I am Israa Alwan I am 23 years old, a young woman who once had big dreams and was ready to achieve them. After years of hard work and study, I finally received my degree in Early Childhood Education. It was an indescribable joy, knowing I was about to start my journey as a teacher, to help shape young minds and walk alongside them in their first steps toward knowledge.🥺🧑🏻🎓🧑🏻💻
But my dream didn’t last. The war came and turned 🇵🇸my life upside down. My home, once a safe haven, is now rubble, and I’m left with only a few belongings and broken dreams. Now, I have no home, no job, and no sense of security. I move from one place to another with my husband, carrying my unborn child, searching for shelter to protect us from the cold winter and the scorching summer.😭😭🍉
I would like to share a part of my life with you…🥺🌠
I am Esraa 🤍 I married the man I love, and he is my support and strength in this difficult world. Now I am pregnant with our little baby, and we dream of the day we hold our child in our arms, filling our lives with love and hope.
But the reality around us is very hard 💔
We are living in a worn-out tent that cannot protect us from the cold or the rain. Every day, I worry about my baby growing inside me and how I can keep him safe in these conditions.
During this sensitive time, I truly need proper care, healthy food, clean water, and vitamins to protect my baby and myself 🤰💧💊
Donation link...... 🍉
From a future teacher to a homeless woman
My story and my hope to survive
My name … Maryam Awad needs your support for Help the famil
If you can help, even a little, it would make a huge difference in our lives 🙏💗
Verified...,🇵🇸
(Vetted by gazavetters – my number on the list: 687)
I am Inas, a mother of two young children: Muhammad, 7 years old, and Hala, 5 years old. They should have been living their childhood like all children—safe and warm in the embrace of their father. But the war has stolen that dream from us😭😭😭
Six months ago, my husband Anas, a kind-hearted man who endured a life of poverty, was killed by a random shell while on his way to work as a taxi driver. Since that tragic day, I’ve been left to carry the unbearable weight of life alone.
I held a diploma in international secretarial studies and was about to start a job to help support my family. But the war shattered not only our home but also my hopes and dreams. We’ve been displaced six times and now live in a tent that offers no shelter from the bitter cold or the ever-looming fear.
My young children face relentless hunger that weakens their fragile bodies and a cold that knows no mercy for their small hearts. Each day, their cries for warmth and food grow louder, and each day, I feel more helpless to provide them with even the basics of life💔😭😭
I appeal to your humanity, to your compassion. We need your help to survive, to find a safe shelter, and to feed my children. Your generosity could be the reason Muhammad and Hala continue to live and find hope amidst this darkness🥹
Please, help me keep the light of these innocent children from being extinguished by this cruel world
Donation Link
My name is Gabe. I am from Portland, OR and I am raising funds on behalf of Enas Shukry I… Gabriel G needs your support for Help Enas and he
.A person with a compassionate and tender heart, dreaming of a better tomorrow. Imagine waking up to find yourself surrounded by ruins ,everything you once knew, gone. This is my reality and the reality of my family. The war has shattered our home, our dreams, and our hopes for the future. I’m not asking for much , only for a chance to rebuild my life, to travel, to start again, and to restore the home that once brought us warmth and safety. Your sup-port, even the smallest contribution, can he-lp me take the first step, toward a new beginning toward a life filled with hope instead of despair. He-lp me rebuild, travel, and bring life back to my home.
I’m going through unimaginable pain, and you might be my only hope to survive. Your kindness could be the difference between despair and safety. Please, show mercy. every don-ati-on helps. Your support can save a life.
Here you can donate to the families in Gaza. We have collected $3,312 / $20,000. 🙏🙏
The voice of truth for every Palestinian 🇵🇸
An Israeli soldier is seen firing randomly toward civilian homes and displacement tents in Gaza, describing the act as “for entertainment.”
At a time when civilians are being killed daily by stray bullets coming from the eastern areas of the Strip, violence is treated as a game wituhout accountability, and without humanity.
This is not an “isolated incident.”
This is not a “mistake.”
It reflects a reality where civilians are dehumanized and treated as targets.
Documenting these acts is a duty.
Silence is complicity.
After the ceasefire !!
Airstrikes targeting displacement tents in Gaza despite claims of a ceasefire and narratives that the war has “ended.”
For civilians on the ground, there is no post-war reality. There is no safety. Only changing methods of the same violence.
A ceasefire on paper does not stop bombs in the sky.
And declarations of peace mean nothing when tents are still being bombed.
Donations for GAZA!!
This donation campaign is for ANAS family. Not for strangers, not for a cause I'm distant from but for the people who raised me, the people I love, the people I'm terrified of losing.
They are in Gaza, trying to survive something no human being should ever have to endure. Constant bombardment, displacement, hunger, fear, and the feeling that tomorrow is never guaranteed. Every day is about staying alive one more night.
If you choose to help, you are not donating to an abstract crisis. You are helping real people with names, memories, and lives that matter to me more than anything.
—-This is a verified Chuffed campaign to support family:
Campaign Update
Some accounts are tagged to help people see this campaign. It’s not spam. If you don’t want to participate, simply scroll.
synopsis of the fic: You’re fast asleep in your comfy little apartment, when the building fire alarm rips you from slumber like a personal attack. Groggy, annoyed, and barefoot, you stumble outside with the rest of your neighbors, expecting a false alarm and nothing more
What you don’t expect? A real fire. And an even realer firefighter—tall, broad-shouldered, absolutely gorgeous, and of course it’s her you choose to ask if you can go back to your home safe.
words: 1.2k (not sure actually) (masterlist)
cw: established relationship, they’re so in love, big boy Rusty is back, girls kissing, shameless flirting, tooth rotting fluff in this chapter, we’re so back, I missed em so much
You’re seated at the little table, fingers curled around your mug, the soft quiet of the morning wrapping around you like a blanket.
Rusty’s huge head rests heavy on your thigh, his tail giving the occasional thump against the floor whenever you run your hand down his fur.
Sevika is a blur in the background.
Heavy boots thudding, the metallic click of her prosthetic, the slam of a drawer. She storms from the bedroom to the bathroom to the kitchen like a soldier preparing for battle, muttering curses under her breath.
You sip your coffee, unbothered. Rusty yawns loudly, leaning closer into you like he knows you’re the calm one.
“I told you,” you say lightly, eyes following Sevika as she yanks a jacket on one arm.
“You told me nothing,” Sevika snaps, except her voice cracks a little at the end, more panicked than pissed.
And she’s not fooling anyone.
You hum, scratching behind Rusty’s ear. “Mm, no, I told you last night to set an alarm. And you said—” You lower your voice into a gruff imitation. “‘Relax mom, I’m fine, don’t worry about me.’”
Sevika shoots you a look sharp enough to kill if you weren’t smiling into your mug.
Her hair are still wet from the world’s fastest shower, and she grumbles, “Don’t mock me.”
Rusty chooses that exact moment to lift his head and bark once, sharp, like he’s laughing with you.
Sevika glares at him. “don’t start.”
You reach out as she rushes past you again, catching her wrist for just a second. Her skin is warm, her pulse racing under your fingertips.
She slows, just for a beat, eyes flicking down to you, to the ring on your hand that mirrors hers.
“Breathe,” you tell her softly. “You’ll make it. You always do.”
And maybe it’s the coffee steam curling through the room, maybe it’s Rusty watching her like he already knows who the real boss in the house is.
She thinks it’s her.
You know it’s you.
And Sevika actually stops long enough to lean down and kiss you. Quick, firm but lingering.
When she pulls back, Rusty immediately wedges himself between the two of you, whining for his morning kiss too.
Sevika sighs, bends, and plants a smooch right on top of his giant head. “Happy now?”
Rusty licks her chin in response.
You smile into your coffee as she straighten. “Two hopeless moms,” you murmur.
Sevika rolls her eyes, and points at you on her way to the door. “Text me when you get to work.”
You can’t help it, you snort into your coffee when you notice it.
“Sevika.”
She’s halfway out the door already, keys in one hand, her boots stomping loud as hell against the wood.
She spins back with the sharpest scowl. “Babe, I really don’t have time.”
You shake your head slowly, lips twitching. “I can’t believe it.”
That makes her pause. Frown creasing, she steps back into the apartment. “What now?”
You tilt your chin toward the couch. Sitting there, right where she tossed it last night, is her bag.
Her lifeline. The one she never leaves without.
For a second, Sevika just stares at it like it really just called her a slur. Then she mutters something so low Rusty tilts his head, trying to catch it.
She strides back, scooping it up with her free hand and slinging it over her shoulder like she should’ve done twenty minutes ago.
“Seriously—what the fuck is wrong with me?” she grumbles, jaw tight but ears just a little pink.
You’re smiling at her, all fond warmth that makes her throat feel tight. “Nothing’s wrong with you.”
Sevika shakes her head, pulling the strap higher on her shoulder like it’ll hide the way she feels right now. “Okay—I really need to go this time.”
“Mm.” You lift your mug. “Don’t forget the bag, it’s on your shoulder.”
She shoots you a look on her way out, but the corner of her mouth twitches despite herself.
“Look who finally decided to show up,” Vander calls across the station as Sevika shoulders the door open.
She stomps in, bag slung over her shoulder, hair still damp from the shower she definitely didn’t have time for.
Grumpy as hell, late as hell, and somehow… lighter.
Silco doesn’t even look up from the paperwork in his hands. “I was under the impression you lived here, Sevika… What’s this? A social life?”
“Fuck off,” she mutters, brushing past them.
Vander chuckles, shaking his head. “She’s glowing. Look at her.”
Sevika whirls on him with the sharpest glare in her arsenal, but it only makes Vander laugh harder.
Silco finally lifts his eye from the page, gaze cool but far too amused.
“I do recall a time,” he drawls, “when your evenings ended with whiskey and poker. Now it’s god hair on your uniform and… hm. What’s that look, Vander?”
“Engaged,” Vander supplies, grinning. “That’s the look. You can’t hide it.”
Sevika grits her teeth, yanking open her locker a little harder than necessary. “I’m not hiding anything. I’m here, aren’t I? Let’s get to work.”
“Of course,” Silco says smoothly, already turning back to his papers. “But do remind us when the wedding is. Vander’s dying to buy a special suit for the occasion.”
“Damn right,” Vander agrees, still chuckling. “And don’t think you’re walking Rusty down the aisle without me, eh? The kid likes me. My apologies, I mean… dog.”
Sevika huffs, shoving her bag in the locker. Grumpy. Red-eared.
And absolutely, entirely incapable of denying it.
Because yeah, she’s late. Yeah, they’re insufferable.
And… yeah. She’s got a sunshine fiancée and a dog waiting for her at home.
And she loves it. More than anything.
“Oh, and” Silco starts, smug. “You’re not in trouble, we clocked you in so they don’t know you’re late this morning. You’re welcome.”
Sevika sighs.
Thank god.
She’s setting an alarm every night now.
She’s sitting at the worn table in the breakroom, nursing her fifth coffee since she woke up like it’s the only thing tethering her to reality, when her phone buzzes.
One glance. You. Of course it’s you. You text her everyday like it’s your oxygen.
I’m at work, like a responsible adult 🫡 just so you know, Rusty is on duty at the café’s door. Customers beware, best bodyguard in the world.
Her mouth twitches before she can stop it.
Another buzz.
Stay strong, hero… It’s hot out there and not because of the fires. You’re too hot for this world I’m afraid
Sevika actually groans aloud, dragging a hand down her face to hide her smile at your stupid text.
Across the table, Vander raises an eyebrow.
“Everything all right?” he asks, way too chipper.
“Fine,” she grumbles, locks the phone, unlocks it again immediately.
Don’t roll your eyes at me. I know you are
She exhales through her nose, caught red-handed, then types back quick:
Do your job, sunshine.
Almost instantly, the dots appear.
I am!!! Rusty and I are professionals. 🐶☕️👩❤️💋👩
Vander leans over, catching a glimpse of the stupidly obvious girl kissing emoji before she flips the phone face-down.
He starts laughing so hard he almost spills his coffee. “Janna, Sevika,” he wheezes, “I have diabetes now.”
She doesn’t even argue. Just huffs, cheeks burning, and mutters, “Shut up.”
But later, when no one’s looking, she picks her phone back up, reads your silly message, and lets herself smile.
That night, Sevika gets home smelling like smoke and sweat just like usual, but she makes it through the door by dinner for once.
Rusty barrels toward her, nails skittering on the wood, tail wagging like he hasn’t seen her in months instead of twelve hours.
She crouches to scratch his ears, pressing a kiss to his head before dropping her bag by the door.
The smell of food should be the first thing she notices.
Instead, it’s the sound.
A low grunt.
She’s ready for quiet. Dinner. Maybe a beer. Definitely not—
“…what the hell are you doing?”
She rounds the corner, dragging off her jacket, and there you are: crouched on the floor in front of the big kitchen window, scrubbing at the wood trim like your life depends on it.
Your oversized shirt is slipping off one shoulder, your little shorts riding up every time you shift, hair a mess with sweat shining at your temples.
The exact window Sevika said she’d take care of herself.
You don’t even look back, still furiously rubbing with a rag. “I can do it myself!”
Sevika frowns. “Didn’t I tell you—”
“I don’t need,” you cut in, puffing, “a strong, sexy, amazing firefighter woman to help me polish a window.” Your voice is high and dramatic, each word heavier than the last.
Then you let out a groan, flop backwards, and collapse flat onto the kitchen tiles, limbs sprawled like you’ve just fought for your life.
Rusty trots over immediately, tail wagging, licking at your face as you gasp for air like a martyr.
“I am” you pant, hair wild, grinning even as your chest heaves. “A perfectly capable woman.”
Sevika presses her palm to her forehead, fighting the laugh that’s bubbling in her chest. “You’re gonna hurt yourself and cry about it.”
“I already did,” you mumble, weakly pointing toward the stove. “With dinner though. Your favorite. Because I’m an amazing fiancée, get it?”
Rusty barks once like he’s agreeing with you.
A good kid always stands with his moms.
Sevika finally sighs, going back to the front door to tug off her boots before coming to crouch down next to you. She brushes a damp strand of hair away from your cheek, and your grin softens into something smaller, more tender.
Buying this place with you had been one of the best things she’s ever done; and maybe the most exhausting. The house was filled with half-finished projects, tools in corners, paint swatches taped to walls, and lists as long as her arm.
Too many plans, too little time. But it’s yours.
Together.
She shakes her head, lips twitching. “Stubborn as hell.”
Your eyes glint with mischief as you whisper, “you’re worse.”
And she can’t even argue.
It’s so silly but I really missed my babies so much. I FORGOT RUSTY WAS A ROTTWEILER WHILE WRITING I described him as a golden retriever LMAO because I was confused with my sevika and golden retriever request, anyway
synopsis: You’re fast asleep in your comfy little apartment, when the building fire alarm rips you from slumber like a personal attack. Groggy, annoyed, and barefoot, you stumble outside with the rest of your neighbors, expecting a false alarm and nothing more
What you don’t expect? A real fire. And an even realer firefighter—tall, broad-shouldered, absolutely gorgeous, and of course it’s her you choose to ask if you can go back to your home safe.
words: (masterlist)
cw: time lapse, girls making out, slow morning, grumpy and sleep deprived sevika, we’re going to horny jail, those two too, last chapter
The door clicks shut around 3:12AM.
Sevika doesn’t bother turning on a light—she knows where everything is by now. Her boots land by the wall with a dull thud, jacket tossed somewhere near the couch. Her prosthetic clinks lightly against the hardwood as she shrugs it off and sets it carefully on the stand.
It’s a dance she knows by heart now: unbuckle, unclip, unlace, breathe out.
The city outside is dead quiet. She’s dead on her feet.
Her shirt peels off, forgotten. Jeans half-kicked, half-dropped in the hallway. She doesn’t even think about finding a clean tee or brushing her hair. She’s just in a pair of clean boxers when she reaches the bed, the kind of tired that makes everything go soft around the edges.
You’re already asleep.
Curled on your side, one hand under the pillow, breathing slow and steady. The covers are bunched at your hips.
Sevika doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t have to.
She slides into bed with the same ease she used to slide into bunk cots, only this time—this time there’s warmth. Skin.
Home.
She throws her arm across your waist, nose buried at the back of your neck. One leg thrown heavy over yours, like instinct. Like ownership.
You stir, soft and blurry with sleep. But you don’t wake—just make a tiny noise and lean back into her, familiar and easy, like this is routine.
And Sevika?
She passes out in seconds, breathing steady into the crook of your neck, heartbeat finally slowing.
Around 8AM, soft light seeps through the half-closed curtains, casting a glow across the sheets. The bed is warm, heavy with limbs tangled under the covers and the scent of sleep and skin.
You stir first. Slowly, gently—your body shifts under the weight of hers, trying not to wake her but needing to reach the edge of the bed.
You barely make it halfway before Sevika growls low against your neck.
“What’re you doing,” she mumbles, her voice rough like gravel, still thick with sleep and buried somewhere between your shoulder and the pillow.
You smile, whispering into the air, “I have to get up… I gotta go to work.”
Sevika doesn’t even lift her head. She just tightens her arm around your waist like a vice, her breath warm and slow on your skin. Her leg hooks tighter around yours.
“No,” she mutters flatly, with more attitude this time. Just—no.
She sounds genuinely offended.
You laugh softly, trying to wriggle out from under her arm, but it’s like trying to lift a truck with your back. She groans louder and buries her face deeper into your neck like she’s going to physically stop time with sheer willpower and stubbornness.
You don’t fight her grip. Not really. You sigh with a soft huff through your nose and settle back into her, letting her lean all her weight against your back, the warmth of her skin and the steady thump of her heartbeat anchoring you right there.
“I’m only working the morning shift,” you murmur, lips brushing her temple. “I’ll be back before you’re even awake.”
Sevika doesn’t answer right away—just groans like the injustice of it physically pains her. She nuzzles into the pillow, then turns her back to you completely, dragging half the blanket and every goddamn cushion with her. She burries herself under them with the dramatic flair of someone who just lost everything.
You blink. She grumbles, voice muffled by layers of softness and sleep.
“For once in my life I get to sleep in—and my damn girlfriend’s not even with me,” she says, tragically, like you’re abandoning her in the trenches.
You bite back a laugh, eyes wide, jaw tight trying not to grin too hard. “You’re unbelievable.”
No response.
“So dramatic.”
Still nothing—just her broad back, the rise and fall of it, and the pouty silence of a woman wronged.
You sigh again, smiling now, and lean forward to wrap your arms around her from behind, your chest pressed to her spine as you curl around her.
“Okay, okay,” you whisper, kissing the back of her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m a terrible girlfriend. Forgive me?”
She doesn’t answer. But her hand reaches down to catch yours under the covers, her fingers threading with yours, warm and slow.
You already know she’s forgiven you. Even if she’ll keep sulking for a little longer.
You’re moving around the room softly, towel-drying your hair and slipping into your clothes like a quiet morning ritual. You’ve already had breakfast, brushed your teeth, taken a long shower that made you think about Sevika’s mouth on your skin the entire time—and yet she hasn’t said a single word since you got out. Not a single one.
But she’s awake.
You feel her eyes on you before you turn. Still buried under the covers, head propped against a pillow like she’s barely alive, eyes half-lidded and heavy with sleep, but open. Watching. Tracking the curve of your waist as you slide your shirt down. The quiet intimacy of it makes your stomach flip.
“Come here,” she mumbles finally, her voice wrecked and warm and low in a way that has no business sounding that good first thing in the morning.
You glance at the clock. You should be leaving soon. You really should.
But instead, you walk over.
She pulls the blanket down just enough for you to climb over her, and you straddle her lap easily, knees sinking into the messy sheets. She’s still under the covers, bare-chested, messy-haired, one eye barely open and the other lazily blinking like she’s debating between kissing you or falling asleep again.
Her hand finds your hip under your shirt—just rests there, rough fingers curling softly like it’s instinct. You’re warm from your shower, still slightly damp, and she hums when you lean down and kiss the corner of her mouth. She doesn’t chase your lips—just exhales against your cheek like this is enough. You being here. On her. Close.
The bedroom is dim, sleepy, with the curtains pulled just enough to let the soft morning light touch the edges of the room—enough to see where your socks landed, or where Sevika’s bra gave up last night. A cluttered mess of comfort and chaos, and still, somehow, it feels like the safest place you’ve ever been.
“Thought you were mad at me,” you tease, your voice soft against her temple.
“I am,” she mutters, closing her eyes again. “You smell like shampoo and productivity.”
You laugh, she doesn’t. But her thumb strokes your waist slow, lazy, half-asleep but present. Her way of saying stay even if she won’t say it out loud.
You’re still giggling quietly against her face when her fingers tug lightly at your shirt collar.
“Come back here.”
It’s not a question. Not a demand, either—just that rough, sleep-laced tone of hers that leaves no room for arguing, even when she can barely keep her eyes open.
You lean down, chest brushing hers through the covers, and she meets you halfway. Mouth slow and warm, a little dry from sleep, but real. She kisses like she’s been craving it since you stepped out of bed—tongue lazy, mouth soft, no rush, just having you for these few minutes.
You hum against her lips, and she swallows it like a secret.
Her fingers are still fisted in your collar, like if she lets go, the morning will start and you’ll be gone. Her hand on your hip tightens when you shift closer, grinding just a little, enough to feel her sigh and tilt her head deeper into the kiss.
It’s slow. Gentle. Addicting.
You’ve kissed before—last night, and nights before that—but there’s something in this one that feels different. Like she’s letting herself take. Just for now.
Her mouth moves against yours in quiet rhythm, one kiss melting into the next, and the next, until five whole minutes blur into warmth and breath and sleep-hazy desire. She should be asleep. Her eye bags are criminal, the dark smudges under them almost purple in the soft light—but she’s kissing you like you’re the only thing keeping her alive.
When you finally pull back, just barely, she keeps her grip on your shirt. Doesn’t open her eyes.
You whisper, “You need to sleep.”
She murmurs, low, “if you care so much about me, then stay in bed.”
You kiss her one more time, softer now, like a promise more than anything else. And just when you’re about to pull back and finally start your day, you murmur against her lips:
“But if I’m not going to work, and you’re staying here to sleep… then who’s gonna take Rusty back home?”
Sevika lets her head fall back into the pillow with a dramatic groan. “Do not put our son into this.”
You try to bite back a laugh, your smile too wide to hide.
She’s not even pretending to argue after that. Just lets her grip on your shirt slip away, her hand dragging down your side, heavy with sleep again. She grumbles something under her breath that might be “traitor,” but doesn’t fight it when you finally slip off her lap.
