, admiring the shimmer over your eyelids. “I hope to see you around.”
You nod with an overwhelming flushed face, practically bouncing on the soles of your shoes. You left the table with an overwhelming amount of confidence. Sevika watched you walk back to the bar counter to gush to Chuck about how nice she was.
That was only the beginning of Sevika’s infatuation with you.
She tried to ignore the bubbling feeling of yearning for you but every time she came into the Last Drop, you were just the sweetest girl to her and never made her feel like just a crime lord. Every outfit you wore had her on the verge of begging on her knees for you to let her make you feel so good because that’s what you deserve.
You asked her random questions about her and her life when you would bring her drinks, slowly emerging into Sevika’s life. Sure, it was the bare minimum and you acted this way with most. But when you stared at her as she spoke, nodding to show you were listening and taking in every word with those lovely eyes, she knew she was fucked.
Within the first month of meeting, Sevika built up the courage to ask you out after your shift at the Last Drop. You, of course, were as sweet about it as ever. After that first date, everything shifted in the bond that you two had made over those weeks.
You quickly learned how obsessed and protective Sevika would be over you. Her arm — mechanic or not — would be draped over your soft hips, signaling to everyone that you were hers.
Word quickly spread about you and Sevika’s relationship.
It seemed like out of the blue the men and women would give you dirty looks and make passive-aggressive comments in the Last Drop became significantly nicer to you as well. When you would beam to Sevika how you all of a sudden started getting tipped more at work, she would congratulate you, showering you with kisses.
Little did you know it was because everyone was afraid to rub you the wrong way and that you would tell the intimidating woman. If you were upset, which was rare, you could guarantee Sevika would be just as upset if not more than you.
Just as she had treated you like the princess she saw you as you were just as loving to her. There was no shocker there as you didn’t seem to have one malicious bone in your body. When you weren’t at work, you were right next to Sevika. Whether it’d be at Silco’s office or helping her babysit Jinx, you’d happily be right by her side to help or just be there for support.
The little blue-haired girl would constantly tease Sevika about being a ‘big old softie’ when you came around. You thought she was the cutest thing and Sevika would simply tell her to shut it.
Like any other day, you were sitting on her lap during her poker games, leaning over her shoulder to stare at the hand she had. The opponents across the table were gawking and staring at you, clearly getting distracted by your beauty and outfits. Even after almost a year of being together, Sevika would get so flustered when you would place a kiss on her cheek or jaw when she won a match. She couldn’t — and would never even try — to hide her love and admiration for you.
She called you your good luck charm as if she hadn’t already become a pro at poker before you popped out of nowhere.
This particular match was different though. Her opponents were ones that you knew — Finn and Smeech. You had seen them a few times when you swung by Silco’s office to drop off some treats for your girlfriend and whoever wanted some as well.
You didn’t mean to but you made eye contact with Finn while you were simply gazing around the surrounding space. His bright luminescent green eyes catch yours and you immediately look away. Sevika notices the tension in your body and clears her throat, her strong arm settling around your waist to try and ease you.
“Your eyes are getting away from your cards, Finn,” Sevika quipped, eyes narrowing for a moment before focusing on your breathing that was picking up.
Her thumb rubbed at the revealed skin. You place a gentle hand on her larger one, trying to distract yourself. Most that were played against Sevika didn’t even dare to look you in the eyes; you were Sevika’s and they knew better.
Turns out, Finn was not aware of this.
“Well, something is distracting me, Sevika.” Finn’s off-putting comment made your stomach turn, looking at you with an almost predatory look.
Sevika’s nostrils flared for a moment, puffing out some of the smoke from the cigar dangling from her lips. Your hand tightened on hers, blinking and looking away from him.
“You sure picked a pretty one,” Finn continued and you looked up at him to see him wink at you. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
You are taken aback by the question, glancing at Sevika as you mutter out your name. Usually, you were able to converse with the opponents to distract them from Sevika with your effortless charm but you wanted to do anything but talk to Finn.
