ashhbookmarks

The thing about you and Cassie McKay is that it was never casual. Not to you anyway.

If someone were to ask, you were just another coworker she got along with. Maybe one she confided in more than most. Maybe one she checked in on a little more often. Which was something pretty easy to explain, since Cassie was well known for looking out for people.

What you had going on was defined since the beginning as something casual. Her word of choice, not yours. She’d said it early on, like she needed to get ahead of it before it had the chance to turn into something else. Something real, and deeper.

You remembered the way she’d said it too, not in a cold or dismissive way, but rather carefully like she was trying to soften the blow, you just weren’t sure if it was for you, or for herself.

“We can’t have anything serious,” she had told you, not quite meeting your eyes when she’d said it. “I don’t… I don’t have room for that in my life right now.”

And you had nodded, agreeing with her.

Because what else were you supposed to do? If this was the only possible way for you to be this close to her, so be it. You’d shut down your own feelings if you had to, you’d leave it up to future you to deal with the aftermath of everything.

At first, it was easy to treat it like something light, to bury your feelings deep and set them aside. Because the stolen moments between shifts, the conversations that stretched a little too long in one of your stress relief moments, as you both called them, the occasional touch that lingered just enough to make your chest tighten before you brushed it off and moved on.

You were able to contain them like that for a while.

Except… it didn’t stay that way. Not for long.

What had started off as something you could tuck away, something you could control, slowly began to bleed into everything else. Into the way you moved around the ED, into the way your attention shifted without you meaning it to, into the quiet parts of your day where she somehow always found her way inside your head.

You’d both had promised not to tell anyone about it. But then you felt like you’d combust with the way you couldn’t pretend for it to be casual anymore. So instead of talking to Cassie, and share how you felt, or a solution that terrified you even more, end it. You did the next best thing you could think of. You told your closest friends, Santos and Javadi. They both knew you had feelings for Cassie since you had all started at the same time at the PTMC. You hadn’t told them anything, they just kind of caught on.

So, when you told them about the casual thing you had going on with Cassie, they weren’t as surprised as you thought they’d be, more like concerned and empathetic towards the situation you had put yourself in. Santos, gave you a look that had said ‘you’re kidding yourself’ but still didn’t judge, since she found herself in a similar situation with Garcia. Meanwhile, Javadi was softer but nonetheless honest. “You can’t keep doing this,” she told you once, low and careful, like she didn’t want to push too hard. “Pretending it doesn’t mean anything.”

But you kept going anyway. Against your better judgement.

Because then Cassie would text you, or show up at your doorstep, or just glance at you in that way that made everything else stop around you, and suddenly everything else didn’t matter. It became irrelevant if she never stayed the night, or that she never called what you had real. What mattered was that in those moments, she chose you. And you let that be enough, even when it was quietly tearing you apart.

You were so stupid yet so in love with her, you’d think at night, staring at the ceiling long after she’d left, like it was something you could only admit to the dark of your room without consequence. You’d dream of it too, of you and Cassie in some version of a future that never quite made sense when morning came. The two of you laughing in a kitchen you’d share, her hand brushing yours like it wasn’t accidental, like she had already decided you belonged in her life without needing to say it.

And then you’d wake up.

It’s hard being casual when her jacket hangs on the back of your chair like it belongs there. When your favorite bra lives in her dresser drawer like it’s just another ordinary thing between you. When you’re on the phone comforting her son, ‘cause you won’t be able to make it to the movie night you’d had planned. Like you’ve been folded into her life in all these small, domestic ways that don’t match the word she keeps using.

It’s hard being casual when you’ve memorized the rhythm of her habits. When you know how she breathes when she’s asleep, the way her face softens and how her lashes kiss her cheeks.

And you try. God, you try so hard to be the cool with everything. You never ask for too much, you understand her space and give it to her when she needs it. You hold your tongue even when it’s killing you.

It was just another day, another shift. Everything was normal, or at least the normal the PTMC was known to be.

That is, until Princess comes up beside you, as you’re jotting down on a chart, leaning against the nurse’s station counter. You don’t have to look at her to known she’s eager to deliver some new juicy gossip she’s obtained.

“Hey” she says, and you glance at her acknowledging her presence with a small smile. “You know if McKay’s seeing anyone, like officially?”.

Her question makes you stop, catching you of guard for a moment. Then a feeling of uncertainty makes you think you shouldn’t ask ‘why’ she was asking you that, but your curiosity got the better of you. “No,” you answer her too quickly. Then slower, your voice steadier, you ask “Why?”

Princess’s face breaks into a huge grin. “I heard some patient asked her out. Like, actually asked her out. And she didn’t exactly shut it down either.”

The words that leave her mouth don’t land all at once. They come in pieces, scattered, like your brain refuses to assemble them into something coherent. Cassie has a date. With a random patient. With someone who isn’t you. You swallow hard, as you feel your heart pound fast and hard against your chest. And then, you remember where you are, in the middle of the ED, at work, so you bottle your feelings as best as you can and slowly nod at Princess, who’s still standing in front of you, like it’s nothing.

“Oh,” you manage. “Okay.”

Your feelings flourish against your skin, your breathing shifts like your body has forgotten how to work. And in that moment, you wished it did.

You don’t even realize you’re walking until you’re standing outside, in the ambulance bay, air cold against your sweaty face, hands trembling slightly like they’ve decided to betray you now too. You think about it then, really think about it. About how easy it looked now to put space between the two of you. To break off this casual thing you had going on.

And so that’s what you did.

Cassie tells herself it’s casual because it seems safer that way.

Casual doesn’t ask for definitions. Casual doesn’t demand her to explain the weight she carries when she walks into a room and has to be Doctor McKay, the woman who’s already lived an entire life before she ever started noticing the way you looked at her like she was incredible instead of deeply complicated.

Because, that’s what she was. Complicated.

She had baggage. A son, who was the most important thing in her life. An ex-husband who still unfortunately lingered in the background, much to her distaste. There was also, the job, and the unspoken rule that she was not supposed to blur any lines.

And then there was you. You, who didn’t ask for anything in return. You, who looked at her like she hung the moon. You, who were so good with Harrison. You who were so much younger than she was.

You, who were all she could think about when that patient had asked her out earlier that day. She hadn’t been asked out in so long, that even the thought itself felt foreign in her mind, she was flattered but kindly refused his offer. Because her head was completely filled with thoughts of you.

Even now as she moved through the ED, her entire body sore from yet another hard shift, all she could think about was how she’d want to spend time with you. As she approached the nurse’s station, she noticed both Javadi and Santos huddled up in a corner, talking lowly about something she couldn’t quite catch from where she was. So, she made her way slowly and quietly towards them, placing the chart she had in her hand down in its usual place, now being able to hear properly what they were on about.

“—I can’t believe she’s switching shifts.” Javadi let out a small exasperated sound.

“This will be good for her.” Exclaimed Santos, as she shrugged at Javadis sad expression.

“Yeah, I know.” Javadi sighed softly, “I’m just gonna miss her that’s all.”

“You’re acting like she’s moving to a different planet.” Santos snorted while rolling her eyes, “She’s just switching to nights.”

Cassie furrowed her brows then, intrigued by their low conversation. She had never been a gossiper, but she was exhausted and she had to admit that she wanted to know who they were talking about. So, she made her presence known, and leaned up against the counter, and asked “Who’s switching shifts?”

Both Javadi and Santos heads snapped up in her direction their eyes so wide she was sure they would pop out of their skulls.

Javadi looked towards Santos with her mouth slightly parted in surprise, at Cassie’s sudden appearance. Santos just swallowed thickly and answered “y/n is.”

Cassie’s entire world stopped. She blinked at Santos incredulously. “What?” she questions, like she didn’t hear her correctly.

“She’s asked to switch to the night shift.” Santos answered her, watching her closely, as the attentive person she was.

“Oh...” was all that Cassie was able to come up with.

But inside, nothing about her stayed quiet.

Because it didn’t make any sense, not in the way she understood you, knew you. You didn’t run from things. You didn’t disappear. You stayed, even when it hurt you, even when it was obvious you were carrying more than you ever said out loud.

So why this?

Why take a leap so suddenly?

Cassie knew for a fact that a decision like this didn’t happen randomly. Not with you. You didn’t make impulsive changes.

So, if you were leaving day shift… it meant that something had happened. Something big enough to made want to leave day shift.

Santos watched Cassie more closely, nodding at her once, her gaze hard like she’d confirmed something she’d long had a suspicion of. But Cassie decided not to read into things, her mind too preoccupied with you and this decision you took so impulsively.

Sevika being added to the council felt like a pity act — the Topside's consolation after losing everyone she’s ever loved. Or tried to. After the events that occurred the priority of rebuilding a joining communities was needed more than ever. Your skill of story to communicate the political strife in a local Piltover distract led you to be sat here today. Writing stories for all people was your talent.

When Sevika came a shift in energy occurred. She was direct and vocal enough to make the room fall silent. The brief moments of interacting with the woman were cloaked in a kind of underestimation. Looking at your age as a crutch and once even asking: “Well what does she know about any of this?” Implying your presence was a nuisance. She was fifteen years your senior and reluctant to trust anything you said.

In passing she wouldn’t even hum a hello, just kept her eyes forward and wide. You had very wonderful working relationships with everyone else but Sevika. That lingered in your mind, her distain for you, you simply wondered why. In her eyes, there was no need to know about you, she wanted to show up and leave. Not do all the fireworks and tricks needed to upkeep appearances. Sevika noticed how desperate you were to connect with her. How you deepened your voice to age yourself when speaking to her. Or asking her non-work related things. You hated how she made you feel but a part of you enjoyed the chase of pushing her to lean more in favor of you.

Rumors swirled about Sevika that you refuted in the utmost professional manner. The lifestyle she lived before joining, in your opinion, didn't make her much more qualified either. The one rumor that stuck out was that she was a frequent visitor at the Zaunite brothel. Late nights sorting through papers and working on press releases, you thought about those girls. What was Sevika’s type and did you fit that. You shook away those thoughts — you had to. It was inappropriate to view the woman in such a way. Your goal was to welcome Sevika into the committee and hear her out but you clashed. You clashed hard.

“I think moving forward with this ordinance would harm everyone more than help, I’m sorry councilwoman but that is objectively not a good move.” You said.

“What do you mean? I know more about the people than you’ll ever know. My ear is still to the ground while you run home in an quiet mansion, turning off the world — they need this,” She replied. She wouldn't dare call you by your honorary, she refused to and it made you skin crawl with bitterness.

Most meetings the table interjects and calms you both but today they were exhausted.

“I don’t even know why she has a say in these meetings when all she does is manage our communication channels. Not our day to day operations or ground work.” She'd say and slouch after as if her words were so casual and respectful.

Sevika didn’t fancy you or your smart mouth. Dipping into conversations that didn’t even touch your desk — they touched hers. Tasked with making it right for 'her kind', healing them and providing safety in this new world. She was drowning in work, all while building community back in Zaun, when she could’ve left it behind. She was too loyal to do so.

Sevika refused to participate in any saving face endeavors in Piltover, especially if it felt like selling out. But when the council had to make an appearance at an evening with an Ambassador, she had no choice but to oblige. As your stylist added the final touches on your outfit, you thought of her, you look serious tonight. Mature, even. You wondered if that's how she would perceived you. Sevika had never attended one of these nights because her attendance was never mandatory. So, tonight was an added pressure and you felt it pulsing through your fingers when you add the new gold, custom Piltover broach emblem. All members were gifted one to show the melding of alliances.

Your hairstylist adds the last touches, twirling your hand between product and their finger. The nature of this event required you to look sophisticated, which you usually do but find tedious to upkeep. The line of black and tinted vehicles outside of the newest Ambassadors home was a sight. Sevika made good points, that you agreed with, the display of wealth is highly dystopian. Especially when you knew how Zaun was still living despite the reconstruction efforts. You had enough sense to know this was inequitable but Sevika didn't believe that.

You were naturally sociable, stories were not built from silence and inquiry. You had to go out and find them, feet on the ground to understand the narrative you were building and you thrived. A coat collection welcomed you into the space where the high and sculpted ceilings swallowed you in. You thank them and are met with a butler holding a shinning silver tray of champagne flutes. A small sip awakens you as you venture into the space. The walls covered were covered with dated Piltover landscapes, family portraits, and nature shots. As you admire them you naturally empty into the center of the night. A lounge area with a dimmed chandelier and body's pressed into conversations.

You scan the room for one person. If she was standing she would stand out in the crowd but she isn't. You can't locate her as you grip the stem of the glass tighter in frustration. You're stopped by a member of the Ambassador's staff who is interested in how you're managing the current stories. With darting eyes you explain the responsibility you have and recent findings. They mention your age and you wince a bit. Sevika has altered your perspective on your accomplishment so much so that you become stand-offish at the mere mention of age.

"I'm the first but sure I won't be the last, excuse me." You stomp off into the corridor after draining the rest of the champagne into your mouth. Avoiding eyes you trickle away unseen and disappointed. You follow another hallway and observe the gallery-like walls, more images in golden carved frames. Two large floor to ceiling ornate balcony doors cut off the walkway. One door slightly ajar, you look behind yourself before exploring this unknown home. The balcony was incased with a white balustrade, carved with intricate detail. The back lawn stood still but laden with the crashing of fountain fall in the center of it all. Jadeite water bubbling from the highest bowl.

An orange ember catches your attention from your peripheral. Seated in a large chair with their leg crossed over their knee was Sevika. The bottom of her black shoe matching her slacks. You trail your eyes up carefully to the woman's face lit from the fountain lights. She cuts her eyes over to you while expelling smoke from her nostrils. Suddenly, you feel caught, as if she was the owner of the mansion. The air is thick with silence and yet you continue outside to invade her space.

"Found you," You say.

"Didn't know you were searching for me." She mutters.

You lean over the ledge because you couldn't face her. Sevika noticed how your hands gripped the wood so ferociously. She also noted your dress and how she hasn't seen you in such a thing since working together. Her brow rose ever so at the fabric and it's tautness around your waist.

The word searching hallowed out in your mind.

"I try to greet every councilperson at these events, councilor."

She sucks her teeth and flicks her ashes away. The smell lingering in the air, nutty tobacco and cherry. Her foot falls heavy on the wooden balcony as you stilled your breathing. Her towering presence creating a warmth you never experienced before. Was it a sick thought to want her hand to travel to the small of your back before she retreated. She takes the nub of her panatela and stubs it out near the edge of your palm. Leaving residue on the pristine, bright white railing. "Well, don't hold your breath."

You watch it fall down into the manicured grass without resistance. It's only until you know she's halfway down the corridor that you turn. Your heartbeat was out of control, relishing in her cologne, aged bourbon and fig.

Back in the meeting hall, Sevika rubbed her temple and took another glass of champagne. She was still dazed from the interaction, your lack of interest to even turn look at her, more interested in the spectacle of a groomed yard. All your type cared about, how things looked. Sev fiddled with her Piltover broach like a badge of dishonor. The tapping of a glass brought her out of her mind and looked to the center of the room. The new Ambassador spoke loudly but Sevika could only focus on you. Standing behind them with your glass ready to raise for a toast. Her skin ruptured with irritation at your smile, happiness to cosign the bullshit. But there was no denying she was looking past that. Observing how your curls were perfectly falling into place against sparkling skin. The dip in your dress and how it was painfully tempting, she couldn't place why and it aggravated her to notice those details.

꩜⋆✶

Sevika's tux was cut to perfection and accompanied with a white tie detail. At coat collection you trailed beside her requesting your items. In the light she looked down to you and all you could do is return the look but with a smile. "Enjoy your evening councilor." The attendant said.

Sevika doesn't even reply instead she tossed her jacket over her shoulder and walked to her car. Your heels clatter behind her, which she notices and turns before she meeting the edge of the pavement. "What are you following me for?" She finally turns to you.

All the stories you heard about Sevika felt real. Her past. Fighting and killing people, her need to protect herself showed up clearly in the bright lights of the front yard. She stalked over you, even in heels, muscles tight against unforgiving fabric. She's motionless as her grey eyes highlighted by dark brown eyeliner pierce into yours for a confession.

"'m not. I think that's what you want me to do," The calculated reply surprised you. But she was pushing you to a version of yourself so unrecognizable. She loosened her tie, left is draped around her neck exposing a sliver of skin. There was so much mystique surrounding Sev and you wanted to uncover it, like it was your next article.

"Let's keep our interaction at the roundtable and nothing more okay, little girl. Don't make a habit of bothering me." Sevika bit back harsher choice words that were like silk in her mouth.

"You flatter yourself too much councilwoman." You grin.

She raises a brow just before you disappear into your car. She brought you out of character but a repressed part of you like it. Once she's sat in the backseat of her car, you make a dangerous choice.

"Driver, can you please follow that car? Thank you."

Despite your choice of career, you hadn't ventured to Zaun yet and it might've been a mistake to do so now. But you were reeling with more questions about the woman.

꩜⋆✶

You fiddled with the hem of your dress as the blue night light of Piltover faded. The descent into Zaun was slow and relentless a part of you couldn't believe Sevika still chose to live here with her option of Topside homes. Parts of Zaun were burnt to the ground and shells of what once stood. The initiative Sevika was in charge of made commitments to aid in restructure.

Sevika's cab pulled in front of a heavily guarded bar that was still under construction. As the door slammed behind her, you notice her reaching out to greet the men stood outside. You had time to turn away, to go back home where you could let the thought of Sevika linger. But you didn't, your heels bobbled on the rocky ground as the music inside swelled. The entryway brazen in a red light. Your jacket hung over your shoulders as you approach the security. Eyes of question linger on their faces as you enter with no trouble.

You had never heard this type of music before, it was bass filled and scratchy. A ringing in your ears buzzed as you pace through the mismatch tables of Zaunites who glanced in your direction. You were basked in blood-shaded lights and thick air despite the council's efforts to wave away pollution. Your breathing was jagged. Sevika walked past the bar and into another covert area. This is where your skills of persuasion had to tap in as you met another guard. He was average height with dark blue hair. You didn't speak first as he stared at you curiously.

"Can I help you?" He asked plainly.

"House call for the councilwoman," you lied.

"Never seen you around. You sure you're in the right place?" He clasped his fists.

"I'm new, should I dial my boss for you?" You say impatiently.

His face warmed. "Nah, she should be in her office waiting for you. Proceed."

He opened the black curtain that hid the lounge area that had hookah's on tables and empty glasses. As if a party was had here before arriving. The floor was sticky and uneven until you reached a tall, black door. You had known that it was far too late to retreat, so you knocked.

"What?" She sighs before swinging the door open. Bare in a plain white shirt and dress pant. Swiftly, her hand finds your arm and tugs you inside, pulling the door shut behind you both, as you rest your back against it. Both her hands come to the meat around you biceps.

"What are you doing here?" She snarls.

What were you doing here? You freeze into place with Sevika inches away, her hands breaking harshly into your circulation. You could almost taste the remnants of her cigar.

"Speak!"

A full core shiver traveled through your body as she covered you. You couldn't speak because there was no good reason to be in Zaun right now. Although you were struck with fear her anger was rousing. The strength the woman held you to was merely 20% and that was a sure determining factor to the warmth spreading in your panties right now.

"I came to prove myself."

It sounded comedic but nothing was funny.

Her eye twitches with confusion. "You are as stupid as I thought,"

She releases you and stalks about her office. A large oak desk was in the center of it, stacked high with papers and legal pads. The room was rather empty from what you could observe but in the moment you followed her around the space with your eyes.

"This is not the time to play detective and invade my privacy." She says, almost to herself.

"I'm not stupid." You shout.

Sevika walks to you, slowly this time, her arms crossed. "You're so fucking naive. I can't protect you down here. If the wrong people recognized you—"

"But they didn't. I'm here in one piece like you didn't believe I could be." You say, your voice wavering.

"What are you talking about? You've created some kind of story in your head about me. I don't care about you. None of you. I'm doing my civic duty to protect mine, that's all."

You swallow roughly at her admission.

"I understand that."

"No you don't. You've barely lived, you know nothing about Zaun, about me, or even yourself yet. You need to leave."

"I know about you Sevika. You're old and miserable. Prime years wasted on booze and women's faces hidden behind masks. You get off easy. It doesn't take much for that temper to expose itself. Miserable bitch." It comes out smoothly, a venomous tongue that was always ready to strike. You realized soon after that she wanted you to get out of character.

In the oddest succession, Sevika smiles and steps closer. "I'm a miserable bitch and yet you still want my approval."

"I don't need anything from you," You reply, turned to reach for the knob when Sevika reaches out and slams it back shut.

"You want me to fulfill a part of you that tells you if someone like me approves of you, then you're a good person."

"Someone like you?"

"Someone older and rough around the edges who won't smile in your face for no good reason,"

You remained silent.

"I don't put it past you to research every small detail about me. While everyone up there believes you're something sweet, you hold onto daydreams of what you think I did to those women. Because that's what young girls do. Especially ones like you."

"I'm not—"

"You don't break rules, you think about them like you think of me. In a distant way and you couldn't take it anymore. Wanted your desperation to become a reality."

"That's not true." you whisper.

She bends down and when she notices your eyes elsewhere, she grips your chin as rough as you could bare before she noticed you wincing. "To think you came all this way for nothing. Whatever fantasy you conjured up was pointless,"

When she leans forward her head tilted you hear the hinges of the door creek open. "Go home."

You don't want to turn away from her but you do. A sour taste left in your mouth and an unrelenting ache between your legs.

Girls like you.

The word spread throughout Rokrund's fortress, and you hurried to your feet when you heard it. General Medarda would be returning to yet another hero's welcome after vanquishing her enemies. Ever since you'd entered into her service, your skills as a servant were unparalleled and tailored to her preference. Ambessa had taken a liking to you. As such, you were given the privilege of helping remove her armor at the end of her conquests. No other servant had been given such an honor.

You spent your entire afternoon in preparation, bathing away the toil of cleaning every hall from top to bottom and adorning yourself with the finest scents. You made sure to adorn yourself with the jewelry the general had bestowed upon you all these years. Anklets jingled with your every step, and simple rings adorned your fingers. You tied the simple, flowing pants around your waist, nervously playing with the bands of beads around them, and slipped a sleeveless and loose top over your head.

Silently, you waited by her door until it swung open and greeted her with your eyes downcast.

"General Medarda, chosen of the wolf. A warrior's welcome for your return."

She walked right past you and sat at her vanity, weary and battle-worn. That was usually your sign to approach, and you lifted your head. She was clad in her usual armor: large gold pauldrons streaked with dried blood, thick trousers stuffed in her military boots, and graying locs twisted back from her skull in barreled rows.

Despite the wear of war, her own refinery came through in her smudged lipstick, golden hair cuffs, and clinking earrings.

Silently, you drew closer and set about unbuckling her breastplate, setting the heavy, woven leather to the floor. You then unstrapped her pauldrons, used the weight of them by now, and placed them at her feet. Next, you slipped off her boots, then socks, massaging out the strain in her calves as you did.

Gently, you continued until she was left in a simple blouse and slimmer trousers. The only thing left was the one thing you never removed.

Ambessa's gaze finally met yours, having carefully watched as you disarmed her with care. Her stare was made more intense by the golden mask fixed over it, framing her shapely jaw, covering her sharp nose, and barely showing her golden brown eyes. It was the very image of power, like Ambessa herself, and to remove it for her would be a great overstep. So you stepped back, holding her armor in your arms and ready to bow out so that the laundresses may cleanse it.

"Come back here, child."

Her voice wasn't warm and teasing, as you'd heard her use to charm her way through Darkwill's courts. It wasn't cold and exacting, like you'd heard her use to order her troops. It was soft and worn, but still maintained the authority of a command.

Dutifully, you returned to her side and kept your gaze on the floor. Your heart thrummed in excitement. You were never good at hiding how you felt about the general; everything from her stature to her strength to her curves bewitched you. Her voice played in your head as you pleasured yourself before bed, and her eyes pierced your heart in ways you didn't know how to describe. So being here, in her presence, and being requested to stay after, it excited you.

"You've not finished disarming me," she laughed, her voice rich and sweet.

"My apologies, General," you murmured, bowing deeply. You didn't argue, though you were confused.

"Do not be sorry," Ambessa scoffed, standing up to tower over you. She cradled your face in her palm, gentle in her motions. You'd heard it from the courtesans she engaged long after Lord Azizi's passing: Ambessa was a gentle lover. In control, as always, but with a tenderness that naturally compelled obedience. And now, you would experience it firsthand. "It is unlike you to make such an error, and I am in a forgiving mood."

You kept your gaze to the floor, and the general tutted, sliding her hand to cup your chin and tilt it upwards. As your eyes found hers yet again, you suppressed a tremble, not out of fear, but out of desire for the Matriarch of War. Her gold mask concealed any further expression, but the curve of her painted lips betrayed her mirth. You felt yourself dampen in the trousers you wore.

"Tell me, do you desire me?"

"Yes, General. With everything I have."

"Good," Ambessa purred, and brought your lips to hers. Despite the grit of the battlefield, she smelled divine, the clean sweat of a fight on her skin, and the oils she adorned every morning, mingling in your senses and making you dizzy. It was soft, no tongue, and she gently pulled back, chuckling at how blown your eyes were. "On the bed, dearest."

You obeyed and walked, footsteps jingling, towards the dais where the bed stood and sat on the edge. You watched in wonder as Ambessa advanced on you, broad thighs and hips holding your gaze on her way up to the bed. Amused, she leaned down to your lips and kissed you deeper this time, a deep laugh brewing as you moaned into the contact and licked at her lips for entry. Encouraged, you threw your arms around her neck, hands drawing down her broad back to unfasten her blouse. You smiled triumphantly as it slid down her scarred shoulders and set to work untangling the linen that secured her breasts. You grabbed the edge of the cloth and carefully tugged, freeing the fruit of her chest. One of your hands slipped around to fondle her as your other hand undid her thick belt, sliding down her trousers and grabbing the meat of her ass.

"Patience, little one," the warlord laughed, grabbing both your hands and pinning them above your head. You knew from years of watching her that her strength was a futile thing to fight against. "Now, let me return the favor."

You nodded, breath hitching as Ambessa slipped a calloused hand under your shirt, palming your chest softly before dragging it off your body. You swallowed as you were bare under her gaze, a lucky and humbling position to find yourself in. Ambessa hummed in appraisal as she slid her hand, gentle and slow, down, stopping to toy with your waist beads, to your waistband. She tugged at the ties and pulled down the billowing cloth, the jewelry on your anklets clinking gently as the fabric passed over them.

"What a thing of beauty," Ambessa whispered, and you felt your breath catch. To be appraised by the warlord was a gift most rare. To be considered as if you could be hers was even rarer. Your thighs pressed together, now bare in the cool air of her chambers. Behind her golden mask, you wanted to believe she looked at you with fondness, as a thing to be cherished and coveted, but you knew that might not be the case.

Still, you could not help but worship her, and as she leaned back down to you, your lips meeting and her tongue invading your mouth, you reached up a hand to grasp her breasts. "I compare not to you, my lady."

With your other hand, you reached up and ran your hand through her locs; the ends of her barrel twists were long and luxurious. Then you allowed your hand to drift further and further, along the muscled planes of her back, drifting over scar tissue, and slipping under her to glide along the wetness between her legs.

"Allow me to please you," you murmured into the kiss as Ambessa sighed into your touch. You circled your index finger around her clit. "I will do just as well, if not better, than any other who has graced your chambers."

Ambessa bit her lower lip in satisfaction, then nodded, pulling back up and moving to seat some of her weight on your chest and over your face. "Prove yourself then."

The promised position quickened your pulse, and your mind was subdued by the heat of her sex above your face. She smelled heavenly, thick and tangy, and your mouth watered immediately. You had your permission, and you looped both your arms around her thighs to bring her down closer. At the first press of your needy tongue against her flesh, you groaned. But you paced yourself. Ambessa valued enthusiasm, but she also valued discipline. Slowly, you parted her lower lips with your tongue, slipping the blunt end of the muscle between the other flesh and the hood of her clit. The general sighed, the tension leaving her great shoulders. You glanced up and watched her elegant lips fall open at each press of your talented mouth. Her face, still covered, never let on what her body did: your touch melted away the stress of war and tension of battle, smoldering at her flesh without burning her.

"A— ahh— a commendable effort," Ambesa laughed, guarding the whines that threatened to escape from her lips. She slipped her hand into your hair and let even more of her weight settle onto your face. You felt your lungs constrict on your next breath, and you began to run out of air. You minded not, continued to swirl the tip of your tongue around her clit, gently sucking and enjoying how her hand clutched even tighter and her hips began to rock back and forth. Eagerly, you laved your tongue over her again and again, straining to hear how her voice cracked ever so slightly, tiny huffs leaving her lips. It was quaint and endearing for such a fearsome woman.

With each wet and messy kiss you gave her, Ambessa's rhythm offset little by little. You didn't know how long it had been, but finally, the general's defenses had been brought low enough for her controlled gyrations to slacken into lazy grinds. Her powerful thighs bracketed your head, brushing your ears with each wine of her hips upon your mouth. She finally let out louder and louder moans until her thighs clamped down hard on your head. You couldn't breathe, and you didn't care. You'd proved your use, and you caught a glimpse of Ambessa's bouncing breasts and panting mouth, the rest of her face obscured by gold.

You, a simple servant, had brought the general to orgasm. You could die happy. And you might actually meet the lamb if she didn't lessen her weight on your face. Slightly frantic, you tapped the outside of her thigh.

"Do you surrender so easily?" she snapped, her tone tight and demanding. "Or are you especially weak-willed tonight?"

A chill ran through you, and you brought your hand back down the mattress, the other still clutching her sculpted thigh. Despite how lightheaded you grew, you used the remainder of your strength to push back into her cunt while tightening your grip on her. You were not weak, though your lungs cried for mercy, and you would not submit to the general's taunts. Black dots began to swim across your vision, and your body began to panic as you wheezed. But still, your eyes never left the general's gaze. You were on the brink of consciousness, a fraction of a second away from meeting Kindred, when Ambessa eased her hips up and lay down, reclining onto her many plush pillows.

"Well done," she praised breathlessly, her breasts heaving. She lay there, smug as ever, while you spluttered for breath, coughing and taking deep drags of blessed air. "And how should I reward such a skilled and fearless servant like yourself?"

You fumbled for words, heart doing double time at the thought the Ambessa Medarda deemed you worthy of reciprocity. Face hot and cheeks burning, you knew you couldn't mess this up.

"If it so pleases you," you began as you crawled over to her and looked up into her shielded eyes. "I should like your fingers inside me."

"Asking plainly and clearly," she hummed, taking your chin between her thumb and forefinger, her grip slightly firmer this time. "You catch on fast."

She guided you to sit with your back to her, a solid wall of muscle, yet a cushion of feminine fat. You sighed happily, still not recovered from almost dying, when Ambessa slipped a long, thick finger through the hairs lining your need. You bit back a whimper, and she brought her hand around to grip your jaw.

"No, no, pet," she reprimanded. "Do not silence yourself around me."

Dazed, you nodded and didn't bother to stifle the desperate whine that left your lips when Ambessa finally stroked the side of your clit.

"My, how loud," she hummed in amusement, slipping both her index and middle fingers between your wet lips. You let out a cry, hips rolling into her hand. You were drenched, and the general had yet to enter you. "And messy."

"My lady, please!" you panted, clutching her forearm, as thick as your neck, for support.

"Ask, little one. I am not a mage, that I may read your mind."

You groaned as she circled your entrance, never breaching. "Please, my lady! Please enter me!"

"There we are."

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as she pushed inside, with both fingers. Your thighs trembled, but you kept them open as Ambessa grasped at your insides, rubbing along hot, wet walls with trained insistence. The sensation was overwhelming, but not once did it feel frantic. Not once did you doubt her control or her measure. Her thumb pressed firmly on your clit, and you whined loudly as she massaged it in tandem with her thrusts.

The same hands that cut down warbands, brought drakehounds to heel, and brought her house back from the brink of ruin, broke you down into a million pieces, pulling broken noises from your throat, and plucking every thought from your head. Her fingers spread apart in a scissoring motion while her other hand came around to tease your breast, rolling a firm nipple between her fingers and pinching now and then to keep you on your toes.

The blessed torment stretched on as you felt your peak begin to crest, a knot of pleasure tangling itself in your loins. But you knew that you could not take what the general herself did not give. So you fought your way through mewling cries to form a plea.

"Please, General! Please allow me to finish!"

"Of course, little one," she laughed, pleased by your thorough submission.

You fully relaxed into her arms, gaze cast upwards at the canopy of her bed. Not a second later, blinding bliss erupted from your hips, and you twisted to hide your face in her bicep, clutching it tighter for dear life. The hand torturing your breast swept up to your jaw, and brought both your lips back together. Ambessa swallowed down your cries while you coated the general's fingertips in your release.

Against her painted lips, you whimpered while your body writhed, set aflame by her fervor. Your nose brushed the cold gold of her mask, and you could see through the slits of its eyes that she's closed hers, as lost in your kiss as you. She tasted her own pleasure on your lips, achingly sweet.

When your orgasm had run its course, Ambessa cradled your face close, parting from the kiss with a satiated hum.

"You please me greatly," she sighed, running her large hand down your back. You gazed up at her, admiring the lines of her smile, the tilt of her lips, delighting in the mess she made of you.

"Will my lady allow me to do so whenever she returns from war?" you asked, your voice small. This was your chance, and you wished to seize it.

"Perhaps."

That was as good a reason for hope as any, and you lay with the general for the rest of the night, you safe in her arms, and she, at rest in yours.

being the town shepherd isn't the world's most glamorous job, but it's important.

in your rocky little mountain village, more traditional animals like cows don't have the room or resources to thrive. sheep and goats though? they're hardy little things that provide milk and meat and the added bonus of wool for textiles. 

taking care of the flock gives you purpose, tenderly raising every animal with love, and contributing to your friends and neighbours at the same time.

it isn't a fancy life, and my others would desire more. but when you see the baker’s sickly kid sporting brand new woolen clothing that keeps him warm during the dangerously freezing winter, you know that you're happy.

you like the simplicity, you have a routine. a simple breakfast of bread and cheese, the dairy typically coming from your own flock’s milk. then dressing, leading your flock from their small overnight pen out into the larger paddock to graze and roam, and then into town for whatever business. usually, you deliver wool to the weaver, purchase things of your own necessity, or even lead a sheep to the butcher to be dealt with humanely out of your sight and mind. then, it's herding the flock back in when the sun sets, and repeat the next day.

the days fill themselves with natural tasks like assessing the heavily pregnant goat who you fear will never give birth, or shearing sheep who are just a little too laden with wool to be comfortable. there's a peace to knowing what will happen each day.

the sun is bright and hot on the day that your peace is shattered. the rays beat down harshly, and so you pull the scarf wrapped around your head down further to shield your eyes and skin. staff in one hand, the other unlocks the gate to the pen. you click your tongue at your beloved flock and they start filing out, bleating happily at their freedom. you count as they pass.

“thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two…?”

you trail off. this number isn't right. you had thirty-three animals at the night time count yesterday.

well, sometimes animals pass in the night. it's not out of the question, but there's no shaggy white corpse in the pen. 

your panic only rises when you explore the perimeter and find blood on the grass near the back corner. the bloody trail slides across the greenery, up onto the fenceposts, ending abruptly at the treeline of the nearby forest. 

it's not hard to deduce what happened. some wild animal got into the pen, killed a sheep, and dragged its body back to the forest to eat. what rattles you is that in several years of shepherding, you have never had a predator prey on your flock.

you stare at your grazing flock for a long while, scared that if you go into town, something else will die without your watch. life doesn't stop, though, and so you venture into town, less smiley than usual.

you don't have anything to deliver, so today is about picking things up. a book at the library, bread from the bakery, a newly repaired tunic from the tailor. you're examining the seamless repair, impressed that you can't even tell where the rip you'd torn last week was, when something catches your eye.

there's smoke coming from the old blacksmith's forge for the first time in a decade. the old man who’d previously been the town's blacksmith had passed away years ago, and while his work had stood the test of time, you're excited that someone's making new tools. maybe the new blacksmith would have an idea of what sort of weapon would help keep a bear or wolf away from your precious sheep.

when you push the heavy door, you're blasted with heat, even more intense than the blazing sun outside. various completed weapons and tools line the walls, pickaxes, swords, and axes ready for purchase. there's a rhythmic clank! clank! clank! of metal on metal, and the smell of iron and smoke and sweat is heavy in the air. 

you quickly locate the source of the noise- a tall figure leaning over the anvil, right arm bringing a hammer down over and over onto a red-hot piece of metal. you can't see their face, but from the way the straps of their leather smithy apron are straining to stay tied, you can tell they're strong.

after watching for a moment, nearly entranced, you remember your manners, and pipe up, fighting to be heard over the sound of metalwork.

“pardon me?”

the figure doesn't even flinch, simply putting the hammer into one of the front pockets, and turning around. your breath catches in your throat.