You tug on your pants, throw your shirt back into place, and lean in one last time, brushing the mess of her hair off her temple before pressing your lips there.
“Sleep, Sev.”
A grunt. Which you take as a yes.
And when you head out the door, the apartment is quiet—except for the soft huff of Sevika already passed out again, surrounded by pillows and your warmth lingering with her.
Around 12AM just like you promised, you unlock the door with one hand and gently hold Rusty’s leash with the other, bracing yourself for the tiny chaos about to unfold.
The second the door creaks open, Rusty’s tail starts wagging like crazy, nails clicking against the floor in rapid little scrapes. He knows he’s home. You bend down to unclip the leash but keep a firm hand on his collar, murmuring, “Wait. You’ll see her in a second, just—calm your butt.”
He gives a soft, excited bark, whole body vibrating, but he listens—barely. You smile, brushing your fingers behind his ears.
Once he’s slightly more composed, you release him, and he bolts down the hallway, paws skidding just a bit on the wooden floor as he races toward the bedroom. You don’t even need to follow to know exactly what’s happening.
A dull thump, the rustle of sheets, and then Sevika’s voice, hoarse and warm from sleep: “…Damn it, Rusty.”
You poke your head in a few seconds later, already grinning.
She’s still mostly buried in the covers, hair a complete mess, eyes only half open, and somehow, your giant baby Rottweiler has managed to nestle himself across her chest and stomach like he belongs there. Sevika doesn’t even look annoyed. Her only heavy arm wraps around Rusty’s barrel chest as she sighs like this is just part of life now.
Rusty lets out a low, happy huff, tongue lolling out, and Sevika scratches lazily behind his ear without even opening both eyes. “He smells like meds.”
“He just spent the night at the clinic, babe,” you remind her, stepping inside and toeing your shoes off.
She hums in acknowledgment, still sleepy, her voice deep and soft against the pillows. “He better not pee on me.”
“He won’t,” you say, though you’re already holding back a laugh. “He missed you.”
Sevika shifts slightly, letting Rusty stretch out more across her ribs. “Yeah, well. I missed him too.”
And she means it. You can hear it in her voice—even if she’s half-asleep and buried under eighty pounds of overexcited young dog.
She’s bad at expressing feelings, she would probably never tell you she missed you, but her son? ‘It’s not the same, he’s a dog.’
You don’t mind it, not at all.
You lean against the doorway for a moment, watching the two of them settle. Sevika, your insufferable, exhausted girlfriend. Rusty, your overly dramatic, needy son. And this…this was your home.
It doesn’t get much better than this.
The apartment is quiet when Sevika wakes up, early evening sun cutting through the half-closed curtains. Rusty’s heavy head is resting over her calves, his entire body curled behind her like some oversized, breathing heating pad. He lets out a sleepy snort when she shifts, blinking blearily at her, and follows her groggily when she slides out of bed.
Her steps are slow, dragging just a little as she moves through the familiar clutter of their home. She doesn’t bother putting on a shirt—just grabs her prosthetic and snaps it into place with practiced ease, rolling her shoulder once to adjust the weight.
Rusty’s nails tap behind her as she pads toward the kitchen.
You’re already there.
Sitting at the small table in your favorite shirt—hers, actually—with your laptop open and music playing low on the speaker. Some mellow song she doesn’t recognize, but it matches the morning. Calm. Easy. You’re focused, typing something with your lip tucked between your teeth, and your coffee’s long gone cold beside you.
Sevika leans down and wraps her arms around your shoulders from behind, chin brushing over the top of your head as she exhales through her nose.
You smile, not startled in the slightest. “Hi sleeping beauty.”
“Hi,” she mumbles back, her voice still rough and low. Then, against your temple: “So… Wanna do something extraordinary for our anniversary tomorrow? Took my day off before you could blame me for being a terrible person.”
You hum, slow and thoughtful like you’re actually considering wild options, then glance at her over your shoulder with a smirk. “Pizza and beer?”
Sevika groans like you’ve just said the most seductive thing in the world, burying her face in the side of your neck. “Fuck. You know how to talk to me.”
You laugh softly and reach up to hold her arm draped across your chest, warm and solid and still a little sleepy.
Behind you both, Rusty lets out another deep sigh and flops dramatically onto the floor, claiming his spot in the sun.
Your second anniversary doesn’t start with anything fancy. It’s not your thing.
Just takeout pizza, cold beer, the soft glow of the TV, and a makeshift nest of cushions and blankets spread across the floor of your living room. You’re both sitting against the couch, legs stretched out and toes grazing, your Rottweiler snoring softly between you with his big head in your lap.
It’s late.
You’re both tipsy—just a little. Sevika doesn’t get drunk easily, not really, but you’ve learned that she gets a certain kind of warm when she drinks with you. Looser in the shoulders. Quicker to laugh. The kind of quiet that comes with comfort, not caution.
You’re halfway through some series you’ve both been watching without paying that much attention when Sevika shifts, sets her half-finished beer on the coffee table, and leans her head back against the couch. Her arm brushes yours.
She exhales, then glances at you sideways. Her voice is low. “Hypothetically…”
You look at her, pizza crust in hand. “Yeah?”
“If I asked you to marry me with pizza and a beer, you wouldn’t be offended, would you ?”
There’s a beat.
Then your laugh bursts out—bright, surprised, loud in the small apartment. Pure joy.
You almost choke on your crust.
“What—? No! No, I wouldn’t be offended, are you kidding me?”
Sevika tries not to smile too wide, but she fails. Her eyes drop to the floor like she’s embarrassed, but the smile’s there anyway, stubborn and real. She picks at the label on her bottle.
You turn toward her, still laughing softly, setting your own beer down. “Was that a hypothetical hypothetical or, like… hypothetical for real?”
Sevika shrugs one shoulder, but her eyes find yours again and she doesn’t look away. “Dunno. Just… thinkin’.”
You lean over, brush your lips against her cheek, then her mouth. Slow. Soft. Familiar.
“Then think faster,” you whisper. “’Cause I’m saying yes.”
Rusty lets out a groan between you two and flops onto his back like he’s been personally wronged by all this affection.
Sevika laughs into your mouth.
And you kiss her again, still sitting on the floor, with beer breath and greasy fingers and the feeling of a whole life stretching out ahead of you.
Just like that. Easy. Extraordinary.
You’re still smiling when Sevika pulls back just enough to look at you.
Her fingers rest warm on your thigh, and there’s something in her eyes—soft, slow, a little unsure, but there. She tips her head toward you with a tiny, crooked smirk.
“So…” she says, dragging the word out. “Do I actually have to ask?”
You bite your lip, eyes gleaming, and hum thoughtfully like you’re considering it.
“I’d love you to,” you say, lifting a brow, playful. “But no need.”
She groans, dramatic and low in her throat. “Fuckin’ knew it.”
You just grin at her, and then—without ceremony, without moving—you watch her shift onto her side a little, elbow on the floor, leaning in closer.
Her free hand reaches out for yours, and yeah, it’s greasy with leftover pizza oil, and the dog is still between you like a stone slab in the bed of romance, but her voice is steady when she says it.
“Alright,” she mutters. “Then I’m asking. Will you marry me?”
You blink once, and then your face splits into another loud, shocked laugh—again. You throw your head back like you can’t believe she actually did it.
“Like that?!” you wheeze. “With cheese on your fingers, Sev?”
She shrugs like that’s a you problem. “We’re already halfway through the damn pizza, might as well make it official.”
You wipe your hands on your sweatpants before crawling closer and grabbing her face, your nose brushing hers. Still grinning. Still laughing. You kiss her, mouths still smiling.
“God,” you say between kisses, “I love you so bad it’s disgusting.”
Sevika groans again, but this time it’s into your mouth. “You’re the gross one.”
“You asked me to marry you mid-bite.”
“You said yes.”
You knock your forehead against hers, both of you laughing now, your dog snoring beside you like nothing happened. And when you kiss her again, it’s a little deeper. A little slower. Still smiling.
Because it’s not perfect. It’s not polished. It’s not planned.
It’s you. It’s her. It’s this life you’ve made—messy, loud, full of crumbs and arguments about laundry and silent, sleepy mornings and one very spoiled dog.
You’re still grinning when you pull back, sitting cross-legged in front of her, hands still tangled together, your whole face flushed from laughing. Sevika’s looking at you like she’s got plans now—long, slow-burning plans that definitely don’t involve finishing the pizza.
Then her eyes dart to Rusty, who’s curled up like a massive loaf between the two of you, halfway dozing with his nose on his paw.
Sevika jerks her chin toward the hallway.
“C’mon,” she mutters, already getting to her feet and tugging your hand with her. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”
You blink. “Now?”
She deadpans, “Yeah. And lock the door.”
You arch a brow, smirking. “Lock the door?”
Sevika points at Rusty with the gravest expression she’s ever worn. “He doesn’t need to see that.”
You lose it—laughing so hard your knees buckle a little, and Sevika just pulls you in closer with a smug little grin tugging at her mouth.
And you let her drag you away, pizza forgotten, beer still open, your oversized Rottweiler sighing dramatically as he’s abandoned in the living room.
Because yeah, you’re getting married.
But first?
You’re gonna make out like teenagers and make love behind a locked bedroom door. Because Sevika’s got ideas, and Rusty’s baby eyes don’t need to see that.
End of Hot Line, firefighter!sevika ! Thank you so much for all the support, thank you for reading my lesbian-helpless-romantic-stupid fics, thank you for being here, thank you for letting me know what you feel when I write and how good you feel with my work. I love you guys, thank you.
synopsis: You’re fast asleep in your comfy little apartment, when the building fire alarm rips you from slumber like a personal attack. Groggy, annoyed, and barefoot, you stumble outside with the rest of your neighbors, expecting a false alarm and nothing more
What you don’t expect? A real fire. And an even realer firefighter—tall, broad-shouldered, absolutely gorgeous, and of course it’s her you choose to ask if you can go back to your home safe.
words: 3.1k (masterlist)
cw: more of sevika’s pov for this one, she’s a bit sex drunk in the morning, fluff, shameless flirting, sevika’s kinda down bad and she doesn’t know what to do about it, she’s awkward about it all, you’re not helping her are you ?
! if you didn’t in the first chapters, comment to be tagged for the next if you want !
Sevika hadn’t planned to sleep with you.
She swears—it was not in her plans.
She’s had her share of fun. First dates, second dates, no dates at all. Hookups that felt good in the moment and meant nothing a few hours later. This? This was just supposed to be a little detour from a long shift. A spark. A smile. Maybe a kiss at her car if things went really well.
But this?
This was something else.
Because she didn’t just fuck you. She slept with you.
Not metaphorically, not poetically…
Literally. slept.
Like a dumbass.
In your bed.
Sevika wakes up to soft sunlight bleeding through a half-closed curtain and warmth pressed against her bare side. Her brain feels like it’s catching up to the rest of her body—slow, a bit sore, and very much aware of the way her back muscles are still twitching from the night before. And fuck, was that good. Really good.
It takes her a few seconds to fully open her eyes, and when she does, the first thing she sees is you.
You’re still asleep. Breathing slow. The blanket has slid low enough to reveal just the top of your back, the dip of your spine, the mess of your hair splayed against the pillow she definitely stole during the night. You’re naked. She’s naked. And she has no fucking idea what time it is.
Fuck.
Her eyes dart to your bedside table. No phone. Her jacket? Not there. Her pants? Somewhere between here and the hallway, probably still inside-out.
Sevika groans, low and gravelly, dragging a hand down her face before she starts reaching quietly around the mattress like she’s defusing a bomb. You don’t move. Of course you don’t—you sleep like someone who hasn’t had three alarms going off in their head since 6AM.
Sevika finds the corner of her phone sticking out from under your pillow and slips it out with two fingers, squinting at the screen. The brightness nearly blinds her.
And then she sees the time.
“…Fuck me.”
She was supposed to be at the station.
Ten minutes ago.
Wandering around naked in someone else’s apartment isn’t the worst feeling Sevika’s ever had. But it sure as hell isn’t the best either.
Her boots are by the front door. One sock’s on. The other? Gone. Vanished. Eaten by the floor or your tiny laundry bin or—gods forbid—still somewhere tangled up in the bedroom. Her bra is hanging half off a kitchen chair. Her shirt’s half inside-out. And her hair tie? No idea. Her hair’s a mess now, heavy and loose, already curling at the ends from sleep and sweat and… yeah.
She checks her phone again. No new messages, but she knows they’ll come. She’s late. Really late.
She exhales through her nose and runs a hand over her face, then glances back down the hallway.
You’re still asleep.
Of course you are. One arm tucked under the pillow, the other loosely draped where she used to be. Mouth slightly open. Still warm-looking, like you haven’t noticed the bed is colder now. Peaceful. Pretty.
Sevika swears under her breath and crouches to grab her pants, managing to get one leg in before realizing the other is twisted. She swears again—quieter this time—and pauses.
What the fuck is she supposed to do?
Usually she just… goes. No drama. No note. No explanation. She leaves before it gets weird. Before they start asking things. Before she even gets the chance to pretend it meant anything.
But now?
She didn’t plan this. She planned the sandwich. Planned the bench. But not the duck talk. The way you laughed so hard your whole body tilted. The strawberry mug story. The goddamn candy. The kiss at the door. The sex.
She swears she didn’t plan the sex.
And now she’s standing in your kitchen, shirt halfway on, trying to decide if she should sneak out like a coward or wake you up just to say—what?
“Bye?” “Thanks for the date and the sex?” “Sorry, I’m late for work?”
She rubs her face again and sighs.
Yeah. Fuck.
She has to go. But gods, it feels weird to just… leave.
She search for her phone in the kitchen— then remembers.
On the bed. Of course.
She curses under her breath and takes one bootless step into the room.
And stops dead.
You’re awake.
Sitting up in the mess of your sheets, stretching with your arms high over your head, a quiet little yawn escaping your lips. Your hair’s a pillow-tousled mess hiding your naked breast -it would almost be disappointing if Sevika was not so late-, your collarbone peeking out from where the blanket’s slipped, and you blink at her through squinted, sleep-heavy eyes—then grin.
That stupid, sleepy grin.
And Sevika? She just stands there, holding one boot like a damn fool, her shirt half-tucked into her pants, the other sock still MIA, thinking shit.
You’re fucking beautiful.
And she’s—what? A homeless rat ? A sockless idiot about to bolt out the door and pretend this wasn’t the softest damn morning she’s had in years?
“I, uh…” She clears her throat. Why is she hesitating? She’s never hesitating. Stay put together, damnit. “Didn’t wanna wake you.”
You blink at her, still smiling. It softens something sharp in her chest.
“Not that I was—y’know. Gonna leave like a thief,” she adds, glancing at your pillow like it might rescue her. “I just— late. For work.”
You nod once. Totally unfazed.
“Okay.”
Just like that.
No panic. No wait, stay. No ‘what does this mean?’ You just smile like you know exactly where her head is—like you expected her to run but never once thought she actually would.
“Okay?” Sevika repeats, eyes narrowing a little, suspicious.
You hum. “Mhm. You want coffee or you really that late?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Just stands there, boot dangling from her fingers, staring at you in the soft morning light. And yeah, maybe her hair’s a mess and she’s pretty sure one of her earrings is in your bathroom sink and she probably smells like sex and cheap laundry detergent.
But you—Gods, you look at her like none of that matters.
Like it was fine she stayed the morning. Like it’d be fine if she did it again.
She swallows.
“…Yeah. I’m really that late.”
You nod again. “Alright. Go, then.” Your voice is still soft with sleep, your grin lingering like it belongs there.
And maybe Sevika is running late. But damn, she’s not moving yet.
She never feels stupid. But right now?
Right now, standing in someone else’s bedroom with one sock missing and the imprint of your mouth still tingling on hers from last night—yeah. She feels a little fucking stupid.
The kind of stupid that comes with not knowing what the hell this is.
The kind of stupid that shows up when you don’t leave right after sex like you usually do. When you don’t sleep in your own bed. When you wake up naked beside someone who stretches like a cat and smiles like morning was made for her.
Sevika leans into the doorway as she pulls on her second boot—finally—but there’s no sock, and she gave up on it ten minutes ago. It’s probably under your bed or clinging to a curtain or wherever socks go to die. She doesn’t even care anymore. She just wants to get the hell out of here before her brain catches up to how soft this feels.
You’re tugging on an oversized shirt of yours god knows from where—and bending to grab it from the floor and Sevika tries not to look. She really does. But her eyes have a mind of their own and they land right on the slope of your back and your thighs and—
Fuck.
She clears her throat, loud enough to sound casual, but not enough to actually make a difference.
“…Okay,” she mutters, standing up straight again, boots finally on, trying to force a smirk back onto her face like that’ll make her feel normal. “See you later.”
You don’t say anything at first.
Just walk over.
Soft, quiet steps on the wooden floor. You reach up, fingers warm and easy around her jaw, and you tilt her face down before pressing your lips against hers—smack, short and sure, like it’s just something you do.
Then you pull back, already turning, and say, “See you later,” like you mean it, and disappear into the bathroom, door clicking shut behind you.
Sevika stands there for a second, staring at the door.
Then at the floor.
Then at your bed.
Then at the empty hallway like it personally insulted her.
She exhales. Rubs her face with both hands. Feels her mouth twitch up in something that’s definitely not a smirk this time.
“Fuck, this girl.” she mutters, heading for the front door.
She’s late. She’s missing a sock. She’s definitely not thinking straight. Well, she’s not. But not thinking straight either.
And she’s absolutely going to see you later.
She meant to text you.
She did. She actually wanted to. Why is she thinking about you ?
But turns out—two dumbasses who spent the night together and talked about cats and ducks and kissed against walls and laughed their way out of their clothes didn’t actually think about exchanging numbers.
It hits her two days later, somewhere between her second overnight shift and an emergency call where she almost busted her ankle.
That you’re not in her phone.
That she doesn’t even know your last name.
That “see you later” doesn’t work if the universe doesn’t feel like playing along.
She doesn’t panic about it. Sevika doesn’t panic about anything. But she definitely grits her teeth when she finds herself walking past the café on her way back from the station one morning, helmet in hand and hair messy in a low tie, and sees that it’s quiet. Empty. No long line.
Just one woman behind the counter.
She hesitates—just a second—then steps inside.
Cool air, faint smell of sugar and chocolate and cinnamon.
The woman behind the counter is tall, braided hair, kind eyes. Not you.
Not you.
But when she sees Sevika, something clicks. Her eyes narrow. Her mouth twitches like it’s holding back a laugh.
Sevika steps up, clears her throat, and does her best not to look like a creep. She shoves her hand into her jacket pocket and hooks a thumb in her belt.
“‘Scuse me. I’m not here to buy anything,” she starts, and she already hates how awkward that sounds. “I just—I don’t mean to be weird. I’m looking for someone. Works here.”
The woman doesn’t blink. “Let me guess.”
Sevika arches a brow. “Go on.”
“Talks a lot. Smile stupid. Blue skirt the last time you saw her.”
Sevika blinks, lips twitching into a smirk despite herself. “That obvious?”
“I work with her,” the woman says dryly, but she’s clearly enjoying this. “Name’s Sana.”
Sevika nods, rubs the back of her neck, still a little stiff. “Right. Yeah. I just—look, I didn’t get her number. We both forgot, I guess. I’m not trying to be a weirdo, I just—wanted to know when she’s working next.”
Sana looks at her for a moment. Like she’s trying to figure something out. Then nods, grabs a post-it, and scribbles a few hours down.
“She’s not in today. But she will be tomorrow. Opens the place at 9AM, closes at 7PM. If you’re planning to hang around like a sad dog, pretend you just want a coffee.”
Sevika raises an eyebrow. “…Sad dog?”
Sana smirks. “She said you looked like a Rottweiler.”
Sevika snorts, rolls her eyes, and grabs the note. “She talks too much.”
“She really does,” Sana grins. “You gonna come back, then?”
Sevika taps the note against her palm. “Yeah,” she says, turning toward the door. “I’ll be back.”
And this time—she’s getting her number.
It’s been more than a week.
You haven’t seen her since that morning. The one where she left half-dressed with her boot half-on and your lips still warm from hers. The one where she promised—no, said—see you later.
And honestly? You believed her.
You still do. Even if it’s been over a week. Even if you’ve caught yourself smiling at empty corners of your apartment, replaying the kiss in the hallway, the way she laughed—snorted, really—when you told her she looked like a young Rottweiler.
You meant it. Still do.
But life went on. You went to work. Wore your apple-shaped a few times. Talked Sana’s ear off. Tried not to look at the café door every time it opened.
Now, you’re alone, the shop finally closed. You’ve turned the big glass door’s lock and flipped the sign. The main lights are off, leaving the room washed in the warm, low glow of the counter lamp. The air smells like milk foam and sugar, like old coffee and comfort. You hum something aimless, hips swaying lightly as you clean a table, lost in your own quiet peace.
You don’t expect the knock.
It’s soft—but distinct. Against the glass.
You blink and turn, half-annoyed at the idea of a stubborn client who can’t read the “closed” sign.
But it’s not a client.
It’s her.
Sevika.
She doesn’t wave. Doesn’t smirk. Just stands there on the other side of the glass like she’s not entirely sure you’ll come open. Her hands in her jacket pockets, boots planted firmly on the sidewalk, eyes steady on yours.
Except—they’re not the same. Not sharp like the first time, even if her eyes were never really sharp to you, somehow.
Now, they’re…something else.
Quiet.
Like she doesn’t want to ask too much.
You smile—big, wide, all teeth, the one you can’t help when it’s her—and walk toward the door without hesitation.
You open it, and the bell above jingles, small and late. She steps in, slow. You don’t say anything. Neither does she.
You close the door behind her.
And she’s here.
After days, a week. And she came back.
“Hey,” you say, soft and sweet.
Too sweet, maybe. But real. It comes out like a sigh you didn’t mean to let go.
Sevika’s eyes flick toward the sound of your voice, the edges of her mouth twitching like maybe—maybe—she wants to smile but forgot how. She stands a little stiff, still near the threshold, the door gently clicking shut behind her.
“I wanted to go see you at the station,” you add, stepping around the counter just a bit, a cloth still in your hand. You’re not fidgeting. Not really. “But… it’s kind of intimidating. Your coworkers don’t really help with that.”
She huffs through her nose. “You wouldn’t have seen me anyway.”
That deep voice wraps around your ribs. You feel it settle there, warm and familiar.
“I’ve been… busy,” she adds, shrugging like it’s nothing but not looking at you when she says it. “Overnights. Shit schedules. You know.”
You nod, eyes on her. You do know. She told you herself that night at the park. Told you about how sometimes she works all night and doesn’t sleep till the next afternoon, about how calls can come at any second. You’re not mad. Not worried. Not even hurt.
