Sevika slouches back in her chair, a cigar between her fingers, her signature smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she watches you approach. When you’re close enough, she grabs your wrist roughly and pulls you into her lap without warning. “You’re late,” she grumbles, her voice low and gravelly, though there’s a glint of something softer in her eye that betrays her usual gruffness.

Her bionic arm wraps around your waist with just a little too much force, the cold metal pressing against your skin. You wince slightly, and she notices, loosening her grip just enough to let you breathe. “Oh, don’t start with me,” she says, exhaling a puff of smoke with a wry chuckle. “You know what you signed up for.”

Sevika leans in, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers, “You like it, though, don’t you? The bruises, the rough edges…me.” Her rough kiss that follows is unrelenting, practically sticking her tongue down your throat, her hands, one is warm and calloused, the other metal and unyielding, solid and cold, holding you in place as though you might slip away.

When she pulls back, her gaze softens for just a second, and she notices the faint bruise on your arm where her grip had been too tight earlier. She clicks her tongue, looking almost annoyed—though it’s hard to tell if she’s mad at herself or just the fact that she’s noticed. “Damn it,” she mutters, running her human hand gently over the mark. “You’re too damn fragile for your own good.”

But before you can respond, her smirk is back, and she tilts your chin up with her metal fingers. “Guess you’ll just have to toughen up, huh? Or maybe I’ll learn to be a little gentler.” She grins, a teasing edge in her voice. “Don’t hold your breath on that last part, though.”

She presses her forehead to yours, her touch surprisingly tender for a moment. “You’re mine,” she says quietly, her voice almost a growl. “Bruises and all. Don’t forget that.”