You ask your girlfriend if she'd still love you if you were a slug.
▪︎586 words, fluff, teasing, a little suggestive, making out, a bit of groping, etc▪︎
She’s sprawled out beneath you, one arm behind her head, the other tracing lazy circles against your thigh. The sheets are kicked down around her waist, skin warm and damp where your nightgown clings to it. The ceiling fan hums above, stirring the faint smell of oil from her hands and the lotion you’d used after your shower.
You say it out of nowhere. “What if I turned into a slug?”
Her brow furrows. “A slug?”
“Mhm.” You shift your weight on her hips, slow, like you’re testing her patience. “Slimy, slow, tragic little thing. Would you still love me?”
She gives a small laugh, one that doesn’t reach her eyes. “That would never happen.”
“But what if I did.” you insist, voice dipping. “Would you still—”
“No,” she cuts in, deadpan. “I’d pour salt on you.”
You blink at her, mouth parted in disbelief. “You’d what?”
Her grin grows sharp, a hint of teeth. “Salt. I'd melt you right down.”
“Oh, well then—fuck you.” You try to slide off her, but she catches your wrist quick, the same hand that had been idle seconds ago. Her grip is warm, solid.
“Hey,” she murmurs, tugging you back until your knee presses into her side again. “I’m joking.”
You don’t look convinced. She leans up, kisses your cheek—just there, where your skin still glows from the bath, and stays close enough that you feel her breath move against your jaw.
Her voice softens, low and amused. “You really think I’d let you crawl away from me? Slug or not.”
You huff, pretending to stay annoyed, but your smile betrays you.
Her hand slides higher, up the back of your thigh to where the nightgown rides. Not rough—just enough to remind you she could keep you here if she wanted.
When you finally meet her eyes, they’ve gone heavy, that slow burn you recognize. The kind that always starts like this—half joke, half threat, all heat.
“You’re so annoying,” you mutter, though your voice has gone softer, caught between irritation and a laugh.
She only hums, that low sound that sits somewhere deep in her chest. Her eyes never leave your face.
Then she pulls you down and kisses you—slow at first, then deeper, hungrier. Her mouth tastes faintly like mint and sleep. You feel the shift in her body, the way she moves to meet you, the way her hand slips under the hem of your nightgown. Warm palms slide over the curve of your ass, fingers flexing like she’s testing the weight of you.
You make a small noise against her mouth when she grinds up, the thin fabric between you doing nothing to dull the heat. She swallows it with another kiss, rougher this time, one that makes your chest ache a little.
“I love you,” she breathes against your lips, the words coming out between a sigh and a murmur.
You pull back just far enough to look at her. Her pupils are blown wide, eyes dark and certain. Your own heartbeat stumbles. “I love you too,” you whisper back.
She smiles. You press your mouth to her throat, feel the jump of her pulse under your tongue. Her hand stays on your ass, the other tracing up your spine until her fingers rest at the base of your neck. You kiss her again, slower this time, and the room goes quiet except for your breathing and the soft creak of the bed beneath you.
The kind of quiet that feels like promise.
The intimacy is open, messy, the kind of kiss that tastes like breath and want. Her tongue drags against yours slow, deliberate, until you forget the joke that started this, forget everything but how close she feels.
Her hands get greedy. One stays low, cupping you through the thin fabric, guiding you down against her; the other drifts up your side, fingers pressing into soft skin like she’s trying to memorize it. You feel her nails catch slightly when she grips, and it makes you gasp against her mouth.
She takes the sound, deepens it. The air between you grows thick. You break just long enough to breathe, foreheads touching, both of you slick with sweat already. Her thumb slides along the inside of your thigh, teasing without meaning to—just restless, needing you closer.
You kiss her again, harder this time. She meets you with a low noise that sounds half like a groan, half like a plea. Her hips shift under you, and you follow the motion before you even think. The nightgown rides up, cool air licking across the back of your thighs.
You pull back, just to look at her—her lips swollen, eyes glassy, hair stuck to her temples. She looks up at you like she might bite or beg; you can’t tell which.
You smile, breathless. “You were gonna pour salt on me, huh?”
