FANDOMS: Arcane, Law & Order, Criminal Minds——————————————————
REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!
——————————————————
The Devil Wears Prada:
Miranda Priestly x Reader
——————————————————
Arcane:
Ambessa Medarda x Reader
Cassandra Kiramman x Reader
Sheriff Grayson x Reader
Sevika x Reader
————————————————————————
Law & Order: SVU
Casey Novak x Reader
Rita Calhoun x Reader
————————————————————————
Criminal Minds:
Emily Prentiss x Reader
Tara Lewis x Reader
————————————————————————-
SOME PROMPTS TO REQUEST: PICK AT LEAST 3 PROMPTS FOR THE SAME CHARACTER :)
————————————————————————
Hey guys my name is Nirvana. 20 years old. She/her. Stressed student 😭😪. Capricorn. English is my second language so please be kind. Poc. Raging LESBIAN!!!. From South Africa. Love to read. learning how to write (so send in requests). Introvert. Animal Lover. Milf Lover!!!. Ambessa’s wife.
Summary: After years of tension, Emily and Reader finally give in. No more objections. No more denials. (part 2 of Cross Examinations)
Warnings: enemies to lovers, rough sex, power play, office setting, dom!Emily, biting, desk sex, semi public tension release, jealousy, unresolved tension snapping hard.
MEN & MINORS DNI: 18+ ONLY!!!
————————————————————————
Emily slammed the file shut with a little more force than necessary.
“Do you enjoy wasting federal resources, Counselor?” she snapped without looking up, pen clutched in her hand like a weapon. Her voice was sharp, but low. Dangerous.
You smiled slowly, that practiced, courtroom calibrated smirk that always made her grit her teeth. “Not nearly as much as I enjoy watching you pretend I don’t get under your skin.”
Her jaw clenched.
You walked around her desk slowly, heels clicking deliberately… closer, closer, until she had to look up or risk being towered over. Her gaze rose, flicking up your body, your blouse, your mouth.
And you knew she wanted to bite it.
You leaned in, one hand resting on the corner of her desk. “You going to arrest me, Agent Prentiss?” you asked, low and suggestive.
Emily stood up. Fast. Chair scraping behind her. She didn’t say a word, just stepped into your space until your perfume and her fury blended into something volatile.
Her hand gripped your jaw, not gentle. “You think I won’t?” she said, voice like smoke, like gasoline.
Your breath caught.
“You’re not going to cuff me, Emily,” you whispered, heart pounding, “You’re going to fuck me.”
Something snapped.
She shoved everything off her desk in one swift motion, papers, pen, that stupid ceramic BAU mug, all crashing to the floor in a chaos that matched the pounding in your chest.
“Turn around,” she ordered.
You did. Slowly. Deliberately. You heard her breath hitch the second you arched your back against the desk, skirt tight over your hips. She didn’t hesitate. Hands gripped your waist, dragging your hips back hard against her. You gasped, more from how badly you wanted this than from surprise.
“You act like you’re in control,” she growled into your ear, one hand fisting in your hair and yanking your head back. “But you walk in here like a fucking temptation and expect me not to lose it?”
You moaned.
“Tell me to stop.”
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
Her hand slid up your thigh, dragging your skirt higher until it was bunched at your waist. Her other hand, ruthless and confident, was already at your panties, yanking them down your legs without care. “I’ve hated every smug word out of your mouth,” she muttered, voice thick with desire, “but God, I’ve dreamt about shutting you up like this.”
And she did.
Two fingers inside you in one hard thrust. You cried out, forehead hitting the desk with a soft thud. She didn’t give you time to adjust, she knew you could take it. Knew you wanted it rough. Her fingers curled expertly, finding that spot instantly and abusing it with precision that came from studied frustration.
Your hips jerked. “Emily…fuck…”
She bit the back of your shoulder. Not soft. You arched under her, every nerve in your body catching fire.
“You don’t get to fall apart yet,” she hissed, pumping faster. “You walk in here like you own the damn room. Let’s see how cocky you are when you’re moaning my name into this desk.”
