#‹ v. › league of legends.

[thebctman]

I’m going feral over how Mel and Viktor’s parallels with eachother are rooted in magic. Both saw magic as their salvation and their prayers.

Mel is born with magic whereas Viktor sought it artificially. Mel is from privilege and born in wealth. She could see the sky as easily it was to breathe. She grew up in a culture that emphasized on physical strength. Viktor was born in poverty and Zaun’s inability to breathe set his life with a countdown. Zaun also valued adaptability and intellect instead. Mel and Viktor casted aside the mentalities set upon them by their mentors to fight for their own.

Both desired and dreamed to create their own paths with their own ambitions. Both saw and used Jayce as their way to do so.

[arcanegifs]

ARCANE LEAGUE OF LEGENDS: 2x09 - “The Dirt Under Your Nails.”

[smoosie]

"It's Viktor Donoshortenmyname."

+ extra part for comfort

[kamaluhkhan]

HER CANINE TEETH IN THE SIDE OF MY NECK

pairing: werewolf!vi x vampire slayer!reader word count: 11.1 k summary: she's a monster, and you're essentially a monster hunter. it shouldn't work, but it does. (or — you and vi decide to escape the narrative together) warnings: ooh various mentions of fighting + blood + injuries ranging from mild to life-threatening; reader and vi both smoke + consume alcohol; rough sex (fingering [vi receiving], oral [reader receiving], tribbing, biting, spitting ++ aftercare); 18+ ! vibes are basically buffy the vampire slayer with chaotic lesbians loving each other so much it consumes them both a/n: i think i've been watching too much buffy and fantasizing about werewolf!vi for like,, too long,, and this unholy mess is the result. this has been sitting in my drafts unfinished for a WHILE but tonight is the wolf moon so it felt right to post now, i really hope y'all enjoy 🖤 i'll include credit for each subtitle in the tags too <33

♪: "bullet with butterfly wings" by the smashing pumpkins; "dig me out" by sleater-kinney; "taste my despair" by lesbian bed death; "i wanna be your dog" by joan jett; "fantastic" by king princess

i. sorry about the blood in your mouth

vi wakes up with a terrible motherfucking headache, which isn’t anything new. 

she doesn’t know where she is — that isn’t particularly something new, either — but what is new is the tongue slobbering all over her face. when she opens her eyes, vi sees a 50-pound black dog standing over her.

“whoa!” vi sits up abruptly, but the dog only gets more excited and jumps up on the couch, caging her in.

“sorry. she usually isn’t so enthusiastic about company.”

the voice is coming from the other side of the room, where you’re sitting on the edge of the mattress closest to the window. there’s a cigarette in your hand, and each time you exhale, you point your chin accordingly so the smoke travels outside. a crisp breeze trickles in. 

“morning, killer.”

vi swallows the heart that has jumped into her throat, takes a deep breath to steady her breathing. fuck, she literally just moved here and might already need to leave. she tries to remember if something bad happened last night. 

it wasn’t the full moon, was it? no, that shouldn’t be for another few weeks. but then why are you calling her a —

“killer?” she asks, swallowing the lump in her throat.

she stares at you, eyes trailing your injured jawline as she waits for you to respond. you do look vaguely, achingly familiar. whatever happened last night, you were probably part of it. 

“well, you’ve got a killer right hook,” you quip. you snuff out your cigarette and twist around to fully face vi. “and i’m pretty sure you killed my reputation as a pit fighting champion. i was undefeated before you.” 

fresh blood emerges from your split lip as you speak, and you’re quick to swipe it away with your tongue. 

oh. right. 

your tank top is torn at the bottom, just cropped enough that vi can see the imprint of her fist on your lower ribs. she now remembers the feeling of yours on the side of her face, and has a bloody, crusted eyebrow, painfully tender cheekbone, and the outline of your ring seared onto her skin forever to prove it. 

what kind of pitfighter wears pure silver?