She laughs against your jaw, open-mouthed and warm. “Not a chance.”
do you think they've explored each other's theses?
...and bodies?
꩜ pairing: professor!vi x professor!female reader
꩜ warnings: mentions of explicit content, language
꩜ word count: 2.9k
꩜ synopsis: you've built your entire career on control. vi made a game of unraveling it. but, behind every jab lurks something far less professional—and far more irresistible. just how long can you go on pretending you're not affected?
The mahogany-paneled walls of Piltover University's faculty lounge had witnessed countless academic debates, but none quite as charged as the ongoing rivalry between its two esteemed professors. You adjusted your impeccably neat blazer as you reviewed your lecture notes, your reputation for cool professionalism preceding you into every room you entered. At twenty-eight, you had already earned your place among the institution’s most respected staff, your groundbreaking work in economics earning you both accolades and the somewhat intimidating nickname (one that you despised but, oh well, what can you do) "The Ice Queen" among students.
Across the lounge, Professor Violet—or “Vi”, as she had insisted on her first day with an insufferably charming smile—appeared abruptly, her unceremonious button-down shirt contrasting sharply with the formal atmosphere. Also twenty-eight, Vi had taken an unconventional path to academia—former athlete turned kinesiologist, her hands-on approach to learning and teaching had revolutionised the physical sciences department. Where you commanded respect through quiet authority, Vi earned it through enthusiastic engagement and an infectious energy that had students lining up to attend her lessons.
The conflict had started innocuously enough three years ago when you were both hired the same semester, breaking records as the youngest professors in the university's prestigious history. The dean had made the mistake of introducing you both at the same meeting, underscoring your shared distinction with obvious pride. You remembered the way Vi's eyes had found yours across the room, the slight raise of her eyebrow that seemed to say "challenge accepted" before either of you had uttered a sentence.
What followed was the most intellectually stimulating and frustrating professional relationship of your career. Every discussion became a subtle battlefield where your measured contributions were countered by Vi's zealous arguments. Every conference saw the two of you presenting competing frameworks, your methodical notions challenged by her innovative contributions. Your colleagues had started placing bets on which of you would speak first during casual get-togethers, knowing that whatever one of you proposed, the other would find elegant ways to dissect and rebuild.
The students had caught on too. How could they not? They whispered about the apparent "Cold War" with hushed voices and ecstatic snickers, how Professor Violet could make the Ice Queen's jaw clench with a single well-placed comment. Some had even started taking both of your classes specifically to witness your heads butt.
Nevertheless, there had always been something else simmering beneath your endless sparring. Something in the way Vi's gaze lingered on you just a moment too long when she was making a point. Something in the way your pulse quickened when she leaned across the table to question your methodology. Something that made your carefully maintained composure feel like armour against an opponent who was far more dangerous than she appeared.
The breaking point had come two months ago during the annual research symposium. You had been presenting your latest findings when Vi, sitting in the front row with her arms crossed and that infuriatingly self-assured simper, had raised her hand during the Q&A session.
"Fascinating work as always, Professor," she had deceptively commended, her voice carrying clearly through the large hall. "However, I have to wonder if your focus on abstract models isn't missing the practical applications that could actually benefit the masses."
The question had been harmless enough on the surface, but you had caught the provocation in her tone, the way her eyes had sparkled with something that went beyond an appropriate amount of curiosity. Your response had been equally measured and equally loaded.
"I appreciate your concern, Professor Violet. Though I've always believed that strong conceptual foundations prevent the kind of… hasty implementations that can lead to flawed results."
The hall had gone eerily still, sensing the undercurrent of tension that had nothing to do with hypotheses. Vi's smile had sharpened, and for a moment, you had felt like prey being circled by a predator who was taking her time choosing the perfect moment to strike.
Afterwards, she had cornered you in the hallway outside, her presence making you acutely aware of how the other attendees were giving you both a wide berth.
"Hasty implementations?" she had repeated, amused, stepping close enough that you could smell her perfume. Something warm that made your stomach knot. "Is that really what you think of my work?"