You were close. So fucking close.
But she pulled her fingers out.
You whimpered. “Emily…”
“Turn around.”
Your legs nearly buckled as you did. She grabbed your hips, lifted you up onto the desk, papers crinkling under your back, and spread your legs like she’d been waiting years to do it.
“You’ve had this coming since the first time you opened that pretty little mouth,” she muttered, stripping off her blazer and throwing it aside. Her eyes dragged down your body like she wanted to ruin you.
She undid your blouse. Slowly. Torturously. But when she saw your lace bra underneath, she growled…low, deep, primal and ripped it open. Buttons flew.
“You’re not delicate,” she said, almost admiring. “I don’t have to be careful with you.”
“Then don’t,” you dared.
She didn’t.
She dropped to her knees, no hesitation and buried her face between your legs like a woman starved. You cried out, hand fisting in her hair, trying to keep up with the onslaught of tongue and teeth and heat.
She knew exactly what she was doing. Her rhythm was devastating. One hand held your thigh wide, firm and possessive, while the other reached up to grip your breast, fingers pinching just enough to drive you higher.
“Jesus, Emily…” you gasped.
She sucked hard, once. You shattered.
You were still panting when she stood, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, watching you with eyes blown wide and dark with hunger.
“I’m not done.”
She unzipped her pants and pulled you back to the edge of the desk. Bent over you, kissed you hard, biting your lip, forcing you to taste yourself on her tongue. It was messy. Rough. Perfect.
Her thrusts were punishing. Deep. She fucked you like she hated you. Like she loved every second of ruining you.
The sound of skin, panting, the slap of her hips against yours, it was obscene. Filthy.
She wrapped a hand around your throat, light pressure, but enough to make your eyes roll back.
“You wanted rough,” she growled, slamming into you harder. “You get rough.”
Your nails raked down her back. She hissed and bit your shoulder again, moaning against your skin as you clenched around her.
“Gonna come again for me, counselor?” she whispered, dragging her hand between your bodies to rub tight circles on your clit. “Show me how that mouth moans my name.”
You came with a cry, loud and wrecked. Your body convulsed, legs shaking. Emily didn’t stop until you were begging. She kissed you again, like she could drink the aftershocks from your mouth.
When she finally pulled away, she was breathless, flushed, and looked utterly victorious.
“You’re still a fucking menace,” she muttered.
You smiled, ruined and sated. “But I’m your menace now, Chief Prentiss.”
————————————————————————
AN: here is the long awaited part two… hope you guys enjoyed it<333
Summary: Emily is the Unit Chief and Reader is a defense attorney the BAU can’t seem to shake.
Warnings: Mature language, sexual tension, and suggestive content.
MEN & MINORS DNI: 18+ ONLY
————————————————————————
Emily Prentiss didn’t dislike you.
She loathed you.
Or at least, that’s what she told herself every time you strutted into the bullpen like you were walking a goddamn runway.
Today was no different.
Black pencil skirt. Silk blouse in a shade of green that made your skin glow. Designer heels that probably cost more than one of her team’s monthly rent. And perfume, of course you wore perfume. Jasmine, maybe. Bergamot. Something soft and slow burning, like the kind of flame that couldn’t be put out with water.
She knew the second you stepped off the elevator.
“Chief Prentiss,” you said with that voice… velvety, slightly amused. A lawyer’s voice, calculated and polished, but never lacking heat. “Nice to see you haven’t lost your affinity for the color black.”
“Don’t you have a courtroom to haunt?” Emily muttered, eyes not even rising from her paperwork.
But your heels clicked closer.
She looked up anyway.
Mistake.
Your lips curled, not quite a smirk, not quite a smile, as you took in the sight of her behind her desk. You always looked at her like she was a riddle you’d already solved but were still amused by.
“I’m here for the Hayes case. You’re trying to pin him for the Utah bodies now, hmm?” You took a seat across from her without asking, legs crossing deliberately. She tried not to stare, but you made it difficult, everything about you was deliberate.
“He killed three women,” Emily snapped.
“You have no physical evidence.”
