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ihavenoideawhatiamdoingjustgay2 · 7 days ago

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Arcane Highschool!AU

characters - vi, caitlyn, jinx, sevika, ekko, jayce and viktor content - 7.1k words, cliche highschool tropes, gn!reader, just pure fluff also a little reverse comfort

A/N this was so fun to do, cant believe i finished this in 1 day ahahahahhaah. this is my longest work yet so hopefully you guys enjoy it <3

— Star Athlete!vi and Band!reader

You’ve spent most of your high school life flying under the radar as the band’s flute player—quiet, responsible, and perfectly content in your niche. Your days revolve around early-morning rehearsals, sheet music, and the steady rhythm of practice. It’s predictable, comfortable.

That is, until the school’s star athlete, Vi, always in whispers and cheers, bursts into your life like an unrelenting storm.

Shes everything you’re not—loud, brash, impulsive, and dangerously confident. The type who winks at the crowd after scoring the winning goal, whose swagger fills the halls, and who’s constantly making headlines for their fiery outbursts on and off the field. You’ve heard the stories: the scuffle at last week’s game, the heated argument with the coach, the rumors of detention slips piling up.

You’d barely exchanged more than a few words with her, but that changes when the school decides to host a collaborative pep rally—complete with a showstopping performance featuring both the sports teams and the band.

When the coach volunteers them to help promote school spirit by playing a surprise number with the band, you’re horrified. So is she.

“I don’t have time for this,” she scoff when she gets dragged to the band room. “Why don’t you all just play louder or something?”

Your teacher assigns you the unenviable task of teaching them how to play an instrument. You can practically hear your friends giggling behind your back as you pull them aside, thrusting a trumpet into their hands.

Vi groans, slouching in her chair like a bored kid in detention. “What’s the point of this? Everyone’s here to watch me win, not play this stupid thing.”

You bristle at their cocky tone. “Well, if you don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of the entire school, I suggest you try.”

VI then gives you a smirk, leaning in just a little too close. “Oh, you think I can’t do it? I’m good at everything.”

It turns out, she's not.

The first few lessons are a disaster. She blow into the trumpet like she's trying to blow out a candle from across the room, their fingers fumble over the valves, and she keep snapping, “This thing is broken!” every time it makes a screeching noise.

But underneath all the bravado and eye-rolls, you start to notice something. The way she glares at the trumpet when she messes up isn’t just frustration—it’s determination. she hates failing, and she hates it even more that they’re bad at this.

“I’m not giving up,” Vi declares after her third failed attempt to hit a note. “I’m not letting some dumb piece of metal beat me.”

The more you work together, the more cracks appear in their tough exterior. she's fiercely competitive, yes, but also surprisingly quick to laugh at themselves when the trumpet sputters out the wrong notes. Her cocky grin softens when you praise even her smallest improvement, and she starts showing up to practice earlier than you do.

One afternoon, as you’re packing up your sheet music, you catch them staring at the band photo on the wall. “You guys practice this much all the time?” Vi asked, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

“Yeah,” you say, surprised. “It’s a lot of work, but it’s worth it.”

she nod slowly, her usual swagger replaced by something contemplative. “Never thought about it like that. I guess… it’s kind of like training, huh?”

That’s when you realize she's not as invincible as she seem. Behind the hot-headed confidence is someone who works just as hard as you do, who’s just as passionate about what they love—even if they show it in a completely different way.

And when the pep rally finally arrives, with the gym packed to the rafters, she surprise's everyone—not just with how she learned to play, but with how she step aside during the performance to let the band take the spotlight.

Afterward, as the crowd cheers, she give you a lopsided grin. “Not bad, huh? Guess I’m pretty good at this whole teamwork thing.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide your smile.

The pep rally is over, and the gym is buzzing with energy as people file out, still cheering and talking about the unexpected performance. You’re gathering your things in the corner of the stage when you hear footsteps behind you.

“Hey,” she calls out, her voice softer than you’re used to.

You turn to find her standing there, holding her trumpet in one hand, the other rubbing awkwardly at the back of her neck. For once, her usual cocky smirk is nowhere to be seen, replaced by an expression that’s… almost nervous.

“Uh, so… you were pretty great out there,” she says, her eyes flickering between yours and the floor. “I mean, you’re always great, but, like, today—you really killed it.”

You blink, caught off guard by the compliment. “Thanks. You were pretty great too. You didn’t even mess up the solo.”

She laughs, a warm, genuine sound that makes your chest flutter. “Yeah, well, I had a good teacher. Guess I owe you for that.”

You shrug, trying to play it cool. “Maybe. But you did the work. I’m impressed, actually. Didn’t think you’d take it so seriously.”

She steps a little closer, her usual confidence creeping back into her voice. “Yeah? So, I impressed you?”

Your face heats up, and you roll your eyes to hide it. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” she teases, but her grin softens as her gaze lingers on you. For a moment, neither of you says anything. The noise of the gym fades into the background, and all you can hear is the faint hum of your own heartbeat.

She looks down at the trumpet in her hand, turning it over like she’s stalling. “You know… I used to think band stuff was just… background noise. Like, nobody really notices it. But being up there, seeing how much you guys put into it…”

Her voice trails off, and when she looks back at you, there’s something in her eyes that makes it hard to breathe. “It made me notice you more.”

Your breath catches. “Me?”

“Yeah.” She takes another step closer, so close now that you can feel the warmth radiating off her. “You’re not just some quiet band geek who hangs out in the background. You’re… amazing. And I’ve been an idiot for not seeing it sooner.”

You open your mouth to reply, but the words get stuck in your throat. She’s staring at you like you’re the only person in the world, and for the first time, you don’t feel small or invisible. You feel seen.

“I know I’ve been kind of… impossible,” she continues, her voice dropping lower. “But I don’t want to screw this up. So if I asked you to, I don’t know, grab milkshakes or something sometime… what would you say?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a smile. “I’d say… as long as you don’t try to play the trumpet during the date, I might say yes.”

Her laugh is loud and bright, and before you know it, she’s grinning down at you. “Deal.”

The gym lights flicker as the janitor starts cleaning up, and you realize you’ve been standing there for what feels like forever. But as she walks you out, her shoulder brushing against yours, you can’t help but think that maybe this impulsive, hot-headed star athlete isn’t so bad after all.

— Childhood Bestfriend!caitlyn

You and Caitlyn were inseparable once, two halves of the same whole. Summers were spent running through sun-drenched fields, plotting grand adventures, and swearing eternal friendship under the stars. But that was years ago, before her family moved away to chase bigger opportunities, and you were left behind with only memories of her bright laugh and unshakable confidence.

Life moved on, and so did you. By high school, she’d become little more than a bittersweet memory. Until now.

When she walks into your homeroom on the first day of senior year, it feels like the air’s been knocked out of you. She’s taller now, with an effortless grace that makes the room go quiet. Her uniform looks somehow sharper on her, her long, dark hair falling in perfect waves. There’s something in the way she carries herself—poised and self-assured, like she owns the world—and maybe she does.

Her family name has become a symbol of power and wealth. She’s been in the headlines, her achievements as a youth advocate already earning her a reputation as a fierce voice for justice. And yet, when her gaze scans the room and lands on you, her face lights up with the same brilliant smile you remember from childhood.

“Hey,” she says as she slides into the empty seat beside you, her voice low and familiar. “Long time no see.”

You’re too stunned to do anything but nod.

You quickly learn that she’s not just here for nostalgia—she’s here with a purpose. Between rigorous AP classes, she’s working on a project to bring awareness to systemic issues in your town. Meetings, interviews, and late nights at the library seem to be her norm, and it doesn’t take long for her to rope you into helping.

At first, it feels surreal being around her again. The girl you once knew has grown into someone so driven, so ambitious, that it’s almost intimidating. She seems untouchable, like a shooting star too far away to reach.

But every now and then, the cracks in her polished armor show. When it’s just the two of you poring over notes at your kitchen table, she leans back with a sigh and pulls her hair into a ponytail, muttering about how she wishes she had more time to breathe. And when you laugh at her frustrations, she throws a crumpled piece of paper at you, her grin wide and mischievous.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” she says one evening, her eyes soft as they meet yours. “Still the only person who can make me laugh when I want to scream.”

It’s during one of these late-night sessions that the air between you shifts. You’re sitting on the floor of her family’s impossibly grand living room, surrounded by papers and laptops. She’s wearing a sweatshirt that’s too big for her, a far cry from the polished image she presents to the world, and you can’t help but think about how beautiful she looks like this—unguarded and real.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” she says, tilting her head to look at you. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” you lie, your heart racing under her gaze.

She raises an eyebrow, leaning closer. “I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re lying.”

You hesitate, your pulse hammering in your ears. “It’s just… I can’t believe you’re here. That after all these years, we’re… us again.”

Her expression softens, and she shifts closer until your knees are almost touching. “I’ve missed you too, you know,” she says quietly. “It’s been so hard, being away from everything I used to care about. From you.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy and electric. You want to say something—anything—but the way she’s looking at you steals the breath from your lungs. Her dark eyes search yours, and for a moment, the world seems to still.

