requiemdesreves

Latest Posts by requiemdesreves

I need to have wild sesbian lex within the next 24 hours

fanfic is crazy af, so you’re telling me Sevika’s really a character from Arcane and not some hot cowboy who falls for me? like, I’m just a city girl running away to the country for who-knows-what, and suddenly we’re rivals, there’s all this tension, and then we end up loving (and loving on) each other till sunrise.

I miss the way you smile, how your eyes close without you even noticing, how you tease me for it, but get mad when I do the same.

I miss the way you solve everything, with patience, with calm. You don’t raise your voice, you don’t get upset. You just sigh, walk toward me, and look at me with that gaze that melts me, with a love I’ve never known before.

I miss the way you comfort me when I feel low. Knowing that, even if I’m sensitive, even if I cry over everything and get discouraged by the smallest things, you're still there, your hands cradling my face as your thumbs, so gently, wipe away my tears.

“There, my love. Everything’s going to be okay,” you say, and start kissing my face, tasting the salt of my sadness—and you don’t mind. You welcome it. You enjoy being my comfort, my shelter from the storm, everything I’ve ever needed.

I miss your arms, how they wrap around me with such ease, no matter the place, the time, or the day. Like a whisper that never fades, saying everything you feel without fear. And your kisses? Softer than the breath of a sleeping angel. Passionate, deep. Our lips move with hunger, like they were made to find each other, as if every piece moved by God, the universe, or whatever force covers us, was moved so we could meet, so we could connect the way we do, so we could wrap ourselves in a love no one else knows, no one else feels the way we do, no one lives for it the way I do. The way you do.

I miss the nights spent by your side, the routine that once felt strange and slowly became essential. I sit in front of your vanity, doing my nighttime rituals until I feel your gaze. You're in bed, leaning back, smiling at me with that crooked grin that makes me weak.

“Are you almost done, princess?” you ask, and I just shake my head.

Those nights I miss so much are a reflection of how deeply we love each other, of how your head disappears between my thighs while I try not to make a sound so your parents don’t hear us. How your tongue plays with my clit slowly, gently. With that patience only you have, with a precision that drives me insane.

I don’t know… I just miss my future girlfriend.

just got my nails done, where are the butches who like back scratches in exchange for kisses?

Melting Point

Part 1 - part 2 - part 3 pairing: college AU. mech student Vi x physics student reader word count: 3.1k a/n: idk why this ended up being so long tbh. i’m just chronically bored n have nothing better to do. someone pls drop show recs or i will combust 😭 anyway. since i’m suffering, this is now a 3-part series no one asked for.

Vi is your best friend in the world.

You mean it, because since you met her, she’s been a refuge, your company, and a light in your darkest moments. Always there, never judging, never tired of listening, celebrating your joys as if they were her own, and holding you up when you couldn’t go on. Over time, she taught you that true friendships exist, that there are people who stay, who care, who understand…

And that you can come with just her tongue in a matter of minutes.

Her hands parted your legs gently but firmly, she licked your clit several times before pressing her tongue softly against it. You couldn’t help but move your hips up and down, and she let you, letting you satisfy your need, letting you use her. When she decided to stop your movements to steady you, you felt two of her fingers playing with your entrance, and you stopped her:

“Just your mouth, Vi, please,” you whispered so sweetly she couldn’t say no. Then she picked up the pace, her movements changed, became more insistent. She wrapped her lips around your clit and sucked softly, lifting her eyes to look at you as she went on. Her eyes, that puppy-dog look, was what pushed you to the edge, the fact that the intensity of her gaze was begging for something, something you still don’t know, don’t understand. Because of course, that night is a thing of the past, a hidden moment from the first months of your friendship.

You remember how it all started, that afternoon the sun was mercilessly beating down on the cracked asphalt at the bus stop. The humidity made your clothes stick like an uncomfortable second skin. You were sitting on the edge of the bench backrest, checking the transit app for the third time. Delayed. Again.

You sighed, soaked in exhaustion, having had lab all afternoon, and the heat only made the wait more unbearable.

A horn sounded nearby, not loud enough to startle you but enough to catch your attention. When you turned, a matte black truck, with a few dents, had just stopped in front of you.

“Hey, brainiac,” you couldn’t help but smile at the nickname from that voice. It was Vi, with a crooked smile and that sparkling blue look that always seemed about to get into trouble. “Need a ride?”

You blinked. It wasn’t like Vi was a stranger, but you weren’t friends either. You’d crossed paths in a few general module classes, talked a couple of times, more by circumstance than choice.

“Thanks, but I’m fine,” you replied with a polite smile. “I live pretty far, it’d be a hassle.”

“Far like another city or another country?” Vi raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. Her tone was playful, but there was something sincere in her offer. “Besides, it’s not like I have anything better to do.”

You hesitated. She didn’t seem like the type to offer favors out of courtesy. And yet, there she was, elbow resting on the window, like waiting for you under the sun was the most normal thing in the world.

“Are you sure I’m not making you go too far out of your way?”

Vi smiled. “Absolutely. In fact, I have a personal policy of rescuing smart girls who melt at bus stops. Consider it a heroic act.”

That made you laugh, short but genuine. You sighed one last time and got closer to the truck.

“Alright. But if you kidnap me, I’m going to complain the whole way.”

Vi pushed the passenger door open from inside. “Perfect. I love whiners. Get in.”

It stayed in your mind that, even though you didn’t know her well, you got in, but not before texting your mom to say someone was giving you a ride home, along with the license plate number of the truck, 'just in case.'

Inside, it was surprisingly tidy. A half empty water bottle rolled on the floor, and there was a wrench shaped air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror. Vi broke the slightly awkward silence between you.

“So, physics, huh?” Vi said as she merged into traffic. You wondered how she knew since you’d never told her, though looking back, your personality probably gave it away or maybe it was the pin on your backpack that said “hot girls study physics” your sister had given you. “I always thought you looked like you could split atoms with your mind.”

“They don’t split,” you corrected immediately. “Technically, they’re bombarded with neutrons.”

She smiled. You thought she’d call you “brainiac” again, but she didn’t. “That’s sexy. I love bombs.”

You burst out laughing, surprised. Vi had that knack for turning the ordinary into something entertaining. The conversation flowed naturally. You talked about annoying professors, the upcoming semester, and above all, about how much more you had in common than you expected. 

The trust between you two grew quickly. You went from being casual acquaintances who'd bump into each other now and then to being more than just confidants. Before you even realized it, Violet already knew your parents, got along great with your siblings, and, most importantly, had become your personal chauffeur. At the time, your family was just coming out of a rough financial patch, so whenever you felt too lazy to take public transport and couldn't afford a taxi, you'd text her. She never said no, she was always there.

