Summary: Sevika is still getting used to eternity. But with you beside her, even becoming something entirely new feels like coming home.

A Pipe Dream

tired sevika x brothel worker reader

cw: hurt/comfort, suggestive, mentions of drugs and alcohol, age gap(reader is in her late 20s), reader is insecure and sensitive, sev is awkward and bad at feelings, reader has mommy issues.

wc: 2.4k

༶•┈୨♡୧┈•༶

Exhaling smoke from her nose, Sevika waded through the neon-lit streets of the Undercity. It'd been a long time since she felt this angry, frustrated and just... tired. After Silco's death, the onus of maintaining at least some form of peace in Zaun fell on her shoulders; and she'd not known a moment of rest ever since.

As she reached her destination, she looked up at the bright sign above her, which read "Babette's." Sevika sighed, she hadn't been there in weeks, wishing to break her nasty habit. However, there was something, or rather someone, that still lured her in. Groaning to herself, she stumped out her cigarette and walked in.

________________

You were lying in your usual spot on the velvet couch, the cheap material chafing your skin. Today, you'd opted for a pastel purple lingerie set with lace trimmings, pairing it with color-matching thigh highs, your signature white high-heels discarded on the floor. The previous customer, a fairly rich chem baron, had just left. The alcohol still coursing through your body, you rearranged your tired limbs into a sitting position, glancing at the clock. It was 5am, only one hour left until the end of your shift. Humming contently, you were about to begin gathering your things, when the dark-red curtain at the entrance of your room slowly opened, a familiar muscular figure stepping inside.

"Hey, already paid for an hour," she stated matter-of-factly, reaching the couch in a few long strides.

Right, it was Sevika, previously known as Silco's second-in-command, and also your regular of eight months. You were surprised to see the woman, given she hadn't sought you out in weeks.

"H-hey, baby. Wait a sec-" you muttered, adjusting your slightly messy hair and reaching for your discarded heels.

"You don't gotta fuss like that, just come here," she rasped out, patting the spot beside her on the couch.

Dropping your heels back on the floor, you scooched closer to her, tucking your knees beneath you. "Haven't seen you in a while, baby... thought you'd forgotten about me..." you slurred out, putting on your signature smile, your knees teasingly touching her thigh. As your gaze finally met hers, you couldn't help but notice that she looked a little... different. Granted, she had always been gruff and curt, but something else was mixed in with her usual dead-pan expression today. Something you couldn't quite place yet.

Upon hearing your words, she grunted, leaning forward to ring the bell, calling the waitress in. Soon after, a young woman with an apron around her waist appeared in front of you two.

"Glass of whiskey, neat. And for her..." She paused, stealing a glance at you. "Most expensive wine you got." Being a regular, Sevika knew of all the peculiarities of your job; she was aware that you received a cut of all the profits you made from drinks, so she always made sure to order the most costly one.

As the waitress left, you put your delicate hand on Sevika's shoulder, a bright smile adorning your lips. "Thank you, baby!"

You were thankful, really; however, downing a whole bottle of wine at five in the morning was not exactly something you were looking forward to.

"You don't gotta drink it, just bought it so you'd make more money" the larger woman stated plainly, as if reading your mind. Her gaze was dancing along the curves of your body, until it reached your cheerful face. Yeah, you definitely didn't need any more drinks.

"Oh, thank you... you're so sweet," you murmured, a more genuine smile rising to your lips.

For some inexplicable reason, Sevika's heart beat faster at your words. She wrapped her arm securely around your waist, guiding you to straddle her lap.

_____________

You glanced at the clock; it'd already been twenty minutes since she came in, but all she had been doing is holding you in her lap and occasionally taking sips of her whiskey. Every one of your attempts at striking up a conversation or initiating something was met with quiet grunts and curt replies. All of it was really unlike Sevika; she was usually quite impatient, wanting to jump into action right away.

Well, you'd dealt with customers like that before; usually a bold initiative would lift their spirit. "Hey, baby..." you murmured lowly, your manicured fingers reaching back for the clasp of your bra.

Before you could do anything, Sevika's human hand grabbed one of your wrists, effectively stopping you. "Not in the mood today," she sighed, taking another sip of her whiskey as her other hand returned to your hip.

Well, that you did not expect. Was she... not attracted to you anymore? Somehow, your thoughts always managed to take a self-deprecating turn. Your lack of confidence was unsurprising, considering the horrible things you sometimes heard from clients working in a place like that.

As your smile fell, Sevika felt a pang of guilt pierce her usually rigid heart. "Fuck, just had a really long day, doll. I don't even know why I came..." she trailed off, giving your thigh a reassuring squeeze.

Feeling your spirits rise again at the familiar nickname, you wrapped your arms around her toned shoulders, your faces close. "Well, I'm glad you came baby, I missed you..." you said softly. It was a half-truth, really. While she was, obviously, your favorite customer, always respectful despite her gruff demeanor, you were just so tired by that point. The alcohol, and god knows what else, running through your veins, the perpetual headache, the weariness from the events of the night— the last booking was always the hardest to get through.

A rare chuckle left Sevika's lips as her arms wrapped around your waist securely, pressing you even closer to her. "Bet you say that to everyone, doll."

"Oh no, you got me!" you chuckled, emboldened by the slight shift in her demeanor. Laying your head on her shoulder, you whispered: "But you really are my favorite, you know..."

The bigger woman felt her heart squeeze painfully; for some reason she wanted to believe you at that moment. Gosh, she felt pathetic, like one of those lonely fools that fall in love with brothel girls after a few flattering words.

"Yeah? You like an old brute like me?" she chucked before continuing. "You are my favorite too..." she muttered lowly, a hint of vulnerability in her tone.

Her words made you let out a high-pitched giggle as you raised your head in an attempt to peck her cheek. Unfortunatly, your movements were still uncoordinated from certain substances, so you just ended up bumping your forehead against her chin. "Oh my God! I'm so sorry, baby! "

It didn't hurt, but Sevika still frowned, her fingers gently grasping your chin. "Do they make you take this shit here? The clients or Babette?"

