— 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐎𝐒 —
summary!; bodyguard!sevika x reader > you are a PR management control for a band named faultline and things get messy and out of hand, which calls for a new security personnel.
wc; 5.7k — cw; dom top!sevika, bottom!reader, fingering, biting, scratching, lots of cursing, if you skim you’ll miss pet names, humping, MINORS DNI!!
notes - this is my first post! i intended for this to be a series if people like this fic, i have had this idea sitting in my drafts and finally decided to put it into words! enjoy!🌸 p.s. @littledykeblue account gave me the motivation to post! 💗💗💗 go check them out!
part 2 here!
Faultline. The only rock band that seemed to live up to its name. They’re messy, chaotic, and then turn the internet upside when they really want too.
And you? Well you have the damn luxury to be the fucking ductape of this band. Fucking backbone even. With only you having the pleasure of cleaning up their messes.
Every. Damn. Time.
The hallway outside the VIP lounge still smells like sweat, hairspray, spilled champagne, and ego. You shove the double doors open with both hands, the slam echoing loud enough to make a few crew members flinch from their seats.
“Jinx!”
She’s sprawled on a velvet couch like she’s the queen of a ruined empire, all glitter and eyeliner and zero remorse. You don’t know how she’s still smiling after what just happened. The show incident. The shouting match. The mic she nearly threw at Vi.
You storm toward her, ignoring the sidelong glances from assistants and event staff still pretending not to be eavesdropping.
She doesn’t even blink. Just props her boots on the armrest, upside-down and grinning like a menace. As if she's expecting this outburst from you. Cocky bastard.
“You know, if I had a dollar for every time you screamed my name—”
“—you’d be paying for the goddamn crisis PR team I had to hire after the last time you lost it in public!” you snap, jabbing a finger in her direction. “What the hell was that out there!?”
Jinx twirls a lollipop between her fingers like she’s twelve and invincible. “A family moment.”
“She bumped your shoulder.”
“She meant it.”
“She brushed you and you tried to bodycheck her in front of three different cameras and a live stream!” Your voice cracks as you throw your hands up. “You want me to lose this job? Because that’s the next step! I already had to fake two fucking apologies and bribe a damn blogger today!”
Jinx winks, her legs swinging off the couch with her elbows resting against her knees. “You’re so good at it though.”
“You’re going to be the reason I develop stress ulcers.”
“Could be worse,” she says, blowing a kiss. “Could be herpes.”
You let out a strangled sound.
That’s when you hear it—the quiet thud of boots on the hardwood near the door. You don’t need to look. You clocked her the second she walked in. Standing guard like she belongs in a damn action movie: arms crossed, black shirt stretched over muscle, one scarred eyebrow raised in calm observation.
Sevika.
Some newly hired personal security. Supposed to be here to “reinforce safety protocols and de-escalate threats.” Which, so far, you haven’t seen her do once. Considering that this is your first real encounter, her stance is a little intimidating. A little. You hadn’t spoken yet—not more than a nod when she was introduced earlier—but she’s been watching the room with that cold, unbothered stare the whole damn time.
You finally glance at her, jaw tight. “I assume you were hired to prevent a repeat of the Vi situation?”
Sevika doesn’t move. “Didn’t realize I was hired to babysit.”
Jinx loses it, nearly falling off the couch in laughter. You glare at both of them, pulse hammering behind your eyes.
“I don’t care what unresolved twin hell you two have going on,” you say, turning your focus back to Jinx. “The sponsors are jumpy. The label is breathing down my neck, and you guys haven’t even got halfway through your fucking tour yet! If I get one more email with the word rebrand, I’m going to walk into oncoming traffic.”
She rolls onto her stomach like a bored cat. “What happened to letting me be authentic?”
“Authentic doesn’t mean unhinged.”
“Pretty sure it does if you’re me.”
You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Unbelievable..”
You turn to leave—but Sevika shifts just slightly. She’s still leaning on the wall, but she subtly blocks the door with one arm, like she’s testing whether you’re going to keep unraveling.
You stop, your temper still burning like acid. “Something to add?”
She looks at you then—really looks. Not dismissive, not hostile. Just… assessing. Measuring the edge in your voice, the tight grip you still have on your clipboard, the wild mess of a job you’re doing to keep a whole brand duct-taped together.