You leaned forward, resting your elbow on the armrest, chin in your palm. “But I do admire your commitment to assumptions.”
“You admire a lot of things from that side of the courtroom,” Emily said, a muscle ticking in her jaw.
“Oh, I do,” you said sweetly, eyes trailing across her face with the kind of look that was halfway between flirtation and challenge. “But none of them are assumptions.”
Emily hated that your words made her shift in her seat. Just slightly. Subconsciously. Like she needed space from you and your… goddamn skirt.
And your thighs.
And the flash of red soles she hadn’t meant to look at.
“I assume you’re here to get under my skin,” she said flatly.
You smiled. “I don’t need to try, Chief. That’s just a happy side effect.”
⸻
Hotch used to say control the room, or the room controls you.
Emily was the room. Had been for years.
Except when you were in it.
You’d started showing up more and more, representing slippery clients with just enough reasonable doubt to ruin months of investigation. Even Garcia muttered your name with a kind of reverence that bordered on distaste. (“She’s like a sexy Slytherin,” she whispered once. “If the Sorting Hat was a pair of stilettos.”)
The team barely tolerated your presence. Emily pretended she didn’t count the days since you’d last been in the office.
Three.
You returned on the fourth.
⸻
“You know you have a type, right?”
You were leaning against the wall near the coffee machine like it was a bar. Emily hadn’t even noticed you walk up, too focused on her tablet.
She glanced over. “What the hell are you talking about?”
You took a sip from your obnoxiously oversized latte, the red on your lips not smudging a single bit. “Murderers. You’re attracted to them.”
Emily blinked.
You winked. “Which explains why I fascinate you.”
Emily gave you a dead stare. “You’re not a murderer.”
“Oh, but I am criminally attractive.” Another sip. “And you’ve been looking at my ass since I got here.”
Emily’s throat tightened.
“I have not,” she bit out.
You leaned in, your perfume making her eyelids flutter. “You have. Every time I walk away. I hear the pause in your breath.”
Emily stared at you, inches between your faces. “You’re full of yourself.”
“And you’re full of unresolved tension,” you said, brushing past her to throw away your cup.
Her eyes, traitorous… followed the sway of your hips as you walked off.
Damn it.
⸻
That night, she dreamed about you. Again.
⸻
The next time you came in, Emily thought she was ready.
Wrong.
You wore red.
Tight fitting, sleeveless, bold. A dress that made it impossible not to look. Her jaw clenched as you walked toward her office, the team parting like the Red Sea. Morgan once called you a “weapon of mass distraction.” He wasn’t wrong.
“Got a minute, Chief?”
Emily hated how much her heart jumped at the sound of your voice.
Barely looking up, she gestured toward the chair. “Sit. Make it quick.”
You sat, crossed your legs again, and she had to look at the desk instead of your knees.
“I wanted to go over the forensic report. You know, the one that’s about to collapse your entire case?” Your voice was lilting, singsong. “Unless you’ve suddenly got a confession tucked under your blouse.”
Emily narrowed her eyes. “I could say the same about your morals.”
“Touché.”
The conversation dissolved into the usual verbal chess. Parry, jab, smirk. At one point you stood to leave, and Emily’s eyes, again betrayed her, skimming your hips.
“You know,” you said without turning around, “it wouldn’t kill you to admit you like me.”
“I don’t,” Emily said sharply.
You turned your head, lips gleaming. “Sure. That’s why you look like you want to throw me on your desk every time I sit across from it.”
Emily stood so quickly her chair skidded back. “That’s enough…”
You were in front of her in two steps, eyes glinting, voice low and warm. “You think you hate me because I argue with you. But it’s not the arguments keeping you up at night.”
Emily’s eyes dropped to your lips. God help her.
Your fingers brushed her wrist. Light. Curious.
Then…
Knock knock.
Rossi poked his head in. “Emily? You wanted the updated notes on the Hayes interviews…”
His eyes flicked to you. “Oh. Sorry to interrupt.”
You straightened. Emily took a step back so fast she nearly knocked into her desk.