“Focus on the game or get up from the table,” Sevika warns the man.
You hated seeing Sevika get angry as you knew her as anything but. Sure, she was grumpy and had a stone-cold face but she was the most attentive and loyal girlfriend to you.
“Sev,” you whisper to try and ease her clear anger with the man.
Finn chuckles at her obvious irritation with him. Sevika’s lip twitches at the sound and she sucks in a deep breath, glancing down at the hand of cards.
“Are you done or can we get this going?”
You look back at Sevika with an awkward smile. You felt like you were on display at an exhibit with his eyes on you and not in the way that Sevika looked at you.
No, she was so tender and loving with you.
“You know what? I, um, I forgot the muffins I made in the office. I’ll be right back, baby,” you pat her hand that was gripping onto your torso.
Sevika’s gray eyes found your gaze, watching as they anxiously darted from eye to eye. You were uncomfortable. Finn made you feel uncomfortable. From the moment you weakly smiled at her, Sevika knew she had to deal with him the moment you were out of her eye-line.
“Okay, sweet girl. Be quick. Need my good luck charm,” Sevika curtly nodded, plastering on a grin for your sake.
“I’ll be quick. I love you,” you ignore the obvious stares from the two across the table as you lean down to place a lovely kiss on her lips.
The taste of your lips fogs Sevika’s brain for a moment, reluctantly releasing your waist so you can leave her presence. “And I love you.”
You send her one more darling smile before keeping your distance from the two opponents as you make your way to where the office is located. You wave to Chuck as you pass by him handing a drink to Jinx at the bar in her signature cup.
You pat her on the head and flick one of her collarbone-length braids, watching her whip her head to find your awaiting grin. She leans forward to capture the straw between her lips, waving to you. You chuckle at her mean face before she realized it was you.
Sevika watched you walk away until you were completely out of sight before she reached over the table to grab onto the hair on Finn’s head and slammed it down thrice onto the wooden table. Her large hand held him down, watching him struggle to let himself up after the impact it had on his head.
The thud mixed with his pained grunt echoed, the few people within the bar pausing their movements. Objects clattered and chairs scooted to see where the sound came from. She uses her mechanic hand to take the cigar out of her mouth to rest it on the little ashtray that you sculpted for her.
“You really just couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut,” Sevika snarled at the man who was getting small splinters embedded into his skin from the old wood.
“He didn’t mean it,” Smeech proposed after being silent throughout the entire match up until now. Fucking coward, Sevika thought to herself. “We could… work out a deal to make this go away.”
Sevika scoffed as she started up her mechanical arm, the blade within it revealing itself and extending to push against the small jaw of Smeech’s fury face.
“A misunderstanding is all,” Smeech sputtered out, glancing at Finn’s smashed-in face.
Sevika stood up from her seat to grab onto Finn’s hair and ram him up against the nearest wall, head pounding against the tough wood. The man had yet to say a word about his over-the-line actions. A bloody smile was all he wore. Her hand held him up against the wall, her chest heaving from anger and her hand tightening to watch him writhe under her touch.
“Complete forfeit and that’s it. We’re gone. We’ll never look at her again,” Smeech rushed out
“And what would Silco say to this reckless behavior? We’re partners, you know?” Finn coughed out, spitting some of his blood out onto the ground. “Would not be too keen on that now would he?”
Sevika glanced over at Smeech’s trembling figure, carefully lowering her blade. He was right. As much as she wished she could beat his face until it was black and blue, nearing death, Silco would have more than a few words for her. She retracts the blade back into the arm and releases Finn from his throat, watching him pant and rub at the sore area.
“Leave the money,” Sevika grabbed the still-lit cigar and pressed it onto Finn’s free hand when he wasn’t paying attention. He gasped at the burn seeping into his skin, unable to react as Sevika grabbed him by the collar to push him toward the exit. “And get the hell out here.”
Smeech kept his distance as he nodded in understanding of Sevika’s anger. He released a frantic chuckle as he, along with Finn, left the building without looking back. Sevika shook out her hand and stretched a bit. When she takes a look around, the paused customers instantly continue their previous actions.