vi takes note of her surroundings to get a better sense of who she’s up against: the place is small, dingy, but has a good amount of light. you’ve got a broken mirror, old books stacked in the corner, and an open cupboard filled with clothing and various weapons, mostly daggers and some wooden stakes. an intricate glass cross dangles from the centre of the window, filtering through multicolored light. there are a bunch of dried plants next to a mortar and pestle on the sill below — nightshade, juniper, wolfsbane. on the tiny kitchen counter is a silver vase filled with more wilted flowers. 

even from far away, vi can hear your heartbeat — strong, steady — as you shuffle around and gather some things. she inhales your scent. she remembers that she was slightly taken aback, in the pit when she had you pinned to the mat, that under the musk of sweat and metallic tang of blood, vi sensed something else, something delicate and floral. 

your whole apartment smells overwhelmingly of dried roses and decaying fruit, too, sweet and earthy.

“did you bring me here for round two?”

“no.” you let out a short, breathy laugh. “i brought you here so that some creep wouldn’t take advantage of you. you were pretty out of it.”  

“so you’re — what an enforcer?”

“no fucking way,” you declare, and vi can practically feel rage coursing through you, your heart pumping with reignited vigor. “like an enforcer would care enough to actually help the undercity,” you grumble. 

you shake your head and sit down at the edge of the couch, shooing your dog away so you can drop first aid supplies in her place. she settles on the floor at your feet. 

you offer vi a somewhat bruised apple. when she hesitates, you push it into her hand.

“this isn’t a fairytale,” you say, hands busy soaking a cloth in some alcohol. “i’m not trying to poison you,” you add as if reading her mind.  

“there…there are some good enforcers, though,” vi tries, trained to have such platitudes at the ready.  

you roll your eyes. “if there are, i haven’t met them.” 

vi’s not sure she believes what she had said, either. she feels her side ache, a phantom bruise from when caitlyn slammed her rifle into the very injury she had once helped heal. 

what started as you’re not like the rest of those animals. you’re one of the good ones. became you’re all the same. it’s their blood in your veins. as soon as things went downhill. 

vi bites her lip to prevent herself from wincing, and it isn’t because you’ve pressed an alcohol-soaked cloth to the cut on her nose. her sharp nails break through the skin of the apple, digging into its soft flesh until juice is running down her wrist.

“eat,” you insist, but you’re focused on removing as much dirt and dried blood from her face as you can, brows furrowed in concentration. “you ruined my reputation, so you better keep up your strength if you wanna keep yours.”

“so, you’re helping the enemy,” vi, still wary of you, wonders.

your frown softens. you place a bandage on the bridge of her nose before saying: 

“you’re not my enemy.” 

maybe it was the sincerity of your words, or the unconditional care you’re showing her, or the fact that it’s been so long since someone has touched vi so tenderly, but she decides in that moment to trust you, whoever you are. 

she takes a bite of the apple, the sweetness invading her mouth, as you lean over to search for something else in the first aid kit, mumbling to yourself about how the wound is deeper than you thought. 

“you should really be more careful,” you chide. “are you a topsider?”

vi scoffs through a mouthful of fruit. “i’m from the lanes.” 

“yeah, well this neighborhood is a different level of bad,” you tell her.

“i can hold my own — ouch.”

you start stitching up the cut on her eyebrow, one hand keeping her head steady. her cheek pulses against you as she chews, your skin calming and cool. 

“when you’re sober, maybe.”

“you didn’t have to help me,” vi grunts. “most people would’ve gone about their business.”

“i was going about my business. i was out on patrol; vampires never sleep, you know.” 

you say it so casually, almost too casually, that vi wonders if she misheard you.

“vampires?”

you raise an eyebrow at vi. “there’s a high concentration of them around here, near the hellmouth. a lot of monsters, actually —”

vi hopes you don’t notice how she shudders at the word monsters.