“Do you ever think about those nights we spent under the stars?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, swallowing hard. “All the time.”

“I do too,” she admits, her hand reaching out to brush against yours. Her touch is warm, grounding, and yet it sends a jolt through you. “Back then, I always thought we’d have forever. And when I left, I realized how much I hated being wrong about that.”

You’re not sure who moves first, but suddenly the space between you disappears. Her hand lingers on yours, her thumb tracing gentle circles against your skin, and you’re acutely aware of how close her face is to yours.

“Tell me if this is okay,” she murmurs, her voice trembling just slightly.

You nod, barely able to speak. “It’s more than okay.”

And then her lips are on yours, soft and hesitant at first, like she’s afraid you’ll pull away. But you don’t. You lean into her, your hand sliding up to tangle in her hair, and the kiss deepens—sweet and full of years’ worth of unspoken feelings.

When you finally pull back, she rests her forehead against yours, a breathless smile on her lips. “I’ve waited so long to do that,” she says, her voice tinged with relief.

“Me too,” you whisper, your heart soaring.

As the night stretches on, you realize that the girl you thought you’d lost has come back into your life, not as the same person she once was, but as someone even more extraordinary. And for the first time in years, the future doesn’t feel so uncertain—it feels full of possibilities, with her by your side.

— New kid!jinx and Class president!reader

You’ve worked hard to get where you are. Every meeting attended, every speech prepared, every carefully crafted decision—it’s all been for the sake of keeping order in the chaos of your high school. As class president, your name carries weight. You’re the dependable one, the one who keeps everything running smoothly, the one who always has things under control.

Until Jinx shows up.

The whispers start on her first day. The new girl. The one who doesn’t seem to care about blending in. She strides into the building like she owns it, her uniform already disheveled, her blazer slung over her shoulder, and a wild grin on her face.

It doesn’t take long for her reputation to spread. She’s unpredictable, impulsive, and utterly magnetic. Within a week, she’s already broken half the school’s rules, talked her way out of three detentions, and somehow charmed half your classmates in the process.

And for some reason, she’s decided you’re her favorite target.

It happens during lunch. You’re sitting at your usual spot, surrounded by student council members, going over plans for the upcoming fundraiser when she walks up to your table.

“Class president,” she says, her voice dripping with mockery and something else you can’t quite place. “Mind if I join you?”

You glance up, already annoyed. “I’m busy.”

She smirks, pulling out a chair anyway. “That’s cute. You think I was asking.”

Your friends exchange uneasy glances, but she doesn’t seem to care. She leans back in the chair, her sharp green eyes locked on you, as if she’s trying to unravel you with her gaze alone.

“You’ve got a real stick-up-your-ass vibe,” she says casually, plucking an apple from the tray in front of her. “I like that. It makes messing with you way more fun.”

You glare at her, trying to keep your composure. “Do you need something, or are you just here to waste my time?”

Her grin widens, and for a moment, you see a flicker of something wild and untamed in her expression. “Maybe I just like watching you squirm.”

She becomes a constant in your life after that. You find her waiting outside your classroom, lounging against your locker, or casually walking into student council meetings as if she belongs there.

“Do you ever stop?” you snap one afternoon, cornering her in the hallway after she’s disrupted yet another meeting.

“Stop what?” she asks innocently, tilting her head.

“Whatever game you’re playing.”

She steps closer, and for the first time, you notice just how intense her gaze is. “Who says it’s a game? Maybe I just like you.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and electric, and before you can respond, she turns on her heel and walks away, leaving you standing there, utterly baffled.

It’s not until much later that you start to see the cracks in her chaotic facade. One night, you find her sitting alone in the empty music room, the piano keys beneath her fingers. She’s not playing, just pressing random notes, her usual manic energy replaced by a quiet stillness.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say, stepping into the room.

She doesn’t look up. “Neither should you.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then she sighs, her shoulders slumping. “I bet you think I’m crazy.”

You hesitate, caught off guard by the vulnerability in her voice. “I think you’re reckless and impulsive and… exhausting. But no, I don’t think you’re crazy.”

She finally looks up at you, her eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. “You’re too nice for your own good, you know that?”

“I’m not nice,” you counter. “I just… I think there’s more to you than the act you put on.”

Her lips twitch into a small, almost shy smile. “Careful, president. You keep saying things like that, and I might start to believe you.”

The more time you spend around her, the more you realize how deeply she feels everything. Her chaos isn’t just for show—it’s a shield, a way to keep people from getting too close. But with you, she starts to let her guard down.

One evening, she shows up outside your house, her hair messy and her eyes wild. “Come with me,” she says, grabbing your hand.

“Where are we going?” you ask, letting her drag you down the street.

“Anywhere,” she replies, her grip tight. “Everywhere. I don’t care.”

You end up at the park, sitting on a swingset as the stars blink overhead. She’s unusually quiet, her hands gripping the chains tightly as she stares at the ground.

“You ever feel like you’re spinning out of control?” she asks suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

You glance at her, surprised by the question. “Sometimes.”

She exhales shakily, her fingers brushing against yours. “You… you make it stop. Just for a little while.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you don’t know if it’s the raw honesty in her words or the way her fingers linger against yours, but you feel something shift between you.

It happens later that night, as you’re walking her home. She stops in front of her house, turning to face you with an unreadable expression.

“Why do you put up with me?” she asks suddenly, her voice soft.

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“I’m a mess,” she says, her gaze dropping to the ground. “I break things, I hurt people… I’m not like you. I’m not good.”

“You’re not perfect,” you admit, stepping closer. “But you’re not as bad as you think you are, either.”

She looks up at you, her eyes shining with something you can’t quite name. “You’re going to regret saying that.”

“Maybe,” you say with a small smile. “But I don’t think so.”

Before you can overthink it, you lean in, your lips brushing against hers. She freezes for a moment, like she’s caught off guard, but then she kisses you back, her hands clutching at your sleeves as if you’re the only solid thing in her world.

When you finally pull back, her face is flushed, and she’s breathing hard. “You’re insane,” she mutters, though there’s no heat in her words.

“Takes one to know one,” you reply, grinning.

She laughs, the sound light and genuine, and for the first time, you feel like you’ve truly seen her—every broken, beautiful piece of her.

—Troublemaker!sevika and Tutor!reader

You weren’t thrilled when your teacher assigned you as her tutor. You’d heard all the rumors: skipped classes, biting comebacks that left people reeling, and a permanent spot on the troublemaker watchlist.

Her reputation painted her as unteachable, untamable, and entirely uninterested in anything resembling authority. When your teacher insisted she “just needed guidance,” you couldn’t help but feel skeptical.

The first session confirmed it.

She slouched into the library ten minutes late, her bag dragging on the floor, and dropped into the chair across from you with a loud huff.

“Look,” she said before you could even greet her, “I don’t need some perfect little know-it-all telling me what to do.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I’m just here to help.”

“Sure,” she scoffed, leaning back in her chair. “Let’s get this over with.”

Her tone was cutting, her expression bored, and yet… there was something about her. A quiet intensity lurking beneath the surface, like she was daring you to break through her tough exterior.

Each session felt like a test of patience. She was sharp, no question about it, but her attitude made every interaction a battle.

“You’re not even trying,” you said one afternoon after she tossed her pen aside for the third time.

Her eyes snapped to yours, hard and unyielding. “Don’t act like you know me,” she said coldly. “You think I don’t try? You think I don’t bust my ass every single day?”

You froze, startled by the edge in her voice.

She leaned forward, her gaze cutting through you like a blade. “I don’t need this. I don’t need you. I’m here because they told me to be.”

For a moment, you considered walking away. But then you saw it—just the faintest flicker of something vulnerable beneath her defiance.

“You’re right,” you said, keeping your voice calm. “I don’t know you. But I know you’re capable of more than this.”

Her jaw tightened, and she looked away, her fingers drumming on the table. “Whatever,” she muttered.

But she didn’t leave.

Slowly, things started to shift. She showed up on time—barely. She started taking notes—reluctantly. And every so often, she’d let her tough exterior slip, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the real her.

One afternoon, after a particularly grueling session, you handed her a worksheet.

“You’re getting better,” you said, offering her a small smile.

She snorted. “Don’t get all sentimental on me.”

“I’m not. I’m just saying you’re improving.”

“Yeah, well, don’t hold your breath for a thank-you card,” she replied, but there was a hint of a smirk on her lips.

Her walls were still up, but they were starting to crack.

It happened on a rare quiet day in the library. She was hunched over her notebook, her brow furrowed as she worked through a particularly tricky problem.

“Got it,” she said suddenly, sitting up straight.

“Really?” you asked, leaning over to check her work.

She shoved the notebook toward you, her smirk firmly in place. “Told you I’m not dumb.”

“I never said you were dumb,” you replied, meeting her gaze. “You just make things harder than they need to be.”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe I like a challenge.”

“Or maybe you’re just stubborn,” you teased.