You’re just—here.
“Yeah,” you say simply. “I won’t say I knew you’d come back, but I was… confident?”
That makes her look at you.
And for a second, all the tension in her frame goes slack.
Her jaw shifts slightly. Her eyes do that thing they did that night when you were eating cheap sandwiches by the river and laughing too loud—like she can’t decide if she should tease you or kiss you.
“…Confident, huh?” she mutters, almost more to herself than to you.
You smile again. “You did say ‘see you later,’ remember?”
She rubs the back of her neck. “I did.”
You step a little closer. “Lucky for you,” you say,
“I’m still here.”
You see it—
She smiles.
Not a smirk. Not one of those crooked, guarded things she does when she’s got the upper hand.
No—this one’s soft. Unpolished. Almost surprised, like it slipped out without her permission.
She doesn’t even look at you when she does it, not directly—her eyes shift beside you, like she’s trying not to admit something to herself.
Damn this girl, you can almost hear it.
Then she glances back at you, and says it quiet:
“Yeah, you are.”
Your stomach flips. You don’t show it.
You just turn toward the nearest table, hips swaying lightly as you walk. You don’t tell her to follow. You don’t have to.
You sit down.
And for the first time since this whole ridiculous story started, it’s Sevika who follows you.
She sinks into the seat across from you like she’s still not sure if she’s allowed to stay, arms resting on the table, eyes sweeping the room once, maybe out of habit.
You let the silence settle. Not awkward, not tense—just… waiting.
You know she came here for something.
But she’s not saying it.
You tilt your head a little, grin curling at the corner of your mouth.
Then, casually—like you’re asking about the weather—you lean in just slightly and say,
“Does it start with ‘phone’… and end with ‘number’?”
Her head drops instantly with a groan that comes straight from her chest. Loud, long, and pure Sevika.
“Fuck,” she mutters, dragging a hand down her face, ears red. “I hate you.”
You beam. “No I think you don’t.”
She doesn’t answer.
But she pulls her phone out of her pocket anyway.
Sevika doesn’t say anything.
Just unlocks her phone, slides it across the table.
You take it like it’s the most normal thing in the world, thumbs already tapping.
Her contact app opens under your fingers, and you don’t even ask—you type your name in quick and confident:
Your name, and right beside an orange and white cat emoji.
Then you open her messages, shoot a single text to your own number.
Just one emoji: an apple.
You hand the phone back like it didn’t just feel like a full-on declaration.
Sevika watches you, says nothing. But something warm settles in her chest, low and careful and real.
Of course it’s the apple. Of course it’s the cat.
You smile like you know exactly what you’re doing. Because you do.
Then you open your own phone, find her new message.
You don’t even pause.
Her contact becomes ‘Sevika’ but with a candy and a dog emoji.
You hold it up so she can see, proud grin stretching across your face.
Sevika snorts, shakes her head.
“…for the Rottweiler ?” She guess.
You nod. “Young Rottweiler.”
Her mouth twitches, like she’s about to say something sarcastic—but then she sees the candy next to it. And whatever she was about to say dies in her throat.
Something in her chest does a slow, weird roll.
Not painful. Just… new.
And she doesn’t say anything else.
But her phone buzzes again—one more message from you.
Just two words:
“Don’t be a stranger.”
And Sevika, with that dumb candy and dog emoji glowing on her screen?
She wants to swear to herself she won’t be.
next chapter is the last one! Don’t be scared, no angst 🫶🏻 for a first multi chapter fic I’m quite proud, I didn’t even hurt them just a bit, not even with a firefighter accident, uh, I restrained myself. It’s not a crazy fic but I resonate a lot with it so I feel like it’s the most important thing isn’t it ?
Thank you again for the support, the taglist is so long it’s crazy! Next and last chapter tomorrow !
synopsis: You’re fast asleep in your comfy little apartment, when the building fire alarm rips you from slumber like a personal attack. Groggy, annoyed, and barefoot, you stumble outside with the rest of your neighbors, expecting a false alarm and nothing more
What you don’t expect? A real fire. And an even realer firefighter—tall, broad-shouldered, absolutely gorgeous, and of course it’s her you choose to ask if you can go back to your home safe.
words: 3.7k (masterlist)
cw: meet-cute, slow burn, girls kissing/making out, shameless flirting, curious hands and sexual tension, we’re going to horny jail, tooth rotting fluff in this chapter, slightly explicit content at the end.
! Minors DNI for the end of this chapter !
! if you didn’t in the first chapter, comment to be tagged for the next chapter !
It’s dead quiet for a second.
And then—
You launch yourself into the kitchen.
Sana nearly drops a tray of croissants.
“She—she asked me to wait for her at the station!” you gasp, voice breaking into a squeal as you grab her shoulders.
Sana shrieks. “You’re lying—SHUT UP.”
“I’M NOT—I THINK I’M DYING—”
There is screaming. There is spinning. There is definitely flour getting somewhere it shouldn’t.
Because the hottest firefighter of this damn city just asked you out.
She asked you to wait at the station.
The rest of your shift goes by at lightning speed.
You’re not walking—you’re floating. You’re not pouring drinks—you’re blessing lives. Every hot chocolate gets a perfect swirl. Every coffee comes with a stupid little heart in the foam. You’re practically glowing, and Sana is right there with you, matching your chaotic joy beat for beat.
“You’re humming,” she says at one point, eyebrow raised as you bounce on your toes while stacking mugs.
You blink at her, mid-bop. “No, I’m not.”
“You’re literally humming the Lilo & Stitch soundtrack.”
“That’s not a crime.”
“I didn’t say it was.” She grins. “I’m just clocking the gay joy in the room. This place is vibrating.”
You press your palms to your cheeks to try and cool off, grinning like you’ve been possessed by joy itself. You are terminally unwell, and it’s all Sevika’s fault.
By the time the evening rolls around, you’re restocking napkins and wiping down the counter in a daze, your heart doing little excited flips every time you look at the clock.
6:13 PM.
6:37 PM.
6:52.
At 6:54 you duck into the back, chewing your lip, suddenly doubting everything.
You find Sana near the lockers, sorting pastries into a box for tomorrow morning.
“Okay,” you say, breathless. “Is this—does this outfit scream ‘casual and approachable’ or ‘tragic barista gets ghosted by hot firefighter’?”
She turns. Blinks at you. Then snorts.
You’re in your baggy jeans, white cami still looking cute, but now you’re fussing with the hem like it personally betrayed you.
“It’s not a date outfit,” you add quickly. “Right? It’s not like—a date date.”
Sana blinks like you just offended her.
a beat.
“Bitch. You better be joking.”
“I’m not!” you whisper-yell, half-laughing. “What if I show up and she’s, like, I dont know. She looks like a,— shit, okay, I’m saying nonsense.”
“Okay, no. Enough.” She closes the pastry box like she’s slamming a gavel in court. “Take your pants off.”
You blink. “W-what?”
“Not like that, horndog.” She gestures dramatically at your locker. “Put on the blue denim miniskirt.”
“I—I can’t—”
“You can. It’s cute. You’re cute. Show those legs babe, tease her.”
Your mouth opens. Closes. “You think she’d like it?”
Sana grins, devilish. “Baby, she’ll want to settle right between ‘em.”
You nearly scream. Your soul ejects from your body. You slap your hands over your face like it’ll trap the blush crawling down your neck but you also both laugh so loud you would look insufferable outside.
And also—you’re reaching for the damn skirt.
The skirt was a good idea.
Your legs are a little cold, sure—but your cardigan’s soft against your arms, your Mary Janes click softly against the pavement as you shift your weight, and your hair’s doing that perfect messy thing it only ever does by accident. You smell like coffee and vanilla syrup, which honestly? Isn’t the worst cologne in the world.
You didn’t want to look desperate. So you made yourself wait until 7:05 before walking over to the station, heart hammering in your chest like some kind of tiny caffeine-fueled drum solo.
She’s not out there yet. Good.
You hover near the door, pretending to scroll on your phone but doing absolutely nothing except second-guessing everything you’ve ever worn or said or breathed in your life.
A few minutes pass. You’re trying to remember how to stand like a cool person and not like a girl waiting to be picked up by the hottest woman alive when the station door swings open.
A few firefighters step out first—two of them you recognize from the café. One of them spots you and lifts a hand in greeting.
You wave back, grinning with all your teeth like an overexcited golden retriever. “Hello!”
They grin, keep walking, clearly amused in a we-know-who-you’re-here-for way.
And then—
Sevika.
She walks out last, slow and unhurried, one hand adjusting the strap on her bag, the other tucked in her jacket pocket. Her hair’s pulled back into a full ponytail this time, but a few stubborn strands fall around her temples and across her forehead, like they refused to be tamed. The golden-hour light makes the sharp lines of her face look even more unfair. She doesn’t smile—not yet—but her eyes find you instantly.
Your grin changes—not smaller -not at all-, just different. A little stunned. Less golden retriever, more like heart-eye emoji coming to life.
You lift your hand and wave again, even though she’s barely five feet away.
She doesn’t wave. Of course she doesn’t. She just gives you that low, amused look. Like you’re what she’s been waiting for, and she knew you’d show.
And God, you really hope this wasn’t a dream.
She stops in front of you, standing just close enough to tilt her head and look at you properly. Her eyes sweep over you in that quiet, deliberate way of hers. It’s not a full once-over—more like she’s just cataloguing you. Legs. Cardigan. Tousled hair. Smile so big it’s physically impossible to hide.
She hums, low in her throat. Not unfriendly. Just amused.
“I didn’t think you’d actually come.”
Her tone is so casually confident—borderline smug—it would probably be insufferable coming from anyone else.
But coming from her?
You feel like you’ve been set on fire in the best way possible.
You laugh, a breathy little sound that escapes before you can stop it. “Nah, I think you did.”
She raises an eyebrow, lips tugging into a lopsided smirk. “Maybe.”
You narrow your eyes in mock suspicion. “You waited.”
She shrugs one shoulder. “Maybe.”
You smile so wide it makes your cheeks ache, and Sevika finally lets her gaze settle—really settle—on your face. There’s a softness behind the smirk now. Something warm. Something that makes the cold on your legs suddenly feel like nothing at all.
Sevika doesn’t offer an arm or say “let’s go”—she just turns slightly, jerks her chin toward the street, and starts walking.
You blink. “Oh. Okay.”
You follow without hesitation, naturally, like you’ve been following her forever. She doesn’t even check if you’re keeping up. Of course you are.
You walk side by side through town. It’s quiet, the kind of soft early evening where the air smells like warm pavement and takeout. Your legs are still a little cold, but you don’t mind it. Not when Sevika’s this close. Not when her shoulder’s brushing yours every so often just from the way you walk.
She doesn’t talk much—not at first. Just leads you two streets over into a convenience store, grabs two bottled drinks without asking what you want (bold), and pauses in front of the sad little sandwich section like she’s scouting a mission.
You grab one without question. She takes hers. She pays for both of you like it’s nothing. Doesn’t even glance when you try to protest.
You don’t really know if it’s gonna be the weirdest date you’ve ever had in your life or the best, there’s no in between.
Outside, she starts walking again.
“You’re not gonna tell me where we’re going?” you ask.
She glances at you, unreadable. “You’ll see.”
And okay—rude—but also kind of hot? So you fall into step beside her again.
It takes about five minutes. Just past a little roundabout and a faded mural of cartoon animals painted on the side of a public bathroom, she leads you down a path into a park. Not the fancy, curated kind. Just open grass, patchy shade, a couple of old benches, and a small playground in the corner where two teenagers are trying to one-up each other on the monkey bars while filming it with a phone.
You glance at her. “This is where we’re eating?”
She nods toward the riverbank. “Over there’s better.”
You end up on a slightly creaky wooden bench facing the water, unwrapping your sandwiches in silence. There are ducks in the river. Not a lot of them—maybe three—but one of them makes a loud, snorting noise and flaps aggressively at the others like it’s drunk. You laugh through your first bite.
Sevika doesn’t even react. She’s already halfway through her sandwich, chewing like this is the most natural thing in the world. Like this is what she does.
“Y’know,” you say between bites, “I kinda thought you were gonna take me to a bar.”
She glances at you from the corner of her eye. “You don’t look like you like bars.”
You blink. “What do I look like, then?”
There’s a beat. A smirk. A little huff of breath through her nose.
“Like you like ducks.”
You snorts. “Ducks?”
Sevika doesn’t clarify. She just looks ahead, the hint of a smug smile tugging at her lips like she knows exactly what she just did to you.
You laugh, cheeks warm. “Okay, fine. I do like ducks. But you—” You point your half-eaten sandwich at her. “You look like you belong in a bar.”
She shrugs, like yeah, that’s true. “I do.”
You nod, conceding. “So you assumed I wouldn’t like the bar...” you start.
“Mmhm.”
Then you squint at her playfully. “Is it my outfit?”
That gets her. She turns her face halfway to look at you with that same raised-brow smirk, but her eyes flash like she’s trying not to say too much.
“Not at all.”
But the way she says it? It’s not entirely the truth. And you both know it.
It happens slowly.
One minute you’re both facing the lake, chewing in companionable silence and watching a group of teens throw chips at the ducks like idiots. The next, your knees are turned toward hers, sandwich long gone, water bottle empty between you, and you’re—talking. Like, really talking.
Well. You’re talking.
Sevika’s more of a listener. Quiet but not disinterested—just… steady. Her eyes don’t wander. She doesn’t check her phone. Doesn’t interrupt. She just watches you with that unreadable expression, nodding occasionally, smirking when she catches on to something you don’t even realize you said.
You learn she’s been a firefighter for seven years. That she started because someone dared her to take the qualifying test and she passed it like it was nothing. That she used to smoke a pack a day until she had to kick a door down during a call and nearly coughed up a lung.
She learns that you collect mugs—but not just any mugs. Weird ones. Mugs that look like fruit or cartoon characters or melted candles. You tell her your favorite one is shaped like a strawberry, and your favorite bag is an apple, and that, yes, people do ask you if you’re okay sometimes. She smirks and says, “I can see why.”
You pretend to be offended. She raises a brow like she dares you to be mad at her.
You’re not. You laugh so easily it’s actually kind of absurd. It bubbles out of you with every new thought, every exaggeration, every awkward half-sentence that slips out a little too fast. And the most shocking thing?
At some point, you offer her a blue candy that she accepts without a word, letting it melt in her mouth as you tell her to do. You take a red one, put the plastic bag back in your purse.
Sevika snorts. More than once.
Not loud—not obnoxious. Just a quiet, caught-off-guard sound she clearly tries to hide under her breath for whatever reason. You don’t mind but you notice it anyway.
And then, right when you’re sitting in silence again, a chubby orange cat jumps up on the bench between you like it owns the place.
Neither of you say anything. You just reach out, both at the same time, to stroke its fur—your hands nearly brushing over its back.
And it doesn’t feel weird.
It feels like the most normal thing in the world.
Like: of course you’re here. Of course she’s here. Of course there’s a cat. Of course you’re on a bench with a woman who saves buildings and knows exactly what you look like you’d enjoy.
The cat doesn’t leave.
It curls up between you like it’s claimed this bench and both your souls. Its tail flicks against your thigh every few seconds, lazy and content. Sevika watches it settle, one brow arched, mouth quirking up like something’s clicked in her brain.
“Kinda looks like you,” she mutters.
You glance down at the cat. Fat. Orange. Unbothered. “Yeah,” you say easily, like she just stated the sky is blue. “I guess I get it.”
Sevika snorts. “You do?”
“I do now.”
You stretch out your legs, hands in your lap, completely unbothered as the cat blinks at you with slow, superior judgment. You blink back like you’re twins. “Honestly? I respect it.”
Sevika eyes you sidelong. “You’re not gonna argue?”
“Why would I? It’s a vibe. I like snacks. I love the color orange. I’m chubby too. I’d let strangers pet me if they asked nice.”
That earns you a real snort, and the soft shake of her head like she can’t believe she’s sitting next to you—but she’s definitely not leaving.
“Okay,” you say, shrugging. “But you’re a dog, though.”
That does give her pause. She blinks over at you, one brow slowly lifting. “A dog?”
“Mhm.”
You turn fully toward her, propping one knee up on the bench so you can lean your elbow on it like you’re preparing a thesis. “A young Rottweiler, to be specific. Looks tough. Is tough. Big bark. Great bones. Secretly a little bit goofy but only in the comfort of trusted company.”
Sevika stares at you.
You continue, serious: “You totally have that… ‘I’d bite someone’s ankle for someone I love’ vibe.”
She blinks again, muttering. “You’re fucking weird.”
You grin. “‘t’s fine. Am I wrong ?”
She doesn’t reply immediately. Just stares at you with this unreadable half-smile, like she’s trying very hard not to admit that you’re… kinda spot on. And that it throws her off more than she expected.
Then she finally mutters, “so, you’re an orange cat.”
“And you’re a Rottweiler. Who’s petting a stray cat with me. On a bench. At sunset.”
She huffs a laugh. Doesn’t deny it.
The cat purrs louder. The lake goes quiet. Somewhere nearby, a duck honks like it’s screaming into the void. You smiles, she hides her smirk by looking aside.
Sevika offers to drive you home like it’s no big deal. Just a casual, low, “You want a ride?” as she jingles the keys in her palm.
You nod, all sunlit smiles under moonlight. “Yeah.”
She doesn’t know what to do with that. With how easy you make everything feel. How you just said yes without hesitation, like there was no part of you that thought she was bluffing.
And you talk on the drive—soft, warm things, like what you do on Sundays, and the old woman who owns your building and feeds squirrels from her window box. You don’t fill every second, though. You leave silence when it’s meant to be there, like it’s a companion instead of a weight. Sevika notices that.
You talk like you trust her. Like she’s safe. It kind of wrecks her.
She parks outside your place. In front of the building of your apartment. Funny enough, she knows that place from two weeks ago.
The windows are still fogged slightly from the earlier cold. The heater hums low between you. You sit there for a moment, neither reaching for the door yet.
Then you turn to her with the most unexpected question.
“What color is your tongue?”
Sevika stares. “What?”
Your eyes are wide, but not in a scared way. More like a cat trying to knock a glass off a table. “Your tongue. C’mon. Show me.”
She makes a face. “Why the hell would I—”
“You took one of my candies.”
Pause.
The gears turn visibly in her head.
“Show me your tongue.” you say again.
She groans, head tipping back against the seat dramatically. “You’re gonna be annoying about this, aren’t you?”
You nod enthusiastically. “Absolutely.”
With a muttered curse under her breath, Sevika leans toward you just slightly—enough to make you hold your breath—and sticks out her tongue.
You burst out laughing— not loudly, softly, but sincere, just happy to be here.
“It’s blue,” you gasp between laughs, covering your mouth. “It’s so blue. Like, you look like you licked a smurf.”
She pulls her tongue back in and wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand, grimacing. “Shit. That’s disgusting.”
“You did that to yourself!”
“You gave me the damn candy!”
“And you took it without even looking!”
You’re still laughing, the kind that shakes your shoulders. Sevika watches, half-exasperated and half something else entirely. Something soft. Like she doesn’t know how the hell this night ended up like this—but she’s not mad about it. And for now, the night isn’t finished yet, is it?
You both step out of the car and walk the building of your apartment. It’s quiet—your street already asleep, only the soft chirp of a few crickets left to fill the air before you enter.
Sevika stands a step down from you in the hallway, arms crossed, the hint of her smirk still clinging to her mouth.
You’re laughing as you pull your keys out of your pocket, trying not to make too much noise. “You took that candy without even looking, what kind of firefighter you are.”
She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Was in a bag. Could’ve been poison for all I knew.”
“You didn’t even hesitate.”
“Didn’t think you were the poisoning type.”
You snort, then pause—eyes squinting a little like you’re inspecting her. “Alright, smartass. What color’s mine, then?”
“What?”
You point to your own mouth. “My tongue. You had the same candy. You saw me eat it. So?”
She stares for a second, then leans in a little, cocking her head just enough to be dangerous.
“Red,” she says after a beat. Voice low. Confident.
You blink, mouth still slightly open. “…Is it actually?” You forgot what color of candy you ate
But Sevika’s already looking off to the side, eyes flicking somewhere to the left like she’s so proud of herself for that one, but trying real hard not to show it. The corner of her mouth is tugged upward, a smirk bordering on a smile she doesn’t quite let you see.
You don’t even know why that answer made your face heat up, but it did.
You fumble with the keys a second, then open the door, your body halfway turned to her.
You’re smiling again—of course you are.
She hasn’t said goodnight yet, and neither have you.
You flick on the light.
It’s warm, yellow, soft—like the way you feel when you look at her. You’re halfway through turning toward her again, keys still hanging from your fingertips, when it just… happens.
No words. No teasing. No asking.
You both lean in at the same time.
It’s not soft. It’s not hesitant.
It’s mouths meeting like they’re starved for it—your back hitting the doorframe as her hand finds your jaw, your fingers curled in the collar of her jacket. She hums low into your mouth, the sound rumbling deep in her chest, and the second you let out a soft whimper in response—barely audible, barely conscious—it’s like something snaps.
She doesn’t stop kissing you, doesn’t pause, not even when she kicks the door closed with the heel of her boot, the soft click of it shutting making your whole body jolt. Her hands are already on your waist, dragging you backwards as your feet stumble over the threshold of your own home, the two of you walking blindly, lips never parting.
The sounds—God, the sounds.
Mouths wet and eager, breath catching, the quiet drag of her tongue across your lip, the slight groan that escapes when you press closer. You don’t even know where you’re walking, only that you’re still kissing, and Sevika’s hand has just splayed across your lower back like she owns it.
You don’t know how you made it to the bedroom.
You’re kissing her and then laughing and then kissing again, and everything in between is just tugging clothes off at odd angles and bumping into walls you thought you knew the dimensions of. Her jacket hits the hallway floor. Your cardigan falls somewhere in the kitchen, probably. The candy-colored glow of your living room blinks out behind you as the doorframe of your room catches you both mid-laugh and turns it into another kiss.
Sevika’s boot gets stuck.
Not just stuck—stubborn.
You’re half-sitting on the edge of your bed, trying to breathe, cheeks flushed and mouth kiss-swollen, as she stands in front of you with one socked foot and the other leg still half-eaten by leather. She grunts, leaning down to try and yank it off, but it holds on like it’s part of her.
And then it flies off with a dramatic thud, hitting the wooden floor with a sound that startles you both.
You blink.
She blinks.
Then you both burst out laughing.