You had forced yourself to not fold, though your heart had been racing in a way that had nothing to do with scholarly disagreement. "I think your work is passionate. Sometimes passion can cloud judgment."
"And sometimes," Vi had rebutted easily, her words low enough that only you could hear, "overthinking can prevent you from taking the risks that lead to real breakthroughs."
The moment had stretched between you, charged with implications that had you up at night for weeks. You had been saved from responding by a colleague's interruption, but the encounter had left you shaken in ways you hadn't been prepared to examine.
Since then, every interaction had carried that same foreign undercurrent. Curriculum debriefs where Vi's frequent comments about "loosening up" and "taking risks" seemed directed specifically at you. Hallway run-ins where her smooth confidence made your unfazed facade feel transparent. Late evenings in the library where you would find traces of her—a book left open to a page that contradicted your latest paper, notes scrawled in margins that seemed to taunt you even in her absence.
Everyone had started to notice the shift in your dynamic. Department Chair Heimerdinger had made suggestions about "productive collaboration" and recommended that you might benefit from working together on a joint project. The idea had sent a spike of panic through your chest.
"Burning the midnight oil again, Professor?" Vi's voice cut through your memories, dragging you back to the present.
You didn't look up from your papers immediately, taking a slow sip of your coffee before raising your eyes to meet hers. The sight of her leaning against the doorframe, all suave magnetism and knowing grin, made your blood surge in that familiar, intoxicating way.
"Some of us believe in detailed preparation, Professor Violet. Then again, I suppose your methods have their own uniqueness, hm?"
It was the same dance you had been performing for months, but tonight something felt different. You didn’t know how to explain it. Maybe it was the way the warm lamplight cast shadows that made the boring space feel intimate and tense with possibility.
Vi laughed, pushing herself away from the doorframe with that grace that always made you feel like you were being hunted. "Is that your way of saying you think I'm sloppy?"
"I wouldn't presume to comment on your methods," you shut her retort down, though your tone suggested you had plenty of thoughts on the matter. "I simply prefer structure."
"Structure," Vi echoed, settling into the chair across from you without invitation. The movement brought her into your personal bubble. An offensive strategy that felt deliberate. "Right. Is that why your students call you the Ice Queen?"
The nickname had a different impact when spoken in her alluring drawl, the muted golden glow sculpting her features in severity. For the first time, your composure flickered—just slightly; more than enough for Vi to catch the brief tightening around your eyes.
"I’m shocked that you pay such close attention to student gossip."
"Hard not to when they're constantly comparing us," Vi leaned back in her chair, studying you with an intensity that made your skin burn. "They seem to think we're total opposites."
"Aren't we?" your tone remained level, but the air between you had grown dense. Instances of constantly tiptoeing around each other seemed to crystallise in the gaps between your conversation.
The upward twitch of Vi’s lip was intentional, the expression of someone who had been waiting for exactly this opening. "Maybe. You're all cautious and guarded. I'm more..." she gestured vaguely at herself, "Straightforward.”
You chew the inside of your cheek. “So, you’re calling me a pussy?”
That earns a perplexed bark of laughter from Vi, who now regards you with renewed interest. “I always believe I have the upper hand until you make an unexpected move like that. You keep surprising me, Professor.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘direct’.”
"Direct," you scoffed, finally closing your folder and giving Vi your full attention. This back-and-forth felt like crossing a line, like acknowledging that this had moved beyond regular courtesy. "Is that what we're calling it?"
She tilts her head, pleased, exposing the elegant line of her neck.
God, you so badly wanted to run your teeth across her neck.
"What would you call it?"
You found yourself scrutinising Vi's face in turn—the slight curl of her mouth that suggested she was always on the verge of saying something that would shatter your resolve.
"I'd call it reckless," you ultimately declare. You had lost some of your trademark steadiness.
Vi leaned forward, elbows on the table (you try not to drool over the bulging veins in her forearms, the sleeves of her shirt rolled up deliciously), closing the distance between you to make your breath catch. "And what's wrong with a little recklessness?"