“Sev?” She hears you call from behind her, your footsteps growing closer. “Wait, what happened?”
Sevika shook her head as she turned to face your confused expression at the now-empty table. She glanced down at the small tray of muffins that you and Jinx made.
“They had places to be.”
“Aww. I was going to give them a muffin to try before they left. They’re not like ones that’d be up in Piltover but I think we did a pretty good job.” You motion to the berry muffins. “Have you tried one yet? I can’t remember.”
Sevika hums with a shake of her head before grabbing one off of the tray.
“Let’s go home, yeah?” She insisted with a hand out for you to take.
You nod happily at her suggestion, intertwining your fingers with yours as you leave out the door of the Last Drop.
Entering Sevika’s apartment, you rambled about the muffins you made. You were yet to notice Sevika practically undressing you with her eyes.
“I just think if you know if I was able to get a different kind of fruit,” you examine one of them in your hand, letting Sevika lead you by your hip around to the kitchen so you could set your muffins down on the countertop. “You know? Next time you have a transportation, can you stop by a fruit vendor or something up there so that I could—”
“Baby,” Sevika chuckles at your rambling as she rests her hands on your waist, squeezing the plush skin to grab your attention.
“Oh, right. Tell me about the rest of the poker game,” you shook your head and patted her bicep, looking up at her with a sweet smile.
Sevika could take you right there and then. She presses a loving kiss onto your lips before using her non-mechanic hand to cup the side of your face, keeping her hunger for you at bay for now.
“Did I ruin it when I left? Is that why everyone was gone when I came back?” You question, your face wincing at the idea that you may have altered the game. “I-I know I was… being distracting to Finn and I didn’t mean to.”
Sevika shook her head at your words, shushing your insecure thoughts creeping into your head.
“No. No, you did nothing wrong. Finn was the one out of line,” Sevika sneered, rubbing her thumb along the apple of your cheek.
“Are you sure?” You checked in one more time.
“Yes, angel. I mean it,” her voice is assertive but reassuring.
You nod, sighing as you lean into the comforting feeling of her palm. The feeling of discomfort from half an hour ago still lingered in your mind. You release an awkward chuckle, staring up at Sevika’s comforting gray eyes.
“I’m sorry. I just never felt that weird before.”
Sevika’s brows furrowed at your confession. Once you realize how depressing you sound, you shake your head as you reach up to cup her stern face, running your thumb over her blue scars. She wished she would’ve just finished Finn off right there and then seeing you contemplate who you are because of him.
“You… are perfect. Everything about you,” Sevika breathed out, leaning in to place kisses on the under of your jaw.
You gasp softly at the feeling, running a hand over the length of her shoulder. Her hand cupped at your neck, her thumb pressing underneath your to get you to tilt your chin upwards. You pant as her lips trail down the length of your neck, barely ghosting her lips to draw the neediness out of you.
It didn’t take much for you to get riled up for Sevika. Because, well, it was Sevika. She learned every spot that drove you wild and made it her mission to take advantage of that.
“I-I’m really okay, Sev,” you assure her but your slack jaw gave away how much you wanted this.
“Do you want me to stop?” She questions, pausing her movements but still heavily panting against your neck.
You shake your head rapidly, hand cursing up the back of her head into her hair.
“No, no. Please don’t.”
And how could she not give you what you want? Especially when you’re so sweet.
“Such a sweet girl, baby,” she breathed out before backing out of the comforting crook of your neck.
You preen at the praise, looking up at her with dazed-out eyes. Your hands were clamped down on the counter behind you, the ledge digging into your back. She traced the wet mark on your skin before delving back into your lips.
You ‘hmph’ at the attack on you but recover quickly, falling into a rhythm against her. Her hands settle back on your waist, her real hand sneaking up your top to run her fingers over your ribcage. You shiver against her, the sound of your lips smacking and the feeling of her tongue grazing over your bottom lip increasing your arousal.