There’s a pile of clothes already on the floor—your skirt somewhere under her shirt, her belt hanging off the edge of the bed, one of your earrings lost in the shuffle, her hair falling around her head like a curtain and her hairband lost somewhere under the bed—and now her damn boot’s landed like a final punctuation mark in the middle of it all.
“Fucking boot,” she mutters, but she’s smiling like she’s drunk on something warm.
You’re already pulling her back in with both hands, mouth finding hers again, still giggling into the kiss, legs parting as she steps closer.
It’s dizzy, the way she touches you now—like she can’t decide where to put her hands because she wants to touch everywhere. Like she still can’t believe you’re real.
And you can’t believe she’s real either. Somewhere in your head you still think she’s a hallucination from the fire two weeks ago.
She settles between your thighs like the most normal thing to do, like it’s natural, like it’s logical. And right now, it is.
Breaking the kiss, lips swollen and glistening, Sevika nuzzles into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent as she press open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. She can feel your pulse racing beneath your soft skin, and it makes her own heart pound in response.
You feel Sevika’s kisses on your neck and take a deep, long breath, tilting your head to give Sevika more access, eyes closed to focus on the sensations, lips parted.
Her hand slides down to your hip, gripping it almost possessively, caught in the desire you have for each other, as she rolls her hips forward, relishing the feeling of your thighs clenching around her.
Unable to resist, after you bra is tossed carelessly on the floor joining the rest of your clothes, Sevika leans down even more, and press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the swell of your breast, tongue flicking out to lave at the hardened peak of your nipple, and all you do is exploring her body with your hands.
You caress her scars, her hair, her strong shoulders.
You know the feeling of her hard abs under your fingers, the sensation of her ribs against her skin, the smell of her hair, the sound of her groans and whimpers.
You roll your hips against hers, leaning in her mouth and hands, and you understand that now is not your time to do anything for her.
She wants to focus on you first. She wants to give you pleasure.
And all you can do is wait for your turn, give yourself to her until she’s done.
She goes lower.
Slowly, but she goes lower.
On your ribs, your belly… until her head is between your thighs and you cannot think anymore, moaning with closed eyes and letting your head fall back on the mattress, a hand coming to her short, messy hair.
So I actually didn’t plan to end this chapter like this but I got carried away— I swear I’m not deleting later the ‘smut’ part this time (if you can even call it smut)
Thank you so much for the support for this fic like WOW GUYS I didn’t know I would ever have such a long taglist, forever grateful for the support and for your comments and opinion, it makes me feel so happy and it just makes me want to write more.
This is the cutest shit I’ve ever written in my life, even my mother sev can’t fight this one.
synopsis: You’re fast asleep in your comfy little apartment, when the building fire alarm rips you from slumber like a personal attack. Groggy, annoyed, and barefoot, you stumble outside with the rest of your neighbors, expecting a false alarm and nothing more
What you don’t expect? A real fire. And an even realer firefighter—tall, broad-shouldered, absolutely gorgeous, and of course it’s her you choose to ask if you can go back to your home safe.
words: 2.2k (masterlist)
cw: meet-cute, slow burn, girls kissing/making-out, sexual tension, curious hands, fluff and crack. We’re going to horny jail, better touch grass
! comment to be tagged in next chapter !
You wake up to the ear-splitting screech of the fire alarm like it owes you money.
One second you’re dreaming peacefully about a stupid story that makes no sense, and the next—you’re blinking in the red glow of your bedroom alarm light, heart pounding like you just committed arson yourself.
“Damn,” you mutter, groaning as you swing your legs out of bed.
The room is cold. Too cold for your stupid little cotton nightgown, the one with the lace trim you swore you’d only wear for yourself and God. But whatever. You’re not thinking straight, not with the alarm still wailing like a banshee on fire.
You shove your feet into the first shoes you find by the door.
Combat boots. Good. Cute. Functional.
A tragic pairing with the nightgown, but you’re not in the mood to curate a fire-evacuation lookbook.
Out in the hallway, a few other residents are doing the same walk of shame—half-asleep, confused, wrapped in robes or dragging blankets like dramatic ghosts. You all shuffle down the stairs in a quiet, shared misery.
The air outside is biting, and you wince as the night air hits your legs. The boots weren’t a bad idea, actually. Your neighbors gather in loose clusters on the sidewalk, exchanging annoyed looks and whispered complaints. You squint up at the building.
And that’s when you see it.
Actual flames.
Real, orange, moving fire flickering through the window of old Mrs. Donnelly’s apartment on the second floor.
Your mouth falls open. “Wow.”
Mrs. Donnelly isn’t even in the country. She left three weeks ago and swore she’d be back with questionable wine. There’s no reason her apartment should be doing… that.
Before you can process anything else, a big, warm shape appears in front of you. A firefighter. Tall, serious, and clearly used to dealing with confused people in weird pajamas, drapes a yellow emergency blanket over your shoulders like it’s totally normal for you to be out here half-dressed at 2AM.
“It’s just procedure,” he says, not unkindly.
You nod dumbly. “Sure. Thanks. Procedure. Okay.” You smile politely, but the man doesn’t get the time to see it before walking away to his duty.
You sit down on the edge of the fire truck because your legs are cold and honestly, you don’t know what else to do. You watch the glow of the fire through the second-floor window, blanket tucked around you like you’re camping in hell.
You’ve been sitting on the edge of the fire truck for what feels like forever, legs swinging absently, the cold biting at your knees even with the yellow blanket still around your shoulders. Most of the building’s lights are back on now. A few neighbors have returned inside. One of the firefighters gives the all-clear to an older man wrapped in a bathrobe, and you start to wonder if maybe it’s safe for you to crawl back into your sad little bed and pretend this never happened.
But instead of waiting, you hop down from your perch, boots hitting pavement with a soft thud, and you walk over to one of the firewomen standing near the truck. The blanket around your shoulders shifts, and you clutch it tighter on instinct, suddenly aware of how ridiculous you must look, wrapped in yellow polyester like a very sad burrito in combat boots.
She’s tall. Tall enough that you have to tip your head back slightly to look at her face. Her jacket’s unzipped just enough to see the dark tee beneath it, and her sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, revealing a strong arm dusted with ash and soot and a mech one. She looks like she walked out of a calendar made specifically to ruin lives, not save them.
You swallow, smile, and try not to stare too hard.
You clear your throat gently. “Evening.”
Her eyes flick to yours. There’s a pause. Then, in a voice like smoke and gravel:
“Evening, ma’am.”
You blink.
Oh.
Okay.
You weren’t expecting the ma’am. Or the low rasp. Or the fact that she says it without an ounce of sarcasm, just calm professionalism, like she doesn’t notice the way you’re standing there in a nightgown and combat boots like some kind of unhinged fairy tale character.
“I just—” You gesture toward the building with one hand. “Wanted to ask if everything’s alright now? If I can head back in? I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to, like… break protocol or something.”
Her brow lifts slightly, amused.
You swear you see the corners of her mouth twitch, just a bit—as she gives you a slow once-over. Not rude. Just observant. Curious. Like she’s trying to make sense of this nightgown-clad puzzle who showed up at her fire scene like it’s totally normal to be this adorable and mildly flustered.
“You always wear boots with a nightgown?” she asks, dry but not unkind.
Your eyes widen. “Oh my God.”
You immediately look down, suddenly so aware of your chaotic outfit. The emergency blanket doesn’t help. You grab at the edge of it, fidgeting without thinking.
“I forgot I was still wrapped in this thing,” you say with a soft, flustered laugh. “Sorry, you must think I’m completely—”
Before you can finish, she steps forward—not close, but enough to bridge the space between you—and lifts the blanket clean out of your hands.
“I’ll take that,” she says, smooth as anything.
You go quiet, watching as she turns slightly and drapes it over the open ledge of the truck behind her. She doesn’t miss a beat. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
“Name’s Sevika,” she says when she turns back, meeting your eyes. Confident. Solid. Like she knows her name sounds good coming out of her mouth.
Of course it does.
You swallow and nod, smiling despite yourself.
“Sevika,” you say again, immediately regretting it. “Wow. Sorry. I—uh— my name, yes.”
That smirk returns. The brow lifts just a little higher. She doesn’t press. Just waits.
You tell her your name this time, correctly, and she nods once.
“Nice to meet you.”
You feel warm. Still slightly ridiculous. But her voice is steady, her eyes are dark and calm, and even though she’s clearly got a job to do, she hasn’t walked away yet.
Sevika shifts her weight, glancing briefly toward the building, then back to you.
“You’re good to head in,” she says. “We’ve cleared everything. Just keep your windows open for a bit. Air the place out.”
You nod. “Got it. Windows. Air. Okay.”
She doesn’t move right away. Her eyes linger on you for a second too long, and then, just as she turns slightly, like she’s about to step away; she throws it in, so casually you almost miss it:
“Sleep tight, Miss Nightgown.”
You freeze mentally.
Heat rushes straight to your face like someone lit you on fire. You try to play it cool; you do. But the smile that pulls at your lips is instant and completely helpless. You laugh, soft and embarrassed, eyes dropping to the ground before darting back up to her face.
“That’s not gonna stick, is it?”
Sevika just smirks, one eyebrow raised again like that’s an answer in itself. You’re pretty sure that’s her default expression and also your new religion.
Not to be too dramatic, of course.
Your cheeks are burning. Your heart’s doing something completely uncool in your chest. But you still nod, still somehow manage words.
“Okay then,” you say, backing up a half step, giving a little awkward wave. “Good night. Goodbye. I mean.” You blink. Panic.
“Jesus. Alright. Bye.”
And then you turn. Walk away. Definitely not fast. Definitely not running. Even if you want to. Just… leaving. Like a normal human who wasn’t just flirted with by a hot firefighter while standing in boots and a literal nightie.
You’re halfway across the sidewalk when you hear it—faint, under her breath, but unmistakable:
A quiet chuckle.
That night, after you manage to get back inside and shed your smoke-scented dignity at the door, you crawl into bed and stare at the ceiling for a full minute before reaching for your phone.
You don’t text about the fire. You completely forget about the fire.
Instead, you send your best friend a single, life-altering message:
A firewoman named Sevika just called me Miss Nightgown.
A follow-up comes exactly two seconds later:
She was like 6ft tall and hot and said ma’am and smirked at me. She wants me.
Your friend replies immediately with twenty-seven capital letters, several selfies of her screaming, and a helpful “go back outside and fake a fainting spell.” You’re tempted.
But you don’t see Sevika again.
Not that week. Not the next. Two whole weeks go by and to your ultimate, soul-destroying despair, the firefighter of your dreams seems to have disappeared off the face of the planet.
You still pass the station on your way to work. It’s not even out of the way. You just happen to take that street. That slow, steady walk past the glass windows where you may or may not slow down slightly and glance (longingly) in. No Sevika.
Once, you think you spot her, broad shoulders, a familiar ponytail, but it’s just a different firefighter. You go through all five stages of grief in under a minute.
At work, it’s easier to forget. You love your job. It’s a small, sunny café tucked between the library and the post office, and it has that cozy, well-loved feeling that draws all the best kinds of people. In the mornings, students settle in with their laptops and noise-canceling headphones. Elderly regulars read the paper and talk politics with anyone who will listen. On weekends, families flood in for pancakes and coffee and croissants that go suspiciously fast.
You know half the orders by heart. The baristas are your people. The espresso machine’s temperamental, the fan in the kitchen rattles in a terrifying way, and the register lags if you hit the wrong key—but you wouldn’t trade it for anything.
It’s a slow Tuesday morning when it happens.
Today, you’re working the morning shift, dressed comfy-cute in baggy jeans, a soft cami top, and your favorite Mary Janes. Your hair’s doing that nice thing it rarely does, and you’re actually in a really good mood. You and Sana are laughing behind the counter, and you’re putting the finishing touch, cocoa powder in a soft heart shape, on a perfect cup of hot chocolate for an old woman sitting outside.
You glance up.
And then your entire soul leaves your body.
Sevika.
Walking in.
With four other firefighters, all laughing about something, one of them says something about how “you owe me a muffin, I was the one on the ladder,” and it doesn’t matter because Sevika is right there, in the middle of your café, looking terrifyingly hot in her off-duty black tee and tactical pants, like she didn’t just vanish into the ether for two weeks and leave you wondering if she was a shared hallucination.
You mentally scream.
Out loud, you say nothing. Absolutely nothing.
But your coworker sees your face, sees the way your brain visibly shuts down mid-sentence, and whips around.
“Oh my God,” she hisses under her breath. “Is that her??”
You nod mutely.
Before you can say another word, Sana suspiciously straightens up and goes, “Oh shoot—I forgot to refill the pastry counter. Give me the chocolate. You’ve got the front?”
“What? No—Sana—” you whisper.
“Thanks, love you, bye!”
And she vanishes.
You’re alone.
You take a breath. Smile. Step up to the register with the warmth of someone who’s definitely not dying inside. You can do this. Just firefighters. Plural. Whatever.
The one at the front of the group steps up to the counter.
A man. Tall, friendly face, dimples. “Hi maam,” he says. “We’ll take five coffees—three black, one with oat milk, one hot chocolate. And…” he glances back at his crew. “Uh, two muffins and one of those little lemon tarts if you’ve got any left.”
You nod, too fast. “Consider it done!”
You definitely don’t look behind him. You try not to.
But you feel it.
You feel a gaze on you. Like heat. You know it’s her.
And then—
“Miss Nightgown.”
That voice. That exact voice.
Low. Rough. Slightly teasing.
You look up slowly, controlled. You’re about to implode but no one knows that.
And there she is.
Now, she’s leaning casually near the doorway, half her weight on one leg, arms crossed, hair tied back, and smirking.
Sevika.
The man at the front pays for the order with a cheerful “thanks,” and you manage to give him a very normal, very composed wide smile, despite the heat crawling up your neck.
The group starts to move toward the seating area, boots thudding against the floor, and just as they pass Sevika, still lounging near the door, one of them lets out a low whistle.
Sevika doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even look at him. But her smirk deepens just enough to make your knees wobble.
You glance up at her again, biting the inside of your cheek to hide the grin threatening to take over your face.
“I told you my name, you know,” you say, voice playful, meaning clear.
She raises an eyebrow. Slowly. Like she’s enjoying this way too much.
“Yeah,” she says, voice low. “But Miss Nightgown suits you better.”
You feel your soul leave your body.
Somewhere behind you, you’re pretty sure you hear Sana drop something and mutter ‘Jesus Christ’ under her breath.
The other firefighters have already settled into their seats, talking among themselves, leaving Sevika alone by the counter while you—red-faced and smiling like a fool—start prepping their drinks.
You grab a cup, trying very hard not to spill as you pour. “So… how’ve you been?”
Sevika leans an elbow casually on the counter. “Busy. Fires don’t wait for polite hours.”
“Rude of them,” you say, half-laughing as you reach for another cup. “Some of us are trying to sleep in nightgowns.”
Her eyes glint. “Tragic.”
You glance at her, and she’s already looking at you—calm, confident, like she’s got all the time in the world.
Your heart is not behaving.
You hand her the first drink, your fingers brushing hers just slightly, and you almost combust on the spot. She doesn’t move away right away. Doesn’t rush off. Just lingers.
“Still wearing boots with your sleepwear?” she asks, teasing but soft.
You laugh, warm and embarrassed, shaking your head. “No, just emotional armor these days.”
She huffs out something like a chuckle. It’s quiet but real. You’re quite proud of yourself.
And then you’re pouring the oat milk one, hands moving automatically, wondering if she can see how red your face is from across the damn counter.
You hand off the last drink, carefully balanced tray in Sevika’s hands, and wipes your fingers on a napkin like it’ll help your pulse calm down.
She doesn’t move.
Not yet.
“I’m not overnight today though,” she says, casually. Like it’s nothing. Like your brain isn’t already slipping out of your ears from the way she says it.
You blink. “Oh?”
She tilts her head just slightly, eyes still on you. “What time’s your shift done?”
You open your mouth, but the words stall. There’s a pause, just one heartbeat, and then you’re smiling like you can’t help it, cheeks warming fast.
“Seven,” you say, voice soft. “I close up at seven.”
Sevika just nods, like that’s what she wanted to hear. Her smirk is subtle, but it lands. Right in your chest.
“Wait for me at the station.”
She says it simple. No flourish. No unnecessary fluff. Just direct. Like it’s obvious you will.
You bite your lower lip to stop from grinning. It does nothing. Your whole face is giving you away.
“Yeah,” you breathe. “Okay.”
And then she turns, finally, drinks in hand, and heads back to her crew like she didn’t just drop a bomb on your day. You watch them leave, hear the bell above the café door jingle as it swings shut.
No beta read, maybe it doesn’t make much sense sometimes, sorry for that— I start to feel crazy when I spend too much time on a fic
I’m having fun with this, like there’s definitely going to be sexual tension and kinda smutty scenes but nothing spectacular ? Just enough to make us damp down there. My bad, that was the wind
The cafe part is definitely inspired from reality 🫠 there’s this police and this firefighter station next to my fav cafe I go to every week and I talked a few times with the police officers and the firefighters women… heh, lucky me 🔥
dividers: @/cursed-carmine
taglist: @lonerslug @blessupblessup @riotstemple29 @sevikasswifee @ahintofchaos @archangeldyke-all (tell me if you wanna be removed off the taglist for this fic since it’s multi chapters and you don’t wanna be updated)
older!sevika x reader // fluff > smut > heavy angst . <16 dni
fanart by: @yumchxa
summary: you just wanted to pass chemistry right? instead you end up texting an older Indian woman living in canada across time zones, sending her selfies in your school uniform while she calls you kid and mails you vibrators disguised as assessment books. oh, and your family would actually kill you if they found out you were flirting with her at 3am under your blanket. totally normal tutoring experience.
warnings: slow burn ;; age gap ;; long distance relationship ;; homophobic family ;; secrecy themes ;; smut ;; sexting ;; mutual masturbation ;; praise & degradation ;; toys ;; aftercare ;; smoking & alcohol mentioned ;; emotional angst ;; punishment by parents :( ;; scolding ;; slightly abusive household ;; bad ending…- oneshot-
your mother never let you close your bedroom door.
it wasn’t a rule she’d ever said aloud, but the moment the wood clicked shut, she was there in the doorway, frowning like you’d just pulled a knife on her. what are you hiding? her eyes would ask. and you’d mumble some excuse — studying, resting, needing quiet. but in your house, privacy was a guilty thing. dangerous, even.
so you studied with your door open, sat at the dining table under your father’s sharp glances, and played the role of the good child. No parties, no secrets, no chance to ever let slip the one thing that would shatter their idea of you: that the thought of holding another girl’s hand made your heart race harder than any boy ever had.
That secret weighed heavy. especially in school, when you failed miserably at chemistry.
Your grades had been slipping for months, and your parents noticed. That was dangerous too — your father’s lectures were brutal, sharp, full of disappointment. So you did what you always did: you went online, desperate for help, scrolling forums and tutoring sites late at night when the house was quiet.
That’s when you found her.
The username was fixyrhands.
Her replies weren’t sweet or coddling like some teachers. they were blunt. To the point a little…older..?
You: hii do u tutor??
fixyrhands: Not really.
You: ohh ok sorry.. thx for answering anyway!
fixyrhands: Hold on. What subject.
You: chemistry 😭😭
fixyrhands: Send me the problem.
No emojis. No lowercase rambling. Just solid sentences, like she was writing you an email.
and she actually stuck around. answered every follow up you sent, sometimes with a dry little joke tucked in, but never brushing you off.
a week later, she offered —
fixyrhands: I get the feeling you don’t actually read your notes.
You: …yeah…
fixyrhands: Turn your camera on next time. I’ll walk you through it properly.
you almost didn’t. the thought of showing your messy room, your tired face, to a stranger online made your stomach flip. but you were failing. and something about her, steady, sharp, patient in a way that wasn’t soft but wasn’t cruel, made you curious.
so you did.
And the moment your camera turned on, her reaction was…not what you expected.
She froze. Just for a second.
Sevika wasn’t what you expected either. She was older, clearly — her hair tied back, dark circles under her eyes, a cigarette smoldering off to the side. Her shoulders were broad, the frame of the camera barely holding her in. she looked… hot. hot as fuck.
And when she leaned forward, elbows braced on the desk, her jaw set, her eyes cut into you like she could see right through your screen.
You thought she’d make a snide comment about your outfit, or your messy desk, but instead her lips pressed together like she had to catch herself before speaking.
“…Alright,” she said, voice low and gravelly. “Show me what you’ve got so far.”
Your throat went dry.
you fumbled through your notes, embarrassed. The words tripped over your tongue. you could feel your ears heating, aware of how she was watching you — not impatient, but focused, in a way that made your chest tight.
when you finally messed up for the third time, Sevika sighed and leaned back, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Kid, you’re not stupid. You just panic. Slow down.”
Her voice dropped lower, calmer, almost…gentler.
You nodded, chewing your lip, forcing yourself to meet her eyes through the screen.
And that’s when you caught it. A flicker of something, something that looked like she was just as thrown off as you were.
The call lasted an hour. She walked you through formulas, corrected your notes, made you laugh once with a sarcastic joke about your textbook looking like it’d been mauled by a dog.
By the end, you were smiling. You hadn’t realised how much.
“Not bad,” Sevika said, tapping ash into a tray. “You’re not hopeless. Just lazy.”
“I’m not lazy!” you blurted, too fast, too defensive.
One eyebrow arched. “Mm, we’ll see.”
Before you could stop yourself, words slipped out, half joke, half something you shouldn’t have said: “Maybe I just wanted to hear your voice again.”
The silence stretched.
Your heart thudded painfully, embarrassment flooding you. You wished for the wifi to crash, for the power to go out — anything
But Sevika’s lips curved, slow and dangerous. She let out a low laugh, shaking her head.
“Careful, kid. You say things like that, I might start believing you.”
And god, your cheeks burned so hot you had to look away.
After that first video call, it became a rhythm.
Sevika never called it “tutoring” anymore. She’d just say, “When are we meeting?” and you’d know she meant another late night with formulas, your tired giggles, and her gravelly voice steady in your ear.
Time zones were a curse. When you were in school, she was wrapping up her workday. When you finally crawled into bed, she was dragging herself out of hers. The overlap was tiny, but you squeezed every second out of it.
Classes turned into a game of risk. Your phone buzzed in your skirt pocket, and you’d slide it under your desk, praying your teacher’s back was turned.
Sevika 🖤: Pay attention.
You: im literally dying here 😔
Sevika 🖤: Not my fault you’re half awake.
You: ur fault actually. stop keeping me up till 3am.
Sevika 🖤: 3am for you, 3pm for me. don’t blame me for your timezone, kid.
Sometimes, she caught you.
Sevika 🖤: Is that you yawning in the middle of lecture?