Her smirk softened, just for a moment. “Takes one to know one, princess.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the way she said it, her voice low and almost… fond.

After weeks of late afternoons spent together, you found yourself walking her home one evening. The sun was setting, casting a warm orange glow over the quiet streets.

“You’re not as bad as I thought,” she said suddenly, breaking the silence.

You blinked, surprised. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Don’t push your luck,” she shot back, though her tone lacked its usual bite.

When you reached her house, she stopped at the gate, turning to face you. Her usual confidence wavered, just slightly.

“Why do you bother with me?” she asked, her voice quieter than usual.

“Because I see how hard you work,” you said honestly. “And because I think there’s more to you than what you let people see.”

She stared at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without warning, she stepped closer, her hand brushing yours.

“You’re a real pain, you know that?” she murmured, her voice soft but firm.

Before you could respond, she leaned in, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that was as bold and unapologetic as she was.

When she pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, but her smirk was firmly in place.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she said, turning toward her door.

You smiled, your heart racing. “Too late."

—Artist!ekko and Muse!reader

It was one of those golden autumn afternoons, the kind where the sunlight made everything look softer, warmer, like it belonged in a painting. You’d escaped to the park during your lunch break, clutching a well-worn book in one hand and a coffee in the other. It wasn’t the first time you’d come here for a little peace and quiet, but it felt like one of the rare times you’d actually get it.

You settled on a bench near the fountain, a cozy corner of the park where the only sounds were the gentle trickle of water and the rustling of leaves in the breeze.

The moment you opened your book, however, you felt it—a faint, almost electric sensation prickling at the edge of your awareness. Someone was watching you.

Glancing up, you spotted him.

He was sitting on the grass a few yards away, sketchpad balanced on his knees, pencil flying across the page. His hair fell messily across his forehead, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to reveal forearms speckled with faint smears of paint. Despite the chaos of his appearance, his focus was absolute, his gaze darting between you and the paper as if you were some rare discovery he couldn’t afford to lose.

You furrowed your brow, unsure whether to feel flattered or alarmed. “Can I help you?” you called, your voice cutting through the quiet.

He blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, and stood quickly.

“Sorry,” he said, striding toward you. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

His voice was smooth, tinged with an earnestness that made it hard to stay annoyed.

“I’m an artist,” he explained, gesturing to his sketchpad. “I know this sounds weird, but you’ve got this… look. The way you’re sitting, the way the light hits you—it’s perfect.”

“Perfect?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“For a piece I’m working on,” he clarified, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Do you mind if I sketch you? Just for a little while.”

You hesitated, studying him. He didn’t look like a creep—just young, maybe a little unkempt, with an intensity in his eyes that was hard to ignore.

“I’m not really dressed for a portrait,” you said, gesturing to your casual sweater and jeans.

He smiled, and the way his face softened surprised you. “It’s not about the clothes. It’s the way you carry yourself.”

The compliment was unexpected, and it caught you off guard. “Alright,” you said slowly. “But just for a few minutes.”

“Great,” he said, dropping to the bench across from you with a grin that felt like the sun breaking through the clouds

It turned out he was a prodigy, a young artist with a growing reputation in the city. His work had been featured in galleries, and he’d even won a few prestigious awards. But for all his talent, he was surprisingly down-to-earth.

“I don’t really like the whole ‘genius’ label,” he admitted one afternoon after convincing you to pose for him again. “It just makes people think I’ve got everything figured out. But most of the time, I’m just trying to keep up with my own ideas.”

You quickly realized that his art wasn’t just a skill—it was his lifeline. He spoke about it the way others might talk about breathing. And for some reason, he’d decided that you were his muse.

“Why me?” you asked one day as he sketched you in his studio. The walls were covered with half-finished canvases, each one brimming with vivid colors and raw emotion.

He glanced up from his sketchbook, his eyes soft but focused. “You’ve got something about you,” he said simply. “A kind of… light. I can’t explain it, but when I see you, I want to create.”

His honesty was disarming. There was no pretense in his words, no calculated charm. He spoke as though his heart was an open book, and every word was written in your honor.

“Do you say that to all your muses?” you teased, trying to lighten the moment.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “I’ve never had one before you.”

As time went on, you got to know him beyond his talent. He was fiercely independent, refusing to rely on anyone for his success. His compassion, however, was what surprised you most. He spent his weekends teaching art classes at a local youth center, his eyes lighting up as he helped kids discover their own creativity.

“They’ve got so much potential,” he said once, his voice filled with quiet pride. “They just need someone to believe in them.”

It was clear that he poured himself into everything he did, whether it was a painting, a lesson, or simply spending time with you.

One evening, he invited you to his studio after hours. The space was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of paint and turpentine.

“I want to show you something,” he said, guiding you to the center of the room where a large canvas stood covered by a cloth.

With a dramatic flourish, he pulled the cloth away, revealing a breathtaking painting. It was you—your pose, your expression, every detail captured with such tenderness that it felt like staring into a mirror of your soul.

“Is that… me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, his gaze steady. “It’s not just you,” he said softly. “It’s how I see you. Strong, radiant… inspiring.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“It’s beautiful,” you said finally, your voice thick with emotion.

“So are you,” he replied, his lips curling into a small, genuine smile.

There was no grand confession, no dramatic moment where everything changed. Instead, your relationship grew in quiet, unspoken ways. The way he brought you coffee when you visited his studio. The way he asked for your opinion on his work, genuinely valuing your thoughts. The way his hand would brush against yours when he passed you a sketchbook, his touch lingering just a second too long.

One day, as you sat together in the park where you’d first met, he turned to you, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

“You know,” he said, his voice low, “I’m not sure I’d be able to do this without you.”

“Do what?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Create,” he replied simply. “You make it… easier to believe in myself.”

You smiled, your heart fluttering at his honesty. “I think you’d do just fine on your own.”

“Maybe,” he said, his gaze never leaving yours. “But I don’t want to.”

—Bestfriend!jayce

The two of you had been inseparable for as long as you could remember. From elementary school to your final year of high school, your lives had been stitched together with countless shared moments—late-night study sessions, chaotic group projects, and lazy afternoons spent at the local diner. You were the grounded one, the planner, while he was the dreamer.

He was everything you admired in a person: ambitious, creative, and unrelentingly passionate about making the world a better place. Whether he was organizing a charity event for the school or advocating for a greener campus, he didn’t just talk about change—he embodied it.

“Alright, hear me out,” he said one afternoon as you sat in your favorite spot in the school library. His voice was alive with energy, his words spilling out faster than you could process them.

You glanced up from your notes, already bracing yourself. “This is going to be another one of your big ideas, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” he said with a grin. “It’s what I do best.”

He leaned forward, spreading out a sketchbook filled with colorful doodles and bold handwriting. Each page was a mix of blueprints, campaign slogans, and notes for an initiative he wanted to pitch to the student council.

“I’m telling you, if we can pull this off, it could really make a difference. We could partner with local businesses, raise money for community programs, and even involve the younger students—”

“You’re going a hundred miles an hour again,” you interrupted gently, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Not when I’m onto something good,” he replied without missing a beat.

That was him in a nutshell: a whirlwind of ideas and determination, always moving forward. It was both inspiring and exhausting to keep up with him, but somehow, you always did.

For all his big ideas and boundless enthusiasm, he had a softer side too—a side he reserved just for you.

One Friday night, he showed up outside your house, honking his car horn until you came outside in your pajamas.

“What are you doing?” you hissed, glancing around to make sure your neighbors weren’t watching.

“Get in,” he said with a grin, leaning out of the driver’s side window. “I need your opinion on something.”

“You’re insane,” you muttered, but you climbed into the passenger seat anyway.

He drove to a quiet hill on the outskirts of town, parking near an old tree you’d both claimed as “your spot” years ago. He pulled out a notebook from his bag and handed it to you.

“These are my ideas for the youth outreach program,” he said. “I need to know if I’m being too ambitious.”

You flipped through the pages, your heart warming as you saw the effort he’d poured into every word and sketch.

“This is incredible,” you said softly. “You’re not just ambitious—you’re inspiring. People are going to listen to you.”

He looked at you, his expression unreadable. “You really think so?”

“Always,” you said, your voice firm.

For a split second, you thought he might reach out to take your hand, but instead, he leaned back, staring up at the stars. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

After particularly grueling school days, he’d find you at your locker, holding out your favorite drink or snack without a word. When the stress of finals hit, he’d sit beside you in the library, quietly working through his own assignments while offering words of encouragement.

And then there were the moments when his usual confidence wavered.

“Do you think I’m crazy?” he asked one evening as you sat on the hood of his car, staring up at the stars.

The two of you had just spent hours planning his latest project, a school-wide fundraiser for a local shelter. Despite his ambitious plans, his voice was quieter now, almost hesitant.

“You? Crazy?” you teased, nudging him playfully. “Absolutely.”

He laughed softly, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t completely fade.

“Seriously, though,” he said, turning to you. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m aiming too high. Like, what if I can’t actually pull all this off? What if I fail?”