By the end of your third semester at university, you were at a party with the only two friends you’d managed to keep from high school when you started noticing something off. The vibe felt strange. They were acting weird, hanging around with three guys you’d never seen before, whispering and laughing in a way that made you uncomfortable.

So, without thinking twice, you pulled out your phone and texted your lifesaver.

You: Vi, are you busy?

You sent the message just as you felt a strange presence behind you. One of the guys your friends brought was whispering things in your ear that made you want to throw up. Not knowing what to do, you looked at your friends, who insisted you “go along with it” and “don’t be a bore.” Disgusted, you pulled away from his grip and ran to the club bathroom, slipping into the first empty stall you found. You grabbed your phone to send Vi another message, but saw the typing dots.

Vi: Depends on who’s asking. What’s up, doll?

You: I’m at a party and I need you to come get me, please.

Vi: Is it that bad? What happened?

You: Remember I told you about my best friends from high school? They invited me to celebrate one of their birthdays, but they brought three guys and want me to stay with one. They’re shoving him on me and won’t listen when I say no.

Vi: Seriously? Did they hurt you or anything? I’ve got a new wrench and it’d look great on the head of any asshole who hurts you.

You roll your eyes.

You: I’m serious, Violet.

Vi: So am I, baby.

That nickname made you feel weird. You imagined how she’d say it, with that crooked smile, whispering in your ear. You shook your head and refocused on the situation.

You: Can you come?

Vi: Sure, but there’s a little problem... I’m kind of on a date with the girl with the big ass from our computer science class, you know? The one with the big cake, the double escape, turbo booty, the SUV... You mind if we pick up both of you?

You: You could’ve just said her name, I know who she is. Also, SUV?

Vi: Yeah, cause it’s big and roomy. We’ll pick you both up, okay?

You: Isn’t that a hassle? If you’re on a date, maybe you shouldn’t interrupt.

Vi: Don’t be silly. You know my thing is having sex in the backseat after dinner and calling it “casual.” I’m on my way. Told my date we’re rescuing a damsel in distress.

You: Thanks, Vi. Really.

Vi: Always. Stay where you can see us when we get there. We’ll be there in fifteen. Don’t worry about a thing.

Vi’s fifteen minutes gave you just enough time to try to avoid your friends—keyword: try. As soon as you stepped out of the stall, you met their bloodshot eyes, drunk from so much drinking, but still insistent. As much as you cared for them, you’d said no, and you stood firm. Despite their attempts to convince you, you refused until you got fed up and told them to fuck off, leaving the bathroom and, without looking back, the club.

The night that hugged you was cold, and for some reason, it made you feel alone, betrayed. You don’t remember if it was the alcohol in your system or just standing alone on a corner on a Saturday night, but you wanted to cry, cry until you had no more tears, cry until you passed out and woke up when the bitter taste in your throat was gone. But you didn’t. The light of the truck, which you already recognized from just the sound, blinded you for a moment. And as if an angel sent from heaven to watch over you, you heard her voice:

“Get in, brainiac.” Vi’s voice made you want to cry even more, but you held back. You looked up to see the driver’s window rolled down, and through it, the pink-haired girl leaning slightly out, an elbow resting on the edge of the door. “It’s cold out here, and with that skirt on this corner, I’d dare to ask how much you charge by the hour, gorgeous.”

The girl next to her elbowed her and gave her a threatening look, to which she replied with a simple, “Relax, it’s a joke between friends.”

Without saying a word, you got in the back seat, head down. “Thanks for getting me out of here, Vi, and sorry to interrupt, really,” you whispered, feeling embarrassed now. Vi’s date wasn’t too happy about your interruption but tried to hide it as much as possible. Your best friend, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to the girl’s irritation, giving you a concerned look through the rearview mirror and asking, “You okay?” You just nodded. You’d already bothered her enough by making her come get you; you didn’t want her to worry more.

The ride home was quiet for a few minutes. Then Vi and the stranger started talking about things you didn’t really understand. Your mind was elsewhere, quickly analyzing the night’s events, the way your “friends” treated you. Tears welled up again, but Vi’s turn snapped you out of it.

“Turn right,” you corrected her. “I thought you knew the way like the back of your hand.”

“I do.” She looked at you again. “We’ll drop off this lovely lady first.” The words surprised both you and her date, who gasped offended. You saw her try to argue, but Vi gently dismissed her, whispering so you wouldn’t hear.

A few minutes later, very offended, the girl got out at her house, slamming the door.

“Grumpy,” Vi whispered, turning to you with a sweet smile. “You coming up front or do I have to come get you?”

“Violet, why did you do that?” you scolded her as you gathered momentum to slide into the front seat without getting out of the car. “You were supposed to take me home and then go back to your date. Now Turbo Booty will think I’m one of those toxic friends who can’t stand to see the other in a relationship and she’ll hate me.”

“To hell with what she thinks. You’re going to explain in detail what happened at the party and why you were sobbing like a sad puppy the whole way here. And be honest.”

“I already told you what happened. They wanted to hook me up with one of those guys by force. I said no and told them to go fuck themselves. That’s it.” You said firmly, trying to sound convincing, but her look called you a liar, spelling out every letter. You looked down. “And I was crying because I felt betrayed... it hurt.”

The tears you’d held back finally came. “It hurt that they did that to me, that they treated me like that. It felt awful.” Violet looked at you, not knowing what to say. Then her arms wrapped around you gently, and she ran a hand through your hair, stroking it softly.

“It’s over, darling.” She whispers as she tries to soothe you. “You’re safe, I’ve got you, okay? Relax.”

Your sobs eventually stop, though your body still trembles slightly. “Sorry for ruining your date.”

She chuckles softly, and you look up to meet her usual teasing expression, though this time it’s a little softer.  “I told you it wasn’t a date.” Her fingers brush your face, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear. “Besides, even if it was, it doesn’t matter, you’re more important.”

“Thanks, I—”

“Stop thanking me for the tiniest things,” Vi interrupts, and her gaze makes you feel strange, something new. “Are you drunk?”

You shake your head. Feeling insecure, you’d decided not to drink at all, you didn’t even feel comfortable thinking about being drunk around those people. Vi hums quietly and stays silent for a few seconds, studying your eyes, your breathing. Then, slowly, her lips move closer to yours. You wait until they’re almost touching before turning your face, and your best friend’s soft lips press against your cheek.

You want to kiss her, you’ve wanted to for a long time, and you would have now if it weren’t for the fact that…

“Less than half an hour ago you were fucking someone, Vi. Kissing you would be kissing her, her pussy.”

“I… we didn’t go that far,” she sighs, looking at you with almost pleading eyes. “Sure, my plan was for us to, but then you called me.”