You: HOW DO U KNOW
Sevika 🖤: You posted a photo of your notes. Can see the shadow under your eyes.
You: …ok mom 😒
Sevika 🖤: Don’t call me that.
You grinned into your sleeve at that one, hiding it from your classmates.
Then came the mirror selfies. Not your face, never your face — you weren’t stupid. But a shot of your uniform in the bathroom mirror before class, the hem of your skirt, your collarbone showing.
You: u like this uniform? ugly right
Sevika 🖤: …You really asking me that?
You: 🫦
Sevika 🖤: Don’t fish for compliments. Go study.
You: AWOOGAAA yes mami
Sevika 🖤: .
Still, she kept them. You could tell.
In return, Sevika sent you mirror shots after work. Not polished, not posed, her bathroom light harsh, her hair messy, sleeves rolled up to show the scars along her arm, the heavy line of her shoulders.
Your heart jumped every time.
You: ur scary looking
Sevika 🖤: good. maybe you’ll actually focus.
You: …but also kinda hot
Sevika 🖤: Careful, kid.
Nights belonged to her.
Sometimes she talked you through homework. Sometimes she just asked about your day in that low, rumbling voice, making you whisper and giggle into the darkness.
One night, when you were half asleep, she said it quietly, like it wasn’t meant to slip out:
“Wish I could see you without the damn screen between us.”
You froze, wide awake.
“…me too,” you whispered, softer than a prayer.
By now, Sevika had seen your handwriting, your messy desk, your uniform skirt in blurry bathroom mirrors. She’d seen your hands fidget with pens, your shadowy reflection in glass, little pieces of you, but never your face, well not your full face, and she hadn’t seen your face properly.
You, on the other hand, had seen hers.
Not just once, but often. She didn’t hide. She turned her camera on casually, sometimes forgetting, sometimes looking right into it when she wanted to make a point. Her face was tired, older than the people you usually knew, but every time she caught the corner of her lip with her teeth or brushed her silver streaked hair back with a calloused hand, you swore you could feel it in your chest.
And you couldn’t stop staring.
Your photos shifted slowly. No more uniform. Now it was home clothes — loose shorts, oversized shirts, the way your legs looked crossed on the bed, the dip of your collarbone when you stretched.
You cropped your face out, always, but Sevika didn’t complain.
You: ugly outfit but idc
Sevika 🖤: Doesn’t look ugly.
You: ur lyinggg
Sevika 🖤: Angel, I don’t waste my time lying.
You sat on your bed, staring at her text until your stomach flipped. Angel, really?? gosh you couldn’t even reply to that.
She didn’t send many pictures back, but when she did, you stared at them until your phone overheated. Her leaning against the bathroom sink, jaw tight, smoke curling from her lips. Her work shirt undone at the collar, veins standing out on her forearm. Sometimes just her desk, littered with tools, a pack of cigarettes, and her hand in the corner of the frame.
another night, past 3 a.m, you curled up in bed with your phone against your pillow. The house was silent, your parents asleep down the hall, the kind of silence where one wrong laugh could wake the whole house.
Sevika’s voice filled your ear, rough but soft at once. She wasn’t explaining formulas tonight. She was just…talking.
“Long day,” she muttered, twirling the cigarette between her fingers, eyes half lidded as she stared somewhere off screen. “Clients don’t know what the hell they’re asking for half the time. But hey, keeps me busy and i get money.”
You couldn’t answer at first. You were too busy looking.
The way the lighter glow kissed her jaw. The way she rolled the cigarette slow between her fingers, like she’d done it a thousand times. The line of her throat when she leaned back and exhaled smoke.
God. Was she gentle in bed? Or rough? Would those hands hold you steady, or press you down?
Your thighs pressed together under the blanket. Heat crawled over your face, your whole body buzzing with the kind of thoughts you weren’t supposed to have at all.
And then she looked at the camera.
Not at the screen. At you.
Her lips quirked into the faintest smirk, as if she could see the way you were squirming beneath the blanket. As if she knew exactly what you were thinking.
“baby,” she rumbled, voice low, “you’re awfully quiet.”
BABYY???!!! Your breath caught. “J-just listening!” you flinched.
She studied you through the lens, steady and patient. You knew she’d seen you before — seen your hands, your room, your homework — but now it felt different. Like she was really staring. Like she could take her time drinking you in, memorising every little thing about you.
And you couldn’t stop staring back.
“baby,” Sevika said again, eyes narrowing just a touch. “you’re awfully quiet. Didn’t think you were capable of shutting up.”
You swallowed hard, burrowing deeper into your blanket. “I-I’m just tired.”
Her smirk deepened, smoke curling from her lips. “Tired huh? or is it something else?”
Your breath hitched. She tilted the cigarette lazily between her fingers, gaze fixed on you like she already knew the answer.
“You ever use toys?” she asked, voice deceptively casual.
Your eyes went wide. “W-what no!” you hissed, clutching your phone closer as if the walls could hear. “My parents, if they found out, they’d kill me. They’d kill me just for talking to a —” you stopped yourself, heart hammering.
“to a what?” she pressed, leaning closer, smoke drifting past her face.
you wanted to say: a hot mami like you… but before that spilled out, your voice broke into a whisper. “…a girl.”
Silence. Long enough that your cheeks burned.
Then, low and dangerous, she asked:
“What about a woman like me?”
ohh fuckkkk, the words lodged in your throat. God, she knew exactly what she was doing.
Your mind spun, dirty thoughts rushing in before you could stop them. That voice?!! That jawline. Those hands twirling the cigarette so effortlessly. Gentle, rough, both, neither? you couldn’t decide which one scared you more.
You stammered, “…Th-that’s different.”
Her brow arched. “Different, huh?” She stubbed out her cigarette, dragging the lighter flame through the smoke until it died. Then she leaned back, arms folding across her chest, watching you squirm.
You thought she’d push further. That she’d make you admit something you weren’t ready to say. But instead, her lips curved into that half smile, sharp and unreadable.
“Well,” she murmured, voice steady as a heartbeat. “you should get some sleep. Big test tomorrow, right?”
Your stomach dropped. “Wha — now? But —”
“No buts, kid.” Her smirk widened, amused at your outrage. “You’re about two blinks away from passing out. And when you’re in this kind of mood…” she paused, eyes gleaming, “…i’d rather make you wait.”
Your breath caught. Heat flooded your chest.
“Goodnight,” Sevika added, voice firm and final. She didn’t give you the chance to beg. The call ended, her face vanishing into black.
And you were left staring at your reflection on the blank screen, heart racing, thighs pressed tight, every nerve screaming with the need she’d left simmering on purpose.
You didn’t sleep much after that call.
Every time you closed your eyes, it was there again — Sevika’s voice, low and steady, asking, “What about a woman like me?”
God. Your stomach flipped just remembering it. You buried your face in your pillow, muffling a groan, too warm under the blankets. It wasn’t fair, the way she twirled her cigarette like she had all the time in the world, the way her eyes pinned you down through a screen. She wasn’t even here, and yet she left you restless, needy, craving something you couldn’t name.
What would it be like, you wondered, if she were really in front of me..would she put that cigarette out and lean over me, all rough hands and sharp smirks? Or would she take it slow, gentle in ways that didn’t match her scarred, broad frame? You didn’t know which fantasy made your chest ache harder.
You checked your phone for the twentieth time.
You: ur evil. i couldnt sleep.
Sevika 🖤: Sleep is overrated.
You: wait i don’t understand .. anyways i was tossing and turning. do u know what u did to me??
Sevika 🖤: Yeah. And I’m glad.
You clutched your phone to your chest, kicking your legs in the air like a lovesick teenager. Which, you realised you kinda are.
Two days later, it happened.
You came home from school, sweaty from the walk, bag heavy with books, only to find your mother standing at the front door with a frown carved into her face.
she was holding a brown parcel. a shipping label stuck on the side.
Your heart stopped when you saw the stamp. Canada.
And under the return address, bold and black:
From: fixyrhands
Your blood went cold.
“Who’s this from?” your mother asked, turning the box in her hands. her brows furrowed deeper. “this name…‘fix your hands’? what is that supposed to mean? Sounds…strange. suspicious.”
she moved her thumb toward the seam, like she was about to pry it open.
“no!” the word flew out before you could stop it. You darted forward, snatching the package out of her grip. your pulse hammered so hard you could hear it.
Your mother’s eyes narrowed. “What are you hiding? Show me.”
“It’s just…assessment books,” you lied, hugging the box to your chest like it might disappear. “for chemistry. I ordered them. you want me to pass, right?”
Her gaze lingered, sharp, searching your face. for a terrifying second, you thought she’d call your bluff. that she’d demand you open it right there.
but then she sighed, shaking her head. “fine. but don’t waste money on things you don’t use.” She turned away, muttering under her breath, and disappeared into the kitchen.
you stood frozen, the package pressed so hard against you that your arms ached. only when the coast was clear did you bolt to your room, slam the door, and lock it — breaking your mother’s rule for the first time.
your hands trembled as you tore at the tape. inside, a neat row of textbooks sat on top, covers labeled with chemistry assessment guides and exam practice workbooks. If anyone peeked inside, that’s all they’d see.
but underneath, hidden between the spines and bubble wrap, were the real gifts.
first: a sleek black vibrator, smooth and discreet, the kind you’d only ever seen on shady websites you were too scared to click.
second: a fucking monster. a dildo so ridiculously huge that your face flamed just holding it. Your brain stuttered, trying to imagine Sevika’s smirk as she picked it out, mailed it, wrapped it in books like some dirty magician.
you totally did not expect those..
and at the bottom, tucked neatly against a bag of canadian maple cookies and a packet of ketchup flavoured chips, was a folded note.
Your breath caught as you unfolded it.
Kid,
Don’t make that face. I know exactly what you’re doing right now, sitting cross legged, wide eyed, acting like you’re scandalised. You’ll get over it.
You said you didn’t have anything, and I don’t like that. Figure it’s time you did. You don’t have to use them yet. Hell, you don’t even have to touch them until you’re ready. But they’re yours now. Hidden under those books no one will ever bother looking through.
And don’t think I didn’t throw in the snacks on purpose. Consider them a bribe. Eat something sweet while you think about me.
—fixyrhands
Your knees pressed together so tightly you thought they’d bruise. You dropped the note onto your desk, covering your face with your hands, muffling a squeal.
She knew. She knew exactly how flustered you’d be, how much you’d blush, how hard you’d clutch your blanket and kick your feet and bite your lip trying not to think about her.
You looked down at the toys again and your pulse quickened.
God. You weren’t ready. you weren’t! but you couldn’t stop imagining her voice guiding you, telling you what to do, reminding you of every word she’d said that night.
the house was quiet, too quiet.
you’d been lying awake in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, heart hammering as you thought about her gifts. your phone burned against your palm as you checked the time, 2:57 am. Close enough.
you grabbed the vibrator from where it was hidden in your desk drawer, wrapped in an old hoodie, and padded barefoot into the bathroom. the tiles were cold under your feet. You locked the door with shaking fingers, staring at yourself in the mirror. flushed cheeks. wide eyes. uniform t shirt wrinkled from sleep.
then your phone buzzed.
incoming call: sevika 🖤
your chest lurched.
you answered, biting your lip. the screen lit up with sevika’s face, dimly lit by her lamp, smoke curling lazily from the cigarette between her fingers.
“there’s my girl,” she rasped, voice still rough from being up late.
your throat closed up. god. even just hearing her say that made your knees weak.
“y-you’re awake,” you whispered.
she smirked. “for you? always.”
she leaned back, exhaling smoke, and her eyes flicked lower, like she knew what you were holding just out of frame.
“did you bring it?”
you swallowed. nodded. then realised she couldn’t hear a nod. “yeah.”
her smile widened, wolfish. “good, show me.”
hesitant, you angled the camera down, just enough to flash the black vibrator in your hand. you couldn’t bring yourself to lift the dildo, it felt like too much.
but she saw the hesitation, of course she did.
“ah,” sevika drawled, twirling the cigarette between her fingers. “shy now? don’t worry. we’ll save the big guy for later. baby steps.”
your face burned so hot you thought you might combust.
she leaned forward, bracing her mech arm on the desk, and her voice softened, low and coaxing. “listen to me. you’re gonna sit down on the floor. back against the wall okay? i want you comfortable.”
you obeyed instantly, sinking down until your spine pressed the cool tile, phone propped on your knee so she could see you.
“good girl.” the words landed heavy in your stomach, a rush of heat sparking between your thighs.
she took another drag, her eyes locked on yours through the screen. “ever touched yourself before?”
Your mouth opened, then closed. finally, you shook your head. “n-no.”
sevika’s smirk faltered into something gentler. “alright. first time for everything.”
she made you hold the vibrator up. “it’s simple. turn it on low, press it against yourself over your panties first, just so you get used to it.”
your hands shook as you followed her instructions, fabric damp already. the moment the toy buzzed against you, your body jolted. a sound slipped out, high and shocked.
“holy shit,” you whispered.
sevika’s chuckle crackled through the speaker, rough and warm. “yeah. that’s the idea.”
you pressed harder, chasing the feeling, breath coming faster.
“slow down, baby. don’t rush. let it work.”
her voice grounded you, made the heat coil tighter instead of spilling too fast. you tilted your head back, mouth falling open.
“ohh sevvv…”
the way you said her name, needy and helpless, had her shifting in her chair. you caught the faintest wince, the twitch of her jaw, like she wasn’t as unaffected as she wanted you to think.
“good girl,” she praised again, voice rougher now. “god, look at you. you don’t even know how sweet you sound yet.”
you whimpered, thighs trembling. the buzzing felt unbearable, too much and not enough. “it it’s weird…feels like — ”
“like you’re gonna burst?” she supplied, eyes dark.
you nodded desperately.
“thaat’s it. don’t stop, let it happen.”
you bit your lip, pressing the toy harder, and suddenly everything inside you snapped. your back arched, a strangled cry escaping before you could smother it against your arm. waves crashed through you, sharp and hot and endless, until you collapsed back against the wall, gasping.
silence rang in your ears, broken only by the faint buzz of the toy still in your hand.
“fuck,” sevika muttered. it wasn’t a curse at you, it was wonder. disbelief. “you just came.”
your cheeks flamed. “i… i what?”
she laughed, low and husky, shaking her head. “oh, kid. you’ve got so much to learn.”
you hid your face in your hands, groaning. “ughhh sev —”
“no no,” she interrupted, firm but fond. “don’t be embarrassed. you were beautiful. fuck, i wish i could touch you myself.”
your heart thudded so hard it hurt.
and then, because she couldn’t resist, sevika smirked again, lifting the cigarette to her lips. “don’t think you’re off the hook though. that was just lesson one. we’ve still got that monster waiting for you.”
you squeaked, shaking your head violently. “sev!”
“not tonight,” she’d said.
and then she tilted her head, exhaled slow, and added —
“unless you’re brave enough.”
“go get it,” she rasped, voice firm. “the big one. now.”
you froze. every instinct screamed no way. but your body moved anyway, shaky legs carrying you out of the bathroom and down the hall like you were possessed.
you slipped into your room, quiet as possible, rifling under the hoodie in your drawer until your fingers brushed the obscene length of it. your face went nuclear hot.
you grabbed it, shoved it against your chest, and padded back to the bathroom, praying the floorboards didn’t creak.
sevika was waiting, tapping ash into a tray, eyes dark and sharp.
“show me.”
you held it up, wincing. the camera barely fit it in frame.
she grinned, slow and wicked. “look at you. clutching it like it’s contraband. relax, kid. we’re not gonna shove the whole thing in. not yet.”
your cheeks burned so bad you thought you’d catch fire. “i-it won’t fit…”
“it will,” she cut in smoothly. “because i’m gonna walk you through it. now sit down again, yes on the floor.”
you obeyed, knees knocking together, the heavy toy in your lap.
her voice dipped lower, almost gentle. “spit on your hand. get it nice and wet. mm good girl, now rub it down the length, yeaahh like that. don’t be shy.”
the sound alone had your head spinning.
“alright. press the tip against yourself. just the tip.”
you bit down on your lip, guiding the blunt head between your thighs. your body jerked, nerves firing wild.
“slow. breathe.”
it took a full minute just to ease the head past your entrance. your walls stretched around it, burning, pulling a choked gasp from your throat.
“fuck,” you whimpered.
“good girl,” sevika murmured, steady and calm even as her jaw flexed. “look at you taking it. don’t run from it.”
tears pricked your eyes. your legs trembled, thighs quivering as you worked down another inch.
her voice stayed in your ear, grounding you. “relax, i’ve got you”
by the time you managed half of it inside, your body was wrecked — sweat damp hair clinging to your forehead, mouth falling open around helpless sounds.
and then it hit you as you pumped it in, your eyes rolled back, a string of drool slipping from the corner of your mouth as your cunt clenched tight around the stretch.
“sevvv ohh sevikaaa” you slurred, head tipping back against the wall.
she groaned low and rough, raking a hand down her face. “jesus christ. you’re fucking drooling.”
you tried to cover your mouth with your hand, mortified, but she stopped you sharp.
“don’t hide. let me see. eyes crossed, mouth messy… fuck baby, you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
you whimpered, pushing down another fraction of an inch. the toy felt endless, too much, but every time you wanted to stop, her voice pulled you deeper.
“you’re gonna remember this,” sevika rasped, cigarette forgotten between her fingers. “the first night you ever stretched yourself open…just because i told you to.”
your whole body shook. your stomach tightened, heat building too fast and unbearable.
“sevsevsev!! it’s— it’s!”
“let it happen, baby. come for me again.”
and you did, shattering, squeezing tight around the toy, eyes rolling back as another rush of wetness spilled down your thighs.
you collapsed, panting, forehead pressed to your arm. the demon was still half inside you, your body twitching around it.
sevika blew out a shaky breath on the other end, her voice hoarse. “good fucking girl.” oh and was she.. massaging her clit?
her eyes narrowed on the screen, cigarette forgotten, her metal hand flexing against her desk. “look at you. fucked dumb already. but you want more, don’t you?”
you swallowed hard, heat rushing to your face. your body was screaming no more, but your hole was screaming yes. you wanted her proud. you wanted her hungry.
“… i wanna impress you,” you admitted, voice tiny.
sevika’s exhale crackled through the speaker, heavy. “fuck. you’re gonna kill me, kid.”
she leaned closer, her gaze pinning you. “alright. here’s what you’re gonna do. put your hands on the floor. plant your feet and bounce.”
your stomach flipped. “bounce?”
“yeah,” she rasped. “lift your hips. take it out an inch. then drop back down over and over. show me how bad you want it.”
your hands pressed flat to the tiles, sweat slick. you rocked your hips up, the stretch easing slightly, then slammed back down with a choked cry.
the sound echoed — wet, obscene.
“good girl,” sevika growled. “again.”
you bounced, messy and uneven, whimpering with every drop. the dildo dragged against places you didn’t even know existed, your legs shaking so violently you nearly toppled over.
“eyes on me,” sevika ordered.
you forced your gaze up, but it didn’t last long, your eyes rolled back, mouth falling open, drool slipping down your chin.
she groaned, low and guttural. “fuck. look at you, cross eyed little whore, dripping. you’re a goddamn mess.”
you tried to stammer something, but it came out broken, just noise. your thighs clapped wetly with each bounce, the pressure inside unbearable.
then, sudden and violent, your whole body seized up, and a gush of wetness sprayed out of you, splattering the floor, splashing your phone screen.
your eyes went wide. “s-sev! i — oh my god i peed…i’m sorry —”
her laugh was sharp and rough, not mocking but hungry. “that wasn’t piss, baby. that was you. you just squirted.”
“w-what?” you gasped, tears springing to your eyes, humiliated.
“shh.” her voice dropped, firm and soothing all at once. “don’t apologise. look at the mess you made for me. fuck i wish i was there to feel it on my hand, to taste it.”
you whimpered, still trembling, thighs soaked.
she dragged her metal hand slow across her palm on screen, like she could map your body from afar. “if i were there, i’d have you on my lap right now, teasing that pretty pussy until you begged me to stop.”
your hips twitched at the words, another whine escaping you.
“does it hurt?” she asked suddenly, voice softer.
“… n-no. just too much.”
“good. that’s how it’s supposed to feel.”
you watched, dazed, as she stubbed out her cigarette, leaned back, and fixed you with that heavy gaze. “you impressed me, sweetheart. more than you know.”
you wiped your soaked thighs with shaky hands, cheeks burning.
sevika smirked, slow and wicked. “and next time, you’re taking the whole thing.”
you stayed slumped against the wall, thighs trembling, breath still coming in short gasps. the dildo was heavy in your palm, slick and obscene, your body twitching around the ghost of its stretch.
your eyelids fluttered, and for a few minutes you just sat there in the mess, phone propped on your knee, sevika’s face filling the screen.
she didn’t say a word. didn’t rush you. just sat back in her chair, cigarette gone, her gaze steady and warm.
finally, she spoke, voice rough but gentle.
“you did so good, baby. so fucking good. first time and you already let go for me.”
your cheeks burned, and you half hid your face with your arm. “sevika…”
“no hiding,” she interrupted softly, smirk tugging at her mouth. “look at me.”
you peeked through your fingers, and her expression — god, it wasn’t mocking. it was proud. steady and gentle. like she could’ve reached through the screen and steadied your chin herself.
“if i were there,” she murmured, voice dropping, “i’d clean all this up for you. carry you to bed, tuck you under the blanket, let you sleep with your head on my chest.”
the words squeezed something in your chest. tender, aching. you wanted that more than anything.
instead, you nodded, holding the soaked toy loosely in one hand, too spent to move.
five minutes passed. your head tipped back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut, the faint hum of the call the only sound in the bathroom.
then her voice broke through again — firm, but softer than you’d ever heard it.
“baby. you’ve gotta clean up now. don’t want your parents finding anything, do you?”
your stomach dropped, reality slamming back. you shook your head quickly.
“good girl. up you get.”
groaning, you shifted onto all fours, phone still propped against the sink so she could see. your body ached as you wiped up the wet mess with tissues, your hair falling in your face.
from the screen, sevika muttered a curse under her breath. “fuck. crawling around like that, do you have any idea what you look like right now?”
your cheeks flamed. “don’t say that vika… stop teasing,”
“not teasing,” she said, voice low. “just…christ, you’re something else.”
you finished cleaning, stuffed the tissues deep into the trash, and washed your hands before padding back to your room, shutting the door with a shaky breath.
you collapsed into bed, phone in your hands, face filling the screen with sevika’s again. she was leaning forward now, forearm braced on the desk, gaze softer than you’d ever seen.
