Hey there, it’s @thesecondhandwoman, but you can call me Minx. Here’s a short introduction to get to know me better.
✧ Pronouns: She/Her
✧ Sexuality: Lesbian (taken)
✧ Languages: English and Spanish
✧ Zodiac: Virgo
✧ Strawpage: Lesbianism
✧ Pfp & Bio: Matching @lilyyx0
✧ Banner: By @strawberrysnscreams
✧ Blog’s Purpose: To write a lot of fanfics based on current obsessions/fandoms and interact with the platform’s community.
✧ Fanfic Writing: Currently on Arcane and League of Legends (characters: Sevika, Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx, Grayson, Mel, Ambessa, Lest, Katarina, Elise, and Leblanc. Sometimes Viktor, Jayce, Ekko, etc.)
Note: A lot of my fanfics are sfw, since I enjoy being able to get into fluffy or angsts write ups versus nsfw, so if you send out a request for one, I might not go through with it.
Requests: Open!
𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻
From Newest to Oldest
Sevika:
✧ Sick of You
✧ Paid in Fill
✧ Your Little Thief
✧ A Little Bit Of Sugar
✧ Sick Day
✧ Baby Fever
✧ Bottom of the Bottle
✧ Hold Me Together
✧ Easing the Ache
✧ Mama Bear Sevika (headcanons)
✧ Blinded Lover (with Ambessa)
✧ Breaking Point
✧ Between Silk and Steel (with Mel)
✧ Dirty Little Cheater
✧ Iceplay With Sevika
✧ Christmas Cookie Catastrophe
✧ A Close Call
✧ Snow Day in Zaun
✧ Jinx’s Death
✧ Isha’s Death
✧ The Arcane’s Grasp
✧ Holding Onto Her
✧ Sink Into Me
✧ Nightmares
✧ Factored Steel Part One//Part Two
✧ Morning After
✧ New Haircut
✧ Another Repair
Ambessa:
✧ Attention Seeker
✧ Bloodsucker
✧ More Than Enough
✧ Lights, Camera, Action
✧ Hidden Strength
✧ Through the Ache
✧ Chronically Ill
✧ Her Little Assisant
✧ Hidden Injuries
✧ Blinded Lover (with Sevika)
✧ Your Insecurities
✧ Tending to Bloody Wounds
✧ Gilded Warmth
✧ Hexed Heart
✧ Training for Two
Vi:
✧ Kiss Me Slowly
✧ Pit Fighter’s Medic
✧ Counting Her Freckles
✧Motherly Love Part One//Part Two//Part Three//Part Four (with Caitlyn)
✧ Line Dancing
✧ Jacket Thief
✧ Sister’s Sacrifice
✧ A Flavorful Surprise
Caitlyn:
✧ Birthday Girl
✧ Tethered Hearts
✧ Beauty in Scars
✧ The Price of Betrayal
✧Motherly Love Part One//Part Two//Part Three//Part Four (with Caitlyn)
im craving some fluff fic right now, and I think you're going to nail this one. how about a stubborn Sevika not letting the reader take care of her when she's sick? it's like she's hiding from the reader and acting tough or silly when she's clearly not okay.
𝑺𝑰𝑪𝑲 𝑶𝑭 𝒀𝑶𝑼
Sevika x f!reader
Synopsis: A cold has recently been going on around the Undercity, and when Sevika catches it, she as stubborn as ever to try and ignore her feverish state, ultimately leading to you dealing with a messy bundle of sass.
Request: Anon 🤍
A/N: Just a short yet silly fanfic of Sevika and a running fever (it was fun to write).
It started with a cough. Just a little thing, scratchy and low, like she’d swallowed the end of a cigar wrong. You wouldn’t have thought much of it if it weren’t for the way Sevika immediately shut up afterward, like she was waiting to see if you noticed.
You did.
The problem was that she noticed you noticing, despite her hope that you’d think she had only fallen quiet over the noise of the bar.
“Doll,” she warned, lifting a hand as if that would stop you from speaking. “Don’t.”
“Sevika—”
“I’m fine.”
Ah, here we go.
The woman had been acting off all day. She wasn’t touching her drink (which, in itself, was a glaring red flag), her usual sharp scowl had dulled into something more sluggish, and worst of all, she was being too quiet. Sevika was never loud, but she always had something to say, even if it was just some grumbled remark about how stupid someone was being. But now? She just sat there, arms crossed, looking miserable but too damn proud to admit it.
You folded your arms. “You’re sick.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re literally sweating.”
“It’s hot in here.”
“It’s the middle of winter.”
She huffed, shifting in her seat at the bar. “Then someone should fix the damn heat.”
“Sevika.” You reached out, brushing the back of your hand against her forehead before she could swat you away. Her skin was burning. You gave her a pointed look, but she just glared right back, as if sheer willpower would convince you that she wasn’t, in fact, dying of fever.
She turned away. “I’m fine.”
“Yeah? Prove it. Stand up.”
Sevika scoffed and pushed herself up from the barstool, only for her legs to buckle beneath her immediately. If you hadn’t caught her, she would’ve face-planted right onto the grimy floor of The Last Drop.
“Uh-huh. Fine, my ass.” You tightened your grip on her waist, helping her stay upright while she grumbled against your shoulder. “C’mon, big mama. We’re going home.”
Sevika groaned, but she didn’t have the strength to argue, not when standing up alone had already proven to be too much effort.
She was sick. Really sick.
And you were about to have the worst time convincing her to let you take care of her.
The next challenge was actually getting her home.
Sevika, even half-dead with fever, was as stubborn as a damn mule. She refused to let you carry her, claiming she could walk just fine on her own. That was a bold-faced lie, of course. She nearly tripped over her own feet twice before you started guiding her yourself, one arm around her waist as you led her down Zaun’s damp alleyways toward her apartment.
She didn’t make it easy.
“You—you’re making a big deal out of nothing,” she slurred, leaning heavier against you with every step.
“Yeah? You just tried to pick a fight with a mailbox.”
“It was looking at me funny.”
“Sure it was.”
She made an irritated sound in the back of her throat but didn’t argue further. Probably because she knew she’d lose.
By the time you finally got her inside and onto her bed, she was half-asleep, mumbling under her breath about how you were “too bossy for your own good.”
“And you’re too stubborn for your own good,” you shot back, rolling your eyes as you pried her boots off. “Now stay put while I get you some medicine.”
Sevika didn’t respond. You thought she had actually, finally, fallen asleep—until you came back with a glass of water and found the bed empty.
Your eye twitched.
“Sevika.”
No answer.
You checked the bathroom. Nothing.
The kitchen? No sign of her.