“Wanna get up on the corner for me?” Sevika hums between kisses, her hands gripping at the meat of your thighs.
You nod with a hum, releasing the counter. Sevika lifted you with ease, hoisting you up on the counter. You couldn’t but giggle at the motion, still not being used to the fact that she was that strong. Her muscles were a constant reminder but when she was able to effortlessly move you around, you swore you were on top of the world.
“Need you, Sev,” you whisper against her lips, a smile creeping onto your lips.
Sevika's eyes shut at the sound of you asking for, needing her.
“Say that again, pretty girl,” she mutters as her grip on you tightens.
You smile against her lips as you peck them a few times before tilting your head up at her.
“I need you, baby. Please.”
Sevika released a near growl at your begging for her. She nearly knocks you back onto the counter as her lips find yours once again. Your bodies press up against one another, grinding your crotches. Your eyebrows raise at the bulge in between her legs.
You were not expecting her to be wearing the strap-on around. A pleasant surprise, nonetheless.
Sevika must've noticed you slowing down, pulling away with a slight smirk.
“You want it?” Sevika hummed, slowly grinding the bulge against you once again.
You nod again with greed, clawing at her back. With quick and hurried movements, you helped her move your panties down from underneath your rather short skirt. Sevika runs her hands up the plush of your thighs as her lips kiss your collarbones.
Growing impatient, you take matters into your own hands and reach for the button of her pants. Sevika hummed at the feeling, in fact pushing your hips into your hands to encourage the neediness. You took the strap out of her briefs, not wanting to take the time for foreplay.
You were positive that you were wet enough for Sevika to just ease into you. She chuckles at you angling your hips so she could line herself up to your aching pussy.
“Needy girl,” she teases.
You flush at the mocking, loving any sort of attention she was giving you. Your mind had completely blanked on why you were feeling so weird in the first place. Sevika was all that was able to make its way through your thoughts.
Her rough yet tender hands, her addicting lips, her toned waist, her ever-so-loving voice.
Just Sevika.
“Should’ve killed him for staring at you,” Sevika mutters against your skin. “For talking to you like that, angel.”
You shake your head at her words. “Just want you, Sev.”
Sevika nodded, knowing how much you hated seeing the violence. You, of course, knew it was a part of her job but when you saw people physically get hurt, you could feel it too. You would hate to know someone got hurt on your account.
“I’ll take care of you,” Sevika says out loud as if she’s trying to get herself back on track.
You were a waiting mess for her and she was thinking about killing that fucker. She blinked and looked at you, really admiring every curve of your body. Your hands were running over her broad shoulder, glancing down at the dildo in between you two.
Her hands push your legs apart, a smile growing on her face. You pant as your patience is wearing thin, watching her grab the base end of the strap to glide the tip through your folds. She was still teasing you, an evil smirk on her lips.
“Baby, don’t be mean,” you whine, looking up at her with desperation written all over your face.
Sevika whispers an ‘I’m sorry’, placing a kiss and soft bite underneath your dropped jaw. She held your hips still in place as she carefully inched herself into you. You gasped and moaned at the stretch inside of you. Sevika’s head tilts back as she curses under her breath.
You swore at times she acted like she really could feel you through the strap.
“Fuck,” she groans, humming as she bottoms out inside of you.
Your nails were digging into the scarred skin of her neck, emitting another moan from the woman. Without wasting another second, Sevika, once she was sure you were okay, began thrusting inside of you.
Your tits bounced with every thrust, nearly popping out of your top from movements. Sevika shamelessly watched your face twist in pleasure, your beautiful skin glistening with her saliva from her wet kisses and your sweat.
“Baby,” you moan out, shivering when she thrusts hard up into you.
Sevika grabbed underneath your jaw with her real hand, making you make eye contact with her as she fucked into you.
“My perfect girl,” she praises as her thrusts continue, slapping against your inner thighs.
You preen at the praise, wanting to look away but Sevika wouldn’t let you. Your stomach tightens at your overwhelming fast orgasm approaching. It was creeping up your spine, burning in the best way possible.