“You good?” she asks, voice low and even. Not teasing. Just… steady.
You blink.
“…Yeah,” you say. “Totally thriving right now.”
She doesn’t smile, but something in her expression shifts. Like she’s seen this kind of pressure before, just not wrapped in eyeliner and a chaotic PR spin.
“You always this high-strung?” she asks, that same calm tone—but now with a little curiosity under it.
You bristle. “Only when I have to explain basic boundaries to a crazy grown ass woman.”
Jinx salutes from the couch.
Sevika tilts her head just slightly, that unreadable look still in place. “You hold it together better than most.”
You glance back at her, slightly narrowing your eyes. She’s unreadable. Solid. Completely unshaken by the chaos around her. And for some reason, that is the most unsettling thing of all.
“Yeah, well…” you mutter, pulling open the door. “Get used to it. This is only just a quiet night.”
You feel her eyes follow you out. And it’s not until the door swings shut behind you that you realize,
you're not entirely sure which one of them you should be more worried about.
──────────
You’re barefoot on a fake leather couch that squeaks every time you shift. Your heels are kicked off by the door, one of them scuffed—probably from when you chased Jinx off the fire escape earlier.
Your phone is at 6%.
The Notes app is open to an aggressively polite draft that reads:
“We’re aware of the situation that occurred between performers Jinx and Vi at tonight’s event. At this time, we…”
You delete the whole sentence in one angry swipe. This is fucking ridiculous. If Jinx just manages to keep her damn hands to yourself and her mouth shut, none of this would be necessary! You swear you’re going to grow gray hairs at this rate. With the two unhinged sisters going on tour. You had a feeling some shit was going to happen. Christ, this was only just the fourth show so far, and they have already messed up so much. But then again, who else would deal with their chaotic selves?
Regardless, a knock interrupts your train of thoughts.. Except not really. More like a dull tap tap against the open door frame.
You don’t look up.
“You're still here?” you mutter, thumbs pausing over the screen.
Sevika’s voice rumbles in like the bassline of a threat. Or a reassurance, “Didn’t hear an all-clear.”
You glance up. She's leaning in the doorway like she owns the place—jacket draped over one arm, sleeves rolled, expression unreadable. The overhead light hits her jaw just right. Of course it does.
“I didn’t realize I needed to declare the room emotionally decontaminated.”
Sevika walks in anyway.
She grabs one of the unopened water bottles from the counter, cracks it open, and drinks half without blinking. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to say anything. That silence is part of the intimidation package, probably.
You go back to the message:
“...mutual artistic tension between the performers is part of their established brand and we do not condone—”
No. God, no.
You throw your head back with a groan.
“I went to school for this,” you say out loud. “Media strategy. Corporate theory. Top of my class. And now I’m negotiating apologies between two adult women who threw mic stands at each other like they were on fucking Jerry Springer.”
Sevika huffs something that might be a laugh. “Sounds like you’re good at it.”
You glare at her over your phone. “Is that supposed to be comforting?”
“Nope.” She shrugs, then crosses to the armchair across from you and sits with the kind of heavy ease that only people like her can pull off. Like she's never once rushed a thing in her life. “Just calling it.”
You squint at her. “Do you even do anything? Or is looming your main job?”
“I stop things before they break,” she says, tone even. “You’re the one walking in when they’re already cracked.”
That hits. A little too accurately. Jeez she just started working too, you wonder how many similar scenarios she had seen compared to this. You go quiet. The only sound is the soft buzz of your phone warning you it’s now at 5%.
“I didn’t know about you until today,” you say finally, softer. “PR only told me after the Vi thing. That they were bringing in someone to... ‘manage conflict.’” You put the air quotes in hard.
Sevika nods once, unbothered. “They wanted someone who didn’t scare easily.”
You snort. “And yet you flinched when Jinx tried to light her setlist on fire.”
“That wasn’t flinching,” she says dryly. “That was calculating fire risk.”
You glance at her, then back at your phone, hiding a smile behind your knuckles. No, that wasn’t funny. Stop.
“I’m used to security being in the background,” you say after a beat. “Not...participating in group therapy by proximity.”
“You yell loud,” Sevika says. “Hard not to overhear.”
“That was just me being calm.”