“So now I have to return the favor?” you ask sarcastically, hoping her answer won’t cost you another friendship.

“No.” Vi shakes her head quickly. “It’s not about that. You mean too much to me to do that to you. I just… thought you’d want it. I don’t know why, forget it, it was stupid.”

For the first time since you’ve been friends, you hear her mumble, doubt what she’s saying, doubt herself, and that surprises you. For some strange reason, it turns you on.

Without thinking, you move toward her, toward her lips, and kiss her. Your lips move slowly over hers. You both hesitate, wondering if you should stop, if it’s right, but you don’t. Instead, Vi presses her lips harder against yours. One hand travels to the back of your neck, gripping and pulling you closer in a way that makes you let out a moan muffled by her mouth.

Vi leans over you, reclining the seat, dominating the kiss with a passion that intoxicates you, carrying you to a dirty, lustful, carnal cloud. Her kisses trail down to your neck, where she bites and marks you. Yours. That’s what you are now, only hers.

Unaware, her hands are already on your thighs, slipping under your skirt. They’re timid, exploring unknown territory. You feel her fingers stroke the wetness your panties are already soaking. She smiles; you blush.

“We can stop if you want, darling,” she teases with a crooked smile, her fingers sliding over your clothed center.

“No.” The answer escapes you with a whimper that begs for more, needs more. You move your hips, pressing against her fingers. There’s a moment of silence as she stares at you, the same smile on her lips, her eyes half-closed.

Vi spreads your legs. It happens so suddenly it burns, it hurts. She kneels in front of you, moving slowly enough to annoy you. Your best friend is giving you time to reconsider, to think things through, and even though she wouldn’t want it, to say no. Seeing you don’t, she wastes no time burying her face between your legs, kissing your cunt over your underwear in a messier way than when she kissed you.

You hear her moan against your wetness, her fingers trembling as they slide your panties down. She doesn’t remove them completely, just leaves them around your knees. Then she watches for a few seconds, not at you, at her: your folds shining with the proof of your arousal, looking shy, as if you’ve never been touched, loved. Vi is deliberate with what she does, brushing her nose against your wet folds. Her tongue moves with precision that kills you, starting at your clit, moving to your entrance, then back again. Her movements are slow, teasing.

“Violet,” you moan her name, bringing one hand to her head, holding it exactly where you need it.

Vi, busy moaning over the slippery mess she’s making, looks up, and oh, you can’t help but squeeze her between your legs when you see those eyes.

“Did something happen?”

You shake your head. “Please, don’t stop.”

She chuckles softly. “Relax, doll, I won’t.”

Her hands part your legs again, this time gentle but firm. Her tongue works in small circles, nibbling and sucking your clit several times before pressing it softly against him. Your whimpers and her gasps fill the tight space in her truck. Neither of you says a word for a long while, just surrendering to the sensation.

Vi, who hasn’t even stopped to breathe, pauses to speak, her voice hoarse and dripping with saliva.

“You taste divine.”

That’s all she says before diving back between your legs.

You couldn’t help but move your hips up and down, and she let you, letting you satisfy your need, letting you use her. When she decided to stop your movements to steady you, you felt two of her fingers playing with your entrance, and you stopped her:

“Just your mouth, Vi, please,” you whispered so sweetly she couldn’t say no. You never told her, but she noticed, despite your outgoing personality and the long list of partners you’d had, your sexual experiences were few, and when it came to penetration, nonexistent.

Then she picked up the pace, her movements changed, became more insistent. She wrapped her lips around your clit and sucked softly, lifting her eyes to look at you as she went on. Her eyes, that puppy-dog look, was what pushed you to the edge, the intensity of her gaze begging for something, for more moments like this, for you to stay.

Your back left the seat, grinding yourself against her mouth. You feel everything inside you shift: the heat of your body, your breathing, the way you grab her hair, and, of course, the way you once saw your best friend.

That very night, Vi stroked your hair as your head rested on her chest. You both tried to catch your breath, to process everything that had just happened.

“I… we shouldn’t get used to this. It was just a one-time thing, you know?”

You roll your eyes but play along, because believe me, that wasn’t the last time, and you both knew it wouldn’t be.

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Silvia

word count: 1.3k

Last Sunday was Mother’s Day in my country, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about your first Mother’s Day as Sevika’s wife. The smell of coffee and freshly baked bread wakes you before your daughter’s cries do, which is unusual. The little one has had a set routine since she was born: she wakes up early for you to feed her, then goes back to sleep until she’s hungry again. You blink slowly, your body heavy with the accumulated exhaustion of interrupted nights, and reach out to the side of the bed where Sevika sleeps, only to find her gone, which makes you frown, though the aroma in the air tells you exactly where she is.

When you finally sit up in bed, you see her coming into the room with a tray in her hands. This time, her expression isn’t tough at all; it’s a strange mix of pride and shyness. Her steps are heavy but careful, her breathing deep and controlled, trying to be as quiet as possible so she doesn’t wake you. She’s so focused on not making a sound that she doesn’t notice your eyes are already open, watching her with a sweet smile.

“Good morning, beautiful,” she says when she finally looks up, her voice low and husky, as if she’s afraid to break the moment. “Happy first Mother’s Day.”

On the tray: golden toast, perfectly scrambled eggs, hot coffee, and a small plate of fruit. Next to it, a little black velvet box.

“Sevika…” you whisper, with a smile you didn’t even know you could make so early in the morning.

She sets the tray on your lap, sits at the edge of the bed, and opens the little box for you. Inside, there’s a silver necklace. On the pendant, a tiny inscription:

“The best of me, I share with you.”

You open the locket and see a tiny photo: you, Sevika, and Silvie, your daughter, on the couch. It was taken a few months ago, days after you were discharged from the hospital after giving birth. In the photo, the baby is resting in Sevika’s arms. She’s looking at the camera with a shy smile, as if she’s learning how to smile again after so long and, in a way, she is.

“I love you,” is all you can manage in that moment, you don’t know how to say more with so few words. “Happy first Mother’s Day to you too, love. Watching you be a mother is one of the greatest privileges of my life.”

Sevika, uncomfortable with so much affection all at once, clears her throat and leans in to kiss your forehead. Her hands reach for your face, holding it gently, caressing your cheeks as her lips travel slowly over your forehead, nose, chin, and finally end with a soft kiss on your lips. She doesn’t respond to your congratulations. Ever since you decided to have Silvie, Sevika has insisted that you’re the mother, after all, you carried her for nine months, you breastfeed her, and so on. You keep disagreeing, the girl has Sevika’s face, her gray eyes, thick black hair, and even though she’s only five months old, she already makes the same grumpy face as your wife. As she pulls away, Sevika hands you the coffee, as if that balances out the emotion of the moment.