“Just like that, baby,” Sevika nodded as she released your face to focus on your soft hips.
Your breathy and whiny moans drive Sevika to speed up her thrusts into you. Your legs were hiked up around her toned waist, brushing deliciously at her v-line.
“Sev, please,” you beg.
For what? You weren’t sure anymore.
“Say you’re perfect. Say it for me, angel,” Sevika groaned as she continued her thrusts inside of you, one of her hands cupping underneath your jaw.
Your mind was foggy, barely able to focus on what she was asking you what to do. Your hips stutter as you try to match the pace of her thrusts.
“I’m… p-perfect.” You sputter through your heavy breathing, reaching and holding onto her strong forearm.
The metal of her mechanic arm made your skin shiver as she shifted your legs to somehow reach deeper into you. Your painted nails dug into her skin as you tried to adjust to the angle change.
“You’re my perfect girl. My angel, my sunshine,” Sevika praises you as her thrusts become sloppier, a shiver running down her spine.
Nothing, not even Shimmer, could compare to the euphoric feeling of being with you like this. Nothing was as addicting as you.
“Yours,” was all you could whimper out.
You were sure your makeup was smudged, most of your eyeshadow faded from the heat exuding from your body. Sevika wouldn’t let you even try to think about anything else but feeling good.
“‘M yours too, angel. Don’t you forget it.”
TAGLIST: @eilishxo @prettydeeryess @hauntedclaudio @maaaaaaaaaaari @prettysuplicant @twlaei @soodle-noup @xayn-xd @fict1onallyobsessed @lamiadrowned @asmrgirll @lovinglynny @kylorey25 @kissyslut @archangeldyke-all
Need her so bad
I’ve been so down bad for Sevika and I saw this thing about a pirate AU and I had to draw it
Scissor me timbers indeed
hard sex sev like spanking ass cause shes jealous semi public s3x but sweet sev because that shit drives me crazy
anon... u r so big brained. i hope u like it bb!!
men and minors dni
the beat is thumping in time with your heart as you sway and grind your hips. behind you, sevika is grinding against your ass, her hands gripping your hips, her lips pressing kisses into your exposed neck and shoulder. she nips your skin and you giggle.
"want another drink?" she grumbles into your ear. you nod, turning around in her grip, slinging your hands over her shoulders.
"another one of those strawberry things." you request. sevika nods down at you, her smile growing.
"i'll be right back." she says, pressing her lips to yours in a firm kiss. you grin up at your girlfriend, not yet ready to let her go. you give her shoulders a tug. she raises her eyebrow.
"one more before you go." you demand, pouting up at her. sevika's indulgent smile grows, and she wraps her arms around your waist, pressing your body against hers.
"anything for you, baby." she says, swooping down to kiss you. you hum against her soft lips, swiping your tongue out to give her bottom lip a kitten lick. she growls against you, retching her face away from yours, glaring down at you. "behave." she grunts. you blink innocently up at her and she laughs, stepping backwards, putting some space between the two of you. "i'll be back in a second." she says, kissing the tip of your nose and side stepping your grabby hands. she quickly strides past you, smacking your ass as she makes her way over to the bar. you chuckle and turn to watch her go, the crowd parting for her to pass through the last drop effortlessly.
you make your way off the dance floor back to the sevika's personal booth, not wanting to dance without your girlfriend. you giggle as you plop into the booth, tipsy from the three or four drinks you'd already had tonight.
sevika picked out your outfit-- a sparkly baby blue club dress that barely covers your ass, the neckline plunging low, the back plunging lower. it's a ridiculous scrap of shimmery fabric, but she'd brought it home for you a few weeks ago with a salacious grin, and tonight she had asked very kindly for her to please let her show you off in it. and who were you to deny your girl some fun? plus, the mild discomfort you feel wearing the skimpy dress lessens and lessens with every time you catch her eye fucking you. you tug a strap that had fallen down your shoulder back up.