“ — some of whom can and will eat you alive if they get the chance,” you deadpan. “that’s kinda what i’m here for.”

“so….what are you, exactly?”

you don’t say anything for a few seconds, your expression unreadable while you finish vi’s stitches, but your heart thumps so forcefully against your ribcage, vi almost thinks she’s seconds away from hearing the bones there crack. you start gnawing at your bottom lip, let the blood gather until it starts to trickle down towards your chin. vi swipes it away with her thumb, which she then wipes against her bandaged palm. 

you inhale slowly, then exhale. your heart rate eases; still a bit higher than most people’s, but to what seems to be normal for you. 

“the correct term is slayer,” you finally say, watching vi carefully for her reaction. 

vi isn’t quite sure what that means, but it doesn’t sound good for someone like her. she’s wondering if she should make a run for it when you drop your voice an octave or two and add: 

“the chosen one standing against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness.” you clear your throat. “if you were wondering.” you break out into a cheeky grin, teeth sparkling in the late morning sun.

“you’re joking?”

“most days, i wish i was. that’s the official tagline, actually.” your smile shrinks into a sigh. “i’m the slayer. i won’t bore you with all the details, but me saving you last night? that’s kinda just what i do. my destiny, so to speak.”

“do you normally take the people you save home?”

you blink away, wipe your hands half-heartedly on the white tank top you’re wearing, smearing vi’s mess of crimson and grime.

“no,” you admit. 

vi narrows her eyes at you, shifts her body so there’s at least more space between you before she figures out what the hell to do. it’s possible that you’re lying but —

vi puffs out her chest. “why are you being so nice to me?” 

you already have her blood on your body, and vice versa, and not just because you’d been fighting each other. it’s not quite trust, but it feels like something close. something you’re willing to share without even knowing much about the other. 

an unspoken question: do you know what i really am? 

because if you did, vi’s sure you wouldn’t be so….friendly towards her. so gentle.

“honestly?” you gesture towards the dog who’s busy nuzzling into vi’s leg. “fangs kinda hates everyone but she seems to like you.”

her jaw drops. “you decided to be my guardian angel because your dog likes me?”

“i already had a good feeling about you before.” you shrug. “i took it as a good omen, i guess.” 

“i’m not sure you should,” vi advises. 

you’re looking out for her, so she should look out for you. it’s better, for everyone, that vi be left alone. 

she’s been good, had to learn how to be, in order to survive; that doesn’t mean she’s innocent. 

on the bad days, she can’t control her anger. on the worst days, she can’t contain her hunger.

“okay, well, maybe i’ve got a thing for strays,” you reach your hand down, run it through fangs’ thick black fur. your lips curl upwards as you look at vi, all bright-eyed and beautiful, sunlight itself emanating from your smile. 

something sparks in her chest that she thought would never light again. something that, like her, could be dangerous if it’s not controlled. 

vi decides it’s probably about time that she left, though it's difficult to tear herself from your warmth.

“so, will i see you in the pit again?” she still can’t help but ask as you accompany her to the door.

“probably, yeah.” you lean against the doorframe, and vi is about to turn the knob when you add: “but, that pub you passed outside of? the bronze? maybe we can, uh, get a drink there, afterwards sometime.”

your heart skips a beat or two as you anxiously wait for vi to say something. her entire body heats up when she realizes what’s going on.

you were….asking her out. 

the good thing is that then there’s no way you actually know what vi is because, well, would this even be allowed in your line of work?

“you promise you’re not just playing the long game? gaining my trust and then stabbing me in the back?”

you give her a playful but sincere smile and make a small ‘x’ on the left side of your upper chest. “cross my heart.”

“guess i’ll will call you my guardian angel,” she muses, her chest glowing. “i’m vi, by the way.” 

you grin, then formally introduce yourself. you reach out your hand. vi holds it, delicately, even though your grip is firm.

“one more thing, though — keep the whole me being the slayer thing under wraps? it’s supposed to be a secret.”