It was only when you turned toward the closet that you noticed the faintest shuffle of movement in the shadows, realizing this large woman of a girlfriend was hiding in a closet that could barely fit half her size, especially with her clothing.
You sighed. “Are you seriously hiding from me right now?”
“No.”
A blatant lie.
“You are sick,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Get back in bed.”
“I don’t need to be in bed.”
“You almost passed out earlier!”
She grumbled something incoherent, but when you stomped over and yanked the closet door open, she just squinted up at you, her tall frame awkwardly hunched in the cramped space.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
She blinked. “Hey, doll.”
“Bed. Now.”
She groaned but didn’t resist when you pulled her to her feet and shoved her back toward the mattress. She collapsed onto it with a sigh, one arm thrown dramatically over her eyes.
“You are so difficult,” you muttered, draping a blanket over her.
Sevika just huffed, her breathing heavy. You could tell she was exhausted, no matter how much she tried to act otherwise.
“You wanna keep pretending you’re fine,” you said, voice softer now, “or do you wanna let me take care of you?”
She hesitated.
Her pride was probably waging a violent war against the undeniable fact that she felt like shit. But after a long moment, she shifted, peeking at you from under her arm.
“Just this once,” she muttered.
Your lips twitched. “Oh? Just this once?”
“Shut up before I change my mind.”
You chuckled, brushing some of her damp hair away from her forehead before pressing a cool cloth against it. She melted under your touch, though she’d never admit it.
“See? Not so bad, is it?”
She grumbled but leaned into your hand.
You’d take that as a win.
For the next day and a half, Sevika was in absolute hell. Not because of the fever, but because she had to endure you fussing over her.
You forced her to take medicine.
You nagged at her to drink water.
You made her soup, even though she swore she hated soup (yet somehow, the entire bowl mysteriously disappeared when you weren’t looking).
She complained the entire time.
“Stop hovering.”
“I’m not hovering.”
“You’re literally watching me breathe, doll.”
“Making sure you still can breathe, actually.”
Sevika groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “This is worse than the fever.”
“Oh, bite me.”
“I would, but you’d probably shove a spoonful of medicine in my mouth the second I opened it.”
“Damn right, I would.” You teased, half-jokingly.
Still, for all her grumbling, she didn’t stop you.
And when the fever finally broke, and her strength came back, she sat at the edge of the bed, rubbing a hand over her face.
“Ugh,” she muttered. “I feel like I got run over.”
“You look like you got run over,” you teased, ruffling her already messy hair.
She scowled but didn’t swat your hand away. Instead, she glanced at you, something unreadable in her gaze.
“Thanks,” she said gruffly.
Your lips curled. “For what?”
She sighed, rolling her eyes. “You know what for.”
You grinned. “Say it.”
“No.”
“C’mon. Just say it, baby.”
“Absolutely not.”
You poked her cheek. “Sevika.”
She grunted.
“Vikaaaa—” you cooed her name, a smirk playing on your lips as you leaned into her.
She groaned, pushing your face away. “Fine. Thanks for taking care of me, you insufferable brat.”
You beamed. “Was that so hard?”
“Yes. Excruciating.”
You laughed, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to her forehead before she could complain. “You’re welcome, you stubborn thing.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t hide the small, almost reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
Maybe, just maybe, she’d let you take care of her again next time.
Even if she would make you drag her out of the closet first.
Synopsis: You are worker in the brothel who had recently gotten attached to your client, Sevika, after countless nights of more passionate sessions. Until they suddenly stopped, leaving you with an aching heart.
A/N: Honestly forgot I had this in my documents, but thought I should post it (since we all love Sevika).
The first time she came to you, she was all easy smirks and smooth charm, her prosthetic hand cool against your waist as she pulled you onto her lap. Sevika had the kind of presence that demanded attention, the kind that made others shrink in her shadow or lean in closer just for a taste of her heat. You had been the latter.
She paid well. That was all that mattered at first. A client with deep pockets and a reputation that ensured no one would bother you when you left her room, skin flushed and legs weak. It was a simple arrangement: pleasure given, coin exchanged. Nothing more.
But then she kept coming back.
And you let her.
At first, it was nothing but indulgence—nights filled with laughter and the scrape of her teeth against your throat, her hand gripping your thigh in a way that made your stomach coil with something dangerous. She made you laugh, too, in a way few did. There was something intoxicating about her presence, the roughness of her voice, the heat of her gaze when she dragged it over your body like she was memorizing you.
Then something shifted.
One night, she stayed after. No rush to pull on her coat, no tossing coins onto the nightstand with a smirk before disappearing into the Undercity’s streets. She lingered, arm draped over her stomach, watching the ceiling like it held answers she wasn’t ready to share. You didn’t ask. But when she turned her head and found you watching her, something in her expression softened.
"What?" you asked, your voice quieter than usual.
She exhaled, long and slow. "Nothing. Just... comfortable."
The next time, she brought you a drink, one she swore you’d like. You sipped it from her fingers, let the burn of it settle behind your ribs, and tried to ignore the warmth curling beneath your skin at the way she watched you. She stayed again that night, but this time, she talked. Stories about fights she had won, men she had bested, but also things she shouldn’t have shared—memories from before she was who she was now. You shouldn’t have asked, but you did. And she answered.
It got harder to pretend you weren’t waiting for her. Harder to ignore the way your heart stumbled when she walked through the door, or the way your body leaned into her touch like it was instinct rather than necessity, like it had been there since your first breath.
And then came the night she kissed you slow. Not the usual rough, greedy clash of lips and teeth, but something deliberate, something aching. Something that made your fingers twist in the fabric of her shirt, made you press closer, desperate to chase whatever this was before it slipped through your fingers.
"This ain't what you do," she muttered against your lips, almost like she was warning you. "Ain't what I do either."
You knew that. You should have let it go, let her leave before the line between transaction and intimacy blurred any further. But instead, you whispered, "Then what is this?"
Sevika didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled you back in, and for the first time, she made love to you rather than just taking. Slow hands, lingering kisses, eyes that held something more than want. It was terrifying. It was thrilling.
When it was over, she didn’t leave. She laid beside you, arm draped over her stomach, staring at the ceiling again. The silence stretched between you, thick with unsaid things. You rolled onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow, and ran your fingers through the short strands of her hair.
"Are you staying?" you finally asked.
Her eyes flicked to yours, unreadable. "Do you want me to?"
You swallowed, throat dry. "Yeah."
She let out a soft breath, something close to a chuckle but not quite. "Then I’ll stay."
You knew this had become something dangerous. Because you had let yourself believe, even just for a moment, that she might stay for good.