You reached out, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “You won’t fail. You’re the most determined person I’ve ever met. And even if something doesn’t work out the way you planned, it doesn’t mean you failed. It just means you’re brave enough to try again.”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, the air between you felt heavier, charged with something unspoken.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The moment lingered, and as he pulled back, his hands stayed on your shoulders. His gaze searched yours, and for the first time, you saw a vulnerability there that he usually kept hidden.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this for a while now,” he began, his voice soft but steady.

Your breath caught. “What is it?”

“I don’t just care about you as a friend,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing slightly. “I mean, I do, but it’s more than that. You’ve always been my anchor, the one person who gets me, who believes in me even when I doubt myself.”

Your heart raced, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. “I think I’ve always felt the same way,” you said quietly.

Relief washed over his face, followed by a smile so genuine it made your chest ache.

“Then we’re in this together,” he said, reaching for your hand. “Like always.”

From that day on, your friendship transformed into something deeper, something stronger. His dreams grew bigger, but now, they weren’t just his—they were yours too. Together, you were unstoppable, a team bound by shared passion and a love that had been years in the making.

Whether it was planning for college or brainstorming ways to change the world, one thing was certain: with him by your side, anything felt possible.

—Enemies to lovers!viktor and reader

From the moment the new kid transferred to your school, it was as if the universe had dropped a puzzle piece into the wrong spot. He was a contradiction: introverted yet razor-sharp in class discussions, quiet but with an undercurrent of passion that seemed to burst through in unexpected moments. His snarky comebacks and aloof demeanor were practically tailor-made to clash with your confident, no-nonsense approach to everything.

You couldn’t help but notice how he kept his distance from everyone else, often retreating to the farthest corner of the library or lab. Despite his unassuming presence, he somehow managed to infuriate you with his brilliance. Teachers fawned over him, classmates whispered about him, and you? You glared daggers at him every time he raised his hand in class to counter one of your arguments.

The first real confrontation happened in science class. It was a group project, and your teacher, in a cruel twist of fate, paired you with him.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath.

He barely glanced at you as he set down his notebook, already flipping through its pages. “It’s not my favorite pairing either, but let’s just get this done.”

His tone was clipped, and his eyes barely met yours.

“Oh, so we’re starting with passive-aggressive remarks? Good to know where we stand,” you shot back, folding your arms.

He sighed, finally looking at you. “Look, I don’t care if you like me or not. I care about getting an A on this project. If you want to argue, fine, but at least do it while we’re running the experiment.”

His bluntness took you off guard, and for a moment, you were speechless. But you quickly recovered, rolling your eyes. “Fine. But don’t think for a second I’m letting you take over.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he muttered under his breath, already scribbling in his notebook.

Working together was like a storm brewing in slow motion. You were both stubborn and headstrong, constantly butting heads over the smallest details.

“Why are you doing it that way?” you snapped one afternoon as he adjusted the settings on the experiment’s apparatus.

“Because it’s the correct way,” he replied without looking up.

“You didn’t even let me explain my idea!”

“Your idea would’ve blown up the circuit.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You don’t know that.”

“Let me guess—you’re the kind of person who thinks trial and error is the only way to learn?”

He finally turned to face you, a faint smirk playing at his lips “And you’re the kind of person who thinks you’re always right,”

The tension crackled like static electricity, but neither of you backed down.

It wasn’t until a late-night study session in the empty library that things started to shift. The project deadline was looming, and you’d reluctantly agreed to meet outside of school to finish your work.

He was unusually quiet that night, his usual snark absent as he stared intently at the data on his laptop.

“Hey,” you said, breaking the silence. “You okay?”

He hesitated, his fingers pausing on the keyboard. “Just tired. And frustrated. I want this to be perfect.”

Something in his tone softened your usual defensiveness. “You know, it doesn’t have to be perfect. You’re allowed to mess up sometimes.”

He gave a faint, humorless laugh. “Not really. Not when people are counting on me.”

The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard. For the first time, you saw past the walls he’d built around himself—the pressure he carried, the weight of expectations.

“I didn’t realize you were dealing with so much,” you said quietly.

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “Why would you? We’ve been too busy trying to outsmart each other.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Fair point. Maybe we should call a truce—for now.”

He smiled, just barely, and it was the first time you’d seen him let his guard down.

As the project progressed, the two of you started to find common ground. You discovered his love for science wasn’t just about theories and equations—it was about helping people.

“Why are you so passionate about this?” you asked one day as he carefully calibrated a piece of equipment.

He hesitated, then said, “Because I want to make a difference. I has a chronic illness, and I’ve spent years struggling with treatments that barely work. I want to change that for me, and for anyone else going through the same thing.”

His words hit you like a punch to the chest. You’d always thought of him as cold and detached, but now, you saw the fire that drove him.

“That’s… incredible,” you said softly.

He shrugged, his cheeks tinged with color. “It’s just what I care about. What about you? What drives you?”

You hesitated, caught off guard by the question. But as you opened up about your own dreams and ambitions, you realized something had shifted between you.

On the night before the project was due, you were sitting in his garage, putting the final touches on your presentation. It was late, and the two of you were running on caffeine and adrenaline.

“Here,” he said, handing you a mug of tea. “You’re going to burn out if you keep pushing yourself.”

“Look who’s talking,” you teased, taking the mug.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet hum of the garage filling the space.

“You’re not so bad, you know,” he said suddenly, his voice low.

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that your idea of a compliment?”

He smiled faintly, looking down at his hands. “I mean it. I’ve never met anyone who challenges me the way you do. It’s… refreshing.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you looked away, pretending to focus on the data. “Well, don’t get used to it. I’m not going easy on you just because you’re finally being nice.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” he said, and there was a softness in his tone that made your heart race.

#arcane x reader #arcane #sevika x reader

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ihavenoideawhatiamdoingjustgay2 · 8 days ago

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★ — Between the lines

CW : meanie sevika, artist reader, hockey player vi and sevika, modern au, highschool shenanigans, fluff?

A/N : no smut first chaptor :(

Summary : star hocky player sevika has to take an art glass in order to graduate from highschool, fate assigns her to the same class as you and her rival

Sevika hated this. She was on the brink of graduating, being the final semester of her senior year of highschool. She had gotten a hockey scholarship to college, she was supposed to meet with the counselor on the first day after Christmas break to talk about further plans. She was on her high horse, until—- “Sevika you haven’t taken any art classes at all.” Her eyes widened at the counselor's words “what? Of course I have I mean my freshman year I probably have?” She tried to reason, sitting up from her relaxed posture. “It’s okay. We can fix this. You can take an art class for this semester and if you pass you can graduate” Sevika smiled, it’s art. Easy peasy. She can do that, it's just a bunch of wusses coloring?

You were a junior in highschool. You’ve known what you wanted to do since 6th grade. You wanted to be an artist, and you were good at it too, passing all of your art classes with ease. Anytime you had any open periods you would take an art class, it doesn’t matter if you’ve already taken it. You rub your face while sitting in your car taking a deep breath in before stepping out . It was January so it was still cold out, you cross your arms shielding your hands from the cold. as you walk to the building. The chatter of the hallways filled your ears. You groan, moving your hands to your ears. You’d rather freeze to death then spend another minute with these assholes

You walk to your locker noticing two people making out, blocking you from the locker. “Um excuse me?” You say softly “sorry babe I’m busy” the taller one says, you recognize her immediately, sevika. You narrow your eyes. Everyone else would move on, not wanting to risk a broken nose, but you were different to say the least. “Dude! Move.” The 3 of you look over at the voice. Violet, also a hockey player, and sevikas arch nemesis. Sevika narrowed her eyes wrapping her arm around the woman's shoulder “don’t make me ask again.” Vi crossed her arms as Sevika rolled her eyes and walked away with the girl.

You breathe a sigh of relief, looking back at vi. “Thanks, vi” you say, opening your locker. “Guess what?” Vi leaned against the locker next to yours “hm?” You rummaged through your locker “I talked to my counselor and…” she handed you a piece of paper. You turn to her as you look down “what’s this?” You say reading it, it was…her class schedule? Your eyes landed on the text that said she had 5th period art. Your eyes widened “we have the same class together?” You smile looking up at her “it’s art. It makes your favorite class even better..you know, cause I’m there” vi said as you raised your eyebrow “ehhh actually puts a dull on it.” You tease, trying to hide your smirk “you can deny all you want, sweetheart.” You roll your eyes at the nickname

“Bye, violet” you close your locker and start walking to your first class.