“Not at all,” you purred. “We were just… cross examining.”
Rossi raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
You gave Emily a look over your shoulder, something unholy, knowing, and sinful all at once. “Later, Chief.”
And just like that, you were gone.
Leaving behind the scent of danger and damnation.
⸻
Emily didn’t sleep that night.
And when she did, it was restless, soaked in heat and silk and red lipstick.
⸻
She cornered you a week later.
You were standing outside the courthouse, sunglasses on, wind tousling your hair. Looking expensive. Impossibly smug.
“Chief Prentiss,” you said, unsurprised. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Do you ever stop performing?” she snapped.
You blinked, mock-offended. “You wound me.”
“I’m serious,” Emily hissed. “What the hell do you want from me?”
You took your sunglasses off slowly. The amusement in your eyes dimmed slightly, replaced by something deeper. “You think I’m playing with you.”
“Aren’t you?”
“No.” Your voice was low now. Dangerous in a different way. “I argue for a living. I don’t flirt with people I don’t want.”
Emily stared at you. The ground shifted under her feet.
“I think about you,” you added, stepping closer. “In your office. In your coat. In that ridiculous bulletproof vest.”
Emily’s breath caught.
You leaned in, lips inches from hers. “You’re not the only one who watches the other walk away.”
A beat.
Then another.
Emily didn’t kiss you.
But she didn’t walk away either.
She said your name.
Softly. Quietly. Like she wasn’t supposed to.
And you smiled.
“You don’t hate me,” you said gently, brushing a finger along her lapel. “You just don’t know what to do with me.”
She swallowed. “I’m your opposite.”
“No.” You leaned in, your lips just brushing her ear. “You’re just on the other side of the same fire.”
And then you walked away.
Red soles. Tight skirt. That perfume again.
Emily stood there far too long, pulse still racing.
Maybe she didn’t hate you after all.
Maybe the opposite of hate wasn’t love.
Maybe it was want.
And maybe, just maybe, she wanted you too much.
————————————————————————
AN: hey guys!! i know i was supposed to be working on some of the requests in my inbox, but i just couldn’t get emily and lawyer!reader out of my head 😭 the tension?? the banter????anywayyy let me know if you want a part 2 👀
also just a quick heads up that i’m super busy with exams right now, so i’m not sure when the next requests will be done 😓 some of them need a bit of editing too, so thank you for being patient with me!! ily <3
Hi im somone who's requested a ton of angst from you(actually the most recent fic you've done) and i just wanna say thank you for your writing because it makes me hurt physically in a good way, i hope you get an Ambessa figure in the future just for all of your dedication to the Ambessa ab riders🙏
LMAOOO thank you!!!!!! but honestly I love writing angst and for some reason it’s my love language… it brings me joy crafting heartbreak so potent it physically hurts (in a good way, obviously) lollllll
and if an Ambessa figure does show up at my door… tall, brooding, emotionally stunted, i’m locking the door behind us, and you’ll never hear from either of us😭😭
HIIII i really really like your work and I was wondering if you could do Ambessa x Reader angst(i love angst) where they get in an argument about Ambessa's distance n stuff but im the heat of the moment Ambessa accidentally hurts reader to the point r is kind of crying and just walks away and locks herself up and Ambessa is desperately trying to apologize, r decides to forgive her but act cold and indifferent so that Ambessa could see what it feels like because she's still trying to give r attention and love because she feels really guilty>:D
You stood by the window, arms crossed tightly over your chest as you stared out over the marble courtyard. The silence between you and Ambessa had stretched thin over the past few weeks, fragile as glass. You’d tried to tell yourself she was just busy. That running an empire demanded sacrifice. That her growing coldness wasn’t intentional.
But tonight?
You couldn’t keep it in anymore.
“I’m not asking for everything, Ambessa,” you said, voice strained. “Just something. A moment. A sign that I’m still more than a fixture in your life.”
She didn’t even look up from the scroll in her hands.
“That’s unfair,” she muttered.
“What’s unfair is loving someone who’s only present in theory.”