“better?” she asked.
you nodded, curling up under the blanket, the hoodie over your lap. “mm tired.”
“good. that’s how i want you. worn out, safe, in bed.” her lips quirked. “now eat those snacks i sent, and then you can pass out.”
you giggled, sex dazed, muffling it into your pillow. “okay mom.”
her brow arched. “watch it, kid.”
but she was smiling, faint and warm, the kind that made your chest ache.
“good girl,” she said again, voice dipping softer. “sleep now. i’ll still be here when you wake up.”
you drifted off like that — phone screen glowing faintly in the dark, sevika’s gaze steady on you, her voice the last thing you heard before sleep took you.
you wake up with your phone beside your pillow, screen dim but the call timer running, hours long. sevika’s voice is the first thing you hear, low, gravelly, but softened by the early hour.
“morning, doll.”
you groan, half asleep, blanket tangled around your legs. you are trying to remember why you are sore and her chuckle rumbles through the speaker, god it makes your chest warm. she’s been awake longer, smoking again, the faint crackle of her lighter giving her away.
you sit up, hair a mess, cheeks still pink when the memories from last night hit. you don’t even need a mirror — you know you look wrecked. but sevika? she doesn’t tease this time. she just watches. she loves you messy.
“cute.” her voice dips. “you don’t even know how pretty you look right now, do you?”
you hide under your blanket, whining, but she coaxes you back out. she says she wanted to see your face when you wake up — because she promised she’d be there. and she is.
your stomach flips. you’ve never felt so seen before… so taken care of
and your fangirl brain? going wild. she’s just sitting there, leaning back with smoke curling past her lips, hair messy in the morning light, and somehow she’s the one calling you pretty. and the way she twirls the cigarette between her fingers, smooth, slow, you’re thinking about last night all over again.
and when you zone out staring at her mouth, her jawline, the curve of her throat…she notices.
“what’s on your mind, sweetheart?”
and you cannot say it. so you just shake your head, too shy, chewing your lip. she smirks like she knows.
but instead of pressing, she lets you ramble about school, breakfast, the weather — mundane little things. she listens like it’s gospel. every so often, her voice drops softer, reminding you she’s still here, even through the screen:
“eat something before class, yeah?”
“don’t fall asleep in lecture.”
“be good f’me.”
and it’s not until you hang up that you realise — this has become routine. sevika at night, sevika in the morning. your secret, your everything.
you’re dragging yourself back home after another long day, uniform collar tugging at your neck, phone burning in your pocket because you’re dying to check if sevika replied. it’s the same routine: class, pretending to listen and sneaking glances at her messages under the desk.
but today feels…off.
your mom’s waiting in the living room when you come in, arms crossed, lips pursed like she’s been sitting there thinking. and there on the table? ANOTHER parcel, unopened. your heart drops so hard you feel sick.
“who keeps sending you things from overseas?” her voice is sharp, probing. “you think i don’t notice? what are you hiding?”
your palms sweat. you grab at your bag straps, trying to look casual. “it’s just study guides. more chemistry practice okay? you always say i need more of that.”
she narrows her eyes, lifting the heavy box, flipping it over like she’s hoping something incriminating falls out. “then why does it say ‘fixyrhands’? hm? what kind of company name is that? looks fake.”
you lunge for it — too quick. she notices. her suspicion doubles.
later, in your room, door locked, you’re shaking as you fumble your phone open. sevika’s already sent a few texts,
sevika 🖤: You got my gift, baby?
sevika 🖤: Kid?
your thumbs fly:
you: my mom almost opened it!! she’s sus, she saw the box and i think she knows something’s up.
and after a pause, her reply comes, measured and careful, so her,
sevika 🖤: Breathe. Don’t panic. They do not know.
sevika 🖤: But maybe keep your head down for a while. Do not make her curious.
you stare at the screen, chewing your lip. keep your head down. easier said than done when every nerve in your body is wired to her.
when you call later that evening, sevika’s voice is steady, but there’s an edge. “listen, sweetheart. i don’t want you getting in trouble because of me. if they ever really find out…it won’t be good. you know that.”
the thought of losing her, of her pulling back, is enough to choke you. you promise — too fast, too desperate — “they won’t! i’ll be careful. i swear!”
and on the other end, you swear you can hear her exhale smoke, low and heavy. “careful, kid. that’s all i’m asking.”
the next night you’re supposed to “lay low.” you promised sevika you would.
but her name lights up your screen just past midnight, and you can’t resist.
sevika 🖤: Awake?
you: yeah. i missed u
sevika 🖤: Turn the camera on. Let me see you.
so you do. blanket over your head, whispering so soft it’s barely audible. sevika looks tired, hair loose, cigarette burning in her fingers. she smiles that half smile that always makes your chest ache. “shouldn’t you be sleeping, kid?”
“shouldn’t you be at work?” you tease, voice hushed.
it feels safe. it always does, even when you know it isn’t.
and then—
BANG.
your bedroom door slams open so violently the hinges rattle. your mom’s silhouette fills the doorway, eyes already blazing. your dad right behind her, face a storm.
“what are you fucking doing?!”
you freeze. the phone slips out of your trembling hands, landing face-up on the bed. sevika’s voice crackles faintly through the speaker, “sweetheart? what’s going on?”
your mom’s hand is on you before you can think. a sharp slap to your cheek, so loud it rings. heat blooms across your skin, tears springing instantly. she grabs your wrist, yanking you off the bed like you’re some criminal.
“talking to girls in the middle of the night? hiding things from us?!”
“i—it’s not!” your voice breaks, desperate.
behind you, the phone’s screen still glows. sevika’s watching, helpless, cigarette forgotten in the ashtray. her voice rises, panicked now: “hey! hey, leave her alone—”
but your mom doesn’t hear. doesn’t care.
your dad’s voice cuts in, low and venomous, “after everything we’ve done for you. sneaking around. disgracing us in our own house.”
you’re dragged into the hallway, feet stumbling, cheek burning, your throat choking on sobs you try to swallow. your mom’s nails dig into your arm as she hisses, “you think we raised you for this? you think you can shame us like this?”
and still, from your room, faint and distorted:
“kid? stay with me, don’t let them—”
then the door slams shut behind you, cutting sevika’s voice off.
she’s left staring at an empty room, your fallen phone, the faint sound of your cries muffled by distance and walls she can’t break through.
thirty minutes feels like thirty years.
when you finally stumble back into your room, you can barely see through the blur of tears. your nose is still bleeding, lips split, the salty taste of your tears on your tongue. your whole body trembles. the house feels like it’s pressing down on you, walls listening, shadows judging.
your phone screen is still glowing faintly on the bed. sevika never left.
“sweetheart?” her voice is sharp with panic, but low, controlled — the way only an older woman can manage even when her chest must be burning. “jesus christ…what did they do to you?”
your sobs hitch so violently you can’t even answer. you crawl onto the bed, clutching the phone like a lifeline, your tears dripping onto the screen.
“they — they hate me,” you choke out, your words fractured. “they said i’m disgusting. that you’re ruining me.”
silence. then a long, hard exhale of smoke on her end, like she’s holding herself back from smashing something. “listen to me. none of that’s true. not one damn word of it. you hear me?”
you nod furiously even though she can’t see through your trembling camera.
“they don’t know who you are,” you whisper, terrified. “they think you’re just… some bad girl. if they knew you were…older —” your voice cracks, a wave of shame crashing through you.
sevika leans forward in her chair, shadows cutting across her face, cigarette glowing like a warning. “don’t worry about that right now. all i care about is that you’re safe. can you lock your door?”
you shake your head, swallowing sobs. “they’re outside. they keep saying to bring the phone out. they’re waiting for me to hand you over.”
sevika’s jaw clenches. you can hear it in the way she breathes. “don’t. don’t give them this. not yet. stay with me as long as you can, okay baby?”
her voice steadies you, even as your chest heaves. you cling to it like the only solid thing left in the world.
time stretches. every tick of the clock feels like borrowed seconds. sevika keeps talking — low, soothing, words stitched together with desperation she doesn’t want you to hear.
“i should be there. i should be cleaning you up, not sitting behind a damn screen. if i could, i’d take you out of there tonight. you know that, right?”
you nod, crying harder. “please don’t go. please, just stay with me—”
and then, the doorknob rattles. heavy footsteps. your blood runs cold.
your mom’s voice, hard as stone, “enough hiding. give me that phone.”
your breath stutters, tears spilling faster. sevika hears it all. “kid, listen to me. don’t fight them. i need you safe. i’ll be here after. i swear.”
the door bursts open again. your parents storm inside, faces twisted in fury.
your dad’s hand reaches out, and this time, you can’t stop him. the phone is ripped from your grip, your last anchor gone.
the last thing sevika sees is your tear stained face, swollen lips, eyes wide with fear. the last thing she hears is your scream, raw and breaking, before the call cuts off.
the line goes dead.
and she’s left alone in her dark apartment, cigarette burning down to ash, staring at the empty screen where your face just was.
summary: y/n rebuilt her life in piltover, burying the trauma—and the love—she lost in the undercity.
But when vi reappears, alive and changed, the memories she buried begin to claw their way back.
some ghosts don't stay dead. and some wounds never heal.
wc: 6k
cw: angst (lot of it), and tears, so much crying in this chapter omg, also there is a some suggestive content, nothing explicit but if you’re uncomfortable with it, it starts after they arrive at reader’s house and ends ai “Unfortunately, the bubble you and bi created”
notes: next chapter is the last one 😭😭😭 we’re coming to an end omg. sorry for taking this long to update, as i said last chapter my life would be a little insane for a week or so 😔 got a job interview and we’re starting test week in the school i work at and also i got sick. anyways here’s the chapter!!
masterlist - part six
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The four of you left the Firelights’ hideout with a clear purpose: get the gemstone to Piltover’s Council. It should’ve been simple—Ekko leading the way, Caitlyn at his side, you and Vi bringing up the rear—but nothing about this night felt simple. The air itself felt wired, thick with the kind of tension you couldn’t shake. Something was going to happen.
Vi had been quiet the entire walk. Not her usual brooding quiet, but something heavier, a silence that pressed against her chest until her shoulders hunched with it. She kept her eyes down, jaw tight, like every thought she didn’t say out loud was eating her alive.
You slowed your pace until you were beside her. “Vi,” you whispered, searching her face. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, brushing you off, her voice low and rough. “Doesn’t matter.”
But it did. You knew it did. Because halfway across the bridge, she stopped cold.
“Vi?” You turned back, concern spiking as Ekko and Caitlyn both halted too.
Her eyes flicked up, full of guilt and something close to fear. Her voice broke when she said, “I can’t leave her again.”
The words cut through you like a blade. Jinx. Powder. Her sister.
Ekko’s jaw clenched. He shook his head, his tone sharp. “You can’t change her.”
“I have to try.”
He scoffed, frustrated, but when he stepped forward, it wasn’t to fight her. It was to pull her into a quick, fierce hug. “Then don’t get yourself killed,” he muttered against her shoulder.
Vi let out a soft, shaky laugh, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “No promises.”
Caitlyn turned to you then, her gaze steady, asking the question without words: You’re going with her, aren’t you?
You nodded. Of course you were. Leaving Vi now wasn’t even an option.
Caitlyn pulled you into a hug—tighter than you expected, lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary—before turning to Vi and giving her the same.
“It’s been real, Cupcake,” Vi said with a smirk, though her eyes softened. “Thanks for everything.”
Then Vi looked at you. Really looked. For a second, the chaos of Zaun, of Piltover, of everything that had broken both your lives seemed to fall away. Her voice cracked when she admitted, “I don’t want to lose you again. But I can’t turn my back on Powder. Not this time.”
Your chest squeezed tight, but you forced a crooked laugh, trying to hold her steady. “Good thing you’re not losing me, then.”
Her rough hand found yours, her grip almost bruising in its desperation, and you squeezed back just as firmly before the two of you turned toward the end of the bridge.
You hadn’t made it far when the sharp crack of a gunshot split the night.
“Caitlyn!” you screamed, instinct snapping you towards the sound.
Up ahead, Marcus stood with his gun raised, barrel aimed right between Caitlyn’s eyes. Panic surged through you like a live wire. You and Vi broke into a sprint, hearts pounding, but before you could reach them the air filled with the roar of engines.
A storm of Firelights swarmed the bridge, green-glowing wings blotting out the night sky. The air shimmered with their light.
“Stay back” You yanked Vi’s arm, forcing her down behind a steel barricade as the swarm tightened its circle. “There’s something wrong,” you hissed, scanning the scene.
The Firelights weren’t attacking Caitlyn. They weren’t attacking Ekko. Not even Marcus. They hovered, waiting. Watching.
Vi’s voice tore out of her, raw and frantic. “We can’t just leave them there!”
“I know!” you shouted over the buzzing engines, keeping your body pressed to hers so she wouldn’t break cover. “But if we rush in blind, we’ll just get ourselves killed—we need to be smart about this!”
As if answering you, the bridge erupted with explosions. Bright green fire burst from the Firelights, rattling the steel beneath your boots. Clouds of acrid smoke filled the air, burning your throat and making your eyes sting. You pulled Vi down again, covering your head as the blasts rolled over the barricades.
Her hand clutched your arm through it all, trembling with the need to run, to fight, to do something. But you held her tight, because right now survival was the only option.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the explosions tapered off. The smoke began to thin. The only sounds left were the crackle of distant fire and the faint groan of the bridge settling.
You slowly lifted your head above the barricade, coughing, heart still hammering. “Go look for Ekko,” you rasped, turning to Vi. “I’ll see if I can find Caitlyn.”
The scene before you was a battlefield—bodies of enforcers sprawled lifeless across the bridge, weapons still clutched in their stiff hands, their armor stained green from the smoke. The acrid stench of burnt metal and flesh clung to the air, heavy enough to make your stomach twist.
Through the haze, you spotted Caitlyn, half-collapsed near Marcus’ body. Her face was pale, twisted in pain, blood coming out of one of her legs.
“C’mon, we have to get out of here.” You crouched, slipping your arm under her shoulders and hoisting her up. She hissed in pain, but clung to you anyway, every breath ragged.
You turned, searching for Vi—only for another shot to crack through the smoke, sharp and close.
“Vi!?” you called, panic spiking.
She emerged then, pushing through the smoke, eyes wide and rimmed with guilt. Her expression twisted when she saw Caitlyn leaning on you, but she quickly rushed over, steadying her from the other side.
And that’s when you saw her.
Jinx.
Her silhouette flickered out of the smoke, her wild eyes locked on you. In her hands—Ekko’s case. The gemstone.
“Shit” you breathed.
Jinx didn’t hesitate. She raised her gun and opened fire, bullets ripping past you, sparking off steel and stone. You and Vi ducked, pulling Caitlyn down with you.
But before the world could tilt further, a blur of movement cut through the smoke. Ekko. He soared in on his board, the glow arcing like a comet as he slammed into Jinx with all the fury he’d been holding back.
He took the case from her grasp, throwing it towards you.
“Go!” Ekko barked, his voice cracking with urgency as he shoved you back.
You didn’t think—you just went. Caitlyn was coughing, limping, every step a struggle, but you and Vi half-carried her across the bridge, dragging her away from the carnage.
Vi’s head whipped back, her body wanting to go back. She wanted to turn, to stay, to throw herself back into the fight.
“We have to go!” you shouted, your voice raw as smoke scraped your throat.
You didn’t slow until you ducked into a narrow alley off the bridge, pressing Caitlyn against the wall so she could catch her breath.
“We need to get her to her house,” you told Vi, chest heaving.
But Vi wasn’t listening. Her gaze was still turned back toward the chaos, jaw clenched, fists trembling at her sides. “I have to…” she whispered under her breath, her eyes flickering to you. “Will you be okay with her? I’ll be right back—”
A squad of enforcers stormed past the mouth of the alley, boots pounding, weapons ready. Vi froze, instinct warring with reason.
“You’re not leaving us,” you snapped, grabbing her arm and yanking her back. “You can’t just go charging off every time she shows up. That’s getting old, Vi—I’m tired of it.”
Her face twisted, her eyes burning as she tried to argue. “But I have to. She’s still there—I know she is.”
“Violet,” you said, voice sharp but trembling. You forced her to look at you. “She’s gone. That’s not Powder anymore. That’s not your sister.”
The words hit her like a blade, but before Vi could fire back, Caitlyn’s weak voice broke the moment.
“It’s gone,” she whispered, horror lacing every syllable. Her hands shook as she held up the case—open. Empty.
“What?” Vi’s head snapped toward her, panic flashing across her face. She tore the case from Caitlyn’s hands, but the gemstone was truly gone. Her gaze darted back to the street, back where she had left her sister.
She stood frozen, torn in two—between you and Caitlyn, and the ghost of the girl she used to know.
“Vi, please.” You stepped forward, catching her hand in yours. Her knuckles were white, trembling against your palm. For a moment, you thought she might break—run back into the smoke and leave you both behind.
But then her shoulders slumped, her breath ragged as tears stung her eyes. She turned, wiping them quickly away before anyone could see, and slipped her arm under Caitlyn’s again.
“Okay,” she rasped, voice low and hoarse. “Where is her house?”
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The way to the Kiramman estate was brutal—every step slow, tense. You and Vi half-carried Caitlyn through the twisting alleys, ducking into shadows whenever the thunder of enforcer boots drew too close. The gemstone was gone, the bridge still burning in your minds, and Caitlyn’s ragged breaths reminded you of just how close you all had come to losing each other.
By the time the city began to soften into manicured stone streets, the first streaks of sunlight were rising over Piltover. Golden light spilled through iron fences and reflected off tall windows. For once, the city didn’t look sharp or hostile—it looked… asleep. Unaware. The contrast to the chaos you’d just escaped was almost unbearable.
When you finally reached the Kiramman estate, you tilted your head back, staring up at the towering walls and spotless windows. Caitlyn’s bedroom was on the first floor, but her windows were set high, elegant and narrow. Beautiful. Impractical.
“I hate you and your high fancy windows,” you muttered, shifting Caitlyn’s weight against your side.
Caitlyn managed a small chuckle, though it broke into a hiss of pain as she leaned too heavily on her bad leg. “They weren’t designed with emergencies in mind.”
You exhaled sharply and glanced at Vi. “You go first. Pull her up. She’s not climbing that with her leg the way it is.”
“Yeah,” Vi said with a nod. She lingered for a moment, eyes sweeping over the massive facade of the house. “Damn… it’s huge. Who lives here? Another Councilor friend of yours?”
Her voice was light, but you caught the edge beneath it—disbelief, maybe even bitterness.
Once inside, the air was different—quiet, polished, smelling faintly of lavender oil and clean linen. Vi’s eyes darted everywhere: the plush carpet, the paintings lining the walls, the heavy furniture that looked too expensive to touch.
You were still easing Caitlyn down onto her bed when the door slammed open with a sharp crack. Her mother stood in the doorway, a rifle leveled in her hand.
“Caitlyn?” Her voice was sharp, commanding—but the instant her eyes landed on her daughter, the tone shifted. Confusion, then something that looked dangerously close to fear.
Her father appeared a heartbeat later, practically shoving past her. His expression was wild with worry. “Oh, we were so worried! Thank goodness you’re safe!” He crossed the room in a flash, folding Caitlyn into his arms with a kind of desperate relief you hadn’t expected from the man.
Then his eyes landed on you. His arms widened without hesitation. “Oh, Y/N, you’re alive too!” He pulled you into the embrace before you could protest. It felt… odd. Too sudden, too raw. You weren’t close to Caitlyn’s parents. You’d maybe exchanged a few polite words before. Still, his grip was firm.
“And you found a stray,” her mother’s voice cut in, cool and cutting. She hadn’t lowered the gun, though it now hung loosely at her side. Her gaze was fixed on Vi like she was some animal that had clawed its way in.
“This is Vi,” Caitlyn explained, her patience steady despite the exhaustion dragging at her features “She’s from the undercity.”
“So I see.” The words were laced with disdain, her smile sharp and false. Then, with a glance at Caitlyn, she added, “Could we have a word? In private.”
Caitlyn sighed, long-suffering, before finally nodding. Her father slipped an arm around her, helping her rise to her feet with tenderness.
Her mother lingered a moment longer, her pistol disappearing into the folds of her robe as though it had never been there. Then, without another word, the two of them shepherded Caitlyn out of the room.
The door clicked shut.
Silence fell immediately — heavy, suffocating, as though the whole manor held its breath. You and Vi were left standing in the middle of a world that wasn’t yours: polished wood that gleamed under warm light, embroidered cushions that looked too delicate to sit on, walls adorned with wealth you couldn’t imagine touching.
You shifted uneasily, your boots squeaking against the floor. Vi stood stiff beside you, her hands flexing restlessly at her sides.
Finally, she let out a low breath, half a laugh slipping through like she was trying to force the air lighter than it was. “So…” her voice cracked around the word. “She lives here?”
“Yeah,” you murmured, eyes drifting over the gilded edges of Caitlyn’s dresser, the spotless surfaces that seemed untouchable. “Hard to believe, right?”
Vi snorted softly and reached out, dragging her calloused fingers across the smooth wooden edge of the dresser. She tapped it like she was testing whether it was real. “Hard to believe anyone lives like this,” she muttered, her voice caught between awe and disdain.
But the silence that followed wasn’t filled with humor. It was heavy, thick with the echo of everything that had been said earlier — words you hadn’t meant to throw, truths that had come out sharper than you’d intended. Your chest ached with the weight of them.
Vi’s gaze had dropped to the floor, her shoulders rounded in on themselves like she was bracing for another blow. You felt that pit open in your stomach again — the guilt gnawing, reminding you that while Vi would never blame you, you didn’t want to pile all of this on her shoulders. Not when she already carried too much.
You drew in a shaky breath and stepped closer. It felt strange, almost foreign — after so much time apart, you had to remind yourself how to reach for her, how to make her feel safe again. Your hand hovered for a second before you let it rest gently on her arm.
“I need you to know…” Your voice was quiet, but steady. “I don’t blame you for wanting to try and save Jin—” The name stuck in your throat, a sharp splinter. You forced yourself to correct it, softer this time. “—to try and save Powder.”
Vi’s head snapped up. For the first time since Caitlyn had left the room, her eyes met yours — wide, glassy, and full of hurt she couldn’t hide.
“You didn’t know what happened to her,” you continued, the words tumbling out before you could hesitate. “If you want to blame someone… then blame me. Blame me for not sticking around, for not looking for you, for not taking care of her.”
You lifted your hand and cradled her face, brushing your thumb across the tattoo of her name, as gently as you could, like she might break under your touch. She didn’t flinch, but her jaw trembled.
“They were my family too,” you whispered. “And unlike you — who didn’t have a choice — I did. And I still turned around.”
