A/N: Remember the accountant!reader that's really scared of Sevika? Yeah so I did a drabble. Lol.
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You make her feel good. Or at least, she feels something other than the heaviness in her heart.
She doesn't know why.
No, she does–sort of. It's an inkling of a theory, but it's the only lead she's got. It's the fear in those eyes. They flicker and snap the moment she walks into the room.
She doesn't like it, but she relishes in the attention.
It felt good to know her presence made you waver. It felt good to watch you stiffen. To hear you stutter. To know she occupies a part of your mind. To know she means something to you, even if it's negative.
But still.
Still.
She'd rather see something more.
She wished for your eyes to sparkle, for your cheeks to redden and lips to smile–and the mere thought set butterflies loose in her chest, ever beating against her ribcage.
She doesn't know how to say it. The words are like bittersweet honey on her lips.
Look at me baby. Just for a little while.
It's clawing at her chest. It's sinking its hands into her body. Filling her lungs with the muck of her selfish desire. Look at me, look at me, baby won't you rest those pretty eyes on me?
"S-Sevika? If I um, if I did something wrong p-please let me know…"
Those irises. They look up at her and tremble, in tune with the shuddering of your shoulders. Should she bask in your undivided attention? It was easy to get you shivering under her shadow, easier to make that meager body of yours flinch…
Snakes coil inside of her. They eat up the butterflies. Hope is stomped out with Sevika's grimace. It's a wistful dream to think you'd see her as anything more than a killer.
You make Sevika feel good. About herself, about the world, about the dreadful people prowling about the alleys of the undercity. Warm. You're sunlight and daisies. A soothing summer breeze. That's what you are to me.
Yet it's a painful indulgence she knows she needs to abandon. Especially when nothing good will come out of it.
Won't you love me baby? Take my hand in yours? I want to set out a table with you. Lay my head in your lap and touch the corners of your skin.
Can I love you baby? Just for a little while?
Sevika grunts to hide her lingering thoughts. She ignores how it makes you wince.
"It's good enough. Now get the fuck out of my sight."
Before I reach out and hold your hand. Before I say words I can never take back.
"Y-yes!" It's a lost cause, loving you. Regardless, Sevika can't keep her eyes off your retreating form until you finally disappear.
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coriolanus snow loves in a way that is cannibalistic. it’s primal. violent. consumed by the need to devour you. he loves in a way that has him bare his teeth in perpetuity, content only when he knows he has swallowed you whole. some of it is ugly, obscene, and bestial, some of it is pure and holy and spiritual: all of it is himself.
the blonde convinces himself it’s for good. to protect you. to keep you safe. but when does protection cross the line to become control? to trap you. to keep you for himself. to know that you may never get away from all that is him, as he slowly makes you part of his own self, so much so that you begin losing your identity and your flesh knits with his.
he wants to eat you.
and the closest he can get to that is to graze his teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart. he wraps his hand around your throat, controls your breathing as he pleases. the knowledge that only he can grant you mercy. only he can give you life, or take it away. and you both know he would never choose the latter, as to consume you would mean that your being is tied with his, and wherever you go he will be forced to follow.
it’s mutual and untamed, self destructive yet passionate. the two of you clawing and biting to feel each other. a competition that dictates who swallows up who. it’s hunger that will never be satisfied, and god knows he’s no stranger to that.
as though your name is wrapped around his ribs, melting and flowing through his veins. your bones intertwined, waiting to see who will gnaw at whose heart first. there’s something dark and sinister about it, but isn’t that what devotion inevitably becomes? two lovers so feral that they seek to destroy each other.
“i cannot part with you.” he whispers, “I am you.”
and you have no choice but to be of one another for life.
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Imagine if QPRs had an entire fiction genre like romantic relationships do.
Think about it: the drama, the identity introspection, the "is this romantic or not" angst, other people interpreting your internal frustration as the denial of romantic feelings when it's so much more complicated than that, etc.
Especially if they come right out and say queerplatonic.
So much creative potential.
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another before and after of this post
lately i've been adding a lot of foreshadowing in my post idk for funsies. i also love pushing relight to get really sharp shadows. however, in the first photo i needed to work some photoshop magic. as for drawing, i tried to doodle in like glistening tears. this post i tried aiming for like an old hollywood-esque vibe and yeah! fun tings!
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