“was wondering how long you were gonna stand there for.”

she, she, has this lazy smirk on her face, aware of you entering the moment the door was pushed open. you struggle to speak, far too busy drinking in every detail of the sculpted statue of a woman in front of you. 

she's like the iron she shapes, all strong, sharp edges and hard lines. slightly rugged, a scar shaped like nothing you've seen before blooming over her left cheek. when you meet her steely grey eyes with your own, you can tell she's amused at your poorly hidden staring, but she mercifully doesn't call you out on it.

“sorry if i've caught you at a bad time. i was just interested in seeing who's picked up the forge!” “sevika.”

she says simply, extending her right hand still gloved in thick leather. you've heard the name, the most recent addition to the village, moving in just last week. you shake her hand, passively noticing that her left arm is missing. you find yourself even more impressed at her smithing skill.

when you introduce yourself in kind, sevika's eyes get a spark of something like recognition in them, and she smiles at you. it's all teeth.

“ah, you're the sheep girl.” “the shepherd, yes.” “wasn’t sure when i’d get to meet you. blacksmiths don't have much to offer someone who doesn't butcher their own meat.” “actually, maybe there's something you could help me with…”

you explain the situation, an animal dining on one of your beloved sheep for the first time. your fears of a wild animal, your will to protect the living. sevika nods, but there's something slightly darker in her eyes when you share your theory.

“it could be a bear, but i don't think one would be agile enough to jump my fences so seamlessly. i’m pretty sure it's a wolf.”

sevika ends up offering to make you some traps, something you could lay in the grass around the outside of your pen to catch whatever the creature is. she also offers you a sword, and you marvel at it, having never held such a weapon in your life.

“i’ll have your traps ready in a week, got other orders to fill. ‘till then, i’ll lend you this. can't really recommend you fight a wild animal head on, but you should at least be armed.”

you thank her, empty your satchel of all the coins you've got as thanks, and head back to your flock. the sword is wrapped delicately in parchment, cradled in your arms like something precious.

that night, you set up at your back window overlooking the flock. you've left a lantern hanging from the fence, illuminating the pen, and the sword rests at your side. sure, fighting a bear would be stupid, but you love your little sheep and goats dearly.  you'd sooner teach an animal not to fuck with them and lose a limb for it than lose another member of your herd.

you fall asleep at the window. when you awake, you rush out to check the numbers, and are delighted to find that all your fluffy companions are accounted for. 

you repeat this for the next five nights, and not a single other animal is taken. you decide that it was just a once off, and allow yourself to rest in your bed again.

when you notice a distinct lack of the flock’s lone black goat during the count, your heart sinks to your stomach. surely enough, your count ends at thirty-one.

now, you truly worry. it's not an isolated incident anymore, something has decided to target your livestock.

you head into town again, and make no other stops other than the forge. sevika's already hard at work, dunking something red-hot into a bucket of water. she hears the door open over the sound of sizzling, and calls out before you even open your mouth.

“be right there.”

jeez, does she have super hearing?

sevika puts her work aside, turning around, smiling that same lazy smile. her eyes, sharp as ever, look you up and down.

“hey, sheep girl. here for those traps?” “yes, please. it happened again last night.”

sevika tsks sympathetically, and hands you a heavy basket with three steel traps inside.

“lay these out where you're noticing traces of the predator. you jus’ open them, and they're armed to snap down when stepped on. be careful.” “thank you, sevika, i really appreciate it.” “no worries, sheep girl. ask if you need more. you overpaid last time.” “can't put a price on safety!”

you end up back at the smithy exactly a week later, because yet another sheep has been slaughtered, and the gory trail left by the hunter stains grass on the complete opposite side of the prior kills.

sevika gets to work immediately, saying she doesn't have anything else lined up. you sit and watch her work at her invitation, chin your hand.

“i just don't get it. this has never happened before, why am i losing my flock now?”

sevika hums thoughtfully, turned away from you as she pours molten metal into a cast.

“maybe somethin’ changed. some critter is real hungry and has no other option.” “don't make me feel bad for whatever… thing is making dinner out of my livestock.” “jus’ somethin’ to think about.”

another week, another kill. a full moon of your animals snatched in the dead of night, and you've noticed the pattern. whatever it is, it's smart, and always strikes on a sunday night.

this time, you won't let it get away.

you devise a plan, herding your sheep and goats into their barn for the night instead. it's normally reserved for the winter, but you have to put them in an enclosed space. 

with the sheep and goats cozied in stalls, you purposely leave the windows slightly cracked, the back door unlocked. you trap the outside, one steel toothed trap per entrance. and then, ones inside by the doors and windows too.

“let's see you pick off one of my babies now, monster.”

you mumble to yourself, sitting in your room, which has a window that gives you a perfect vantage point of the barn.

not immune to sleep, you drift off. you're abruptly awoken by a series of noises. a loud snap! followed by a horrifying roar, and the bleating of twenty-nine terrified sheep and goats.

gotcha.

you creep towards the barn, your lantern in one hand, and the sword sevika gave you in the other. you nudge open the door with the blade, and the creak triggers another howl from the trapped predator. 

you knew it was a wolf.

you step over the traps you set. there's a writhing black shadow against the left wall. you thrust your lantern forward, wanting to see the wolf who was stealing from you.

what you see isn't a wolf. it can't be.

whatever it is, it's huge. it easily doubles the height you expected. matted, ash brown fur, claws the size of daggers, and a wild, gnashing mouth full of razor sharp fangs. it cowers from the light, snapping its jaws at you, but is anchored in place by the trap.

“what… are you?”

you mumble under your breath, but your voice is like a spell. the creature calms down marginally, letting you actually look it in the eye.

there's no yellow or amber, like what a wolf's eyes should be. just grey, steely and sharp, scars preventing fur from growing on its left cheek.

your breath catches in your throat. you've thought enough about grey eyes lately to know exactly what- or who- is caught in the trap. 

you don't even have to look down, but if you did, you'd see the missing front left leg, jagged scars marring the flesh of the wolf's left shoulder.

at first, you're angry. so, so angry.

you'd ranted to sevika about your fear of this unknown hunter, your love for your animals, the fact you'd felt so unsafe. she'd listened, offered solutions, knowing they'd never work because she was the one setting them up.

then, you remember her words.

“some critter is real hungry and has no other option.”

you suppose she doesn't. there's not much big game where you live, nothing that would be easy and sustainable for a werewolf to hunt.

gods. a werewolf. you nearly laugh, because it's so ridiculous.

the wolf, no- sevika, is still staring at you. even in this form, her eyes are intelligent. she's looking at you, and then to the sword you still hold, almost like she's holding her breath.

no matter your anger, you put the weapon aside, letting it clatter out of reach.

“sevika. i’m not going to hurt you.”

she lets out a strained snarl, and against your better judgement, you raise a hand up to her snout. sevika shuts her mouth, teeth no longer bared, and allows you to run your fingers over her scarred muzzle.

bravery fueling you, you get closer, closer, letting sevika rest her gigantic furry head in your lap. her pointed ears relax as your nails scratch behind them. 

as the minutes pass, the fur recedes, the ears shrink, and you close your eyes. you don't think you can stomach watching her transform completely. 

when you can feel hair under your fingers rather than fur, you look down at sevika again. neither of you speak for a long time.

“why?”

is the only thing you can get out.

“i didn't mean to hurt you. promise. but the wolf's been out of control, been transforming weekly, been so hungry… anything i say to explain it’ll sound insane.” “nothing about this is normal. i hardly think you'll blow my mind any more than it already is.”

sevika chuckles weakly, eyes flicking from your face down to her arm, still caught in the teeth of the trap.

“mind getting me out first?” “oh- yeah, of course, i’m sorry.”

you scramble to release the trap, and her arm’s a bit bloody, but doesn't look too mangled somehow. she shrugs, says something throwaway about accelerated healing, and you just need a minute before touching the topic again. 

sevika follows you like a lost puppy back to your home after you console your scared animals. you sit her down at your kitchen table, folding your arms and staring at her like she owes you.

which she does! so she talks.

“’ve been a literal lone wolf my whole life. it used to be easy enough. move to a new town, stay a few moons, eat some cows or chickens or pigs or whatever and move again. then, it happened more often. instead of transforming once a moon, it was every two weeks, and then one. i had to move more. ended up here. was only planning on bein’ here for a couple weeks.”

you listen carefully arms unfolding to let you prop your chin up in your palm. sevika’s hardly looking at you, something like shame etched in her expression as she stares at the wood grain of your table.

“but then you kept coming by. i know it’s fucked up that i ate your sheep and then pretended to help you. but you smell so good, and you’re so nice. you keep comin’ back to my forge, sweet little lamb coming right up into my den. you look at me like you wanna be around me, an’ i don’t wanna let that go.”

sevika’s so earnest, so honest. it hurts your heart, the way she seems to struggle so badly with her nature. you push forward though, still needing answers. you still need to understand.

“and… the frequency of you turning? what’s up with that?”

sevika’s embarrassed expression turns mischievous instead. there’s that smile again, the one that’s all teeth. the signs were all there now that you know.

“‘ts real simple. don’t got a mate. wolf instincts go nuts. can’t satiate that hunger, so i satisfy a different one.”

you blink at her. once, then twice.

she’s been killing your sheep because she hasn’t gotten laid?!

“so… hypothetically you find a mate. you stop going wolf mode and eating my livestock?” “well, no. ‘d stop eating your sheep and shit though. it’d make me turn less often, and less wild when i do.”

you barely have to think before you next speak. sevika’s attractive, she obviously likes you too, and it would fix the little problem of her slaughtering your animals.

“what if i wanted to be your mate?”

sevika gives you a look like you’ve grown two heads. as if it’s the strangest thing she’s ever heard. as if she can’t believe you’d want to be hers.

“you’re shitting me.” “no, i mean it! you get a mate, you stop werewolfing out so often, my flock is safe, you get to stay in one place. and like, i’m still mad at you for eating my animals, but i can just make you sleep on the couch about it or something.”

you haven’t really heard sevika laugh properly before. you’ve gotten snorts and grunts out of her, maybe a chuckle. but this is full on bark, a belly laugh, a serious noise that makes her wheeze.

“cute little lamb like you wants to crawl right into my jaws? you’re crazy. c’mere.”

she pats her lap, and you take the invitation, moving from your seat to hers. sevika acts as if you weigh nothing, her large hand wrapping around the back of your head, cradling your neck and bringing your lips down to hers.

the kiss is almost chaste, almost tender, but quickly turns sloppy. sevika’s an animal, nearly feral off of the feel of your mouth alone. it really doesn’t taste like anything other than spit and need, but to sevika, you’re the sweetest thing in the world.

she nips at your lip with those sharp teeth of hers, and you whine in response. she takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth, and then pulls away, a string of spit connecting your lips to hers. 

“you got a bedroom?” “that's… that's a dumb question.”

you're panting, and flushed, and sevika's really into the fact that you're still giving her lip when just a kiss has you this red.

“yeah okay. take me to your bedroom or i’m gonna eat you out on this table.”

if you weren't wet from sevika's kiss, you sure as hell were now, instantly slick. sevika lets out this feral groan, shoving her face into your neck, and you can hear the way she inhales deeply, like she can smell your arousal through your blood.

“yeah- uh. fuck, bedroom's upstairs, it's the left door.”

your voice cracks when you give sevika directions to your room, and the instant you finish your sentence, she's standing up. she does this little maneuver that ends up with your legs around her waist and her hand supporting your ass. by grabbing a handful of it. your arms settle around her neck like it's natural.

the walk to your bedroom is way shorter when sevika's the one taking the steps. it's hardly a minute later when you're thrown down onto your bed, and sevika's crouching at the edge of the bed, fully intent on worship. her hand is in the waistband of your pants, yanking them down and tossing them away like they offend her.

your panties are soaked underneath, a damp spot forming over your entrance, making the fabric cling to your cunt. sevika looks like she's in love already. she leans in, but doesn't make contact where you need it most yet. instead, her head rests on your inner thigh, looking up at you with something akin to puppy love.

“you sure you want this?”

sevika's voice is tight, like she's holding herself back, but that look in her eye tells you all you need to know. she's asking consent, permission, she'd back off now if you didn't want it. there's the unspoken question of ‘are you sure you want me?’ and you're happy to answer.

and that makes you need her more.

“i want you, sevika.”

there's no more hesitation. she's already throwing your right leg up onto her left shoulder, your other leg spread open wide by her palm on your knee. 

sevika's head doesn't leave your thigh immediately. instead, she's kissing, then nibbling, then biting. it stings, it's sensitive, it makes your clit pulse with need. there's a dark pink bite mark in the meat of your thigh, and she laves her tongue over it like an apology, and then does the exact same thing to your other thigh.

her nose ghosts over your skin, drawing a line to your panties. she laps at the damp spot, giving you sweet stimulation. it's not enough though, and you arch your hips towards her face, begging for more.

your taste sends sevika into some sort of primal frenzy, and she hooks her fingers into the waistband of your panties, tugging impatiently.

“ass up, unless you want these ripped to shreds.”

while you don't hate that idea, you do like these panties. you lift your hips, letting her slide them down your legs, tossed carelessly away to join your pants.

“such a pretty pussy…”

sevika coos, taking a moment to admire you. her hand moves from your knee to your thigh, spreading you open further. she grins at how slick you are, at how your folds open to let her in.

“please, sevika…”

it's hardly a beg, more of a single pathetic plea. it's all you can muster with your mind fogged with need. graciously, sevika obliges, flattening her tongue and licking you nearly asshole to clit in one broad stroke. the choked moan it rewards her with is incentive enough to do it again.

and again.

and again.

sevika eats you out like she's making out with your cunt. it's sinful, the way she licks at your folds, hooked nose grinding up against your clit. she sucks, she grazes her teeth, she spits. it's filthy, it's messy, it's perfect. she doesn't look away the entire time, eyes dark with arousal as she watches your every expression.

she pulls back for half a second, and you're nearly disappointed, until she sucks her middle and index fingers into her mouth, and promptly eases one into you.

“greedy little cunt wants my fingers so bad. look how she sucks ‘em in.”

sevika doesn't continue until you weakly lift your head to stare down at her hand as she pumps her finger in and out, the second soon joining, scissoring and stretching and filling. her hands are big, rough, calloused from however many years of blacksmithing. 

her fingers feel so different than your own, a thought you barely finish when sevika crooks them inside of you, sucking on your clit harshly, and you cum without realising that your orgasm was sneaking up on you.

“fuck, sevika, your tongue… shit…”

sevika doesn't withdraw until you've come down from your high, and she almost looks disappointed when she does. you're almost concerned you've done something wrong, until she shakes her head with a fond smile. 

“if you're still talkin’, i haven't fucked you hard enough yet.” 

sevika sucks your fluids off her fingers, like wasting even a single drop of your taste is sacrilege. she pulls your boneless leg off her shoulder, manhandling you onto your back, nestled into your pillows. 

her own clothes are soon a puddle on the floor, and you're treated to every inch of tanned skin covering strong muscle. you stare shamelessly, you're past the point of admiring her back as she worked iron or snuck glances at her bicep as she handed you your purchases.

sevika is like a work of art, a statue carved from bronze stone. your eyes are drawn particularly to her midriff, to those abs, and that absolutely lethal v-line. it points your gaze right towards her happy trail, leading to her cunt. she's got a full bush, she's just as wet as you, and what really catches your eye is her clit.

sevika's clit is huge. it's an impressive couple of inches, the tip peeking out of the hood, a beautiful shade of dark red that matches her inner folds, contrasting against the rest of her skin. 

you're ready to forgive her for picking off your sheep. you're ready to cry at how pretty she is. you're ready for whatever's about to come as she kneels on the bed, crawling towards you.

you spread your legs for her, and sevika chuckles at the effort.

“eager, are we?”

she murmurs, moving your legs around hers until your bodies slot together like pieces of a puzzle. you can feel the heat of her cunt as she hovers above you.

“relax, little lamb. i’ll do the work.”

then, she's on you.

you thought sevika eating you out was wet and messy. 

you really had no idea what wet and messy truly was.

it takes a few rolls of her hips, but once sevika's found the perfect angle, it's over. your head arches back into the pillows, lost in the feeling of slick on slick, of her huge clit rubbing all over you.

your arousal soaks her bush, her wetness smears over every inch of your folds. you can feel fluid on your inner thighs drying sticky, and you just don't care. 

sevika's speed picks up. she's humping you like the dog she is, powerful thighs flexing as she bares down on you and rocks your world. 

she changes the angle, her clit catching on your entrance with each thrust, and it drives you wild.

“there, do that, more-”

you babble, and sevika feeds off your falling apart, unable to stop herself.

“dirty little lamb wants me to fuck her with my clit… want me to put a pup in you? gonna let me breed this pussy?” “please! want it!”

you don't even care that it's probably impossible, you want nothing more in this moment than for this werewolf to knock you up.

“y’know you're drooling, right? so dumb and needy, drunk off my pussy. so fuckin’ perfect for me.”

sevika's devouring you, and you let her. she's closer, closer, and then her teeth are in your throat. not to kill, but to mark, to claim. her hand finds one of your tits, pawing at it.

she's feral.

she's perfect.

her clit slides the barest bit inside you, she sucks harshly on your neck, and she pinches your nipple just enough that you can't tell if it's pleasure or pain. it's the perfect storm, and all you can do is tangle your hands into sevika's hair, holding her mouth to your racing pulse as your world goes white.

it's the highest high you've ever felt. through the fog, sevika's voice hits your ears, low and sweet with pride.

“good girl.”

you refocus just in time to watch sevika fall apart as well, her grinding slower, harder, as she takes what she needs. her head tilts back, a throaty groan spilling into the air as her clit pulses where it's pressed to yours. 

there's no telling where you end and sevika begins. it's all passion, liquid and fire and skin to skin.

she pulls away eventually, and you nearly bemoan the loss. sevika's cunt is covered in your creamy combined release, and you have no doubt yours is much the same way.

sevika doesn't go far. instead, she just flops on top of you, earning a ‘oof!’ from you under her weight. she rolls you both over, laying on her back, holding you to her chest. her hand gently takes hold of your chin, and tilts your face to the side, admiring the bite mark on your neck and the accompanying hickey.

“i hope i wasn't too rough with you, little lamb.” “i’m okay. i’m better than okay, actually.” “tha’s good. we're mates now. i gotta look after you.”

you smile at sevika, and she brings your lips together, cradling your jaw like you're the most important thing in the world. this kiss is slow. it's not shaped like love, not yet. but it's a formless sweetness that could certainly become it.

when the kiss breaks, she has those puppy dog eyes again. her eyes that once seemed so sharp to you are now soft, a gentle grey like rain-heavy clouds.

“you’re cute, sevika. you're still in the doghouse though.” “ah, fuck.”

sevika has done a lot of stupid shit in her life. dating that one girl back in college who turned out to be straight and experimenting. hoping that her relationship with her father would get better as she grew older. getting drunk on her friend’s wedding after having a very brief life crisis.

some have become a funny joke with her little group of friends, one that get a chuckle even out of her.

and then there were some that she just wishes she could forget forever. drown them in a bottle of whisky.

all of those memories are stored in her head. a mental list of embarrassing, painful, awkwardly funny parts of her life.

those memories love to terrorize her in the most random moments of her life. she has gotten good at ignoring over the years, but some days were harder, where even a hard alcohol or a good fuck couldn’t fix.

another thing that sevika always knew about herself, is that she has never been the best person on earth. she has her flaws, like everyone does, but she never had the need to lie about how perfect her life is. she knows it is far from it.

and with flaws, regrets walk along hand-in-hand. sevika regrets a lot of things, far too many.

but her biggest regret is ever letting you invade her life.

you, a woman who is just the complete opposite of her. you are sweet, gentle in ways sevika is not. you cared for her when others only pretended. you were, to her, the perfect person. she never understood how good you could be with others. with her. it scared her, really.

she was scared of how well you could read her, made her feel seen in the most vulnerable way. she hated it, but you were the only one who ever had the privilege to know who she truly is.

the only issue about this almost perfect, pulled-straight-out-of-a-novel relationship was?

the pretty big age gap.

you were 27 when sevika met you, and she was 39. you two met at a bar she was a frequent for nearly a decade, with you and your friends celebrating your friends’ engagement. she never asked what reason you had to suddenly approach her that night, but she still remembers what exactly she saw.

you, endearingly tipsy from wine, walking over to her with a pretty smile glimmering on your lips. your makeup was slightly smudged, lipgloss ruined from the wine. she even remembers how you unbuttoned your blazer widely enough to show her the slightest sliver of skin hiding beneath.

you were simply breathtaking, in a way that made sevika crave. and you were just as desperate, clinging to her side looking all coy, touching her bicep and feeding her ego with sweet compliments. she was loving it, deep down. having a pretty girl hung up on her arms made her feel invincible.

you were not shy about your desire for sevika, going as far as to make the first move. it’s what led you into her bed that night, and many more nights after.

she could never forget how desperate you were for her, a strange woman you met at a bar.

you were insatiable.

there were days where she had to cocoon you in her duvet just to keep you away from her. and sevika was never a woman who struggled with not having enough stamina. she had more than enough and then some, enough to go for hours, but it was nothing compared to you.

you were bold. hungry. feral like a rabid dog, sneaky like a predator. you knew how to test her resilience, patience, and restraint.

no warnings sevika gave you ever stopped you either. if anything, they would make you work harder to get her riled up, until you ended up bent over a random piece of furniture that was in sevika’s way.

but she never complained. it was what she loved about you.

and loving you was scary.

when things began to get serious, sevika felt cornered. what was first just a great sex with a younger woman, became more. and you both felt it.

sevika tried, she really did. but the nagging feeling that kept saying to let you go, knowing that unlike her, you had a whole life before you, was far too loud in her head. you were perfect for someone like her, and the way her heart was racing at the mere sight of you made it clear how much she loved you.

she never said it, but she knew. though she wasn’t sure if you knew it, too.

that’s why it had to end. she loved you too much to tie you down to someone like her. an older woman with her life a mess, who is more familiar with a bottom of a bottle than romance. she is only a mechanic with her own business, while you can make it bigger in life with your fancy degree and a way with words.

you needed someone who deserved you. and sevika knew it would never be her.

she couldn’t face you to end it. you were the sunshine in her life she didn’t know she needed until she had it. and sevika was always weak for you. the second your eyes would meet, she would chicken out.

so what did she do instead?

she sent you a text.

sevika felt like a coward, hiding behind her phone screen when she sent the message. yours came flooding her inbox immediately, and by the typos and short messages, she knew you were crying on the other end of the line.

you tried to reach out to her so many times the first week or two, calling and texting to the point where sevika was leaving her phone at home when going to work. not because it was annoying, but each notification that came from your number made her heart ache more and more each time.

she began avoiding spots where she could accidentally meet you. that one restaurant you two once went to? it did not matter that sevika had to go to the gym that way, she would use a different route. the area where you work? she did not dare step foot in there.

she even stopped going to her favorite bar for a while, the one where she met you. the last thing she wanted was to see you there, waiting on her, give her that sweet look that would break her resolve.

and now, it’s been two years, and sevika has not moved on since.

if anything, it got worse.

she thought moving on would be easy. you were just another woman in her life, a younger woman, too. she expected to be back on her feet within three months, jumping into another woman’s bed to forget you.

and she did just that.

except it had no effect.

no matter who she had in her bed, you invaded her mind like a parasite. a parasite she desperately wanted to get rid off, but nothing ever worked.

sevika never felt more pathetic in her entire life more than now.

she has thought many times about contacting you again. thinking about calling you, telling you how sorry she is, even going as far as begging you to listen to her. she even bought you flowers once, on your birthday – even though she pretended to not listen when you still were together – walking to your place with an apology she has practiced for a whole day.

but as she stood before your apartment complex, watching random people in the window of your living room, she chickened out. the bouquet she paid a hefty amount for ended up in the trash, and she drank a whole bottle before midnight to drown her sorrows.

she regrets meeting you, but she regrets ever letting you go.

she spends nights on her phone, gathering the courage to text you. her thumb hovers over the call button each time, but never really clicking it. she doesn’t even know if you have her blocked.

if only sevika knew you weren’t any better.

you like to claim that you have moved on. you laugh and smile with your friends as if your heart has not been heavy with anger, replacing the sadness that first prevailed. even after two years of absolute silence from the older woman, the situation weighs heavily on you.

it’s not the breakup that is the problem – if you can even call it that. if sevika were to tell you face-to-face, you would take it. it would hurt, sure, but you would understand. you would have some kind of closure.

but apparently by sevika’s standards, you aren’t even worthy of a phone call.

worth nothing more than a fucking text message.

you read it so many times it’s engraved in your mind since, haunting you like a nightmare. and no matter how many times you tried to reach out, she ignored it all. all your calls and messages, read but never answered.

that hurt the most.

dating after sevika has been rocky like walking on a rope bridge. always hit or miss, never going past a third date, until you stopped forcing yourself into another relationship that only deepened the wounds left behind.

as much as you try to convince yourself that you hate her, that you have truly forgotten all about her, you can never deny how you always miss her.

the smallest things reminds you of her. the scent of motor oil that always lingered on sevika’s clothes, to the way she loved her whiskey served. even something as insignificant as a smoke of a cigarette. you remember how much you hated kissing her after she had a smoke, which only made her kiss you harder.

you miss that.

you miss when sevika gave you her attention, not just the sex part. all of it.

and perhaps you were silly enough to believe that she loved you back because of it.

today was meant to be another normal day for sevika. after a long shift, all she wanted was to go to a bar, have a few drinks and go back home. her usual – though horribly sad – routine.

but ever since she woke up today, at 6am like always, she had this gut feeling that something is going to happen.

it started small.

first there was a woman walking past sevika with the same hair as you. her heart nearly stopped thinking it was you, but when the woman turned around, she let out a sigh of relief and a quiet curse under her breath.

she was being ridiculous. she last saw you two years ago. you probably changed your hairstyle by now, looking completely different. she probably wouldn’t even recognize you if she saw you on the street. at least she wanted to believe that.

then came the restaurant she once took you to. sevika’s heart nearly leapt out of her chest when she came to her senses, realizing that she went the wrong route.

she has been used to avoid this street, this part of town entirely. why did she accidentally stumbled here today of all days?

it made no sense.

until she saw you.

she was right about one thing, though. you really changed your hair. otherwise you look the same, and it scares sevika how easily she has recognized you in the crowd of people walking by. but it’s hard to not notice when you stand a few feet away, standing before an opened car, wearing black slacks and a black blouse.

you look professional, yet still so unbelievably beautiful. the way you stand there on your heels, a perfect depiction of an office siren. sevika almost forgets what she has done, forgets sending that stupid message. almost going as far as to step forward to walk towards you and wrap her arms around you.

but she can’t. how will she look like, after two years of radio silence, deciding to hold you as if nothing had happened? as if she didn’t ruin the best thing in her fucked up life. she doesn’t deserve you, and you deserve more than an asshole like her.

the moment passes when you finally close the car and turn around, your eyes landing on sevika standing not far away. she sees how your body stiffens, eyes widen in shock, and she is far from doing good herself.

neither of you move for what feels like hours. people pass by you, all in their own worlds, ignoring the two worlds that once parted have collided once again. and neither of you have the courage to approach each other.

at least sevika doesn’t have the courage. what would she even say? no words that come to her mind can ever fix the mess she has made.

but watching you stand there, perfect like the first she met you, her body works on her own. the soles of her boots against the concrete is the only sound that fills her ears, along with her rapidly beating heart – beating hard enough to put her in a cardiac arrest.

but it’s now or never. for the first time in sevika’s damned life, she follows what her heart wants, not her brain.

she stands a few feet away from you now, and seeing you flinch away makes her heart sink. not that she can blame you, but it aches nonetheless. she takes a deep breath to calm her pulse, before her mouth opens.

“hey,” is the only thing that comes out of her, and she groans. why are feelings so complicated?

your eyes lock with hers, and before sevika can continue, you finally speak up. “what do you want?”

“i…” the question renders her speechless. she doesn’t know herself what she wants anymore. a proper closure? an apology? fall down to her knees and beg you to come back to her? it’s all options, and neither at the same time. “i just want to talk.”

“two years too late, don’t you think? but you can send me a text message. that’s your thing, isn’t it?” you snap at her, and sevika winces. touché.

“look, i’m not here to argue. i don’t know why i’m here, anyway. and today of all days. but i know is that i want to fix this,” sevika hates the word that comes out of her next. “please.”

“but you said i’m too young–“

“i know what i said!” her voice comes out harsh and frustrated, but not entirely at you. “but i can’t get you out of my head and it pisses me off.”

you look away from her, and sevika is tempted to grab you by the chin and make you look at her. just like she used to when your eyes closed, or darted away from her when she brought you to cloud nine and back. but she can’t. not after everything.

“i know i don’t deserve a second chance, not after the bullshit i did,” she hesitates for a moment, “give me one night. that’s all i want. you can yell at me, slap me, scalp me for all i care. just… just give me that.”

that’s when your eyes lock with hers, looking bewildered like a deer in the headlights. your face switches between various emotions. angry, shocked, ready to slap the audacity out of sevika for even suggesting ever meeting again.

the silence feels heavy like a storm cloud, and for a second, sevika believes that you will reject her. she wouldn’t hold it against you if you did, but a part of her prays to win you over again, to have you back in her life even after she let you go.

and as she’s opening her mouth to speak, you beat her to it.

“fine. one night. that’s all you’re getting.”

instant relief floods through sevika’s body like a whisky, warming her up. she tries not to let it show, but the way her flesh fingers twitch ever so slightly give away her true feelings. she hates how easily you pull a reaction out of her.

her lips curl up in a ghost of a smile. “i’ll pick you up on friday, 6pm.”

it is finally friday. the clock on the wall of your bedroom ticks away 5.30, only thirty minutes before sevika shows up.

and you’re nowhere near as ready as you have hoped.

you have absolutely no idea why you had agreed in the first place. the closure, perhaps? wanting to hear her out? or maybe… maybe, somewhere deep in your heart, you want to see her one more time before fate does its job.

the scene keeps repeating in your head, playing out possible ‘what if’s in your head, as if that’s going to help. you cannot change the past now. you promised, and saying no to her, even after what she had done, is easier said than done.

you probably should have said no. make things easier for yourself.

but it’s hard to deny the effect she still has on you. how her voice sends shivers down your spine, like it used to before. how her big frame towers over yours, and how it makes you want to be in her mercy – in her arms, where you once felt so safe.

you’re still under her spell, and you can deny it all you want.

not even ten minutes pass when a ringing sound of a doorbell pierces your ears, making you flinch by the mirror. she’s here early, and your stomach is tied in knots.

it’s now or never.

you check yourself in the mirror one last time, fixing up the buttons of your blazer vest, mostly just to make her wait. you had to wait for two whole years, she can handle two minutes.

“you can do it…” you whisper to your reflection as if it can support you back, taking a deep breath before you walk towards the door. you hang the bag over your shoulder, put on your shoes, and with one last sigh, you leave your apartment.

the soles of your platforms thud against the steps as you descend, unsteady like a fading heartbeat. not even halfway down, you consider walking back up and ditch sevika on this date – if you can even call it that.

there is nothing more to it then closure, you convince yourself. or try to, at least.

because the second you open the main entrance and see sevika standing in front of you, every thought in your mind evaporates like a mist over boiling kettle. you are back to the days when you were together, head over heels and heartbeat embarrassingly loud.

her broad frame towers over you, dark maroon shirt perfectly hugging her upper body, and exposing enough of her sternum with three buttons undone. the hem is tucked in her pants, tight slacks that hug her thighs just right, showing off her muscles for the world to admire.

she must be doing this on purpose, you are sure of it.

and as you are admiring her, sevika is busy taking you in. you notice her throat moving as she swallows, her eyes raving over your suit-clad body. her mouth opens, then closes, then opens again like a fish stuck on land.

a small flicker of confidence lights up in you, knowing you still have an effect on her.

a minute passes, the two of you standing there in awkward silence.

until sevika clears her throat. “ready?”

“ready,” you nod, lying through your teeth.

sevika walks you to her car, hand hovering over your back, but never really touching. she opens the door for you, waiting until you sit before walking to the driver’s seat.

the ride is quiet, too quiet. you have nothing to say, and by the way sevika’s jaw is set tight, you can tell she wants to say too much but doesn’t know how to start.

you set your eyes on the view outside, watching as the scenery passes by. anything to keep yourself occupied so you won’t look at sevika.

but she forces you when she speaks up.

“you… you look great,” the words come out strained, like her mouth worked before her brain did.

you stay still, lips pursed together as you watch her. steel grey eyes set on the road, flesh hand on the steering wheel while the prosthetic one digs into her thigh. her nostrils are flared, eyebrows furrowed, and you cannot really read what she’s thinking right now.

your silence makes sevika groan. “you can at least acknowledge that i’m talking.”

“i’m looking at you. isn’t that enough?”

“i know you’re angry–“

“angry doesn’t even fucking cover how i feel, sevika,” you cut her off, sharp and loud.

“you know words aren’t my strong suit,” sevika mutters, her grip on the steering wheel tightening.

“yeah, i know. you prefer texts,” you jab where it hurts the most, not only her but you. “you’re expert at that.”

“for fuck’s sake.”

“what? can’t handle the truth? can’t handle that i’m not jumping into your arms and accepting whatever excuse you have prepared for me?” question after question pours out your mouth in an angry outburst, questions that don’t have an answer.

not one that would make your anger less explosive, anyway.

“i’m trying, okay?”

“you should’ve tried two years ago, sevika! you kick me in the ass through a fucking text, and now you think i’m gonna be all hot and bothered for you?”

“just shut up!”

sevika’s voice is a roar of frustration, helplessness and anger. she makes a sharp turn right, your face nearly kissing the window, parking at a random place where it’s all suspiciously quiet.

she turns to you, and you watch how her expression twitches. tightens and loosens repeatedly, fighting whatever bomb of emotion is ticking within her.

“i know i fucked up, majorly. and i get that you probably hate me ‘cause of it,” she takes a deep breath, “but there hasn’t been a day where i haven’t regretted the bullshit i’ve done. i tried so many times to contact you, visit you… do anything to see you again. but i couldn’t.”

“why? why couldn’t you, huh?” you press on, forcing the answer out of her one way or another.

she glances away when she speaks up again, “because you deserve someone better than me. someone who’ll give you a good life, who’d be on the same wavelength as you. the same age as you. i have… nothing to give you besides a good fuck.”

you think for a second that your ears are deceiving you. hearing doubts from a woman who looked nothing but confidence herself, smirking at you whenever she showed off, always so sure of herself… it feels strange. but it doesn’t do anything to cool you off.

it only makes you angrier.

“so you just… decided to make a decision for me? do you think i’m that incompetent to know what i want?” your heart is beating out of your chest, the onslaught of emotions feeling heavy on your sternum. “i’m almost thirty, sevika. i’m not a little naive girl who doesn’t know what she wants. you can’t make decisions for me!”

“i know that now, and- and i’m sorry,” the apology is barely audible when sevika utters it. “please, give me a chance to fix it.”

“fix how? you think you can’t fix two years of distance in one night?”

“give me a month,” sevika says without hesitation.

your eyes narrow, eyebrow raised. “what?”

“a month. thirty days. i’ll do all i can to fix this. fix us,” it is the most desperate you’ve ever heard her, and you don’t want to admit how it hits you.

thirty days. you can’t even believe you are thinking of agreeing to it. you shouldn’t be, not after what she has done. but with the way she is looking at you, expecting you to give her the benefit of the doubt, it makes you weak. she hits all the weak spots in you, and you wonder if she even realizes this.

“can’t believe i’m considering it,” you scoff, but it’s not bitter anymore. exasperated, perhaps. “alright. we can try, i guess.”

and when sevika takes your hand in hers, muttering a silent ‘thank you’, you want to believe that she is being sincere with you.

“starting tonight, i promise i’ll do anything to make it right,” she whispers to you, her voice soft and comforting.

when her hand leaves yours to focus back on driving, you start missing the warmth of it. it was the warmest she has touched you, filled with promises that fill you with a speckle of happiness. you don’t even catch the smile on your face.

but sevika does, from the corner of her eye. she sees how your lips curl up ever so slightly, how your eyes suddenly seem more lively than a moment ago. your muscles aren’t taut like a string anymore, and she takes it as a good sign that maybe she will win you back.

she must.

the rest of the ride goes silently, until she stops by a familiar place. the pub where you first met. you haven’t been there ever since sevika broke things off, but it hasn’t changed at all.

and when she walks inside with you by her side, a lively hum of people having fun greets you. it’s not overwhelmingly loud or crowded, a typical friday night after a long week.

sevika leads you to an empty booth, far from others so you can have some privacy. her eyes never leave you, and it is a little awkward at first. even as you order, she never seems to look away, as if she’s afraid to do so.

“i won’t disappear, y’know. stop gawking at me like a hawk,” you huff.

“can’t help it,” sevika mumbles, and a small smirk grows on her full lips. typical. “what if i look away for a second and you’ll leave?” her words are meant to be a joke, but you can see a flicker of worry in her eyes.

she’s being serious, even if she tries to hide it behind her typical bravado. she really hasn’t changed at all.

the rest of the night falls into a soothing rhythm. the tension is not as intense, but it’s clear neither of you want to dive into more serious topics. you’re on a pause – a moment that’s just for you to enjoy before the talk will become inevitable.

when sevika’s lazy smile drops and she sets her whisky on the table, you know that the moment comes now.