Her lips parted, a quiet inhale catching on the edge of a sob she refused to let free. She leaned ever so slightly into your hand, like she needed the anchor, even as guilt battled in her expression.
“Don’t,” she rasped finally, her voice breaking through the silence like gravel. Her hand came up to curl around your wrist where it cupped her cheek. “Don’t you dare put that on yourself.”
You blinked, startled. “Vi—”
“No.” She shook her head hard, as though trying to shake the thought from your mind. Her grip tightened, not painful, but firm, grounding. “You did what you had to do. You survived. You think I don’t see it? You think I don’t know how strong you had to be just to… just to keep going without us?”
Her voice cracked, but she kept going, relentless, her words spilling faster, harsher. “You didn’t abandon her. You didn’t abandon me. We all… we all got screwed over. And if you weren’t there, if you couldn’t stay—” her jaw trembled, her chest rising and falling unevenly. “—that’s not on you. It’s not.”
You tried to look away, but she leaned in closer, forcing you to meet her eyes. They glistened, the storm in them threatening to swallow you whole.
“Blame me,” she said like a plea. Her voice dropped low. “Blame me for everything if it makes it easier. But don’t you ever carry that weight. You hear me?”
The words lodged in your throat, too big to swallow. Your hand trembled where it still held her face.
Something shifted in the air between you. The guilt, the grief, the years apart — it all twisted into something heavier. Her eyes flicked from yours down to your mouth, then back again. You felt it too — the pull, the ache that had always been there, waiting.
You whispered, barely audible. “Vi…”
Her name was all you managed before she surged forward.
The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, bruising, an eruption of everything neither of you had dared to say. Her hands cupped your face, pulling you in like she was terrified you’d vanish again. You clutched at her shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of her jacket as though holding her there would stop time from stealing her away.
Tears pricked your eyes, hot and unrelenting, slipping down your cheeks only to be caught by her skin. Vi kissed you through them, her mouth tasting of salt and sorrow and something fierce — a promise buried beneath the pain.
When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, foreheads pressed together, panting into the narrow space between.
The sound of the door creaking open snapped you both back to reality.
“Oh—” Caitlyn froze, her hand still on the doorknob. Her eyes widened before she quickly looked away, her voice stumbling. “I’m… sorry for interrupting.”
The air shifted instantly, heavy again, almost suffocating. Vi pulled back just slightly, her fingers still laced with yours like she wasn’t ready to let go.
Caitlyn cleared her throat, closing the door behind her with a soft click as if to contain the moment she had just walked in on. “My mother said we’ll present our case to the Council tonight.”
You straightened, guilt and responsibility clawing their way back into your chest. The reality of what awaited you all pressed down, drowning the fragile warmth that had sparked just moments ago.
The Council. Mel. The explanation you owed her. You’d vanished on her with nothing more than a hurried “I have to help Caitlyn”—barely an explanation, and not nearly enough. You knew she was understanding, patient even, but still… the weight of facing her again gnawed at you.
You squeezed Vi’s hand, needing the anchor, before turning to Caitlyn. “I don’t even know if I should be happy about that or not,” you admitted. “We don’t have the stone anymore, which is bad. But…” you drew in a breath, forcing the words out. “I think we can still build a strong enough case.”
Caitlyn gave a small, determined nod. “There’s enough evidence to pin this on Silco. That should be enough to at least make them listen.”
You wanted to believe her. Truly. But your body was screaming from exhaustion — the kind that went deeper than bone, rooted in sleepless nights, battles, and the constant weight of fear. You sighed, leaning back against the dresser.
“Can we just… rest until then?” Your voice came out softer than intended. “I know I won’t be able to sleep, but at least a hot shower, a change of clothes…” You glanced at Vi, a tired smirk tugging at your lips. “I stink. Badly. And so do you.”
Vi scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “Wow. Thanks.” But there was a glimmer of humor in her eyes, something almost normal in the middle of all the chaos.
Caitlyn allowed herself the faintest smile. “I don’t see why not. We have until evening.”
Relief trickled through your veins. Just a moment to breathe, to wash off the weight, to gather strength before the storm tonight.
──────────────────────
The idea of rest didn’t fully settle in until you were outside, slipping past the grand gates of the Kiramman estate.
The air felt different once you stepped into the open streets of Piltover, less suffocating without the weight of her parents’ stares, though the heaviness in your chest remained.
Vi stayed close, her stride steady but slower than usual, shoulders slumping as the adrenaline that had fueled her for hours finally ebbed away. She looked as tired as you felt.
“This way.” you murmured.
The familiar creak of your door felt like an exhale after the suffocating silence. Home smelled faintly of candle wax and dust, but it was warm, familiar—yours.
Vi hovered in the entryway, looking strangely hesitant. You nudged her shoulder. “Come on. You look like you’re about to drop. We’ll clean up, then crash until it’s time.”
Her mouth curved into the ghost of a smile, but she followed without a word.
The bathroom steamed quickly once you twisted the knobs, the pipes groaning before warm water spilled against the tiles. You grabbed two towels, tossing one her way. “You’re up first.”
Vi shook her head stubbornly. “No. You go.”
“Vi,” you said firmly, crossing your arms. “You’re half-dead on your feet. Just get in.”
Her jaw flexed like she wanted to argue, but she gave up with a sigh. She tugged off her bandages, wincing when they peeled away from split knuckles. You caught her hand gently, your thumb brushing over the raw skin.
“You’re falling apart,” you whispered.
“Story of my life,” she let out a humorless laugh.
Something tugged inside you then, sharp and insistent. You’d spent years carrying ghosts—her ghost, Powder’s, all the what-ifs. But she was here now. Bruised, tired, broken, yes—but alive. And you didn’t want her to face that weight alone.
So before you could overthink it, you started peeling off your own clothes.
Vi blinked at you. “Uh—what are you—?”
“Relax,” you cut in, stepping past her into the steam. “I’m not letting you stand there by yourself. Not tonight.”
She stared for a long moment, eyes unreadable, before finally following you under the spray.
The water hit hot against your skin, and you let out a shaky breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.
Vi tilted her head back, closing her eyes as the water coursed over her bruises, washing away grime and blood. You reached up without thinking, smoothing damp strands of pink hair away from her face.
Her eyes fluttered open, catching yours, and for a moment the room was silent but for the sound of water rushing around you both.
You let your fingers drag over the tattoo on her neck, your thumb tracing lightly along her pulse point. “You don’t always have to carry it all yourself,” you whispered.
Vi’s throat worked as she swallowed, her hand lifting hesitantly before resting against the small of your back. Her voice was low, rough with something that wasn’t just exhaustion. “I don’t know how not to.”
“Then let me help you.” you said.
She didn’t answer, but she leaned into you. The water ran over both of you, hot enough to sting, but you barely noticed.
Vi’s hand pressed more firmly at the small of your back, anchoring you, like she was afraid you’d slip away if she let go.
Your heart hammered. For a moment, you wondered if you should pull back—remind yourself this was fragile, that Vi was still broken in ways neither of you fully understood. But then her eyes opened, heavy-lidded, searching yours. And all at once, you knew: she needed this as much as you did.
Slowly, carefully, you leaned in, closing the last sliver of space.
Your lips met hers—hesitant at first, like testing whether the world would shatter beneath the weight of it. Vi froze for a heartbeat, her breath catching against your mouth, and then she melted into you, kissing back with a quiet desperation.
The water rushed over your shoulders, beating down like rain, but you hardly felt it. All you felt was Vi—her trembling exhale, the taste of her, the way her fingers curled into your spine like she’d been waiting years to hold you again.
That’s when it all hit you. You pulled away from the kiss, tears already falling down, but the water washed them away. “I thought I lost you.” It came out a broken whisper, like you didn’t have enough strength to say it out loud.
“You didn’t,” Vi said, holding you close. “I’m right here. I swear I’m right here.”
You kissed her again—deeper this time, slow but urgent, like two people afraid the moment might slip through their fingers if they didn’t hold tight enough.
You pressed closer, chest to chest, your hands framing her jaw, tracing the unfamiliar angles of her face. Vi’s lips trembled against yours, but she didn’t pull away. She kissed you harder, her grip tightening at your waist, pulling you flush against her.
The steam wrapped around you both as you moved together, every kiss and every touch weighted with years of absence, of fear, of hope. It wasn’t frantic; it was slow, deliberate, almost reverent. Each brush of skin was a reminder that you had survived—that somehow, against all odds, you had found your way back into each other’s arms.
It felt like being whole again.
──────────────────────
Unfortunately, the fragile bubble you and Vi created was shattered far sooner than either of you wished. Reality waited, cold and merciless—you had to face the council.
With the evidence you carried, you were confident—at least some of them—would listen to what you had to say. But confidence was fragile, and as the three of you walked into the vast council chamber, Caitlyn leading the way with her shoulders squared, you felt the weight of every pair of eyes already waiting for you.
Even with the voices coming from inside, the chamber was oppressive, like the walls were closing in on you. Vi’s hand brushed yours as you followed, a small anchor against the storm of tension pressing down on you.
“It’s not what they offered him,” Caitlyn began, her voice steady, echoing against the walls. “It’s what he had to lose.”
Sharp gazes followed, some curious, some skeptical. Their scrutiny burned against your skin. You weren’t used to being seen—your work was done in shadows, not under the full weight of Piltover’s most powerful.
Mel sat poised beside Jayce, her expression unreadable. The faint tilt of her head could have meant approval, disapproval, or simple calculation—you couldn’t tell. You weren’t sure if she was glad to see you again or disappointed by what you had brought with you.
“Councilors,” Cassandra rose gracefully from her seat, her presence commanding the room. “My daughter has a unique perspective on our situation.”
“Thank you,” Caitlyn said, her tone softened just enough for her mother. Then she straightened, her eyes sweeping over the council. “This is Vi. She was born in the Undercity.”
At the mention of her name, Vi’s hand found yours, her fingers interlocking with yours tightly. She showed nothing on her face, but you could feel her pulse quicken, her nervous energy thrumming like a live wire through her grip.
“Even though we failed her in countless ways,” Caitlyn continued, her voice carrying both weight and conviction, “she risked everything to show me what life is really like down there. With Y/N’s help.”
You swallowed hard and cleared your throat. Speaking here felt like stepping into a pit of knives, but you forced your voice to stay steady.
“People are starving,” you said, your words directed toward Mel—hoping she might take pity on you again, as she once had. “They’re sick. Ravaged by Shimmer. They live in constant fear of the coordinated efforts of violent crime lords.”
Caitlyn nodded, picking up where you left off. “And one man leads these efforts. Silco.”
“We’ve done investigations of Silco,” one of the councilors interrupted, tone clipped, dismissive. “They yielded no such level of organization.”
“And who exactly led those investigations?” Caitlyn countered smoothly, arching a brow.
“What does this Silco even want from us?” Jayce asked, leaning forward, voice tinged with both frustration and fatigue.
“He believes the Undercity should be independent,” you answered firmly, your voice steady despite the storm building in the chamber. “He calls it the Nation of Zaun.”
Jayce’s jaw tightened. He reached under the table, pulled up one of Jinx’s bombs, and placed it on the polished wood with a heavy *clunk*. The sound echoed across the room, a harsh punctuation that sent a ripple of unease through the councilors. Beside you, Vi stiffened, her body taut, ready to spring at the sight of it.
“And what about these?” Jayce demanded, his tone sharp as steel. “Do you know who made them?”
Caitlyn faltered, hesitation flickering across her face. “No—well…” She glanced between you and Vi, her voice trailing off, unsure if she should speak the truth or shield it.
Before she could, Vi stepped forward, her voice steady, cutting through the silence. “Her name is Jinx.”
The name landed like a thunderclap, pulling the air taut.
“This Jinx has the Gemstone?” Jayce pressed. Caitlyn gave a reluctant nod. His hands curled into fists. “Then we have no choice. We’ll have to go in by force.”
“That could trigger war,” Mel interjected, her voice calm but edged with warning, slicing into the heated air like a blade.
“There are good people down there,” you said quickly, words rushing out before anyone else could argue. “People who don’t want violence, who don’t deserve to pay the price for Silco’s ambition.”
“Hmph. Bad ones too,” one councilor muttered, dismissive.
“Even if we wanted to invade, they have Shimmer,” another added.
“We have Hextech,” Jayce countered, slamming his hand on the table for emphasis.
“What happened to you?” Caitlyn asked, her tone sharp with disapproval.
“We’ve been talking about talking for weeks now,” Jayce snapped. His face was flushed with anger, his gestures sharp and impatient. “And they’re still cleaning blood off the bridge!”
Mel leaned on her hands, brows furrowed, her eyes narrowing as she thought deeply. You recognized that look instantly—Mel was calculating, searching every possible angle. The last thing she wanted was war.
“When do we say enough is enough?” Jayce demanded.
“Jayce,” Mel lifted her gaze, her voice calm but carrying a warning edge, “you don’t know war. I do. It must be our last resort. There may still be a diplomatic solution.”
Jayce glanced around the table, searching for support. Some councilors nodded in agreement, others simply grunted, unwilling to commit. His frustration spilled out in a heavy sigh.
Beside you, Vi shifted restlessly, agitation radiating off her. She tore her hand from yours and spoke up, her voice sharp. “What? You want to negotiate with him?”
“It may be the only way to avoid further bloodshed,” Cassandra said from her seat, her tone controlled but firm.
Vi’s composure cracked, anger flashing in her eyes. “This is insane. Did you learn nothing? You can’t talk to him!”
You opened your mouth, wanting to intervene, but the words tangled in your throat. You didn’t know whose side to take. Part of you wanted peace—an end to the bloodshed of people who had nothing to do with Silco’s ambition. But you knew him. You’d known him all your life. Since Vander’s death, Silco had only grown worse, more ruthless. He wasn’t someone you could reason with.
“He hates you. Everything you stand for,” Vi pressed, her voice rising with every word. “He will never back down.”
Mel’s gaze flicked toward you, her eyes silently asking for your insight, your judgment. But before you could find the words, Salo’s voice rang out, dismissive and cold. “Enforcers, please escort them out.”
“Forget it,” Vi spat, her voice harsh with frustration as she shoved past the guards. “I remember where your fancy damn door is.” She stormed out, anger radiating off her in waves.
Caitlyn could only sigh, glancing at her mother with a silent plea, but Cassandra’s expression looked defeated.
You caught Mel’s gaze one last time, searching her face for anything—approval, reassurance, even pity—but her mask gave you nothing. With your heart heavy, you turned and followed Vi.
The moment you stepped outside, the sky opened up, rain pouring down in sheets. The city was bathed in dark blue, the storm pressing down as if the world itself was mocking you, setting the stage for everything that was falling apart.
“Violet! Wait!” you shouted, running after her, the rain plastering your hair to your face. Behind you, you could hear Caitlyn’s hurried steps, but she didn’t try to catch up. She knew you needed the space.
Vi didn’t stop. Even when you called her name again, louder this time, she kept moving, her shoulders squared, anger in every line of her body.
“Stop being stubborn.” You grabbed her arm and tugged, forcing her to face you. “Where are you going?”
She whipped around, fury blazing in her eyes. “I don’t know! Back where I came from? Seems like that’s what everyone up here wants!”
You scoffed, your own anger rising to match hers. “Everyone? Really?”
“Don’t start with this,” she snapped, rolling her eyes. “You know your life was better before I showed up. This is how things are. How they’ve always been.”
“Like what? Miserable?” Your voice cracked, rising above the roar of the rain. “I was miserable up here—without you! And you want to tell me my life was better?”
Her jaw clenched, her voice sharp with bitterness. “Didn’t look so miserable in your fancy house with your councilor friends.” She jerked her head toward the building behind you, her lip curling. “I was so stupid to think this was gonna work.”
“We can come up with a better plan!” you shouted, your voice breaking with desperation. “Something has to work! For them—for us—”
“It’s never gonna work.” Her voice was quieter now, but no less devastating. She couldn’t meet your eyes.
“You’re just saying that.” Your voice dropped, softer, pleading.
“No, I’m telling you the truth.” Vi’s chest heaved with every word, rain running down her face like tears she refused to shed. “This was a mistake. Coming here. Believing they’d ever listen. Believing you and me could—” She cut herself off, shaking her head.
“Don’t,” you begged, voice trembling. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”
Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “Do yourself a favor,” she said finally, turning her back on you. “Go back to your place… and just forget me, okay?”
You reached out, desperate to hold her, but she pulled away as if your touch burned her.
“Vi—please—”
But she turned and walked into the rain, her figure fading into the blur of the storm, until there was nothing left but the sound of your own breathing and the ache hollowing out your chest. The city blurred around you, the storm mixing with the sobs you could no longer hold back. You sank to your knees, the weight of everything crushing down, your tears indistinguishable from the rain.
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Natasha wasted no time. As soon as Nick pulled into the parking spot, she’d whisked Wanda out of the car and into the elevator. There was no makeout session, just Natasha roughly palming her ass before murmuring instructions in a low voice that had heat curling in Wanda’s belly.
“Go to the red room, strip, and kneel next to the door. This is the position you will assume anytime we have a session. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Natasha had placed a quick kiss on her cheek as the elevator doors opened to her penthouse, before walking off with purpose and leaving Wanda to find the red room. She adamantly kept all thoughts of calling it the special room to herself. She figured it would be unwise to provoke the woman.
So here she was, nude and kneeling by the door. The red room was exactly the same as last time. She wondered who cleaned it. Did Natasha clean, or did one of the housekeepers clean it? Actually, she decided, she didn’t want to know.
The door across the way opens, and Natasha steps through. The sight of her makes Wanda throb, and she lets her eyes trail over the woman’s form.
Natasha is wearing a black lingerie set, her breasts nestled comfortably in a lacy bra. There are a lot of different straps involved, but Wanda just salivates over the sight, not thinking too hard about how difficult it would be to put on and take off.
“Good girl,” Natasha says, placing a few items on the bed. “We’re going to try some new things today, so I expect you to use your safewords if you need to.”
She fixes Wanda with a stare after she’s finished speaking. Wanda jolts as she realizes the woman is waiting for a response.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“What are your safewords, Wanda?”
She blinks. “Yellow for slow down, something is wrong, and Red for a full stop.”
Natasha smiles, stepping closer and running her fingers through Wanda’s hair. It feels like she’s being pet, almost. It’s nice.
“Good girl.”
Stepping back, Natasha makes a curling motion with her fingers, signaling Wanda to follow her. She stands, walking a few steps before Natasha’s eyes harden.
“Did I say you could stand?”
Wanda freezes. Her heart pounds, uncertainty coursing through her.
Natasha raises a single eyebrow, pointing at the floor. “Crawl.”
God, it’s so demeaning. Wanda loves it even as she feels small from the command. She slowly lowers herself, crawling towards Natasha. She’s rewarded with a faint smile.
The woman leads her over to a leather-covered piece of furniture.
“This is called a breeding bench,” Natasha explains.
“You want to breed me?” Wanda asks, wondering how that was going to work.
Natasha chuckles at that, patting the furniture. “No, Wanda. I want you restrained on all fours for me, and this is the most effective and comfortable way to do so.”
“You really like restraints, don’t you?”
“Yes, and from the way you moan when I use them, you like them too.”
Wanda flushes at that, biting her lip as she looks at the breeding bench. She awkwardly climbs onto it, her stomach flush against the biggest leather part. There are other leather parts beneath her arms and shins. Natasha fastens thick, soft leather straps with velcro over her arms and legs, effectively limiting any movement.
She felt exposed in the best way, and shivered when she felt the air move behind her. Her arousal was evident, and she was sure that she was dripping down her inner thighs.
“So eager for me,” Natasha murmurs, dragging a finger through her arousal and tapping her clit once.
Wanda bites back a whimper at the sensation.
“How do you feel about buttplugs, Wanda?”
She doesn’t really have an opinion. She’s never tried them before, and Natasha knows that. Before she can respond, the woman is rounding the bench and holding up a buttplug so she can see.
It’s small, thankfully. The silver gleams, and when Natasha rotates the toy, she sees a dark red jewel at the base.
“It’s pretty,” she murmurs, looking up at Natasha with slight trepidation.
“I’ll go slow,” Natasha says, reaching up and caressing Wanda’s cheek. “I’ll use lube; this shouldn’t be painful. I expect you to tell me if it is, understand?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Natasha rounds the bench again, and Wanda feels herself flush as she hears the sound of a lube bottle opening. She flinches slightly as she feels the tip of the buttplug gently press against her tight hole.
“Relax, Wanda.”
She does the best she can, letting herself go limp as she feels Natasha rotate the toy, spreading lube evenly as she gently pushes it in. It feels weird. But in a good way, somehow. She feels deliciously full as Natasha pushes the thickest part inside, the rest of the toy going in easily. The woman wipes away any excess lube before gently tapping on the jewel.
“Oh,” Wanda lets out, biting her lip as she flushes at the sensation.
“You liked that,” Natasha states. “Good to know.”
She can’t see the woman, but she feels a tongue gently lick up her arousal. Natasha flattens her tongue and licks slowly and deliberately, avoiding Wanda’s clit as she teases her entrance.
“Ah, fuck. Please,” Wanda begs, wriggling her hips as best as she can. She doesn’t move much, the restraints holding fast.
“Remember, you must ask for permission to cum,” Natasha says, before she dives back in.
It’s fucking amazing. The woman is insanely talented with her tongue. She licks in fast circles around Wanda’s clit until she’s shaking, her mind going blank. She switches techniques, moving her tongue from side to side before wrapping her lips around the bundle of nerves and sucking gently.
“Ms. Romanoff,” Wanda gasps out. She can feel herself clenching around the buttplug, sending waves of pleasure through her as her clit pulses. “Please, let me cum. You’re going to make me-”
“No.”
Natasha pulls away.
God, Wanda could sob from frustration. She can hear the woman moving behind her, but all she can think about it her orgasm slowly dissipating. The buttplug moves, sending pleasure through her again.
Natasha is slowly moving the buttplug, pulling it out slightly before testing it back inside. It’s awful and amazing at the same time, the sensation making Wanda pant with need. Her vlit and dripping pussy are denied as the woman does this, any true pleasure just barely out of reach.
“Oh, please,” she says, practically sobbing.
“What are you begging for?” Natasha asks, her voice soft but firm.
“I don’t know,” Wanda says, “I just need more.”
There’s a lengthy beat, the silence deafening. Wanda can’t even twist her head to see what Natasha is doing. The fingers leave her buttplug, but the toy is still lodged firmly inside her.
“More?” Natasha says. Wanda hears a vibrator turn on, the buzzing sound breaking the silence. “I’ll give you more.”