Obviously, she'd noticed that you were under the influence a couple of times before, but she didn't say anything, convincing herself that it was none of her business.

"There was just this one client today that wanted me to do shimmer with him; that`s all! It`s not like i`m an addict…" you pouted, tilting your head at her.

Feeling her frustration rise, Sevika unwittingly tightened her hold on your chin, a bitter huff escaping her lips. Did you seriously take drugs from some random man? How could you be so stupid?

"Stupid girl… you're just too weak for this job. Why bother if you can`t even do it without shimmer pumping in your veins?" the woman raised her voice, though she regretted the harsh words the second she saw tears well up in your eyes. Immediately, her hand moved to gently cup your cheek instead, panic enveloping her heart. She was aware how insecure and sensitive you were, crying at every mean word thrown your way. God, she really didn't want to be like one of those asshole clients that didn't know how to treat the girls here.

"H-hey, I didn`t mean it like that, doll… Fuck, i`m sorry…" she muttered frantically, her usual mask of composure cracking as she heard your weak sniffles. Her metal hand raising to awkwardly pat your head, she continued: "I was just projecting, pretty girl. I`m no better than you really…. I just… I was worried," Sevika finally confessed, her heartbeat quickening as she awaited your reaction. She just hoped that you`d stop crying, that you`d give her one of your signature smiles again.

Heeding her last words, your sniffles stopped abruptly, eyes wide with surprise. The usually emotionally constipated Sevika admitting she was worried about you, a simple working girl, was not something you'd expected to hear. "Umm... It was just a little mean, but I'm not mad... baby," you hiccuped, trying to put on your usual high-pitched customer service voice, though it came out shaky.

Sevika groaned, frustrated with herself, her thumb moving to trace your bottom lip. "Fuck... What can I do to make you feel better? I can tip you real good... or just hold you... whatever you want, doll." Her voice coming out strained and panicked, she could barely recognize it. Why was the thought of you hating her so gut-wrenching?

As your puffy eyes met her worried ones, a warm feeling began spreading through your body. This older woman holding you so gently, trying to comfort you the best she could, you were beginning to have certain thoughts. Thoughts, that probably, stemmed from your long-buried mommy issues. Your gaze unintentionally dropping to her plump lips, you gulped nervously, heat rising to your face. Yeah, this would certainly make you feel better.

"Kiss me," you breathed out, voice devoid of your usual playfulness.

There was a rule Sevika had established from the very beginning— no kissing. It just felt too... real, too emotional. She'd never admit it, but with you, she was especially afraid of getting attached any more than she already had. Though, at that moment, she felt her resolve crumble: your sweet bashful expression, your puffy, expectant eyes, your plump, waiting lips. Letting out a defeated groan, she tentatively leaned in, connecting your lips. The adorable, surprised moan you let out into the kiss only served to embolden her as she eagerly swirled her tongue with yours.

Well, you didn't expect Sevika to give in so easily; your hands finding her short hair for leverage as you tried to keep up with her movements. She was kissing you like a woman starved, like she'd been wanting to do that for ages.

Once she pulled away, you couldn't help but let out a happy giggle, your tears long dried down. The kiss... It felt real; and you hadn't felt anything real in so long. It was like a balm on your weary mind. Despite your job, you were a romantic at heart. "Well, seems like you don't actually mind kisses that much, baby."

Heat rushing to her face at your teasing tone, Sevika wrapped her arms tighter around your waist, burying her face in your shoulder. She couldn't bear to look into your eyes right now: not only because the smile that now adorned your face didn't feel practiced, but also because you were making her... weak. And as the new leader of Zaun, she couldn't afford to be weak. "That's what you do to me... making me... feel things," she spoke, her words muffled and warm against your shoulder.

Momentarily, Sevika raised her head, the wall clock catching her eye. Eight minutes left... eight minutes until she walks out of this dingy room and spends weeks trying to forget you again. Will she ever break this cycle? No, she probably never will. The brothel was convenient to someone like her: to someone who was afraid of endangering the people she cared about, to someone who devoted so much time to her work she could never have enough for a partner, to a scarred, broken woman who couldn't even be open about her goddamn feelings! Letting out a low groan of frustration into your shoulder, she felt your hand thread through her short locks. So... affectionately, so... gently. Tentatively, her gaze rose to meet yours, heeding the concern and remnants of bashfulness in your expression. Everything be damned, she couldn't take this anymore!

"D-doll, say I wanna see you outside this goddamn place... like take you to some nice place and spoil you..." she began, voice vulnerable and hesitant. "And don't worry, it won't just be about sex, we could... talk, or rather, you could talk, and I could fucking listen," she groaned as she found confusion in your eyes, your head tilted cutely. "Of course I'd pay you for your time... Unless, maybe, you don't wanna be paid for that?"

As she finished, Sevika felt like an idiot, like a damn lovesick teenager. Why was asking you out way harder than trying to unite the rivaling gangs of Zaun?

"Like a date?" you muttered nervously. Obviously, you'd had clients asking to meet up somewhere else before, or even promising to "save you from this life". In fact, there had been multiple girls in the past who'd broken out of this industry thanks to a generous client, only to come back a few months later with no money to their name. It was a pipe dream, really. And whores did not have dreams. Your job had taught you to never trust anyone, to always look for a catch, but, as you studied Sevika's expression, you found nothing but sincerity and nervousness in her eyes.

"A date? Sure, doll, let's go on a date," the bigger woman chuckled incredulously. Her? The formidable leader of the Undercity? Asking out a woman she liked? It felt ridiculous, and yet—

"I'd love to, actually..." you murmured, heart beating wildly. In all honesty, you'd harbored special feelings for Sevika from your very first meeting, but the several years of experience at the brothel had taught you to never get attached.