As attachments grew, you slowly stopped giving much passion to your job with other clients. You knew you needed the money, but the feeling no longer sat right in your chest. It only felt right when she came every night, when her hands traced over you in a way that no longer felt like a simple transaction.
But then, the visits slowly stopped.
At first, they became shorter. A hurried touch, a quick drink shared between you before she left, murmuring something about business. Then entire nights passed without her at all. The ache in your chest started as a whisper, then grew, a quiet panic every time the door opened and it wasn’t her.
One night, you waited longer than usual, fingers curled in your lap, stomach twisted in knots. The creak of the door had you looking up, heart leaping—only for disappointment to crush it just as quickly when you saw it was just another client. You forced a smile, but it felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.
Days passed. Then a week. Then two.
She was gone.
You told yourself you shouldn’t have expected anything else. That this was inevitable. That she was never yours to keep.
But it didn’t stop the tightness in your chest, the sting behind your eyes as you sat in an empty bed, wondering if she had ever truly meant to stay at all.
As you dwelled on it further, the confusion gnawed at you until you couldn’t take it anymore. You sought out Babette, the woman who ran the brothel—the woman who had taken you in when you had nowhere else to go. She was the closest thing to family you had, and if anyone knew what was going on, it would be her.
"She’s still coming around," Babette said, her gaze softening in concern. "Just not to you, sweetheart.”
The words hit like a gut punch. You blinked, feeling the air leave your lungs. "What?"
"She’s been with the others," Babette continued gently. "Sometimes just one. Sometimes more than one. But not you."
Your stomach twisted into something sharp, something ugly. You willed yourself not to cry, not to let the tremor in your hands show. But Babette saw it anyway. Her brows knit together as she reached out, fingertips grazing your arm in silent comfort.
"Maybe it’s better this way," she murmured, her voice almost hesitant. "You know how she is, sweetheart. She doesn’t—"
"It’s fine," you interrupted, your voice too quiet, too fragile. You forced a smile, though it felt brittle. "I was just curious. That’s all."
Babette sighed, her hand fully resting over yours now, warm and grounding. "You don’t have to pretend with me. I know what she meant to you."
You swallowed, hard, but the lump in your throat didn’t go away. "She didn’t mean anything to me. She was just a client."
The lie sat bitter on your tongue. Babette didn’t call you out on it, only squeezed your hand and nodded, her expression unreadable. But her silence told you she didn’t believe it any more than you did.
Whatever you thought you had with Sevika—it had only ever been a game to her. You were nothing more than a warm body, a convenient distraction. And when things started feeling too real, she had sought out others, made sure to remind you of exactly what you were: an option, not a priority.
The belief that you could be loved for more than your body had been foolish. And now, the ache in your heart was proof of just how deeply you had let yourself hope.
Days passed, each one bleeding into the next in a haze of exhaustion and quiet heartache. You went through the motions, welcoming clients with hollow smiles and empty touches, but the passion, the illusion, was gone. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like anything at all.
You tried not to linger on the thought of her, but it was impossible when every shadow in the brothel seemed to whisper her name, when every quiet moment left space for memories you wished you could carve out of your mind.
Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore.
“Babette,” you said one night, standing in the doorway of her office. She looked up from her desk, her sharp eyes softening the moment she saw you.
“Come in, sweetheart,” she murmured, setting down her pen. You hesitated, shifting on your feet, trying to find the right words. She noticed. Of course, she noticed. “What is it?”
You swallowed, forcing down the lump in your throat. “I need a few days,” you finally said. “Just some time.”
Babette leaned back in her chair, studying you the way a mother does when she already knows the answer but waits for you to say it anyway.
“You haven’t been yourself,” she said simply. “Not since—” She didn’t say her name. She didn’t have to.
You dropped your gaze to the floor. “I just need a few days,” you repeated, quieter this time.
She sighed, then stood, walking around the desk until she was in front of you. A warm hand cupped your cheek, gentle but firm. “You take all the time you need, baby,” she said, brushing a thumb over your cheekbone. “But don’t let this break you. You hear me?”
You nodded, though you weren’t sure if you believed it.
That night, you left the brothel and retreated to the small apartment Babette had helped you get years ago. The space felt both foreign and suffocating all at once, too quiet, too empty. You sat on the edge of your bed, staring at the floor, willing yourself not to cry.
This was supposed to be temporary. A few days to pull yourself together, to forget.
Because you had to forget.
Sevika was just a client.
She was never supposed to be anything more.
And yet, the ache in your chest told you that she had been.
And that she still was.
Sevika stepped through the familiar doors of the brothel, the heavy scent of perfume and liquor thick in the air. It was the same as always—soft laughter spilling from plush lounges, the low murmur of conversation, the occasional moan slipping past velvet curtains.
But it didn’t feel the same.
She had been here almost every night, distracting herself with fleeting warmth, with lips that weren’t yours, with the burn of whiskey numbing the gnawing in her chest. She convinced herself it was working.
Until now.
Her feet carried her straight to the bar where Babette stood, drying a glass with slow, practiced movements. The moment she saw Sevika approach, something flickered behind her sharp eyes—something knowing. Something unreadable.
Sevika didn’t care to decipher it. She exhaled sharply, leaning one forearm against the counter.
“Is she available tonight?” she asked, the words coming out rougher than she meant.
Babette didn’t answer right away. Instead, she set the glass down and folded the rag over her shoulder. Only then did she meet Sevika’s gaze, her expression unreadable.
“She’s not here,” Babette finally said, voice even.
Sevika’s brow furrowed. “She got a client already?”
“No.” A pause. “She’s been taking time off.”
Something in Sevika’s chest tightened.
“Time off?” She frowned. “Since when?”
“A few days now.”
Sevika’s fingers drummed against the counter, a growing unease curling in her gut. You never took time off. You needed the money, just like everyone else here.
“Why?” she asked.
Babette just looked at her. A slow, knowing look, one that made Sevika shift under the weight of it. And then, to her surprise, Babette let out a dry, humorless chuckle and shook her head.
Sevika’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Funny, you askin’ that,” Babette mused, picking up her rag again, wiping at a spot on the counter that wasn’t even there.
Sevika’s jaw tightened. “Just tell me.”
Babette stopped wiping, meeting her gaze dead-on. The look in her eyes was almost pitying. Almost.
“You really don’t get it, do you?” she said, voice blunt.
Sevika stayed silent, waiting.
Babette sighed through her nose before finally giving her the truth—the one Sevika hadn’t let herself consider.
“She got too attached,” Babette said, folding her arms across her chest. “And now she’s trying to wear that off.”
The words hit Sevika like a punch to the ribs, knocking the air from her lungs.
Too attached.
Trying to wear that off.