“i’ve never gotten over you, y’know. what we had,” she sighs, and for the first time she looks away. “i just couldn’t handle the thought that you would one day regret settling for me.”

“that doesn’t excuse the break up through text,” you retort.

“i know,” she pinches the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut.

“i deserved more than a shitty text, sevika.”

“i know that.”

“don’t you have anything better to say than ‘i know’? because to me, it seems like you don’t know shit,” her answers – or rather lack-there-of – makes you bristle, hand clenching around the glass so tight it could break under the pressure.

“will you ever stop throwing it into my face like that?” sevika snaps at you, unable to keep her frustration at bay.

“you have any idea how much it hurts? to receive a fucking text from a woman you love that ‘i’m too young, and i don’t know what i want in life yet?’ so i’m sorry if i’m hurting your feelings now, because you did it it to me first.”

whatever has been bubbling within sevika slowly evaporated, seeing how you slump against the chair as you continue to blame her – and rightfully so. she has no right to be angry at you, when she’s the one who did this.

so she shuts up. takes everything you were definitely bottling up in you for the past two years. you don’t receive words, only hums and nods as she lets herself be berated for her sheer stupidity. and as you ramble on, tears gathering in your eyes, sevika can only think one thing.

you’re beautiful even when you’re angry at her.

sevika only reaches out when the tears start to fall, standing from her seat to nestle against your side, her strong arm wrapping around your trembling body. and you melt into her warmth, just like old times. it feels right, just how it used to.

but this time, sevika will not let it go.

“i’ll make it right, i promise,” she whispers, full of conviction, landing a tender kiss into your hair.

and you might finally let yourself believe her.

you’re surprised by how much sevika still remembers about you.

yesterday, she got you your favorite flowers, something you once briefly mentioned, never expecting her to even catch it. you certainly never would expect a woman like sevika to remember something so small. unimportant by her standards. but as you held the bouquet in your hands, watching as sevika’s eyes flickered from one place to another, you felt that familiar warmth bloom in your chest.

you haven’t felt that in a while.

and today, she took you to the bistro you used to visit back in your college days, still as lively as it was years ago. you don’t even remember ever telling her about it, or what order you always got.

yet before you could open your mouth, sevika ordered for you, everything to a t.

“can’t believe you remember so much about me,” you mumble with your mouth full, to which sevika chuckled.

“what? can’t be sentimental once in my damn life?” she scoffed.

“i’m serious. even my family doesn’t know as much as you do,” you poke the food around as you speak.

“i may not look like it, but i pay attention. especially if it’s you.”

“if it’s me,” you mutter under your breath, a small grin growing on your lips. “never thought the big scary sevika would be so soft.”

“tease me like that and i’ll stop,” she points the fork at you, as if ready to poke you, but the melodic tone of her laugh that follows tells you all you need to know.

she definitely won’t stop now.

“an amusement park? really?”

“what? think i’m too old for that?” sevika’s thick brow quirks up, arm set on her hip.

the way she reacted makes you laugh way too loudly than you intended, making people stare at the two of you. “aren’t we both a little too old for plushies and cotton candy?”

“just you wait,” she tsks before taking you by the wrist and dragging you to the entrance.

sevika pays for the tickets, her warm hand never letting you go. she holds you like a kid holding a balloon, afraid that you’ll float away if she lets you go. and whenever you tug and pull, her grip just tightens, leaving you no other choice but to walk by her side.

besides the families that came to visit because of their children, you and sevika are definitely the oldest here. it’s a little embarrassing, and you would expect sevika to feel the same. but when you look at her, she looks unbothered.

she’s busy taking it all in, eyes going from one colorful attraction to the other. it’s like she’s never seen so many colors at once.

as much as she tries to act, you see a crack in her expression. the small furrow between her dark eyebrows, her lips jutted out in a thoughtful pout. she looks younger, more alive than you’ve ever seen her.

“you look like you’re seeing colors for the first time,” you poke fun at her, but there is nothing but fondness in your tone.

sevika snaps from her daze hearing your voice. “i’ve… never been to an amusement park.”

“really? never?” your eyes widen, your head tilting up to look at her. “not even with your parents, or maybe on a date with someone?”

“funny,” sevika scoffs as if you just said the most ridiculous thing. “my mama died when i was a kid, and my old man… let’s say he was never a father of the year.”

oh.

she’s never opened up to you before. not like this.

you feel as sevika’s grip on you loosens little by little, until it slips. but you don’t let her. your smaller hand grabs her, and you pull her back in. she looks surprised when she glances at you, only to be met with a playful smile that dances on your mouth.

“well, we have a lot to catch up on,” you say, and without giving her a chance to speak, you start pulling her to the first stand – candied apples.

sevika cringes when you hand her the sticky apple, and when you force her to take a bite, you chuckle at the expression she makes. she acts like it’s poisonous when handing it back to you, chewing that small piece in her mouth for what feels like ages to her.

but what sevika didn’t except is how seriously you’re taking this.

ride after ride, stand after stand, there probably isn’t nothing that you did make sevika try. cotton candy, tornado potato and god-knows what else that will leave her with a heartburn and a lot of regret tomorrow. and after nearly throwing up the entire contents of her stomach on the pirate ship ride, she knows one thing for sure…

amusement parks are not for her.

“you cut your hair!”

“yeah, i did. couldn’t be bothered tying it up every day,” sevika shrugs, a smirk curling up on her lips. “don’t look so shocked. i thought you said you’d like me with an undercut.”

“i’m gonna miss that silly little ponytail,” you let out a sigh, your hand reaching out to brush her hair from her eyes.

“you don’t know what you want, woman,” she groans at you, pushing your hand away from her hair.

the last thing sevika wants is to show how flustered your touch leaves her.

you probably don’t even realize what effect you are having on her over the past days, how open you’re making her be. never in her life has she worn her heart on her sleeve for someone, with how many people have treated her like shit.

no one but you. she would let you rip it out her hands and stab it for all she cares, if it proves how hard she loves you. how unbelievably happy you make her feel.

sevika still tries to keep her walls up; old habits die hard. yet every time you smile at her, touch her, even do something as small as looking at her with those sparkly eyes of yours.

how could she ever let you go that day?

“i also noticed something,” you mutter suddenly, catching sevika’s attention.

“what?”

“you don’t smell like cigarettes anymore,” you observe.

“yeah, i stopped. i know how much you hated it when i smoked,” she says with a grin, her hands slowly coming to rest on your waist. “said i smelled like burnt shit and my lungs are probably like charcoal.”

“was i wrong, though?”

“shut up, smart ass.”

“after you, old lady,” you wink at her, earning you an eye roll from sevika.

“always gotta have the final word,” she mutters, her grip on you tightening ever so slightly.

and sevika can’t be any happier that you’re letting her touch you like this again. you’re so close, so warm, so perfect against her. sunshine caresses your features, enhancing her favorite parts of you.

and you?

you’re falling in love all over again, if not even more than before. each day you spend with her is magical. whether it’s a date night by lit candles and fancy dinner, or a simple walk around town after work, you appreciate everything she does.

you cannot deny the gash left on your heart after what sevika has done, perhaps that will never truly heal. it might wake you up randomly one night, seeding doubts deep into your mind. but you can finally believe that sevika will be by your side if that ever happens.

“you look good, though,” you whisper to sevika after a moment of silence, pressing yourself tighter to her side. “it suits you. makes you look… younger, in a way.”

“are you saying i looked old before?” sevika glares down at you, warning you to choose your words wisely.

but you only tease her further, “…maybe.”

“brat.”

“oldie.”

a snort escapes her, smiling so widely you can see that gap between her teeth you can’t help but be so mesmerized by. she clears her throat to pretend she didn’t just laugh at your silly nickname, only if her eyes didn’t have that glimmer in them. it exposes her fully, and she lets it be.

for you, sevika refuses to hide.

“you know, you never told me why you approached me that night,” sevika looks at you as she chews on the piece of steak in her mouth.

her voice is the only thing snapping you from your trance. the meal in front of you – far too fancy for your tastes – has gotten lukewarm as it sits nearly untouched on a plate. you’re not sure if sevika has realized it yet, how intensely you watch her. admiring how she looks in the dim light, the candle on the table enhancing her perfect imperfections.

“oh, that?” you chuckle, taking a bite of a potato wedge. “just my friends being pushy and dramatic.”

“oh? so you’re saying you wouldn’t approach me without your friends’ approval?” she smirks at you.

“the opposite, actually. i didn’t need their approval or permission.”

“so you really don’t listen to anyone but yourself,” sevika sighs, more amused and exasperated then annoyed.

“excuse me? i listen to you,” you retort, jabbing the back of her flesh hand with the handle of the steak knife.

“sure, you do.”

“come on, that was one time. i was stressed out, okay?”

“one time, my ass,” she rolls her eyes when you groan. “it was at least seven times. and by the time you were done, neither of us could move for thirty minutes straight.”

“not my fault you can’t handle it,” you mutter under your breath, loud enough for sevika to catch it, earning you a glare.

“weren’t you the one who passed out in the puddle of your own c–“

“shut up!” your loud panic makes others turn to your table, some shaking their heads before returning to their meals.

you take a sip of wine, hiding just how flustered you are behind the glass. you down it in one go, the alcohol warming up your body and going straight into your head.

now you at least have the wine to blame for the warmth emanating from your cheeks.

“they kept pushing me to find someone,” you finally admit, fingers playing with the stem of the wine glass. “i was the only one single at that time, too focused on work, on my future. so i wanted to shut their mouths.”

sevika stops eating, her eyes focused on you. she looks thoughtful, eyebrows furrowing and lips downturned in a frown. but as quickly as the frown appeared, her usual smirk replaces it. “so you just used me to shut their mouths?” she asks you, leaning against the table, her tone ever-so-slightly icy.

“maybe at first,” the admission weighs on your chest, and you look into her eyes to see her reaction. “but after the night we spent together, it turned into something else. i wanted more of you.”

you barely breathe as you await sevika’s reply. the worst-case scenarios flood through your brain, making you sweat under the satin fabric of your blouse. she’s quiet for far too long, and the way her brows twitch makes the tension even worse.

just as you’re about to try and say something, she lets out a breathy laugh.

“you’re an idiot, sweetheart.”

sweetheart. you haven’t heard that in a while, yet it still makes your heart jump in your chest like the first time.

“says the one who breaks up with someone through text,” you bite the inside of your lip, attempting to hide the growing smile.

and sevika just groans, “touché.”

the month is over with a blink of an eye, and before you know it, today is the last day of sevika’s promise. the last day which will determine the next step in your and sevika’s relationship.

and you’re nervous. it only dawns on you as you stand before her house, looking exactly the same as the last day you’ve been here. the day before she sent you that stupid text message. today will be different, though. you tell yourself it will. you wouldn’t spend a whole month to find out sevika has been leading you on.

…right?

nerves play tricks with you, poke fun at you and push you around. bullying you into overthinking.

you haven’t expected to feel this way on a last day, not after everything sevika has done for you. she’s proved herself more times in a single month that she’s truly serious about this, serious about you – making you feel guilty about doubting her after doing so much.

she’s gone as far as to stop smoking for you. that’s something, right?

yet as you knock on her door, your throat suddenly tightens and you cannot breathe. you’re drowning at the bottom of the ocean, water filling your lungs as you helplessly gasp for air.

the door opens after a minute of your internal struggle, revealing sevika. her presence reels you back to the shore, grounding you, making you feel safe. doubt makes way for relief, leaving you with a deep breath out.

she doesn’t let you stand by the door for long. with her mech hand snaking around your waist, she leads you inside, the door closing behind you with a soft click. immediately, your nose is hit with a delicious scent of homemade food – your favorite. and only then you notice the apron wrapped around sevika’s waist.

“an apron, huh? real homey,” your fingers pulls at the string around her neck, toying with it. “what’s next? gonna start baking cookies?”

“might as well. then stuff them in your mouth so you’ll shut up,” she mutters as her hands work you out of your jacket before leading you into the kitchen.

and the sight makes you gasp.

it’s nothing like you have expected from sevika. sure, she has mentioned that she’s planning something ‘really special’ on the last day, but you thought she was just joking around with you.

clearly she didn’t joke about this.

you never guessed yourself to be the romantic type, mostly because no one has ever tried to go out of their way to treat you like a princess. yet sevika has done all of it and more, and now you’re surrounded by a fantastic smell of her cooking, candles lit up on the table, flower petals scattered on the floor. all that basic cliché stuff.

coming from sevika, though, this is more than just a silly movie cliché. you know what kind of woman she is, and that nothing of this is her thing. but for you, she did it. she did everything.

“hope you like it,” she doesn’t sound so confident anymore, almost as if she’s afraid of rejection.

“as cheesy as this all is, it’s still the best thing someone has done for me,” your voice softens, not at all as teasing like a minute ago.

you lean in closer until your lips lightly touch her cheek, a barely-there kiss, though enough to hear sevika gasp. before you can even react, her warm hand cups the back of your head, pulling you in for a desperate kiss.

her full lips move against yours like she’s starving for you, all tongue and spit and groans. sevika has been far too patient, holding herself back for the right moment. this is the best moment for her to show you just how she’s missed you.

unlike those two years ago, her hands don’t travel under your clothes to strip you as quick as possible. she just kisses you. barely comes up to catch her breath before she’s back on you, whining in your mouth like an overgrown puppy. her usually deep, gruff voice is a little higher pitched, and it makes you weak in the knees.

sevika never whimpered. you only ever got her to curse, grunt and pant. whimpering was off the table, no matter what you did. until now, and you plan to enjoy it.

she pulls away when both of you begin to get carried away, a string of saliva connecting her mouth with hers. it’s a hot sight, seeing sevika so drunk on you, and it’s only the start of the night.

“c’mon… before the food gets cold,” she whispers, a little breathless, guiding you to sit down.

“no,” you stop her, pushing her back against the wall with all your strength – which is a lot. “i want you now. we can eat the food later.”

sevika wants to argue. she’s worked hard on this, made it all perfect just for you. but how can she fight this when you’re peppering her jaw with kisses, mumbling sweet words against her skin? she won’t admit it to a single living soul she knows how you have her melting. you turn her brain into mush, thinking of you and only you.

“okay,” is all sevika whispers before gathering you in her arms, hands on your ass, lips connected with your in a messy dance of tongues as she leads you to her bedroom.

she stumbles a few times, hits the doorframe a little too hard when she kicks open the door, but it’s only a mild inconvenience when it has you giggling against her mouth. it softens any frustration from her expression, curses dying on her tongue as she’s about to utter them. she’s dreamed of hearing you laugh like that again, in a moment like this.

slowly setting you down on the bed, your legs dangling off the edge, she starts working your pants down. they slide off with ease, leaving your underwear on for now. she doesn’t want to rush this, even when you’re bucking your hips in the air, desperate for some action.

“let me take it slow tonight,” sevika whispers, cupping your face to kiss you again. more gentle this time.

“fuck, sev. i’m – mmhm – not playing slow tonight,” you try to get her off, push her under her, but it’s futile the second she lays her weight on top of you, pressing you into the mattress effectively.

“still so fucking needy,” she chuckles into your mouth before moving her kisses to your neck. “didn’t change a bit, huh?”

her mouth finds your weak spots easily, and she takes her sweet time with each hickey she leaves on your skin. she remembers how sensitive your neck is, because of course, she does. she has you writhing under her without trying much, making you moan like a virgin.

your fingers thread through sevika’s hair, tugging and pulling at the strands just so you can hear her hiss. she always enjoyed getting lightly bruised. back scratches, bites and hickeys, even hand prints if the two of you were feeling friskier than usual.

good to know that didn’t change.

moans and gasps fill the bedroom, mostly coming from you. your body tingles under her every touch, every brush of her warm hand, every kiss that marks your skin. you can hardly focus on anything else besides sevika’s body on yours, caressing you like she used to.

when she comes up to kiss you again, tongue probing your mouth, you busy yourself with taking her shirt off. you nearly tear it in half because of the buttons, cursing under your breath before successfully slipping it off her broad shoulders and dropping it on the floor.

it’s when sevika finally pulls away from you, giving you a moment to catch a breath as she works her prosthetic off. she sets it on the nightstand by the bed while her flesh hand slips under your top.

it’s not long before you’re both naked, tangled in the bedsheets as you continue taking this slow. agonizingly slow.

the wetness between your legs is uncomfortable by this point, your clit is throbbing and begging for attention. and sevika is purposely avoiding your glistening cunt, her fingers and mouth kissing and touching every part of you except where you need her the most. it’s killing you.

“sevika, i’m gonna start yelling if you don’t- holy fuck!” your eyes nearly roll back into your skull as sevika’s mouth wraps around your clit, making your heels dig into the mattress.

“still tastes so good,” she mutters into your sopping cunt, letting out noises like a woman starved.

she’s loud and desperate as she eats you out, spit mixing with your arousal until you can’t tell which is dripping down on the sheets. her tongue slides and swirls around your swollen bud, mind set on giving it attention until she feels it twitch against her mouth.

sevika will do anything to keep you like you are now. your shaky legs squeezing her head. hands in her hair to push her further in. eyes locked with sevika’s, all glassy with unshed tears. a sight engraved deep in her mind for so long, yet tonight is the most special one.

“missed this,” she pulls away from your clit, laughing when you whine in protest. she kisses your tummy as an apology. “missed you. never letting you go again.”

a smile breaks out on your lips, head raising from the pillow to look at her. “i’ll have to kill you if you do.”

“i’d like to see you try.”

“you’re pushing your luck, sev.”

“i know,” sevika goes back to your clit, kissing the throbbing bud and sucking it into her mouth.

each brush of her tongue against your pussy has your body trembling, pushing you closer to the edge. your moans get more frantic, voice growing high-pitched. it only makes sevika work harder, diving into your folds until she can barely breathe. she will happily suffocate if it means she gets to see you crumble all thanks to her skillful, greedy mouth.

“come for me, baby. give it to me,” her voice is hoarse and muffled, vibrating against your needy clit.

and you do. you come all over her mouth, grinding your hips into her face until you’re left overstimulated. sevika licks you clean, drinking your juices like a sweet nectar she so desperately needs.

“fuck,” you gasp for air when you feel sevika pull away, a grin setting on your face. “forgot how good you are with your mouth.”

you pull her on top of you again, arms wrapping around her head to keep her close. her body blankets yours now, shielding you from anything that isn’t her, because nothing else matters at this moment for either of you. not now, or ever.

“and i forgot how loud you can be,” she’s lying just to tease you, and you can tell by the smirk on her face.

sevika would never forget that about you.

“we both know i can be even louder than that. i’m just saving it for later,” you press a kiss to her lips, tasting yourself on her.

sevika lets out a tender chuckle against your mouth but leaves her comments to herself. at least for now. she still is far from done with you.

“hold your leg up.”

you listen to her command without a second thought, grabbing the back of your knee to bring it to your chest. your soaked cunt suddenly makes contact with hers, and it makes both of you hiss. sevika wastes no time to roll her hips against yours, clit on clit, moaning deeply against you.

she falls apart immediately, chasing that sweet high she only ever experienced with you. her broad body is trembling above yours, lips quivering, eyebrows knitted. she’s melting like a lit up candle, and before she realizes it, a tear falls down on your cheek.

she is crying. sevika is crying.

no sobs leave her, but her breaths are shaky and her moans come out broken. it takes you so off guard you almost forget about the sensation of her pussy rubbing against yours.

“shit,” sevika gasps, her eyes squeezing shut. “i- i’m sorry, i… i just can’t believe how stupid i was letting you go. i should’ve never…”

she’s rambling now, a mess of a woman that only you get to witness. she’s never opened up to anyone like this, stripping herself bare of all the protective barriers she kept on to protect herself.

“shh…” you shush her, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “just focus on this. on us.”

your words spur sevika on, her hips rutting against you with unabashed hunger. she buries her face into your neck, muffling noises into your skin. she doesn’t bother controlling the volume of her voice. she needs to let you know how good she’s feeling because of you.

her muscles tighten, and her moves get sloppier as the knot begins to form in the pit of her belly. her arm engulfs your right side to pull you as close as she can, whining against your cheek.

then, with a loud groan, sevika comes against you. her body shakes in your arms as she rides out her high before collapsing beside you, her fingers finding your clit to push you over the edge.

“oh, fuck… fuck!” your second orgasm hits you like a punch, wracking through your body until you nearly pass out.

sevika pulls you into her chest, peppering kisses against your temple as you curl into her chest. none of you speak for what feels like hours, comforting silence covering you like a protective blanket.

you could get used to this.

it’s only after you two calm down does sevika break the silence. “think i pulled my hip there.”

“after one round? you’re really getting old, sev,” you snort.

“oh, i forgot you’re getting younger,” you can’t see her, but you can practically hear the eye roll in her voice.

“i’m still younger than you.”

“oh, don’t worry. it’ll all go downhill after thirty,” you smack her on the back after that comment, pulling her head back to frown up at her.

“so funny,” you grumble.

“you love it.”

“unfortunately.”

you two fall quiet once more. sevika’s eyes are locked with yours, her thumb rubbing gentle circles against the plumpness of your cheek. you lean into her touch, pressing a gentle kiss into her palm. a small gesture that makes sevika’s heart jolt in her chest.

you barely catch the words that leave sevika next, but she repeats them. those three words you once only hoped you’d hear from her but it never came.

“i love you,” she can’t take this back now, and she doesn’t want to. she won’t be a coward like last time.

“i love you, too, sevika. i never stopped,” you admit softly, fingers brushing strands of sevika’s short hair away from her eyes.

she smiles, relieved. “i always loved you. i was… so fucking stupid back then. i let you go thinking it was better for you, but i guess i was just terrified of a relationship, knowing you could settle for someone better.”

“i told you, didn’t i? i know what i want in life,” you whisper, giving sevika a chaste kiss on her mouth. “and i want you.”

“good, ‘cause i want you, too.”

she pulls you in, locking her lips with yours. it’s tender and full of love, nothing like the clash of teeth and tongues you were used to with her. it warms you up like a sip of warm tea on a cold morning, soothes your heart like a gentle caress. perfect in every way even after sevika pulls away.

“this is nice,” you whisper.

“yeah,” she whispers back, kissing your forehead. “the dinner is probably cold now, though.”

“i’m not hungry. not for food, anyway,” your lips curl up in a grin, making sevika groan.

“you’re gonna put me into a grave,” she complains, but she doesn’t fight it when you roll over, pinning her under you.

“you can handle it, old lady,” you take her hand in yours, pressing the palm to your cheek.

“don’t know about that.”

but as sevika watches you on top of her, cheek nuzzled into her rough palm, she is as soft as a jelly cake.

The air was thick in the outskirts of the city on Saturday morning. You rose with the sun, ready for a long day of moving, especially without your husband. This was a rushed decision, moving into this house together. You believed that the house was too large, no single couples needed three bedrooms, but your husband insisted that it would be perfect when you two chose to begin a family in future. And, well, you listened to him. He was good at talking you into things you didn’t want to do.

The house bared down on you when you arrived hours later. The porch was long, stretching around the corners of the house, large double-doors beckoning to be opened. The jagged edge of the key in your hand dug into your palm the longer you looked at the home, and you decided to suck it up and go in.

Walking in, you were greeted by a large kitchen with expansive glass windows that looked over the fields that came with the house. It was truly a gorgeous house, you were simply unsure if it was the place for you. But it was too late, the house was already yours, and the keys jingled as you sat them on the counter top.

The moving trucks would arrive soon, but you allowed yourself a moment to breathe as you walked throughout the house, peaking in each room. The largest bedroom had windows that mimicked those in the kitchen, and against your best hopes, your husband had been right. The other bedrooms would make good nurseries. For now, one would be an office and the other would be a guest bedroom. But you could envision your future.

There was a loud whistle from outside, indicating that at least one of the trucks had arrived. You released a sigh and traveled back downstairs, opening the doors with a whoosh of warm air. A mover hopped out of the large truck and came over to greet you, shaking your hand and explaining what was going to happen.

As the movers began bringing things into the house, you observed the outside. Across the street was the only close house, which sat on miles of land just as your new home did. The other house was different, though. It had miles of fencing, caging in horses and sheep, and if you squinted, you swore you could see cows in a small barn far down on the edges of the land.

Because the movers didn’t need you yet, you decided to venture across the street and meet the new neighbors. You didn’t look your best, as you were dressed to move, and you didn’t have anything to give them when you greeted them, but it didn’t matter. You could always invite the family over for dinner in the future.

There was a pair of brown, ratty cowboy boots resting against one of the steps, which made sense for the area. You were against moving south, you didn’t enjoy the heat and you had never ridden a horse before, but your husband insisted. The boots were lined with what looked like generations worth of mud, caked into every crevice and line.

You knocked on the door, waiting a moment before it opened. What you weren’t expecting was to be met with the sternum of a woman in front of you. It took you a moment to look up, and up, and up, before you met her eyes. She had a sullen expression on her face, as if you had just ruined her entire day. You tried not to think much of it, and you barely could with the attractive nature of the woman.

It was just her height that made her large - no, the woman had muscle packed onto her more than anyone you believed to have seen in your life. She was in a white shirt and jeans that hugged her muscular thighs so tightly you worried the seam would rip. Her eyes were grey, and they contrasted against her darker skin. Her hair was short, pulled away from her face and her lips were downturned as she looked at you.

“Hi,” you chirped nervously. “I just moved in across the street, I figured I would come introduce myself,” you gave her your name, a dark blush of embarrassment gracing your cheeks. “You have a lovely home.” The woman’s lips quirked into a side smirk, and your face grew hotter.

“Sevika,” her hand reached out between you, and there was a beat between you before you realized that she was offering her hand to shake. You cleared your throat, enveloping her palm in your own. Her hand practically swallowed yours. “Seems like a pretty big house for one little lady, sugar.” She joked, glancing over at the house as she leaned her weight against the door frame.

“Oh, no, it’s my husband and I. He’s away with business until late tonight, so I’m moving what I can.” A disapproving look smeared against her face.

“He left you alone?” You nodded slowly, unsure of what she was getting to. She looked over her shoulder, as if to check if anything or anyone was in her house. “If you’d like some help, I ain't got any plans ‘til the evening.” Your heart lept in your chest. Everything about your body’s reaction felt wrong. You could’ve begged this woman for help.

“That would be lovely, actually.” You smiled, trying not to seem as nervous as you felt. Your heart was thumping loudly, you swore you were about to faint. Maybe it was from the heat, women never made you feel this way in the past.

“Let me get myself cleaned up and I'll meet you over there, darlin’.” Her accent was thick. You were going to die. You nodded, smiling, and turned back in the direction of your house. At least you wouldn't have to move alone.

-

Before you knew it, the clock was striking five, and the majority of your furniture had been moved where it needed to go. Sevika did all of it - most of the time you just stood there looking pretty and instructing her where to go. Sevika thoroughly enjoyed it. She noticed the gentle bite of your lip when she lifted something heavy, your eyes tracing down the lines of her arms. You hadn't initially noticed the prosthetic in place of where her left arm should be, but it only made her that much more interesting.

For lunch you made sandwiches and lemonade, forcing her to sit and take a break instead of continuing to work for you. “Y’r just sweet as cane, ain'tcha?” she had said, taking the plate of food. You chose to ignore the rush in your panties.

You both stood in the kitchen and Sevika was breathing heavily, catching her breath after moving a series of dining chairs into your new dining room for you. You came to her, gently tracing your fingertips over her bicep as you pushed up on your toes and kissed her cheek. “Thank you so much, Sevika. I greatly appreciate it,” you said with a soft smile, “and you’re so strong.” You squeezed her arm, taking in a sharp breath at how hard the muscle actually was.

“You’re very welcome, darlin’.” When she smiled, you noticed a gap in her teeth that you hadn’t seen before. It fit her face perfectly.

“Will you let me make you dinner for your trouble?” You turned around, reaching for the single cookbook that you had bothered unpacking, resting on the counter.

“You’ve worked far too hard to be bothered with cookin’ tonight, pretty girl. Why don’t you join me? I’m going to dinner with some friends. You’ll enjoy ‘em.” You pondered for a moment, but the answer was clear. You hadn’t actually wanted to cook, but you would’ve done anything she asked.

“That would be nice. How’s six sound? I should probably clean up.” You gestured down your body at your sweaty clothes. You could already picture what you were going to wear - there was a sundress in a box in your bedroom, maybe you could track down the pair of cowboy boots you wore to a concert once.

“Sounds good, sugarplum. Wear somethin’ pretty for me, yeah?” Heat rose from your chest and crept up your neck, finding home on your cheeks. Sevika didn’t fail to notice, she adored it. No matter what she said to you, you were blushing and stuttering.

You found yourself on Sevika’s front porch at six round, inevitably in the outfit you were thinking of earlier. Your hair was in a loose braid, with a bow at the end, and you believed that you looked cute, but it could be better. Nothing compared to the way Sevika looked at you when you knocked, though.

She was in the same thing she was already wearing, except with a jacket thrown over her white tee, a cowboy hat, and some matching boots. God, you could eat her up. “Did as told, I see.” She nodded towards you, hat dipping with her head. “We’re going to the best bar in town, you ain't got nothin’ to worry about.” She walked out of the house, locking the door behind her and leading you to her car.

“So, Sevika,” you began, once you were settled into your passenger seat. “Do you live alone?” you had wondered, since she gave up her day to assist you and offered to bring you to dinner.

“Yes ma'am,” she responded, small grin painting her face. “Got some livestock ‘nd a dog. ‘s all I need.” You nodded.

“Have you ever been married?” She didn't seem like the type to enjoy marriage, and she wore no ring. Maybe you just couldn't imagine her in a traditional marriage - what kind of man would a woman like her even be interested in?

She chuckled. “Nah, holdin’ out for the right one.” you smiled. Sometimes you wondered if you held out for the right one. You loved your husband, but your love often felt fabricated. Like you had to love him, like a requirement.

She pulled up to the bar, it was a ragly old place, with a crooked sign and some wood falling off, but it was pretty. It read, plainly, The Last Drop, and you wondered where the name came from, or how she came to find this place in the middle of nowhere.

She ushered you in with a large, warm hand on the small of your back, gently directing you towards a table full of people. They already had drinks, and you feared that somehow you made the woman late.

“Nice of you to finally join us, Sevy.” A woman quipped. She wasn't like anything you'd seen before - tall, long blue hair, and tattoos. She was gorgeous, quite a sight. “Who's your lady friend?” The woman looked over at you and winked with a smirk.

“Watch it, Jinx,” she retorted, taking a seat next to a woman with pink hair, and you took the one next to her. She introduced you to the group, and a small blush crept up your cheeks. In order, she introduced everyone around the table. “Jinx and I worked for the same guy a couple years back. He passed, but she still hangs around,” Jinx shot her a look and took a sip of her drink. “Ekko, her husband. Caitlyn and Vi, they're married.” You greeted each of them.

Being with Sevika was something you had never imagined possible. She ordered and paid for your meal and your drinks, and let you get as many as you wanted. You didn't exactly feel like you fit in with her crowd of people, they were a little rowdy and loud, but the company was enjoyable.

It was late when the first couple left - Jinx and Ekko, to go relieve their babysitter. Caitlyn and Vi left soon after, no particular reason. It left you a Sevika, and when she began talking to you, the amount of alcohol in your system finally hit you.

“Sevika,” you slurred, grabbing her arm as you looked up at her, “can I have your hat?”

Her cheeks warmed, dark blush finding home on them. “What’d’ya need my hat for, babygirl?” She chuckled, trying to play off her nervousness. Clearly, you didn't know how hats worked in bars.

“‘s pretty on you,” she was still laughing as she took it off and placed it on your head. And god, you looked good. Thoughts of filth coursed through her mind and she attempted to shut them down, with no luck. You were her married neighbor. She couldn't possibly be thinking of you in the way she was.

“Let's get you home, cowgirl.” She gently grabbed your upper arm, helping you off your stool. When you stumbled, she turned you around, your back facing her front as she grabbed your forearms and helped you walk.

You slumped against her in the car, head resting on her shoulder as sleep drew you in. You didn't get drunk often, but when you did, it always made you tired. Especially after a full day of work.

Your husband's car was in the driveway when you both returned to your neighborhood. Sevika pulled into your new, fancy driveway and quickly came to your side to assist your walk into your house. After a few steps, your husband threw open the front door, anger pouring off of him.

“What the fuck is this?” He yelled at Sevika, who simply looked at him. “What the fuck did you do to my wife?” He ripped you from her arms, making you hunch and your stomach twist. Sevika backed up, hands in the air like she was facing a cop.

“We went out for dinner and she had a couple drinks. I was just bringin’r home.” She insisted. Your husband didn't care - he was livid. In his mind, some woman that he had never seen before got his wife drunk and did god knows what to you.

“Get the fuck off my property and don't fucking come back or I'll shoot you dead.” He spat, dragging you inside. You looked over your shoulder, watching Sevika walk down the driveway, shaking her head. She got in her car and drove home, and that was the last you saw of her.

To your misfortune, you remembered none of what happened the previous night when you awoke. You remembered portions of dinner, some blurry faces, Sevika’s murmured ‘babygirl’, but nothing of the way your husband treated her. And he made no effort to enlighten you as to what happened -

So, for weeks afterward when Sevika avoided you, you had no idea why. You didn’t even know if she was avoiding you on purpose, maybe she was just a busy woman. Maybe the day she spent with you was a one time thing. But, your curiosity brewed every time you saw her at home.

You knew you had too much to drink that night, but you had never taken yourself for a sloppy drunk, or a mean one. That doesn’t mean you couldn’t have said or done something vulgar, but it was out of your character. Maybe she simply didn’t enjoy your company as much as you did hers. There were millions of options, millions of reasons as to why no words had been uttered since that day.

You were growing accustomed to your new life. Your husband went to work every day, occasionally went on a business trip, and you tended to the house. It wasn’t ever what you had thought your life would look like, or wanted your life to look like. But it wasn’t bad. It was relaxing, and allowed you freedoms that you didn’t previously have when you both worked and lived in a small city apartment.

And there was the other part. You were learning to tend to the house so that you were ready for when you were to bear children - something that your husband had insisted was coming soon, and therefore had suggested you begin trying. The night he suggested that was the night the pit in your stomach became unbearable. Trying for a baby? With him? You weren’t sure you were ready for that, or frankly wanted that.

It was a sunny, warm morning when you left to get the mail. Dew had settled in the grass, and the southern air was thick. You were in a nightgown, one of your favorites, that was outlined in lace, a nice pale yellow color. You had panties that matched, clung to your skin underneath the short gown.

Before you could turn to go back up the driveway and into the house, you noticed Sevika’s door opening, and there stood the one and only. She was in a pair of plaid pajama pants and a wifepleaser, slippers finishing the outfit nicely.

“Sevika!” You yelled from across the street, a wide smile as you raised a hand to wave. Her head snapped up from her mail, but before she could hide, you were making your way across the street. She wasn’t getting out of this one. “Sevika, hi! I haven’t seen you around, you must be one busy woman.” You joked. She smiled, demeanor softening.

“You could say that,” She responded awkwardly, knowing damn well she was not a busy woman, especially not if you needed something. “Was there anything else? Don’t need your husband gettin’ all pissy again, ma’am.” Your brows knit, confusion drawing itself on your pretty features.

Fuck. You didn’t know, you couldn’t have possibly known. You were so drunk that night that there was no way you remembered what happened, and now Sevika just dropped the bomb. “Whatever do you mean, Sevika?” God, you drew her in, sweet as honey.

“I best get goin’. Gotta feed the chickens.” She had already fed her chickens today, twice because she was so tired.

“No, Sevika. What do you mean? Did he do something to you?” Sevika sighed, throwing a quick glance towards your house to assure that your husband wasn’t home. His car was missing from the driveway, and that was all she needed to know.

“The night you came out with me you drank a lot, could hardly walk by y’rself. Brought ya home and he got angry, threatened to shoot me if I came near you again. ‘m not tryna get shot anytime soon, sweet thing.” Your lips parted, small gasp falling from them. Sevika prayed she never forgot the noise.

“Sev…” you paused, trying to formulate what you wanted to say to her. “I’m so sorry he did that. His temper can get the best of him sometimes, I promise he’s a good man. We don’t own any guns. How can I apologize?” Sevika envisioned a few ways. “How about dinner? Tomorrow? He’ll be out of town for a couple days, he’s taking the train up north. I’ll cook for you?”

Sevika was blushing. Sevika never blushed. “Miss, you ain’t gotta do all that for me.”

“No, you deserve it. You must come. Tomorrow, six, please?” Your eyes softened as you looked up at her, and she would’ve moved mountains to give you what you wanted in that moment. But luckily, it was a lot easier than that.

“If you insist,” she said with a small smile, “I’ll be there, sugar.” You grinned, clapping your hands twice. “I like steak, if you’re willing.” She swore she saw your smile widen.