That got her attention. She turned, eyes hard.
“You think this life is easy?” she snapped. “You think I have the luxury of emotion every time you feel neglected?”
“It’s not about luxury, Ambessa… it’s about trying!”
Her voice thundered back. “And maybe I am trying. Maybe you’re just too fragile to see it.”
You flinched.
Her words cut sharper than any blade. But it was the way she stepped toward you, fist clenched, not to strike, but too fast, too furious, that made you instinctively step back and stumble. Your shoulder hit the edge of the stone table behind you. Hard.
Pain shot through your side.
She froze. Color drained from her face. “I didn’t mean…”
But you were already blinking through tears.
Not from the pain.
From the look on her face. From the realization that the one person who made you feel safest… had just made you feel small.
You didn’t say anything.
Just turned and walked out.
Locked the door behind you.
⸻
Later That Night
She knocked for hours. Whispered apologies through the door. You lay curled on the bed, silent.
By morning, you opened it.
But you didn’t return to her arms.
You passed her without a glance, lips pressed into a line, heart cracked open but sealed shut.
She reached for your hand.
You pulled away.
“Don’t,” you said, calm and cold. “Let’s not pretend.”
Her eyes glistened with something dangerously close to grief.
But you let her sit with it.
Just like you had.
⸻
The palace hadn’t changed, but Ambessa had.
Her posture was still proud, her commands still absolute, her image unshaken to the outside world. But behind closed doors, she was quieter. She hovered near you like a shadow, waiting for an opening that never came.
You ate meals across long tables in silence. She’d reach for your hand on occasion, once at dinner, another time in the garden but you gave her nothing but a glance. Not cruel. Just… indifferent.
She started sending flowers to your quarters. Rare desert blooms. Peonies from Piltover. A poem once, hand written and pressed between pages of a book she once caught you rereading.
You tucked them away.
Unopened.
Unburned.
You wanted her to feel the weight of what she had done, not just with her hands, but with her distance. The chasm she created.
And she did.
Ambessa was unraveling beneath your silence.
⸻
One Week Later
She stood in your doorway.
Rain tapped the stained glass like it was trying to fill the silence between you.
“I miss you,” she said finally, voice hoarse. “I miss your laugh. Your fire. Even your sharp tongue when I leave dishes in your study.”
You didn’t look up from your journal. “That version of me doesn’t exist anymore.”
Ambessa stepped inside slowly.
“Do you hate me?”
You closed the book. “No.”
That seemed to hurt more than yes.
Because if you didn’t hate her… then your silence was deliberate.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. She’d said it a dozen times before, but this time her voice cracked. “I was scared. Of needing you too much. Of letting you see how much this crown costs me. But I should’ve trusted you. I should’ve never…”
She stopped herself.
You watched her, carefully. “You should’ve heard me.”
She nodded, shame dragging her shoulders low.
“I don’t want you to beg, Ambessa. I want you to understand. That loving me comes with the cost of letting me in. Or you’ll end up ruling alone… surrounded by silence.”
Ambessa stepped closer, but didn’t touch you. “What do I do to earn you back?”
You stared at her for a long time.
“You start over. Slowly. Honestly. Without power games. And you sit with the ache like I did.”
She nodded.
And for the first time in weeks… you let her sit beside you.
i love it when you guys send in requests or just completely unhinged random stuff like seriously, it gives me life… even when someone’s like “I hate you and your writing.” I’m still like 🥹 thanks for reading bestie😭😖
Summary: You were sent by Piltover to monitor Councillor Sevika, not to end up tangled in her sheets with her mouth on your neck
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, strong language, g!p sevika
MEN & MINORS DNI: 18+ ONLY!!!!
————————————————————————
Zaun reeked of oil and heat.
You adjusted the cuffs of your too expensive coat as you stepped off the lift that had dragged you down from the pristine towers of Piltover into the underbelly of the undercity. You were sent as a delegate, an “observer,” your title had said. You knew what it really meant, a polite way of saying “spy with a smile.”
And of course, you knew who you’d be dealing with.