"Fuck, really? Tomorrow at 6pm... I'll pick you up, yeah? Gonna take you to the nicest fucking restaurant in this shithole," Sevika muttered almost frantically, eyes widening with surprise.

"Sounds good to me, baby," you giggled.

After hearing your affirmative response, Sevika cupped your cheek, admiring your bashful smile. She leaned in, her lips connecting to yours in a more controlled, gentle kiss...

Both of you could feel hope filling your hearts for the first time in ages.

Maybe even pipe dreams come true once in a while...

she can take off her shirt if you'd like😛 (I'm really serious)

Sevika's learning to dance with you...

I've spent my entire life trying to discover who i am and sevika made me realise im a whore

Lawyer!Sevika x Assistant!Reader

✧Chapter Twenty: I think I deserve a raise.

Previous Chapter

✧ 3k words

**MMDNI**

The morning light found you slowly, slipping through the curtains in pale, golden ribbons that traced lazy paths across the room and settled warm against your closed eyelids. Consciousness returned in soft, reluctant pieces.

 First the heat kissing your cheek, then the low, distant murmur of traffic beyond the windows, and finally the heavy feeling still clinging to your limbs like a lover reluctant to let go.

You opened your eyes and gazed at the unfamiliar ceiling. Recognition came gradually, settling over your skin like a slow caress. 

Sevika’s guest room.

 The fragments of yesterday drifted through your mind, hazy and elusive, smoke you could not quite catch between your fingers.

You rolled onto your side, the sheets sliding silkily over your bare legs, and squinted at the clock on the wall. The glowing numbers sharpened.

9:02.

Panic flared hot and sudden in your chest.You sat up so quickly the room tilted around you. Blankets tangled around your thighs as your heart slammed against your ribs. You were supposed to be at court with her. The realization crashed through you, tight and breathless. You kicked free of the sheets and rose, bare feet padding urgently across the floor before you hurried down the stairs.

The house lay wrapped in a peculiar silence.

Not peaceful. Not empty. It felt charged, waiting, as though the space itself held its breath in Sevika’s absence. No low timbre of her voice drifting from another room. No trace of cigarette smoke curling in the air. No sharp rustle of papers or the low clink of a coffee mug. The quiet pressed against your skin, intimate and unsettling.

Your gaze fell on the folded note centered on the kitchen counter.You crossed the room and grabbed it. Sevika’s handwriting slashed across the paper, impatient and bold, each stroke carrying the ghost of her irritation.

Finish the written report. I will be back at four.

-Sev.

You stared at the note for a long moment, then released a slow, trembling breath. Some of the tension in your shoulders eased, though a different kind of tightness remained low in your belly.

Why could she never simply tell you these things?

You understood Sevika was not a woman of gentle explanations, yet the thought that one brief line could have spared you this morning’s spike of panic felt almost cruel. You rubbed your forehead and set the note down before drifting toward the coffee maker.

The pot was empty.

The absence struck you as strangely intimate. Sevika almost always left coffee. For a fleeting second you wondered if she had been rushed. 

No. 

Sevika was never rushed. 

She moved through the world with a terrifying, precise power that made everyone else feel slow and undone by comparison.

You opened the bag of grounds. The dark, rich scent rose up immediately, wrapping around you like warm fingers. It filled the kitchen as you measured and poured, the familiar motion giving your hands something steady to do while your mind wandered into more dangerous territory.

Yesterday.

The courtroom.

You leaned back against the counter as the machine began to sputter and hiss.

Something about it still felt wrong. You remembered sitting beside her. You remembered the weight of too many eyes and the thick, stifling air. But when you reached for the details, they slipped away, teasing and elusive. The harder you grasped, the more they dissolved, leaving only a restless heat beneath your skin.

Frustration coiled low and tight in your chest.

The coffee machine gave its final, throaty gurgle. You poured a cup and stirred in creamer until the liquid turned soft and pale. Warmth seeped into your palms as you carried it to the counter where Sevika’s files still lay spread exactly as she had left them.

You sank into the chair and began turning pages.

Witness statements.

 Transcripts. 

Handwritten notes.

 Dense legal phrases that seemed written to tangle. 

You read them once, then again, searching for something solid. Every few lines your mind drifted back to yesterday, reaching, straining, only to find fog.

Nothing.

The irritation felt physical now, a slow ache spreading through your body.

You lowered your head into your hands and closed your eyes. The house’s quiet wrapped around you. Your coffee cooled untouched beside you while sunlight crept across the floor in golden pools. After a long moment you straightened, reached for another file, and forced yourself to begin again.

Halfway through the first witness statement you realized you had retained nothing. Your eyes had moved across every word. You had even underlined a line. Yet your mind offered only empty static and the faint, persistent awareness of Sevika’s impending return.

A frustrated sigh escaped you. You rubbed your temples, then pulled the pages closer once more. This time you read deliberately, letting each sentence linger on your tongue.

 Contradictions slowly emerged. You circled them with your pen, the scratch of ink against paper the only sound in the quiet room. Your fingers brushed the edge of the page, and for a moment you imagined Sevika’s hand there instead, guiding, pressing, demanding.

The thought sent a slow shiver down your spine.

You worked on, losing yourself in the growing mess. Papers spread across the table like an offering. Sticky notes bloomed between pages. Your paper held only a title and one clumsy paragraph that stared back at you accusingly. 

The longer you stared, the more the words seemed to mock you. You scratched out half the sentence, then the rest, until the page was nearly blank again.

You slumped lower in the chair, dragging both hands down your face. 

The hearing flickered behind your eyelids in sharp, heated fragments. The mother clutching her photograph. 

The EMT’s steady voice.

 Marcus Reed’s cold stare. 

None of it would settle into coherent sentences.

The stack of documents seemed to have grown while you weren’t looking.You reached for another statement. Time slipped away in long, golden stretches. When you finally surfaced, the clock read 11:17. 

Two hours gone. 