“Perfect, I have just the recipe. I can’t wait, I’ll see you tomorrow, Sevika!” You said eagerly, as you began walking back to your house, tossing her a wave over your shoulder.

The longer you thought about it, the more the situation angered you. Sevika was doing you a favor, a noble one at that, just to be treated like shit by the person that was supposed to protect you. Everything she said made the idea of having a child with this man less and less appealing. You hardly acknowledged him when he returned home that night, and hardly bid him farewell when he left in the morning. It was tough to look at him.

It was late afternoon when you got the food in the oven and began getting ready. You didn’t know whether this was formal or not, so you chose something in the middle. You chose a simple half up, half down style, bringing the top of your hair into a pretty bun and leaving the rest down to curl. You did your makeup, then went through your closet, trying to find something that matched the appeal you were trying to convey.

Part of you wanted to put on something that your husband would hate; a pair of jeans and a top, or even something casual. But the other half, and the half that won, begged you to dress yourself in something attractive. Something that would draw her in, making her look at you, in the ways your husband never did.

The thought was terrible, obscene even. You had never even begun to think of someone in the way you were thinking of Sevika now, especially while married. It was awful. And then you remembered what he did to her, what he did to you. How he made you move hundreds of miles from your family and quit your job to play house.

You chose a dress that was shorter than anything you believed to have ever dressed yourself in. It hardly covered your ass, and it was slutty. So very slutty, so unlike you. And you liked it. You liked the way it hugged your figure, made your boobs look fuller and your hips wider.

The dress was strapless and white, coming in at the waist and flaring slightly until it ended. You added a white bow to your bun for good measure, and a pair of white kitten heels that opened at the toe. Confidence was a drug, and you were addicted.

The oven rang moments before Sevika knocked, right on time. You took out the food and set it on the counter, tossing your oven mitts to the side to get the door. When you opened it, Sevika drank you in like a tall glass of wine. Her eyes moved along you slowly, as if she was trying to memorize every dip and curve of your body. She followed the line of your dress, eyes falling on the over-exposure of your thighs, and they paused there for a moment.

And her mind was running wild.

“Hi Sevika,” you greeted, cheeks warmer than they had ever been. This was terrible, disgusting. And it was going the exact way you wanted it to. “You look nice.” She did. She was in black slacks and a white t-shirt with an unbuttoned, short sleeved button-down thrown overtop. It was cropped just the right amount, ending where her slacks began. It had a gorgeous pattern of red and black and white, and it was as if your minds had thought the same, and here you were matching.

“If I’m nice, you must be world-stopping.” She said, taking your hand and placing a gentle kiss to your knuckle. “The food smells great.” Her eyes were addicting. You simply couldn’t draw yourself away, even after it had been several beats since she spoke.

“Do come in,” you opened the door wider and she stepped in, engulfing the doorframe. “I just need to plate the food and we can eat. Feel free to sit.” She did as told, taking a seat at the small table while you plated the food. You placed her plate in front of her, but she was too busy watching the way you worked and moved around the kitchen to bother looking at the food.

“You didn’t have to do all this, sugar. Seems like a lot of work.” You chuckled.

“It’s truly not. If anything, it’s routine. My husband has me staying home now, tending to the house. I cook a lot. You’re the first person I’ve had over in quite some time.” You took your place, smoothing out your dress. Sevika looked surprised at your remark.

“If I had a woman as pretty as you I would take her everywhere. Show’r off to the world.” Your mouth was agape again. Your husband never said things like that to you. It made your skin warm and your stomach flutter.

Realizing that you had been staring at her for a moment, you averted your gaze, dropping it to your plate in embarrassment. “You’re very nice, Sevika. You know how to talk a woman up.” She grinned, leaning back in her chair and spreading her legs into a, somehow, sexy manspread. You never found the way of seating particularly attractive, but when she did it, you had several thoughts about it. Positive ones. Dirty ones.

“It’s working, then?” Your eyes widened, but before you could say anything, she was speaking again. “You should eat, sugar. Food’s gon’ get cold.” She was smirking, and when you looked down at her plate, she was all but finished. You wondered how long you had been entranced by her, if it meant that more than half her food was already gone and you had hardly started.

You ate quickly, almost choking at the rate at which you stuffed your face. She was finished before you, and wasted no time taking her dishes to the sink and beginning to clean them. When you were finished, you shot up, hurrying over to her and gently pushing her to the side. “You’re a guest, you don’t have to clean your own dishes, that’s rude.” You joked, taking her plate from her hands.

“I’m a capable woman, babygirl. I can clean my own plate, I do it every day.” You shooed her hands away as she reached for her plate, until she was grabbing your wrist and pinning you to the counter, human hand holding your wrist while her mechanical arm trapped you against her.

When you looked up at her, your clit started beating. She was looking down at you, low eyes painted with displeasure. “Let me help you, angel. It won’t kill ya.”

The feelings swirling within you were nothing you had ever felt before. Your body was on fire, you were surprised that your wrist wasn’t burning Sevika’s large palm. Her body heat was radiating into you, and you could feel the meat of her thighs against yours, and the curve of her hips as they kissed your own. Your panties were wet, your thighs were sticky, but you were sure it was sweat.

“Sevika…” You whispered, but any additional thoughts were cut off by the harsh press of her lips to yours, the force pushing you against the sink even harder. Your eyes widened for a second, but quickly fluttered closed as your body accepted what was happening and leaned into it. You  pushed off the sink, pressing your front against hers. She let go of your wrist and your hands found purchase on her neck, pulling at her short hair.

She moaned softly into your mouth, grabbing your hip with her human hand and pushing your hips against the sink so your back arched a little further, tits pushed against hers. Her lips attacked yours, tongue dipping into your mouth and sucking, pulling noises out of you that you had never heard before.

You pulled away, admiring her flushed face and swollen lips. She was breathing heavily, and the look on her face dropped into terror as she realized what she had done. “I’m so sorry, ma’am.” She backed up, releasing you from your spot against the sink. “Gods,” she rubbed her hands over her face, “I just kissed a married woman in her husband’s home. I should leave.”

“Don’t.” You came to where she was standing, softly grabbing her wrists and pulling her hands away from her face. She was scared, looking at you. Scared of what could happen. Scared of how it would be if it didn’t happen.

Slowly, cautiously, you pressed up on your toes and pulled her in for another kiss. And she was lost. Gone, forever. There was no returning from this.

She grabbed your ass, lifting you easily onto the counter as she continued kissing you. Her body was hard and hot and calling you, and the way she dragged her hands up and down your waist, carefully flicking her thumb over your nipple made your panties drenched. “Do that again,” you whined, arching your tits towards her.

“Do what, sugar?” She played coy, letting her hands rest on your waist. “This?” She ran her human hand up your side and flicked her thumb over your nipple again, craving the moan that fell from your lips. “Tell me, sugar, was it this?” She pulled the top of your dress down slowly, giving you time to interject. But you didn’t, and she made quick work of removing your bra.

She left wet, hot kisses down your chest, lips latching around your nipple. She sucked hard, making you cry out and grind your hips in the air. She could’ve made a snarky comment about that, she desperately wanted to, but the way your body reacted to her mouth on your perky nipple was too compelling.

Once she had given both of your tits equal attention, she stood back up and met your eyes. “Y’r gonna have to tell me where this is goin’, baby. ‘m not goin’ any further until you tell me with words.” Your head fell against her chest, panting.

“Please, please fuck me, Sev.” With a soft ‘fuck’, she lifted you off the counter, your legs locking around her hips. She carried you down the hall with your instruction, kicking the door closed and locking it before placing you on the bed, gingerly.

“Let’s get you out of this dress, mama.” She pulled it down, waiting for you to lift your hips so she could finish the job. Before she could admire you, you were grabbing her by her t-shirt and pulling her on top of you, kissing her once again. Nothing in the world was better than this.

“Sevika,” you moaned as her mouth was reunited with your boobs. “Take off your shirt.” She did as instructed, losing her button down and t-shirt in a few short motions. It left her in her slacks and a sports bra, a great look for her. She stood at the end of the bed, and she grabbed your ankle to pull you down with her. Your ass was on the edge of the bed, and your legs were propped up, spread wide.

“Fuck,” she looked over your body, then threw her head back and shut her eyes. This was wrong. It was awful. You’re married. But the way your panties sat high on your hips and had a noticeable wet spot in the middle was enough to waiver her thoughts.

“Sevika,” you said, weakly. “What do we.. do? I’ve never done this with a woman.” She chuckled a little, sinking to her knees at the edge of the bed, so that her face was level with your cunt. You could feel her warm breath against you, and it made you shiver.

“I’m gonna eat your pussy, angel. What happens next is up to you. But I need my face in y’r pussy.” She looked up at you as she painted your thighs with kisses, occasionally stopping to suck on the skin. She was careful, she didn’t leave any marks, but she adored having your skin in her mouth. She adored having you in her mouth.

You weren’t prepared for her first lick against your cunt. She licked a fat strip from bottom to top over your panties, and you reeled, arching into it and bringing your legs together. She placed both of her hands on the insides of your thighs, forcing them apart. “You’re gonna keep these open for me, ain’tcha, sugar?” Weakly, you nodded, relaxing and allowing your legs to fall apart.

She continued eating you over your panties, sucking at your clit until you weren’t sure what was from you and what was her spit, everything was drenched. She sat up, reaching for the waistband of your panties. Instinctively, you lifted your hips, and she smirked as she pulled them down. “Good job, darlin’, knew exactly what I needed.” Your stomach flipped, and you were sure you were dripping.

Sevika was looking at you like you were prey and she hadn’t eaten in a month. Your cunt was glistening, and you were practically dripping onto the bed. And it was all for her. “Well, you have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, mama.” You whimpered, entrance clenching at her words, and she could fucking see it. See the way your body reacted to her. She could’ve died a happy woman, right then and there.

She was on her knees again in an instant, tongue finding your clit and sucking. She did all sorts of magical things; twisted her tongue around the bud, flicked it with her tongue, sucked like something would come out if she did. You were practically crying at what she did, it was overwhelming.

Your husband had eaten you out before, several times. He claimed to like it, but it was never quite right. It was never like this. Not when Sevika placed a kiss on your clit and slipped her tongue in you, wasting no time fucking you with her tongue. Her mech hand came up and pinched your nipple, the cool metal feeling like heaven against your overheated skin.

“Sevika,” you cried, fingers winding in her hair as her tongue worked. You were getting close, she could tell. Your clit was twitching and you were clenching around her tongue, but she kissed her way back to your clit and pressed a cautionary finger against your entrance. “Sev, fuck, Sevika, please fill me up, please,” Sevika let out a deep moan into your cunt, her own clit begging for attention.

She kept her mech hand on your nipple while she slowly slid her middle finger into you, stretching you more than your husband’s fingers ever did. She took it slow, going knuckle by knuckle until you bottomed out on her finger. She didn’t rush you, letting you adjust to the feeling of her thick digit inside you before moving.

The feeling of her tongue on your clit and her finger against your g-spot had you crying and whining, begging her for more, more, more, until she gave it to you. She introduced another finger into the mix, letting her ring finger enter you at the same pace as the other.

Two fingers and her tongue must be heaven. She knew exactly what to do, and you were absolutely going to cum. Over and over, at that. She lifted up for a moment, not relenting with her pace. “Come for me, darlin’. Let me have it.”

The knot in your stomach released and all the tension in your muscles relaxed, letting your orgasm flow through your body. Your back arched off the bed and you gripped her hair tightly, the waves of pleasure more intense than any you’d felt before. She made sure she had you coming for as long as she could, unrelenting in her pace until she had milked every drop from you.

You were panting, and you let out a practically pornographic whine when she retracted her fingers from you and stood up, leaning over you. “Open y’r mouth, baby. Stick out your pretty tongue.” Her fingers were quick to breach your lips once your mouth was open, and you shut it around them, sucking your cum off her digits.

Her clit hurt. It was beating so hard, and watching you suck her fingers just made her go even more crazy. She pushed your limits, forcing her fingers further down her throat to see how much you could take. And to her surprise, you took them to the base with no problem, and it made her desperate to see her strap down your throat. “That’s my good girl, ain’t it? Suckin’ me so good.” You moaned, but it was muffled around her fingers.

The hat resting on your closet door handle caught her eye, and a malicious idea bloomed in her. “I want you to ride me, angel. Needa’ come on your pussy.” You sat up, watching her as she grabbed her hat from the closet handle. She tossed it to you and unbuckled her pants, pulling them from her body inch by inch until you got to see all of her. Her boxers came off next, and it was such a sight.

She plopped down on the bed, and you looked at her expectantly, waiting for further instruction. Her legs spread, and she lifted one of them to make space between them for you. You made assumptions, hovering between her legs and glancing over at her. “Ride me, cowgirl. Go until you feel good.”

It took some maneuvering for you to find an angle that worked for both you and Sevika, but when it did, it was earth shattering. Her clit against yours felt like you had been blessed by God, and her wetness seeping into yours felt like she could get you pregnant. She was groaning beneath you, humping you like some kind of fucking dog, and it was the best thing ever.

She reached over and grabbed her hat, placing it on your head. “That’s it, that’s my cowgirl, ain’t it? Fuck, you ride me so well, baby.” You came down harsher against her, the feeling too good to be slow or soft.

“Nnghh- vika,” that is what got Sevika over the edge. Hearing you moan that nickname like a fucking pornstar had her gripping your hips and holding you in place as she fucked up into you and came all over you, whimpering like a bitch in heat. A string of curses fell from her pretty lips before she released your hips and let you chase your second orgasm, one that had you falling onto her chest, unable to move from your fucked out muscles.

After a couple minutes she gently brushed your hair away from your face, admiring your beauty.  You groaned softly, sitting up on your elbow to meet her eyes. “That was really good.” You said, softly. “What if you stay the night?” Sevika shook her head, crawling out of the bed.

“‘m sorry, sweet thing. I don’t feel right stayin’ here after fuckin’ you. ‘s not fair to y’r husband.” You pouted, remembering his existence, to your misfortune. Sudden emotions flooded you as you watched Sevika dress; you just cheated on your husband, and had sex with a woman. Not just any woman - your neighbor. That you would have to see, every day, for the rest of your time living in this neighborhood.

She pressed a tender kiss to your forehead and you let your eyes flutter shut, you let yourself enjoy it before it was wrong. “Bye, Sevika. I’ll see you at happy hour next week?” She smiled softly, knowing she would do anything and everything in her power to be there for you.

“Absolutely, babygirl.” And with that, she was gone.

He had anger issues, and given her natural rebellious attitude, to her father she was never enough and never did she ever hear on his tongue that she was a good daughter. But she had learnt to accept it, atleast her mother despite her health problems managed to love Sevika and taught her how to dwell on her own before she... Passed.

Suddenly, now she could almost feel how her mother felt even though she wasn't married to a man who was verbally abusive and she certainly didn't live in constant fear like her mother did. But all the health problems, back ache, eyesight impairment, high blood pressure, want to just be comforted was coming to her. Sevika could hear it in her mind, the faint sound of her mother singing happy birthday to her in that melodious tone and that beautiful cake she would prepare with her own hands, which was better than any store-bought cake no matter the expense.

"Miss you, ma," Sevika mouthed, her voice didn't come to her throat when she said it.

Her throat felt dry, nose burnt as she felt the warm tears fall out of her grey eyes as she blinked. Tears blurred her vision but she didn't want to cry, face stoic as more tears streamed down her cheeks. Sevika tried to busy herself, pushing the cake away to the edge of the table and trying to resume her work on her mechanical arm but the image of her mother's beautiful face kept floating back to her. Sevika let out a small sigh, throwing the pen away somewhere far in the room, she knew herself and she wouldn't be able to concentrate like this. She pinched the bridge of her nose, the tears kept coming.

For a while, she sat there, slumped against the wall, hands holding her face.

"I wish I could've been as strong as you, ma, but it just doesn't feel home without you," she mumbled the words more to herself than anyone else because there wasnt really anyone in the house with her, she was all on her own.

With a loud sigh, Sevika got up grunting a little as she did, she grabbed her poncho with her flesh hand and draped it over herself hiding the metal arm beneath it. Sevika headed off to Last Drop, she did so whenever she felt too lonely or too sad. Whichever it was, she just wanted to mask whatever pain she was going through and maybe have a few drinks, gamble a little and perhaps even pick a fight— anything to make herself forget that it was her birthday today.

Sevika walked into the bar, the place smelled of alcohol, smoke and a faint trace of gunpowder. No matter how much she tried to indulge herself in gambling, she couldn't help thinking of her mother, wondering if she would've been proud of the way Sevika handled stress and sadness— of course, no mother would appreciate their daughter wallowing in their sorrows and using alcohol as a temporary painkiller.

As Sevika started stacking her chips, she heard a soft voice called out, "Hey, you okay?"

When she looked up at you, she could've sworn for a second she almost saw her mother standing there in place of you, was she going insane finally? "... Y-yeah, I'm okay." Sevika managed to say finally but you could've easily said she was lying to your face.

"Mind if I—...?"

You gestured to the seat next to her and Sevika knew you meant to ask if you could sit next to her. She wasn't feeling like her usual grumpy self so she shrugged with a casual—

"Yeah, sure, why not?"

Sevika averted her gaze to her game, sighing as she tried to focus on the game.

"You can talk to me yknow, I mean I know I'm a stranger and all but it's better than keeping it all bottled up inside." You said trying to be as comforting as you could be the grumpy woman.

Sevika looked tired, dark circles etched onto the underside of her eyes and she refused speak, perhaps because she thought opening up to a sweet stranger would be too much of a low blow to her 'scary lady' facade. Deep inside she was still that eleven year old child with daddy issues and a dead mother who she dearly missed.

"Hey." Your hand on hers tore her right back to reality.

"But why?" Sevika asked her voice feeling a little constricted, "Why are you even bothering?"

"I know what it's like to be alone. I don't want other to go through that." You said in a solemn voice before looking up at her with genuine eyes, "Just talk to me, you'll feel better even if there's not much I can do."

Reluctantly, Sevika nodded and gestured at one of the workers to get the both of you some drinks. She let out a sigh, and almost gestured the men she was gambling with to give us space that they did, shooting weird looks at the both of us. Even they likely never saw Sevika being so... Solemn.

"It's my birthday today," Sevika began, "40th birthday and lets just say it just doesn't feel good without my ma, she passed away a long time ago and she was the only person who made my life all sparkly and whatever..."She continued, "I mean, I did receive a cake and I am grateful they remember it's even my birthday, to be frank, but I also just feel alone most of the time in my apartment. I've been so focused on Zaun, I think I forgot I needed to settle down too. Of course, my loyalty belongs to Zaun but for once I would've liked to—... What am I even rambling on about?" Sevika chuckled uncharacteristically, "You don't even know me."

"I do." You pressed, staring at her with your chin resting in one of your hands, a small smile playing on your lips, "I've seen you before but you never made yourself look approachable but today you seemed like a kicked puppy so I couldn't help it."

"You came over because you felt pity?" Sevika tried to hide the self-loathe behind her words but they seeped out with every letter.

"No, not pity, dumbass." You put the glass down, turning to face her and made eye contact, "I could tell you needed someone to talk to."

"Honestly, you're the first person who ever dared to call me dumbass." Sevika said with a small smile.

"Expect it a lot more from now then." You said with a small smile.

"Sorry, I never got your name." Sevika said and leaned back against her chair. You gave her your name and she made a mental note to remember it even if she was a little under the influence.

The night went on as the both of you shared drinks and personal stories from both your childhoods. You both had daddy issues and it was a tad bit easier to talk about personal problems due to it. You didn't even realise when one drink became two, two became three and so on until you both were making out drunkenly against Sevika's mostly empty closet back at her place.

"Before you do what you do, I'm a virgin." You slurred out and Sevika smiled against the skin of your neck.

"You're so cute..."

Sunlight peeked through the curtains rousing you. You tried to get up but the arm around you was so heavy you were forced to stay back. There was Sevika pressed behind you... Naked.

You had to cover your mouth so you didn't gasp, your naked ass was literally against her cunt. You tried to get up again, this time struggling a little because the sheets were so... Sticky.

Sevika, albeit asleep, got the gist and rolled onto her back taking a deep breath and snoring softly.

You watched her sleep for a bit before looking at the mechanical arm, it was probably the first time you were seeing it properly. You smiled a little, slowly and gently detaching the arm and putting it on the bedside table. You didn't want her getting hurt while she slept after all.

But what now? You were butt-naked and you had no idea where your clothes were.

As you slowly walked around the room you saw a huge thick strap at foot of her bed. So you both did have sex... The toy was covered in your residue from last night and blood from your hymen breaking. You let out a soft sigh and pinched the bridge of your nose before picking the toy up off the ground and taking it to the bathroom. When you looked at your reflection in the mirror, you could see the hickeys on your neck. Damn, those would need a lot of makeup to cover.

You washed it, a headache was building but it was dull. You remembered a little bit of last night but your body wasn't fully awake yet so you werent exactly going to try too hard to recall. Sevika's soft snoring stopped abruptly and a little rustling of sheets told you that she had gotten off the bed and awake. You finished washing the sex toy and turned the tap off, walking out of the bathroom.

"Why are you holding my—... Why is it wet?" Sevika asked, her voice a little raspy from sleep as she rubbed her eyes with her flesh hand.

"I washed it! Idiot." You said as your cheeks flushed red and gave it to her. She was naked, oh goddamn, those beautiful muscles. "So, um, what did we do last night?"

"We fucked." Sevika said bluntly as she walked to the bathroom to wash her face.

You sighed and followed, watching her wash her face, "And? What happens now? I never had... Um, sex and flings and whatever, I don't know how this plays out."

"This a fling?" Sevika asked as she finished washing her face, reaching for a towel to roughly dry her face.

"I don't know! I told you, I never did anything li—"

Sevika let go of the towel and cut you out when she kissed you. You kissed back, melting due to the amount of passion in the kiss. It was nothing rough, just softness... Love. When Sevika let go of the kiss, those grey eyes of hers that usually held something so strong and angry was soft and calm. It was beautiful. You couldn't help smiling a little.

"Okay, now where's my arm?"

Sevika sidestepped you and you laughed, "That's the last thing I thought I'd hear after a good kiss."

Sevika didn't reply as she fixed her prosthetic arm in its place, "You look nice naked." She commented as she fixed the mechanical arm, flexing the fingers to check if it worked fine. You blushed instinctively trying to cover your body. "Where are my clothes anyway?"

Sevika raised a brow at the question.

"Your clothes..." Sevika furrowed her eyebrows as she too tried hard to remember. "Hallway, we were undressing each other in the hallway." Sevika said casually, "But here." She took a T-shirt from her closet and gave it to you. "Don't wear it yet, you're due for a shower and so am I."

"Together?" You asked, your voice sounding almost hopeful. Even if this was a little awkward for you, dating someone like Sevika had always been a dream.

"Getting ahead of yourself, but yeah." Sevika chuckled and grabbed two towels before she headed in the shower room, "Come on, bunny."

Sevika checked the water temperature. Usually she used cold water showers but since you were here today she decided on a slightly warmer shower. You let the T-shirt, Sevika gave you, rest next to the towels.

"Even though, it's been only one night of sex and I don't even know what else we did, I just have to ask you're in it for the long haul aren't you?"

"Of course, all other times the girls leave during the morning so I'm glad you didn't participate in the walk of shame." Sevika lathered soap onto your body, her touch her gentle and loving.

"Walk of shame? Why do they leave?" You asked as you watched Sevika kneel to wash your legs properly, a faint trace of blood being washed off your thigh.

"That's how flings work." Sevika said, her voice low. She got back up and this time you helped her clean off, Sevika's eyes widened a little. She wasn't used to this. But it felt nice being cared for.

"After this shower, I'll make you the best coffee in the world." You said to Sevika smiling as the water streamed down Sevika's dark hair and onto shoulders, washing away the soap.

"Oh, yeah? You gonna play housewife, hm?" Sevika gave you a brief kiss on the lips before she pulled back and turned the water off. She gave you a towel to dry off as she dried her own body.

Few minutes later, you were in the kitchen with a towel wrapped around your hair as you made coffee for Sevika and you. "Make it black." Sevika said, her voice low and grumbled as she leant against the doorway of the kitchen. "What're you makin' anyway?"

"A good breakfast for a change. Better than smoking two cigarettes and doing a shot for breakfast." You retorted making Sevika roll her eyes and walk into the kitchen burying her nose in the crook of your neck.

"French toast." You answered, soaking the bread in vanilla-cinnamon egg batter before cooking it, you gestured her to pass you the container of sugar and plate as you finished cooking it. Sevika grunted but complied, giving you a dish and the sugar.

A while later you served breakfast, sitting down next to Sevika who didn't seem too enthusiastic about breakfast first but now, she was eating every last bite.

"Tastes good?"

"It's fine." Sevika said but the fact that she was eating it all so fast alike a starved woman told you otherwise.

being ambessa’s maid is as rewarding as it is demanding. the same can be said about being her lover.

you’d worked for general medarda for a year now. most people would be off put by being in her home at all, let alone as someone responsible for the upkeep. it was intimidating to be sure. ambessa’s a thorough woman, dragging her fingertip across surfaces to check for dust.

you’d nearly died when the first of these inspections had turned up a thick layer of grime on the pad of her index finger. between being brand new and unable to reach the helmet of a ceremonial display of armour, you’d foolishly completely forgotten to ask a taller staff member to help with cleaning the dome. ambessa had raised an eyebrow, and turned her piercing gaze onto you.

“explain.”

that tone. the type ambessa used when she was mad. you’d heard it directed at other staff, like the chef when he burns something or the guards when they slouch. it’s not loud. not yelling. just a gravitas that makes the recipient feel like they would prefer a fight with a pack of murk wolves rather than be reprimanded by her.

you swallow thickly, feeling like your throat has closed. you meekly speak up, trying not to let your voice crack.

“i can’t… i’m too short to reach up there, ms. medarda.”

whether it was your stuttering, the way your hands shook, or the fact that you were radiating an aura similar to that of a cornered rabbit, ambessa took pity. she simply flicked the dust away, eyes no less piercing but voice less stern.

“i’lll have someone fetch you a stool. do not let this happen again.”

then, she’s gone, and you feel like you can breathe again. you’d survived an encounter with ambessa after fucking up, and not many people came out of that alive and with their job intact. this felt like a win, and you’ve thrown yourself one hundred percent into your work since, passing every one of the general’s random checks.

in reality, while you were good at your job, you weren’t perfect. there were times where you missed a spot, forgot something small. ambessa, however, had found herself more focused on just how cute you were though. she was thoroughly amused by this pretty little maid, so hellbent on impressing her, enough so that she was willing to look the other way at a tiny mess.

ambessa had liked the way you’d trembled on that first day. normally, she enjoys being able to strike fear into the hearts of others. when you’d shyly explained your shortcomings to her though, she decided her ultimate goal was to make you tremble in completely different ways. 

what a medarda wants, a medarda gets.

it starts small. a hand on your shoulder after you do an admittedly stellar job cleaning her luxurious marble tub.

“you’ve done well, maid.” 

the praise goes right to your head. you have to dampen your smile lest you look like an idiot in front of the general. you can’t keep the excitement out of your voice when you respond though, a tad overeager.

“thank you so much, ma’am!”

then it progresses to ambessa finding excuses to give you gifts, despite how unorthodox it is.

“that lotion on the vanity is not to my tastes. do me a favour and take it with you.”

you nearly go white. ambessa’s imported goods are of the highest quality, not cheap in any regard. you pick up the bottle, recognising it as some fancy brand from piltover.

“are you sure, ms. medarda?” “it’s some candied scent rather than my favoured citrus. it’s yours. don’t make me repeat myself.”

you don’t say anything more, but you clasp the bottle tightly in your hands, eyes bright, like she’s given you a gold bar. 

it’s too easy, ambessa thinks, because she bought that cute pink bottle specifically because she knows how fond you are of sweet scents and foods.

eventually, she pushes harder, more obviously, on an evening where you're topping up her glass of wine.

“here you go, ma'am.” “ma'am makes me feel old. just call me ambessa.”

your eyes widen, your mouth opens slightly, you feel your hands shake as you fight to maintain your grip on the bottle of red.

“that’s not allowed.”

you finally manage to get out, and ambessa laughs in response. it's not cruel, she's just thoroughly amused.

“i’m your employer, aren't i? i make the rules. i am allowing you to call me by name.” “...as you wish, ambessa.”

and her resulting smile is near predatory, eyes glinting with something you can't name as she hears the way you whisper her name with quiet submission.

this little game continues for a few months. ambessa is patient, but she also does not beat around the bush. 

on a warm summer's evening, she demands you in particular to bring her the towel she ‘accidentally’ forgot. you do ask she asks, fine linen in hand, eyes averted as to not gaze upon her brazen nakedness. 

ambessa is gazing at the mosaic on the wall, bare skin shiny with the water droplets still rolling down her form. she turns to look at you, eyes near gold in the light of the setting sun filtering through the windows. 

your face is red, you're shifting side to side, holding out the towel for her to take. you peek, and she immediately catches you. when you look away, ambessa has enough. 

her hand darts from her side to grip your jaw. her calloused palm holds your chin steady, lifting your face so you're forced to meet ambessa eye to eye.

“surely you notice my advances, dear one. why then, do you still look away?” “it's just - it's not appropriate! i’m just a maid and you're the ambessa medarda, and-”

in the middle of your rambling, you see ambessa’s eyes close, the way her nostrils flare as she exhales a deep breath. you think she's about to yell at you. instead, she mutters under her breath.

“hunters, grant me patience.”

and then ambessa is crushing her mouth to yours, large hand dragging your face to meet hers. you're forced onto your tippy toes, her stature just so massive compared to yours. 

ambessa can feel your inexperience in your kiss. she doesn't care that you obviously have no clue how to use your tongue or that you nearly bump your teeth into hers. she's captivated instead by your eagerness, the way you're so clearly trying to impress her, the soft ghost of your breath on her face as you try not to hyperventilate over kissing your boss.

when she pulls away, she huffs in amusement. your eyes are practically starry, lips swollen from how hard she kissed you, and your hands are drawn to your chest. your fingers flex, hands shaking, like you want to hold onto something but don't know what to grab. 

ambessa takes pity on you, her hands reaching out, fingers wrapping around your wrists. she guides your hands up, placing them on her chest, encouraging you to cup her full, heavy tits. all the air escapes your lungs, your eyes flicking between her chest and her eyes.

your shaking hands. your lip, worried between your teeth as you bite it. your reverent gaze. all of it pleases ambessa greatly.

“you would be wise to remember that i am in command. i decide what is appropriate. don't make me say it again, dove.”

you suck in a deep breath, trying to steady your trembling body. your thumbs gently brush over ambessa's dark nipples, pebbled as her damp skin cools. your eyes lock onto the way goosebumps arise on her skin and the steady rise and fall of her chest.

all the while, ambessa is staring at you, like she's appraising something expensive. she must like what she sees, if the soft chuckle that escapes her is any indicator.

“good. come.”

her hand rests on your hip, and then she's turning you around, guiding you through the connecting door back to her private chambers.

the towel lays forgotten on the tile next to the tub.

ambessa takes your virginity half an hour later. 

you're not clueless. noxus isn't exactly a nation of prudes. sex, war, the gladiatorial area; all of these are expressions of passion. you'd just never had the time to experience intimacy, working hard to cement a place in a city that demands power and usefulness.

to ambessa's credit, she's almost gentle that first time. she prepares you thoroughly, scissoring you open on her rough fingers and fucking you with her tongue until you can't tell if you're wetter from her spit or your own arousal. then, she splits you open on a strap that's far more modest than you would expect from such a woman.

she makes it abundantly clear though, that she's being merciful this one time. in future, she would not hesitate to get more rough, more mean, more selfish.

when you cry as you cum on her cock, your first orgasm at the hands of another, ambessa decides that she wants to see this time and time again.

slowly, she stops seeking out the other staff she fools around with. you've become ambessa's favourite, and while that doesn't stop you from having to work hard, it means you're rewarded with a more handsome paycheck and pleasure you previously couldn't comprehend.

ambessa is a conqueror. sex with you is no different. rather than crossing towns and strongholds off a map, it's like she's ticking off a checklist of sexual experiences to give you.

she trains you to eat her pussy just how she likes. ambessa gets off on the fact that on your first attempt, you have zero technique. it means you've never done this for another person, and she can teach you how to best pleasure her alone. 

it becomes one of ambessa's favourite activities, having you drop to your knees while she reads, your pretty face absolutely dwarfed by her muscular thighs as you service her cunt.

she gives you your first anal experience too, another time she's been kinder. she spent hours easing you open slowly, helping you to relax as she coos praise in your ear until she's able to get her strap inside.

then, there comes ambessa's insatiable need to see you stuffed as full as humanly possible. you were correct on that first night; she much prefers a grander strap on. her favourite is an intimidatingly large cock made of dark red silicone, thick, veined, and the perfect size that it looks correct when she fits it into the harness. it stretches you out to the point you have a bulge in your stomach. ambessa gets a similar kick out of seeing you try to suck it, the toy bulging your throat as your eyes water around it.

the list goes on. bondage. edging. roleplay. ambessa gives you everything you didn't even know you wanted.

so when she strides into her chamber, a familiar gleam in her eye, you know you're in for a treat. you'd been waiting for ambessa on her gigantic bed, knowing she wanted you by the fact that your chore list was mysteriously cleared out for the evening.

“pet, i’d like to try something new.” “what are we doing?” “patience. you'll see.”

ambessa's already reaching under the bed, withdrawing the large black case that you'd come to associate with new experiences. she had a seemingly endless supply of toys and gadgets and… things, and you have zero clue where she's procuring all of it.

out comes the familiar dark red silicone cock, and the harness custom made for ambessa's thick hips. this is followed by a bottle of lubricant, then a red rope, a golden anal plug, and finally, nipple clamps, each adorned with a ruby, and connected by a delicate golden chain.

none of these were new. what was new was the fact that all this gear was making an appearance at once. you tilt your head at ambessa as she closes the case and puts it away.

“i intend to push you to your limits tonight. do not be afraid to use the safeword. do you remember it?” “wolf.” “good girl.”

ambessa descends on you, deft hands pulling away the layers of your uniform, letting your apron, skirt, and top become a pile next to the bed. the little heap ends up decorated with your bra and panties like a cherry on top.

then, comes her methodical preparation for the session. your wrists are bound together with rope, held behind your back, tight enough to keep you still but keeping full circulation. ambessa slides the harness up her powerful legs- one of your favourite visuals, and attaches the dildo. the plug and clamps are left on the bedside table.

ambessa is calculated. she always starts the same, drizzling lube onto your already wet slit, and easing a thick finger into you, letting another join once you loosen slightly. today though, you're surprised when she begins with two, her ring and middle fingers pushing the slick gel and your own wetness back into your cunt. 

you adjust quickly, ambessa's fingers are familiar by now. you're stretched properly when her index joins, breathing shallow as you adjust to the slight burn and the feeling of fullness.

ambessa pumps her fingers in and out, driving you close to an orgasm. the second you begin to clench around her however, she withdraws. you instinctively whine, and ambessa silences you with a sharp slap to your cunt.

“don't be insolent, dove. you'll get your orgasms. suck.”

the new command comes as she holds her glistening fingers up to your mouth, and you eagerly lick yourself off her digits. 

ambessa hums, pleased, and retrieves the buttplug. it, and your asshole, are generously coated with more lubricant, and then she eases it gently inside.

it's not a large plug, but it's enough that you're very aware of it. it's enough that when ambessa's fingers plunge back inside your hole, you feel the sensations multiplied. every time your walls squeeze her, you squeeze the plug too.

you're brought to orgasm much faster this time between the previous denial and the plug. ambessa doesn't stop you this time though, grinding the heel of her palm into your clit.

“cum.”

you do, soaking ambessa's fingers, hole tightening around her like you don't want her to ever pull out. 

once your arched hips are back on the bed, she does withdraw. she sucks her own fingers clean herself this time, and is almost immediately on the move again while you catch your breath.

she slicks her strap, and quickly maneuvers your legs so she can fuck you in missionary. ambessa doesn't take her pace slow either, bottoming out in one fell swoop. then, she's thrusting, her skin meeting yours as she pumps every inch of the massive strap into you.

the air is forced from your lungs. you try to grip the sheets to ground you, but that proves difficult with your hands still bound under your back. you still feel beyond full, stuffed with plastic and metal, stretched around ambessa's will.

“look at you, pet. you're a vision when you're full of me.”

ambessa's hand presses to your stomach, fingertips feeling for where she can feel her strap as it moves in and out of your insides.

“ambessa, your cock feels… ah, so good…” “oh, you like how it feels? let me help you feel it more, then. you make such a pretty slut.”

ambessa presses down on your stomach. not enough to hurt, but the pressure makes you feel everything that much more. every thrust makes you feel her strap, her hand, her plug.

your words fall apart as you get close to cumming again, having never had the time to fully come down from your first high. 

ambessa knows this. your body is an instrument, and she is the maestro. 

her pace quickens. her free hand comes to rub slow, gentle circles on your clit with her calloused thumbpad. then, with a harsh pinch to the sensitive bud and an order that ambessa nearly snarls, your second orgasm crashes into you.