“why’d you tell me, then?” vi wonders, raising an eyebrow. 

you tilt your head, examining her. “like i said — i had a good feeling about you. slayers are meant to have good instincts, so i decided to trust mine.” 

vi takes a deep breath, removes her hand from yours, and glances at you once more with a small smile. she promises not to tell a soul. 

(she, of all people, knows that there are far worse secrets to keep.)  

“thank you,” vi adds. “for saving me.”

she hears fangs scratching at the door from inside the apartment after she’s gone, along with the deep rumble of your voice telling fangs not to worry, our new friend will visit again soon, like you’re so sure vi will be back. 

with the way you already have her sharp edges softening, her heart fluttering in her chest, vi probably will be. 

except —

vi’s not quite human, hasn’t been since she started bleeding between her legs at 13, since her mother told her that this was a blessing passed down to eldest daughters in their family, no matter how many people will try to convince her it’s a curse. 

it would be a few months later that her mother would be killed because of said blessing. 

really, it’s more nightmare. 

because vi knows what it’s like to pick ripped flesh from between her teeth, to have the metallic sweetness of blood linger on her tongue and throat-tearing screams ringing in her ears. 

meanwhile, you — with your good instincts, strong fists and stronger heart  —

it’s your destiny to end those nightmares. 

you’re the thing that monsters like her are supposed to have nightmares about.

ii. you’re an angel / i’m a dog

there’s an intimacy to knowing how someone fights. 

vi fights with bared teeth and burning rage, knuckles cracking against bone, elbows bruising skin without any remorse. her own wounds are half-hazardly hidden behind layers of gauze, her chest wrapped tightly to keep her heart from bleeding out. she doesn’t bother to clean the dirt underneath her nails, to wipe the blood from her upper lip after an opponent breaks her nose, to wash her face clean before smearing on more dark paint until all she sees in the mirror is a shadow of her former self. 

you, on the other hand: you’re precise and quick in how you defeat your opponents, maybe even a bit bored. vi figures that when you fight monsters for a living, it must be fairly dull, knocking out some guy with a single, well placed uppercut, even if he is twice your size. your bandages are always fresh, and you always make vi a little dizzy when she catches a whiff of rose. you walk past her with a playful grin, easily replaced by the glint of your razor-sharp canines as you defeat another opponent in the arena. she listens as your heartbeat barely increases a beat, despite the inevitable adrenaline of battle. 

you might not be as feral as her, but vi thinks you’re just as dangerous. she likes it, admires that your violence is always calculated rather than all-consuming. 

she does wonder if you’d ever let anything consume you, curious to know what’s hiding under your armor.

so, a few days after she first woke up in your apartment, vi builds up the courage to suggest: 

"whoever wins the most fights tonight picks up the tab for the bar." 

your face brightens the dim, dirty sidelines of the pit as you’re both waiting for your turn, when you answer:

"you're on, killer." 

later that night, both of your bodies are aching as vi tries to examine your injuries once you’re both done for the day, away from the roar of the crowd. 

"guess i'll be picking up the tab," you smile, your lip splitting open even more, just like the morning after her knuckles first kissed your skin. 

(she wants to kiss this wound closed, too, press her lips to your bloody ones, if you’d be willing to give her a taste.)

"i'll still take care of it, angel,” vi soothes. she rummages around the tiny locker room, a single light bulb flickering above you. finally, she finds a small first aid kit — poorly stocked, but good enough for now. “lemme take care of you first."

you must understand what vi’s implying, because your heart starts racing faster. 

it’s a routine that becomes vi’s guiding light — the two of you patching each other up after a rough day (and, regardless of the fact that you’re both strong, it’s always a rough day). you share a drink at the bronze, and then you’re off slaying vampires or whatever other nightmares will keep you awake and fighting every night. 

then, it’s another full moon, and the routine changes. 