Your coffee sat cold and forgotten, the surface dull. The house still felt too quiet, too aware of her absence, as if every room were holding space for the moment she would return and find you here, flushed and unfinished.You leaned forward again, pen moving across the page with renewed urgency. 

Tiny threads of understanding began to connect. 

Contradictions sharpened. The chaos slowly, sensually, began to take shape beneath your hands.

Yet with every passing minute, the tension only deepened. Because Sevika would be home at four.

And you were still far from done.

The thought barely had time to settle before a familiar sound reached you from outside.

An engine. 

Low.

Distinct.

Rumbling like a warning.

Your head lifted. The sound swelled as tires rolled slowly up the driveway. Gravel crunched heavily beneath the weight of the car before the engine cut off with a deep, final growl.

You froze.

For a single heartbeat the entire house held its breath in silence. Then came the sharp slam of a car door, echoing through the quiet like a gunshot.

Your stomach dropped.Sevika was home.

Your eyes darted frantically across the disaster covering the kitchen table. Sticky notes fluttered at the edges of scattered pages. Cold coffee cups sat forgotten among them. Witness statements lay spread in every direction like fallen leaves. 

And in the center sat the half-finished report, painfully thin and accusatory under the late afternoon light.

Panic seized your chest in a hot, breathless grip.

You scrambled upright, gathering papers into hasty, uneven piles just as the front door opened downstairs. The heavy thud reverberated through the house, followed by the steady rhythm of her footsteps crossing the entryway.

Slow. 

Unhurried. 

Confident.

You could already picture her. 

Briefcase in one hand. Suit jacket draped over her arm. That familiar expression she wore after court, somewhere between weary and simmering with irritation.Your gaze fell back to the report you had battled with all day. 

The report that still was not finished.

The footsteps moved toward the kitchen.

And suddenly, for reasons you could not name, facing a prosecutor in open court seemed far less terrifying.

“Pamela.” Her voice carried from the front of the house, low and rich, sliding over your skin like warm smoke.

You lifted your head from your hands, neck aching from the long hours spent hunched over the table.

“In the kitchen,” you called back, your voice smaller than you wanted.

The front door clicked shut behind her. You heard the familiar sounds that always marked her return. The dull thud of her briefcase set down near the entrance. The scrape of her shoes against hardwood. Then the measured pace of her footsteps drawing closer, each one tightening the air in the room.

Your eyes dropped back to the chaotic papers.

Seven hours. 

You had spent seven entire hours here. 

You had not eaten. 

Had not left the table.

 Had not even changed out of your thin pajamas. The realization felt absurd now, exposed under the weight of her approaching presence.

Sevika stepped into the kitchen and her gaze immediately found the mountain of paperwork.

“Good,” she said on a long exhale. “I need those.”

She moved past you toward the coffee maker before you could speak. The warmer hummed softly, keeping the last of the coffee just warm enough. She poured herself a mug, took a slow sip, then carried it back toward the table with deliberate steps.Y

ou expected her to reach for the report.Instead she set the mug down beside you.Then she planted both hands on either side of your chair and leaned in.

Her chin settled onto your shoulder.

You stopped breathing.

The heat of her body pressed close behind you, enveloping you completely. You could smell her clearly now. 

Fresh coffee. 

Warm perfume. 

The faint, smoky trace of her cigars that always clung to her skin like a secret. Her presence wrapped around you, heavy and intimate.

For several long seconds she simply looked. 

Reading. 

Absorbing. 

Waiting.

You swallowed hard.

A long, disbelieving breath left her.“ Pamela.” The flat, low tone of her voice made your stomach tighten.

You shifted slightly in the chair, painfully aware of how close she was. “Yes?”

Her eyes closed for a moment. You felt the soft brush of her lashes against your cheek.

“There is nothing here.”

You nodded quickly, heat rising under your skin.“Mhm.”

The response earned an immediate click of her tongue.“When did you start this?”

You cleared your throat.“Sometime before ten.”

She glanced down at her watch, then at the meager report, then back at her watch. “It's almost five.”

You stared at the papers, cheeks burning. “Yes.”

For a moment she said nothing. 

Then a low laugh escaped her. Not cruel. Not even surprised. Just deeply, dangerously confused.

You sat frozen at the heavy oak desk, the open binder before you a damning stretch of near blank pages.

“Would you like to explain to me,” she asked, her voice low, each word drawn out like a slow caress, “Why it’s nearly blank?”

You stared down at the page, heart thudding against your ribs. The silence stretched, taut as a wire.

“Well…” The word withered in your throat.

You could feel her behind you. Her presence radiated living heat against your back. She leaned slightly against the chair, the subtle shift of her weight pressing the wooden frame into your spine. The fabric of her blouse brushed the nape of your neck.

“I just couldn’t,” you admitted. The words came out smaller and more fragile than you had meant them to be. “I couldn’t remember.”

She exhaled, a soft and measured breath that ghosted across your skin. Her hands hovered inches from yours as she leaned closer. The warmth of her body enveloped you. You felt the delicate stir of her breath against the hollow at the base of your neck, raising fine hairs along your arms.

“Couldn’t remember?” she murmured.

 The question wrapped around you like velvet, almost intimate.

You nodded slowly, barely trusting your voice. “Yes,” you whispered.

A low chuckle escaped her, rich and knowing. 

The sound vibrated through you.

 She shifted. 

One of her hands moved with deliberate slowness, grazing over the back of yours. Skin against skin, electric and fleeting. 

Then she flipped the binder open wider. Her fingers lingered a moment too long.

“Use your eyes,” she whispered. Her lips hovered so close to your ear that the words brushed your lobe. “It’s right here.”

You swallowed hard, throat dry. “What…” You cleared your throat, fighting for composure. “What’s that?”

Her mouth hovered mere millimeters from your ear now. Her breath came hot and moist against the sensitive shell. 

“Notes from the stenographer,” she said with a soft tsk, laced with mock disappointment. “For reference.”