“let go.” “i’m cumming! oh, fuck- ambessaaa…”

she strokes your clit slowly as you ride out the pleasure, prolonging your orgasm. your eyes screw shut, and you pant for breath, mistakenly thinking the session over. 

normally, ambessa wrings an orgasm or two from you, and instructs you to help her climax as many times as she wishes though. 

but she wasn't joking about pushing you to your limits today, and your eyes snap open as you hear the gentle clink of chains.

“huh?” “don’t look so surprised, dove. i know you can give me another.”

ambessa doesn’t pull out to grab the clamps. she instead just cranes over your body, pushing the strap impossibly deep, making you groan. her dark chuckle tells you she’s doing it on purpose.

the clamps settle around your nipples, pinching them somewhere between pleasure and pain. you squirm, the sensations only heightening everything else going on. ambessa tugs on the delicate chain joining the clamps, smirking at the whimper pulled from you as she does so.

you’re not given much other chance to prepare. ambessa begins thrusting again, this time with deep, slow strokes that make the tip of her cock kiss your cervix. once again, you haven’t been allowed to fully recover from your orgasm, so everything feels intense beyond what you can handle.

“‘bessa, i can’t-” “you can. use your safeword if you really can’t take it.”

you don’t utter the word. regardless of how overwhelmed you are, you’re enjoying this too much to back down. 

sensing your submission, ambessa’s fingers return to your clit, rubbing harsh, tight circles. she’s almost cruel, and your hips buck, back arching, trying to get away and closer to the sensation all at once. your clit aches with overstimulation, but at the same time, it feels so good.

it hurts. your arms are slowly going numb, your nipples are pinched painfully tight, your clit aches, your cervix is definitely going to be bruised, and your eyes burn with the sting of tears.

it’s heaven. ambessa is so deep inside you, you’re so full of her, surrounded by her. every sensation hangs on the precipice of pain and pleasure. you feel something building, you think it’s an orgasm, but it feels different.

your first climax was a slow build. your second was hard and fast. this one was overstimulating, nearly painful, a build up that’s more tense, more out of control. you feel your muscles spasming, and you panic.

“stop, stop! i’m gonna piss, you gotta stop, ambessa!”

it’s like she doesn’t hear you, until you see the wicked curve of her grin, and you realise she’d heard you just fine. she didn’t care. in fact, this only seemed to spur her on more. her fingers press harder, her hips press even deeper somehow. there isn’t a single thing that you can focus on that isn’t ambessa.

you sniffle, tears rolling down your cheeks. your muscles spasm again, and then you’re gushing, leaking, squirting. 

and ambessa’s eyes light up.

“that’s my girl. sweet thing, what a mess you've made.”

ambessa gestures to the sheets and you whimper, utterly embarrassed. she clicks her tongue.

“what’s the matter?” “i peed on your fancy bed!” “you squirted, pet. it’s different. it means i did my job correctly.”

you don’t really see how, but ambessa seems happy. she slowly pulls out, removes the plug, the clamps, the rope. she fetches the towel, and uses it to carefully wipe between your legs. the way she carefully avoids your overstimulated clit is almost tender. the blanket your release made wet is also thrown to the side, for someone else to deal with later. she handles all the cleanup while you lie boneless. 

once finished, she settles into the bed beside you, drawing you to her chest, large arms wrapped tightly around you. you’d normally offer to service her, but you’re exhausted. ambessa doesn’t seem keen on letting you leave either.

so instead, you let yourself drift off, sweet nothings and endearments of ‘dear one’ and ‘dove’ echoing in your ear as sleep takes your tired but satisfied body.

WHEW i loved writing this .. the graphics r kinda lazy but im so tired snore mimimi ... i hope you all enjoyed reading ty cherubs ! also thanks for 300 followers ? wild . giving you all a smoochie on the forehead !

“The body is not a thing, it is a situation: it is our grasp on the world….”

You were halfway through the same paragraph for the fifth time when your phone lit up.

Ambessa

— Video Call

You blinked at it and your stomach flipped. She hadn’t called in two weeks, not since she left for Europe. Not since that late night at the office when her cologne lingered on your collar and she’d kissed your forehead instead of your mouth.

You scrambled a little, flipping the book shut, brushing crumbs off your chest. Your tank top rode high, your shorts rode higher, you smiled when you clicked accept.

She didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you. Her cams off, typical.

And then that voice. “Hello, baby.”

You smiled so hard your cheeks hurt. “Hey.”

Her head tilted slightly, eyes scanning your screen, her gaze trailing down the angle of your arms, your thighs, where you were clearly lounging on your stomach.

“…What are you wearing?”

You rolled onto your side, one knee bent lazily, like it was nothing. “Bed stuff.”

She arched a brow. “Mmhm. Tight top. No bra,” she noted. “Shorts. Thin ones.”

You shrugged. “You asked.”

Ambessa leaned back into the hotel pillows, her smile feline. “I suppose I did.” Her voice was steady, but god, her eyes were hungry.

“How’s Europe?” you asked, throat dry.

“Cloudy. Boring. Full of white men with opinions,”she said flatly, sipping her drink.

You laughed. “So, miserable.”

She raised the glass again. “Miserable.”

You curled in a little closer to your screen. “You didn’t call last week.”

Her eyes lingered on you— then softened, just a little. “I couldn’t. The days were back toback. I barely had time to sleep.”

“But now you do?”

Ambessa leaned her head against her knuckles, ring catching the lamplight. “Now I do.”

You paused. Felt your cheeks warm. “You missed me?”

She exhaled through her nose like it was a confession. “You already know the answer.”

Silence stretched. Her gaze stayed steady on yours. You wanted to see her, but you knew you couldn’t boss around.

She didn’t ask what you were doing.

Didn’t ask if you’d been good.

Just said, “Show me what you’ve been reading.”

You blinked, surprised. But you reached back, grabbed the book you’d tossed onto the bed. You held it up while she squinted.

“De Beauvoir,” she hummed. “You always pick something French when I’m away.”

“You like that?”

Ambessa made a soft sound in her throat, almost a purr. “I like when you try to feel close to me.”

You set the book aside, smile faltering just slightly. “Feels weird without you here.”

“I know.”

“…do you know how many meetings I’ve sat through with your voice in my ear?” she murmured.

You blinked. “My voice?”

“You send me voice notes. Did you forget?”

A soft smile curved her mouth. “You speak without knowing how you sound.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

Ambessa tilted her head slightly, gaze hooded.

“I’ve been thinking about that sound,” she said. “The one you made… last time.”

Your thighs squeezed together instantly.

“You mean when…”

“I mean when I told you to touch yourself,” she interrupted. “And you said my name like you were about to cry.”

You felt your breath catch.

She was so far away. In another country, in another timezone. but your body reacted to her voice like she was in the room,like she was under the sheets.

“I haven’t done anything since,” you admitted. “I was… waiting.”

Ambessa paused. Blinked slowly.

Then her jaw flexed.

“Good girl.”

You whined softly, pathetically.

She chuckled low, rubbing her thumb over the lip of her glass. “Don’t squirm. No, not yet.”

You sat up straighter, cheeks warm, heart pounding under the fabric of your tight little top. “I… thought about you earlier,” you admitted, quieter this time. “Before bed.”

“Oh, is that so?”

You nodded. “I put on the lipstick, the one you gave me.”

Her smile widened. “The red.”

“Yeah.”

She sipped again, and this time, the sound of her swallowing felt criminal. “I want you to use it later,” she said casually, like she was ordering a room service dessert. “I want you to write on yourself for me.”

You bit your lip. “Write what?”

“Patience, darling. Not yet,” she said, voice calm but dark. “You’ll wait until I say.”

Your whole body tingled. She was across the ocean. But your thighs were damp, your stomach in knots, and your lips already parted like she was physically in the room with you.

“I want to see you,” she whispered. “How you look when you miss me.”

Your thighs tensed at the sound of it. You adjusted in the sheets, settling back on your elbows so the camera could capture more of you, tank top snug over your chest, short bunched around your hips. You didn’t even realise you were panting.

Ambessa watched your screen with maddening calm, like you were prey she already had on the hook.

“Sit up,” she murmured, setting her glass down with a soft clink. “Back straight. Legs open.”

You obeyed slowly, trembling a little as you shifted to your knees and spread them, thighs bare and goosebumped in the cool room.

“Good girl.”

God. The tone she used— low, indulgent, warm like silk and still laced with ownership. She didn’t bark orders. She simply… guided. “Do you still have the lipstick I gave you?” she asked.

You nodded.

“Show me.”

You leaned across the bed and opened your drawer, pulling out the sleek, heavy tube, black and gold casing, embossed with her initials. A custom blend. Dark blood red. The same shade she wore the day she kissed you under her office desk. Her smile deepened.

“Good,” she purred. “Now listen very carefully, darling.”

“You’re going to take that pretty little lipstick and write a word for me on your thigh. Right side.”

You hesitated, already blushing.

“W-what word?”

Her gaze darkened. “My name.”

Your chest rose sharply.

She watched you with that deadly-soft smirk, like she could already feel your shame blooming before you even moved. “Go on, baby,” she whispered. “Nice and slow. I want it legible, I want to see every letter like you mean it.”

You bit your lip, shifted your weight, uncapped the lipstick with shaking fingers, and started writing on the curve of your upper thigh.

AMBESSA’S

The color stood out harsh and bold against your skin. You stared down at it for a second, dazed. Ambessa watched the whole thing with that same steady gaze. She didn’t even blink. “That’s better,” she murmured. “Now touch yourself. Left hand only.”

You gasped softly but obeyed, sliding your fingers under your shorts, already slick with anticipation. She exhaled, long and slow, like she’d just sat down at her favorite restaurant and been handed the most familiar menu. “That’s it. Don’t be shy now. Let me see how wet you are for me.”

You moaned. Her name slipped out before you could stop it.

“Now,” she whispered, “look down at the word.”

You blinked.

“Look. At. It.”

You did. The letters stared back at you, thick and red and claiming. You couldn’t look away.

“Do you feel that?” she murmured. “How soaked you are with my name under your hand?”

You nodded, voice caught in your throat.

She smirked. “Of course you do. You’re mine.”

You whimpered. “Fuck…”

“No swearing yet, darling. You haven’t earned it.”

Her voice was starting to dip, slower and thicker, as if the control was starting to fray just a little. You could hear the soft rustle of sheets on her end. Her breath shifted.

She was touching herself now. Quietly. Smoothly. But still watching.

“New word,” she said suddenly, sharp.

“Take the lipstick again. Left thigh this time.”

You picked it up with a shaking hand. “What word?”

Ambessa leaned closer to the camera, eyes dark and glittering.

“OBEDIENT.”

Her voice dipped even lower. “Write it. While your fingers stay inside. One letter per pump, sweetheart. I’ll count for you.”

Your heart stuttered.

“Go.”

You slid two fingers in. Slowly, warm and soaked.

“One,” she said, “O.”

You moaned, drew the first letter shakily.

“Two. B.”

You were panting now.

“Three. E.”

“F-Fuck!”

“Language,” she chided, voice sharp as silk. “Keep going.”

You sobbed out the next few letters.

“I—E—N—T…”

Her breath cracked on the last count. “Eight. Period.”

You drew the dot shakily under the final letter, fingers still buried inside you, soaked to the knuckle.

“Look at your thighs,” Ambessa said, her voice softer now. Ruined. Possessive.

One said AMBESSA’S.

The other said OBEDIENT.

And between them, you were trembling, wet, flushed, broken open under the weight of her voice.

“Don’t move,” she whispered. “Don’t even blink. Let me burn this into my mind.”

You were still panting, thighs parted, lipstick-stained and slick between your fingers when her voice wrapped around you again. “Now…” she said slowly, voice quiet and sharp, “what do we say when we’ve been given something so generous?”

You whimpered. “Thank you,”

Her brow raised. “Not to the air, darling. Say it to me.”

You choked a breath and whispered, “Thank you, Ambessa.”

She hummed, pleased and satisfied, but her tone was still firm. “And how should I know it’s true, hm?” She sighs,

“….take your hand out.”

You hesitated. Your fingers were warm, soaked, clenching helplessly.

“Now.”

You pulled out slow, plop, your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“Good,” she murmured, voice suddenly silk again. “Now grab the lipstick.”

You reached for it, hands shaking, and looked up at the screen, waiting.

Her voice dropped.

“Lift your shirt.”

You blinked. “W-What?”

“You heard me, be a good girl and do it.”

You obeyed. The soft cotton tank bunched just under your collarbones, leaving your chest bare, nipples hard from the AC and arousal and attention. You looked at yourself in the camera square, heart hammering.

You didn’t feel real. Just flushed skin and words and trembling breath.

Her voice hummed in your ear.

“Now I want you to write one more thing.”

You clutched the lipstick tighter.

Her smile, though unseen, felt crueler now, laced with indulgence. “Write it right there, between your pretty tits. Just above your heart.”

You shuddered.

“Y-O-U-R-S. yours, write that down.”

You gasped, choking on a moan.

“Capital letters,” she purred. “Nice and big for me, darling.”

Your hand moved shakily.

YOURS

The lipstick dragged over your sternum, dark red and uneven from your shivering. A little smeared, a little messy.

You looked down at yourself. And the shame, the obedience, crackled through your nerves like lightning.

Ambessa exhaled again.

“God, you look divine.”

You squirmed, thighs rubbing together.

And then,

The screen flickered.

For a second, you thought it glitched. Then it lit up.

Holy shit.

Her camera turned on. It was just her face and collarbones, framed in the golden light of some sleek hotel lamp. She had a glass of something amber beside her, and her silk robe, the dark red one with the golden trim, slipped open just slightly at the collarbone. curls pinned back, her lips were slightly parted. One hand was still out of frame. Her eyes, dark, slow and calculating, devoured you.

You almost cried.

“Oh my gosh!”

“Shh.”

Her gaze pinned you like a blade.

“You don’t get to look at me yet.”

Your mouth dropped open.

Her voice was darker now. “You look at your chest. Not me.”

You blinked, panting.

“I said look at you. Not me.”

You whimpered. Your eyes dropped back down.

The word “YOURS” stared up from your chest like a brand.

“Now keep your eyes there,” she whispered, “and put your fingers back in.”

You obeyed instantly.

She inhaled at the sight. “Good girl. Now fuck yourself. Slowly.”

Your hips jerked, trying to stay grounded as your fingers slid back in, soaked and warm and trembling. “You’re going to cum like that,” she said, voice low and brutal. “Looking at my name on your thighs. At the word between your tits. At what you are.”

You moaned, so close already —

“No,” she hissed. “Slower.”

You groaned and whined, but obeyed.

Her voice dipped to a growl.

“You want to squirt for me, don’t you?”

You gasped. “Please please PLEASE, m’bessa!”

“Then be good. Let me take you there. I say when.”

You nodded frantically.

“Faster now.”

You moaned, thrusting faster

“Faster.”

Your palm was smacking wet now.

“I said, faster.”

Your fingers blurred. You were almost there,

“Don’t look at me,” she warned. “Look at the words. Say them.”

You sobbed, head thrown back. “A-ambessa, obedient — and fuck, I’m yours!”

Then it hit. You came so hard you squirted.

Your thighs snapped shut around your hand, your body shaking and convulsing. You choked on a moan that cracked open your throat. You could hear the squelch of your fingers trying to stay inside as you bucked.

Ambessa’s breath hitched. Then her voice, raw now,slightly shaken, “That’s it. Good girl, so good.”

You collapsed back, hand twitching, legs slick and soaked, chest rising and falling under the word still glowing in red.

And on the screen, Ambessa’s face. Calm again. Satisfied. But her lips curved, just barely.

And she said, quietly, like a secret just for you:

“Now. Let’s see how many more words you can take.”

↪️ reblogs are appreciated!!

a/n: I feel like this was so poorly done :(

Victoria’s Secret smelled faintly of vanilla and pink perfume, the kind that clung too sweetly to the air. Every rack sparkled with satin and lace, reds and blacks and pale pinks that caught the light in ribbons. You trailed after Sevika, fingers brushing over hangers, pretending you were the one making decisions when really… she was the one steering you through the store like she owned it.

Technically, this was Ambessa’s order. Just a few bras and panties. Simple. Elegant. But Sevika didn’t know the meaning of simple when it came to you.

“Try this one.” Her voice was low, even in public, always that gravel that made people pay attention. She plucked a black lace set off the rack, barely glancing at the price tag before shoving it into your arms. Then another, wine red with tiny satin bows. Then a sheer pastel pink number, almost too delicate to touch.

She scanned the racks with her silver eyes like a wolf picking out prey, sharp and decisive. Nothing you touched escaped her notice, if your fingers lingered too long on something, it was suddenly yours.

“Ambessa said lace,” Sevika murmured, tone half mocking, half indulgent, “so lace it is. Hold onto those. No dropping anything.”

Your arms were overflowing with literally half the stores lingerie before you’d even realised it.

You tugged at her sleeve, trying to whine a little, trying to play the brat you knew she secretly loved. “Vikaaa…I don’t need this much,”

Her gaze slid down to you, unamused. “You’ll wear what we buy.” She adjusted the straps on her prosthetic arm, unbothered, and nodded toward the fitting rooms. “Now go try them on. Don’t make me tell you twice.”

The attendant didn’t even question it— of course she didn’t. Sevika’s presence commanded the kind of authority that made people step aside without argument. Soon enough you were pushed into a plush little changing room, velvet curtains swishing closed behind you, Sevika leaning against the wall like she owned the whole damn place.

“Show me.” She didn’t sit. She didn’t move. She just stood there, arms crossed, waiting for you to peel your clothes off and put yourself on display under the dim golden lights.

Each set was worse than the last, worse in the way it made her jaw tighten, worse in the way her gaze dragged over you. Black lace clinging to your hips. Red satin lifting your breasts just enough to make them spill. The pale pink number that looked like sugar spun into lingerie, almost too sweet on your body.

You shifted under her stare, heat curling in your stomach. “We’re supposed to just buy them, not…”

Her smirk was slow, dangerous. “You think I’m going to spend money on something I haven’t seen you in first?”

Her eye darkened when you turned, letting her see the back of the thong, how thin the straps looked against your skin. She sucked in a quiet breath, almost sharp, before clearing her throat and muttering something under her breath—something about not wasting lace like that in a fitting room.

No, Sevika had standards.

And by the time she finally gathered the pile of lingerie again, handing you your clothes like she hadn’t been one second away from ruining you against the wall, your head was spinning.

“Get dressed,” she said simply, voice rougher than before. “We’ll take all of it.”

You tried not to stumble when Sevika shoved the bundle of new lace into the attendant’s arms, her voice firm as she said, “We’ll take them all.” No hesitation, no flinch at the total when the cashier rang everything up— just a card slipped across the counter, black and heavy, the kind people recognised on sight.

You clutched the glossy pink bags as you left the store, each one stuffed with tissue paper and ribbons. They rustled in your grip like trophies. Sevika walked at your side, broad shoulders cutting through the crowd, her hand occasionally resting against the small of your back when someone got too close.

The mall lights shimmered above, glass skylights letting in the last of the afternoon sun. You could feel Sevika’s gaze still on you, even when she was silent, like she hadn’t stopped replaying the image of you in that sheer pink set.

“You were stalling,” she said at last, voice low enough that only you heard.

You blinked up at her. “What?”

“In the fitting room.” Her lips curled, faintly amused. “Took your sweet time bending over, turning around…don’t think I didn’t notice, baby”

Your face burned hot. “I wasn’t..”

She leaned down, her breath brushing your ear as you walked. “Brats get punished when we get home.”

You nearly tripped over your own feet.

By the time you reached the car, your arms were full of bags. Sevika opened the door for you, gentle in that brusque, possessive way, and slid into the driver’s seat once you were inside. She didn’t start the engine immediately. Instead, her flesh hand draped over the steering wheel, her metal one resting between her thighs, knuckles tapping against denim as if she were holding herself back.

Her eye flicked to you, and the corner of her mouth tugged up.

“You’re lucky Ambessa’s waiting,” she murmured. “Otherwise I’d remind you exactly why I don’t do quickies in fitting rooms.”

Sevika finally started the car, pulling out of the mall’s parking lot with steady control, one hand always ready to settle on your thigh when you shifted too much.

The drive home felt like it stretched foreverr,tension thick in the air, every stoplight another chance to catch Sevika watching you from the corner of her eye.

By the time the car rolled into the driveway, the house already glowing with light inside, your stomach was knotted with nerves. Because Ambessa’s car was parked there. Because she was already home.

And Sevika only muttered, “Shit,” under her breath, before killing the engine.

The front door clicked open before you or Sevika could even knock.

Ambessa stood there, framed in warm golden light from the house behind her. Her arms were crossed, muscles flexing beneath her silk blouse, and her jaw was set tight. The look she gave you first was soft— just a flicker, her eyes sweeping over you to make sure you were safe. Then it snapped to Sevika, sharp as a blade.

“You’re late.”

Her voice was low, steady, the kind of tone that made your stomach flip. She didn’t need to shout. Every syllable carried weight.

Sevika exhaled through her nose, shifting the bags on her arm. “Traffic.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Ambessa’s gaze cut to the heap of glossy pink shopping bags, her brow lifting. “I told you lace sets. One, maybe two. What is this?”

She stepped aside to let you in, hand brushing your back as you passed her—a wordless reminder that you weren’t the one in trouble. The door shut with a heavy click behind you, and the air inside the house felt thicker, richer, like the walls themselves soaked up the tension.

Sevika set the bags on the marble console table, leaning against it like she needed the support. “She liked them,” she said simply, jerking her chin toward you. “So I bought them.”

Ambessa’s earrings glinted as she tilted her head, incredulous. “You think this is about what she likes? Or about you parading her around the store like a doll for your own entertainment?”

You opened your mouth, “I—”

“Not you, little one.” Ambessa’s eyes flicked to you briefly, soft again, before locking back onto Sevika. “You’ll speak when spoken to.”

The heat in your cheeks spread down your throat. You sat quietly on the edge of the sofa, lingerie bags stacked high on the table like evidence.

Ambessa stalked closer to Sevika, her heels clicking against the marble, until she stood toe to toe with her. Despite Sevika’s broad frame and casual lean, she looked smaller under Ambessa’s glare.

“I give simple instructions,” Ambessa said, each word sharp as glass. “And what do you do? You drag her through half the store, make her try on everything like some showroom mannequin, and come home late, covered in temptation you couldn’t control.”

Her hand rose, fingers pinching Sevika’s chin to force her head up. Sevika’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t resist.

“You’re reckless,” Ambessa murmured, voice low enough that it hummed against the silence. “And when you’re reckless, she pays for it.”

Sevika’s eye flicked sideways, to you. For the first time that night, her lips pressed into something that looked like guilt.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Ambessa demanded, not letting her chin go.

“…I overdid it,” Sevika muttered finally.

“You overdid it,” Ambessa echoed, releasing her. “And now you’ll be punished for it.”

The words hung in the air, thick and final. Sevika straightened her shoulders, jaw flexing, but she didn’t argue. She wouldn’t.

Ambessa turned to you then, and her whole demeanor softened. She smoothed a hand down your arm, eyes warming. “Go upstairs, sweetheart. Leave the bags here. Sevika and I need a word.”

Your stomach fluttered, but you obeyed. As you padded up the grand staircase, you couldn’t help glancing back—Ambessa standing tall, Sevika braced against the table, every line of her body tense.

The last thing you heard before turning the corner was Ambessa’s voice, rich and commanding:

“On your knees.”

You weren’t supposed to linger in the stairs. Ambessa had told you to go upstairs, directly upstairs. but girl, when she said ‘on your knees’ to sevika? You couldn’t help yourself. You wanted to watch.

The crack in the bannister gave you just enough of a view into the living room below.

Sevika was on her knees. You’d never seen her like that before— shoulders hunched slightly, hands resting on her thighs, head bowed like she was a soldier waiting for orders. The sight alone made your breath catch.

Ambessa circled her slowly, arms folded behind her back, her presence commanding the entire space. “Do you understand the depth of your mistake?”

Sevika’s jaw clenched. “Yes, miss.”

“You thought you could indulge yourself. Parade her, feed your appetite until you were ready to break.” Ambessa leaned down, close enough to whisper into Sevika’s ear, but her tone still cut through the room. “that isn’t control. That’s greed, and greed must be punished.”

Sevika didn’t flinch, didn’t argue. But her fists tightened on her knees.

Ambessa straightened, moving toward the shopping bags piled high on the console table. Her fingers sifted through the tissue paper until she plucked one out, the pink lace set. The one that had nearly unraveled Sevika in the fitting room.

“This one,” Ambessa said, holding it up to the light. “your favourite, wasn’t it?”

Sevika’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. “…Yes.”

“Then you’ll watch her wear it.” Ambessa’s voice was smooth, cruel in its calm. “And you’ll keep your hands to yourself while I take what you can’t control.”

For the first time, Sevika’s composure cracked, her eye flicked upward, desperate, conflicted. “Ambessa!”

“Quiet.” Ambessa’s command rang through the room, sharp as a whip. “You’ll sit. You’ll watch. And you’ll learn what it means to restrain yourself.”

Your heart pounded as you pressed closer to the railing, eyes wide. The image burned itself into your mind, Sevika kneeling, Ambessa towering over her with that tiny set of lace dangling from her fingers, promising a punishment that made your pulse race.

Ambessa turned slightly, and for a terrifying second, you thought she’d seen you watching. Her gaze slid up toward the staircase— then she smirked, low and knowing.

“Sweetheart,” she called, her voice carrying easily. “Come back down. We’ve chosen your outfit for the evening.”

Your breath caught. And Sevika’s head snapped up, her eye locking onto the stairs where you stood frozen.

Your feet felt heavy as you descended the stairs, every step clicking too loud in the silence. Ambessa stood at the base, tall and imposing, the pink lace set draped loosely over her palm like a delicate weapon.

“Come here,” Her voice softened only for you, but the edge of command never faded.

You obeyed, padding across the cool marble floor until you stood between the two women. Sevika hadn’t moved from her knees, her shoulders were rigid, jaw tight, her gaze following you like a starving wolf chained too close to a feast.

Ambessa held the lingerie up, brushing the soft fabric against your cheek. “This one made her lose her composure, did it not?” She glanced down at Sevika. “Tell her.”

Sevika’s throat worked. “…Yes.” Her voice was low, rougher than usual. “That’s the one.”

Ambessa hummed. “Good.” Her fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face up. “You’ll wear it for me.”

Your pulse thrummed as she led you toward the chaise near the window, the city skyline glittering beyond the glass. Ambessa’s hands were steady, practiced, as she peeled your clothes away piece by piece— never rushed, always deliberate, like she was unwrapping something precious.

Behind her, Sevika shifted just slightly, the leather of her prosthetic groaning faintly as her fists clenched. Ambessa didn’t miss it.

“Eyes on her,” Ambessa ordered without looking back. “You don’t blink. You don’t look away. This is your punishment, Sevika.”

The straps of the lace bra slid over your shoulders, Ambessa’s large hands adjusting them until they sat perfectly against your skin. The fabric was sheer, barely covering you, the cups cut just enough to tease. Then came the panties, thin straps hugging your hips, lace sitting snug against your heat. Ambessa smoothed her palm over your stomach after sliding them into place, possessive, claiming.

“Turn,” she said, guiding you to face Sevika.

Heat flooded your face as Sevika’s eye dragged over you, slow, hungry and pained. She swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling like she was fighting to breathe.

Ambessa’s lips curved. “Look at her, Sevika. Look at what you wanted so badly you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.” She leaned down, her mouth brushing against your ear as her voice dropped to a dark whisper. “And now look at what you can’t touch.”

Sevika’s fingers twitched against her thighs, the faintest sound of her teeth grinding.

Ambessa sank onto the chaise, pulling you effortlessly into her lap. The sudden shift made you gasp, your thighs draped over her, the lace riding higher as her large hands splayed across your waist.

“You see how sweet she looks like this?” Ambessa’s tone was low, taunting, directed entirely at Sevika as she kissed the side of your neck, slow and indulgent. “She belongs here. Spoiled, dressed in lace, mine to enjoy at my leisure.”

You trembled, torn between burying your face in Ambessa’s shoulder and daring to glance at Sevika— her eye burning, fixed on you, so much want it nearly ached to look at her.

Ambessa’s hand trailed lower, fingers brushing the band of your panties. She didn’t slip inside yet— no, she lingered, teasing, showing restraint Sevika clearly lacked.

“You’ll sit there,” Ambessa said firmly, eyes snapping back to Sevika. “You’ll keep your mouth shut, your hands in your lap, and you’ll learn. If you can’t control yourself in public, then you’ll watch me do what you couldn’t.”

Sevika’s breathing was uneven, heavy, but she didn’t move. Her jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might crack.

Ambessa smiled against your throat, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. Her voice rumbled low, rich with promise,

“Now, sweetheart, let’s give her a show.”

Ambessa shifted you easily in her lap, her strength undeniable as she manoeuvred you forward onto the chaise. The cushions dipped under your knees, your palms pressed to the velvet, and she tugged your hips back until you were arched just how she wanted.

The lace panties didn’t last long— Ambessa hooked a thick finger under the band and snapped them down to your thighs, baring you. The cool air made you jolt, but her warm hand smoothed over your ass immediately, kneading the flesh as if to calm you and claim you in the same motion.

“Look at her,” Ambessa said again, her voice a velvet whip. You glanced over your shoulder, breathless, only to find Sevika still kneeling, her eye wide, her jaw tight. Her fists were braced on her thighs like she was holding herself back from tearing the room apart.

Ambessa spread you with one hand, the other guiding the head of her strap into place. Thick, heavy, already slick with lube. She pressed forward slowly at first, letting the tip breach you before she slid in deep, inch by inch, until you were gasping into the cushions.

“Ah! Ambessa!”

“Shh.” Her palm smoothed down your spine, pushing your arch deeper. “Take it, sweetheart. you were made for this.”

The stretch burned sweet, filling you until your eyes watered, until your legs trembled. And then she moved— long, powerful strokes that forced tiny whimpers out of you with every thrust.

You buried your face in the velvet, teeth sinking into the cushion, but Ambessa wasn’t having that. She fisted a hand in your hair, yanking your head up.

“Keep your face where she can see it.”

Your eyes blurred as you blinked toward Sevika, cheeks hot, mouth open in helpless gasps. And Sevika… she looked wrecked. She’d seen you needy before, bratty before, but this, your eyes crossing as Ambessa hit that spot again and again, drool threatening to slip down your chin, she’d never seen you like this.

Her hand twitched toward her lap, tugging at her belt, desperate.

“Don’t.” Ambessa’s command cracked through the air, and Sevika froze like she’d been struck.

“Please,” Sevika rasped, her voice breaking for once, raw with need.

Ambessa’s thrusts never faltered, steady and brutal, filling you so deep you swore you could feel it in your throat. “You’ll keep those hands right where they are,” she said coldly, glaring down at Sevika. “You don’t get to touch what’s mine. Not her, not yourself.”

A strangled noise tore from Sevika’s throat, half frustration, half agony.

Your body jolted under another sharp thrust, vision tilting, the chandelier above blurring as your eyes rolled back. Heat flooded you, thighs quivering, your voice breaking into moans that didn’t sound like words anymore.

“Good girl,” Ambessa purred into your ear, her grip on your hips tightening. “Take it. Let her see who fucks you properly.”

You were gone, your mouth hanging open, drool falling down to your tits, your eyes crossing with each punishing snap of Ambessa’s hips.

And Sevika… Sevika had never looked so undone. Staring at you like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to beg, cry, or rip the whole room apart.

Ambessa leaned closer, her voice a growl that vibrated against your skin.

“Look at her, Sevika. Look at the face you’ll never see her make for you.”

Your moan broke high and wrecked, your nails clawing at the velvet as Ambessa drove you into the cushions.

And Sevika could do nothing— nothing but watch you unravel.

Ambessa’s thrusts slowed suddenly, her hips grinding deep before she stilled inside you. The sound of her phone buzzing against the console table cut through the heavy air. She cursed under her breath, pulling out with one last slow drag that made your thighs shake.

Sevika’s head snapped up, chest heaving, like she thought maybe, just maybe, Ambessa was done with you and she’d get her turn. But Ambessa strode over to the table, snatching the phone, her expression hardening the moment she read the name on the screen.

“If this were anyone else…” she muttered darkly, thumb hovering over the red decline button. The phone buzzed again. She exhaled sharply, frustrated, then looked at you. Her tone softened, barely. “Stay put, sweetheart. I’ll be back.”

Her heels clicked against the marble as she crossed the living room and climbed the staircase, her voice already slipping into polished authority as she answered, “Yes, of course. I’ve been expecting your call…”

You sat there trembling, knees still pressed into the velvet, lace askew, your body buzzing with need and emptiness. Your gaze flicked toward Sevika.

And god, she looked feral.

The instant Ambessa disappeared upstairs, Sevika rose from her knees like a wolf unleashed.

“Sevika!” you started, weak, but she was already on you.

Her hand fisted in the lace still clinging to your body, tugging you upright before shoving you back down against the chaise, caging you in. Her breath was hot against your ear, her voice ragged from restraint snapping at last.

“You think I was gonna sit there and watch her wreck you like that?”

Her thigh shoved between yours, her prosthetic hand gripping the armrest so hard it creaked. She didn’t even give you time to answer—her mouth crushed against yours, desperate, messy, teeth clashing, her tongue demanding entrance like she’d die if she didn’t taste you now.

You gasped, hands clutching at her shoulders, overwhelmed by the sheer force of her hunger.

Her lips dragged down your throat, biting, sucking, marking, all the control she’d held spilling out in a frenzy. “Mine,” she growled against your skin. “You’re mine.”

Sevika didn’t drag you anywhere. She didn’t even think about it, didn’t care about Ambessa stomping back down mid-call. She shoved you into the velvet, climbing over you with that wild hunger in her eye, like she was finally tasting freedom after weeks in chains.

Her mouth was everywhere— sloppy kisses down your neck, teeth scraping at your collarbone, tongue laving over the lace still clinging half cocked on your breasts. She bit down on the delicate fabric until it tore, growling when it gave way.

“Been sittin’ on my knees like a fucking dog while she—” Her voice broke into a guttural noise as her hand shoved between your thighs, rough fingers parting you, finding how wet you still were from Ambessa’s use. “fuck. You’re dripping. All over the damn couch, huh? For her?”

You gasped, arching into her touch, eyes rolling back. “S-Sevika, please!”

Her mouth caught yours again, swallowing your words, her tongue messy and greedy. Her fingers worked you open fast, stretching you with no patience left, her metal hand braced beside your head like she needed to anchor herself before she lost it completely.

When she pulled back, her lips were slick, her chest heaving. She stared down at you— your flushed face, the lace still hanging crooked on your body— and she broke.

“Gonna fuck you so hard you forget her name.”

She fumbled at her belt, yanking down her jeans just enough to free her strap. She didn’t even line it up gently, just pressed forward in one rough, hungry thrust that had you crying out loud, nails clawing at the cushions.

“Fuck! Sevika!” your voice cracked, your body arching, eyes squeezing shut.

“Open your eyes, beautiful, ” Sevika snapped, her hand gripping your jaw, forcing your gaze back up. “look at me when I fuck you.”

Her hips pounded into you, deep and frantic, every thrust a mix of fury and relief. The sound of skin and lace slapping filled the air, lewd and unrelenting. She bent over you, forehead pressing to yours, her teeth gritted.

“Wanted this since the damn fitting room,” she rasped, her voice breaking. “Had to sit there, had to watch, you think I can stand that shit? Seeing you spread out, drooling on her cock, making faces you never—”

Your eyes crossed on the next thrust, your mouth falling open in a choked moan.

Sevika froze for half a heartbeat, staring at you, and then her hips slammed harder, desperate to chase that look. “Oh fuck yeaah, that’s it. That’s the face. Mine. All fucking mine.”

You clung to her, your whole body shuddering, pleasure coiling sharp and dizzying inside you. And for once, it wasn’t Ambessa controlling the pace, drawing things out. It was Sevika— losing herself in you, taking everything she’d been denied, and giving you the best fuck of her life in return.

Your body broke before you could even warn her. Pleasure crashed into you like a wave, ripping through your chest, down your stomach, between your thighs. You screamed her name, eyes rolling back, legs spasming around her hips.

But Sevika didn’t stop.

If anything, the way your cunt clenched around her strap only made her fuck you harder, faster, her grunts ragged in your ear.

“Yeahyeah, give it to me,” she growled, sweat dripping down her temple. Her metal arm locked you in place, fingers digging into your waist while her other hand forced your jaw up so she could watch your face. “Look at you. Creaming all over me, shaking like a good little slut.”

Your nails raked down her back, your thighs trembling violently, but she just kept slamming into you, deep and punishing.

“S-stop!” you hiccupped, tears streaking your temples as your body convulsed. “Sevika, I-ahhh, c-can’t!”