For a moment, she just stood there, staring, unable to process what she had just heard. Because that meant—
That meant you had felt it too.
The thing she had been running from, numbing herself against, drowning in booze and other women just to avoid facing.
You had felt it too.
And instead of dealing with it like she had, you had done the opposite. You had left.
Sevika’s fingers curled into a fist against the counter. The guilt, the frustration, the regret—it all slammed into her at once, a crashing tide she wasn’t prepared for.
Babette watched her, eyes sharp, knowing.
“You asked,” she said simply.
Sevika swallowed, her throat dry. She pushed off the counter, turning toward the door without another word.
She needed air. She needed a drink. She needed—
She didn’t know what she needed.
All she knew was that she should have never asked.
Because now, she couldn’t ignore it anymore.
Now, she knew the truth.
And there was no running from it.
Sevika stood outside your apartment door, exhaling a slow breath. The hallway smelled of damp wood and old cigarette smoke, the dim lighting flickering overhead. She had stood in front of many doors before—some with intent, some without—but this one felt different. This one made her hesitate.
She had spent days, weeks, running from this, burying herself in distractions. But Babette’s words echoed in her head, stubborn and unrelenting.
“She got too attached.”
Sevika clenched her jaw and lifted her hand, knocking twice.
A long pause.
For a moment, she thought you wouldn’t answer. Maybe you were asleep. Maybe you’d left. Maybe you wouldn’t want to see her at all.
But then, the door creaked open.
And fuck—
You looked wrecked.
Your hair was undone, tangled from nights of restless tossing. The clothes you wore were loose and rumpled, as if they had been thrown on days ago and never changed. And your eyes—puffy, red-rimmed, still glossy with the remains of sleepless nights and silent tears.
Sevika had seen you in every state imaginable—laughing, breathless, flushed from pleasure. But never like this. Never broken.
Her stomach twisted.
For a second, you just stared at her, like you weren’t sure if she was real or just some cruel figment of your exhausted mind. Then, slowly, your expression hardened, and you began to push the door closed.
Sevika’s hand shot out, gripping the edge before it could fully shut. “Wait.”
Your lips pressed into a thin line. “What do you want, Sevika?” Your voice was hoarse, quiet, so unlike the teasing lilt she had grown used to hearing.
She swallowed, forcing herself to meet your gaze. “I just need to talk.”
A humorless chuckle escaped you, void of warmth. “Talk?” you repeated. “Like how you suddenly stopped coming to me? Like how you’ve been fucking around with everyone else?”
Sevika flinched at the bitterness in your voice. She had earned that.
You scoffed, shaking your head as you tried to close the door again. “No. I can’t do this, Sevika. Just—just leave.”
Panic shot through her.
Her hand pressed harder against the door, a crack of desperation in her tone. “Please.”
You froze.
Sevika never begged. Not for anything. Not for anyone.
But she wasn’t too proud to now.
“Please,” she repeated, softer this time. “Just let me explain.”
Your fingers trembled slightly where they gripped the doorframe. You didn’t move for a long moment, weighing your choices, weighing her.
Then, with a quiet exhale, you stepped aside.
Sevika took a slow breath and walked in.
She didn’t know how to fix this. She didn’t know if she even could.
But she hoped that she could at least try to.
The silence stretched between you as you both settled into the living room. You sat on the couch, curling your legs under yourself, arms wrapped tightly around your torso like you were trying to hold yourself together. Sevika hesitated before lowering herself into the chair across from you, elbows resting on her knees.
For a moment, she said nothing. She just looked at you, at the exhaustion on your face, at the way your fingers picked idly at the hem of your sleeve, at the hurt she had put there.
She exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand down her face before finally speaking.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she muttered, voice rough, tired. “That—that was never my intent.”
You scoffed quietly, shaking your head. “Really?”
Sevika winced but didn’t argue.
She let out another breath, staring at her hands as she tried to put words to the mess in her head. “I—this isn’t something I know how to do,” she admitted. “Feelings, love—any of that shit. It’s never been something I was meant for. The things I’ve done, the life I live… it doesn’t make me the kind of person who gets this. Who deserves it.”
Your brow furrowed, but you stayed quiet.
Sevika clenched her jaw. “I was scared,” she admitted, the words almost foreign on her tongue. “Scared of what it meant. Scared of how easy it was with you. How much I wanted it to be real.”
She finally looked up, and the weight of her gaze settled heavy between you.
“I thought if I put distance between us, it’d go away. That I could just bury it, move on.” A humorless chuckle left her. “Guess I fucked that up too, huh?”
You swallowed, shifting slightly on the couch. “You could’ve just talked to me,” you murmured, voice quieter now, the sharp edges dulling.
Sevika nodded, dragging a hand down her face. “Yeah. I should’ve. But I was so caught up in running from it, I didn’t stop to think about what it was doing to you.” She let out a slow breath. “I didn’t realize—”
She stopped herself short, like saying it out loud would make it too real.
But then, she forced herself to look at you again.
“You liked me back.”
Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, looking away, suddenly finding the floor far more interesting.
“Of course I did,” you muttered, voice thick. “I still do.”
Sevika’s chest tightened.
She had spent weeks drowning herself in anything that could distract her—other women, alcohol, fights that left her knuckles bruised—anything to push away the feeling she didn’t want to face.
But now, sitting here, watching you—
She realized she had made a mistake.
A huge one.
Sevika took a deep breath, steadying herself before she stood, crossing the short distance between you. Her movements were slow, hesitant, like she thought you might flinch away. And at first, you nearly did—your body tensed, your fingers gripping the fabric of your sleeves as she approached.
But she didn’t force anything.
Instead, she reached out, calloused fingers brushing against your jaw before cupping your face with a gentleness you hadn’t expected. Her thumb traced over your cheek, hesitant, almost reverent.
“Let me fix this,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Let me make it up to you.”
Your breath hitched, eyes flickering up to hers, searching.
“Let me love you back.”
Her words cracked something open in you, something raw and aching. The weeks of confusion, of longing, of heartache—all of it threatened to overwhelm you. You could see the desperation in her eyes, the regret, the unspoken plea for another chance.
Slowly, your body relaxed.
Your hands moved on their own, fingers brushing over the cool metal of her prosthetic before gripping the front of her vest, pulling her closer.
Sevika exhaled shakily, her forehead resting against yours for a moment before she tilted your chin up, capturing your lips in a kiss that was nothing like the ones before.
It wasn’t rushed or hungry.
It was soft. Careful. Like she was afraid you might shatter beneath her touch.
You melted into it, arms looping around her neck, pulling her impossibly closer. The kiss deepened, her other hand splaying against your back, holding you as if you might slip away if she let go.