You nodded again, slower this time, the motion almost dazed. “I didn’t… I didn’t know that.”

Her hands remained planted on either side of the binder, framing yours. Your fingers touched. Light, accidental, yet impossible to ignore. The contact sent a slow shiver racing up your arm. You could feel the steady rhythm of her breathing, the faint warmth radiating from her chest so near your back.

“I really needed this done,” she muttered. Her voice dropped even lower, threaded with hunger. Her fingers brushed yours once more, deliberate now. “You are in big trouble, young lady.”

The words hung between you, charged and heavy. They promised consequences you could already feel tightening low in your stomach.

The thought barely had time to settle before a familiar sound reached you from outside.

You took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, dipping your head slightly.

She nodded and leaned closer. 

Her chest pressed warmly against your back. “When I hired you,” she began, her voice low and measured, “you told me you could keep up.”

You nodded, throat tight. “I know.”

She sighed, the sound heavy against your ear. “I cannot have an assistant who does not know—”

You whipped around in the chair. “Please don’t fire me.” You were inches from her now, her chest so close to your face that you could feel the heat radiating through her blouse.

She raised a brow, eyes dark and unreadable. “This is your first mess up—”

You shook your head quickly. “Sevika, please. Seriously. I can get it done. I didn’t know.”

She paused.

Your voice trembled. “Nowhere else here answered me back. You were the only place I got an interview with.”

She exhaled slowly. “You told me you had knowledge of legality.”

You looked to the side.

“You lied,” she said.

You nodded. “A fib.”

She shook her head slowly, eyes closing for a moment. “This is a big deal.” She swallowed. “An assistant should be able to do this.”

You looked away. “I mean,” you said quietly, “I was supposed to be off today.”

She shook her head. “But you agreed to work.”

You looked back up at her. “Are you going to fire me?”

She exhaled, long and deep. “I don’t think I am ready to part with you.” She stepped back and rubbed her hands together slowly. “But it concerns me how close we have gotten.”

You furrowed your brow. “Sevika…”

She looked at you sharply. “Ma’am.”

You paused.

She grunted. “Stop using my name.” She scoffed. “This is why we are too personal.”

You nodded. “Ma’am, we have already crossed that line.”

She stared at you.

You bit your lip. 

Still turned in the kitchen island chair, your fingertips gripped the back of it tightly. You looked down, then slowly back up at her. 

“You know…” You exhaled. “We could still keep it professional.”

She shook her head. “Don’t say it.”

You shrugged. “What?” You scoffed lightly. “Lots of people do it.”

She closed her eyes. “I need to think of a repercussion for you.”

You looked away, then turned back. 

She shook her head at you as you locked eyes with her. “An office appropriate one.”

Your gaze dropped to the papers. “You could spank me,” you teased, voice soft and sweet.

Her head snapped toward you. “Pamela.”

You slid off the stool and stepped closer, walking toward her slowly. Your thin tank top clung to the curve of your breasts, and your pajama pants swayed with each movement. 

“I am not very observant,” you murmured.

You slowly slid your hand up her torso, feeling the firm lines of her body beneath the fabric. Then you caught her tie between your fingers, loosening it just a little, playing with the silk as you held her gaze.

“Maybe I need to be straightened out,” you cooed.

She swallowed visibly.

Then she shook her head. “I will not take advantage of you,” she said sternly. “You cannot consent if I am your boss.”

You scoffed. “That’s not true!” Frustration edged your voice. “I initiate everything!”

She shook her head again. “It will blur a line of consent.”

You stomped your foot lightly. “I am a grown woman!”

She stared at you.

You furrowed your brow, lip curling. “Spank me.”

She scoffed in disbelief. “The answer is no.”

You grunted and turned away. “Fine!” You closed the binder hard. “What is my work appropriate punishment then?”

She thought for a moment, eyes lingering on you. Then she looked back at your face.

 “Well,” she said softly. “I don’t know.”

You wanted to throw the binder at her. “Sevika,” you said, your face falling. “Have you ever had an employee this long?”

She shook her head.

You nodded slowly. “Then I think I deserve a raise.”

I hate this chapter

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The conversation with Sevika haunted every hour that followed. Two weeks slipped by with the stubborn slowness of winter, each day stretching longer than the last. You spent most of them trapped inside your apartment, pacing grooves into the warped hardwood while the old corded telephone sat untouched on the counter. Every creak of the building made your pulse jump. Every passing car convinced you, for half a second, that she'd finally changed her mind and come looking for you.

She never did.

Work was worse.

Sevika barely acknowledged you unless she had to. Conversations shrank into clipped instructions, her voice stripped of the dry warmth that used to slip through when no one else was listening. Most afternoons she sent you home early without explanation. The only kindness left was the paycheck.

Vi had promised she'd come over tonight. You were off for the next two days, and earlier in the week you'd insisted the two of you order Thai food, buy the cheapest boxed wine you could find, and drink until neither of you remembered the month.

Now the idea felt exhausting.

You lay sprawled across your bed, staring at the cracked ceiling where faint water stains bloomed into strange continents. Depression had settled over you before, but never with this much weight. It pressed against your ribs every time you breathed, squeezing until even getting out of bed felt unreasonable.

You loved Sevika.

The realization no longer arrived with panic. It had settled into your bones.

You missed the weight of her hand finding yours without asking. You missed brushing against her shoulder in cramped hallways. You missed waking beside her, her face still marked by sleep, a strand of dark hair stuck to her cheek, her body radiating enough warmth to make blankets unnecessary.

You missed her.

Maybe quitting would be easier.

The thought circled your mind so often it no longer sounded dramatic. It sounded practical.

Rolling onto your side, you caught your reflection in the dark television screen. You wore nothing beneath an oversized T-shirt except a pair of faded panties. Your hair had collapsed into a tangled knot sometime yesterday, mascara smeared beneath deep purple shadows under your eyes. The television had been playing the same cable channel since you'd stumbled home from work the night before. Empty takeout containers, beer bottles, crumpled receipts, and discarded clothes covered nearly every patch of floor in your tiny studio.