“Yes you can.” Her lips brushed against your ear, hot and desperate. “You will. You owe me every goddamn orgasm she wrung outta you in front of me.”

Your body spasmed again, pleasure so sharp it burned. Your eyes crossed, mouth hanging open in a silent scream as another orgasm ripped through you, wetter, messier, leaving you twitching beneath her.

Sevika’s eyes widened as she watched you unravel— watched you sobbing and writhing under her, your hole clenching so tight it nearly pulled the strap off. She swore under her breath, pounding into you harder, like she couldn’t get enough.

“Oh fuck, baby,” she groaned, her forehead pressing to yours. “Never seen you like this, never… god, you’re gon' kill me.”

Your sobs turned to whimpers, your voice breaking as you clung to her broad shoulders, body arching helplessly against every relentless thrust. She was obsessed now, obsessed with the sight of you fucked so dumb, eyes glassy, drool slipping down your chin.

Her hand slid between your bodies, rough fingers circling your overstimulated clit, and you screamed, full-bodied, thrashing beneath her.

“Thaat’s it,” Sevika rasped, breathless. “Cry for me. Scream f'me. I’ll give you the best fuck of your life if it kills me.”

You came again, violently, your whole body shaking like it couldn’t handle another second, your voice cracking into hoarse moans that sounded nothing like words anymore.

And Sevika still didn’t stop.

The sound of her boots hitting the first step back down froze you in place.

Your whole body jolted, but Sevika didn’t stop. Her hips were still driving into you, frantic, greedy, desperate to wring one more orgasm out of your spent body. Your voice was breaking in gasps, in sobs, your thighs trembling around her waist— when the shadow fell across you both.

You barely managed to turn your head toward the stairs.

Ambessa stood there, phone still in her hand, her jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscle twitching. The low light from the chandelier caught the sharp edges of her scowl, her eyes glowing like coals as they locked on the sight of you, bent under Sevika, drooling, moaning, body a mess of sweat and tears, Sevika fucking you like she’d starve without you.

The phone clicked shut.

Silence.

Even Sevika stilled, breath ragged, strap buried deep inside you as if she could hide the evidence. But the slick noises between your bodies had already given you away, the soaked lingerie Ambessa had dressed you in clinging to your chest, straps fallen down your shoulders.

“...What,” Ambessa’s voice rumbled, low and dangerous, “the hell is this?”

You whimpered, trembling, your brain still mush, unable to even form a defense. Sevika, to her credit, lifted her chin like she was ready to take the bullet, but her arm still held you tight, betraying just how unwilling she was to let you go.

Ambessa took another slow step down the staircase. Her eyes flicked from your ruined face, to the strap still inside you, back to Sevika’s defiant glare. Her lip curled.

“You disobeyed me.”

The weight of her fury hit the room like a stormfront.

The stack of papers in your hands feels heavier with every step toward the assignment board. Names, lists… You’ve done this before, but never with the same pit in your stomach.

It’s weird. How everyone is still the same but somehow different. After all that happened.

And Council reshuffles always mean chaos.

You trace your finger down the column until you find your own name, neat and small just like the others. You follow the line across the parchment, scanning, waiting—

And then your heart stops.

Councilor Sevika

The name might as well leap off the page and punch you in the ribs. Your throat goes dry instantly. Sevika. Not “Silco’s number two” anymore, not the monster whispered about in every Zaunite alley, but still her. Every story, every threat, they’re all staring you in the face in one bold line of text.

“Oh… fuck,” you breathe, a little too loud, earning a curious glance from another assistant.

You quickly fidget with your papers, pretending nothing’s wrong, but your pulse is thrumming so loud it’s hard to think.

You want to march right back to the clerk, to beg for reassignment, to insist that surely there’s been some kind of mistake.

But you know the rules.

Once the lists are posted, that’s it. No change possible. Permanent.

Which leaves you with only one task:

…go find councilor Sevika.

Great. Just great.

…You spend the rest of the day searching.

You don’t find her.

Through the council hall, through the shaded gardens, down into the offices.

You even swallow your pride and ask around; clerks, aides, even a few guards. But everyone just shrugs. No one seems to know where Councilor Sevika actually is.

‘She’ll show up when she wants.’ one of the guards said, smirking like it’s a joke. It didn’t comfort you.

So you wait.

A whole week passes, and Sevika remains as mythical as the stories you’ve heard. Is she even real ?

Which leaves only one guaranteed chance: the council meeting.

You stand just outside the chamber doors, clutching your poor notepad like a shield, rehearsing polite greetings in your head.

Good afternoon, Councilor. I’m your new assistant. Or maybe, It’s an honor to work with you, Councilor.

Except every version sounds like the last words of someone about te be eaten alive.

The doors creak open loudly.

She’s the first to walk out.

Heavy boots strike against marble. Broad shoulders roll forward. All tension and irritation. Her jaw is set hard, her expression carved out of stone, and the metal arm glints under the council hall’s light like a threat when her red poncho moves with her movements.

Sevika looks less like a councilor and more like she just lost a bar fight and is already hunting for the rematch.

Except, apparently, this woman never loses.

Your mouth goes dry.

You can’t even process the other councilors filtering behind her. Because she’s very real, very tall, and very much marching past you without a glance.

It should be a relief.

She doesn’t even see you.

You could just let her go.

But this is your job.

So, in a moment of courage, or maybe suicidal stupidity, you clear your throat.

A tiny hum of sound.

Sevika stops mid-step.

Slowly, slowly, she turns. Her expression flat and dangerous as her eyes land on you.

Your stomach plummets.

Oh fuck.

Smile, you remind yourself.

Professional. Polite.

Smile.

You paste one on your face, hoping she can’t see the sheer panic underneath.

“Councilor Sevika?” Your voice wobbles in the middle, but it’s too late to take it back.

Silence.

Until,

Her eyes narrow. “What d’you want?”

Her voice is gravel, low and pissed off, like you’ve already wasted too much of her time.

Up close, the difference between you is almost embarrassing.

Your little heels click neatly on the marble, your skirt is pressed flat, your blouse tucked perfectly into the waistband. Your ponytail doesn’t have a single hair out of place.

Everything about you screams Piltover.

And then there’s her. Broad shoulders wrapped in half-armor, scarred face set in stone, metal arm flexing like it’s impatient. The living embodiment of every nightmare story you grew up with. You feel like a doll standing in front of a war machine.

Everything about her screams Zaun.

But you keep your smile pinned in place, even if your cheeks are trembling.

“I’m, uh—your new assistant. The council assigned me.” You hold up your notepad like proof, as if the paper will protect you. “I’ll… guide you through schedules, meetings, paperwork—hum, help with whatever you need.”

Wow. Bad start.

Sevika stares. Long enough that you start to wonder if she even heard you.

Then she exhales sharply, a scoff that sounds more like a growl.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Your smile falters, but you fight to keep it. “I assure you, Councilor, I’m not—”

“Perfect,” she cuts you off, turning away with a sharp shake of her head. “A Piltie babysitter.”

The words hit like a slap, but you force your tone to stay chipper. “Assistant,” you correct gently, though your voice wavers. “…Not babysitter.”

Yeah, you don’t correct the ‘piltie’ part.

Sevika stops mid-step again. Slowly, she glances back over her shoulder, glare sharp enough to pin you in place. “We’ll see about that.”

You blink, still frozen in place. Before your body remembers it has legs.

You hurry after her, the sharp click-click of your heels echoing much too loudly in the hall as you try to keep up. She doesn’t slow, -she’s so tall she’s way faster than you-, and doesn’t glance back.

Like this is a game of ‘catch-me-if-you-can’, and you’re already losing.

“So—um—” you start, then wince at how shrill it sounds.

You clear your throat, clutching your notepad tighter. “Lemme—“ no. “let’s—” neither. Gods, why are words so hard?

“Can I… guide you to your new office?”

The second it leaves your mouth, you regret it.

Guide you? Like she’s a guest at a museum tour? You want to melt into the floor.

Sevika finally cuts her eyes sideways at you, and the look nearly knocks you over.

That unimpressed, sharp little squint, like she can see every ounce of your panic and polished Piltie nerves and finds it all laughable.

“You don’t sound so sure of yourself,” she mutters. Her voice is low, almost lazy, but the bite is there.

You paste your smile back on, ignoring the way your cheeks are starting to ache. “Of course I’m sure. Very sure. Absolutely. I just—wanted to be… polite.”

Sevika snorts under her breath and keeps walking.

You don’t know what to think about it. Don’t want to.

You stumble a step trying to keep pace. Again, it’s not like her legs are at least twice the length of yours or something. But your heels weren’t made for chasing war machines down council halls. But still. You force yourself to follow, your heartbeat a frantic drum in your chest.

By the time you manage to herd, wait, guide her to the right door, your calves are screaming from trying to keep up in your heels.

You push the door open with what you hope is a confident gesture.

It’s not really.

“Here we are,” you announce, though your voice wobbles. “Your… office.”

It’s neat. Polished wood desk, shelves lined with empty ledgers waiting to be filled, a rug patterned with Piltover’s usual taste for symmetry. Nothing spectacular. Nothing personal. Still ‘fancy’, because to you it screams council standard issue and nothing more.

Which is exactly the problem.

You’ve seen the other offices. The grand portraits, the stained glass, the gilded trim.

This, this is just the bare minimum.

A place to keep Sevika contained, not celebrated.

You feel the shame creep up your neck, but you keep your smile fixed as Sevika steps inside.

She looks around once, twice, then lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Figures.” She drags her flesh hand along the edge of the desk like she’s testing it for splinters. “Give the Zaunite the broom closet.”

Shit, she knows. Of course she knows.

Your throat tightens. You want to say it’s not like that, but you don’t dare.

Instead, you clear your throat and step in after her. “It’s… functional. All the essentials. And… you’ll have me to help manage it all.”

Sevika turns, leaning against the desk, arms folded. That cruel little smirk tugs at her lips, the kind that makes your stomach flip. “Lucky me.”

You tighten your grip on your notepad and try to launch into your rehearsed spiel. “So…yes, my job. Um… an assistant’s role is to keep you on schedule, handle correspondence, prepare for meetings, and—”

She cuts you off with a tilt of her head, that smirk growing. “You always talk that much when you’re nervous?”

The floor could open up and swallow you all and it would be mercy.

Still, you force the words out. “N-no. This is just… procedure.”

“Sure,” Sevika drawls, pushing off the desk. She takes a slow step toward you, her boots heavy against the rug, eyes locked on your face. “Procedure.”

Janna, what does that even mean.

Your knees nearly buckle, but you plant your heels firm, smile trembling but intact. Do not fall apart.

Do not fall apart. Fuck.

Sevika stops close enough that you catch the faint scent of smoke clinging to her clothes.

Her smirk softens into something sharper, teasing. “You’re shaking.”

You blink, praying you won’t stutter your next words, looking up at her. “I’m not.”

“Uh-huh.” She leans back again, clearly entertained, and gestures lazily toward the desk. “Go on, then. Tell me what else you’re supposed to do for me, Assistant.”

Your mouth goes dry. But it’s your job. So, trembling or not… from fear or something else you won’t name, you keep going.

You flip your notepad open, spine stiffening with what little dignity you have left. “Well. So—as your assistant… I’ll be handling more specific tasks. For example, drafting letters, preparing briefing notes, and arranging your appearances at—”

“Appearances?” Sevika cuts in, drawling the word like it’s dirt on her tongue.

She tilts her head, that smirk widening as her eyes rake over you. “Guess you’d know all about those, huh? Every hair in place. Little shoes clickin’ down the hall. Not a single wrinkle in sight.”

Your cheeks go hot instantly, fighting to keep your voice level. “Oh, that’s… just professionalism, really.”

“Professionalism,” she repeats, mocking the syllables like she’s tasting them, clearly enjoying this way too much. “Looks more like you’re dressed for a parade than politics.”

You blink at her, flustered. “I… keep it simple for the council— it’s the standard dress code, I assure you.”

“Mm.” Her eyes linger a beat too long again, and the cruel amusement in them makes your stomach flip. “Standard. Sure.”

It’s teasing. It has to be teasing.

Except she’s smirking like she’s got a knife to your throat and you’re the only one who doesn’t know it.

You can’t tell if she’s tearing you apart for fun or if, gods forbid, that was supposed to be some twisted compliment.

Either way, your face is burning.

Your panties too.

Wait what.

You clear your throat. “So… I was saying,” you push forward, your voice wobbling, “I’ll also be responsible for managing your schedule and coordinating communications with the other councilors if you don’t—”

Sevika chuckles low under her breath, the sound rough and amused. “You’re really trying, huh?”

You blink at her, cheeks hot, lips pressed in a shaky smile. “I mean— It’s my job.”

“Cute,” she mutters, sharp grin still in place.

You don’t know if she means the effort, the trembling, or just you standing there in your skirt and ponytail trying to act like you’re not seconds from collapsing.

You know one thing. Either way, it’s not a compliment.

But you do also know a second thing: she’s enjoying every second of this.

As you soldier on, rattling through your list even as your hands shake faintly,

“Enough.”

The word slices through the air, low and flat, but it hits you like a slap.

You freeze mid-sentence, blinking at her.

Sevika hasn’t even moved, still leaned against the desk, arms folded, but her eyes pin you in place like a blade at your throat.

“I get it,” she says, voice dripping with irritation. “You’ve got a whole list of rules you’re dying to recite. Save it.”

Your mouth opens, then shuts again. The back of your throat burns with the words you don’t dare say. Instead, you straighten your shoulders, paste that fragile smile back on, and nod. “Of course. I’ll… see you tomorrow.”

Sevika’s brows lift, faintly mocking. “Tomorrow?”

You swallow. “Yes. To continue… assisting.”

For a moment, she just stares, no shake smirk anymore. Just a hard, unsettling stare.

You tuck your notepad to your chest, bow your head slightly, and edge toward the door with your best imitation of calm. “Good evening, Councilor.”

“Mm.” It’s all she gives you, already turning away as if you’re dismissed.

And you are. Very much dismissed.

But tomorrow, you’ll be right back here.

Even if it kills you. And… somehow, thrills you. Just a bit.

The next morning, you walk into the office with your head high, even if your stomach is in knots.

She’s already there.

Sevika sits behind the desk, broad shoulders hunched as she flips through a folder, her metal arm resting on the wood with a quiet, menacing tap of metal against wood.

Her frown is thunderous, sharp eyes lifting the moment you step inside.

Her expression darkens. “What the fuck are you still doing here?”

Your heart stutters, but you force yourself to keep moving. You settle into the chair opposite her desk, smoothing your skirt over your knees with too-bright hands.

“I’m your assistant,” you say gently, like you’re just reminding her of the existence of gravity. “So… I’m here.”

Her frown deepens. No smirk today, just raw irritation. “Unbelievable.”

You inhale slowly, flip open your notepad, and steel yourself. “Glad to know you’re here too, maam… because we do have an appointment this morning.”

She leans back, suspicion narrowing her eyes. “What appointment?”

Your voice goes very small. “At… the tailor.”

For a moment, silence.

Then Sevika barks out a laugh, short and sharp, like you’ve just insulted her to her face. “You’re kidding me.”

You wince, smile strained. “I wish I were. But—it’s council policy. Formal attire is… required.”

“Formal attire,” she repeats, disgust dripping from every syllable.

She shoves the folder shut with her metal hand, the snap loud.

“You want to shove me in some gilded fucking suit so your little Piltover friends don’t choke on their tea.”

Your cheeks flush, but you don’t flinch. “I completely understand why you hate it… I do. And I’ll try to make it as quick as possible.”

Sevika stares at you like she can’t believe you’re serious. Her jaw flexes, teeth grinding.

Then she lets out a long, vicious sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Ridiculous.”

That’s how you sit stiffly, hands folded neatly on your lap, eyes locked on the little window of the carriage.

Sevika, meanwhile, slouches back against the seat with all the subtlety of an elephant. Her broad shoulders crowd the space without effort, her thigh brushing yours every time the carriage lurches.

She doesn’t apologize. Of course she doesn’t.

You clear your throat softly. “The tailor… he’s very good at his work,” you offer, voice light, trying to cut through the thick silence. “Precise, efficient. Kind. He won’t take long.”

Sevika doesn’t answer. Her jaw ticks, eyes fixed on the blur of the city outside.

Oh, she really doesn’t want to do that.

Your smile tightens. You try again. “He is… a little talkative, usually. But I doubt he’ll be today.”

That earns you a side glance.

Sharp, sideways, like she can’t decide if you’re joking or just stupid.

You swallow, cheeks heating, but you dare to finish the thought anyway. “…he’ll probably be too scared to, anyway.”

The words hang in the air. True enough that neither of you can deny it.

Sevika’s mouth twitches, not quite a smile, not quite a sneer.

She studies you for a long second, eyes dragging over your perfectly neat posture, your pressed skirt, the death-grip you have on your own knees.

You feel it. That gaze.

Heavy… amused, dangerous.

And because you love to hurt yourself apparently, your eyes flick up to meet hers.

For a beat, it’s painfully awkward.

She’s right there, so close you can smell the faint trace of smoke and humidity on her clothes, feel the heat radiating off her.

You break first, glancing back down at your lap, ears burning.

Sevika huffs a low chuckle, almost to herself, and leans further back, stretching her legs until they crowd even more of the carriage floor.

Fifteen minutes later, the bell above the tailor’s door jingles as you push it open first, ignoring the little sting of guilt at breaking etiquette.

But better you than Sevika, who would absolutely walk in like a storm cloud and say nothing.

“Ah, darling!” The tailor’s voice booms as he spots you.

He hurries over, arms open wide, and before you can politely deflect, you’re wrapped in a warm hug that smells of fabric dye and lavender starch.

You manage a shaky laugh, patting his back. “Good to see you too.”

When he pulls away, his gaze lifts to the mountain of a woman stepping in behind you.

Sevika’s broad frame fills the doorway. Her expression flat and unfriendly.

The tailor, ever cheerful, extends a hand.

“Councilor Sevika, an honor—”

Her eyes drop to his hand, then back up to his face.

She doesn’t move.

Doesn’t say a word.

The silence stretches.

The tailor’s smile wavers, his hand slowly lowering.

You jump in fast, too bright, urgent. “We’re ready whenever you are!”

“Of course, of course,” he says quickly, brushing off the moment with forced cheer. His voice rises to its usual energetic pitch as he waves for you both to follow.

“Come, come. Councilor, this will be quick and painless, I promise. Just step into the cabin here and take everything off—ah, except the underwear, of course. No need to precise that.”

You freeze mid-step.

Everything off.

Your eyes flick instinctively to Sevika, and the realization slams into you like a carriage wheel.

You are about to see your terrifying councilor, the woman who could break you in half with one hand.

In nothing but her underwear.

Your stomach drops. Your face feels hot.

This is fine. Completely fine.

Professional. Totally professional.

Except the warmth in your cheeks is screaming otherwise.

I’m so happy to be back ! For two weeks at least, before I start college on 8th September. I don’t know how busy I’m going to be… so, well— let’s say I’ll be active for two weeks for now.

Cool name, at least. You pull up their page and immediately wonder how you’ve made it this far in life without even hearing about them. Every single member? A complete knockout. It's almost suspicious.

You don’t even mean to, but soon you’re moving over to Google. Once you manage to collect yourself and pick your jaw up off the floor, that is. It’s immediately clear they’ve got a loyal (and horny as hell) fanbase, made up mostly of women who are deep in the trenches.

Jinx does lead vocals. She looks like an edgy punk fantasy brought to life, all smeared eyeliner and that permanent shit-eating grin. Her scandal list reads like a greatest hits album: breaking paparazzi cameras, getting banned from festivals, allegedly attending an orgy or two. That last one may or may not have been debunked, but nobody really cares.

Then there's Vi, the guitarist, and easily the one with the sluttiest internet presence. Just from surface-level scrolling, you can tell the girl’s allergic to shirts and addicted to sticking her tongue out in literally every picture. You kind of get it. If you had a tongue piercing, you’d show it off too.

C.K.’s their bassist and easily the most mysterious. She’s always wearing a mask in every photo, and there are entire threads dedicated to speculating who she really is or why she never shows her face. She's got basically zero solo content. No interviews, no side accounts. The only time you ever see her is through blurry crowd pics or carefully curated shots on the band’s main page.

But the one who really stops you in your tracks is the drummer. Sevika. She’s clearly the oldest in the group and by enough that it’s become part of her brand. If you had a dollar for every time someone called her “mommy,” you could quit your job and live off the passive income.

It doesn't take long before you’re deep in her personal pages, scrolling through photo after photo, each one somehow hotter than the last. If you had to pick favorites, you’d be stuck between a pic of her holding some grinning girl in a headlock (because you wish that was you) or a candid shot of her half-sprawled on the tour bus couch, shirt rucked up just enough to show a hint of stomach and whatever tattoo’s inked there. It causes a delusional fantasy of seeing the tattoo in full, up close and personal.

If you weren’t sold before, you definitely are now. It’s only after you’ve been scrolling for the better part of an hour that it occurs to you: maybe you should actually listen to some of their music. Just to be sure. After all, no amount of raw sexual magnetism is worth two hours of garbage sound at floor-shaking volume.

Hotwired sounds exactly how you expected them to sound: fast, loud, and chock-full of debauchery. Beautiful.

Just like that, you’re hooked. Fully on board. You start counting down the days like it’s Christmas, and somehow, each one drags slower than the last, like time itself is conspiring against you. You keep yourself sane by cycling through outfit options and FaceTiming Raven late at night to workshop looks and lock in the plan. She promises she’ll make sure you get the real experience, not just general admission hell.

Eventually, Saturday rolls around.

You show up to the venue with your makeup sharp and your outfit toeing the line of try-hard, feet already bouncing from nerves and excitement. The line out front snakes down the block, full of people in ripped fishnets and smeared eyeliner, all buzzing with the kind of feral energy that comes from knowing you might lock eyes with your parasocial crush for two seconds if you stand in the right spot.

Right on cue, the Hotwired tour bus rolls past, slow enough to make you wonder if the band's inside looking back at all of you, too. It's blacked out with a massive decal stretching across one side: a grimy chrome version of their logo with electric blue slashes through it, like claw marks.

The second it passes, the crowd screams like it’s the second coming of Christ. You can't lie—you want to scream a little, too.

Then the front doors crack open and Raven steps out, scanning the crowd. She spots you almost instantly, waving you over. You push through the line, ignoring the side-eyes and muttered complaints, until you’re at the front. The bouncer squints down at you, arms folded like he’s about to be a problem, but Raven just gives him a pointed look and a playful nudge.

“Come on, Jakey,” she says, all syrupy. “You know she’s with me.”

He rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “One of these days, Rae…”

“And it still won’t be today,” she cuts in, already grabbing your wrist and pulling you past him. He lets you both through without another word.

Inside, the venue is way cooler than you expected. It’s grungy in that on purpose way, walls covered in layered gig posters, old stickers, and marker-scrawled graffiti.

The stage is low and intimate, set against a wall of distorted LED panels, and the ceiling is just high enough to make you feel like the place might implode if the mosh gets too wild. The lighting is red-tinted and low, and the air already smells like cheap beer and heat.

You both make a beeline for the bar, down a quick drink that tastes like battery acid and sugar, and then squeeze your way up through the crowd until you’re right at the barricade. Prime real estate. Raven beams at you, smug as hell.

“God, I cannot wait,” you say, adjusting your top and already scanning the stage for signs of movement. “I'm probably going to come as soon as the first shirt comes off.”

"I wouldn't be too worried," Raven answers, grinning. "The same thing will probably happen to fifty other girls. Me included."

"I seriously can't believe you've been gatekeeping them from me. Bad friend." You shake your head in mock disappointment.

Raven nudges your shoulder with her own. "Don't be like that," she says, "you're the one who refuses to listen to anything new. It's like pulling teeth with you."

"Fair."

"But, let's not ignore the fact that I've got us in the splash zone," she says, jerking her head up towards the stage. "There's no better spot to get the band's sweat flung on you. Plus, you're much more likely to get shit thrown to you."

You throw your arm around her shoulder and grin. "You are the best."

Soon enough, the lights dip a little lower and a trio of guys jog out onstage. The crowd cheers, not as loud, but still excited. The opener's called Time Killers—some high-energy, slightly chaotic boy band with a surprisingly tight sound.

They don’t waste too much time introducing themselves, just launch into a fast-paced set full of pounding drums and catchy guitar riffs. They’re not the main event, but they do a damn good job of loosening up the crowd, bouncing around the stage, shouting into the mic between songs, cracking jokes about Hotwired being backstage drinking half the rider.

By the time their set wraps up, everyone’s a little sweaty, hyped, and more than ready for the main act.

The moment the lights dim again, the energy in the room spikes. There’s a shift in the crowd, a low wave of buzzing conversation, giggling, camera flashes, the rustle of people scrambling to get their phones out. You can hear the name Hotwired murmured like a prayer, over and over.

They don’t make a big entrance. No theatrical intro or pyrotechnics. The girls just start filtering onto the stage like they own it, which, based on the screams that immediately follow, they absolutely do.

You spot Jinx first, bouncing out like she’s been shot out of a cannon, grinning wide and immediately flipping off the crowd. Then Vi, strutting in all pink hair and tank top and shoulder muscles, throwing up a peace sign and mouthing something probably filthy to someone in the second row. Caitlyn walks on like a ghost, calm and unreadable behind that signature mask, bass slung across her back.

And then there’s Sevika.

She stalks. Head down, focused, with a thick cable slung over one shoulder and a case of hardware in her grip like it weighs nothing. She moves through the dim lighting like she’s been doing this forever, every motion efficient, practiced, precise. There’s something about the way she pauses to check the rigging on her kit, nodding once to herself before moving on to the next thing, that makes your stomach swoop. You can tell she’s the kind of person who doesn’t leave anything half done.

And then there’s the outfit.

She’s wearing a cropped black vest that clings to her chest and cuts off just under her ribs, exposing toned abs and a stretch of skin that shows more of that dark ink winding up her side. Tight black jeans hug her hips and thighs in a way that should be illegal, chains swaying at her sides with every step.

Her arms are bare, heavy with muscle and shining a little under the stage lights from sweat or moisture. Silver rings gleam on her fingers, and there’s a low-hanging necklace tucked just under her collarbone. Her drumsticks are shoved into her back pocket, and when she turns—Jesus fucking Christ—you catch a full view of her ass and have to actively fight the urge to grab the barricade for support.

"Pretty sure I just came,” you murmur, staring like you’ve forgotten how to blink.

Raven snorts beside you. “Close your mouth. You're drooling.”

You try to. You really do. But it’s hard when Sevika finally finishes setting up, drops into her stool with her legs spread, and starts rolling one stick across her knuckles while the other taps absently against her thigh. She glances out at the crowd, expression unreadable, but something about the way she scans the front row makes you feel like she sees you.

A ridiculous thought that is very fun to entertain.

The moment the final mic is tested and the lights slam to full brightness, Jinx charges to the front of the stage and throws her arms out wide like she’s about to dive into the crowd. The audience erupts—screaming, whistling, people on shoulders, someone in the back launching a glitter cannon that immediately gets sucked into the venue’s weak-ass ventilation system.

“HELL-O, MOTHERFUCKERS!” Jinx shrieks into the mic, voice cracking in a way that somehow makes her even hotter. “Hope you’re ready to get wrecked, because we came here to ruin your night in the best possible way!”

The crowd loses it again, people chanting her name, some already trying to crowd surf. Security looks exhausted and the first song hasn’t even started.

Jinx paces the front edge of the stage like a manic preacher, motioning behind her as she speaks. “You know us already, but we're gonna do introductions anyway because holy shit do we deserve to be screamed at tonight. On lead guitar, is my lovely sister, Vi!”

Vi throws up the horns and leans into her amp, strumming a heavy chord just to flex. The crowd answers with a shriek that nearly drowns out the feedback.

“We've got the ice queen herself on bass...the one and only C.K.!”

Caitlyn lifts her bass one-handed like it weighs nothing, offering the crowd a slow, deliberate bow. Someone near you yells, “Show us your face!” and immediately gets booed into silence.

“And in the back, banging the drums, which I know some of you wish you could be, it’s Sevikaaaaaa!”

You don’t know how Sevika can roll her eyes while still looking like she’s enjoying herself, but she manages. She twirls a stick between her fingers, then throws her arms up once and brings them down hard for a crack of the snare that shudders through your chest.

"And, of course, around here we save the best for last," she says, hopping off the stage and approaching...you. She holds out her hand as if for a handshake and you oblige as quickly as your brain allows you to catch up.

"I'm Jinx! Nice to fucking meet ya!"

Jinx grins and jumps back on the stage, spinning back toward the mic, breathless and grinning. “We’re Hotwired, you’re ours now, and this one’s called ‘Burn the Breaklights.’ Let’s see what you’re made of!”

The guitar tears in first, loud and dirty, then Caitlyn’s bass hits low and deep, and finally Sevika drops into the rhythm like she was built for it. The whole room moves. It's one of the songs you listened to on repeat earlier in the week, so you already know a good bit of the lyrics, already know the moment the beat’s gonna break, already feel your body falling into sync with it.

You and Raven lose yourselves in the moment, dancing like you’ve got something to prove, like the music's a possession. Her hair’s sticking to her face already and you're probably flashing everyone behind you every time you jump, but none of it matters.

Not when Sevika is on stage, muscles flexing with every strike, jaw tight, eyes laser-focused on the set. She looks absolutely lethal. Every time you try to look away, your gaze snaps right back to her. It’s like she’s holding the tempo of your heart along with the song. Every beat, every drop, every filthy crash of the cymbals—it’s her.

And yeah, you're watching the whole band. But you're watching her the most.

The rest of the show barrels forward like a freight train, no breaks, no mercy. Hotwired barely pauses between songs, each one bleeding into the next with sharp edges and screaming vocals, the crowd more than happy to go feral with them. You lose track of the setlist and, honestly, your sense of time somewhere between song four and five, when Raven boosts you up and the crowd takes you.

You float above the chaos for what feels like forever, arms raised, cheeks aching from how hard you're grinning. Hands guide you forward, and for once you don’t care about the potential for bruises or that someone definitely copped a feel on the way down. You land near the barricade again, wild-eyed and breathless, just as Jinx reappears center stage holding a massive water bottle.

She grins like a devil. “Y’all look thirsty,” she purrs, then proceeds to douse the first three rows, including you and Raven. It’s a full-body splash, soaking your shirt and leaving your hair damp.

Raven bursts into laughter, slapping your shoulder and yelling, “Told you the splash zone was real!” while you push wet strands out of your face and try not to melt on the spot.

Things only get weirder from there. Midway through the set, a man in a giant inflatable t-rex costume lumbers out from side stage like it's the most normal thing in the world.

Jinx doesn’t miss a beat—she grabs a mic stand like a weapon and launches into a full-on choreographed battle with him. The t-rex flails, Jinx spins around dramatically, and the crowd eats it up. It ends with her knocking him down (gently), then dropping to one knee and serenading him with what turns out to be a surprisingly heartfelt punk ballad about falling in love during a Godzilla rampage. You laugh so hard your stomach cramps.

Later, they open up the floor for an all-girl pit. Jinx leans into the mic, hair stuck to her face, absolutely unhinged as she screams, “If you see a man in this pit, fuck his shit up!” and the crowd loses it.

You hesitate for half a second before Raven shoves you in with a wicked grin. It’s wild and a little terrifying but weirdly exhilarating. Everyone’s laughing and pushing and grabbing each other’s arms to stay upright, and when someone does spot a guy creeping in from the side, three girls immediately bodycheck him out like it’s a sport.

By the end of the set, your voice is half gone, your limbs feel like rubber, and you know you’ll be sore as hell tomorrow—but you’re still not ready for it to be over.

The lights flare brighter, the stage bathed in reds and purples, and Jinx struts to the edge of the platform with a wicked grin like she’s about to start a riot. Her hair’s stuck to her face, eyeliner smeared to hell, shirt clinging to her body like a second skin. She’s practically glowing with sweat and adrenaline and the kind of manic joy that only comes from setting a crowd on fire for an hour straight.

“This our last one of the night,” she says, breathless and grinning. “But I’m gonna need a few pretty girls up here to help us close it out.”

That’s all it takes. The front row surges forward like a wave, everyone screaming and reaching, girls practically climbing over the barricade in the hopes of being noticed. Jinx motions to the band behind her. “Vi, Sevika. Make sure they're cuties!”

Vi gives a mock salute and hops off the stage, already laughing. Sevika follows, more reserved but clearly amused as her eyes start sweeping through the front row.

They make a whole damn show of it, taking their time, dragging it out, pointing at random girls then shaking their heads like they’re not quite right, just to drive the crowd insane.

You’re crammed up against the barricade, half-smashed by girls on either side trying to crawl over you. One of them elbows you in the ribs and you wince, gripping the rail to stay upright.

Then Sevika’s in front of you.

She’s massive up close, towering and flushed from the heat, vest clinging to her body and dark ink gleaming under the lights. She looks right at you, eyes dragging down once—deliberate, slow—then reaches out and grabs you by the waist like it’s nothing. You barely get a word out before she hauls you up, slinging you over one shoulder like you weigh nothing at all.

The crowd screams.

You catch a brief flash of another girl being thrown over Sevika’s other shoulder, but you can’t see who it is—just that you’re both being carried through a sea of flashing lights and flailing hands. You’re deposited back on stage with all the grace of a sack of laundry, but when you right yourself, blinking against the brightness, you realize the other girl Sevika grabbed is Raven. She’s laughing, eyes wide, clearly having the time of her life.

Vi drops two more girls off, and Jinx bounces over, practically vibrating with excitement. “Alright, you guys,” she says into the mic, pointing with a flourish. “I want you to dance for your fucking lives. This one goes out to every pretty, punk girl in this crowd tonight!”

The band slams into the final song like they’re possessed. It’s dirty and fast and fun as hell, the kind of track you can’t help but move to, and that’s exactly what you do. You let it take you, let your body roll with the beat and the bass and the screams of the crowd. Jinx loops an arm around your waist at one point, dragging you into a messy, chaotic spin before grinding against you in rhythm with the chorus.

Vi makes a little show of guiding one of the girls down on her knees; she stands with her legs spread on either side of the girl's lap and starts in on her solo. She makes those string sing and the girl under her seems to be having the time of her life. The crowd fucking explodes.

You don’t even care how sweaty you are or what you look like. You just dance, laugh-singing the lyrics you half-remember, head tipping back as the lights pulse and the drums pound. When the final chord hits, the sound crashes down like a wave, and the entire venue moves as one—cheering, screaming, lights flickering wild and strobing.

Sevika stands as the last echoes of the drums fade. She pulls one of her sticks from the kit, the end cracked and splintered and walks it over to you. She presses the worn, warm stick into your palm and winks.

You don’t even try to act cool about it. You just stare down at it, dazed, while security helps you and the others off the stage and back over the barricade.

"Goodnight, you heathens! You've be a wonderful crowd!"

You and Raven slip out through the side exit marked Employees Only, the one she mentioned earlier, where the bands usually dip out to avoid the chaos at the front. The alley behind the venue is dimly lit and smells like smoke and spilled beer, but it’s quiet, tucked away from the thrum of the still-buzzing crowd. You’re both flushed and half-drenched in sweat, breathless in that post-show haze, riding the high and crash all at once.

Raven fishes a crushed cigarette pack from her purse and slides one between her lips. “Got a light?”

You open your mouth to answer, to say no, but let me check, but a voice cuts through the quiet, low and unmistakably rough.

“Here.”

You both turn.

Sevika’s standing a few feet away, cigarette tucked into the corner of her mouth, shoulders slouched like she’s been here the whole time.

Her leather jacket’s heavy with patches and pins, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and the silver zippo she’s holding out gleams in the streetlight, engraved with something you can’t quite make out. Her gaze flicks between the two of you, but then it lands on you and sticks.

Your breath catches. There’s no stage lights now, no distance, no wall of noise. It’s just her. Big as hell, close enough to smell the smoke, and somehow even hotter like this—casual, confident, not sweating a damn thing.

“You looked real good on stage,” she says, eyes narrowing just slightly, like she’s still sizing you up.

It's entirely possible that you might just float away. “Oh. Uh, thanks. You—you too. Sounded. You sounded good. The whole time.”

Raven coughs into her fist, poorly masking a laugh.

Sevika smirks, nods once like that’s all she needed to hear. Then she jerks her chin toward the drumstick you’re still clutching for dear life. “Want me to sign that?”

You don’t even hesitate. “Yes. Yes, please.”

She pulls a sharpie from her back pocket and scrawls something across the wood—longer than just a name. She caps the marker with a flick, hands the stick back, and says, “Keep it to yourself.”

You nod. Maybe too fast. Words are hard when she’s looking at you like that, relaxed and a little amused, cigarette smoke curling between you.

“Y’all have a good night,” Sevika says, slipping the lighter back into her jacket. She gives Raven a quick nod and you one last glance before turning and heading off down the alley, boots heavy on the pavement.

It takes you a second to remember how to breathe. Then you look down at the stick.

Sevika’s number is written right there in blocky print.