You bristled at how Vi's proximity was doing things that you weren't entirely prepared for. The rational part of your mind catalogued all the reasons not to act on impulse—your career and your reputation, for starters. Both undoubtedly significant.
"Everything," you whispered, but it came out breathier than you wished.
"Really?" Vi's voice dropped lower and you realised she had orchestrated this entire setup. The late hour, the empty building, and the way she had positioned herself to make escape impossible without highlighting what was happening between you. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like all that structure and control that you speak so highly of might be... exhausting."
The observation hit too close to home, threatening the foundations of the persona you had spent years crafting.
You had been attracted to Vi the second she entered your world. For a workaholic like you, however, you couldn’t dare imagine kindling anything with someone you worked with. Especially in your field.
You stiffened, your mask slipping. "I don't know what you're hinting at—"
"I'm not hinting at anything," Vi's hand moved across the table, her fingers just barely brushing against yours where they rested. This was the first time she had properly touched you since you had met each other. "I'm being direct, remember? I think behind all that collectedness, there's someone who wants to let go."
Her statement was a direct hit on every wall you had constructed to maintain your distance from the woman in front of you. Your heart hammered against your ribs as you comprehended that Vi had been observing you.
She had been reading the signs of strain that you thought you had hidden so thoroughly.
"You don't know anything about me," you managed.
"Don't I?" Vi's thumb traced across your knuckles. "Three years of watching you, competing with you, and trying to get under that perfect, gorgeous exterior of yours. I think I know more than you'd like to admit."
The admission sent heat racing through your veins. You were dizzy, head practically spinning under the weight of her confession.
"This is wrong," you muttered.
"Is it?" Vi's smirk made your core flip with anticipation and terror. "We're coworkers. Equals. Two adults having a talk."
"This isn't just talk," you hissed, mustering a feeble glare.
"No," Vi agreed, bringing your hand up to her lips and letting her tongue dart out to sinfully lick at your forefinger. "It's not."
The action made you shiver with the revelation that this moment could destroy everything you had worked for. But, as Vi sucked on your thumb languidly and her stare darkened, your superficial concerns seem suddenly unimportant.
"What do you want from me?" the question slipped out before you could stop it, vulnerable and raw.
Vi's smile shifted, releasing your thumb with a loud POP!, becoming something softer but no less eager. "I want to see what happens when the Ice Queen melts."
Despite yourself, you snort uncharacteristically. “That's so corny.”
She beams at the sound, resting her chin in her palm innocently. “Would you rather I tell you that I desperately want to fuck you?”
You were losing your grip on yourself, and for the first time in your meticulously engineered life, you didn’t want to stop it.
"Vi..." you started, unsure of how to continue.
She stood, her existence more overwhelming as she moved around the table. You tracked her movement, your chair swiveling to follow her path until she was directly in front of you and you had to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact.
"The thing about being direct," Vi said, referring to your earlier remark, "is that it’s convenient. Efficient. It cuts through all the pretense."
Your hands gripped the arms of your chair, knuckles white with the effort of staying still when every instinct was screaming at you to flee. "I'm not toying with you," you mumbled.
"No?" Vi leaned down, effectively caging you in. She sounded almost… hurt, "All the time I’ve known you, you’ve pretended you don't feel this too."
She was only a few centimetres away from where you could see flecks of gold in her beautiful, blue eyes. "Feel what?"
Her shaky exhale was answer enough, but she inched forward anyway, her lips almost brushing your own as she spoke. "The same thing I feel every time we're in the same room. The same thing that's been driving this showdown between us from the very beginning."
Your eyelashes fluttered at the sensation of her breath against your skin, your entire being thrumming with an energy you'd been trying to suppress for far too long. She had noticed. Of course she had noticed. Vi never missed anything.
"This can't happen," you choked out. You sounded unconvincing even to your own ears.
"Give me one good reason why not."
You opened your mouth to respond, to list why this would be career suicide for both of you. But looking at Vi, you found yourself speechless.
Your brows furrowed as you discerned you were at a crossroads. Every rational part of your mind was screaming warnings, yet your body was curving into her despite your best efforts to do the opposite.