A knock rattled the front door.

You dragged yourself off the mattress and shuffled across the apartment, unlocking it without bothering to look through the peephole.

Vi stood on the other side balancing two bags of Thai food beneath one arm and a box of wine under the other. Her blond hair had escaped its ponytail during work, strands plastered to her forehead with sweat. The second she looked at you, her eyebrows climbed.

She let out a low whistle before stepping inside. "Jesus." She nudged the door shut with her hip. "You look like shit."

"I know."

She didn't argue. She simply walked farther into the apartment, setting the food on the counter.

You reached for the wine before she'd even finished putting it down. Tearing open the cardboard tab with more force than necessary, you yanked out the silver bag and took a long pull straight from the spout.

The wine hit your empty stomach hard.

You coughed, shoved the bag back inside the box, and staggered toward the couch.

"Thanks for grabbing dinner," you muttered, dropping onto the cushions. Your hand reached automatically for the half-empty bottle of tequila waiting on the coffee table. You took another drink before leaning forward to pull your battered wooden stash box closer. The hinges squeaked as you opened it, your fingers already separating papers and weed with practiced ease.

Behind you, Vi slowly unpacked the containers onto the counter. She watched you over her shoulder, confusion softening into concern.

"I thought..." She laughed under her breath, though it carried no amusement. "I thought you only drank once in a while."

You snorted, keeping your attention on the joint you was rolling. "Whatever."

The paper stuck slightly against your fingertips. You licked the edge and sealed it before looking up.

"Wanna hit the bar tonight?"

Vi didn't answer immediately.

Instead, she spooned pad thai onto two chipped plates, carried yours over, and settled beside you on the couch. She reached for the DVD player beneath the television, sliding an old romantic comedy into the tray. The familiar menu music filled the apartment while steam drifted lazily from the noodles.

She glanced sideways at the clutter surrounding both of you before speaking.

"Maybe we stay home instead." Her voice stayed gentle, careful enough that it barely disturbed the silence between you. She picked at her food before continuing. "I could help clean this place up." Her eyes drifted back toward your face. "You could shower... maybe get some sleep."

A bitter laugh escaped before you could stop it.

You sparked the joint, inhaled too deeply, and immediately folded forward coughing until your chest burned. Once you caught your breath, you handed it to her.

Vi accepted it without another word, taking a slow drag between bites of pad thai.

"No." You rubbed at your watering eyes. "I wanna go out."

She studied you for another quiet moment before resting the joint between her fingers.

"How come you never ended up working at that club?" she asked softly. "You were so excited about it."

You reached toward the two-liter bottle she'd brought, twisted the cap off, and drank until the carbonation burned the back of your throat. A loud burp escaped before you could stop it. You slumped deeper into the couch, rubbing both hands over your face before taking another drag from the joint.

"Fuck," you muttered, the smoke catching in your chest. A hiccup interrupted you. "I... decided not to."

Vi looked up from her noodles, chopsticks hovering halfway to her mouth. "Why?"

You rolled your eyes and spread your legs across the couch, balancing the paper plate on your stomach while shoveling another bite of pad thai into your mouth.

"Sevika's working me like a fucking dog." You chewed with an irritated scowl, swallowing before adding, "Cunt."

Vi paused, lifting one of the red Solo cups she'd filled from the boxed wine. She took a thoughtful sip before lowering it again.

"I thought..." Her forehead pinched with confusion. "I thought you liked her."

"I do." You took another hit from the joint, coughing as the smoke settled into your lungs. The buzz was finally beginning to soften the sharp edges in your head. "She's all weird about being my boss."

Vi shrugged, twirling another forkful of noodles. "That's probably a good thing." She offered a small smile. "Means she has morals."

You shot her a glare.

She laughed anyway.

Silence settled over the apartment after that, broken only by the television murmuring in the background and the scrape of plastic forks against paper plates. You bounced between whatever sat within reach—long pulls from the soda, mouthfuls of noodles, cheap wine that tasted faintly of vinegar, another swallow of tequila. Alcohol spread through your body until your limbs felt detached from the rest of you, every movement delayed by a fraction of a second. The line between your skin and the couch blurred into warm static.

Vi watched you finish another drink before setting her own cup down.

"You should slow down," she said quietly.

You stared at the ceiling for a long moment, another hiccup catching in your chest.

"Can I..." You swallowed, blinking through the pleasant haze. "Can I have a cigarette?"

She nodded without hesitation. Pulling one from the pack, she tucked it between your lips before flicking her lighter. The flame glowed between you, reflecting briefly in her blue eyes.

"You know," she said after you took the first drag, studying your face with surprising sincerity, "it's her loss."

You let out a dismissive scoff, smoke curling from your nose.

"I'm serious." A shy laugh slipped out as she licked her lips and looked down at her cup. "You're gorgeous."

You nudged her shoulder with your foot, a crooked grin finally tugging at your mouth despite yourself.

"I'm too drunk to fuck," you slurred around another hiccup before exhaling a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. You let your head fall back against the cushions. "But..." You laughed weakly, more exhausted than amused. "God, I do need to come."

Heat rushed into Vi's face so quickly it reached the tips of her ears. She broke eye contact at once, hiding behind her Solo cup as she took a long drink of wine, suddenly fascinated by the old romantic comedy playing on the television.

The next hour dissolved into darkness.

When you opened your eyes again, your skull throbbed with every heartbeat. Your mouth tasted stale, your limbs felt impossibly heavy, and even breathing seemed to jostle the ache behind your eyes.

"Shit," you groaned, dragging yourself upright.

The room tipped hard enough that you froze, one hand pressing against the mattress while you waited for the ceiling to stop swaying. Squinting through the bright afternoon light, you found the clock.

Noon.

You blinked, trying to remember how you'd gotten into bed.

Nothing came.

The apartment caught your attention next.