“Oh my god,” Raven hisses, grabbing your arm. “She gave you her number. You're so fucking in there, dude!”

“I—what do I do? Should I text her? What if she invites me to her hotel room? What if she actually wants to hook up?”

Raven looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “First of all, we’ve got our protocols. You text me your location, share your location, take the selfie timestamp, we do the whole checklist. Second—babe, you only get one life. And that woman just handed you a golden opportunity.”

You nod slowly, dazed. “I need a shower first.”

“Yeah, no shit. We’re going to my place. It’s closer.”

You pocket the drumstick like it’s breakable and follow her out of the alley, heart pounding harder than it did in the pit.

-

You’re sitting cross-legged on Raven’s bed, freshly showered, skin still warm from the water and nerves buzzing under the surface. Your hair’s damp, your hands are clammy, and your thumb is hovering over the glowing green call button on your screen. Sevika’s number is typed in. Still feels unreal. Raven’s already changed into her sleep shorts and an oversized tee, lounging beside you like this is all very normal and not a life-altering decision in the making.

“Just do it,” she says, biting into a granola bar like this is nothing. “She gave you her number. She signed it on a fucking drumstick. She wants you to call.”

You take a steadying breath, nod once, then hit the button before you can talk yourself out of it. It rings once. Twice. Three times.

Four.

“Yeah?” Sevika answers, her voice low, a little gravelly, definitely tired but not annoyed. It curls in your ear like smoke. “Who is this?”

You clear your throat. “Uh. It’s me. From the alley. With the drumstick.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then:

“Oh.” Her tone shifts, interest sharpening like the flick of a lighter. “I was wondering when you’d call. Wasn’t sure if you would.”

You smile, cheeks heating even though she can’t see you. “Why’d you give me your number?”

“Thought you were cute.” She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Felt like it was mutual.”

Your heart skips. “It was. Definitely was.”

Another pause, this one slower, more thoughtful. “You cool if I come pick you up?”

Your breath catches. You glance over at Raven, who’s staring at you with huge eyes and mouthing holy shit. “Are we...are we gonna hook up?”

Sevika laughs—a real one, low and genuine. “Only if you want to, doll.”

Your stomach flips and your voice comes out quieter than you mean it to. “Yeah. I do.”

Raven silently screams, her hands waving in the air before she plants both fists into the comforter like she’s watching a playoff game.

“Send me the address,” Sevika says. “I’ll swing by soon as I can.”

You nod, then catch yourself. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll send it.”

“See you in a bit,” she says, then hangs up.

You lower the phone slowly. Raven grabs both your shoulders like you just won a gold medal. “SEVIKA is on her way to pick you up. What the fuck. You’re gonna have to tell your future kids about this one.”

“I’m not gonna have kids,” you mutter, dazed.

“You might after tonight!”

You groan and flop back onto the bed, phone clutched to your chest like some cheesy teen rom-com. Raven throws you a pair of lip glosses and demands outfit approval.

"What happens in that hotel room will be concerning to the general public," you say, grinning.

Raven squeals. "And I can't wait for you to get back here so you can give me every juicy, disgusting detail!"

The distant rumble of a motorcycle reaches you before the headlight cuts through the quiet of Raven’s street. You step outside just in time to see Sevika roll up—heavy boots planted as she kills the engine, the machine still humming under her. She’s wearing the same leather jacket from earlier, helmet tucked under one arm, and she looks unfairly good with her hair pulled back, a fresh cigarette behind one ear.

“Hey,” she says, voice low and unreadable.

You manage a breathless, “Hi.”

She holds out a matte black helmet. "Want help?"

You nod, and she steps in close, fitting it over your head and buckling it gently beneath your chin. Her fingers brush your jaw—intentional or not, it still makes your heart skip. She checks the strap, gives it a little tug, then nods in approval.

“Put your arms around me,” she says, already mounting the bike again. “Hold on tight.”

You slide onto the seat behind her, hands fumbling slightly before you wrap your arms snugly around her waist. Her torso is solid under the leather, the bike humming beneath you, and you can smell her cologne.

Then you’re off.

The city streaks past in a blur of streetlights and neon signs, wind rushing past your body, your heart pounding louder than the engine. You don’t know how long the ride lasts—fifteen, maybe twenty minutes—but when Sevika slows and pulls into a quiet hotel parking lot, you’re not ready for it to end.

She kills the engine and dismounts first, then helps you off like she’s done it a thousand times before. She pulls a cap from her jacket pocket and a pair of sunglasses from the other, handing them to you with a small smirk.

“Just in case there’s anyone waiting around,” she says. “You wouldn’t believe the kind of creeps who’ll sell a blurry photo for a couple hundred bucks.”

You nod and slip both on, grateful for the moment to compose yourself. Sevika reaches for your hand—no hesitation—and laces your fingers with hers like it’s no big deal. She leads you inside, her grip firm but steady, only releasing your hand once you reach the elevator.

She steps in first and turns you around so that your back is facing the small overhead camera in the corner. The doors slide closed with a soft ding, and you can feel her eyes on you as you pull the cap off, then the glasses.

“C’mere,” she murmurs.

You face her, and she lifts her hands to your hair, smoothing the parts that got windswept on the ride. There's a stubborn bit that refuses to lay right and she tucks it behind your ear, her knuckles dragging slow along your cheek.

The moment lingers.

Then Sevika leans in and kisses you—soft at first, her lips warm and unhurried, but the second you respond, it tilts hotter. Her hand slides to the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist, and you melt into it, helpless against the way she feels. You lose track of time in the haze of it until—

Ding.

The doors slide open and Sevika breaks the kiss with a breath, but not a word. She takes your hand again, tighter this time, and leads you down the hall with singular focus. You pass a door that swings open just as you’re walking by.

Jinx steps out, half-dressed in a tank and cutoffs, hair a chaotic mess. “Yo, Sev, do we have any more—?”

“Fuck off,” Sevika says without slowing, without looking back.

Jinx laughs. “Rude.”

Sevika stops just long enough to unlock her door and yank it open, ushering you inside before pulling it closed behind you with a satisfying click. The lock turns, the sound final.

Sevika’s on you with a purpose, crowding you back against the door with the full heat of her body, her mouth claiming yours in a kiss that’s immediately filthy.

Hot and open-mouthed, all tongue and teeth, the kind of kiss that leaves your head spinning and your knees already getting soft.

You gasp into her, but she doesn't give you a chance to speak, her hands already gripping your hips like she owns them. You feel her smile, dark and dangerous, against your lips as you let your fingers explore—first the firm planes of her stomach, defined and solid under the hem of her shirt, then lower, to her ass, where your hands squeeze without hesitation.

That earns you a reaction.

Sevika groans into the kiss, deep in her chest, and grinds her hips against you, slow and deliberate. You feel everything: how solid she is against you, how good she knows it feels to make you feel this. Her mouth moves to your jaw, to your neck, biting and kissing like she wants to leave evidence.

“I see you're done with the shy shit,” she mutters, before grabbing you by the back of your thighs and lifting you clean off the floor.

Your breath catches with a startled sound that turns into a moan as your legs instinctively wrap around her waist. She holds you up with just one arm, effortless like it’s nothing. Her other hand slips up the front of your shirt, rough fingers dragging over your stomach and up to your chest.

She doesn’t even bother with the bra—her hand finds your tit and gropes, slow and possessive, her thumb circling your nipple until you’re arching into the touch.

She pulls back just enough to look at you. Really look. You’re panting, lips kiss-swollen and eyes already half-lidded, your makeup smudged from the ride and the kiss and her mouth all over your throat.

“Goddamn,” Sevika says, quiet, almost reverent. “You really are a pretty little thing.”

You smile, dazed, about to say something—

“Shame, really.”

You blink. “What is?”

She grins, teeth flashing as her eyes drag across your face. “That I’m gonna have to ruin all that pretty makeup.”

"Oh my god, please." It comes out a little more desperate than you intend for it to, but Sevika seems deeply pleased by the turn of events.

She slips her hand from under your shirt and steadies you against her hips before walking the both of you toward the bed. The way she moves is careful, but the heat in her eyes never dims. When she lays you down, it’s with a gentleness that throws you off after the rough edges of the last few minutes. Her hand lingers on your thigh as she still stands above you.

“You still want this?” she asks, voice quieter now, more grounded. It’s the most serious she’s sounded all night. “No hard feelings if you don’t.”

You shake your head so fast it’s almost pathetic. “I do. I—like, really do.”

Sevika’s expression softens, just slightly. “Then get undressed.”

You scramble to obey, stripping off your shirt first, then your shorts, both discarded over the edge of the bed without much ceremony. Her eyes never leave you. She watches the way you move, takes in every inch of exposed skin like she’s memorizing it, and the intensity makes heat rise in your chest. You fight the stupid reflex to cover yourself.

“I like the matching set,” she murmurs, stepping closer, the fronts of her thighs pressing into the mattress as she leans forward. She hooks a finger under your waistband and snaps it lightly against your skin. “Put this on for me?”

You nod, breath caught in your throat. “Yeah.”

“I appreciate the effort, doll,” she says, and leans down to kiss you again, mouth hot and teasing. She nips your bottom lip, not hard enough to hurt but enough to pull a gasp from you. “Think you’ve earned a little treat, hmm?”

“Please,” you say, dazed and already too far gone to pretend otherwise. She could ask for anything right now and you'd probably give it to her.

True to her word, she climbs onto the bed, settling between your legs with all the casual confidence in the world. The sight of her down there—strong shoulders framed by all that jewelry, hair messy from your fingers, her mouth so fucking close—is enough to knock the air out of your lungs.

Your hands slide into her hair without you realizing it, fingers curling, needing something to hold on to. She grins up at you, a slow, wicked thing that curls at the edges of her lips.

“You can pull,” she tells you, voice low and sure. “Bite me, scratch me, scream my name. I like it all.”

The mental image—her skin marked up by you, bruises blooming across her chest, fingernail lines trailing her back—makes your head spin. But then Sevika drags you out of that thought with the swipe of her tongue, slow and deliberate, straight through your soaked folds.

Your mouth falls open.

She doesn’t ease into it. Her whole mouth is on you, her tongue pressing in deep before she pulls back to suck your clit into her mouth, hard and focused. Loud, wet sounds fill the room, and every moan that spills from her makes your body twitch. She likes it, you can tell. Likes how wet you are, likes the way your hips buck despite yourself.

Then she’s burying her tongue inside you, her nose pressed tight against your clit, and it’s too much, not enough, perfect. You can’t help the way you grind down against her, chasing every ounce of pressure. Your grip in her hair tightens, probably bordering on painful.

But Sevika just groans, the sound rumbling straight into your core, and slides a hand up to your stomach to pin you in place.

“Just stay still,” she mutters, mouth brushing wet heat against you, “and take it for me.”

You try to stay still like she asked. You really do. But it’s impossible with the way her mouth is working you over, like she’s got something to prove.

She’s relentless—no breaks, no mercy—tongue curling and flicking in a rhythm that feels obscene in the best way. The hand pressed to your stomach keeps you from squirming too much, but your legs are shaking and your fingers are locked in her hair now, tugging with each desperate half-aborted roll of your hips.

Your vision blurs at the edges. Your head falls back against the bed with a ragged sound that might be her name. And when the heat finally crests and crests and then snaps, it hits like a punch in the gut. Your whole body tenses, thighs locking around her head as you cry out, louder than you mean to, legs trembling with the force of it.

Sevika moans into it, like she's savoring every second, riding it out with slow, indulgent licks that make your stomach twitch.

You try to catch your breath, chest rising and falling fast, but Sevika doesn’t move away. She kisses your inner thigh once. Then again. Her hands stroke over your legs, gentle now, grounding. She lets you breathe. Just for a moment.

Then she’s back, mouth brushing against your still-sensitive clit with a teasing hum.

“Think you’ve got another in you, doll?” she murmurs, already kissing her way up your inner thigh again. Her voice is warm now, low and coaxing, like she already knows the answer.

You whimper, your hips giving a weak twitch toward her mouth even as your legs tremble with aftershocks. "Y-yeah."

“That’s what I thought,” she says, smug and soft all at once.

She takes her time now. Her mouth moves slow and deliberate, licking through your folds with featherlight passes and pressing gentle, wet kisses to your clit. The overstimulation hits sharp at first, your thighs jolting under her hands, but she soothes you through it.

“So fuckin' pretty,” she murmurs, breath hot against your skin. “Even when you’re falling apart.”

Her hands stroke up and down your thighs, lazy and tender. She palms the meat of them, lets her thumbs trace soft circles until you’re relaxing under her again, the sharp edge of sensation melting into something sweeter.

“You’re doing so good for me,” she adds, voice low and full of heat. “Just let go. I got you.”

You bite your lip, overwhelmed and wrecked and somehow still burning for more. Your hips start moving on their own, rocking up into her mouth, and Sevika hums her approval. Her tongue moves with slow purpose, dragging you up and up again until your fingers are tangled tight in the sheets and you’re begging without even realizing it.

The second orgasm is softer. Like your body is unraveling instead of bursting. You moan her name as your thighs clench, your back arches, and your entire body goes loose under her hands.

Sevika kisses your pussy one last time—slow and warm—before finally pulling away, her face slick, her grin downright criminal.

“Fuck,” she mutters, dragging the back of her hand across her mouth. “You taste even better than I imagined.”

You can’t speak. You don’t even try. All you can do is lay there, dazed and ruined, as Sevika presses one last kiss to your thigh before finally crawling off the bed. You hear her crack her back and exhale like a boxer between rounds.

“You still got more for me, or do you think you’re about done?” she asks over her shoulder, heading for the mini fridge tucked into the corner of the room.

You’re half melted into the mattress, still catching your breath, but you sit up enough to catch the water bottle she tosses your way. It’s one of those tiny ones that might as well be a sip, and you kill it in seconds. Sevika watches with a smirk, arms crossed over her bare chest.

After a beat, you mutter, “Give me, like, twenty minutes.”

She laughs, low and warm and amused by your commitment. “You sure? Not every day you get to wear out a groupie.”

You roll your eyes, but your grin gives you away. “It’s not every day you get to fuck a rockstar, either. I’m making it count.”

“Yeah, you are,” she says, grabbing the remote and flopping down on the bed beside you. She sheds her jeans and shirt in one smooth motion, leaving her in nothing but a sports bra and a pair of boxers that sit a little crooked on her hips. She doesn’t seem to care.

The TV comes on to some late-night rerun, but you’re not really watching it. You’re more focused on how Sevika leans back against the headboard and opens her arms like she’s inviting you in.

You take the invitation.

Your head ends up in her lap, and her hand finds your hair almost instantly. She scratches gently at your scalp, twirling strands around her finger, trailing soft touches down the side of your face. It’s lazy and warm and kind of unfair how good it feels. You could fall asleep like this, safe between her thighs with the dull buzz of the TV in the background.

But after maybe ten, fifteen minutes, your fingers start to drift.

You let your nails rake lightly along her thigh, aimless at first, but then you start tracing slow lines higher and higher. Sevika hums, a lazy warning you don’t heed.

“What are you up to?” she asks, voice low, indulgent.

You glance up at her from her lap and smile. “Can I eat you out?”

Sevika raises an eyebrow, clearly pleased by the request. “Fuck, yeah,” she says, already shifting her hips. She lifts up so you can tug her boxers down her legs and toss them somewhere across the room.

You get a little rush from the sight of her: already wet, glistening, the proof of her arousal slick on her thighs. Just knowing that she got like this from going down on you is enough to make your head spin all over again.

So you start slow, just for a second, before you sink your teeth into the soft flesh of her inner thigh and bite. Hard.

Sevika lets out a sharp breath and flexes beneath you. Her hand tightens in the sheets beside her, but she doesn't stop you. Doesn’t want to. You sink another bite a little higher, then lick over the mark you just made, feeling her muscles jump beneath your tongue.

Your hands grip her thighs tight, nails digging in, not gentle at all now. You want her to feel you.

“Fuck, that mouth,” she groans, hips twitching toward you.

You get to work for real, licking a stripe up the center of her, then circling her clit with your tongue just enough to tease.

“Don’t hold back, doll,” she tells you, voice ragged but sure. “C’mon. Show me how bad you wanna impress me.”

You do. You really do.

She groans your name, threading her fingers tighter in your hair as your mouth drags wet and firm over her clit. Her thighs bracket your face and you feel her start to grind into it, chasing the pressure, not shy about what she needs.

“You’re so good at this,” she murmurs, voice dipping into that same low register that makes your spine light up. “So fuckin’ eager. Knew you’d be like this.”

Your hips press into the bed without thinking. She keeps going.

“Keep that tongue right there. Just like that, yeah. That’s it, baby. You’re making me proud.”

You moan against her, desperate now, and she laughs, wrecked and fond.

“God, you like hearing me talk, don’t you?”

You nod, mouth still busy, and Sevika rewards you with a groan so filthy it vibrates straight through you.

“Then earn more of it,” she growls. “Don’t stop now.”

Sevika’s breathing gets heavier. The muscles in her thighs are twitching under your grip, her hand tight in your hair now as she guides you exactly where she wants you.

“Fuck, baby! just like that,” she growls, low and rough. “Don’t stop. Don’t even think about it.”

You keep going, your mouth locked on her clit, tongue moving in tight circles, your grip firm as you hold her in place. Her hips are starting to roll, slow and unrestrained, chasing the rhythm. Her growls turn to moans, strained and filthy, falling from her lips like she’s already on the edge.

“Gonna come all over that sweet mouth,” she grits out. “You gonna take it for me? Be good and take it?”

You answer with a desperate noise, nodding against her just enough to make her groan again. She plants both hands on your head and presses you harder between her thighs, grinding against your mouth.

“Ohh, fuck—fuck, fuck—”

Her voice cracks as she comes, body tensing hard around you. Her thighs clamp tight on either side of your face, and you can hear the breath rip from her lungs in a guttural sound that’s half curse, half praise. She holds you there, trembling through the high, hips stuttering against your mouth until the worst of it passes.

When she finally lets up, her hand slides gently to your cheek, her thumb rubbing over the damp skin. She strokes along the curve of your jaw, then drags that thumb over your bottom lip.

“Open,” she murmurs, watching you with heat still burning behind her eyes. You do. She presses her thumb inside, slow and deliberate, and grins when you suck it instinctively.

“Good girl,” she says, and you’re already shivering again.

Sevika pulls you up her body in one smooth tug, hands warm and sure as they slide up your sides. When your lips meet, it’s messy, open-mouthed, all tongue and teeth and hunger. Her hands trail down to your ass, gripping it in both palms, like she’s trying to ground herself with the feel of you.

She feels you humping against her thigh, subtle but obvious, your body already begging for more. She breaks the kiss with a crooked smirk. “Oh? You ready for me to fuck you now?”

You nod, breathless, flushed, still clinging to her.

“I figured,” she murmurs, voice dipping into something darker. “Get on all fours for me, doll. Be good.”

You do exactly as you’re told.

Hands pressed into the sheets, knees spread, chest lowered like submission comes naturally. The room is quiet for a beat, save for the rustle of fabric, the dull zip of a bag opening behind you. You hear the soft thud of something heavy being set down, followed by the low click of buckles, the faint stretch of elastic, and the subtle shift of weight as Sevika moves behind you.

You don’t have to look to know what’s coming.

Then you feel it. The press of something thick against the swell of your ass. It drags slow and deliberate along your soaked folds, the pressure of it undeniable.

“Feel that?” Sevika murmurs, one hand sliding across your hip. “You’re about to take every inch of it.”

Your breath catches as the tip nudges your entrance, slick already clinging to your thighs. She doesn’t give you time to overthink it—just starts pushing in, slow but steady, giving you the stretch inch by inch. You gasp, biting into the pillow, your body gripping around her as she fills you completely.

And then she starts to move.

Sevika fucks like a force of nature, brutal and relentless. Her grip on your hips is bruising, nails digging into your flesh with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping skin echoes through the room, matched only by the ragged moans pouring from your mouth.

“Look at you,” she growls, voice close to your ear now. “Taking it like you were made for it.”

A hard spank lands across your ass, sharp and stinging, and you cry out, the pain shooting straight through your core.

“So fuckin’ wet for me,” she spits. “Dripping down your thighs. Bet I could slide another toy in and you’d still beg for more.”

“Sevika,” you moan, wrecked and breathless, clinging to the sheets. “Please—more, fuck, don’t stop—”

“Oh, I’m not stoppin’,” she promises, slamming into you harder, the snap of her hips making your arms buckle. “Not until we've ruined these fucking sheets. Not until you scream for me.”

Your moans pitch higher, blurring into sobs of pleasure as the coil in your belly pulls tight. You feel your climax crash through you—sudden, all-consuming—and Sevika doesn’t let up. Not for a second.

She presses one hand flat to your lower back, holding you down, keeping your chest against the mattress while she fucks you through it. Every thrust punches the air from your lungs, your legs shaking beneath her, your orgasm stretching into something messy and endless.

Sevika doesn’t waste time after that.

She flips you with ease, palms steady on your hips, and settles between your legs again, the strap dragging hot and slick along your sensitive folds. Your body jolts with the contact, overstimulated and twitching, but she doesn’t push in just yet. She leans down, eyes locked to yours, breath brushing your lips.

“You still with me?” she asks, voice husky.

You nod, a little shaky. “I—yeah. I just don’t know if I can come again.”

Sevika smiles, slow and devastating, and kisses your cheek. “Don’t need you to come, baby. Just need you to feel good. Can you do that for me?”

"Yes. Fuck, yes, Sev," you answer as she drags the toy through the slick mess you've made between your legs.

Then she lifts your legs, hooking them high over her shoulders. “Hold these up for me,” she says, guiding your hands to the back of your thighs.

You do, for a little while.

She presses into you again, deep and steady, sinking all the way in until her hips meet yours. You both groan in tandem, your bodies clenching around each other. The position drives the strap deep, dragging against that spot inside you just right. It’s too much, but somehow not enough.

Sevika’s pace starts slow, calculated. She's watching you the entire time, studying your face, your mouth, the way your chest rises and falls.

Her own pleasure is mounting fast: her breath growing heavier, her face flushed, brow furrowed in focus as she grinds into you with a rhythm that has you seeing stars.

You're whining now, panting, squirming under the weight of sensation. “Fuck, I can’t—can’t hold them anymore—”

Sevika shushes you, not slowing down. “It’s okay, baby. I got you.”

She takes your legs in her arms, folding you tighter, pressing you into a deep, delicious arch as her hips grind harder into yours. You're pliant under her, fingers gripping at her back now, clawing down her sides, holding on like your life depends on it. She fucks you slow and deep, chasing something now—her own release evident in the way her rhythm starts to falter.

You bite your bottom lip hard enough to taste blood, eyes fluttering open just enough to watch Sevika. God, she’s a sight—head thrown back, jaw clenched, her abs flexing with each motion, a quiet string of curses falling from her mouth as she works her hips into yours like she’s trying to fuck you into the mattress.

And when she starts to fall apart, it’s all the more beautiful for how she keeps holding you through it. Still kissing you. Still murmuring filth in your ear. Still grinding into you with the kind of focus that says she’s not done giving you everything she has.

-

The sun's just starting to creep over the skyline when Sevika pulls up to Raven’s place, the low rumble of her motorcycle cutting through the early quiet of the neighborhood. The sky is still a little pink around the edges, and the world hasn’t quite shaken off the night yet. You’re tucked behind her on the bike, arms snug around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder as the engine dies.

Sevika pulls off her helmet and looks at you, a slow grin tugging at her lips. She reaches over and helps you undo yours, fingers lingering a little longer than necessary beneath your chin.

“You good?” she asks, her voice still that gravelly, just-woke-up tone that makes your stomach flip.

“Yeah,” you say, smiling. “Kinda feels like I dreamed all of that, though.”

She chuckles and leans in to press a kiss to your cheek. It’s surprisingly soft for someone who handled you like that only hours ago. “Nah,” she says. “I’m real. And so was all of that.”

Your fingers fidget in your lap. “So…is this like, a one-time thing? Or...? I gotta be honest with you, Sevika, I've never hooked up with anybody like you before.”

“Doll,” she says, cutting you off with a look that’s half fond, half amused. “You think I give my number out to just anyone?”

You try not to smile too hard. Fail.

Sevika taps the side of your thigh with two fingers, a wordless cue that it’s time to hop off. You do, handing her the helmet back and smoothing your hair down as best you can.

“I’ll call you,” she says, sliding her helmet back on. “Promise. This isn’t the last time you’ll see me.”

And with that, the engine revs back to life, and she peels off down the street, her silhouette disappearing into the city just as the sun fully crests the buildings.

You’re left standing barefoot on the curb, last night’s clothes still smelling like her skin and cigarette smoke, Sevika’s phone number burned into your contacts and her touch in your memory.

Raven opens the door for you, coffee in hand. “So,” she says. “You gonna tell me everything, or do I have to drag it out of you?”

she knew it was wrong to linger in the dark and watch you without you knowing, but she needed to placate her curiosity because if not, it’d kill her.

and so that’s what she did for the months that followed.

she initially arrived in town with the sole purpose of investing in a home after traveling the world for years - never really the type to settle down - but once she set foot in zaun, she knew that this was the place for her. she also had plans of opening a pub, perhaps even buying the one sheriff vander owns. after all, with the gift of immortality she was able to gather enough wealth that could last her for decades. 

her home was located on the other side of town, completely far from yours and for a moment she debated withdrawing the money she had already deposited in her new home to be closer to you - but she thought it was foolish, throwing away a beautiful, large manor for a girl she’s only known for a short amount of time.

she hasn’t even built up the courage yet to introduce herself to you - however, that doesn’t mean she hasn’t already familiarized herself with you and your routine.

ever since she got settled in, she spent most of her afternoons and nights trailing behind you wherever you went, just keeping a watchful eye.

you were a shy little thing. never one to take up too much space and always wore a pretty smile. you had your own spot in the town’s market where you sold some of the vegetables and fruits you grew yourself. that’s how you were able to make a living and put food on the table. but the house you owned seemed way too big for you to afford with the money you make, and for a moment she assumed that perhaps you had a husband that was away for work.

but she found out it was something your grandmother passed down to you when she died - as well as a good sum of inheritance that could last you until you find a partner one day.

you didn’t seem to have one the more she observed your personal life - because others were not shy to approach you in hopes of courting you, to which you only declined, saying you weren’t looking for love. 

but that still didn’t stop the stubborn suitors from visiting your spot at the market, buying bulks of fruits and veggies in hopes that maybe that would win you over, and sevika can’t lie - it agitated her.

It wasn’t until she was watching you from the crowd during one afternoon that she stopped a few feet away from your stand, eavesdropping into your conversation with your friend who sold fresh fish in the next stand over. her heightened senses giving her the ability to hear every word:

“I just don’t understand why you don’t want to go on a date with any of them. I heard the blonde gentleman who asked for your hand yesterday is an heir to an owner of a marvelous hotel. you wouldn’t need to work a day in your life!” your friend, a ditzy red-headed girl named penny, exclaimed.

you shook your head “it’s not about the money, pen. you know that. I just don’t think these men want anything beyond a wife who’d wait for them back at home doing nothing but to sit back and look pretty.” 

penny raised an eyebrow “you make that sound like it’s such a bad thing.”

“if it’s your thing, sure, who’s a girl to judge? but I want a life outside of marriage too. and let’s be honest, the second these men get a taste of ‘ya, they’d be jumping onto the next pretty thing even though they already put a ring around your finger.” you explained.

penny sighed “in these living conditions, we can’t demand complete loyalty, hun.”

your shoulders dropped low at that “I know,” you muttered “but it wouldn’t hurt to hope.”

if sevika’s heart still pumped even a miniscule of blood, it would’ve melted just by the hopelessness in your words, because it’s not a bad thing to want that.

the old school romance and devotion. granted, she wouldn’t call herself the committed type, if anything she’s the opposite. due to her nature, it was hard to seek a partner she was sure would stand by her no matter what, because that’s what bloodsuckers need in their life - loyalty.

so to hear something like that from you, about wanting devotion, something shifted in how she looked at you.

because if she was infatuated with you then, she was completely obsessed with you now.

following you wherever you went like a lost puppy. at this point, she’s memorized your routine like it was etched onto the back of her hand.

sometimes, when she knows you’d be out in the market for too long, she’d go back to your place and sneak in just to see your living conditions. the house was kept spotless, laundry done every day, and you had a variety of knick knacks and old photos of your extended family hung on the walls. you were sentimental and a homebody.

and she’s ashamed to admit it, but the urges get too strong. especially when she walks up to your bedroom and opens your dressers just to see the nicely folded pairs of underwear tucked inside. pulling one out as she held it tightly in her hand before pressing it to her nose to take a sniff.

your smell alone was already more addictive than any blood she’s ever drained out of someone.

while  all of this was happening, you remained unaware even though sevika practically slithered herself into the cracks of your life like an unwanted puzzle piece.

keeping an eye over you from the shadows, developing a sense of protectiveness so strong that whenever a man became too handsy with you at the market, she’d keep it in mind to memorize his face just to track him down at night when he knows the poor motherfucker is all alone just to kill him in cold blood.

the town has never witnessed a murder more brutal the morning they discovered his body.

but she couldn’t help it. they weren’t allowed to touch you in that way - it was absurd but it felt as though she’s already staked her claim, from the moment she saw you she knew it was over. from the way the wisps of your hair were blown by the wind, and how every dress you wore it hugged your figure deliciously in ways that made her mouth water. it was so, so hard not to put a claim on you; to not want to call you hers already.

after all, she already knows so much about you and your personal life, and she hasn’t even talked to you yet. she knew she had to do it eventually, but she was waiting for the right moment.

she just didn’t think it’d come at a time when she least expected it.

you had just gotten back from the market and it was nearly your designated bed time, and usually at this time, she’d stay maybe an hour or two just watching you sleep before she went back to her own place to finish some work. meeting you at the market the following morning.

but tonight, you had other plans.

it threw her completely off kilter, when instead of shedding yourself from your outside clothes, you decided to go back out, and of course she followed you.

she followed you until you arrived at the most unlikely place - vander’s pub, the last drop.

she watched, bewildered, as you walked into the place wondering what the actual fuck was your plan tonight because you weren’t the type to come here, let alone drink. 

at that moment she wished she was the type of vampire who could read people’s minds because your actions just didn’t make sense - when really, you just wanted a quick break from the mundanity of your day to day life. finding it boring that all you ever do is sit at home.

she observed in brooding frustration the way men walked up to you and offered drinks, to which you accepted gladly while engaging in conversation.

she hated every minute of it but eventually, after an hour or two you decided to finally stand up and bid your farewells to the bartender as well as vander who sat a booth away.

“... excuse me, miss.”

her ear twitched at the sound - of the man creeping his way to your side with a mischievous glint in his eyes, swaying a drink in one hand as he looked at you up and down, the hunger visible in his gaze..

“why don’t you stay a ‘lil longer? next round’s on me.”

you smiled politely, tight-lipped, as you shook your head “sorry, but it’s getting late.”

“smart girl,” sevika thought to herself as she watched you make your way to the exit-

then the man’s hand was on your arm, squeezing it tightly as you turned your head to look at him, visibly shaken “now, don’t be such a downer, sugar. the night’s still young and we can still-”

“I said-” you wretched your arm away from him as you threw him an icy glare “no. please respect my wishes and have a nice night.”

with that, you walked out into the eerie night, hugging yourself as you traveled by foot on the way back home, and every step of the way, sevika followed.

silently screaming inside her head for you to walk faster, but it didn’t matter. it’s not like anything was going to happen to you while she was around-

the sounds of hurried steps reached her ears, they weren’t close but they were getting there, and when she peeked through the shadows there she spotted him - the man from the bar who just couldn’t take no for an answer.

bottle of beer in one hand as he swayed side to side with this predatory look in his eyes as he set his gaze on you, he was clumsy but he was discreet. walking close behind until he finally caught up with you, pulling at your arm as he turned you around.

to which you reacted with widened eyes and a slackened jaw, bubbling as to what he was doing following you back home and he just chuckled this almost maniacal sound before he tried leaning in-

that’s when you pushed him away, slapping him with all your might that caused him to stumble for a second before he straightened up and oh god, was he mad.

“you fucking bitch,” he hissed as he lunged at you, and you screamed with everything in you but it was futile - you were on the middle of the road with no one around. It was night and you cursed yourself for going out so late, for being an idiot thinking you were capable of protecting yourself.

your eyes squeezed shut when you felt his grimy hands paw and squeeze at your hips, the smell of liquor strong on his breath as tears slid down your cheeks - thinking this is it, it’s over.

… but suddenly he wasn’t on you anymore. 

your mind was fuzzy from the adrenaline and liquor you drank, making you collapse onto the ground but his weight no longer weighed you down. making you look around in a frenzy as you scanned your surroundings.

“... sweetheart? are you okay?”

you jumped as a tall silhouette suddenly loomed over you, and you looked up to be met with the most gorgeous woman you ever laid eyes on - with a strong physique, a hard set jaw, piercing gaze and short, silky hair. one side of her face was scarred and if you were being honest, she looked intimidating, like a creature in the night you knew was trouble.

but then she offered her hand, her hardened stare softening at the sight of your frightened state as she crouched down to help you.

“let me help you get up,”

you stared at her calloused palm for a minute too long, thinking it wasn’t just a while ago that some stranger was so close to assaulting you and doing god knows what.

but something about her lured you in, whispering to you that yes, she won’t do anything. despite the way her eyes glowed in the darkness of the night with this look so daunting, it should’ve made you run the other way. to do what your body wasn’t able to do when that man lunged at you earlier…

Instead, you took her hand, and it took everything in sevika not to smirk when your innocent, watery eyes stared up at her, so full of trust.

𐙚 ˙ ⋆ .˚

sevika never disclosed whatever happened that night.

all she told you was that she saw you in the middle of the road looking scared with nobody else around - to which you argued multiple times a man was so close to hurting you that night.

to which she’d reply with a shake of her head - not because it’s not what happened, but because he was never going to come close to hurting you the second he decided to be a moron and risk his life hurting what was hers.

and now he’s in the bottom of the lake, corpse rotting with his head torn off.

“I swear, vika. it all happened so fast but I remember there was a man following me…” you insisted as you prepared her some tea late one evening. 

she traced a finger over the rim of the tea cup before carefully taking a sip “perhaps you were just too drunk and were imagining things.”

you rolled your eyes “it didn’t happen that long ago. I know what happened.”

you’re right, it didn’t happen that long ago because it’s been a month since the incident happened, and also a month since sevika successfully infiltrated your life.

no more hiding in the shadows, no more looking at you from afar, because she was here now - having gained your full trust after she came to your rescue that night.

now you invite her into your home, completely unaware she’s already set foot in it multiple times - that the man you’re so sure laid hands on you that night, has already felt the sensation of sevika’s fangs digging into the side of his neck before she ripped his head straight off his body.

she’s done all of that for you, and you don’t even know despite knowing her for a month.

in your eyes, sevika is just some stranger who showed up at the right place, and at the right time. but that moment just served as a catalyst for her to finally slither her way into your life, and for good this time.

now, she visits you at the market without feeling the need to blend into the crowd, and drops by at your place to have dinner with you. it’s become a part of your routine since you offered to cook for her on the night she ‘saved’ you as a way of saying thanks.

and of course, who is she to refuse?

It was obvious to everybody else that you were smitten by the older woman as well, making sure to doll yourself up extra hard when going to the market knowing she’d be there.

it was something penny poked fun at you for, jesting “had I known you went for the older ones, I would’ve told you to go for the hotel owner instead of his son.”

but what penny doesn’t know it was never about the person in specific, but rather that you’ve never taken a liking to men. it was something you suppressed for a very long time, having allowed male suitors to take you out on dates in the past just to appease your family but if you were being honest, none of them had ever left you flustered the same way sevika has.

she was charismatic and soft spoken - and clearly well off. you’ve been invited to her home where she cooked you dinner, and the old manor was a sight to behold. but it puzzled you to think that she only lived there by herself - did she not have a husband?

when you asked her, she simply laughed “unfortunately, my love. men are only welcomed into my life as friends…” her tantalizing gaze pierced into yours, making you squirm "I've always appreciated the warmth of a woman more.”

on the night she cooked you dinner, you came home feeling all hot and bothered. panties damp in a way that was no doubt shameful as you laid in bed resisting the urge to cave into your desires - but they were no use.

as you eventually surrendered and pulled your panties to the side, stroking your clit in a careful back and forth before plunging a finger in - biting your lip to silence your moans, because you knew if they spilled out, sevika’s name would be at the tip of your tongue.

but it’s not like there’s any use in hiding it, as sevika watched you from your window that night in the dark - hunger and lust clawing away at her chest as it took everything in her not to march into your room and take you right there.

but she waited. she wanted to get to know you first, butter you up and earn your trust completely.

and it was getting closer and closer to that the more you invited her into your home, wearing dresses so sheer they practically showed off your tits, tempting her and making her patience grow thin.

but the straw that broke the camel’s back was when you invited her for dinner late one evening saying you wanted her to try your new recipe for apple pie as you planned on selling it at the market. of course, sevika agreed, arriving just in time as you opened the door for her wearing a white milkmaid dress with red floral patterns that accentuated the swell of your breasts.

you looked gorgeous, smiling up at her with beaming eyes as you stepped aside to let her in “you can sit down while I get the pie ready.”

and perhaps it was the scent of the pie that permeated the air with this sickly sweet smell, but sevika couldn’t ignore it as the smell only grew stronger as she walked into your kitchen. 

there you were, beckoning her to sit next to you on the table. 

her mouth grew dry as you pushed the plate of pie in her direction and smiled “well, try it out for me.” you said to which she only smiled in response.

she finished it in minutes, making you laugh as you stared at her expectantly “so?”