She leans back a little, studying you. “Right. I’ll brace myself for when you’re actually pissed then.”
Another pause. Not awkward. Just...stretched.
You close the Notes app, giving up with a headline to fix the situation right now.
“They make me care too much,” you admit, voice quiet. “Jinx. Vi. All of them. And they don’t even know it. Or worse—they do, and they don’t care.”
You regret saying it the second it leaves your mouth. Shit, that made you sound vulnerable didn’t it? Worst part was they probably don’t even realize the amount of effort you put in just to keep their band going.
But Sevika doesn’t mock you. Doesn’t offer a half-assed platitude. She just nods, slow and steady, like she understands without needing to say it.
“You can’t fix people,” she says. “You just hold the line.”
You blink at her.
“I thought you weren’t here to give advice.”
“I’m not,” she says, standing again, stretching one shoulder with a quiet roll. “Just figured you looked like someone who needed to hear it.” She starts toward the door, jacket slung over her shoulder. But she stops before she leaves.
“You should plug in your phone,” she adds without turning around. “I’m assuming tomorrow’s gonna be worse.”
You smile despite yourself. “Thanks for the pep talk, Sevika.”
That scarred eyebrow lifts slightly. “Wasn’t one.”
Then she’s gone.
And you’re still sitting barefoot on a couch that smells like Jinx’s hairspray, staring at your phone screen, wondering what the hell just happened—and why it felt like someone finally saw you through all the damn chaos. Maybe she wasn’t so shady after all..
Actually, speaking of shady. Now you’re curious about Sevika, because she came out of nowhere earlier in the VIP room. A thought crosses your mind. You jump up to plug your phone in before it dies on you. Your phone has truly been through hell, at this point you need to be sponsored by high quality brands just to feel content.
Regardless, you grabbed your computer from your bag and went to sit back down on the fake leather couch, it giving that obnoxious squeak sound. You just rolled your eyes. Your fingers were quick to log in, as you clicked on a new browser typing in;
Sevika. Faultline security.
Nothing immediately comes up. You try just ‘Sevika’, and suddenly you’re scrolling through blurry photos: her towering outside venues, sunglasses on even at night, arms folded, always near chaos but never in it. One grainy paparazzi shot has her with her hand braced against someone’s chest—is that a Medarda? Anyways, she was holding her back mid-argument. The title reads:
“SECURITY OR BOUNCER BAE? WHO IS FAULTLINE’S MYSTERY MUSCLE?”
You chuckled, and kept scrolling.
She’s private. That much is clear. No Instagram, no interviews, no tags you can trace. But the fan forums are already on it. There’s a Reddit thread titled “Sevika thirst trap central” with hundreds of reposts.
You click it. Just for research. Obviously..
Clearly the entire page was just full of thirsty girls and possibly some blurry pictures here and there of Sevika. Eventually, you pause, thumb hovering over a photo of her from backstage—cigarette between her lips, arm slung over a crate like she owns the building. Professional interest, you tell yourself. But your stomach’s doing that thing.. and it shouldn’t. Ugh.
As you scroll, your thumb slows as you hit a post buried halfway down a forum thread titled "Faultline's Realest Ones". Most of it is memes and low-res gifs, but then— a user named spittinimage32 posts a screenshot of a blurred-out article, dated three years ago. The headline is cropped, but you can still make out part of it:
“...Security Contractor Under Investigation After Club Incident Leaves Two Hospitalized.”
Underneath is a zoomed-in still from grainy security footage. The photo quality is awful, but you recognize her—Sevika, unmistakable even in motion blur and shadow. Standing over a man doubled over on the pavement, one arm outstretched like she’s just landed a punch.
The caption under the post reads:
→ “Pretty sure this was her before she started working with musicians. Some private club Zaun. No charges were filed, but the story disappeared fast.”
You tap the article link. It’s dead. Damn, that’s some good management. Wish you had power like that.
Another comment below says:
→ “Medarda’s firm handled it. Probably paid the guy off.”
You stare at the screen, heartbeat picking up just slightly. The Medarda’s. They’re wealthy business owners, and wealthy like— dollar dollar bills wealthy and they don’t stop till they get what they want. This must’ve been serious, you think to yourself.
No official record. No explanation. Just that photo. Her fist. And two men in the hospital.