You slowly turned your head, expecting to find overturned bottles, greasy takeout containers, ash, and clothes scattered across the floor.

Instead, everything gleamed.

The trash had disappeared. The coffee table had been wiped clean. Empty bottles were gone. The stack of dirty dishes had vanished from the sink. Even your clothes had been folded into a neat pile beside the dresser. The faint scent of lemon cleaner lingered beneath yesterday's smoke.

Your chest tightened.

Vi had done all of this while you were unconscious.

You glanced beside you.

She was curled beneath the blanket in a faded white tank top and loose plaid boxers, one arm tucked beneath the pillow. Her blonde hair spilled across the mattress in messy waves, hiding half her face as soft snores escaped her parted lips. She looked comfortable in your bed, as though she'd belonged there far longer than a single night.

Careful not to wake her, you slipped off the mattress.

The cold soda waiting in your refrigerator felt miraculous.

You twisted the cap off and drank greedily, letting the carbonation sting your throat until your stomach protested. A loud burp escaped before you lowered the bottle, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

The nausea returned immediately.

You shuffled into the bathroom and dropped onto the toilet, elbows braced on your knees while you buried your face in your hands.

The fluorescent light buzzed overhead.

Your head spun in slow circles. Your stomach rolled. Every breath carried stale tequila, cigarettes, and cheap wine back into your nose.

You sat there longer than you meant to, waiting for your body to remember where upright was.

Eventually you tugged your panties back into place, too exhausted to care about flushing away the haze clinging to your thoughts. Washing your hands barely registered. All you wanted was the bed.

When you wandered back into the studio, the television crackled to life.

Vi had pushed herself upright and was lazily flipping through channels with the remote balanced against her stomach. She rubbed sleep from one eye before noticing you standing in the doorway.

A sleepy grin crossed her face.

"Yo," she mumbled, her voice thick from sleep.

You answered with a tired wave and climbed back onto the mattress, every muscle sighing with relief the second you stretched out.

Neither of you spoke after that.

The television filled the apartment with old sitcom laughter while sunlight drifted across the hardwood floor inch by inch. Outside, a siren wailed somewhere down the block before fading into traffic.

You stared at the ceiling.

Then you felt it.

Not a touch.

A gaze.

Your eyes slid toward Vi.

She hadn't realized you'd noticed.

Her attention wandered over you with quiet curiosity, lingering longer than simple accident would allow. Her eyes traced your bare legs, the oversized shirt riding high against your thighs, then drifted slowly upward before settling on your face.

She didn't look embarrassed.

She looked conflicted.

Your heartbeat slowed instead of quickening.

It could help.

The thought arrived gently, carrying the weight of weeks spent aching for a woman who had decided wanting you wasn't enough.

Sex was easier than heartbreak.

Bodies were easier than feelings.

Still...

You knew the line sitting quietly between you. Once crossed, there was no stepping backward. You could lose the one friendship that still felt uncomplicated.

You rolled onto your side, facing her fully.

Your fingertips wandered absentmindedly over your thigh before settling against the curve of your hip beneath the oversized shirt. You held her eyes for another long second, watching the realization slowly spread across her face.

A faint smile pulled at your lips.

"You're staring," you murmured.

should we use Vi as a side piece for a little or nah

Masterlist

Looking for more? Find my other works here

 @cherryblossomtidalwaves @urmascmuse @neptunezxx @celinealways @kae9s @notkyleelol @loverseen @sapphicdarlingx @lobotomymutt @m3ta4r  @seasonsofchaos @ghostin4girlsbody @pieceofshit11826 @carefullyominouslegacy @ilovewomenfr @mopperbabixz @sevikas7princess @redroanmustang @starzinellie @tewwwteamiss @visupremacystuff @femmesicle @lillybunns @emiliaaaassss @wishingonjellyfish @savedforlaterr @we-rice-boi @sevikaslabyrinthpiercing @blckles @zzzzwhyyyyy  @visupremacysstuff @therealcaitlyn@httpscatra  @nymphorsaken @alicep1ink @meamouraa @dut1fuldyk3 

“Do you think you deserve it?”

“Dunno boss, you tell me.”

DAWN AFTER DUSK

menu - your girlfriend has a big secret, and you let her tell you that secret.

word count - 1,305

allergies? - oneshot, modern au, werewolf!sevika, g!p sevika AND afab sevika, established relationship, bottom sub!sevika, primal play, sex in the woods, facefucking, facial at the end

brain spill - ya boy wrote this in one night

p.s. i reasearched wolf mating habits for this..

sevika is strange. she isn't a weirdo or anything, she's a wonderful, beautiful person. it's just.. her habits.

backstage ☆.ᐟ

𑣲men and minors dni

written for ( ੭ ˘ ³˘)੭‎° @pixieelixer-24 ‧₊˚

🎸rockstar!sevika is always aware of when you're overwhelmed by the end of the night and is always the one who offers to take you home right after the show.

"you sure you're not comin' out tonight 'vika?" the lead singer nudges.

"nah," sevika nods towards you a few feet away, packing away the band's sound equipment. "told y/n i'd take her home, she's having a rough night!"

the lead singer rolls their eyes playfully, pushing sevika twoards you muttering, "dude you're so obvious."

🎸 rockstar!sevika who has the most obvious crush on you; you seem to be the only person unaware of it, which drives everyone around the two of you insane.

🎸 rockstar!sevika who always has you're back. even when you're wrong. one night, you misplaced sevika's bass cable which put everyone in a real panic. the band's manager, who is constantly stretched thin loses their temper when scolding you. you fight not to wince at the harsh words, scared for your job. suddenly sevika steps up with kind eyes,

"hey, it's alright! mistakes happen, i always bring a back up anyway." the manager reluctantly backs off and coincidentally never scolds you so harshly again.