"hey gorgeous." a voice grumbles out above you. your gaze flicks upward. a lanky man stands above you, his eyes focused on your cleavage. you chuckle.
"no thanks." you say to him. he raises an eyebrow.
"not your type?" he asks. you sputter.
"you could say that." you mutter.
"no?" he asks. "well at least let me buy you a drink." he suggests. you laugh in his face.
"someone's already getting me one." you say. the man frowns, finally looking away from your tits and into your eyes. "left you unattended, looking like that?" he asks, whistling. he sits in the booth across from you. "stupid man, letting a beautiful woman like you out of his sight." this fucking guy. where the hell is sevika? you look over your shoulder at the bar. you can't see her through the crowd. beside you on the booth, something shifts. you look down at your lap. resting beside your thighs on the seat are two scuffed and dirty boots. you roll your eyes.
"i'm going now." you say abruptly, sliding out of the booth before his muddy shoes can dirty your pretty dress. you manage to get halfway to the bar when a hand clamps around your forearm.
"come on, pretty girl. let me buy you a drink." he whines. you blink-- shocked at his audacity.
"get your hands off me." you say. he ignores you, stepping closer to you, his other hand reaching out to touch your waist. you raise your eyebrows at him. "didn't you hear me?" you ask. he grins down at you.
"you don't seem too upset about it, baby." he says. you scoff.
"i'm not you're fuckin' baby." you say, raising your voice, stepping away from the man. his grip tightens.
"no? then whose are you? where's this mystery man you're waitin' for darling? i don't see him here..." his nails dig into your skin and you gasp, one of your hands sliding under your dress to fumble for the knife in a holster on your thigh. you're cut off from pulling your knife when a distinctively cool metallic hand caresses your lower back. your body relaxes instantly, and you give up your struggle against his grip, a smile creeping up your lips as the metal thumb draws circles in your skin.
"she's mine." sevika spits from behind you. your smile turns into a grin as you watch the man gawk. he quickly lets go of his grip on you, stumbling backwards. sevika's arm wraps around your shoulders, her flesh hand pressing your drink into your hands. "here you go, honey." she says, her voice transforming from a growl to a warm rumble when she speaks to you. she presses a kiss to your hair and you sip your drink, grinning as you watch the man before you tremble. "how long's he been botherin' you?" she whispers in your ear. you shrug.
"since you left. put his shoes up by my dress, nearly got it dirty. wouldn't take no for a fuckin' answer." you say, pouting to your girlfriend. she frowns down at you in sympathy, kissing your pout.
"i'll take care of it baby." she says against your lips. you smile. she pulls away from you completely to examine the man in front of her.
"got somethin' you wanna say?" sevika spits. the man blinks at her.
"i'm so sorry ma'am i didn't know she was--" CRUNCH! the man groans and stumbles backwards, gripping his jaw where sevika had just hit him.
"try again." sevika growls.
"i thought she was here alo--" SMACK! sevika backhands him with her mechanical arm.
"wrong again. one more chance." sevika's mechanical arm starts to churn and shift, a shimmer vial popping up at her shoulder. it pauses, ready to descend into her bloodstream at a moment's notice. you giggle in anticipation and pride, sipping on your drink. sevika shoots you a bashful smile at the sound of your giddy excitement. god you love her. her smile drops from her face when she looks back to the man now leaning on a table to stay upright. "so? what's your final guess?" she asks him. his eyes are locked on the sharp claws of her copper fingers.
"i don't know what you want me to say to you! i already said sorry!" he says. sevika sighs and shakes her head.
"they never fuckin' get it, do they baby?" she asks you over her shoulder.
"never." you respond. she shrugs.
"oh well." she says, and in a flash the shimmer plunges into her arm. her copper arm glows to life with the purple substance, her eyes glowing purple, a smile creeping up her face.
"i didn't do anything wrong!" the guy screams. behind him, a few regulars chuckle. this happens on a pretty frequent basis.