You suddenly remember how calm her voice was when she told you earlier, “I don’t step in unless I have to.”
Apparently, when she does, someone ends up in a trauma ward. But are you surprised? Not really. If she gets the job done then.. That's that. Although now you’re left wondering what truly happened in that situation.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
You wake up to the buzz of your phone—fifteen unread messages, three voicemails and especially one from your boss saying ‘fix it’, then at least ten push notifications from media outlets.
“BREAKING: Vi Allegedly Wants Out of Faultline,” “Is the Band Imploding?” and your personal favorite, “PR Nightmare or PR Genius?”
You scroll faster, heart thudding. There’s multiple blurry shots of Vi storming off stage, Jinx yelling with a microphone in her hand as if she’s about to throw it, and somewhere in the background—your face, mid-horrified gasp. You try to breathe, but the headlines keep coming. Sponsors threatening to pull out. The tour manager "checking in." The label asks where your “statement” is. And all of this before coffee.
Fucking hell you expected this. After the whole chaotic mess from last night, you didn’t think it would be this bad. But this? This is beyond fucked.
You're not even dressed when the emails start rolling in—
"URGENT: Clarify band status." "What’s the narrative here?" "Is Jinx okay?" "Is Vi leaving?"
You throw your phone on the bed. Immediately regretting it, picking it back up.
Your team’s group chat is useless. Two interns are arguing over font sizes for the Instagram apology and your assistant is asking if she should cancel the shoot or wait for someone else to make the call. Not even that but when you call both Jinx and Vi, neither of them picks up. You’ve probably messaged them more than a dozen times, acting like a damn desperate ex.
They’re lucky the next show isn’t until three weeks. But that only means three weeks to fix all of this shit.
You’re now pacing your hotel room in a hoodie, coffee going cold on the counter. There are like five open tabs on your laptop, and every headline feels like another layer of anxiety pressing down. The one that sticks out the most to you:
“Insiders say PR is losing control.”
and only probably because they’re right. You are losing it.
You hastily get dressed, the least thing you're doing is only making yourself look neat with your hair up and your makeup done but barely noticeable. The shirt you have on feels like a damn compressor against your chest as if it's restricting you to breath, and your jeans— god you look and feel like a fucking mess.
──────────
You storm into the temporary backstage office at the venue from yesterday’s show, clipboard in hand and murder in your eyes. There’s a junior label rep there—smug, unhelpful, sipping a green juice and scrolling on their iPad. You ask if they’ve handled the sponsor callback list. They blink at you. “We’re waiting to see how the narrative evolves.” They pause before adding, “Oh and— we’ve lost two sponsors.”
That’s when it happens.
You scream.
Something about "narrative evolution" and "branding alignment" and “how this isn’t a goddamn improv troupe, it’s a multi-million-dollar tour and we are hemorrhaging public goodwill like a gunshot wound!” You’re near tears. Frustrated. Helpless. And fucking livid. You’re talking too loud, your voice is breaking, and nobody is doing anything.
The room goes quiet. People freeze. Hell, some even have the audacity to back out of the room from you.
Then—
A low voice from behind you cuts through the static.
“Hey.”
You spin around, breathing heavily, expecting more bullshit. But it’s Sevika. She’s leaning against the wall with arms folded, unreadable as always. Where the hell did she come from?
“You done yelling at the kid?” she says, calm. Not mocking. Just... grounding.
You blink. Realizing your hand—matter fact your whole damn arm is shaking. Your breathing’s off. Your face is most likely red.
She steps forward, slow, steady, and without touching you, positions herself between you and the others in the room. She says nothing else. Doesn’t need to. The tension starts to bleed out of the air.
Someone asks if they should reschedule the press call.
Sevika looks at them. Just looks.
They scurry out.
She turns back to you. “Come on. Breathe.”
You inhale. Exhale. You hate that it works. Hate more that she’s the only one who’s helped all day.
“I’m going to snap,” you whisper, not entirely joking, as your hands clenched into a fist.
“No,” she says. “You’re not. Because you’re the only one who knows how to keep this thing from falling apart. And you’re not about to give them the satisfaction of seeing you lose it.”
You’re still shaking, but her voice, low and steady, keeps you anchored. Your phone buzzes again. You silence it this time. You nod once. Just once. Enough to say; I’m still here.