“I have to go,” she murmurs, stroking your hair, trying to comb it gently with her fingers. “Get some rest, okay? I already fed the little one, so she won’t wake up for a while.”

Before you can answer, she keeps talking: “I know your mom is coming for lunch this afternoon, so relax. Breakfast is already done, and I doubt my lovely mother-in-law will let you cook. We both know she still thinks you’re too weak from giving birth, even though Silvie’s teeth are already starting to come in.”

You smile at her words and can’t help but sigh as you watch her leave for work, not without first giving the baby sleeping in the crib beside your bed a gentle kiss on the head. In the afternoon, the house is filled with Silvie’s laughter as she plays on your mother’s lap. Silvie babbles sweetly, responding to whatever her grandmother says as if she truly understands. You, on the other hand, are sitting in front of them, absent-mindedly playing with your fingers without even realizing it.

“Is something wrong, honey?” your mother asks, her eyes on you, and you recognize that look that cuts through silences.

You look up, your eyes shining.

“It’s Mother’s Day and I…” you pause. “I feel like I’m celebrating it alone.”

“Alone? But Silvie is with you, and Sevika too, right?”

“Yes, but Sevika doesn’t consider herself a mom,” you reply, lowering your gaze. “She says that since she didn’t carry her, since she didn’t give birth it’s not the same. That she just supported me. But… I see her with Silvie, she takes care of her, sings to her, changes her diaper and still, she doesn’t feel like she’s part of this.”

Your mother stays silent for a few seconds. Then she leans in and strokes your hand. “Do you know what your grandmother used to do when I didn’t feel like I fit in as a mother? She reminded me that being a mother isn’t just about giving birth. It’s about staying when things are hard, about loving unconditionally. Maybe your wife just needs someone to tell her that. For you to tell her.”

You purse your lips, thoughtful. “And what if she doesn’t believe me?”

“Then don’t just tell her. Make her feel it. Write her a letter, or give her something that carries the weight of what she means to you and to her daughter. Sometimes, what doesn’t go in through the ears goes straight to the heart.”

When Sevika comes home that night, she’s tired, her mechanical arm moving slower than usual. But when she walks in and sees the table decorated with flowers, a homemade dinner, and you holding Silvie in your arms, the tension in her shoulders melts away. After your conversation with your mother, you decided to do everything you could to make your wife understand how important she is to you and to your little girl. After making dinner, you dressed Silvie in a blue dress and did her hair in two little pigtails, which took forever, since she doesn’t like having her hair done. When you finished with her, you found a sundress in your closet that matched your daughter’s, putting in the effort to look nice for your wife.

“What’s all this?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“My Mother’s Day gift for you,” you reply, showing her a sheet of paper folded in thirds: a handwritten letter from you, with a tiny handprint from Silvie at the end. Sevika takes it, but doesn’t pay much attention for now. Her eyes are fixed on you, on your nervous smile, unsure how she’ll react to the surprise, on the way the dress highlights every part of your body she knows by heart. Without saying a word, she comes closer, her hands finding your hips and caressing them with a mix of tenderness and possessiveness, squeezing them lightly as she speaks:

“You look beautiful, love. I can’t believe you did all this for me.”

You smile and lean in for a quick kiss on the lips. As you try to pull away, Sevika pulls you back and traps you in a more passionate kiss, her lips moving against yours with such need that you forget everything around you, until Silvie, seeing her moms sharing all the love between them, complains, whining and reaching out for Sevika to pick her up.

“Mama,” she demands, opening and closing her hands to get her other mom’s attention.

Sevika smiles and takes her from your arms, giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead. “Hey, princess, did you miss me?”

Silvie just smiles, her little hands reaching for Sevika’s face, touching her scar as if it’s a special game just for her. You let her catch up with her baby, but impatience eats at you.

“Open the letter,” you insist with a smile, unable to hold back any longer.

Sevika chuckles, finding your restlessness amusing. Then, with Silvie in her arms, she opens the letter, trying not to crumple it. She reads it in silence, says nothing for long seconds, but you see a small tear escape, betraying her. She wipes it away quickly. Then she lowers the letter and looks at you, her eyes shining, jaw tight as if holding herself together is her way of loving.

“Love,” she starts, but her voice breaks. She sighs, searching for a way to organize her feelings. “Are you too tired? I want to introduce you to someone very important to me. Let’s go see her, come with me.” Her words come out in a rush, almost unintelligible. You blink several times, trying to process what she just said.

“Go where?”

“To see her. My mother.”

Zaun’s cemetery rests hidden among smoking factories and poisoned canals. There are no flowers or prayers, just scraps of metal marking anonymous graves. It’s a chilling place, where the dead don’t rest, they simply stop getting in the way. But none of that bothers you, you’re focused on what’s happening right now: it’s the first time Sevika has ever spoken to you about her mother. The grave is simple, marked by a plaque worn down by time.

Sevika kneels. You stay close. Silvie rests in Sevika’s arms, and the baby seems to understand her mother’s pain, her sadness, because since Sevika picked her up at home, she hasn’t wanted to let go, lying on her shoulder, sucking her pacifier, eyes wide open, staring at the grave.

“She… was strong. Much stronger than me,” the words come out broken. “Mama.” Her voice cracks. Looking at her, you don’t see Sevika, the woman everyone fears, you see a little girl, defenseless, alone. “I never said goodbye. But if you can see me now, I know you’d understand why I’m fighting.”

She pauses for a long time, stroking the edge of the grave with her metal fingers, as if afraid to break it.

“This is my wife, Mom. She’s my family now,” she continues, pointing at you. “And this,” she adds, looking at Silvie, “is the beginning of something better.” Sevika smiles sadly. “She has your name, Mom—Silvia. But we call her Silvie, because she’s so little.”

You kneel beside her., taking her hand. You feel her tremble.

“Thank you for bringing me,” you whisper.

“Thank you for making me a mom,” Sevika replies, without looking at you. But she squeezes your hand as if she’ll never let go.

That night, under Zaun’s polluted sky, Sevika cries. You hold her. And Silvie, after spending the whole day with her mothers and grandmothers, sleeps. In that scarred corner of the world, something new is born. Something strong.

Something Sevika only knows from women like her mother. Like you.

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Do you need me to, love?

Part 1 word count: 1.5k a/n: tbh this is just me being horny, not really about the plot 😞 I’m a woman with needs ok?? I swear I’ll be normal again once I stop ovulating

“Turn them over,” Caitlyn says in a pleading tone that makes you laugh. “It’s not funny, my love, I’m serious.”

My love. You don’t remember when she started calling you that, but it melts you every time she does. Those two words are all Caitlyn needs to break you down because they’re real. You are her love, the owner of her kisses and caresses, the one she looks for when she feels like she can’t go on.