When she finally pulled back, her lips hovered just over yours, breaths mingling.
“I won’t run again,” she promised, voice rough with emotion. “Not from you.”
You searched her face, the sincerity in her expression, before nodding slightly.
“Then don’t.”
And when she kissed you again, you knew—this time, she wouldn’t.
A/N: Kinda noticed the amount of repeating phrases in this but I didn’t proofread and wrote it when I was sick so ignore that and hope you enjoyed it (and again, sorry for being gone for so long)!
Hey guys, my inbox has been acting up a bit, I was wondering if yall could send some new requests since I currently can’t see the old ones (while I figure out why it’s doing that).
Sorry if there are a lot of old requests I haven’t gotten to too (bring them back up and I’ll do them)!
Synopsis: It was just another comforting family moment in Jinx’s hideout when your daughter, Isha, decided that she wanted to have a puppet show created by her mamas.
A/N: Had to write a mama jinx fic because her relationship with isha destroyed me.
The hideout was cluttered in the best way possible—scraps of paper, gears, and bits of paint-streaked fabric scattered across the wooden floor. It smelled like gunpowder and paint, the air still tinged with the scent of last night’s late-night project, some kind of half-finished contraption Jinx had abandoned midway in favor of lying across your lap and playing with Isha’s hair until the little girl fell asleep.
Now, the three of you were sitting in your usual spots, Jinx lounging on her stomach, absentmindedly twirling a screwdriver between her fingers, you sitting cross-legged beside her, and Isha perched between the both of you, sketchbook in hand.
Jinx yawned and stretched, poking Isha’s cheek with the screwdriver. “What’s up, kid? You’re staring.”
Isha scrunched her nose, swatting Jinx’s hand away before flipping her sketchbook around. Crayon lines sketched out three figures, two taller ones with unmistakable streaks of blue and your own signature look, and between them, a smaller figure holding their hands. But what stood out the most were the little stick-puppet versions of you and Jinx clutched in your drawn hands.
You tilted your head, taking it in before a grin tugged at your lips. “Looks like she wants a puppet show.”
Jinx’s eyes lit up with an almost childlike glimmer, pushing herself up onto her elbows. “Puppet show, huh? Oh, kid, you are in for a treat.” She shot up, already digging through the various piles of junk around the hideout, snatching up cloth scraps, loose screws, and what might have been an old sock at one point. “We’re gonna make the best damn puppets this side of Zaun has ever seen.”
Isha clapped her hands together, eyes alight with excitement. You chuckled, reaching over to ruffle her hair before helping Jinx gather materials.
It didn’t take long for your makeshift crafting station to turn into chaos. Jinx had glue on her cheek, you had thread tangled around your fingers, and Isha, bless her, was trying her hardest to sew while giggling at Jinx’s constant stream of nonsense.
Jinx, being Jinx, crafted something delightfully chaotic—a tiny, messy version of herself with wild blue yarn for hair and big mismatched button eyes. “Looks just like me, huh?” she joked, holding it up to her face.
You held back a laugh. “It’s a spitting image,” you teased before presenting your own puppet, much softer in dramatics than jinx’s, with neatly stitched features and a lopsided smile. “And look, she even has an actual shirt instead of whatever that is.”
Jinx gasped in faux offense. “Babe. That ‘whatever’ is art.”
Isha was already giggling, hugging her own tiny puppet versions of you both to her chest. She then pointed expectantly at the table, signaling that it was time for the show to begin.
Jinx cleared her throat dramatically, dropping into a stage whisper. “Alright, ladies and, well, ladies. Welcome to the greatest, most entertaining show of your life!” She ducked behind a nearby crate, holding up her mini-puppet self. “Introducing the fearless, the stunning, the ridiculously cool, Jinx!”
You played along, lifting your own puppet and giving it a tiny bow. “And her ever-patient, slightly concerned partner, me.”
Isha clapped as the show began, the two of you making the puppets bounce and interact in exaggerated, silly voices. Jinx’s puppet cackled and flipped over dramatically (assisted by her wiggling fingers), while yours sighed and crossed its little arms.
“Jinx, you can’t just declare yourself the queen of Zaun.”
“Uh, yeah, I can.” Jinx wiggled her puppet in a mockingly regal manner. “I got the crown and everything.”
“You don’t have a crown,” your puppet huffed.
“Oh yeah?” Jinx disappeared for a second before reappearing, having shoved a small tin lid on her puppet’s head. “How about now?”
Isha was in stitches, muffling her giggles with her hands. It was a rare sound, and one that made you and Jinx share a quick, warm glance.
By the end, Isha was clapping enthusiastically, her joy written all over her face. She reached forward and tugged both you and Jinx into a tight hug, her little arms squeezing as if she could keep this moment forever.
Jinx snickered, ruffling Isha’s hair. “Alright, kiddo. You win. Puppet shows are officially a thing now.”
You pressed a kiss to Jinx’s temple before squeezing Isha back. “Best audience we’ve ever had.”
The three of you spent the rest of the evening making more puppets, one for Silco, one for Sevika (though Jinx made hers absurdly buff), and even a tiny Fishbones. At some point, Isha curled up in your lap, drowsy but still smiling, and Jinx draped herself over both of you like a content cat.
“Hey,” Jinx murmured after a while, her fingers absently playing with Isha’s hair. “We’re a pretty good pair of parents, huh?”
You pressed your cheek to her shoulder, letting out a hum of agreement. “Yeah. The best.”
And as the soft glow of lanterns flickered around you, the sounds of the Lanes distant but ever-present, you let yourself believe it, right here, with Jinx and Isha tangled up in warmth and laughter, everything was exactly as it should be.
Me contemplating life at the moment with my masterlist because I’m mad that I did it on my intro and not a separate post (to make it easier for everyone).
P.S, I do all my work on my phone (so it takes 5 times the effort with my neurotic self).
Synopsis: It started as a peaceful Saturday morning with your wife, supposedly supposed to be slow and steady, before your daughter had other plans by stealing Sevika’s mechanical arm.
A/N: I had to write a cute fanfic about domestic, mama bear Sevika (for my life to be complete).
Mornings like this were rare.
No alarms, no pressing responsibilities, just the soft golden glow filtering through the curtains and the steady rise and fall of Sevika’s chest beneath your cheek.
Her warmth surrounded you, her arm draped lazily over your waist, the deep rumble of her breathing a soothing comfort. She was completely relaxed, her body slack in sleep, and you were tempted to stay like this forever.
You sighed contentedly, pressing a soft kiss to her collarbone before shifting slightly. Sevika made a noise—half grunt, half sleepy protest—and tightened her hold on you when you shifted closer, kissing her skin further.