And Sevika steps aside. Not leaving. Just letting you move forward again. But now with someone behind you who’s actually watching your back.
Eventually, you’re working with the other interns and your assistant to handle the chaos that is currently circulating around the damn internet. You decided to take on the press call only hoping this will smooth the headlines out for now. You still keep checking your phone just in case you get a message or a call from either of the sisters.
But you doubt that will happen.
Not really a choice made but it came to a conclusion that you have to take an overnight red-eye trip for a crisis briefing. Great. Just another thing to look forward to. You sighed softly, throwing your clipboard aside for now. The room had been emptied out for the day. You hadn’t even realized that you all were working the entire day to fix this mess.
You lean back against the couch, your head resting back staring at the ceiling. You felt the couch dip beside you, already knowing who it is.
You don’t bother to look.
“I’ll come with you,” Sevika says.
“There’s no need”
“I’m not asking, it’s protocol” she says in a tone that is non-arguable.
You scoff, slowly turning your head to look at her. But for some reason you don’t really mind that she’ll tag along with you. Infact you find it better that you have company rather than handling it alone, like always.
But seriously?
“Protocol my ass..” you muttered out, going back to gazing at the ceiling. But she didn’t say anything back.
You both knew it was her choice.
Before you knew it, you were in the car with her as she drove. The place was only just a couple hours from the previous show. Both your bags in the back as the car was silent throughout the drive. Some small talk here and there as she stopped for gas, and as well getting you some snacks. Other than that, the ride was silent.
Silence was slightly awkward though. Sometimes you’d catch her glancing at you, or vice versa. There was still tension from before. It wasn’t anything bad but— there was something lingering between you two. You couldn’t help but notice her wearing casual attire. The sleeve hugging against her biceps, the dark brown complimenting her skin color as her as the slight makeup she used on her face. Just some eyeliner and brown lipstick.
Yeah— you definitely couldn't deny it now. She was very attractive. Her sleek jaw, hair pulled back into a half up ponytail, the way her lips were the perfect amount of thickness, and those biceps— christ. You knew you were beyond screwed. She was beautiful, handsome even.
And you?
Probably not even her type regardless. Or so you thought.
“You think this crisis meeting will solve anything?” Sevika asks, breaking the silence and odd tension from your trance.
You sighed from exhaustion before responding, “The best that will come out of it right now will probably be controlling the headlines and to avert their attention from Jinx and Vi to something else. Probably the next show or something..” you pause, rubbing your temples before continuing, “This will only be properly fixed once they get their shit figured out. And to answer their damn phone calls.”
You checked your phone to see if either of them had texted, but nothing. You sighed, setting your phone down.
“You’ll figure it out” She says after a beat, glancing at you.
“Yeah I’m the only one who ever does” You retorted, scoffing as you met her eye for a moment.
Even though it wasn't loud, you heard her chuckle under her breath. Your lips quirked from amusement hearing that from her. You eventually look away as you two fall into silence again. Comfortable silence.
──────────
You’ve both just endured a brutal crisis meeting. You're exhausted, emotionally fried, but still high on tension. Sevika’s been calm the entire time—cutting through the bullshit in the room when you couldn’t, quiet when she needed to be, but fiercely in your corner.
You’re both walking into the hotel, late-night check-in, bags slung, the hallway quiet.
You walked up to the front desk, giving the receptionist your last name that you booked the rooms under.
“Looks like we’ve got you down for just one deluxe king suite!” the lady behind the desk replied cheerfully as she prepared the card for you.
You blink.
“That better be a mistake” You say, staring at the receptionist lady with a deadpan stare.
“Sorry honey, we’re fully booked tonight otherwise” She had replied, sliding the key to you on the desk.
Are we fucking serious.. you think to yourself.
You slowly turn to Sevika with an unreadable look. She raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.
“Fucking perfect,” You muttered under your breath.
The check-in desk had one job. One. You blink at the concierge like they just slapped you.
“There were supposed to be two rooms by the way,” you say, tone brittle enough to cut tile.
The receptionist gives you that polite corporate shrug that means “not my problem.” You don’t even have it in you to argue. Not after the crisis meeting that felt more like a firing squad. Not after watching half the label toss blame back and forth while you took notes on how to be their next scapegoat. Not after Sevika said absolutely nothing the entire time but still managed to make you feel like someone was in your corner.