“Caitlyn Kiramman, I’m not going to turn over every single one of my stuffed animals so they don’t catch us kissing,” you reply with a laugh, not seeing the point in her request.

You’re both in your room; Caitlyn came to visit you secretly-or not so secretly. A few days earlier, she had written to your parents, formally inviting them to tea with her family, using the excuse that both families should join forces in these uncertain times for the city’s progress, making it clear she’d be spending time with you while they were away. That’s one of the things you love most about her: even though your love is a secret, she never fails to do things the right way, insisting you deserve to be courted, even if no one else sees it that way.

“Well, then I won’t kiss you,” she says, crossing her arms, her stubborn streak showing.

“Then don’t kiss me,” you mimic her, crossing your arms and turning your back to her. Caitlyn can be stubborn, but you’re a brat, and you’re not going to let her win.

You hold your head high and, for a moment, you hesitate. You wonder if she’ll play along, if she’ll get tired and leave you alone, but before you give up and turn around to look at her, you feel her hands on your waist, her chest pressed against your back, and her lips on your shoulders.

“Are we really going to argue over this, my love?” she whispers as she kisses you, one hand sliding up your top, kneading and squeezing one of your tits over your bra. You didn’t know she was coming to see you-not until just minutes before your parents left. She didn’t give you time to get ready, knocking on your door right after seeing your mom and dad leave. So you’re wearing a comfortable pajama set: a thin-strapped tank top with a heart print and matching shorts. Caitlyn bites you gently, then soothes the spot with her tongue. You can feel her smile on your skin, and the sensation sends a shiver down your spine.

“You’re asking me for something that makes no sense,” you try to keep up the fight, but the way her fingers slip under your bra and tease your nipple won’t let you. You feel yourself swell immediately and sigh. “They’re stuffed animals, they can’t see us.”

“Of course they can,” she insists, now kissing your neck. Her lips stop at your ear, and she whispers in a way that makes your panties damp. “But let’s drop that, okay? I haven’t seen you in weeks, and I don’t want to spend the few hours we have left arguing with you.”

You don’t respond, letting her touch you, kiss you, do whatever she wants with you. Without breaking contact, she leads you to your vanity. Her reflection appears in the mirror, a large one, decorated with golden edges and a small lipstick stain you left while putting on makeup a few days ago.

“Look at you. You’re so beautiful.” Her words weaken you, but what really does it is when she slips her hands under your shorts and straight into your underwear. She’s not joking, not teasing. Not today. Her middle finger slowly strokes your clit, and you roll your eyes, grabbing her arm and digging your nails in hard. You catch a glimpse of a small wince in her reflection, but she doesn’t complain.

“Caitlyn,” you whisper, trying to find the strength to speak as you feel her finger moving faster. “We’re literally two steps from the bed, why here?”

Caitlyn laughs softly, looking at you, not through the mirror, but at you. At the sweat starting to form on your forehead, at the way your face tightens as you try not to make too much noise. “I want you to see yourself, princess. You look so good like this, it’d be a shame not to share the view. Even if it’s just with you.” As she speaks, she pushes two fingers deep inside you.

Saying you moan is an understatement. You tremble, writhe, and become nothing under her touch. You can’t help but grind against her fingers, craving more of that pleasure only she can give.

“Baby… please,” you beg without even knowing why. You don’t know what you want, but you don’t want her to stop.

She soothes you mockingly, the hand that was on your breasts now moving to your back, gently pushing you until the upper part of your body rests on the vanity. You’re face down, ass up. Just the way she likes it. Her fingers pause, pulling away from you to clean them with her mouth without breaking eye contact. The heat in your abdomen intensifies. You need her in a raw, carnal way. You try to say something, move, or complain, but she won’t let you, speaking before you can:

“You don’t know how hard it is to be away from you, my princess.” Her voice is hoarse, needy. You can see she’s trying to keep it together, but it’s tough. “It hurts how much I need you. Do you need me too, love?”

You nod, unable to form coherent words, much less a sentence. Humiliating. Truly humiliating. From the position she’s got you in, to the effect it has on your mind, on your whole being.

“How about we go to the bed where we’re both comfortable?” Her hands caress your ass gently, speaking to you and looking at you as if you were the most fragile, delicate thing in the world. “I know you’ll turn the stuffed animals around like I asked.”

You laugh at her words, really laugh, in a teasing way that annoys her. You might be a horny little thing who wets her panties at the slightest touch, who squeezes her thighs just from the scent of her perfume, but you never lose your arguments. Never.

“I already told you I’m not going to do it.”

And you didn’t.

Caitlyn scolds you for it while her lips wrap around your clit, sucking in a way that makes your eyes roll back. You don’t know if it’s because she’s irritated or because she hasn’t seen you in a while, but the way she eats you out makes you feel so good. She licks your pussy with such passion that you wonder if she’s doing it for you or for herself. Her words get lost in your folds. A perfect mix of praise and reproach. And her fingers, oh her fingers. They pump in and out of you, making you lift your hips, craving more.

Your hands grip her hair, pushing it away from her face and guiding her where you need her. You pull her away when you feel your orgasm coming, not wanting to come on her face, but she growls and dives back between your legs, licking you like she’s starving, desperate.

“Don’t hold back, love, come for me. Don’t worry about me.” Caitlyn coos you, her free hand intertwined with yours. You squeeze it tight as the orgasm washes over your body, your thighs clamping down on her, but Caitlyn doesn’t mind and keeps licking. You hear her moan between your legs and notice how she grinds against the mattress, trying to calm her own arousal.

“Come here,” you call softly, barely audible, but she hears and obeys.

Without hesitation, Caitlyn spreads your legs wider, throwing one over you. She stays like that for a few seconds before letting her weight fall on you, and when she does, you feel like you could die right then and there, and if you did, you’d die happy.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.” Her movements are slow, deliberate. You just had an orgasm, and no matter how desperate she is, Caitlyn doesn’t want to hurt you or make you uncomfortable. She picks up the pace when she hears the moans escaping your mouth, mixed with sweet words and her name over and over.

You were a mess. Both of you were. The room is filled with obscene sounds, the scent of sex, and the proof of a passion that feels eternal. It didn’t take long for Caitlyn to come, and for you to reach a second orgasm.

She collapses beside you, her breathing ragged, just like yours. Without saying a word, she curls up against your chest, running a hand along your waist and pulling you close. You’re both sweaty, sticky, and you hate sweat. Yours, anyone’s, but not hers. Not when it’s proof of the love you share.

“I missed you,” she whispers, and your hand travels to her neck. “I mean it. I’m not happy when you’re away.”