Vi smirked as you walked away. She couldn’t help the bubbling feeling in her chest when she talked to you, you were Gorgeous and so smart. So talented. She thought to herself. She turned around stopping herself taking a step when she saw, pow– jinx standing there “oh-” she said looking her sister up and down “your so mindlessly in love with her, its sad” jinx smirked “ha ha” vi said sarcastically as she started walking with jinx to there class “im serious” jinx said bluntly. They fall into conversation

Sevika tried to finish her…session with the girl. But she couldn't help but feel a bit bored. “sevika?” the girl looked up at her “what's wrong” she tilted her head. “Sorry, I uh need to go. My hockey scholarship stops me from being late, "Sevika looked down at the girl. She stepped away without another word even when the girl tried to convince her to stay. Your face kept flashing in her mind, you were so annoying. And so easy to tease, such a waste of a pretty face. Yeah she thought you were pretty, she would never say it to your face however. And it was worse. She and Sevika almost got into a few fights and risked being kicked off the hockey team, and she followed you around like a lost puppy.

You sigh, doodling on your paper with your head resting in your hand. The bell brings you out of your thoughts. You blink starting to pack up “remember your welcome back essay is do on friday!” the teacher yelled. Everyone groans, including you. You hate writing, as soon as you sit down to write your mind goes to shit. You sigh, putting your bag on, walking to your last class of the day, art. Your face flushed at the fact I went out of her way to spend time with you, of course you liked her, she was so funny and strong.

You walk into art, being one of the first people there. You sit down and pull out your pocket sketchbook. Thinking of what to draw, you sigh staring off into space. You look up at your name being called, your favorite teacher, mr wilson he was a good teacher and runs most of the art department “glad your taking this class again” he said as you smile “good too see you too” you say softly looking up at him “i need to talk to you after class.” he said “don't worry. You're not in trouble.” he said before you could ask. He goes on a rant about his break about some nightmare ski trip with his husband. You zone him out when vi walks in. She looks over at you and smiles big, walking over and sitting next to you. as the room filled in and the final bell rang

Mr Wilson goes on about the syllabus for the new students, nothing you haven't heard before so you look around at everyone, a few new students, students that she already knew and— your eyes dart over the figure in the corner, sevika. You narrow your eyes as you look towards the front of the room. Trying not to stare too long, you take a deep breath. Mr wilson handed out the syllabus to everyone but you. “There's a student you all should know,” Mr Wilson said as he wandered around the room, your heart drops as he says your name “she has taken this class at least 3 times and has passed it every time, she is who you should look up to.” you sigh looking down, avoiding everyone's gaze. Vi smirked, clearly enjoying the social embarrassment you were getting.

Sevika looked at you. Why is she here? She thought to herself. Whatever, maybe if she kept her distance it'll all be— “sevika!” Mr Wilson looked over at Sevika, she looked up. “Uh- yes?” she asked “i feel like you would do better sitting next to one of my more- experienced students” he said nervously “come sit here.” he points to the seat next to you “god damnit” you mutter looking down. Vi looked over, narrowing her eyes as her hand clenched into a fist “great.” she said way so loud “excuse me?” sevika said as she sat next to you. You were sandwiched between both of them, they were giving each other the death stare as you hold your head in your hands

The whole room was quiet, including the teacher, waiting for some kind of action between vi and sevika. “Anyway-” he said walking to the front of the room “for the first project of the semester we are doing a watercolor landscape” sevika chuckled to herself, "too easy “is this hard?” vi leaned over to you. You hesitate “i mean when i did it for the first time, it wast but it's different for everyone” you whisper back. “Its water color, we did this in grade school” you both look over at sevika “nobody asked you for your opinion” vis tone was like poison “don't.” you whisper, putting the fight down before it even started “yeah listen to your bitch” sevika muttered looking down at her note book

Before you could even process what was going on. Vi had already punched sevika, pinning her to the ground as she got a good few hits in before sevika rolled over and started hitting back. The whole class was yelling as you tried to pull sevika off of her “okay! Okay!” Mr Wilson quickly stopped the fight. Eventually sevika got off vi, vi had a black eye and sevika had a bloody nose and a few bruises on her face. “The 3 of you go to the office!” you stand up straighter, looking around almost second guessing if the teacher was talking about you “wh-what?” your voice broke “i said go.” mr wilson said

“This is unacceptable!” the principal yelled. You three were sitting in the office. Fate decided for you to be sandwiched between them again. Vi was holding an ice pack to her eye and sevika was holding a tissue to her nose. You are trying to stop your breath from accelerating “i don't know what to do for you 2. I- i mean i give you detention! Put you in the same class” the principle stuttered, pinching his nose “see that was your first issue. Putting this orge in the same class as me!” vi said leaning forward “orge?! I'll show you orge” sevika looked over at vi “enough!” he yelled.

Your eyes were still locked on him. Vi and sevika look back at him and take a deep breath “transfer her out!” vi yelled “why don't you transfer?!” Vi opened her mouth to reply but didnt know how. Your face flushes. “Okay! Okay!” he yelled sitting down. “Sevika, vi you both get one week of after school detention, this includes any hockey practices!” sevika and vi were quick to protest. He says your name and you look up “one day of after school detention” you start hyperventilating “oh my god-” you stumble over your words “oh my god i've never been in trouble before!” you look down “calm down, prissy” sevika said “out of my office and go straight to detention. No goofing off”

“I can't believe I'm in detention because of you!” you yell at sevika as the 3 of you walk down the hall “because of me?! Why don't you blame your girlfriend! She's the one who attacked me!” she looked down at you “she's not my girlfriend!” you yell and vi looks at you, a pang of pain punches her in the chest. She looks away. You look around for a moment before going a different way then them “where are you going detention is this way?” vi said as sevika did care she just kept walking “i'm gonna see if i can work on my art project in detention. Ill meet you there”

You tuck a peice of hair behind your ear. Pushing the door open to the art room. You couldn't hide the anger on your face if you tried “mr wilson.” you say as he looks over. You wanted to yell at him in front of everyone but you were too late. He said your name, smiling “how'd it go?” you raise your eyebrow at his words “i have detention.” you hiss “for how long? A week?” he asks not even looking up from his paper “a day.” he looks up at you “just a day? That's not so bad!” “Do you understand this can go on my permanent record? Fuck up any chance at college?” you walk forward “a day of detention? It'll be okay.” he said looking down at his paper “whatever” you rub your forehead “can i do whatever i missed in detention please?” you ask crossing your arms

“An artistic delinquent?” he smirked “how poetic” he grabbed a large thick piece of paper and handed it to you “dont start.” you say walking out of the art class “don't get into trouble!” he yells as you walk away. “Ha ha” you mutter walking back to detention quickly. You sigh “you're late.” the monitor said “i know- i'm sorry-” “i don't care. Sit down.” you look at the classroom, sevika was sitting in the corner and vi was sitting as far as she could. You walk over to vi and sit next to her “you are here for the next hour and i hope you reflect on your actions” he sits at his desk and rests his head on it “is he sleeping?” you whisper “shh-” vi said looking back at you “give it a minute” she whispered

After a few minutes his snores filled the room. You raise an eyebrow as you look at vi a weirded out expression on your face “I know.” vi said. You pull out your pencil bag and start sketching your landscape “i'm mad at you.” you say “why?” her voice switched to concern. You shoot a look at her. she shuts up quickly “im sorry, no one should talk about you like that.” vi argued looking you up and down “I can fight my own battles.” you say leaning forward “it seemed like you were going to just let her say that about you” vi said glancing at sevika for a moment

Sevika was trying to nap, leaning in her chair with a book covering her face. She couldn't help but listen to your conversation. The goal of the insult was to rile vi up not insult you. She felt bad but she would never actually apologize. She falls asleep thinking about you and before she knew it, it was time to go home. She blinks rubbing her eyes as she grabs her bag and hauls it over her shoulder. Catching sight of your sketch…it was beautiful. You slide it into your bag “you need a ride?” you ask looking at vi “i need to run some errands, i'll take the bus” vi smiled and cupped your cheek “you're a sweetheart.” vi said as she walked out of the class, trying to hurry in order to catch the city bus leaving you and sevika alone

“She likes you.” Sevika walked over, standing behind you. You didn't say anything as you finished packing up and threw your bag on. She walks over and grabs the strap of your bag. You look over at her with an angry face “listen. That comment…” she hesitates “i didn't mean to bring you into me and vis fight” she sighed as your gaze softens “if anyone gives you trouble, come to me not your pipsqueak of a girlfriend.” sevika didn't let you protest “she not-” sevika walked out of the room and your left standing there

Did she just– apologize?

#arcane #arcane sevika #sevika #sevika x reader

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ihavenoideawhatiamdoingjustgay2 · 9 days ago

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#Sevika fans are second to none

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ihavenoideawhatiamdoingjustgay2 · 9 days ago

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Hiiiii ^^ not sure if you've done this before but do you have any thoughts for ningguang and/or arlecchino w vampire!reader ?

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ Ningguang and Arlecchino with a vampier! S/O HCs ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

⋆˚✿˖° warnings -> mentions of drinking blood.

⋆˚✿˖° content includes -> fluff, biting, mentions of fangs, idk what else to add here.

NINGGUANG

⋆˚✿˖° Ningguang is fascinated by your vampier nature. She wants to know more about you, your life, the history you have lived through, etc.

⋆˚✿˖° When it comes to your need for blood Ningguang has it all covered. She easily buys blood bags from different hospitals, and she always makes them sign a contract to never talk about it.