“Councillor Sevika will see you now,” said a gravel voiced assistant, barely looking at you as they opened the rusted iron doors.
You stepped inside.
She was seated like a warlord on a throne. A half burnt cigar hung from her lips, and the heavy coat of power weighed effortlessly on her broad shoulders. Her mechanical arm glinted in the low light as she leaned back, boots kicked up on her desk like she owned the whole city.
Because in many ways, she did.
“You’re the Piltie, huh?” Her eyes scanned you like a weapon… up, down, assessing. “I thought they’d send someone older.”
“And I thought they’d send someone less… arrogant,” you said, meeting her eyes without a flicker of fear. “But here we are.”
Sevika chuckled, low and sharp, removing the cigar and letting smoke curl between you. “I like the mouth on you,” she said. “Let’s see if you can keep it when things get real.”
⸻
Over the next few days, you danced around each other like fire and gunpowder. Every meeting was a battle of dominance, you in sleek Piltovan fabrics, her in leather and scars. You watched her command rooms with her voice alone, how even other councillors deferred to her without question.
But Sevika watched you, too.
She noticed the way you didn’t flinch in the face of Zaun’s chaos. She saw the sharp glint in your eyes when you asked hard questions and didn’t settle for easy answers. And when she caught you walking home alone at night… stupid, brave, or both, she didn’t offer you a ride.
She followed.
Just in case.
⸻
It was on the fourth night that it all snapped.
You were arguing again, this time about enforcement zones and territory neutrality. You accused her of protecting chem barons. She accused you of pretending Piltover wasn’t just as corrupt.
“You Pilties always act like you’re better than us,” Sevika growled, stepping into your space. Her voice was low, her presence suffocating.
“And you Zaunites act like pride makes up for a crumbling infrastructure and dying kids in alleyways!” you snapped back, chest rising.
There was a beat of silence.
Then Sevika’s eyes darkened, but it wasn’t just rage. It was something hotter. Rougher.
And then she kissed you… no, took your mouth like it had been hers all along.
You shoved her back against the door of her office, ripping open the buttons of your own coat, and she caught your wrists, spun you, slammed your back to the wall. The heat of her body pinned you, and her thigh forced its way between yours.
“You gonna act like you haven’t been wanting this since day one?” she growled against your throat, hand slipping beneath your blouse, squeezing possessively.
“I’m not acting,” you gasped, grinding into her.
Your lips are still tingling when you pull away, breathless and aching, Sevika’s hands tightening instinctively at your waist.
But your mind has already shifted, back to Piltover, to duty, to the world that doesn’t pause for lust or longing.
“I have to go,” you murmur against her mouth, eyes dark with a promise you don’t dare break.
You step back, smoothing your clothes, heart pounding. “To be continued,” you say with a crooked smile, and before she can stop you, you’re gone, leaving behind the scent of smoke, steel, and something dangerously unfinished.
————-
You didn’t expect to end up in Sevika’s office…again. The door slammed shut behind you with a definitive click, and the sound of your back hitting it came second only to her low, amused growl.
“Couldn’t stay away, could you?” she said, already crowding your space, one hand braced beside your head. The scent of smoke and leather clung to her, the heat of her body seeping into yours like wildfire.
You cocked your head, feigning boredom. “I came to renegotiate the terms.”
Sevika arched a brow. “With that mouth?” Her gaze dropped to your lips. “Yeah. I bet you did.”
You didn’t flinch as her fingers found the hem of your blouse… slow, deliberate, and began to undo the buttons one by one. She didn’t rush. She wasn’t the type. No, Sevika liked to unravel, and right now, you were the only thread in sight.
“You always wear this when you want to get your way?” she muttered, tugging the fabric aside to reveal the lace beneath. Her thumb brushed across the edge of your bra, just above your nipple, and you swore under your breath.
“Does it work?” you asked, lifting your chin.
That made her grin.
“Maybe.”
Her hands… one warm, the other cool and mechanical, skimmed along your sides, teasing as she pulled you closer by the hips. You hissed as her teeth grazed your throat, not quite biting, not quite kissing. You could feel her smirk when you shivered.