she’s able to prevent herself from turning even in the worst of circumstances, but she doesn’t want to risk any accidents, knowing that you’re out there on the prowl. vi is confident that you’d never hurt, let alone kill her, but that’s counting on you being able to recognize her. 

vi locks herself in the basement of the bronze. spike, the bartender, let her crash in a storage closet, temporarily, no questions asked and a promise to keep it a secret.

she emerges from her isolation after three days, eyes stinging from the harsh morning sun. her first instinct is to head underground, search for you. she makes one stop beforehand, drops something off in the locker room before she’s ushered into the arena without any more preamble. 

the show must go on, and you’re already center stage. 

the lanky woman you must’ve just knocked unconscious is being dragged away. you spit out what looks like a combination of blood and saliva, and crack your neck before resuming a fighting stance, feet squared, bruised knuckles at the ready. 

you falter when you see that it’s vi who��s your next opponent. vi picks up the increased pace of your heart, the muscle worrying against your chest.  

you’ve had this conversation, though — about what would happen if you were ever up against each other again in the ring — and you both agreed: once the bell rings, the fight starts, because you both need the money to survive. 

nothing personal. winner buys two rounds of drinks at the bronze. three, if there were some nasty hits involved.

you hadn’t needed to worry about any of that until now.

the bell rings, and vi waits for you to make the first move, like you tend to do.

but, you don’t.

the first time you were up against each other, vi dodged your attack and delivered a jab hard enough to make you bleed. you had looked at her with wide eyes, fingers touching your bottom lip and becoming stained with red as the crowd roared. you adjusted your posture with a newfound interest, and a glimmer of what vi can only describe as hunger.

this time, you drop your stance like you’ve already lost the fight. you ignore the shouts and groans from the crowd as you walk away.

….

vi finds you in the locker room — and you’re not alone. 

“there a problem here?” vi asks, glaring at the guy you seem to be arguing with. 

“it’s fine,” you answer coolly. still, vi sits on the bench nearest to the door, waits for you like a patient dog. 

“fine?” the guy barks a laugh. he’s wearing topside clothes. an enforcer, no less. “you made me look like a fool.”

you scoff. “i doubt that’s hard to do.”

the guy suddenly reaches forward and snatches your arm. vi feels rage surge through her when his nails indent your skin. you must sense it, because your eyes lock with hers in a silent command not to do anything, not just yet.

“i don’t think you understand, bitch,” he seethes, face a pissed off shade of red. “i’m out more money than you’ll ever see in your entire pathetic life.” 

“i’m sure you’ll manage.”

vi follows your gaze as it drops to his belt. he’s got his badge, a standard issue pistol, and a pouch full of gold coins. 

“clearly i bet on the wrong fucking dog.” 

you force a smile. “better luck next time, officer.” 

you finally rip your arm out of his grip, push him away abruptly, effectively manoeuvring him to stumble between where you’re standing, and vi’s waiting. you gesture towards vi with a smirk, a taunting dare for this enforcer to challenge two of the undercity’s best fighters. 

vi gets up just as he’s walking out, grumbling an incoherent string of swears. she not-so-subtly knocks into his shoulder and hip, her nimble fingers still quick.

“guess we can get dinner with our drinks, now,” she quips with a toothy grin. vi tosses you the pouch, but you don’t seem too thrilled, even as you catch it effortlessly. 

“you can’t just disappear like that, vi.” your voice sharp, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“i didn’t mean to,” vi lies, walking over to open your shared locker. she pulls out a bouquet of roses, the same deep red as dried blood. 

vi pouts, gives you her best puppy dog eyes. “i’m sorry, angel.” 

the only reaction she gages from you is a quickening heartbeat at the nickname, your face still hard to crack marble. 

“this is serious, vi.” 