⋆˚✿˖° Ningguang finds your fangs cute and fascinating, she doesn't fear them one bit because she knows you would never hurt her. She loves studying them and teasing you about them.

⋆˚✿˖° She finds your vampier abilities utterly captivating. When she isn't busy Ningguang likes observing you, studying your every move.

⋆˚✿˖° Ningguang is quite pleasently shocked when you ask her to feed from her for the first time. Over the course of your relationship she learned that vampiers feeding from someone they care about is quite intimate, so she feels honored.

⋆˚✿˖° She adores spoiling you with gifts that cater to your vampier nature. She would have luxurious blackout curtians installed in your shared room and comission elegant jewlery that reflect your style.

ARLECCHINO

⋆˚✿˖° Arlecchino was at first suspicious of your vampier nature at first, seeing you as a potential threat. However once she learned to trust you she didn't care much about your vampier nature.

⋆˚✿˖° She didn't flich when you had shown her your fangs for the first time. In reality she finds them fascinating, running her thumb across them as she studied them.

⋆˚✿˖° Arlecchino is completely unbothered by your need to drink blood and she easily gets the blood you need. She would easily pull some strings to get you some blood bags and no one questions it.

⋆˚✿˖° She is willing to let you drink from her. Arlecchino knows that that act is quite intimate for vampiers and it makes her quite pleased that you asked her.

⋆˚✿˖° Arlecchino is oddly protective when it comes to your vampiric identity. If anyone dares to judge or fear you because of it, they’ll quickly find themselves at the receiving end of her glare—or worse.

⋆˚✿˖° She’s incredibly thoughtful about your heightened senses, ensuring that her office and private spaces are comfortable for you. Strong scents or bright lights are adjusted without you even having to ask.

#⋆˚✿˖° genshin #ningguang #ningguang x reader #arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin

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ihavenoideawhatiamdoingjustgay2 · 9 days ago

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sevika who wears glasses.

thinking about how sevika definitely needs glasses. she'll grumble on and on about not needing them and finding them pointless, but the moment a paper is thrown in her face, taking it in her hands just to squint, trying to focus her eyes on the blurry text. she's sighing (defeated by the fact that she does in fact need glasses) and patting around her body, forgetting where she placed them the last time she needed them. and when she feels the frames of her glasses she's opening the arms of them with her chin and sliding them to sit on the bridge of her nose. her smokey grey eyes squinting once more as her vision clears, the furrowed look still pertains as she moves the paper back, finally able to read it.

sevika who wears glasses and reluctantly carries around her glasses case. and you bet that if you ever catch sevika on her down time she's slumped somewhere with a scowl on her face, bottom lip slightly protruding as she handles the tiny microfiber wipe in her hand to clean off her dirtied lenses. just when she thinks there's not a speck of dust or smudge she's raising her glasses to a light source and groaning when there is in fact still dust and smudges on her lenses, and she has to repeat the process all over again.

she's gone through more pairs than she can count at this point, and each time she needs a new pair she's huffing examining the remains of her last pair in her hands. the most common reasons she needs to get a new pair of glasses is because she never places them on her nightstand beside her bed, she just leaves them haphazardly in her bed, which leads to her (a crazy sleeper) to break them in her sleep; waking up to see the arms of her glasses bent out of shape. the other reason would simply just be her line of work, she works with her hands, she gets in fights, and she's not focused on keeping her glasses safe from punches, so there's been countless times before where she's been knocked to her ass and she hears a crunchhh, and she'll mutter a fuck.

sevika who does the classic head tilt down and peering over her glasses to people whenever they're talking to her.

#sevika #sevika arcane

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ihavenoideawhatiamdoingjustgay2 · 9 days ago

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the way i would let her get me pregnant but thats just me ig

#arcane fanfiction #arcane #arcane smut #arcane x reader #sevika

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ihavenoideawhatiamdoingjustgay2 · 9 days ago

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‘ i see what’s happening here. you’re bored. you want a little attention. ’ + Sevika 🥺🥺 I feel like she’s the softest girl ever in private

Pairing: Wife!Sevika x Reader.

Word Count: Not 500 lmao (645).

A/N: Can't stick to my own rules apparently. Soz if you hate it lmao. Soft, soft, Sevika. Idk wife!Sevika just sounds right in comparison to girlfriend to me lol. Idk if you wanted his to be smut but, you said softest girl ever so, I went with fluff lol

Sunday.

It was your favourite day of the week.

Sundays were for sleeping in. Sundays were for cuddling. Sundays were for slow morning sex. Sundays were for breakfast in bed. Sundays were for watching reruns of your favourite, bad, tv shows and movies on the couch with your wife.

Your wife, who was a busy woman. Second in charge to the most powerful man in Zaun, and Sundays were supposed to be the one day of the week that you had her totally and completely to yourself.

Sundays were not for work. Sundays were not for Sevika’s office. Sundays were not for sitting on the couch in Sevika’s office while she tended to whatever urgent work matter that Silco insisted couldn’t wait till Monday.

You were not happy and growing steadily unhappier with every second that ticked by that she remained on the phone. You sat cross legged on her office couch, chest pressed against the back of the couch so you were facing where she sat at her desk; your gaze burning holes into the telephone perched on her desk in the hopes it would magically combust along with the person interrupting your Sunday.

Despite the low, steady tone of her voice and razor-sharp words that cut through whatever excuse being given by the person on the other end; Sevika watches you, amused, her eyes softening and the corner of her lips turning up at the soft pout that forms on your lips when your gaze meets hers.

With a subtle nod of her head, Sevika beckons you over to her, pushing her chair out from beneath her desk, and you make yourself comfortable in her lap, your head resting on her shoulder.

Not missing a beat in her scolding of whoever was on the other line, Sevika slips a hand under the back of your (her) shirt, fingers lightly dancing up and down your spine, her lips grazing the top of your forehead before she dips her head and nuzzles her nose against yours.

The gesture sends a kaleidoscope of butterflies through your stomach at the sweet gesture. It prompts you to press soft kisses to her neck, lips slowly travelling up her neck and curving upward when you feel the way she tenses beneath you, her hand tightening around your waist. Satisfaction spreads through your chest when she abruptly ends the phone call accompanied by another flutter of wings, knowing you still had the same effect on her that she did on you.

“I see what’s happening here,” she suddenly chuckles and the sound reverberates through your body. “You’re bored. You want a little attention.”

“No,” you deny, lips pressing against her cheek before, ghosting over her lips to press against her other cheek as you work your way down the other side of her neck. It sends a shiver down Sevika’s spine. “Not bored.”

Pressing a final kiss to her collarbone, you sit up so, your eye-level with her. Sevika watches you carefully, expression softening at the far away look in your eyes. Her eyes never leave your face as you reach out and tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.

“I just- it’s Sunday- just want all of your attention, today,” you tell her softly.

Your hand is still near her ear when she captures it in her own, bringing it to her lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles before, her hand is sliding up the length of your arm to cup your chin and forcing you to look at her; stormy grey eyes piercing into yours. She knew you’d never ask but, if you needed her to, she’d leave it all behind for you.

“Hey,” she calls, voice tender and a stark contrast to the fierce determination in her eyes. “You have my attention, always, every day of the week. Not just on Sundays.”

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

#sevika x reader #sevika fanfiction #sevika x you #sevika x y/n #sevika fanfic #sevika fluff

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ihavenoideawhatiamdoingjustgay2 · 9 days ago

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asexual reader headcanons; arcane women x fem!reader

this one is completely self-indulgent because i want to validate myself. if there happens to be a demand for this, enjoy

disclaimer that i’m aware asexuality is a spectrum. i lean way toward the sex-repulsed side of things, so that’s how i will write reader.

summary; arcane women dating asexual!reader

characters included; jinx, vi, mel, sevika, caitlyn, lest

tags/warnings; fluff, hurt/comfort, reader is asexual (duh), not rly nsfw but sex is talked about? if that makes sense, maybe (probably) ooc, VERY brief mentions of sa, kinda short, again this is self-indulgent

jinx;

✧.* not even really a conversation that’s had. you tell her that you’re asexual, she looks at you for a moment, shrugs, and goes back to whatever she’s doing.

✧.* honestly does not care.

✧.* this scared you at first- her lack of response made you think she might be upset, or as if she wanted to pretend she didn’t hear you. when you brought it up with her, jinx seemed to be a bit confused as to why it was such a big deal to you.

✧.* “so what? i can still bring you around zaun, and hold you, and kiss you in the hideout. that stuff doesn’t matter.”

✧.* you’ll have to discuss boundaries with her of course. i personally believe she has a lot of stamina, but not the highest drive, so it doesn’t really matter to her. you’re open to the idea, just not right now? great. you don’t think you can ever see yourself having sex? that’s cool too.

✧.* what matters to jinx is that you’re around. you’re there. she’s yours, and you’re hers. she wants that connection, the humanity of it all.