Now this? One room. One bed. You feel the eye twitch coming on.
“Whatever,” you mutter, snatching the keycard and stomping toward the elevator. Sevika follows. Silent. Heavy boots. Calm shadow. It shouldn’t make your skin burn hotter, but it does.
You don’t speak again until the hotel door swings shut behind you.
And then—you explode.
“Two rooms! Two. That’s all I asked for. Not world peace. Not someone’s kidney. Just two fucking rooms!”
Your heels hit the floor hard. You toss your bag onto the bed—the one bed—and just stand there for a second, teeth gritted. Sevika closes the door behind you with that quiet, deliberate calm she always has. Doesn’t say anything. Just watches.
“And that meeting?” you scoff. “They want a rebrand. They think Vi might go solo. They think I’ve lost control.” You turn around, anger rising like a wave. “What am I supposed to do? Photoshop a damn friendship back together!?” You gesture wildly around the room.
Sevika is leaning against the door now, watching you pace like a hurricane in heels. She raises an eyebrow. Still leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Shrugs a little. “You handled it.”
“Bullshit. I’m dangling by a thread,” you snap, voice tight. “I’m fucking done. I’m trying to put out fires and you’re just, what, always just fucking standing there? With your one-word replies and your constant brooding like a hot, grumpy—”
She steps forward. Not fast. Just enough to break the space between you. You stop mid-rant.
“You think I don’t see it?” she says, voice low. “You holding it all together. No one thanks you. No one listens. And they’d all fall apart without you since you’re the backbone of this entire band.”
Your breath catches. You don’t want that to land. But it does.
Your lip curls like you’re about to say something biting—but it falters. Because Sevika’s close now. So close. And the silence between you feels… different.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter quietly.
“Like what?” she says.
“Like you can see through me.”
“Maybe I can.”
You’re still fuming. But it’s twisted now—burning hot under your skin in a different way.
She looks at the bed. Then at you.
“We flipping a coin or...?”
“Fuck the coin,” you say, voice hoarse, “I’m too tired to care.”
You move past her like you’re going to grab something—but she grabs your wrist. Not rough. Just enough.
“You need to let it out,” she says. “Whatever it is.”
You look up at her. Chest tight. Anger still vibrating in your bones but buried under that — that need.
“Yeah?” you whisper. “And what are you gonna do if I do?”
She doesn’t answer. Because she's on you within seconds. Your back pinned against the hotel wall as her hand was on the back of your head to prevent it from hitting the wall too harshly. You let out a sharp gasp from the impact.
You both just stared at each other. The electricity crackling between you two. The moment felt like everything slowed down for a second. You stared into her eyes.
Then you surged forward.
Your mouth crashes into hers with all the fury of the day behind it—messy, desperate, teeth clashing. She catches you easily, hands gripping your waist, pinning them against the wall. Your hands were gripping her shirt tight, pulling her closer than she already is. You let your hand trail down her chest, letting them roam free. Your fingers pressing against the shirt as you felt the firmness of her stomach, trailing them down under her shirt—
Oh fuck.
The minute you felt her V line beneath your fingers you let out a moan into her mouth, one she quickly swallowed up in the filthy and greedy kiss you shared.
You gasp as she lifts you by your thighs, pinning you there. You wrap your legs around her instinctively, fingers tangled in her jacket as her mouth drags hot, slowing down your neck.
“Fuck,” you breathe, nails scraping along her shoulder. “This is such a bad idea.”
“Best one I’ve had all day,” she growls against your throat, biting down hard against your neck, erupting a strangled whine from the back of your throat.
You yank her shirt up, your hands finding skin—warm, solid muscle. She peels off your jacket without care, lets it fall. Her hands are everywhere: gripping, kneading, claiming. Your mind goes white.
Clothes hit the floor in frantic pieces. Your heels are thrown to the side of the room. The room’s too hot, your back hits the mattress, and she’s above you—hair falling into her face, pupils blown, looking at you like she’s about to wreck you.
“This is wrong” you mutter as your hands went down her back to grope her ass.
She groaned in response, her hips bucking closer to yours, “Then why aren't you stopping me?”