“i know! but —”

“do you know what’s out there? i’m not the only monster hunter around here. you need to be careful,” you rush, walking over to her and talking with your hands. “i looked everywhere for you, and….and you just left without saying anything. i thought…i thought you’d been killed —”

your blood roars in vi’s ears, your pulse close to out of control, and vi doesn’t know what else to do except bring you into her arms in an attempt to calm you down.

“i’m okay, angel. i’m here. i’m right here,” vi mumbles against your shoulder, inhaling sweat and roses.

your heart starts beating steady against her own as you exhale.

“i was safe, i promise. i was in the supply close at the bronze.”

“are you kidding?” you guffaw, unravelling yourself from vi’s body. “that basement is a hellhole.”

vi shrugs. “it does the trick.”

you chuckle dryly, shaking your head.

“well, i guess now that i lost one of my best sponsors, fangs and i might have to move in there with you,” you deadpan.

you reach around vi to pull a jacket from the locker, slipping on worn leather that vi realizes is hers. you take the flowers from her with a small thank you, and vi adjusts the collar of her jacket on you, her warm fingers subtly grazing your pulsepoint. vi can’t help the possessiveness that sparks in her abdomen: you, wearing her clothes; you, heart beating rapidly for her. 

“well…what if….i moved in with you?” deep down, she knows it’s not an ideal situation, but vi reasons: “we can pool our money together for rent. besides, what’s another stray in your home?” 

you bite your bottom lip as you mull over the offer.

“well, you did buy me flowers, ask me out to dinner….seems like the logical next step.”

“so….” 

vi wiggles her eyebrows at you, and you finally crack a smile. 

it was only been three days apart and vi already felt deprived of the sunlight of your smile. 

“okay, killer. as long as you don’t make a habit of disappearing on me.”

….

on paper, there might be reasons why you and vi, together, shouldn’t work, but the simple truth is that you do.

you still spend your afternoons engulfed in the darkness of the underground arena, patch each other up at the end of the day, share drinks at the bronze before parting ways.

now, in the mornings, you spend a few hours training together, moving furniture around so there’s enough space to spar. you try not to get distracted by how hot her skin is every time it brushes against yours, how solid her thigh is between your legs when she’s adjusting your stance, how a shattered moan emerges from her lips as you pin her to the floor after showing her a new technique to catch an opponent off-guard.

the nights are your favourite, though. like fangs, vi is able to fall asleep anywhere in the apartment, and is usually passed out by the time you’re off the clock from slayer duty. after the first few nights, you insist that vi sleep on the bed, and she begrudgingly agrees. now, you get home just before dawn, bone-tired, to find her belly up, drooling and snoring on top of the dilapidated mattress. the moonlight illuminates all the curves and shadows of her sculpted body, her skin shimmering with sweat because her body runs warm, even on the coldest nights. you can see the trail of pink hair disappear beneath her black underwear, while her dyed-black hair is a tangled mess you’re tempted to tug at, curious to see if she’d moan again for you. vi sleeps shirtless, nipples winking at you like two fallen stars with those titanium rods pierced through. 

gods, you try not to drool when you slip under the covers and fall asleep dreaming of her, all the places you would sink your teeth into, all the places you wish she would do the same. 

(meanwhile, vi tries to ignore the sound of your whimpers, the quick tempo of your heartbeat, and the overwhelming musk of desire between your legs as you sleep next to her, because she’s so sure that you would never dream of her.)

these fantasies of vi, all her warmth, all her chaos, gnaw at you from the inside out. it’s an overwhelming sense of hunger, but with vi, you also feel something else, something gentler and more fragile building between you.

it’s really the little things. 

like, vi brings you fresh roses every week, and even though you keep telling her to save her winnings for better things, she tells you that pretty girls like you are worth it, angel. they should teach you that in slayer school. 

she winks, makes you flustered, then has the audacity to blush when you leave her the ripest apples because you know that she likes them a bit sweeter. 