“I haven’t even touched you properly,” she murmured, voice rough against your skin. “And you’re already this wound up?”
“You talk a lot for someone who’s clearly dying to fuck me.”
That did it.
She shoved the rest of your blouse off and dragged her calloused palm across your stomach, dipping lower until her fingers brushed the waistband of your trousers.
“Off,” she said simply.
You toed your boots off, unzipped yourself… slowly, teasing while her eyes tracked every movement like a predator. When you stepped out of your trousers, she cupped your cheek.
“Turn around. Hands on the desk.”
You raised a brow. “Not even a kiss?”
Sevika leaned in, lips ghosting over yours… not quite touching.
“Earn it.”
You turned. The desk was cold under your palms, the metal biting into your skin as she stepped up behind you. Her fingers trailed along your spine, slow, reverent. She knelt behind you, unexpected, and then heat flooded you as she mouthed at the back of your thigh.
“Fuck,” you breathed.
She didn’t stop, lips and tongue trailing upward, over the curve of your ass, until she peeled your panties to the side and finally, finally buried her mouth between your legs.
One broad hand gripped your hip to keep you steady as her tongue worked you open. Her pace was maddening, slow, like she had all night. You whined, hips bucking slightly, but she just chuckled against you… deep and smug.
“Still think you’re in charge?”
“Still think… oh, gods… you’re clever?”
She sucked at your clit, tongue flicking until your legs trembled. When your knees nearly buckled, she stood, mouth shiny, eyes dark.
Then and only then, did she kiss you, rough and hungry, letting you taste yourself on her tongue.
You were practically dizzy when she whispered against your lips, “Now you can have it.”
Her pants dropped, and you could feel her against your thigh… hard, heavy, real.
You blinked. “You…”
“Surprised?” she grinned. “Told you Zaun had better tech.”
And when she pressed against you… thick, hot, the stretch almost unbearable, you bit her shoulder hard enough to bruise.
She moaned like it turned her on.
“That’s it,” she whispered, thrusting slow and deep. “Take it.”
You grit your teeth as Sevika’s cock pressed deep inside you, slow and deliberate. Every inch of her was unapologetically real, a contrast to the polished, icy mask she wore in council meetings. Here, in this dim, grimy room smelling of oil and metal, she was pure heat and control, and you were caught somewhere between wanting to break and be broken.
“Look at me,” she growled, voice rough and commanding, fingers tightening on your hip like iron bands.
You did, eyes locked with hers… fierce, wild, almost predatory. She bit her lip, biting down hard enough to draw a line of blood. Your heart hammered, adrenaline and desire mixing into a potent cocktail that had you trembling.
“Gods, you’re tight,” she hissed, the sound vibrating through you like a shockwave.
Her hands roamed over your body with brutal reverence, nails digging into your skin, palms pressing hard, making you arch up to meet her thrusts. She didn’t hold back, hips snapping forward with controlled violence that had your breath hitching.
“Say my name,” she demanded, teeth grazing your ear.
“Sevika,” you gasped, voice rough and ragged. “Please, Sevika…”
Her smile was savage. “Beg.”
You clenched around her, slick and hot, the tension building fast, fierce. The noise of the city outside was muffled, the only sounds between you were your ragged breaths, her low groans, and the slick slap of skin meeting skin.
“I want to hear you scream,” she whispered, grinding against you, claws tracing fiery trails down your back.
You did… a raw, ragged cry that echoed through the room, reckless and loud. Sevika’s grip tightened, her own breathing growing ragged as she plunged deeper, faster, shoving you toward the edge you’d been holding back.
“Fuck, you’re mine,” she spat, voice cracking with need.
And when she came… hard, shaking, teeth clenched, you came with her, shuddering through the aftershocks, nails digging into her shoulders as she held you tight, skin slick with sweat and something hotter than desire.
When she finally pulled out, you were limp across her desk, panting.
She leaned over, brushing her lips against your ear. “Next time, bring your data sheets,” she murmured. “I’ll fuck you on top of your own lies.”