“I can’t” you whispered in her ear before pulling her into another filthy kiss. One that's messy, where your tongues are fighting for dominance. Your hands rake in her hair, pushing it back slightly before giving it a sharp tug. In return her hand finds your tit and gropes it, making you moan pathetically into the kiss. You feel her smile against the kiss. That fucking menence smile.
You felt her hand go down your stomach as you felt her fingers spread through your soaked folds, eliciting a soft moan from you.
“You’re fucking soaked..” she mutters against your lips, glancing down between the two of you.
“Fuck you” you panted against her, lips swollen and red from the kiss as your eyes were already half lidded, gazing down at her neck.
“I’m trying” you hear her mutter before she dips her head down to your neck, tongue flicking out as she traced a wet path along her collarbone, her mouth latching onto an aching peak deliberately sucking at your skin that sends shivers down your spine.
“Sevika..” you breathe out as your fingers dug into her shoulders, with your back arching and trembling against her touch.
“Tell me what you need”
God its almost like you were drunk and were unable to fucking speak properly. But somehow, you managed.
“Your fingers—you. I don’t care” you managed to say helplessly as she obliged.
Her thumb slowly pressed against your clit as you felt her slip two fingers in your core. Your hips buck from the contact as your fingers dig against her shoulders, dragging them down your back.
“Oh god” you groaned as you bit at her neck which made her inhale sharply, her fingers curling in you that hit your sweet spot.
Oh fuck.
Your body doesn't know what else to do other than your hands profusely scratching at her back. Your hips buck trying to find friction but you fail, all you can do is just squeeze against her fingers. But it's not changing her speed which makes you writhe in place. “You're gonna cut my fingers off at this rate” she says, almost condescendingly, smirking against your skin.
“You— you’re not helping” you bite your lip to refrain yourself from whining for more, “go faster” you whisper, burying your face in the crook of her neck planting wet, open mouths kiss under her jawline.
“You're lucky you’re pretty” she whispered before another finger was slipping inside your drooling cunt. Her pace becomes faster as her fingers curl repeatedly against your g-spot which makes you choke on a moan, letting yourself succumb to the pleasure.
Your arousal that coated her fingers makes the most obscene noises that filled up the hotel room, Sevika’s own hips were grinding at your thigh as you both chased for your climax. Your mouths captured into a kiss as you swallowed each other's moans, you propped your leg up as you felt the slick from her pussy against your thigh.
Your hand found their way to her swollen nub of her clit, with your touch being firm and insistent as you kept rubbing hard and fast. Which had added another layer of pleasure and desperation in the movement of Sevika’s hips grinding against your thigh.
“fuck— keep it like that. Just like that baby” she growls near your ear as you feel her pump her fingers in and out of you quicker.
“Sev— Sevika!” you almost fucking screamed her name out as your eyes fluttered for a moment from the pleasure. Your back arched from her touch as your free hand pushed her hips down against your thigh as the other rubbed vigorously at her clit. The minute you chased your orgasm, your hips bucked in her hand as you clenched tightly around her fingers, with you moaning her name from exhaustion at this point.
Her fingers were still curled inside that wet pussy of yours as she kept grinding against your thigh, her movements becoming sloppy as leaned her forehead against your shoulder.
“Shit..” Sevika moans against your ear which makes you clench around her fingers again as her words are followed by a few more curses as she shivers out her orgasms.
Her fingers slowly pulled out of your dripping cunt, retreating them back to her mouth, licking every drop.
“Fuck, you taste just like I imagined..” She says hoarsely before capturing your lips in another kiss, this one being more sloppy as you taste yourself. Your hands went to her neck as she flopped beside you on the bed. Legs tangling with each other capturing yourself in a moment of bliss and the aftermath of such pleasure, lost in each other's arms.
Eventually you two pulled away from each other panting, her arm around her waist pulling you chest to chest.
“I still hate this room,” you murmur, eyes half-lidded and lips swollen.
She huffs something like a laugh, brushing her knuckles down your thigh.
“Not how it sounded five minutes ago.”
You roll your eyes. But you don’t pull away.
“This doesn’t mean I like you.”
“Sure,” she says, dragging her mouth lazily across your shoulder. “That’s why you’re still shaking.”
You shove her, half-hearted.
She doesn’t move. Just smirks.
You hate that she’s right.
You hate it even more that you already want round two.