You smile, snuggling closer, seeking the warmth of her body. “I missed you too. A lot.”

Neither of you says anything else. You just stay wrapped up in the comfort the other provides. You’re sticky, sweaty, and exhausted. So exhausted that neither of you hears your mother’s shrill voice announcing she’s home.

Uh-oh...

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Ahhhhh You've got it princess was sooooo guddd will you be doing a part 2 ?

THANKS! 😻😻& sorry for the late reply, my broken brain was like ‘you can’t reply unless it’s with part 2’ lol but I felt too bad not saying anything 😭 and yes, there’s def gonna be a part 2, i’m literally working on it rn

You’ve got it, princess...

Part 2 word count: 2.1k

Music floats through the air like a sweet, golden mist, mingling with the clinking of crystal glasses and elegant laughter. The Kiramman mansion was brimming with life: soft carpets, chandeliers that seemed to float on their own, and a crowd dressed to the nines, discussing politics, power, and progress as if they were just casual after-dinner topics. And they were.

You stood near one of the inner balconies, a glass of white wine in your hand, watching the party as if it were a spectacle put on just for your amusement. In part, it was. Your last name alone was enough to draw the room’s attention with every step. Your lineage: an industrial dynasty that controlled a significant portion of Piltover’s technological development. The name you carried was synonymous with excellence, efficiency, and untouchability—something everyone respected and admired.

Everyone… except her.

Caitlyn Kiramman stood on the far side of the room, her back to you, talking to a group of Enforcer officers and the occasional young noble, all of them trying to seem more interesting than they truly were. Her elegant profile stood out even amid the opulence, as if she didn’t truly belong there, as if she bore the Kiramman name out of duty—because she was more than just that.

You knew she hated events like this. And yet, she was always there—whether out of obligation or because she liked watching you from across the room. She looked at you like she desired you, body and soul. Her eyes traced every inch of you with a burning intensity, yearning to undress you without laying a single finger on you, making you feel small under the force of her blue eyes that said nothing, yet never failed to convey the heat they carried. Caitlyn was always there. And she always made sure you were too—though this time, her insistence had been more obvious than ever.

Her first letter arrived on an otherwise ordinary morning, hidden among the bills in the mailbox like a whisper that didn’t want to be found. The paper, scented with lavender and sealed with blue wax, bore her family’s name as an excuse. But you recognized her handwriting instantly. It was her. The letter said that you and your parents were invited to a party at the Kiramman mansion, with all the formality her last name demanded. But as you read it, you knew it wasn’t her family that wanted you there. Her handwriting had the exact shape of her voice when she spoke into your ear: slow, sweet, sure. And that single invitation was enough to make your heart stutter, already starting to dance.

Two days later, no one knocked on the door, your parents didn’t hand it to you—it was just there, on your bed: a large box wrapped in satin paper with a black ribbon, waiting. Inside, carefully folded over soft tissue paper, was a dress. A deep purple dress, as rich as a long-held desire. The fabric flowed like water through your fingers, and the neckline—subtle, but undeniably beautiful—seemed made just for your body. It wasn’t simply a dress for a party. It was an unspoken promise. And the moment you held it up to the mirror, you understood—it was her way of asking you to be hers that night, even if no one else would know.

You thought that would be the last gift, but she had always been braver than you. The next day, just before the party, another box arrived. Smaller, but wrapped with the same care. Inside: a set of black lingerie, so soft and light it seemed woven from secrets. Fine lace, barely visible embroidery. Not vulgar. Not bold. Intimate. A quiet reminder that tonight, while everyone else saw what you wore on the outside, only she would know what was beneath.

And now you’re here, wearing the dress she gave you, watching her from afar, waiting for her to come to you. Your relationship with Caitlyn was… complicated. From a distance, you were old acquaintances. The daughters of two of the most powerful families in the city, raised among gilded halls, private tutors, and promises of greatness. Up close, you were a secret. A secret that smelled of expensive perfume and gunpowder. Of stolen kisses and uncomfortable silences. Of words that never quite said what they meant.

Caitlyn continued to stare at you brazenly, a flash of blue meeting your gaze, and you forced yourself not to smile. That was your game: pretending nothing was happening. That you didn't know what her breath felt like when she moaned against your neck. That she wasn't familiar with the exact sound you made when her mouth was lost between your legs.

But tonight, something in her gaze was different. It wasn’t desire—desire was always there. It was urgency. A flicker of need she couldn’t hide—not tonight. Minutes passed, or maybe hours, as the party carried on. Until you saw her move through the crowd, brushing past you with her fingers ever so slightly, without looking. A touch only you noticed, but enough to make your skin burn.

You followed her.

Through carpeted halls, staircases that creaked softly beneath your heels, and a silence so sacred it seemed to grow the farther you got from the music. Until she stopped in front of a door—the east wing bathroom, the one only family used. She opened it without a word and stepped inside. You followed, closing the door behind you.

The sound of the latch clicking shut was almost like a seal. The white marble of the bathroom felt colder than usual, and the air between you was so thick, it could be cut with a single word. Caitlyn stood with her back to you for a few seconds, her silhouette reflected in the large mirrors covering the wall.

“You look…” she whispered, turning slowly, as if afraid you’d vanish if she moved too fast. “More beautiful than I imagined.”

You didn’t respond. You just looked at her, feeling the weight of her gaze sliding over your neckline, your hips, every curve she had chosen to dress in that dress. She approached slowly, as if crossing a minefield, and when she was close enough for her scent—gunpowder mixed with soft perfume—to surround you, she raised her hand and gently touched your cheek.

“Thank you for coming,” she said in that low, deep voice of hers. “I knew you’d come, but still… I needed to see you.”

“Why?” you asked, unmoving. “For this?” you gestured, referring to the fact that she could only touch you in secret.

“Not just for this,” she replied, letting her thumb slide down to your bottom lip. “To remind you that I think of you every night.”

“And what about every morning, Caitlyn?” you shot back, taking a step away this time. “Do you think of me then too? When you smile at others at those press luncheons? Or when your mother talks about your future political engagements?”

She went silent, swallowing hard. Then, with a sigh that seemed to weigh her down from the chest, she answered:

“It’s not that simple. You don’t know what it’s like—”

“I know exactly what it’s like,” you cut her off. “I’m the one who has to pretend nothing’s happening when I see you in the streets of Piltover. The one who hides when your officers show up. The one wearing the dress you picked while you smile at the world like I don’t exist.”

“It’s not that you don’t exist!” Caitlyn replied, her voice shaking as she took a step toward you. “It’s that the world around me doesn’t let us exist. Not like this.”

“Don’t use it as an excuse for your cowardice,” you spat, your eyes shining. “Don’t ask me to come in secret and leave just as invisible. Don’t look at me like that and then walk away as if you never touched my skin.”