"I—"
Vi's hand moved to cup your cheek, her fingers tracing patterns with devastating gentleness.
"Tell me to stop," she murmured, her voice rough with barely contained desire. "Tell me to walk away and we'll pretend this never happened. We'll go back to our professional rivalry and I'll never bring this up again."
The offer should have been a relief. It should have been what you needed to hear to restore your sanity.
Be that as it may…
You didn't want to pretend. You didn't want to go back to how things used to be.
You craved her.
"Vi." This time, her name was akin to a prayer. Her pupils dilated as she registered the complete capitulation in your voice. "That's not telling me to stop," she inquired.
You were past the point of no return now. "I know," you whispered back, your reply dripping with want.
Vi's other hand came up to frame your face, her grip firm and possessive in a way that made your thighs squeeze together. "Do you have any idea," she spoke, brushing your lower lip, "how many times I've imagined this? How many meetings I've sat through, watching your mouth form those brilliant responses, wondering what sounds you'd make if I could just drag you to my private office and bend you over my desk. Make you feel so, so good."
She let the sentence hang between you like a live wire, but her thumb pressed slightly against your lip. You found yourself parting them instinctively to mimic her from before, the tease drawing a sharp intake of breath from Vi that sent heat pooling low in your stomach.
"So long," she continued, "I’ve spent so long watching you be untouchable. Unreachable." Her hold tightened slightly, and you felt completely at her mercy. "Do you know what it does to someone like me?"
"Someone like you?" you ask, though speaking felt impossible.
"Someone who wants to make you come over and over again."
Good lord.
You were trembling, your calm shattered by nothing more than Vi’s mere honesty.
Her chuckle was husky, "Haven't even gotten started, baby. Haven't even seen what happens when I really try to make you lose control."
"Fuck, this is dangerous," you nearly whined, your last attempt to hold onto some semblance of dignity.
"I know," Vi agreed, but she didn't pull away. If anything, she pressed herself closer until you could feel the exhilarating pressure of her chest against yours. "The question is, how many fingers it’ll take before you’re begging me to ruin you?"
You didn’t speak. Couldn’t.
Simply closed your eyes and nudged your nose against hers, a surrender so complete it left you breathless.
Vi's response was instant and devastating. "Good girl," she groaned against your lips, the words a reward and a promise that made your entire world narrow to this precipice you were about to fall from together.
I saw your post abt writing for Mel and I was wondering if you could do something about physical contact between Mel and f!reader. Something like they work together and usually Mel is really adverse to touch but with you she seeks it out/finds comfort in it…. Preferably pre get-together ty 🙏
ugh yes I love this
Mel was instantly drawn to you from her very chaotic, first day in the pitt. she admired how much you cared for your patients, and she loved your attention, especially your praise
she would watch you interact with people, without realising, but finding comfort in it. how easily you hugged Dana and Heather, how softly you held the hand of nervous patients. she found herself wanting that, too
the first time you reciprocated her excited high five after a successful surgery, she took that as the okay to try and be friends with you
you would find her suddenly by your side, which wasn't at all unusual since she was your go to med student to work with, but you noticed that whenever she had a problem, she would go to you first. not to Dana, not to Robby, not to Langdon. it was always you. you weren't complaining, the pitt could tear your heart out at times, but she was a ray of sunshine
the day she wasn't, was when you forgot about your shyness and felt a deep urge to comfort her. without thinking, you rested your hand on her shoulder, giving her a comforting squeeze as she tried to get her tears under control. it was almost her cheek that you held, but you corrected yourself and prayed she didn't notice.
