𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
(Sevika x reader | fight night, bratting, dom!Sevika, soft aftercare, blood and bruises, subby chaos, little smut, lot of yearning. First person POV.)
“you gonna yell at me if this stings?”
“try me.”
She’d told me to stay home.
Her voice was rough when she said it — not in the way I liked, not the way that made my thighs press together. It was flat, tight, like she’d already accepted that I wouldn’t listen. Like she already knew how the night would end.
Hair done up pretty, lips painted red, bratty little skirt and everything. I walked right into that smoke-thick bar like I belonged there — like I wasn’t hers, like I wasn’t the soft thing she warned the world not to touch.
The fight was already halfway through. She was in the ring, blood dripping down her jaw, knuckles red and mean. She saw me from across the crowd. Just a flicker. Just a look.
And I knew I was in trouble.
I didn’t say a word in the car. Just sat there, hands fidgeting in my lap, cheeks hot with shame and something sharper.
She didn’t say anything either.
Not until the door slammed behind us and I found myself shoved against it, her body pressed to mine, one hand braced beside my head while the other hooked under my thigh and lifted me up like I weighed nothing at all.
“You think this is a fucking game?” she growled, voice low and gravel-thick. “Wearing that skirt to my fight like you wanted me distracted. Like you wanted someone else to look.”
“I just wanted to watch,” I whispered, already breathless.
Her eyes dragged over my face, slow and dangerous. “You don’t fucking listen.”
And then her mouth crashed against mine.
The kiss was bruising — all teeth and tongue and frustration. She dragged me toward the couch like she was still half in the ring, still full of adrenaline and fury. I barely had time to gasp before she was on top of me, straddling my hips, pinning my wrists above my head.
“Always need to learn the hard way, huh?” she muttered, lips ghosting along my neck. “Always so fucking stubborn.”
I whimpered, thighs squirming under her, already aching.
Her hand slid up my skirt — fingers rough, unkind — and she didn’t even bother to be gentle. Two fingers pressed in, fast and deep, and I cried out, back arching.
“Bet this is what you wanted,” she said darkly, curling them just right. “Wanted to get fucked stupid after getting me worked up in front of everyone.”
I moaned something that might’ve been her name, might’ve been please — I wasn’t sure.
“You’re lucky I’m giving it to you at all.”
She didn’t stop until my legs were trembling, until I was clawing at her shoulders and sobbing out praise between broken moans. Her mouth followed her fingers, tongue flicking and curling and fucking me open until I was shaking from it — until my vision blurred and I forgot why I ever wanted to fight with her at all.
When I came, it was messy and loud. Desperate.
She just wiped her mouth and kissed me like she owned me.
The next morning, I found her at the kitchen table, wrapping the gash along her ribs with practiced hands. She hadn’t let me help the night before — too pissed, too focused on putting me in my place. But now she was quiet. Calm. Something softer in her shoulders.
I padded over in one of her shirts and slipped into her lap, gently taking the bandages from her fingers.
“Let me,” I said softly, pressing a kiss to her temple.
I cleaned the blood from her skin with damp cotton, careful and sweet. She flinched once — barely — and I whispered an apology, pressing another kiss just below the wound.
“I’m sorry for not listening,” I murmured.
She cupped my jaw with one bandaged hand, tilting my face up.
“You make me crazy, baby.”
Her voice was lower this time. Tired. Honest.
I leaned into her palm and smiled.
I kissed the scar on her cheek and promised, quietly, that I’d be good next time — but only if she kept holding me like this.