“It’s delicious, sweetheart.” she said, trying to maintain a lively tone but she was starting to feel light headed because the scent was still there, circling around her like some sort of cloud.

it wasn’t the pie, nor was it the ingredients you left out on the counter because the stench was richer, more pungent that only someone with her heightened senses is able to pick up on.

you stood up and took her plate “should I offer you another slic-”

“a-actually, doll.” she said shakily as she pushed her chair back “I think I’m gonna have to go h-home. I ain’t feeling too well…”

your eyebrows shot up as you immediately walked to her side, hand on her forearm as you examined her disheveled state “vika, is everything alright, hun? why don’t you just sit down and I’ll make you some tea-”

“n-no, I can’t. It’s better if we call it a n-night…” it was getting more difficult to think clearly let alone speak, because the more you invaded her personal space did sevika realize it wasn’t the fucking pie that made her mind all fuzzy.

it was you.

you were emitting a saccharine smell so strong it was almost intoxicating,  and she needed to get further away from you before she did something stupid.

“vika, hun, hold on.”

“I said,” you jumped back when her voice suddenly dropped several octaves lower, her shoulders tensing as she nudged you away from her “I’m leaving. so stay back.”

you blinked, completely baffled at what was making her act up because if she was just feeling under the weather she could just stay here with you so you can help her feel better.

“vika…” you reached out and touched her shoulder, which only made her flinch “darling, you’re making me worry. turn around and let me see you, if you’re sick I can help you.”

she chuckled in a way that was almost mocking, which only confused you more as she spoke “I don’t think this is the type of thing you can just fix with your herbs and tea, doll.”

your eyebrows furrowed “then what is i…”

your words soon died in your throat when sevika turned around to face you, and you didn’t know what you were expecting but the second red, glowing eyes stared right back at you, as well pointed fangs which peeked from behind the snarl etched on sevika’s face like how a predator looks at its prey, you shakily took a step back and gulped.

“w-vika, what are you-”

she shook head, stalking towards you as you slowly kept backing away until your ass hit the corner of your kitchen counter.

“I told you to just let me leave.”

the next second she was on you, hovering close to your face as her eyes, looking almost manic, stared you down as you were frozen in place - completely scared because this is not the sevika you know. the sevika you know was gentle, but this person - better yet this creature, that stood before you looked like she was about to eat you alive.

her hand reached up and tucked a strand of hair that fell over your face, leaning close as her lips hovered over your cheek - the plump skin grazing sensually onto your skin as she stuck her tongue out and licked.

making you shiver “vika, please, let’s just calm down and talk about this.”

“what more is there to explain?” she retorted “you’ve probably heard of the myths, the tales they tell the children at night about blood sucking creatures that roam the streets. you’re a smart girl, and you already know what I am.” 

letting out a shaky breath, you closed your eyes because she’s right. what explanation does she need to give when the evidence was there? because she doesn’t look human, she looks otherworldly, someone who looks like they’re devoid of a heart. 

not to mention the signs - how every time you touched her she just felt so… cold. cold to the point it wasn’t normal. cold to the point where it was concerning.

“mother of janna, vika. your hands,” you’d exclaim every time her fingers accidentally grazed yours “it’s like you’re made of ice.”

and she’d dismiss you every time, saying it’s the weather, or how she’s feeling sick that day. 

and you believed her. every. single. time.

“a-are you going to kill me?” your voice shook as you asked the question, and sevika only tilted her head, her expression unreadable.

“oh doll…” she sighed, cupping your jaw in her hand as her thumb caressed your jaw. “why would I ever want to hurt what’s mine?”

your breath hitched, eyes wide as sevika leaned in and captured your lips with her own - the kiss was soft and sensual, akin to the sevika you’ve known since day one. you’d be lying if you said you haven’t been daydreaming of this day because you have, not just under these circumstances. 

still, even though a part of you screamed to push her away, to demand answers and to explain the nature of her being and why she decided to lie to you, you just couldn’t force yourself to care, so caught up in the way her lips moved against yours and the way her hands roamed against your body – squeezing and grabbing your hips before she hoisted up onto the counter, bracketing you in her strong arms as you mewled at the feeling of her grinding her pelvis against yours.

“vika… my love…” you moaned, her kisses moving down to the column of your throat before she opened her mouth and let her fangs scrape against your skin - not to hurt, just to tease.

which worked, making you gasp as she chuckled at your reaction “you still scared of me, doll?”

truthfully, you still are, and you know better than to believe her when she says that she wouldn’t hurt you. but with the way she handles you like you’re made out of porcelain, it just made everything else blur into the background.

so you don’t answer, instead you pull her close as she lets out a hum “atta girl,” she said, her lips traveling down to kiss your jaw, neck to the valley of your cleavage. 

you were panting as she looked up at you and smirked, going lower before placing your thighs onto her broad shoulders - her mouth dangerously close to your clothed cunt and your eyes widened when her nostrils flared and her eyes glowed even brighter.

“fuck…” she said, pulling the garment to the side to expose your glistening pussy lips - coated not just in your slick, but also from blood.

your cheeks bloomed a crimson red when you realized you had been bleeding this entire time as your cycle started “v-vika, wait no, stop-”

“no wonder you’ve smelled so good and ripe,” she said, a growl to her voice as she stared up at you, almost as if she wanted to eat you whole “the smell, the swell of your breasts… it’s almost like you threw meat at the lion’s den.”

you processed her words, realizing she was right - if there was anyone to blame as to how you got into this situation it was yourself - you wanted her to make a move on you, to claim you.

“I d-didn’t think-” 

your words died in your throat the second you felt it - her tongue, rough and eager, licking a fat stripe up your folds as you threw your head back and cried out.

“v-vika!” 

“sweet mother of janna, you taste so fucking good.” she growled against your sopping folds, your slick and blood smeared against her mouth like she bit into a pomegranate. 

the sight was both vulgar and arousing - and although you squirmed away in embarrassment - the way her eyes looked almost animalistic, as if she was high off drugs and had no intentions of coming down, made you feel so beautiful in ways where no man was ever capable of making you feel.

she continued her assault to your throbbing cunt, licking you up like you were the finest of nectar her tongue ever had the privilege  of tasting - the muscle prodding against your walls before she ultimately plunged a finger in, making you arch your back as you gripped the edges of the counter and whined like a wounded animal.

eyes rolling to the back of your head as you bit your lip, feeling her hand reach up and pull down the cups of your dress, freeing your breasts from their confines as she squeezed them.

“fuck, fuck, just like that.” you cried out as she spreads you apart “don’t stop, please”

she pulled you by the plush of your thighs until your ass was practically hanging off the counter, to which she used as her leverage to bounce you on her face as you grinded eagerly onto her tongue, desperate for your release as sevika moaned at the taste of you.

“you taste so fucking addictive,.” she groaned “could fucking eat you up.”

her hand that was on your breast twisted one of your nipples, and that’s all it took for the band in your abdomen to finally snap as she rubbed harsh circles onto your clit.

you came and fell apart on her tongue, looking so gorgeous she had to stop and stare up at you in awe - her face still painted with your juices and blood as she licked the top of her lips, as if she had just finished savoring the most delectable cuisine.

your chest rose up and down as sevika stood back up and fixed your position on the counter, making you circle your arms around her shoulders as you held her tight.

meanwhile, she held you against her just as firmly, if anything quite possessively. because in this moment, now that she’s gotten a taste of you, she only knows one thing and one thing only:

“you’re mine,” she whispered in your ear, leaving no room for objection as you nodded, accepting your fate in the arms of the monster that’s claimed you.

Your mother being a sweet but respected woman by the others always called it a community, except that on the way she used to say it. A little sarcastic on the edges, like it tasted sour in her mouth. It sounded more like a warning than a comfort. Community here meant a chain of watchful eyes, mouths that never stayed shut, and stories that moved faster than truth. It meant knowing everything about everyone, whether you wanted to or not.

Especially about the mysterious woman next door, who both your mom and father always referred to as the devil itself.

Melissa Schemmenti. She was fifty years old and the kind of woman who made everyone talk without even opening her mouth.

She’d been living on this neighborhood longer than almost anybody you knew aside from old Mrs. Hernandez, who hadn’t left her house in three years due to the pandemic but somehow knew who was pregnant before their boyfriend or restrictive parents did. Melissa wasn’t just a fixture on the street; she was a presence that made everything feel a little heavier when she stepped outside.

The redhead taught second grade at Abbott Elementary, know as the local and unfounded public school. It was the same school where some of your cousins and half the neighborhood kids had cycled through at one point.

She drove a beat-up red sedan that rattled but never failed, and when it stalled she’d fix it herself in the driveway with a wrench in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Just like her cousin Rocco taught her in early adulthood years. Frank Sinatra would be blaring from an old boombox. Never Billy Joel, she hated that man.

Melissa also cursed like it was a second language and laughed with her whole chest when she needed to, like the world had to hear her joy just as loudly as her rage.

Her clothing choices were also a talk around the whole neighborhood, leather was almost a second part of herself. Tight pants, worn smooth at the seams, paired with biker boots and zip-up jackets that clung to her arms like armor. Blazers too, sometimes on development days at work, or a random morning.

Even in the heat her beautiful hair, wild and copper-red, was always done up like she’d just rolled out of a dive bar and dared someone to say something about it. Her lipstick was blood-red, never smudged. Her eyeliner? Sharp enough to cut glass.

There was something about her. Too much, maybe. Too loud, too brash, too unapologetically her. And that made people nervous. Especially your mom, who treated her like a punching bag any chance she got.

“Red? She’s got a reputation,” she would hiss with others on the phone next to the living room, pulling the blinds just enough to peek through when the second grade teacher walked by. But she never explained what kind of reputation. She didn’t have to. The implication lingered in the silence, in the way her lips tightened, in the way her voice dropped to a whisper like the very air might tattle.

On the other hand, even the worst of the gossips had to admit something. The red shiny tomatoes came in perfect condition every year, despite the overgrown garden and mess of weeds that grew like they were invited, every fruit she touched seemed to thrive. Same with the neighborhood kids, come to think of it. Even the roughest and rebellious teenagers straightened up when Ms. Schemmenti talked.

Probably was the teacher in her. Or probably was the way she walked without bending her knees like she’d seen it all, lived through it, and dared the world to try again.

She wasn’t what your mom wanted near her daughter. Which, of course, only made her that much harder to ignore.

The biggest problem was that you felt attracted to her by nature, your hot older neighbor was the woman who didn’t need to try to be noticed, her presence alone demanded attention. She carried herself with the effortless magnetism of an old Hollywood actress.

Earthy sensuality wrapped in confidence. Her heart-shaped face, with its high cheekbones and stubborn chin, was framed by wild, untamed curls.

One of her most arresting features was her green eyes, intense and capable of delivering a scolding with one glance or an invitation to mischief with a single smirk. They always seemed to be laughing at some internal joke, like she knew secrets the world wasn’t ready for. Thick, natural lashes cast of someone who spent hours under the sun whether tending her unruly garden or grading papers on the porch.

And her lips, full and expressive, made for sly smiles and sassy comebacks. When she talked, you couldn’t look away from the way they moved, shaping every word with a theatrical flair honed from years in classrooms and late-night family fights. If she ever slicked on red lipstick (usually on rare nights out when she’d wink and say she was going to misbehave), the effect was downright lethal.

Her body wasn’t build for delicate and pretty fragility, the siclian was curvy and that made sundresses look like some statement. Jeans looked like a sin, her shoulders carried a posture that never slumped, and her hips swayed with a rhythm that betrayed her Italian roots, even when she was just grabbing the mail to see the bills.

There was a unapologetic sexiness to her, a presence that didn’t need heels or tight dresses (though when she wore them? Damn.)

But what made her truly irresistible was the way all of it came together with her personality.

A arched eyebrow could shut down nonsense, her hands, always with short, boldly painted nails gesturin when she told a story or how her laugh burst out loud and unfiltered, like she had no time for polite pretenses. She wasn’t pretty. She was hot.

On a Friday night, after a peaceful dinner with your father and mother, the sink gurgled as she with a wrist deep in soap water scrubbed at a dish that obviously didn’t needed any scrubbing. The tiny window over the sink looked straight out toward the fence line, toward Melissa’s yard. Of course, she didn't miss the opportunity to make a comment about the neighbor.

“That bitch thinks she’s cute,” your mom pointed out. “Smokes like a chimney on Christmas night and flirts with both genders like it’s a profession. There’s nothing wrong with liking men and women but look at her age! She needs to settle down.”

You’d leaned against the counter, nursing the last sip of iced tea in a sweating glass, lips twitching as the words settled.

“Mom, hush with the implications. I saw her at Anthony’s Italian Coffee & Chocolate House on Wednesday, she recognized me and offered to pay for my order. Melissa has been nothing but polite!” you retort suddenly. One soft, stupid response. Like you forgot, for a second, who you were talking to.

The dish towel in her hands went still, and twisted. Wrung out like a neck snapping.

“She’s got no business talking to girls your age!”she barked, enough to cut through the clink of dishes. She didn’t even have to look at you.

Your father was more calm when the subject was the redhead whose name could not be mentioned in your residence, but he agreed with his beloved wife’s attitudes and words. He sighed heavily without taking his eyes off the news article he was reading on the table.

“Y/N,” the older man begins in a reprehensive tone. “Listen to your mother. She isn’t wrong, that diabolical woman is not a good example for you.”

“Dad,” you started with a anxious tone but he cuted you off by zipping his mouth shut.

Not that the italian-american had ever said much to you. Not then, anyway. She wasn’t reckless. Not the way your parents and neighborhood assumed. But sometimes, in those long evenings when the sky went dark and the kids scattered like pigeons, she’d catch your eye from across the yard.

You didn’t know what to do with that back then. So you stopped looking. Kept your eyes down, your feet moving, your face neutral.

At twenty-seven years old, you’re still living at home (for now.) The converted sunroom is your makeshift office, your laptop perched on uneven towers of old textbooks, the spines cracked and pages yellowed with disuse. Your headphones are never fully on, one ear always tuned to the muffled sounds of the house, your mom’s footsteps in the kitchen, the distant snoring of your asleep dad and the occasional sigh of the floorboards settling. You tell relatives you’re just saving money, figuring things out, waiting for something better. You don’t tell them what that something is. You’re not even sure yourself.

When night falls, the residence follows its own monotonous routine. The telephone on the table after being used for gossiping and concerning, your refrigerator humming its steady drone, harmonizing with the oscillating quietness in your parents bedroom.

That’s when you move. To hookup with your prohibited neighbor.

Bare feet silent against the hardwood, you pad down the hallway, avoiding the floorboard you know will groan under your weight. The back door’s hinges sigh as you ease it open, just wide enough to slip through. The weather is always cold, carrying the scent of cut grass and the faint metallic tang of the neighbor’s sprinkler system.

Your shoes dangle from your fingers, soles brushing your thigh, until you’re at the white picket fence, its paint peeling, wood softened by years of rain and sun. You vault over it with practiced ease, landing in the ground on the other side.

Melissa is usually waiting for you in her house.

Sometimes she’s with a arm behind her back and a glass of expensive white wine cradled in her other hand, condensation beading and slipping down to pool between her fingers. On Saturdays and Sundays, she’s leaning against the side of her garage, arms crossed, one bare foot propped against the siding.

As mentioned before, her wardrobe is as unpredictable as she is. Some evenings, it’s an ancient Neumann University shirt its collar stretched wide from too many washes, the fabric thin enough that you can trace the slope of her shoulder beneath it. Other times, it’s a deep burgundy robe cinched haphazardly at the waist.

And then there are the nights she wears that jeans jacket, one that smells like rain and something faintly spiced thrown over a green tank top and pajama pants, as if she couldn’t be bothered to dress properly, as if she just grabbed whatever was closest when she heard you coming.

Her house is a sanctuary in the way of a life fully lived. Dog-eared paperbacks, half-finished crossword puzzles at the coffee table, a blue pen abandoned. A candle gutters in the corner, wax pooled around the wick, the last whispers of bergamot and cedar.

When she touches you it’s like she is committing you to memory. A palm on your wrist, her thumb tracing your jaw. You lean into the touch like a flower bending toward the sun.

No one knows about this prohibited relationship.

Not the old man three doors down, who waters his geraniums at precisely 6:15 pm every evening, eyes behind his bifocals. Not the kids who shout the redhead’s name from their scooters, who dissolve into giggles when she ruffles their hair and calls them gabortz.

Not even your mother, who still speaks of her in hushed, cautious tones, like the mere mention of that woman next door might summon something dangerous.

You’re aware of the precipice beneath your feet, the way the ground could crumble at any moment. If this gets out, the fallout won’t just be a scandal, it’ll be annihilation.

But then Melissa Schemmenti tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, her fingertips brushing the shell of it, rough from years of twisting wrenches and scraping knuckles against metal. She looks at you like you’re something precious, like she’s spent a lifetime searching for a moment this soft, this real.

And suddenly, you don’t care about the consequences.

You only care about this. The gentle way she sways with you when a song drifts from the record player, there’s just enough space between the couch and the coffee table to sway. She pulls you close, one hand firm at the small of your back, the other tangling with yours. There’s no rhythm to it, just the drag of her hips against yours, the heat of her breath against your temple.

Melissa laughs when you step on her toes. “S’alright, bambi, I’ve had worse in my ex-marriage,” she jokes before spinning you under her arm.

“Sorry for being terrible at this,” you apologize with a flush of your cheeks.

She nips at your earlobe. “None of that, why don’t we chill for a sec?”

You care about the way, when later, when the record spins to silence, she tugs you onto the plastic covered couch, the old springs groaning under you. The Nintendo that once belonged to her ex-roommate Jacob Hill, shines to life, the pixelated rainbow of Mario Kart 8 bright against the room. She’s ruthless, elbows digging into your ribs as she leans forward, tongue caught between her teeth.

“Watch this,” your girlfriend grins, and then she’s slingshotting past you on the last lap, her kart spitting blue fire.

“Cheater!” you gasp, but she’s already laughing, triumphant, her head thrown back.

“Winner picks the prize,” Melissa declares, and you know what’s coming before she even reaches for the rolling tray. “You know the rules, babe.”

She’s meticulous about it, grinding the bud between her fingers. The paper crinkles as she licks the glue line, her tongue pink and quick. When she sparks the lighter, the flame reflects in her eyes, and for a second, she looks like something out of a myth.

Obviously, the first hit is always hers. She inhales deep, holds it, lets the smoke curl from her nose like a dragon’s flame.

“Your turn. C’mon, just like I taught you, sweetheart.”

When the smoke burns sweet down your throat, you cough, just a little, not being used to marijuana and the second grade teacher whistles, taking it back. She mocks you, calling you lightweight, but her thumb brushes your lip like an apology.

What you have with her isn’t meant for daylight. It’s a secret, sacred in its silence. If the world found out, if the block buzzed with gossip, if Melissa ever had to name this thing between you in the harsh light of day. It might not survive. Some truths are too fragile for the open air.

So you keep quiet, you stay late. And you tell yourself something:

“I will stop this whole secret situationship. Eventually, so mom doesn’t find out that I am ‘sleeping with the enemy.’”

“Just… not tonight. I don’t wanna hurt her or myself.”

“What people would do and say if they found out? Melissa’s been though a lot since her last marriage, I love her and the idea of making her suffer again, makes me want to scream.”

The next time you and her see each other again, it starts with an unharmful lie.

At the kitchen, you stand digging through the fridge like you’re looking for something important, vital or at least something to justify the way you’re hiding behind the door.

Your mother bustles around behind you, wiping down counters that don’t need wiping.

“You’re going out again?” she prompts, not looking up from the imaginary spot she’s scrubbing at with a dish towel.

“Yeah,” you say, muffled by the fridge door. “At Claire’s.”

After your confirmation, there’s a pause. The faucet drips once, twice, into the sink.

“On a Saturday?”

“Mm,” you grab a water bottle just to have something in your hands. “We’re gonna watch that new series she’s been obsessed with.”

She finally stops pretending to clean. She leans back against the counter, arms crossed, dish towel still clutched in one hand.

“Me and your father noticed that you’ve been spending a lot of time with her lately.”

It’s a accusation. You take a slow sip of water, buying time. Outside, a lawnmower starts up somewhere down the street. “Yeah, well,” you shrug, pretending that you aren’t sweating. “She’s been having a rough time with the divorce. You know how it is.”

A gamble. Your mother’s lips press into a thin line. She’d always liked Claire’s ex-husband. Said that he was a good example of a man.

“I just think it’s strange,” she explains her point of view. “That every time you go over there, you pack an overnight bag?”

You squeeze your fingers around the water bottle. “We drink alcohol, you won’t want me driving home after that.”

“If that’s the reason, you could take an Uber.”

“And leave my car at her place?” you force a laugh. “Come on, Mom. Since when do you care if I sleep over at a old friend’s?”

“I just...” she hesitates, then shakes her head. “Never mind, Y/N.”

You watch as your mother turns back to the counter, rearranging the fruit bowl that doesn’t need rearranging. The bananas are too green. She moves them to the left.

“What time will you be home tomorrow?”

“Not sure,” you set the water bottle down too carefully. “Probably late afternoon or early in the morning.”

Late afternoon,” she chews her lip. “Y’know, Mr. Henderson saw you at the grocery store last week.”

Your stomach drops. “Oh?”

“Said you were with some redheaded woman. Looked... close.”

“Blanche!” you answered, too quickly. “She’s Claire’s older cousin. Was in town for a few days. She is from…California!” Another lie. Melissa has lived next to you for decades.

Her fingers pause on an apple. She doesn’t look at you. “Funny. He didn’t mention that.“

“Maybe because it’s none of his business?” you grab your bag from the chair. “Jesus, Mom. Since when do we report our grocery store companions to the neighborhood watch?”

A car honks outside. The mail truck, probably. “I’m just making conversation,” she tries to defend herself.

“Well,” you sling your bag over your shoulder. “Maybe don’t.”

“Eleven,” your mother says finally.

“What?”

“Curfew’s still eleven,” her knuckles are white around the dish towel. “Even on Saturdays.”

You stare at her. “I’m twenty-seven!”

“This is my house,” the eldest meets your eyes for the first time. “My rules, if you don’t agree, simply buy your own house and move out.”

“Whatever. I’ll text you.”

She doesn’t say goodbye as you walk out. The screen door slams behind you with finality.

Outside, the sun is too bright and your hands shake as you dig your keys from your pocket. You don’t look back, you never do. On the second your feet hit the pavement, the anger boils over.

“Curfew’s still eleven,” you groan under your breath as you stomp down the sidewalk. “Even on fuckin’ Saturdays.”

A bitter laugh escapes you. You kick a pebble harder than necessary, sending it skittering across the cracked concrete, the clack of stone against asphalt echoing in the quiet neighborhood.

You shove your hands into the pockets of your jacket, shoulders hunched, and take the long way around the block. Not because you need the extra steps, but because you know they’re watching. Mrs. Parker with her lace curtains twitching. Old Man Reynolds pretending to fiddle with his mailbox as you pass. The whole damn street, a minefield of nosy neighbors and prying eyes.

So you walk.

You loop past the park with its rusted swing set, past the Thompsons’ house where their golden retriever barks half-heartedly at you from behind a white picket fence. You take your time, letting the simmering fury in your chest settle into something manageable before you dare double back.

“Oh, but of course! ‘Cause I’m still fucking twelve, right, Stephanie?” you throw your hands up, talking to no one or maybe to the universe in general. A cyclist gives you a weird look. You give them the middle finger until they pedal faster.

By the time you make your way toward your street again you don’t go straight there, of course. That would be too obvious. Instead, you pause at the corner, pretending to check your phone, scanning for witnesses before slipping into the narrow alley between the Millers’ garage and the overgrown hedges that separate their property from hers.

The weather is cooler here, damp with the scent of earth and moss. Your black boots crush brittle leaves underfoot as you move silently along the fence line, fingers brushing the wood until you find the loose board. The one your girlfriend pried loose two years ago, just enough to squeeze through if you turn sideways.

You do.

The backyard is quiet. her garden is wild and untamed, nothing like your mother’s manicured flower beds. The back porch light is off, just like always. Your signal.

You don’t knock. The door is unlocked, the handle cool under your palm as you push inside, stepping into the warmth of her space.

Melissa is at the stove, stirring something in a cast-iron skillet, her back to you. She doesn’t turn around, but you see the way her shoulders tense slightly, the way her fingers tighten around the wooden spoon.

“Goodnight, bimba,” she greets. “I thought I wouldn't see mia principessa tonight.”

You drop your bag on the floor with a thud, the sound louder than you intended in the cozy space. “She’s annoying!” you snap, pacing the length of the kitchen, your boots scuffing against the worn hardwood.

Melissa doesn’t ask who. She just watches you, her green eyes tracking your movements, her expression unreadable as you rant.

“Eleven o’clock curfew. Eleven. Like I’m some teenager sneaking out to meet a boy. And the audacity! ‘the neighbor saw you,’ as if I need to fucking justify who I’m seen with now?”

Melissa sighs a heavy sigh. “You done cursing like a sailor?”

“No!” you whirl on her. “I’m twenty-seven, Lis. Twenty. Fucking. Seven. And she still treats me like, like…”

“Like her kid,” the redhead finishes softly. “That she insists on protecting.”

The fight drains out of you all at once. “Yep, and this pisses me off!”

Your girlfriend turns the stove off. Walks over. Cups your face in her hands. “Wanna know what I think about this?”

“What!?” you ask with a frown.

“I think,” she continues, leaning in until her forehead rests against yours, her breath warm and familiar. “That your mom can go fuck herself.”

A laugh bursts out of you. “Rude.”

“I don’t hate your ma. She’s just a pain in our fuckin’ ass. Now,” the older woman mouths, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lip. “How about we make sure you’re very late for curfew?”

“Yeah?” you give her puppy eyes and she nods kissing you.

You don’t realize you’ve moved that much until the counter presses into her hips and her hourglass body arches into yours, her fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt, clinging like she’s afraid you’ll pull away. The stove makes a noise beside you, the forgotten skillet whispering with the sound of garlic and onions caramelizing.

Her teeth catches your lower lip and you shiver drifting your palms down to her waist, tracing the delicate ridges of her ribs beneath her green top.

“You’re gonna burn dinner.”

She laughs, a sound honeyed, vibrating against your mouth. “I don’t care about dinner when I have a beautiful angel in front of me.”

The wooden spoon clatters to the floor, forgotten, as she turns fully into you, her body aligning with yours like two halves of a perfect fit. Her hands rise to your hair, fingers threading through the strands, tugging just enough to draw a quiet groan from your throat. You kiss her deeper, slower, savoring the way her breath hitches when your tongue traces the seam of her lips.

Behind you, the onions let out a faint hiss, the sharp tang of smoke curling into the air.

Melissa breaks away with a gasp, her cheeks flushed, lips swollen. She reaches blindly for the pan, nudging it off the burner with a breathless laugh. “Fuck, maybe slightly care.”

You don’t let her go. Instead, you press your lips to the delicate line of her throat, kissing the flutter of her pulse there, nipping gently just to feel the way her fingers tighten in your hair.

“We could just order from that Chinese place,” you suggest. “Mm?”

The redheaded hums, tilting her head to give you better access, her breath coming in soft, uneven waves. “Or,” she counters, her grip in your hair tightening just enough to make your stomach swoop. “You could shut up and keep doing that while I finish cooking, smartass.”

You smile against her skin, pressing one last kiss to the hollow beneath her ear before obliging. Your lips trace the slope of her shoulder, the curve of her jaw, as she stirs the pan one-handed, her other arm looped around your waist, holding you close.

At one point, Melissa turns her head, catching your mouth in a kiss again, her tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your heart drop.

“You’re distracting me,” she scolds. “ I’m just a poor woman trying to make Friggionge. And you are being a pain in my damn ass.”

You nip at her lower lip, grinning when she shivers. “Sorry.”

Green eyes roll at you, but the corners of her mouth moves like she’s fighting a smile. She pulls the pot off the stove with a satisfied hum, plates up generous portions of the dish, then nudges you to sit down at the large dining table.

The recipe belongs to her grandmother, of course, rich with garlic and butter and that earthy sweetness only Melissa knows how to coax out of humble greens. She sits close, knees brushing yours beneath it, her hand never leaving yours even as she twirls pasta with the other.

“Eat,” she orders when she catches you staring at her instead of the food. Her thumb rubs circles over your knuckles, claiming. Every time you take a bite, she watches your mouth like she’s memorizing the shape of your satisfaction.

Every so often Melissa lifts your joined hands to press a kiss to your fingers, soft and absentminded, like she can’t help herself. Between mouthfuls, she complains about you distracting her, but she doesn’t let go, not when the sauce drips on her top, not when you tease her about it, not even when you reach to steal a bite off her plate.

And under the table, her foot hooks around your ankle, keeping you there, close, tethered. Like she’s trying to make sure you never slip out of her grasp.

Melissa insists on putting on Real Housewives after dinner. It’s a ritual, really, something she calls her “one good guilty pleasure,” though you know it’s more than an obsession. It’s her way to unwind, to remind herself that other people’s chaos can be louder than hers, funnier too, in a way that makes her feel lighter.

The dramatic monologues of the characters make an interesting combination with a loud scratch of her pen as she grades mathematical tests. She’s tucked against your side, her legs draped over yours, the weight of her warm and familiar. Every so often, she lets out a soft snort of laughter at the show, or at whatever absurd answer one of her second graders scribbled down.

“Breanna wrote that she solved 8 + 5 by counting all the gummy bears in her lunchbox,” Melissa circles the answer and puts a smiling face next to it. “I mean, correct, but pretty sure she just wanted an excuse to tell me about food.”

You chuckle. “Innovative problem-solving. Future mathematician right there."

She swats your chest with the back of her hand, but she’s grinning. “Don’t encourage her. Next thing you know, they'll all be solving subtraction problems by counting the fake teeth in their grandmother’s dentures.”

You giggle, pressing a kiss to her temple as the redhead flips to the next test.

“How was your day?” you ask, nuzzling into her hair.

Melissa sighs. “Exhausting. Isaiah tried to prove he could hold his breath for a hundred million hours during reading time. Passed out face-first into the cover of Peter Rabbit.”

“The boy’s got dedication.”

“Dedication? That’s literally no sense!” she corrects, but there’s fondness in her voice. “The nurse had to help me convince him humans do actually need oxygen.”

“So you didn’t actually consider letting evolution take its course?”

“Trust me I did,” the older woman admits, capping her pen and stretching her arms. “But then he looked up at me with those big puppy eyes and said he wanted to be like Spiderman. How do you stay mad at that?”

“You’re a good teacher, Schemmenti,” you compliment with a sweet expression.

She rolls her eyes at you, but her cheeks go pink. “I just hand out gold stars and bandaids.”

“Nah. You are magic,” your thumb brushes over the ink stain on her hand. “Even when you're explaining for the twentieth time why dog doesn’t start with wuh.

Melissa huffs, but she tucks her face against your shoulder. “That’s phonics! You know it.”

When the marathon ends almost an hour later and the credits of Real Housewives roll, the redhead shifts, about to make an ironic comment about the episode’s drama, when she feels the steady rise and fall of your chest against her side. She turns her head and there you are, completely out, lips slightly parted, lashes casting shadows on your cheeks.

“Y/N? Y/N! come on, you little shit!” she curses and pokes your shoulder. “You promised you wouldn’t fall asleep on me again.”

You don’t wake up and Melissa groans, running a hand through her auburn hair as she surveys the situation: your limbs sprawled in that boneless, deeply asleep way, one arm still loosely curled around her waist. The worksheets are abandoned on the coffee table, her red pen left uncapped. She should be annoyed. She is annoyed.

But she can’t feel annoyed when it comes to you.

So, your older neighbor shifts carefully, sliding out from under your arm. You make a quiet, protesting noise in your sleep, your mouth pouting, and she can’t help but smile. “Shhh, amore, I got you,” she coos, even though you can't hear her.

Melissa bends down, sliding one arm under your knees and the other around your back. She braces herself and hoists.

“Gesù Cristo!” your girlfriend stumbles a step, knees buckling slightly. “Why are you…oh my god…why are you so damn heavy when you’re asleep?!”

It’s the dead weight of it. The way you’re completely limp, like a sack of very affectionate potatoes. She huffs, adjusting her grip, your head lolling against her shoulder. “This is ridiculous. I told you to just go to bed at ten. But nooo, you had to…mmph, just one more episode, and now I’m the one..oof! playing goddamn bridal carry at midnight!”

Every floorboard that groans beneath her weight sounds like a gunshot. She can practically hear her mother-in-law’s–correction–her ex-mother-in-law’s- shouting hissing from the guest room down the hall: “I always knew you were a nasty bitch, Melissa Schemmenti.” As if the divorce hadn’t been mutual. As if she hadn't been the one to find the texts on his phone.

The green eyed woman kicks open the bedroom door (gently, because she’s pissed, not rude,) and barely manages to deposit you onto the mattress without dropping you. You immediately curl into the blankets with a sleepy sigh, completely oblivious to her suffering and the pain on her back.

She stands over you, hands on her chest, breathing hard. “The only girlfriend that I ever carried on my arms, even though my fucking back kills me.” She could leave you like this. Should leave you like this. The thing is that she will always provide comfort for her girl.

So Melissa leans down, carefully peeling your jeans off (because sleeping in jeans is criminal and uncomfortable), tossing them over the chair. She wrestles your shirt over your head with minimal grumbling, replacing it with one of her old sleep camisoles, the red one you always steal. You mumble something unintelligible, nuzzling into the cold side of the pillow, and she can't help but brush your hair back from your forehead.

“Sleep tight, mi amore.”

Then she disappears into the bathroom and squints at her reflection on the mirror, the smudged mascara, the worry lines between her brows. Her nighttime routine is simple, the rush of water as she washes her face, the click of her skincare bottles, while whatever song is playing in her head. When she finally emerges, her face is scrubbed clean, her hair piled into a messy bun, her pajamas hanging loose and soft on her frame.

You’ve shifted in her absence, one arm outstretched across her side of the bed like you were searching for her.

Melissa slips under the covers, careful not to jostle you. For a long moment, she just watches the rise and fall of your breathing and thinks.

She should go to sleep in the guest room next door, giving you comfort and privacy. The plastic-covered sofa isn’t a reliable option after all, she might wake up with a terrible neck pain. Dealing with her grade partner Janine Teagues while irritated from a bad night’s sleep is a nightmare.

Staying here in her own bed isn’t a bad idea, right? Hell, you’re the daughter of the neighbor who harbors a deep hatred for her. What else could possibly be a terrible idea?

Her fingers hover just above your skin, not quite touching. The pad of her index finger traces the invisible line of your brow first. Following the arch like she’s memorizing every curve. Then, feather-light, she brushes over the bridge of your nose, smiling when you scrunch it slightly in your sleep.

“A brat even when you’re out cold,” she teases.

Next, it’s over your cheekbone, following the curve down to the corner of your mouth. There’s a tiny scar there, barely noticeable unless you look closely, from when you fell off your bike at eight years old. She knows the story. Knows how your mom freaked out, how your grandma pressed a linen napkin to your face and groaned about “too much energy.”

The redheaded second grade teacher knows too much. That’s the problem.

When her fingers go lower, sliding along your jaw you smile faintly, your breath warm against her wrist, and she freezes but you don’t wake. You just turn your face slightly into her touch.

“Sap,” your girlfriend quips.

A sound creaks, a sharp pop from the hallway. Her head snaps up, her body going rigid. For one breath-stealing second, she imagines the door swinging open. Imagines your mother showing up through the darkness. I knew it. I knew you were fucking my daughter, you pervert! Get away from her right now! Or you’ll regret it!

But nothing moves. It’s just the house. Just Melissa’s paranoia.

When she looks down again, you’ve curled toward her, one hand weakly clutching the fabric of her nightshirt. The scene completely unravels her sarcastic redhead with a heart of stone persona.

She lets out a slow breath through her nose and finally, finally lets herself sink into the mattress beside you. She fits herself against your side, her head resting in the hollow between your shoulder and chest. Your heartbeat is strong beneath her ear. Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, a rhythm she could set her watch to.

One of your arms drapes around her waist, pulling her closer even in sleep. Melissa closes her olive eyes and allows herself to believe, just for tonight, that this isn’t borrowed time. That she doesn’t have to tiptoe around her own home. That your mother won’t invade her property, look at her with that thinly veiled disgust while questioning the love the second-grade teacher feels for you.