she froze when you touched her, and her expression was unreadable, so you stepped back, thinking you did the wrong thing but within that same second, you were suddenly in her tight embrace and from the moment you wrapped your arms around her, things were different between you both
when she would shadow you with patients, the others watched as you took her hand in yours to guide her with something she was unsure about, and no one noticed that Mel was more flustered than usual
if you were both in a tight space, you would gently hold the small of her back as you passed, so that you didn't bump her. the first time it happened, Mel had dropped her scalpel with a clatter, almost getting Trinity in the foot. After the third time, she started doing it to you, and you felt embarrassed about how flustered a med student made you feel
a lot of the time, Mel just needed to squeeze something when stressed or upset. she didn't think that bringing a stress ball to work would be the most hygienic thing, so she opted for the even better option. you. in particular, your hands. she didn't know how it started, and you were too good at knowing when she was upset, so she would find herself squeezing your hand. the small but comforting act done behind both of your bodies, away from questioning eyes and gossiping nurses. and sometimes, you would gently trace soft circles into her skin. she would forget to breathe every time you did it, especially when you gave her that knowing smile. solidifying your secret
sometimes, it would become a little too much for mel. whenever that happened, she would shy away from you and keep her distance. you never really took it personally, but you always did wonder if you had done something wrong. but really, she wasn't used to being so flustered. she never let herself have crushes. she just didn't have the time, but she also just didn't want to deal with the feelings that you were now giving her
sooner or later, she would admit to herself she wanted and needed more of you, but right now, she was happy to hug and hold your hand in secret. she had something for herself, something happy, and she was going to let herself enjoy it
Haii haii Lana !! Hope you're doing well . ヾ(๑╹◡╹)ﾉ"
My request is reader having a verbal shutdown (also known as going nonverbal, though, it's not correct term) and Sevika trying to figure out how to help them.
This is mostly based on personal experience but when I have verbal shutdowns I usually grunt or nod/shake my head if it's a yes or no question. So I imagine Sevika getting frustrated with herself for how difficult it's taking her to understand what reader may need in such a vulnerable moment.
That's all !! Remember to take breaks and drink water, wouldn't want my favorite author to die on me ! Hehe ! (⁎⁍̴̆Ɛ⁍̴̆⁎)
a mind full of thoughts, but mouth empty
sevika x selective mutism! (?) reader
warnings: fluff, light angst (hurt comfort), reader has selective mutism but no specific diagnosis mentioned
word count: 0.8k
a/n: I had to do a lot of research on this, but hopefully it's accurate as I myself don't have selective mutism (っ- ‸ - ς)
And don’t worry bambi dear! I won’t die anytime soon—hopefully
You didn't know how you ended up in this situation. Today was going just fine; you got up, got ready, did your usual routine. But, when you got home a sudden feeling of paranoia and heaviness pulled at your heart.
“Baby, that you?” Sevika called out from the living room, hearing as you open the heavy front door. When you don’t answer, you hear the creaking of Sevika’s foosteps against the floorboards as she moves from the couch.
You wanted to answer.
You really did.
But the words felt lodged in your throat, like tiny stones refusing to move. Your chest tightened as your mind scrambled for something—anything—that could escape in sound, but nothing came out.
Sevika stopped a few feet away, tilting her head. “.. you okay?” Her voice was gentle, careful, like she already knew the answer. You nodded slightly, just enough for her to see, though your lips didn’t form the words.
You slowly moved down, feeling as if your body was being weighed down by chains that grew from the floor. And as you sat on the wooden flooring, you stayed quiet.
She crouched down to your level, keeping her tone soft. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”
The relief hit you first, then the shame, tangled together.
You exhaled slowly, realizing you could breathe without forcing a voice you didn’t have. Sevika reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, and you let yourself lean into the gesture.
“Anything happen today?” She asks, the concern in her silver eyes prominent. You just shake your head, the words in your throat still trapped in a cage that you don’t have the key to.
“Hm,” Sevika hums in response, her eyes flicking over your face, searching for something she can fix—a thing she can fight. But there isn’t one. Just you, sitting there on the floor, silent and trembling under a weight she can’t punch away.
A fight that she can’t win.
Her jaw flexes as she leans back on her heels. “Alright,” she mutters, trying to sound calm. Her tone is even, but the tightness in her voice gives her away. She hates feeling useless—hates that this is something she can’t muscle through for you.
You watch her exhale through her nose, fingers drumming once against her thigh before she stills them. The metal of her prosthetic arm catches the dim light, the faint whirr of its gears filling the silence between you in the atmosphere.
She looks at you again, softer this time. “Baby..” She shakes her head, rubbing the back of her neck. “I don’t know what to do when you look like that.”