She blinked, wounded. You could see it in how she pressed her lips together, in the way her breathing became unsteady. But she didn’t step back. Not this time.

“I… I love you,” she finally said, in a low voice, as if those words might break her. “Doesn’t that count?”

Your eyes filled with both rage and tenderness.

“Of course it counts. But you know what else counts? The fact that I can’t keep being the part of you that no one sees.”

Caitlyn came closer again, and this time she cupped your face with both hands. Her lips found yours in a kiss that wasn’t soft, but desperate. Loaded with guilt, desire, and everything you’d never dared say out loud. Your fingers clenched the fabric of her dress, gripping it like that could make her stay. And for a moment, it did. She kissed you with a hunger that hurt. There was no shyness. It was a desperate collision, full of craving, of need. A kiss like those that aren’t planned, born from an impulse burning in your chest that turns into body, skin, desire.

Her hands didn’t stay still. One grabbed your waist, pulling you toward her with a fire that burned. Her hand traveled to the back of your hair, tugging gently to tease you—she loves to tease you. The world disappeared. It was just the two of you, breathing into each other, melting into that kiss that asked for no permission, apologized for nothing.

Caitlyn kept kissing you with the passion that defines her, the kind that melts you over and over again, even when you don’t want it. You can’t help but return the kiss, and when she realizes it, her tongue slips into your mouth without asking—she never asks, especially when she knows you want it too. She pushes you until your body crashes against the sink in the tiny bathroom, lifting you gently to settle between your legs.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Caitlyn whispers as her lips trail down your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses. “I’m sorry, darling, I love you.” She repeats it like a prayer, as if she needs those words as much as you do. You try to hold back the moans threatening to escape when you feel her cold hands slip under your dress and caress your thighs, tempting you.

“We can’t do this… not here,” you whisper, but your body says otherwise, your legs parting to give her more space.

“No one will find us, relax,” Caitlyn says, seizing the chance as her fingers travel to your center, wanting to feel your wetness through that black lingerie set she gave you—but what she finds leaves her speechless: you’re not wearing it. In fact, you’re wearing nothing.

“You’re a fucking threat,” she whispers against your neck, biting you in a way that makes you writhe. “You came like this for me to fuck you? Well, I’ll give you what you want.” Then, without warning or gentleness, two of her fingers plunge into your slick entrance, drawing a sharp moan from you that echoes through the bathroom.

“Caitlyn… fuck,” you writhe as her fingers curl inside you, hitting those spots only she knows, places even you can’t reach. She stays buried in your neck, kissing, licking, whispering sweet nothings that make you forget why you were angry in the first place. She apologizes for not having the courage to love you openly, promising to change—but you don’t care, not when her thumb strokes your clit, making you arch your back for more, or when her fingers move faster, reaching deep inside you like it’s second nature.

The whimpers and moans spilling from your lips grow louder; she feels your walls clench around her fingers. You can’t hold back, not when she cradles you against her body and strokes your hair, offering affection and treating you like the most fragile thing in the world—though the motion of her fingers and her insistence on going deeper say otherwise.

“Come for me, darling. Relax, I’ve got you,” she whispers, the words carrying you over the edge, crying her name with desperate need. “That’s it, you’ve got it, princess. You’re so fucking beautiful, so mine.” She pulls you closer, guiding you down from your high, kissing your forehead and face, watching your exhausted expression.

You say nothing, letting her caress you. In that moment, everything feels frozen: the steam on the mirror, the slight tremble in her fingers, the rhythm of your breathing like a melody learned by heart. The world outside is a distant echo, shapeless and urgent. Only this corner exists, where your bodies, still entwined, recognize each other as solid ground, as refuge.

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Don't cry, my love...

Sevika wasn’t the kind of person who showed many emotions. Since the moment you met her, her toughness had always been part of her charm—her firm, almost intimidating presence. But ever since the two of you started building a family, everything had changed, even if she tried to hide it at times.

It was a quiet afternoon at home. The soft light of sunset filtered through the curtains, bathing the living room in golden hues. The sound of your wife’s gentle laughter and the soft tapping of tiny feet filled the air. Your baby girl, Silvie, was only eight months old, but she was already beginning to show her personality, and like any baby at that stage, she was exploring her world.

Sevika was sitting on the couch, watching her daughter with a mix of tenderness and focus. She was used to the strength her job demanded, to the harshness of her daily routine, but that little smile—those bright, curious eyes of Silvie—had the power to make her melt like a piece of chocolate in the sun.

You, her wife, were in the kitchen, finishing up a snack for the family. The smell of freshly baked cookies filled the air, but what truly caught your attention was the cheerful laughter of your baby and the soft words Sevika whispered as they played together on the couch. “Silvie, where’s your favorite toy?” Sevika said, lifting a small rattle with a smile. Silvie, with her big curious eyes, reached out for the toy, but something on the floor caught her attention instead—a small piece of metal, a screw that had fallen from somewhere and now dangerously lay within her reach.

It wasn’t the first time the little one grabbed something she shouldn’t have, and although Sevika was always vigilant, there was no way to prevent her daughter from getting curious about the wrong things from time to time. With swift movements, Sevika took the piece from the baby’s hands. “No, no, no, princess!” she said, her voice soft but firm, as she moved the screw out of reach. “That’s not for you, sweetheart.” Silvie, surprised by the sudden change, began to let out a soft cry, almost as if she didn’t understand what had just happened. But as soon as she realized something important had been taken away, her crying intensified, turning into an inconsolable wail.

Seeing the shift in her daughter’s expression, Sevika couldn’t help but blush, even though she tried to keep her composure. “Oh no, don’t cry, my love.” Her voice softened instantly. “It’s just because it’s dangerous, right?” She looked at her tenderly, trying to soothe her, but the baby kept crying, staring at the screw just out of reach.

“You’re going to make mama cry, huh?” she said with a soft laugh. Sevika blushed even more as she saw the child crying louder, tears running down her cheeks. From the kitchen, you heard the little sob and quickly approached, setting the cookies aside. Seeing the scene, your expression softened, and a tender smile appeared on your face. “What’s going on here?” you asked gently, coming closer to take Silvie into your arms.

Sevika, who had been trying to comfort her daughter, turned toward you with a mixture of desperation and love. “I’ll let you take her—she’s being a bit stubborn,” she said, passing the crying infant into your arms. “Shhh, it’s okay, my love,” you whispered, trying to soothe her.

But the baby didn’t want to calm down. She kept looking at Sevika with those big teary eyes. The woman who was once a pillar of strength now seemed helpless, her expression showing just how much it hurt to see her daughter so upset.