“Mm, too early,” she mumbled, voice rough with sleep. “Too early to wake me.”
You smiled against her skin. “We don’t even know what time it is.”
“Doesn’t matter. Still too early.”
You hummed in agreement, letting yourself sink back into the warmth of her embrace.
Then the bedroom door creaked.
You barely had time to react before a tiny, energetic voice broke the morning calm.
“Mama! Mommy!”
The moment shattered.
Sevika groaned as your daughter barreled into the room, her little feet pattering across the floor. You barely cracked an eye open before she launched herself onto the bed, wriggling her way between you both with zero hesitation.
“Wake up!” she chirped, eyes bright with excitement. “It’s morning!”
You buried your face into Sevika’s bare shoulder, muffling a groan. “Baby, it’s the weekend, mama and I aren’t even fully awake yet…”
“But I’m awake,” she said matter-of-factly, as if that was enough reason for everyone else to be.
Sevika grumbled, her grip on you loosening as she turned onto her back, rubbing a hand over her face. “Doll, we agreed on knocking.”
Your daughter giggled, completely ignoring her. Instead, she shifted, eyes scanning the bed with an expression you immediately recognized as trouble.
You were about to question it when you saw what had caught her attention.
Sevika’s mechanical arm, currently detached and sitting on the edge of her nightstand.
Your eyes widened. “No, Dahlia—“
Before you could stop her or do anything to at least slow her down, she snatched the limb up with both hands, giggling uncontrollably as she wobbled under its weight.
Sevika frowned, still groggy. “What are you—”
Sevika turned her head further, rolling onto her back so she could look over at your daughter. She paused when she saw your daughter, the one she helped produce, holding her extremely expensive mechanical arm between a fit of giggles before she saw that sneaky look on the little one’s face, knowing she isn’t just looking at it this time.
“Oh, you little—”
Before she could finish, your daughter bolted.
You barely had time to process what was happening before Sevika sat up, the sheets slipping down her bare torso as she pointed after her.
“She stole my damn arm.”
You collapsed onto the mattress, covering your face as laughter overtook you.
Sevika huffed. “This isn’t funny.”
You gasped for breath. “It’s so funny.”
“No, it’s criminal. She ripped my arm off and just ran.”
“She didn’t rip it off,” you wheezed, still shaking with laughter. “She saw an opportunity and took it.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m taking it back.”
Sevika swung her legs over the bed, already moving to stand, only to pause.
Her robe was nowhere in sight.
“Where the hell are my clothes?” she muttered, glancing around the room.
You wiped at your eyes, still catching your breath. “I think they ended up on the floor, somewhere…”
Sevika let out a frustrated groan, raking a hand through her messy hair. “Perfect.”
Meanwhile, in the hallway, your daughter’s excited voice rang out.
“I’m the strongest fighter in Zaun!”
Sevika swore under her breath before hastily grabbing the nearest thing, a blanket, and wrapping it around herself.
“This is humiliating,” she muttered as she stormed toward the door.
You sat up properly, still grinning, before you responded mockingly. “You should be proud. She’s already mastered the art of psychological warfare.”
Sevika shot you a glare before stomping out of the bedroom.
You followed at a slower pace, stepping into the living room just in time to witness the absolute chaos unfolding.
Your daughter was sprinting across the room, swinging Sevika’s arm around like a weapon, her little feet barely making a sound as she dodged every piece of furniture in sight.
Sevika, still mostly wrapped in the blanket, was chasing her down.
“Give it back,” she ordered, her voice low and warning.
Your daughter squealed, narrowly avoiding capture as she dove behind the couch. “No way, it’s mine now mama!”
Sevika lunged, but she was still half asleep, and your kid was thriving in her newfound power.
She juked left. Sevika followed.
She faked right. Sevika cursed.
You leaned against the doorway, biting your lip to keep from laughing again.
“Baby, you might as well surrender,” you teased. “She’s got your stubbornness and your speed.”
“She’s lucky she’s cute,” Sevika muttered, attempting to corner her.
Your daughter, realizing she was trapped, did the only logical thing.
She threw the arm, or at least tried due to the hunk of metal being three times her weight and size.
Sevika barely caught it before it hit the ground.
You watched as she slowly, slowly turned back to face your daughter, who was standing a few feet away, looking very pleased with herself.
“Oh, you are so dead, you little punk.”
Your daughter shrieked as Sevika lunged, scooping her up effortlessly.
“No! Mama, wait!”
Sevika ignored her, tossing the arm onto the couch before lifting her higher, pressing a few teasing kisses to her cheek.
“You think you can just steal from me and get away with it? Huh, little rascal?”
Your daughter giggled, kicking her feet. “Yes?”
“Mm, wrong answer, now you must face the consequences of your criminal actions.”
Sevika shifted her grip, bringing her down just enough to bury her face in her stomach—blowing a loud, ticklish raspberry.
Your daughter let out the most dramatic, high-pitched giggle, writhing in her grasp. “Mama, mama no! Please, I surrender!”
Sevika grinned against her belly, doing it again just to hear her squeal.
You crossed your arms, shaking your head. “Wow, a real display of strength. Look at you, the strongest fighter in Zaun, reduced to a giggling mess.”
Your daughter groaned between giggles. “Mommy, help!”
“I don’t know, baby,” you mused, smirking. “I think Mama earned this one.”
Sevika finally relented, setting her down but keeping her close.
“Alright, little menace. I suppose I can do something for a criminal like you at least for being bold enough to steal my arm. You hungry?”
Your daughter immediately perked up. “Yes! Can we please have pancakes?”
Sevika chuckled, ruffling her hair. “Only if you help.”
“I will!” she promised, already bouncing toward the kitchen.
You watched her go before glancing at Sevika.
“You do realize you’re still half-naked under that blanket, right?”
She smirked. “Yeah. You gonna do something about it?”
You rolled your eyes, swatting at her as she laughed.
Sevika finally shrugged on her robe once you handed it to her, shaking her head. “You coming?”
You smiled, stepping closer and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s go make pancakes.”
Synopsis: Ever since Vi had grown her hair out, you’ve come to adore the long mullet of dark red hair. Now, playing with her hair and trying to braid it, you could help but also adore the way your lips felt on her skin.
A/N: Just a short lil thing I wrote before I get back to posting all the requested drafts.
Vi had never really cared about her hair. It grew, she cut it—simple as that. But lately, she’d been slacking on the whole maintenance thing, and now her once-close-cropped style had grown out into a messy, unkempt mullet. You, of course, loved it. Maybe a little too much.
Not that Vi was complaining.