"you harassed my fuckin' girl and didn't say sorry to her once." sevika says levelly, reaching forward to grab the collar of the man's shirt with her flesh hand. "you don't think that's a little fucked up?" the man doesn't get to answer, sevika's metallic hand slamming down into his face. he's out cold in an instant and sevika's shoulders slump as he collapses to the floor. "damn. thought he'd have some more fight in him." she says. you giggle behind her. "wasted a fuckin' vial for that." she grumbles, turning back around to face you, her eyes still glowing purple. at the sight of you, she smiles.
"you wanna get outta here?" you ask. "sure we can find some other ways to work that shimmer out of your system." you say suggestively. you watch sevika short circuit for a moment-- freezing, her jaw dropping. then, a smile creeps up her face and she's nodding enthusiastically. you smile, down the last of your drink, then reach your hand out to intertwine your fingers with sevika's mechanic hand.
she drags you through the bar and out the employee exit, depositing the two of you in a dark alleyway. before the door can even shut, she's pressing against you, pushing you roughly against the wall. her flesh hand cups the back of your head before it can smash against the wall, and she uses the grip on the back of your head to tug your face upward so she can stare down at you. she's pressed against you from toe to chest, right hand in your hair, left on your ass, pawing and squeezing with abandon. you shiver as you gaze up at her, her eyes glowing-- not just with shimmer but with lust. she's biting her lip as she studies your face, her eyes jumping from your throat to your lips to your eyes.
"sevika." you whine out. she grins down at you, predatorily.
"so..." she says casually. "whose baby are you, exactly?" she asks. you blink up at her in confusion.
"what?"
"'s what you said to that fuckwad. he called you baby, and you said 'i'm not you're baby.'" sevika raises her voice to a falsetto in imitation of you. you giggle at the bad impression. "so...?" she asks. you grin up at her.
"awe... are you feeling a little jealous, sev?" you tease. she tugs on your hair harshly and you gasp, laughing in surprise.
"fuck off." she says, flustered.
"upset he put his hands on me?" you ask. she nods, her grip on you getting tighter. "why's that, honey?" you ask. finally, sevika snaps. she steps away from your body, spinning you by your hips, then pressing up against you again, pinning your front to the grimy wall, grinding against your ass. you moan.
"god i've been wanting to do this all night." she grunts in your ear, her hands sliding down your hips to grip at the flesh of your thighs, then slowly rising, pushing the hem of your dress higher and higher. "i can't blame him for trying. you're fucking gorgeous." she says reverently. you whimper at the gentle tone she takes with you, before gasping when she smacks your now halfway uncovered ass.
"sev!" you exclaim. she chuckles.
"'s wrong honey?" she asks, pushing your dress all the way up around your waist. you shiver as a cool breeze blows past your exposed legs.
"sevika." you say, squirming against her. she moans, grinding her crotch against your ass.
"where're you trying to run off to, honey?" she asks, her hands clawing your hips, keeping you pinned to the wall as she starts humping against your ass. you shudder. "so?" she asks you.
"what?" you ask, your brain melting out of your ears as she grunts and groans behind you with each thrust.
"whose are you?" she asks. you giggle.
"mmm... not sure." you say. "maybe you should remind m-- ah!" you squeak when sevika's hand smacks against your ass again.
"fuck you." she grunts.
"yes, please." you say. she chuckles.
"nuh uh. i'm gonna cum against you like this, and you're just gonna stand there and take it." she grunts. butterflies erupt in your stomach. "'s a shame you aren't mine-- i always make sure my baby cums first." you whimper.
"sevika--" she smacks your ass a third time and you jump. her grinding and humping pauses, a hand leaving your hip to fumble at her belt and open her fly. "yes, fuck, yes." you stammer out. she chuckles behind you, her hand coming back to your hip to start grinding against you again, this time with just the thin material of her boxers separating her from your exposed ass.
"this fuckin' needy for me to get off on you?" sevika asks. you nod against the brick your forehead is pressed against.
"wanna make you cum." you whisper.
"shit, baby--" sevika's hips stutter, her hand wrapping around your hip to tug on the material of your panties, the wet fabric between your thighs pulling deliciously against your clit.