The confession comes out quieter than you expect. There’s frustration in it, but not at you—at herself. You can see the way her brows pull together, like she’s mad that she can’t reach into your chest and pry the heaviness out herself.
She wishes it was that simple.
You want to tell her it’s not her fault. That just being here, just existing beside you, helps more than she realizes.
But the words are still stuck—and she must see that flicker of apology in your eyes, because she sighs and sits down next to you, back against the same wall. Her shoulder brushes yours. “Alright,” she murmurs again, lower this time. “We’ll just sit, okay?”
And so you do.
The two of you sit in the quiet, your breaths slowly syncing. She just watches you for a moment, her silver eyes watching each bit of movement.After a long pause, she mutters under her breath, almost too quiet to hear,
“Fuck.. I should be better at this. I’m so sorry.”
You turn your head just enough for her to notice—a faint shake, the smallest signal that she’s already enough. Sevika glances over, catches that, and exhales a long, uneven breath.
“Yeah,” she says softly. “You say that but, I know, shit— it’s not enough. I just wish I could make it easier for you.”
Her hand—warm and steady—finds yours on the floor. She doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t push. Just holds it there, like an anchor. And for the first time that evening, the weight in your chest starts to ease, even if only a little.
Her arms soon cover over your trembling body, your face hiding in the crook of her neck as she rubs the back of your head—hoping that it’ll provide even just a bit of comfort.
And while it’s not the most effective form of comfort, she’s trying and that’s all that matters to you right now.
FLUFFY REQUESSSTTT caitlyn x reader who has a really bad nightmare :(( OR caitlyn x flower shop owner reader who is like the Sweetest person ever and has been giving flowers to the kiramman family for a while, and caitlyn has the biggest soft spot for her? Idk 😔
she hadn’t even reached the flower stand yet, but caitlyn could already feel a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, her heart skipping at the sight of you. the way you moved around the stand—focused and effortlessly beautiful—made her stomach twist in the best way. As she walked, she smoothed out the fabric of her uniform skirt and adjusted her enforcer’s helmet, determined to look professional.
( pls pls pls notice the dedication she has. )
“good morning,” the young enforcer said softly, clearing her throat to avoid startling you. blue eyes observing the vibrant flowers and the decorative plastic hummingbirds swaying in the breeze. everything in your stand was meticulous, full of care, and it only made you more captivating.
“oh morning, cait,” you greeted her with a warm smile and her stomach did fifteen consecutive backflips in five seconds. It was a simple gesture, but it hit her harder than it should have. breathe, girl. just breathe.
“working already?” you asked, casually adjusting a flowerpot.
“mhm,” she replied, her voice steady despite her nerves. “I see you’re also starting early. more demand than usual, I suppose?” she already knew the answer; every bloom here was burned into her memory from her countless visits to your shop.
“I like peonies,” caitlyn added, fingertips brushing the petals of one of them as if it was made of the most delicate glass, trying to avoid damaging it. she couldn't bear the thought of the girl she was interested in ( loved is a strong word... but it also fits. ) being mad.
“It’s their season,” the excitement in your tone doesn't go unnoticed, it makes caitlyn melt a little—the way you care so deeply about your job and the plants is just so sweet she feels something tugging at her heartstrings. she quickly mimicked your smile at the way you lifted one of the flowerpots motioning for her to smell, she couldn’t help but lean in, inhaling the soft, fresh scent.
“nice, isn’t it?”
she nodded, keeping her eyes closed for a second longer. eye contact with you felt almost too much, too intimate, and she didn’t trust herself. “could I buy one? I’ll come back after the ceremony to pick it up—they’d look lovely in my bedroom.”
...buy?
you tilted your head, eyebrows furrowing slightly as if her words confused you. “you know you can just take one, right?”
her family had been using your flowers for events and just decorating for months now, why should she ask for permission?
“no no, please, let me pay,” she insisted quickly, shaking her head. she had more than enough to buy the entire stand if she wanted to so of course she would pay! don't be silly.
“It’s progress day and you’re you. consider it a gift.”