✧.* still super touchy. of course she won’t do anything that crosses a line, but jinx is gonna be sat in your lap and peppering kisses all over your face while rambling away about some new invention of hers any chance she gets.

✧.* “sooo… what’s my pretty girl up to? nothing? oh, i guess i’ll find a spot then…”

✧.* before sprawling herself out on your lap, giggling up at you. she thinks she’s hilarious.

✧.* i think she’d still make a lot of dirty jokes, though. jinx doesn’t necessarily mean anything by them, she’s just a girl who likes to laugh and have a fun time. she’ll stop if you ask her to.

✧.* if she does do something out of line, she’s immediately apologizing profusely and asking what she can do to make it right. probably one of the downsides of dating jinx… you’ll have to assure her endlessly that it’s okay, she made a mistake, you’re not upset. jinx just hates the thought of you being mad at her, she can’t bear even the thought of losing you.

✧.* jinx can be pretty romantic when she wants to be- in her own way, of course. she’s always been less than conventional. sex is one way of expressing love- but she’s got a bunch more, don’t worry.

✧.* post-it notes on your things with stick figure drawings of the two of you, surprise kisses in the middle of you talking, impromptu firework shows just for you…

vi;

✧.* i don’t think she’d really care much either. she is sexual, but she doesn’t need it to survive i don’t think?

✧.* if anything, she was just a bit confused when you told her about your sexuality. she didn’t realize that that was an option until you told her about your preferences

✧.* but it’s you! and vi cares about you, so she’ll do whatever she can to make sure that you’re happy. she probably will ask if you’d be open to the possibility someday, but she won’t pressure you if you tell her ‘no’ or ‘not anytime soon.’

✧.* “as long as i get to be with you, cupcake.”

✧.* vi cannot stand the idea of ever doing anything out of line, though, so she’ll make sure to outline absolutely everything with you. as i’ve said in other posts, i think vi would be a pretty good communicator. getting things out of the way before they become a problem. gods forbid she tried to make a move on you before you had told her.

✧.* still suuuuch a tease, just in a more ‘pg’ way. she’ll withhold kisses from you just to see you pout, she’ll brush your back from behind you and chuckle when you jump in surprise.

✧.* you’re just adorable to vi, don’t mind her.

✧.* “what? i can’t think it’s funny? i think you need to lighten up a little, babe.”

✧.* vi will definitely ask you questions as well, though it’s not anything malicious or her trying to prod. the first place her mind goes is it being a trauma response- but regardless of your answer, she’ll support it. she just wants to understand you and where you’re coming from better, and if it’s something as simple as you just not enjoying the idea of sex, then so be it!

✧.* cannot reiterate enough how important communication is. vi loves you, she wants to understand you, she wants to know exactly what to do and what not to do.

mel;

✧.* i don't think she'd mind much, honestly. mel is very well-read, probably already knows a good deal about human sexuality and the wide spectrum it is. i don't think she'd ever necessarily considered that someone could just... not experience sexual attraction, but she doesn't really think twice about it when you tell her.

✧.* of course she has questions, but they're only so that she can understand you better. she can't get all of her knowledge on a topic like this from research, of course.

✧.* one of the most important things to mel is connection. sex is one way to connect, but not the only, and she’ll happily take the other options if it’s what you need.

✧.* good communication, physical touch, taking you out for sweet dinners or letting you look after her after something particularly dangerous… all things that mel loves. feeling close to you, being there with you, sharing warm moments with you. she loves spoiling you, it’s quickly become one of her favorite things to do.

✧.* “anything you want to do, dearest,” she’d say. “just name it, and it’s yours. no matter how far it is, or how outlandish, you’ll be happy.”

✧.* if you decide that you are open to a sexual relationship, mel will cover every single base with you before trying anything. of course that’s what should be done, but she genuinely wants to make sure everything is to your comfort and you’re happy. and you’re going it because you want to, not just to please her

✧.* mel is just such a sweet and gentle lover all around. as long as she has that level of connection, the companionship, the trust, she’s happy. as long as she gets to kiss you and hold you when she needs to, as long as she gets to hear that you love her, mel is happy.

sevika;

✧.* you’re gonna have to explain to sevika what asexuality is and what it means to you. i’m so sorry

✧.* it’s not that she won’t understand, it’s just that she’s not too familiar with the terminology and well… it’s not very common

✧.* once you do explain it to her, though, there’s not much of a reaction. i don’t think she’d ever considered the possibility of someone just not feeling sexual attraction or not feeling the need for sex. but once she thinks about it, she supposes it makes sense, everyone is different.

✧.* sevika is sexual. she canonically goes to zaun’s brothel. but i don’t think she’d be bothered having an asexual partner, it’s nice to just have somebody around, somebody to care for and love, even if they’re not up to that side of a relationship. she appreciates your company, your reassurance, your love regardless of what form it comes in.

✧.* that, and she has a hand if she gets desperate.

✧.* “doesn’t matter, dove. can still share a bed and touch you, yeah…? just in other ways.”

✧.* i’ve said it several times before and i’ll say it again, sevika is fiercely loyal. something as insignificant as this will not affect that! if anything she’s thankful that you’re honest with her, you’re upfront, and that you trust her to love you the way you need to be loved

✧.* incredibly touchy regardless, just keeps her hands off of certain areas unless you tell her it’s okay to put them there. she loves being by your side, loves that contact, loves pressing soft kisses to your neck or wrapping her arms around you from behind as she whispers sweet words to you.

caitlyn;

✧.* you’re gonna have to explain it to her… she’s heard of asexuality before, but i don’t think she’d really understand right off the bat. you’ll probably have to explain that it’s not the same as celibacy, just the fact that you don’t feel sexual attraction to begin with

✧.* once it clicks there’s not really much conversation after that! of course cait will ask about your boundaries, what asexuality means to you specifically, what you do and don’t want to do, but she catches on pretty quickly. you just need to give her a second for everything to make sense in her head

✧.* caitlyn is pretty romantic i’d think, and although she’s sexual, asexuality is far from a dealbreaker for her. cait is more than willing to express her love in other ways- (non sexual) physical touch, little words of reassurance, her protection, the way she does you favors without you even having to ask…

✧.* caitlyn makes sure to use her words especially. she loves telling you that she loves you, she loves complimenting you, calling you sweet pet names, making you feel special by speaking to you. it makes her so incredibly happy

✧.* “you’re beautiful, darling, do you know that? you drive me mad constantly, i swear…”

✧.* caitlyn is also pretty big on communication and i think she’d be the type to make sure any little touch is okay. she gets a bit anxious, and you might have to reassure her that it’s perfectly fine for her to grab your waist or hips. she just worries, she doesn’t want to overstep.

✧.* she’s down for anything that you want to do, and don’t want to do. it’s all for your comfort, and as long as you’re hers- her love, her girlfriend, she’s happy.

lest;

✧.* doesn’t really have a grand reaction to you telling her. i’d say she’s sexual and experienced, but this also makes her aware of the various ways sexuality works. so what if you don’t experience sexual attraction, or the dame desires many others do?

✧.* of course there are the multiple conversations, mostly about boundaries and exactly what you do and don’t want to do. lest is fine with anything, but she’s a lover at heart. all she wants is to take care of you, and make sure that you’re comfortable with whatever is going on.

✧.* still incredibly touchy. stealing kisses in between clients if you visit her at work, snuggling up to you, purring against you as you embrace her… lest genuinely just loves to be close to you

✧.* she’s tired constantly. lest is a busy woman, so being able to come home to you after a long day of dealing, negotiating, stroking clients’ egos… it’s a treat. something that becomes motivation for her. count on lest to crawl up next to you on the couch when she finally arrives home, sighing as you card your fingers through her silky hair.

✧.* “i swear, they get more and more difficult every day…” she’d lament.

✧.* IF you decide that you’re up for anything, lest will be checking in on you the entire time during to make sure you’re okay. probably the first few times. she knows you’re alright, you’re safe, but the last thing she wants is to make her asexual partner uncomfortable or hurt her.

✧.* but even if you’re not, it doesn’t make any difference to lest.

✧.* she’s got a beautiful woman who loves her, who cares for her. who she can bring around piltover and spoil, share peaceful moments with… it’s all she could ask for.

#i am the target audience #i was reached

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ihavenoideawhatiamdoingjustgay2 · 15 days ago

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The Great War

A/N: So this was made in response to a request but it ended up blossoming into a full 2K word fic adjacent and I had to split it into two posts! Anyways, if you enjoy sexy and occasionally soft Sevika, dramatic arguments that result in comfort, and mob-wife vibes… enjoy!

Warnings: Not smut but mentions of sex and both characters are D O W N B A D.. A lot of cussing and mentions of violence.

Pairing: Butch!Sevika X Femme!Reader who is super outgoing and forward

🂱 So the two of you’ve met briefly around town, kinda running in the same circles. You notice her right away but you don’t actually talk until she shows up at work — The Last Drop.