"oh fuck!" you cry out. sevika hums against you.
"sensitive, honey?" she teases you. you whimper and nod.
"'y gonna come on my ass sev?" you whine. she shudders behind you.
"mmm... yeah. fuckin' close." she grunts. you gulp, reaching a hand down to rest on top of hers on your hip. you try your best to stick your ass out, to press against sevika's hold to give her more friction. she gasps, her cheek pressed against yours. you turn your head to kiss her face.
"'y know i'm yours, baby." you whisper. she whimpers, her forehead falling on your shoulder. "all yours."
"baby--"
"yeah, i'm your baby."
"mine--"
"that's fuckin' right honey, and guess what?"
"wha--?"
"you're mine."
sevika gasps and cums, her teeth biting into the side of your neck to muffle her shout. you shudder at the feeling, nearly delirious from the sweet little whines sevika muffles into your skin as she chases her pleasure.
sevika's thrusts come to a slow halt, and she huffs as she catches her breath. "you okay?" she asks. you giggle.
"i'm fuckin' great. you okay?" you ask. she hums happily into your skin in reply.
"i'll be better when you're cummin' around by fingers." she grumbles. you giggle as her fingers slowly slip into your panties. "oh, baby," she groans when she feels how wet you are, "all for me?" you huff in embarrassment. "don't be shy honey. you should feel how wet you made me." she grunts as she gently draws circles on your clit. you whimper. "want more?" she asks. you nod frantically.
sevika sinks two fingers into your cunt with ease, and you both gasp. she starts fingering you rapidly, squelching sounds bouncing off the walls of the alley as your cunt clenches around her thrusting fingers. "oh shit." you say, your orgasm building already. "shit i'm gonna cum. y' got me so fuckin' worked up cummin' on me like that i-- oh!" you gasp. "right there-- sevika i'm-- please dont st-- ah!" sevika sinks her teeth into you again.
"cum for me baby." she growls. you gasp, freeze, then cum with a wail, shaking and squirting around sevika's thrusting fingers.
"fuck, honey, just like that." she grunts as you soak her hand. "you're so fuckin' good, baby, you're perfect for me." she praises as you shake in her hold. her thrusting stops when your moans die down, and she begins peppering kisses on your skin. "you're amazing." she whispers. you chuckle.
"mmm. lemme turn around." you say. she spins you around, grinning at the sight of your face. you smile up at her, the purple in her eyes is fading, the lipstick on her mouth smudged. her hair is a mess, falling in her eyes, and you giggle, reaching up to push it behind her ears. "hi baby." you say. she swoops down to kiss you, her tongue dips into your mouth, moaning.
"you taste like strawberries." she says dreamily.
"you're so pretty." you whisper up at her. she blushes.
"you're drunk." she says. you nod.
"doesn't mean it's not true." you say. she rolls her eyes and kisses you again.
"come on. let's go home. i got some stuff i wanna do to you that i can't do in this alley." she says. you giggle.
"you're gonna have to give me a second, baby. my legs are still shaking." you say. sevika grins.
TWITTER P***LINKS (feat: SEVIKA, ABBY ANDERSON and ELLIE WILLIAMS !)
sevika -
making sure your full of her
hair pulling and reverse cowgirl
spit kink
choking you
taking a selfie
sevika releasing some stress on you after a long day
in silcos office
oral fixation
dry humping before work
bullying you for wearing a tight skirt
abby -
riding abby
making you suck on her strap
against the wall
making you dumb with all her pounding
tribbing
in public
worshipping your tits
making out
welcoming boxer!abby home with kisses on the counter
abby eating you out greedily as usual
ellie -
helping you cum before bed :((
passion with the strap
fingering you
overstimulating you
sitting on her face
p***y slaps
you and ellies typical morning (looks just like her 😋)
nice and slow
eating ellie out on a run
honorable mention :
ambessa -
finally fingering you after all your whining
making you wait
stretching you out
being rough :((
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