She sat between your legs on the floor, back resting against the couch, while you toyed with her hair absentmindedly. The strands were thick and uneven in places where she’d hacked at them herself, but that just made it more fun to play with. Your fingers moved idly through the red mess of different shades, scratching lightly at her scalp before smoothing down the longer pieces at the back.
Vi hummed in satisfaction, tipping her head back just a little. “Damn, babe. You’re gonna make me fall asleep like this.”
You smirked, fingers still working through her hair. “Then maybe you should take better care of it yourself.”
She huffed a quiet laugh. “Why would I, when I got you?”
Your hands paused for a second, a little thrill running through you at the casual way she said it—so easy, so certain, like she knew you’d always be there to do this for her.
“You really are hopeless,” you teased, trying to focus on your task instead of how warm Vi’s words made you feel.
With a newfound sense of purpose, you gathered a small section of her hair and started to braid it. Vi didn’t move, completely content to let you mess with it as you pleased. Her breathing had slowed, her shoulders sinking into your legs as if she were melting from the scalp massage alone.
You smiled to yourself as you finished the braid and tied it off with a small band you’d stolen from her side of the bathroom earlier. “There. Now you look cute.”
Vi cracked an eye open and smirked. “I always look cute.”
You snorted. “Cocky.”
“You love it.”
You rolled your eyes, but yeah, you kinda did.
Your hands trailed down from her hair, your fingertips ghosting along her shoulders where the straps of her sleeveless shirt rested. She was always warm, like she carried the heat of every fight, every restless night, every bit of fire inside her. It was comforting in a way that made you never want to let go.
Without thinking, you began unfastening the straps, letting them slide down her arms, baring more of her tattooed skin. Vi didn’t stop you. She never did.
Your fingertips traced the dark ink winding across her shoulder, following the intricate patterns down the curve of her back. Vi exhaled a slow breath, her muscles shifting slightly beneath your touch.
“Gettin’ distracted again?” she murmured, voice lower now, a teasing lilt beneath the rasp.
You pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder in response. “Maybe.”
Vi chuckled, tilting her head slightly to the side, giving you more room. She always acted so tough, so sharp-edged and indestructible, but moments like these? When she just let herself be held, touched, adored? You swore you’d never get enough.
Your lips followed the path of your fingers, slow and deliberate, kissing along her shoulder blade, down her spine. Vi shivered, her breath hitching just barely before she exhaled again, rolling her shoulders like she was stretching into the touch.
“You’re gonna kill me, doll,” she muttered, but there was no real complaint in her tone.
You smiled against her skin, your hands now smoothing along her waist, feeling the solid muscle there. “Oh? Once a big bad pit fighter, now an amazing champion, and she still can’t handle a little attention?”
Vi scoffed, but you could feel her smirk. “You call this attention? Feels more like torture.”
“Oh?”
You grinned against her shoulder, nipping lightly at the skin before pulling back just enough to murmur, “Torture, huh? That’s a strong word.”
Vi’s chuckle was low and lazy, her head tilting slightly to the side as if to encourage you to keep going. “Yeah. Unfair, really.”
You hummed in thought, trailing your fingers back up to her neck, toying with the short strands at the base of her undercut. “Guess I’ll have to make it worse, then.”
Before Vi could get out another smart-mouthed quip, you leaned in again, pressing slow, deliberate kisses along the nape of her neck. The way her breath hitched ever so slightly didn’t go unnoticed.
“You’re dangerous,” she murmured, voice softer now, lacking its usual sharpness.
You smirked. “You have no idea.”
Your lips traveled lower, pressing to the dip of her spine, tracing the ink that wound across her back. Vi let out a slow exhale, her body shifting ever so slightly under your touch. She never let herself be vulnerable like this with anyone else—never let her guard down, never relaxed fully. But with you? Like this? She was completely at ease.
Your hands traced along her shoulders again before smoothing down the curve of her arms, fingers skimming lightly over the bare skin. Vi’s hands, usually so steady and strong, flexed briefly before she let them rest on her thighs, gripping them loosely like she wasn’t sure what to do with herself.
You smiled, pressing another kiss between her shoulder blades. “You okay, Vi?”
She huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head slightly. “Yeah. Just—feels nice.”
You softened at that. Vi, who took punches like they were nothing, who always threw herself headfirst into danger without a second thought, who never let herself ask for softness—telling you something as simple as this feels nice was the most unguarded thing she could say.
Your arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her closer as you nuzzled against the side of her neck. “Good,” you murmured, pressing a lingering kiss just beneath her ear. “I like making you feel good.”
Vi exhaled sharply, then let her head fall back slightly against your shoulder, exposing more of her neck to you. “You’re really not gonna let up, huh?”
“Nope.” You grinned against her skin, placing another kiss to the sensitive spot just beneath her jaw.
Vi groaned, but it wasn’t a complaint. “Unfair. So unfair.”
You chuckled, your fingers resuming their gentle exploration of her back, tracing patterns over her skin. “You love it.”
She let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “Yeah,” she admitted, voice quieter now. “I do.”
That was all you needed to hear.
Your kisses slowed, turned softer—less teasing, more affectionate. You trailed them along her jaw, down her shoulder, back up to the shell of her ear, your hands never stopping their lazy exploration of her body.
Vi sighed, completely melted against you now, her warmth pressing into you like she belonged there. And in this moment, she did.
You weren’t in any rush. There were no fights to win, no battles to prepare for, no pasts to outrun. Just this—just you and Vi, tangled up in each other, with all the time in the world.
And that was more than enough.
A/N: Can she please be real so I can just marry her already? Like ugh. Also, how are you guys doing today?
Fanfic will be uploaded today, but I always wanted to make this really quick to add that @possessedmagpie recently posted her first fic on here, so please go check it out!
And I always wanna help out a new fanfic writer on tumblr.
Hello I’m back but with a properly formulated request!
Sevika x single mom? Head-cannons, drabbles ect, I’m not picky
Or, you and sevika had been dating a few months but she didn’t know you had a daughter. One day you invite her to your house for afternoon tea (and to meet your daughter)….sevika shows up early with flowers but it’s not you who opens the door, it’s a 5 year old?
-thank you! Pictures of my dog Milo will only be sent if you do this 💗💗💗
A LITTLE BIT OF SUGAR
Sevika x f!reader
Synopsis: After inviting Sevika to come to your house due to months of dating, you didn’t expect her to come early. So, without any knowledge and the doorbell ringing, you daughter answered instead, surprising Sevika entirely.
Request: @possessedmagpie
Sevika wasn’t nervous. Not exactly.
She tugged on the cuff of her jacket, the bouquet of flowers clutched in her other hand as she stood outside your door. This wasn’t a big deal—it was just tea at your place. Nothing she hadn’t done before, right?
Well, except it was the first time you’d invited her over.