🎸rockstar!sevika who treats the entire crew to ice cream one night after a show in hopes that you would come. she couldn't help but only pay attention to you that night.

by the end of the outing, she of course offered to walk you to her car. by the looks of it, you were the rockstar and she was a bodyguard; her large, muscled frame looming next to you. she had a natural heat to her, which warmed you from the chill of the night.

"my hands are so cold, feels like a vampire." you rub your hands together in an attempt to generate some heat.

"w-well maybe you should hold mine? so i could, uh warm them?" sevika reached out a large hand, struggling to keep eye contact. your heart hammers in your chest, the intimacy of this moment dawning on you.

"sure, sev." you grab her hand with both of yours, not realizing how awkward the position was, but also being too nervous to adjust. sevika's heart pounds at the nickname (people usually calls her vika, but you can call her whatever you like). the two of you finish the walk in blissful awkwardness.

🎸rockstar!sevika who lets you take selfies with her bass and post them, quietly hoping that your followers think the two of you are together.

"you gonna post that to instagram?" sevika lays across her couch in her dressing room looking down at you sitting crisscrossed on the floor with her bass on your lap.

"was thinking to my close friends, so it won't become a tabloid."

sevika sits up, her legs slightly spread, "would that be bad?"

🎸rockstar!sevika who one night drunkenly carved your name on the back of the neck of her bass only to regret it the next morning. since you're the main person that deals with her equipment, she lives in constant fear that you'll see it and ask about it. she's still thinking of an excuse when that day inevitably comes.

🐈‍⬛ drunk sevika

𑣲men and minors dni !!

inspired by a comment ( ੭ ˘ ³˘)੭‎° @bunswyyy ‧₊˚ made lol

no one has ever eaten you out like this. so wild. so hungry. for so long. it’s been at least an hour and you are on your third orgasm. sevika was gunning for four; but that is no feat for her. she just knows what your body needs.

eagerly still lapping at your buzzing pussy, sevika looks up at you. her eye contact pushes you further to the edge, the look in her eye, so confident. all knowing. her chin dripping in your juices as she unabashedly moans into you. her tongue laying flat long strips across your pussy, focused perfectly on your clit.

it’s like she’s reading your body like a book; with each roll of her tongue and every vibrating purr, she flips a page. her large hands grip your thighs firmly, feeling every muscle twitch and jerk. you reach a shaky hand, weakly grabbing at the tuffs of her thick black hair.

“s-sevvv…” voice trembling you roll your hips, brushing your extremely sensitive clit over her large nose. the pressure dizzying, “s’good…aah~!” you arch your back at the feeling of sevika’s tongue pressing deep into your clenching hole. sevika angles her head a little so her nose is applying beautiful pressure to your neediest spot.

“i knew you’d like that,” sevika groans through you, “i know exactly how to handle this pussy.” she continues fucking her tongue into you, the fat muscle masterfully curving into you. she's ripping porn-worthy moans out of you, taking joy in the idea that her neighbors can definitely hear you.

she pulls back, draggingher tongue out of you, “look how i have you, you’re a mess.”

“sev.. please?” you whine, bucking your hips at the lost sensation. sevika gives you an evil smirk,

“awe, i can’t say no when you’re being so good!” she coos, going back to devouring your sopping pussy as if that’s what she was made to do. her nose pressed harder against your clit. her tongue pumping fast in and out of you, getting deeper every pass. your hand instinctively yanks on sevika’s hair, a throaty moan erupting from her chest and into your pussy.

“don’t stop! i love how your tongue f-feels inside me! ohmygod—!” your entire body trembles and buzzes. your voice breaks at the end of each whine; but you don’t care how you sound, this is heaven. your mind is so gone, you don’t even notice your babbling complete nonsense to sevika’s thorough enjoyment. your hips stutter chaotically, as sevika’s thick tongue fucks you through it.

“c..can’t cum again….” you mumble. sevika goes up to kiss your forehead, her mouth still covered in your slick.

“that’s okay, let me take care of you.” sevika takes your limp body, gently throwing the covers over you. for a second she leaves and then comes back with water for you and a scotch for her. the rest of the night is spent with soft kisses and rivers of compliments.

Hate that hickies are considered impolite/unprofessional/perverse like damn I just enjoy some lips on my neck, sue me!

𑣲 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊 ‘𝐄𝐌 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐃𝐎𝐆 ♡

── ♡ synopsis: the scariest woman of zaun has been leashed by none other than you.

── ♡ cw: big age gap, banter, sevika has tattoo(s) older than reader, sensitive!reader, pwp, insecure!sevika, petnames (sweetheart, babyface, angel, sweetheart), strap usage, biting, nipple play, getting interrupted mid-sex, secret relationship, cuddles post-sex

── ♡ note: looking for author mooties!

discord server.

“You don’t understand.”

You didn’t look away, you just smirked. “I think I do understand.”

“No, you don’t.” Sevika got up, “my tattoo’s older than you,” she said, referring to her forearm.

BLOODY LOVE

menu - your love for sevika is boundless, but does she know that?

word count - 1191

allergies? - mid ass writing, stalker!reader x sevika, modern au, sevika has her arm, stalking, obsessive behaviors, (attempted) stealing clothes, reader is self-conscious, breaking in (kinda), reader is a perv, a handgun is mentioned, faux threats, cool plot twist, hair pulling, face slapping, dubcon, face fucking, breath play, reader passes out, implied aftercare

brain spill - i literally just want to post something bro

if anybody else knew what you were doing they would probably be really creeped out. you don't really understand why though, it's not like you're a man, or a murderer. yet. you just love sevika, with all your heart. you know everything about her.

JESUS CHRIST PEOPLE

what happened to the soft cute fluff fics of sevika?? Or the fics where she has a coochie????

Like what’s up with all the rough mean smut and the g!p sevika, like I don’t want to be called a slut or a desperate bitch every fic I read 🫩

WHAT ARE WE DOINGGGGGUHH?!!?!?!!?!

Vi as F1/motocross driver.

Gwen 🥰 She's so fricking awesome! I love her character