🂱 You’re a server and your charisma, magnetism, and punchy/blunt sort of energy makes you well suited to hospitality. You’re the bubbly outgoing type of waitress who gets their table laughing and in a good spirits with ur contagious good vibes.

🂱 You beat the other waitress to claim Sevika’s table, and it’s on.

🂱 She would get a kick out of it — your shamelessness. She really likes the forward thing, timidity makes her roll her eyes. Life’s too short for playing hard to get! Plus, she’s an adult. And a literal revolutionary who quite literally does not have the time for all that.

🂱 Before you learn each others names you endearingly and lightheartedly call her “butchy,” or something like that. She calls you sweetheart.

🂱 You’d pour her beers on the house. You’d lean over the bar counter on ur elbows, making sure ur titties look good and perky. And if it was just the two of you, she would not hide her ogling.

🂱 It’d be a bit of a game to you two. Making the other person crack, being the first to back down/get all blushy. You’d be all flirty-flirty over the bar counter, she’d pull you into her lap during her card game. It’s like how straight guys play gay chicken. Except ur actually gay so it would just be chicken.

🂱 And she’s smoking indoors, as per us. You ask if you can have a hit. She shotguns it into ur mouth and you blow it upward, once again drawing attention to your décolletage, to the girls hehe

🂱 Eventually she just asks you straight up if you wanna spend the night. Maybe you take her up on it, maybe you don’t. Either way, she’s not the fuckboy (fuckbutch?) hit it n quit it type. She’s an adult woman with emotional intelligence and communication skills goddammit and she’s gonna ask you to dinner.

🂱 Takes u to the fanciest place in the undercity, orders everything on the menu trying to flex her wallet and impress u. Whether or not u ask for it she gets you one of those weird rich people desserts where they make part of the preparation an “experience.” like they pour hot liquid over a hollow chocolate shell and it cracks open and reveals a little cake inside. Or something involving a blowtorch.

🂱 Anyways this whole time ur just rubbing ur lil high heeled foot up her pant leg under the table and twirling ur hair, touching her arm, etc. Naughty girl — she mock-scolds you telepathically with a dommy little eyebrow raise thing.

“Here? Now? I pull out all the stops to give you a magical evening and you already wanna leave and bang it out. That’s real classy, sweetheart.”

🂱 You’re both rather bold and upfront, obviously. Strong personalities, fire sign energy — which means you butt heads often. Your relationship is super intense and fiery so every day is like a soap opera, or like The Real Mob Wives of Staten Island in levels of drama.

“Why the hell didn’t you come home last night? And why did i have to find out from Vivi that she saw you cracking skulls in a fishing boat by the pier?”

“Babygirl I told you I was taking care of business. Sweetheart, uprisings don’t happen overnight, it’s all about biding time and strategically applying political pressure in Topside-”

“Jesus, Mary, and the goddamn camels you and your strategic goddamn pressure. I’ll tell you I’ve fucking had it with you and your fucking pressure. You wanna make me look like an idiot? When me and my girlfriends are sitting drinking mimosas for brunch at Jarrod's and they ask me ‘Y/N where’s that woman of yours?’ And i have to look them in the eyes and say “Clint Eastwood was unable to join us as she had a prior engagement strategically applying pressure. To the back of enforcers’ skulls. With a fucking baseball bat. Like a common thug. Mind you, I’m a classy lady all by my lonesome on a Sunday fucking morning-"

“Classy lady I’ll fucking say. You’d think I plan on growing old with Mrs. Fucking Vanderbilt, the way you want to buy ten thousand pairs of red high heels-“

“Omg babe you wanna grow old with me?”

“-that all look exactly the fucking same, by the way. ‘Burnt orange’ and ‘vermillion’ and ‘chartreuse’ or whatever the fuck — You know it’s just fucking red.

“Chartreuse is green, since you wanna be a smartass,”

“Don’t gaslight me, woman. Where do you even plan on wearing those? We live in an oversized sewer pipe. Not the magical land of Oz. I told you who i was when you met me. I told you this is what I do. And you better get used to it if you wanna keep charging my card at every boutique within a ten mile radius,”

“Or what? Gonna give me the spiel again, talk me to death about the uprising and the political elites and the our time is imminent, y/n. Gonna threaten me like you do your little fishing buddies? Gonna apply me some strategic fucking pressure?”

“That’s enough.” Sevika hissed, scary calm. She kicks the pantry door shut and whips around, pointing at you with her cigarette. “I’ve had enough of this shit. You’re done, Missy.”

“Beg pardon? I’ll decide when I’m done, thank you very much. You’ve got some nerve telling me when to speak when I can’t even reach you half the time. I had to track down your little boss the other day — brought him a lovely casserole — and ask if he could pass on a message for me! ‘Excuse me Mr. Scaryman Eye of Zaun, sir, could you possibly ask Zorro if she might head home as soon as she’s done busting kneecaps? And to arrive in a clean shirt, as my parents are in town and they prefer to greet their daughter-in-law when she’s not covered in someone’s intravenous blood. Thank you kindly.’”

“You showed up at work? Wait- you talked to Silco? Babe I told you to stay the fuck away from there!”

“Please. He may be the kingpin of the city or whatever, but I make a gorgeous quiche. Trust me, babe. Once he tastes my cooking, I am henceforth immune to whatever machiavellian basement torture chamber you brutes probably use as your break room.”

🂱 Sorry guys, got a little carried away there. Point is, one minute you’re screaming at each other and dramatically slamming doors and throwing shit, the next you’re fucking on the kitchen floor like the world’s about to end. You guys basically co-authored the book on how to be an absolute nightmare of an upstairs neighbor. The entire building feels the floor shaking and no one knows if the screaming is just you guys having a little too much fun for 2pm on a Tuesday, or if they’re gonna see this on the news tomorrow.

🂱 Kidding! At the end of the day, trust and loyalty are the foundations of your relationship. You love each other wildly, deeply, and passionately.

🂱 Sevika has a strict no going to bed angry policy. If you’d gotten into it that evening you might give her the cold shoulder, curl up facing away from her in the quiet moments before bed. She’s reading by the lantern on the bedside table — an upcycled barstool the two of you stole from your old job at The Last Drop one evening when you were in a particularly silly mood.

🂱 She catches your gaze a couple times as you stare over your shoulder to see if she’s paying attention to you, and then you immediately turn and go back to ignoring her. She takes off her reading glasses, tosses her book onto the bed, and rolls over to you, wrapping her arm around you from the back.

“Hey baby?” She kisses your shoulder and the back of your head since you still won’t look at her, and she continues. “Love of my life? Light of my world? Keeper of my soul and partner in crime through the sea of trials we call the fucked-up game of life?” You turn slightly to give her a glaring side eye.

“…What do you want.”

“Still mad at me, babygirl?”

“Not at all. Why on earth would I be mad?”

“I’m sorryyy,” she draws it out, cooing at you all soft and sing-songy. If the ne’erdowells who often got their asses handed to them by her and her little team could see this Sevika, they’d think they lost their mind. Hell, if any punk on the street could see this Sevika they’d think they lost their mind. It made your knees weak the way she undid herself and softened for you. For only you. You fought the smile forming and she continued murmuring against your skin.

“It’s all this bullshit at work Silco’s got me taking care of. I’m neglecting my little lady, I’m stretched so thin. It’s too much…”

“Too much…?” You echo. “Talk to me, love. Silco’s not letting you catch a breather?”

She grunts in affirmation against your shoulder: “Mm-hrmm”

“Does my baby have the whooole wide world on her poor, tired, buff, strong, sexy shoulders-EEK!” She gleefully flips you over to face her, making you cackle. You’ve been disarmed. At her mercy. You always were.

She leans forward to bonk her forehead against yours.

“Glad someone in this cruel world finally understands me and my line of work,” she says, half-joking.

“No one understands the importance of your job better than me, babe.” You continue, at this point unable to remove the sarcasm from your tone even if you tried. She nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder facedown, head supported by the cushiness of your tit. You weave your fingers in her hair.

“The honorable burden of great duty… The unfathomable smothering of moral obligation, even. One might describe it as an immensely… strategic pressure-”

“-For FUCK’s SAKE”

“You have worker’s rights, you know! Demand an hour off — paid — in your underground torture chamber-breakroom. You’re entitled to relax and sip coffee as you watch the bodies hit the floor, goddammit!”

Feigning exasperation, Sev dramatically collapses backward starfish-style on the old-ass creaky-ass decrepit-ass daddy longlegs convention of a double bed the two of you share; in a shithole apartment, in a shady-ass neighborhood, in a collapsing city. That’s how it was between the two of you. Underneath it all, she trusts that you’ll always be there to kiss her wounds, to make sure her collar is straight and there’s no shmutz on her face. You trust that at the end of the day, it’s you she’s coming home to.

#arcane league of legends #arcane #arcane headcanon #arcane s2 #arcane fanfic #sevika x reader #arcane fic #sevika arcane #sevika headcanon #butch sevika #sevika fanfic #sevika smut #sevika x y/n #sevika x reader fluff #sevika x reader fic #arcane fanfiction

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