Her pulse quickened at the way you said "you’re you." —did it mean she's as special to you as you are for her?—she wanted to grab that annoyingly gorgeous face of yours and kiss you breathless, but instead, she just laughed softly, shaking her head once more.
“you’re stubborn, you know that?” she teased, her voice warm and light.
“maybe,” you shot back playfully, “but if you insist on paying, I’ll be deeply offended, kiramman.”
caitlyn found herself grinning again, hopelessly smitten by those eyes that stared back at hers. god, she has to kiss you even if it's just once by the end of the day or she'll regret not making a move.
CW: AFAB anatomy, AFAB pronouns, non-sexual nudity, non-sexual touching, mention of sex but not in a suggestive manner
Authors note - Currently working on a Connie Soul and Fantina smut fics, hope to have them out by tomorrow
After spending so long hiding from social interaction in your home, you forgot what it was like to be comforted. You’ve been stressed lately and yesterday you finally broke and vented to her.
She demanded you come back that night. Though you weren’t sure if she wanted to let you vent more to comfort you or to gossip about it later.
Still, you just wanted someone to talk to. So even though you weren’t completely trusting of her intentions, you went to see her in the evening.
You’re a little surprised to be greeted by the sight of Bathsheba wrapped in a towel with her black hair down and damp as usual, leaned over the tub filled with foamy water. The bathroom is filled with the faint scent of roses and strawberries.
As soon as she sees you she smiles widely. “Oh, honey! Just in time, I just finished filling the tub” You quirk your eyebrow at her, you certainly didn’t expect her comfort to be so…intimate.
She takes a step to you and reaches to take your hand “Let’s get in before the water gets cold” You can’t help but be a little hesitant. “I don’t really want to have sex right now…”
Bathsheba sighs and shakes her head with an almost disappointed expression. “This isn’t about sex, love” With that she takes her towel off before slipping into the bathtub.
You hesitate again, but trust her. You undress yourself before slipping into the tub with her, sitting across from her in the warm water. You sigh softly as the soapy water envelops your stiffened muscles.
You feel so vulnerable under her eyes looking into yours, smiling again when she sees you visibly relax. Her eyes remain on yours, making you relax more once you realize her intentions were never sexual.
She moves to pull you close to her, you lay your head on her shoulder as she wraps her arms around your waist. “See? Much better” Her voice is still chipper as usual but more teasing now.
She squirts a handful of soap on her hand, lathering it up in both hands before she begins to rub it down your back. You slump against her body, allowing her to clean your body.
You’ve never felt more vulnerable than now with her, but also never more connected. You can almost feel the stress leave your body as her soapy hands massage your back muscles. Her thumbs gently rolling over your shoulders.
You’ve never taken Bathsheba as a very generous or giving person, but this seems natural for her. To comfort and take care of you.
Shes thorough when washing you, her hands scrubbing and massaging everywhere until she gathers water in her hands and lets it run over your body to rinse the soap off of you. “Now turn around, honey. I need to clean the rats nest on your head”
Despite the rudeness of her words her tone is honey’d. You can’t help but roll your eyes but turn around in the tub. You can hear her rubbing her soapy hands together before they go to your hair, scrubbing the shampoo into your scalp. Her fingernails gently scrape over your scalp as she lathers it on your head.
Her hands momentarily rub at your neck before returning to your hair and massaging the shampoo into your hair. After another minute or two of her covering your head in bubbles she tilts your head back, gathering more water before rinsing your hair with it.
She repeats the rinsing motion a few more times before squirting a small amount of conditioner in her hand, lathering your hair with it.
After rinsing the conditioner out as well, she leans forward and presses a kiss to your shoulder. You melt back against her, the back of your head resting on her left collarbone.
Your body leaned between her legs with your back pressed against her chest. You open your eyes to see her almost smug smirk. “See? Your girl always knows just what you need.”
You chuckle before closing your eyes against, leaning against her more. “I don’t want to get up yet” You whisper still relishing in her comfort. She wraps her arms around you.
“Oh, don’t worry baby. I’m here as long as you need me” She says before pressing a kiss to your forehead.