Using bondage tape, Natasha secures the vibrator to Wanda’s inner thigh with the head of it pressed firmly against her clit. The tape only sticks to itself, so she doesn’t feel any pain as the toy is secured against her skin.
The vibration is set to low, but Wanda feels pleasure bloom within her as her clit finally gets the stimulation it’s been craving. It feels fucking amazing, her body relaxing as she feels herself heat up.
Natasha rounds the bench, her fingers trailing over Wanda’s skin. Her groin is at eye level, and Wanda feels herself grow even more aroused at the slightly damp patch she can see in the woman’s sheer panties.
“Lick,” Natasha commands, her hand grabbing Wanda’s hair and wrenching her head back.
It’s slightly uncomfortable, but Wanda forgets about it the moment her lips touch the older woman’s panties. She can taste the arousal, and it’s utterly intoxicating. Eagerly, she begins to lick, the woman groaning softly above her.
The hands in her hair tighten, and Natasha begins to grind her face against Wanda’s tongue.
“If you manage to make me cum,” she begins, throwing her head back slightly. “I’ll consider forgiving you for your bratty behavior tonight.”
Wanda licks harder, moving her tongue against the protruding clit that she can feel beneath the woman’s lingerie. Natasha rewards her efforts with a low moan, her hips moving rhythmically as she works herself towards an orgasm using Wanda’s tongue.
The vibrations are relentless, threatening to pull Wanda’s focus from the task at hand. She can feel herself growing wetter, the sound of her arousal between her clit and the vibrator sending her spiraling into a warm, cinnamon-scented headspace.
“Fuck,” Natasha murmurs, thrusting strongly against Wanda’s tongue. Her fingers tighten. “I’m going to cum, Wanda. Fuck, just stay like that… no, don’t close your eyes. Look up at me. I want to see that desperate expression while I cum against your tongue.”
Wanda looks up, watching Natasha’s expression as she cums. The woman moans lowly, her eyebrows threading together as her lips part. She’s panting, her abs clenching hard as she cums. Wanda can taste her arousal as she does, and she diligently laps it up. She wishes the barrier of the woman’s panties wasn’t there, but she takes as much as she can.
Finally, Natasha releases her head. Wanda lets herself rest, her cheek pressed against the cool leather.
Walking around her, Natasha presses a button on the vibrator to increase it. The sensations ramp up, and Wanda can’t help the whimper that escapes her.
“You’re close,” Natasha says, chuckling. “I can see it. You’re clenching your hands and trying not to hump the toy, Wanda. It’s a wonderful sight.”
“Please,” Wanda manages.
“That’s not how you properly ask.”
Wanda could sob. She can feel her orgasm rising. She’s close and getting desperate to cum. She’s been painfully aroused since the car ride home.
“Ms. Romanoff, please let me cum,” She whimpers. It sounds pathetic, but she’s sure that the older woman loves it. “Please, I need it so badly.”
“Are you close?”
Nodding, Wanda prepares herself for the orgasm. She just needs a few more seconds.
“No.”
“What?” Wanda gasps, feeling her body protest as the vibrations stop. Her mind is reeling, pleasure fading quickly as stimulation is stripped away from her.
Natasha rounds the bench again, smirking at the horrified look on Wanda’s face. She leans down, grabbing the soft skin of her jaw and forcing her to look her in the eye.
“I forgive you for being a brat, but that doesn’t mean you won’t get punished. I wanted to touch you during dinner, innocently, might I add. You denied me. So now, I’m denying you.” She lets go of Wanda’s jaw. “Doesn’t feel good, does it?”
Wanda closes her eyes briefly, letting her head drop to the leather bench with a soft thunk.
“No, ma’am. It doesn’t feel good.”
“Remind me, Wanda. What rules did you break?”
Breathing heavily, Wanda opens her mouth to answer. Natasha decides to turn on the vibrator at that exact moment, clicking up the intensity until Wanda moans.
“Fuck, um.”
“Watch your language.”
Wanda nods. “Yes, ma’am. I didn’t wear the exact outfit you laid out for me.”
The vibrations increase again. Wanda’s body is on fire, pleasure tearing through her. She valiantly speaks again, her voice strained with need.
“I didn’t let you touch me. I- I closed my legs… please ma’am, please let me cum.”
The last few words come out as more of a sob. Wanda can’t help it. She needs to cum, the older woman working her body perfectly. She doesn’t think she’s ever been this desperate before.
“Cum for me, Wanda.”
The orgasm that washes over her is powerful. Wanda gasps into the leather, biting down slightly as she feels herself convulse in pleasure. Her wrists strain against the leather holding her in place. The vibrator doesn’t stop, even as her orgasm tears through her.
Natasha’s fingers sink into her, the added fullness pressing against her buttplug.
“Oh, wait I-”
“Color?”
Wanda whimpers, feeling a second orgasm rising as she’s fucked through aftershocks from her first orgasm. “Green.”
“Then you can take it.”
Natasha pumps her fingers, Wanda’s arousal coating them generously. She clicks the vibrator down a little, not wanting the pleasure to turn painful.
“Please, can I cum again, ma’am?”
“Good girl for remembering to ask.” Natasha’s voice sounds pleased. Her fingers curl as she fucks Wanda harder. “Cum for me, Wanda.”
Her second orgasm rushes through her, less intense than the first but still pleasurable. It almost makes up for the denial she’d gone through earlier.
Wanda all but collapses against the bench, her limbs weak as she feels her body go limp as the aftershocks leave her. The vibrator clicks off, and she can feel Natasha undoing the bondage tape as the vibrator finally pulls away from her sensitive clit. She can feel her eyes closing slightly.
“I’m going to take out the buttplug, okay?”
She just nods and makes a sleepy sound. Natasha chuckles behind her, before strong fingers are gently pulling the toy out. Since she’s fully relaxed now, it slides easily out, and Natasha sets it aside to clean as she quickly pulls the velcro on the restraints, freeing Wanda’s trapped limbs.
“Alright, sleepy girl,” Natasha murmurs, holding Wanda around the waist as she leans into her. “Shower and then bed.”
“Will you stay with me?”
Green eyes soften. “Of course, anything you want.”
“Because I’m yours, right?”
Natasha pauses, smiling as she leads Wanda to the shower.
“That’s right, Wanda. You’re mine, completely.”
Wanda blinks sleepily as the shower turns on. “And you’re mine, right?”
“Yes. I’m completely yours, Wanda. I don’t want anybody else, and I won’t share you,” Natasha murmurs, leaning in. “I’m quite possessive.”
“Ha,” Wanda deadpans. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Get your smartass in the shower,” Natasha says, rolling her eyes as she gently slaps the younger woman’s ass. “I’ll be back in a few minutes once I’ve cleaned the toys, okay?”
Wanda nods, stepping under the hot stream of water and sighing in relief. Fuck, maybe she should brat out more. She really loves a pissed off Natasha, it seems.
She smiles at the last part of their conversation. Giddiness shoots through her, and she’s suddenly wide awake. She was Natasha’s. And Natasha was hers.
A sharp pang of satisfaction runs through her, and she smiles.
It seems that Natasha Romanoff isn’t the only one with a possessive streak.
summary: y/n rebuilt her life in piltover, burying the trauma—and the love—she lost in the undercity.
but when vi reappears, alive and changed, the memories she buried begin to claw their way back.
some ghosts don't stay dead. and some wounds never heal.
wc: 3k
cw: description of a panic attack
notes: double update to make up for taking so long with the other one and also bc i’ll take even longer (hopefully not) with the next one lmao (my week will be very busy 😭😭😭)
masterlist - part five
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Caitlyn was the first to stir, her low grunts and muttered curses breaking through the muffled haze.
“I knew this was a bad idea,” she groaned, tugging weakly at the ties binding her wrists.
When you came back to yourself, your head throbbing, you let out a dry laugh that held no humor. “I told you not to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.” Your voice was hoarse, tired. Honestly, you were exhausted with this entire day—it felt like you’d lived a lifetime in less than twenty-four hours.
“I knew we shouldn’t have trusted Vi,” Caitlyn muttered bitterly.
“Oh, this is not on her,” you snapped back. “I told you this was dangerous. You knew what you were walking into when you dragged your ass to Stillwater.”
The three of you were tied against a row of rusted pipes, bags over your heads, the scratchy cloth clinging to your face with every shallow breath. Claustrophobia crawled in your chest like a living thing.
“Why are you defending her?” Caitlyn’s voice was sharp, frustrated. She jerked at her bindings again, the sound of rope straining filling the air. “She’s the one who didn’t tell me her sister was Jinx. And you—” she turned her anger on you now, “you knew.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” You rolled your head back against the pipe with a thud. “Lies of omission are the least of our problems right now.”
As the words left your mouth, a sharp gasp split the silence—followed by a grunt of pain. From behind you.
“Vi!?” You thrashed against your ropes, panic surging in your veins. “Vi, are you okay?”
Caitlyn sighed loudly beside you, exasperation bleeding from her every breath. You could practically feel her eyes rolling through the bag.
After a beat, Vi’s voice came, shaky but trying to sound steady. “Yeah, I’m fine.” It wasn’t convincing. Her tone was too small, too thin, as though even speaking cost her.
“I knew it was a mistake trusting you,” Caitlyn shot, venom in her voice as she struggled with her cuffs again.
“You’ve been a real picnic yourself,” Vi rasped back, and despite everything, she sounded a little more alive—more like her.
“I’m not the one who walked us into two of Silco’s traps,” Caitlyn bit back.
“This isn’t Silco,” you interrupted firmly, sensing where this was heading. The way these people moved, the way they handled you—it didn’t fit Silco’s brand of chaos. It was colder, cleaner. “It’s someone else.”
“How would you know that?” Caitlyn asked, suspicion dripping from her words.
“Because we’d already be dead if it was him,” Vi said flatly.
“Oh, wonderful,” Caitlyn huffed, her sarcasm cutting sharp through the darkness. “And when exactly were you planning to tell me that your lunatic sister works for him?”
You groaned, pinching your eyes shut under the suffocating bag. “Here we go…”
“Just as soon as you came clean about what the hell you’re really doing down here,” Vi shot back, her own sarcasm biting.
“I told you the truth,” Caitlyn said defensively.
“Bullshit,” Vi spat, the word like venom.
“She wasn’t lying, Vi,” you cut in quietly, but with enough steel to be heard. Your wrists burned from twisting against the ropes, raw skin stinging. They’d taken your knife; you were defenseless. All that was left to do was sit there and wait—wait for whatever came next.
“What was that glowing stone?” Vi demanded suddenly.
Caitlyn sighed but didn’t answer.
“That’s what I thought,” Vi muttered darkly.
The pipes around you groaned as metal shifted. A sliver of light leaked through the rough cloth over your head. Shadows moved. Someone was dragging something heavy across the floor.
“What’s going on?” you demanded, voice sharp with fear.
Caitlyn grunted at your side, but before she could answer, Vi’s voice rang out, furious. “Hey! Stop! Get your hands off me!”
“Leave her alone!” you shouted, yanking at your restraints until your wrists screamed in pain. You didn’t care. You couldn’t let them take her again.
“Let me go!” Vi’s voice strained—and then the sound of a heavy door slamming shut cut through the air, leaving the room echoing with silence.
“Vi!” you screamed, your voice breaking as it tore from your throat.
Panic rushed over you in waves. The bag on your head suddenly felt too tight, too heavy—like it was collapsing around your face. Every breath came shallow and ragged, your chest heaving as the edges of your vision darkened.
“Y/N!” Caitlyn’s voice broke through the haze, sharp at first, then softening. “Y/N, listen to me. You need to breathe.”
But you couldn’t. The panic was louder, crashing over her words like waves.
“Y/N, please—focus on my voice.” Her tone wavered, her usual steel cracking under the strain. “Vi’s strong. She’s not gone. She’s… she’s fine. You’ll see her again, I promise.”
Her words barely registered through the suffocating cloth and your hammering heart.
“You can’t promise me that,” you croaked, the words escaping in a trembling whisper. Your eyes were squeezed shut, tears prickling hot behind your lids. Your chest rose and fell too fast, every inhale shallow and sharp like you were drowning inside the bag.
“The three of us—we’re going to get out of this. Together.” Caitlyn’s voice pressed closer, thick with desperation. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you’re not alone. I’m right here. And Vi—Vi wouldn’t want you to lose yourself like this. You know that.”
You shook your head weakly, breath hitching as panic clawed at you.
“You don’t know that! You don’t know her like I do—you don’t know what they could do to her.” Your voice cracked on the last word, breaking apart.
“Please, Y/N.” Caitlyn’s voice softened, breaking in a way you’d never heard from her before. She was always so composed, so sharp. Now she sounded raw, almost pleading. “Breathe with me. Just… just breathe. For her. For me.”
You felt movement against the pipes, the scrape of metal as Caitlyn dragged herself closer until the warmth of her body pressed against your side. The sudden contact grounded you, a solid weight holding you steady in the storm. If your hands weren’t tied, you would have clung to her just to anchor yourself.
“Focus on me,” she whispered, slowing her own breaths deliberately, letting the rhythm fill the space between you. “In and out. Match me. That’s it… just listen to me.”
You tried. Gods, you tried. Each inhale burned, each exhale shook, but slowly you forced yourself to follow her. You counted in your head, clinging to the sound of her measured breaths and the faint tremor in her voice.
You stayed pressed against each other for what felt like an eternity, until the jagged edges of your panic dulled just enough to let air seep into your lungs.
“Are you better?” Caitlyn asked at last, her voice hushed but steady, still right by your side as though she refused to move until you answered.
“A little…” you whispered back, afraid that if you spoke louder, all the fragile air in your lungs would shatter and leave you gasping again.
“A little is better than nothing.” She let out a small, tired sigh. There was a beat of silence before she added, gently, “For the little I know of Vi, she’s… resilient. Hell, she’s nearly gotten herself killed three times since I’ve met her, and she’s still standing. She’ll be fine.”
Her attempt at comfort made your throat tighten. You wanted to believe her, wanted to hold on to that image of Vi as unbreakable, but the worst-case scenarios still spun relentlessly through your head.
The sound of a door creaking open jolted you like a shock. Dread filled your lungs, undoing what little calm Caitlyn had helped you find.
Footsteps echoed. You heard Caitlyn’s breathing hitch beside you, then a harsh noise.
“What is going on?” you demanded, your voice sharp, desperate. Before you could process it, something hit the floor, followed by the splash of water.
“What have you done with Vi?” Caitlyn demanded, her voice icy steel despite the fear beneath it.
“Can you get this fucking bag off my head?” you cried out, panic surging again. The cloth clung to your damp skin, suffocating you all over again.
“Listen, let her go!” Caitlyn’s voice cracked now, fraying at the edges. “I brought her here. It’s me you want. Leave her out of this!”
“Caitlyn—what is going on?” you asked again, panic bleeding into every syllable. Your throat was tight, air sharp in your lungs. Before she could answer, hands yanked the bag off your head.
Light stabbed at your eyes. You blinked rapidly, adjusting to the sudden brightness, shapes and colors slowly sharpening into focus.
“My hero,” came a playful voice. Your heart lurched before your eyes even found her.
“Vi…”
You turned sharply, but your attention snapped when you saw the boy standing in front of you, the rough cloth that had suffocated you dangling from his hand.
“Ekko?” you breathed, disbelief cutting through the haze.
“You’re—” Caitlyn’s voice faltered in open shock. “But I thought you… I thought they were hurting you!”
“Vi tells me I can trust you.” Ekko’s sharp gaze shifted to Caitlyn, then softened just slightly. “You get a pass back topside. That’s it. No more.” ────────────────────── The transition from the suffocating room to where Ekko had brought you felt unreal, like stepping between worlds. You blinked against the sudden brightness, lungs expanding with air that didn’t smell of mold and rust.
Above you, a massive tree stretched its branches, leaves catching the light in dappled shades of green.
Children darted through the roots, laughter ringing out like music, and birds sang from their perches high above. The air was fresh, alive, carrying the faint sweetness of soil and blossoms.
“It’s beautiful…” Caitlyn whispered under her breath, her eyes wide with awe. For a moment she looked like a child seeing magic for the first time, like she’d stumbled into a fairytale she didn’t quite believe could exist.
You glanced at her, then at Vi. She was close—closer than you’d realized at first, her shoulder brushing yours, her presence buzzing in your chest. But something about her was different. Not wrong… just shifted.
Her body was tense, her posture tight, yet there was a softness in it too, as though she was fighting herself—like she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if she should. And the way she looked at you… it wasn’t the indifferent, almost cold distance you had grown used to in the past day or so. No, this gaze was softer, careful, almost fragile. It reminded you of the way she used to look at you.
And suddenly, against all logic, hope bloomed in your chest.
“Can we talk?” she murmured, her fingers brushing your sleeve. The touch was so light it was almost nothing, but to you it felt like fire, pulling every nerve in your body taut.
You swallowed hard, your eyes flicking briefly to Caitlyn and Ekko. They were locked in a heated debate, voices low but sharp, neither willing to bend. You could barely make out the words, but you knew it was probably important. But Vi’s eyes never left you.
The way she looked at you—it ached. It was too familiar, too much like the Vi you remembered.
“Yeah,” you breathed, the word shaky on your lips. You let her tug you gently away.
She led you to a wall painted with faces. Dozens of them. Some you knew instantly—ghosts from your past, friends who never came back. Others you didn’t, but their presence was the same: loss, grief, remembrance etched in every brushstroke. A mural of loss and memory.
Vi stopped there, staring silently. You could see her jaw clench, her hands flexing at her sides as though she didn’t know what to do with them.
“I…” She faltered, lips parting and closing again, nerves written across her face. The last time you saw her this unsure, this nervous, was the night she officially asked you out. That memory hit you like a wave—her shifting from foot to foot, pretending to be cocky, but her eyes giving her away.
The similarity tugged a smile out of you before you could stop it.
“I remember,” she whispered at last, her voice catching like the words had to fight their way free.
Your breath hitched, the air thick in your lungs. For a moment, you didn’t know what to do with yourself—your lips opened and closed soundlessly, and you knew you probably looked ridiculous.
“You… you remember?” Your voice cracked, hope lacing every syllable. A smile broke across your face, unsteady but growing. “Everything?”
She nodded.
You couldn’t stop yourself—you threw yourself into her arms, holding her so tightly you felt the air rush from her chest. She froze for half a second, startled, then wrapped her arms around you, pulling you in like she never wanted to let go.
After a beat, her voice came muffled against your shoulder. “You’re not mad at me?”
You pulled back just enough to cup her face in your hands, your thumbs brushing her cheeks. “Mad at you? Why would I be mad at you?”
Her eyes darted away, guilt flickering in them. “I left you alone… and when you finally found me, I treated you like shit. And then—” her jaw tightened— “I flirted with another girl right in front of you.”
You let out a shaky laugh, half exasperated, half relieved. “Oh my god, Violet,” you said, squeezing her face gently so she couldn’t look away. “I could never be mad at you. And you didn’t leave me. You were taken from me.”
Her eyes flicked back to yours, uncertain, searching.
“It’s not your fault” you told her firmly.
She dropped her gaze again, but you wouldn’t let her. You tilted her face back up, forcing her to meet your eyes.
“It’s not your fault” you repeated, this time with a seriousness that left no room for doubt. You knew how much she carried—Powder, the years lost, the guilt of leaving her behind. And you knew if you didn’t stop it now, she’d add you to the endless list of people she thought she’d failed.
“Not then. Not now. Not ever.”
Her eyes shimmered, the tough facade cracking just a little as she let your words sink in.
You lingered in Vi’s embrace a moment longer, reluctant to let go, but reality pressed in around you. The laughter of children echoed faintly, the hum of the Firelights’ sanctuary alive with movement and voices. For a second it felt almost normal, like the world hadn’t fallen apart.
But Vi drew in a sharp breath, pulling herself back together, and you both turned toward the sound of raised voices.
Caitlyn and Ekko stood only a few feet away, tension crackling between them like a live wire. Ekko’s arms were crossed tight over his chest, his stance closed-off, defensive, his expression sharpened into something that looked a lot like contempt. Caitlyn, on the other hand, was holding her ground, her posture rigid, voice calm but edged with urgency—pleading, but refusing to yield.
“You need to let me take that back,” Caitlyn said firmly, her gaze fixed on the blue gemstone in Ekko’s hand. The faint shimmer of the hexstone caught the light, almost taunting in its beauty.
Ekko curled his fingers around it, hiding it from view. “And what exactly is it?” he asked coldly.
“It’s a gemstone,” Caitlyn explained, trying to keep her tone even. “Jinx stole it during the attack. If the Enforcers are escalating, pushing harder into the Undercity, it’s probably because of this.”
You stepped forward before the tension could climb higher, your voice breaking through. “With that stone, anyone with the right knowledge could build hextech. Weapons. Bombs. Things that could level half a district.”
Vi shifted beside you, her voice rougher, steadier. “That’s not power you want floating around down here, Ekko. Not in Powder’s hands. Not in anyone’s.”
Ekko’s jaw tightened, but his eyes flickered with something—hesitation, calculation. “Or,” he countered, “with this, we could actually beat Silco. Turn the tables for once.”
Caitlyn shook her head quickly. “That won’t solve anything.”
“Easy for you to say,” Ekko shot back, his voice rising. “Your people aren’t dying all around you!”
His words landed heavy in the air. And he was right. Caitlyn had never seen the kind of death Ekko had. Neither had you, not really—not like this. You swallowed, the truth of it pressing against your ribs. The last twenty-four hours alone had proven what you had tried so hard not to admit: things had only grown worse since Vander’s death.
“Ekko,” Caitlyn said gently, her tone softening. “It’s wrong what’s been done to you. To all of you. And you’d be well within your rights to keep it—I couldn’t blame you. But if you do, the cycle never ends. You’ll just trade one tyrant for another. Please. Let me help you.”
Ekko’s stare lingered on her, guarded but not as sharp as before. “You got a plan?” he asked after a beat, voice losing some of its bite.
You took a breath and stepped in. “We do. We have a friend on the council. Someone we can actually trust.”
Caitlyn straightened, catching your thread. “Let me take the gemstone to him. He’ll listen. And if he does… your people wouldn’t have to hide anymore. This could change everything.”
Ekko didn’t reply right away. His gaze drifted to the children in the distance, their laughter faint but distinct, cutting through the tension like fragile birdsong. He rubbed his thumb over the gemstone, lost in thought.
Finally, he looked back at the three of you. “One condition,” he said flatly.
“What condition?” Caitlyn asked, her voice low, already bracing for the answer.
Ekko’s eyes narrowed, but there was no hatred there now—only steel. “I’m the one who gives it to them.”
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