Sevika slowly walked toward you, still holding the metal piece in her hand, and leaned in to gently caress the baby’s cheek. But Silvie, still inconsolable, continued to cry. You watched them both, seeing how Sevika was trying to calm her despite not quite knowing how to handle these moments. The baby lifted her head from your shoulder, looked directly at her mother, and then, in a sudden wave of emotion, did something neither of you expected:

She pouted.

It was subtle at first, like she didn’t quite understand the importance of what she was doing, but when the corners of her mouth curved downward, Sevika froze. The baby’s eyes, full of pure innocence, looked at her as if asking for an explanation. In that moment, with that tiny pout, Sevika felt something she had never experienced before—a feeling of absolute vulnerability. The strength she had always carried seemed to dissolve in an instant. She looked at the baby, then at you, and everything inside her melted, as if the force of that small gesture could tear down any wall she had ever built.

“See? Look what you did,” you whispered with a tender smile, tinged with playful teasing. Sevika didn’t know how to react.

“What? I didn’t do anything…” she frowned, but without conviction. It was clear that, in that moment, she felt defeated by a simple pout.

The baby, seeing that Sevika wasn’t reacting as she hoped, began to cry again. Not loud crying, but soft, heartbreaking sobs. Sevika couldn’t hold back anymore, and with a sigh, she stepped closer to you, arms open for her daughter.

“Come on, baby,” she said, her voice rough but full of affection, “come to mama.” The baby, hearing the soft tone of her mother’s voice, stopped crying almost instantly, though the pout still lingered on her little face. Sevika held her in her arms, feeling her daughter cling to her as if nothing else in the world mattered.

In the distance, the living room clock marked the passing minutes, but for you, Sevika, and Silvie, those moments felt eternal—filled with tenderness, laughter, and a vast, immeasurable love. The baby had discovered, in the most innocent way, the power she held over both of you—the power of a simple pout that could bring even the strongest to their knees.

“You know what, love?” you said with a smile, looking at the baby in her arms. “I think our daughter just learned how to completely melt us.”

Sevika smiled, gently rocking the baby in her strong arms. Silvie was her exact replica—dark skin, thick black hair, gray eyes that could melt anyone’s heart, especially yours. Her face mirrored Sevika’s, but that innocent, pleading pout she’d now use to get what she wanted reminded Sevika of you. It made her smile sweetly, an unusual expression for her—but one Silvie had managed to draw out countless times since the day she was born. This was her daughter, a reflection of both of you and of the love you shared. The sum of so many good and bad moments, of sleepless nights and days when hope was the only thing you two had left. Silvie and you were her home, and Sevika would do anything to protect you.

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I’ll always be here...

The soft light from the apartment filtered through the curtains, creating a gentle, almost cozy atmosphere, as if the outside world had been left beyond its reach. The rain fell softly over the city, but in the small refuge where you lived with Sevika, only the sound of the water and the occasional tapping of a raindrop against the window accompanied the silence that had settled over the place.

Sevika sat at the edge of the bed, her face reflecting fatigue and frustration. The new mechanic arm, replacing the one she had lost, was still wrapped in bandages—a mix of cables and metal that didn’t quite feel like her own. The smell of antiseptic filled the air, but Sevika didn’t notice. She could only think about what had just happened.

You had finished your shift at "The Last Drop," and although the place was still bustling with activity, all you wanted now was to be with her. As you entered the apartment, you felt the weight of what had happened heavier than it appeared at first glance.

You approached her quietly and knelt in front of Sevika. Your eyes met, and for a moment, words weren’t needed. You gently stroked her face, noticing the tension in her jaw. Sevika pulled away slightly, as if the simple gesture of affection made her feel vulnerable. "How are you feeling?" you asked, your voice soft but full of concern.

She sighed, looking at her prosthetic arm, her expression full of irritation and rejection. "I can’t stand it... It’s not the same. I don’t know how to do things with this. Everything feels... clumsy." Sevika's usually harsh tone sounded more broken than usual.

You sat beside her, drawing closer, wrapping an arm around her waist in a gesture of comfort. "You don’t have to do it all alone, Sevika. I’m here." You whispered, your hand slowly tracing her back, trying to calm her.

Sevika closed her eyes, feeling a wave of emotion she couldn’t contain. It was hard for her—not just losing something so vital, but also depending on someone. Her image of strength had always been built on her independence. Now, she was at a point where even the simplest tasks, like showering or getting dressed, felt like challenges.

"I don’t want you to see me like this... I need to be strong, like always..." her voice cracked, a slight tremor betraying her. You looked at her with compassion, gently touching her cheek.

"You are strong, love. You don’t have to prove it all the time. And there’s no shame in accepting help." you smiled sweetly, though your eyes shone with the sincerity of your love.

Sevika sighed, something in her chest loosening as she heard those words. The warmth of your embrace enveloped her, and for the first time since the accident, she allowed herself to relax. You helped her get up, guiding her toward the bathroom.

The process of showering became a different experience. You helped her balance, using the new prosthetic, while Sevika tried not to lose her patience. It was difficult—it felt like she was starting over, as if everything she knew about herself was changing. But with your presence nearby, things seemed a little more bearable.

When you were done, you gently dried her hair, noticing the small imperfections and scars Sevika tried to hide. Then, you helped her put on clothes, carefully adjusting her shirt to avoid hurting her.

"It’s not so hard, see?" you said, winking at her as you gently stroked the arm that was still not used to moving with ease. Sevika looked at you with a faint smile, her gaze filled with gratitude. Although she felt vulnerable, the closeness of your presence gave her a sense of peace she hadn’t experienced before.

Finally, when you both sat on the couch, Sevika rested her head in your lap. The rain continued to fall, but in that moment, everything seemed calmer. You ran your fingers through her hair, every movement full of affection, while Sevika, for the first time in a long while, allowed someone to take care of her.

"Thank you..." Sevika murmured, her voice softer than you had ever heard it.

You smiled and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. "You don’t have to thank me, love. I’ll always be here."

Sevika lifted her gaze, searching your eyes, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. With a sideways smile and a gaze full of mischief, Sevika hugged you tightly, brushing her lips against yours in a kiss that left no room for doubt.

"I love you.... And I promise I won’t waste your time with this new version of me." she whispered, with a touch of challenge but also with the softness of vulnerability that only you could see.

Smiling, you caressed her face, sliding your hand to her neck with a gentle pressure. "All I want, Sevika, is for you to be okay. And it doesn’t matter what version of you that is. I’m with you, always."

The kiss continued, deeper this time, full of promises, affection, and a love that transcended any obstacle, even the most physical. While the storm outside the apartment raged on, within those walls, Sevika and you found a calm and comfort that could only be found in each other’s embrace.

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