The thought made her shift her weight, suddenly hyper-aware of the flowers in her hand. Were flowers too much? She didn’t usually do romantic gestures, but you brought something out in her—something soft and warm, something that wanted to try for you.
Taking a steadying breath, she knocked on the door. It opened almost immediately, but it wasn’t you standing there.
It was a kid.
A very small, very curious kid.
Sevika froze. The child blinked up at her with wide eyes, her head tilting as if trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
“Hi,” the little girl said, her voice bright and clear.
“Uh, ” Sevika’s mind blanked. She glanced down at the flowers, then back at the child. “Hi.”
The girl squinted at her, clearly unimpressed. “Who are you?”
“I’m…” Sevika glanced around as if looking for you to appear and rescue her. “I’m Sevika. Is—uh—is your mom home?”
The girl’s eyes lit up at that. “You’re here for Mommy?”
Sevika nodded, still not entirely sure what was happening.
The child seemed to consider this, then stepped back and opened the door wider. “Okay, come in! Mommy’s in the kitchen. I’ll show you!”
Before Sevika could react, the girl grabbed her free hand and started tugging her inside. The bouquet bobbed awkwardly in her grip as she let herself be dragged into the small, cozy apartment.
Sevika took it all in at a glance: the lived-in feel of the space, the faint smell of something cooking, the drawings taped up on the fridge. Her chest tightened as the realization hit her like a freight train.
You had a kid.
The girl plopped herself onto the couch and patted the seat next to her, looking up at Sevika expectantly. “Sit down! Mommy will be done soon. You can talk to me!”
Sevika sat stiffly, her brain still trying to catch up. She glanced down at the child, who was now inspecting the bouquet with open curiosity.
“Are those for Mommy?” the girl asked, reaching out to touch the petals.
“Yeah,” Sevika said, her voice coming out rougher than she intended. She cleared her throat. “For your mom.”
The girl grinned. “She’s gonna love them. She likes pretty things.”
Sevika found herself relaxing a little at the child’s enthusiasm. “Yeah?”
“Uh-huh. I’m Dahlia,” the girl said proudly. “What’s your name again?”
“Sevika.”
“Sevika,” Dahlia repeated, testing the word. “That’s a cool name.”
Sevika smirked despite herself. “Thanks, kid.”
Before Dahlia could launch into another round of questions, your voice called from the kitchen. “Dahlia, who’s at the door?”
“It’s Sevika!” Dahlia yelled back, making Sevika wince at the volume.
Your footsteps came quickly, and a moment later, you appeared in the doorway, holding a dish towel. The moment your eyes landed on Sevika, they went wide.
“You’re early,” you said, a hint of panic in your voice.
Sevika gave a sheepish shrug. “Yeah, I guess I—uh—caught you off guard.”
You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I was going to… ease into this.”
Sevika’s brow furrowed. “Ease into what?”
You gestured toward Dahlia, who was now busy arranging the flowers in a vase she’d found on the coffee table. “This. Her.”
Sevika stared at you, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to form a response. “You didn’t tell me you had a kid.”
“I know,” you said quickly, stepping closer. “I wanted to. I just didn’t know how.”
Sevika exhaled sharply, leaning back against the couch. “That’s a lot to spring on someone.”
“I know,” you repeated, your voice softer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen this way.”
Dahlia looked up from her flowers, oblivious to the tension in the room. “Mommy, Sevika’s really nice! She let me smell the flowers!”
You managed a small smile, crouching down beside her. “That’s very sweet of her, isn’t it?”
Dahlia nodded enthusiastically, and you turned back to Sevika, your eyes searching hers. “Can you stay? Just for a little while? I’ll explain everything. Please.”
Sevika hesitated, her gaze flicking between you and Dahlia. Finally, she nodded. “Yeah. I can stay.”
Lunch was a strange mix of awkwardness and warmth. Dahlia’s endless chatter filled the silences, her stories ranging from her favorite cartoons to the adventures of her stuffed bear, Mr. Bubbles.
Sevika found herself drawn into the conversation despite her initial discomfort. Dahlia had a way of demanding attention in a way that felt familiar—like a certain blue-haired girl Sevika had once known.
“You’re good with her,” you said quietly when Dahlia ran off to grab a book she wanted to show Sevika.
Sevika snorted. “You think so?”
“I do,” you said, your gaze soft. “I was worried… about how this would go. But you’re handling it better than I expected.”
Sevika shrugged, glancing toward the hallway where Dahlia had disappeared. “She’s a good kid. Reminds me of someone I used to know.”
“Jinx?”
“Yeah.” Sevika’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “She used to follow me around all the time as a kid, asking a million questions. Drove me crazy back then, but I guess I got used to it.”
You smiled, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. “Thank you. For staying.”
Sevika’s fingers curled around yours, her grip firm but gentle. “I’m not going anywhere.”
After lunch, Dahlia insisted Sevika help her draw. You watched from the kitchen as they sat on the living room floor, crayons scattered between them.
“Your coloring is terrible,” Dahlia declared, pointing at Sevika’s attempt at a flower.
Sevika raised an eyebrow. “You could just say thank you.”
Dahlia giggled, leaning over to “fix” the drawing. “There. Now it’s pretty.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sevika muttered, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward.
You leaned against the counter, your heart swelling at the sight. Sevika didn’t just tolerate Dahlia—she engaged with her, teasing and listening in a way that felt effortless. It was more than you’d dared to hope for.
When Dahlia finally ran out of steam and curled up on the couch with Mr. Bubbles, you and Sevika found yourselves alone in the quiet living room.
“She likes you,” you said softly, sitting beside her.
Sevika smirked. “Yeah? How can you tell?”
“She doesn’t usually let anyone touch her crayons,” you teased.
Sevika chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Well, I’m honored.”
You leaned into her, your head resting against her chest. “I know this isn’t what you signed up for. And if it’s too much—”
“Don’t,” Sevika said firmly, cutting you off. “I’m here. I want to be here. Okay?”
You nodded, your throat tightening with emotion.
Sevika tilted your chin up, her gaze steady and warm. “You and her? You’re a package deal. I get that. And I’m in.”
Tears pricked your eyes, but before you could respond, Sevika leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. It was slow and grounding, a silent promise you felt in every inch of your being.
When she pulled back, you smiled up at her, your fingers brushing against the scar on her cheek. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”
Sevika smirked. “Guess that makes two of us.”
The sound of Dahlia’s soft snores filled the room, and for the first time in years, you felt like everything was exactly as it should be.
A/N: This was such a cute request and I’m mad that I couldn’t expand it more (struggled a bit and working on the headcanons with other requests). Hope you enjoy it though :)!