sometimes you open the window as you share a cigarette, exhaling smoke into the starlit twilight as you exchange stories about your pasts, about the people you’ve loved and lost. she’s the first person you confide in about how weighed down you feel by the responsibility of being the slayer, a burden that’s cost you many loved ones, and the uncertainty of whether what you’re destined to do is truly what is good for the world. she tells you about her time in prison, the lonely nights lamenting the death of her father and brothers, but keeping her strength because she hoped to one day make it back to a sister she just ended up losing, anyways. 

other times, the two of you play a game. you imagine that you’re elsewhere, that there are no such things as monsters, no reason to have to battle and bruise yourselves just to survive. instead, you have a life and a family and a home together, filled with luxurious parties, decadent dinner tables, and endless sunny days. 

you comfort her and she comforts you through the dark, morbid world you both have been fighting against, alone, for so long.

it works. it works really well. 

except — you’ve been the slayer long enough to know that nothing this good will last. it's nauseating — dangerous, even — this desire buried in you deeply like a knife to the gut, twisting and taunting you with what can never be.

you’re just waiting for the next nightmare to reveal itself.

….

vi’s hair has started to fade back to pink, so she asks you to re-dye it.

it’s easy to forget that she sits in a rickety chair in your decrepit but well-loved apartment because all she can think about is your body behind hers, solid and steady. your cool fingers work the dye through her hair, your nails scrape against her scalp, and you’re humming as fangs snores peacefully at her feet. she’s died and gone to heaven, pure bliss glowing in her chest and releasing through her throat as a deep rumble. 

she closes her eyes and indulges in a little daydreaming:

just you and your sunburst smile and your soft, rose-petal skin.

there’s a firm knock that rustles vi out of her reverie, and you tell her to go rinse out her hair while you answer it.

she can hear you talking with someone through the rush of hot water. she tries not to eavesdrop, but…it’s difficult, especially once she hears:

“it’ll be fine. silver bullets usually do the trick,” you say, without much enthusiasm. vi bites back her hurt, keeps rinsing her hair, waiting for the water to run clear instead of sludge gray. 

you’re not talking about her. 

“i’m not sure you understand the severity of the situation,” a voice with a thick british accent replies. “i’ve been on the council for fifty years — five times longer than you’ve been the slayer — and i’ve never seen something quite this vicious.”

“my guess is you don’t get out in the field much,” you quip. 

whoever you’re talking to clearly is not amused, ignoring your backhanded comment and instead offering the details of what has been witnessed in the past few days. it’s so gruesome and gory that vi herself is shivering as she turns off the shower, towels off, and gets dressed. 

when vi opens the door, she almost trips over fangs, who’d fallen asleep just outside. she gets up immediately as vi steps out, her tail wagging. the owner of the stern voice — a man wearing a very pristine looking tweed suit — is handing you a crossbow, a bunch of silver-tipped arrows already splayed on the table. you notice vi first as your grip on the weapon tightens, and the man’s gaze follows.

“you know there’s a rule about slayers keeping….pets,” the man says, turning his nose up at vi and fangs from where they’re still standing at the doorway of the bathroom. 

you glance back at the pair, jaw clenched, and then focus back on your unwanted guest. 

“mr. travers, thank you for the heads up, but i believe it’s time for you to leave,” you clip, dropping the crossbow on the table. 

“actually, i believe that we have much more to discuss, namely how you’ve allowed this mutt into your home —”

“get the fuck out of our apartment,” you practically growl. you walk towards him menacingly until his back is millimeters away from the door. “you of all people know what i can do.”

“you will be punished for this…this transgression,” travers warns, but there’s an unmistakable tremble in his voice. 

you laugh in a way vi can barely recognize, sharp and bitter. 

“fine. i’m no stranger to dealing with the council’s bullshit.” you open the door, flash an exaggerated, sickly sweet smile. “have a nice day.”

“i hope this animal is worth it,” travers huffs. 

“she’s worth it,” you reply without hesitation before you slam the door on his ass, so hard that the walls shake, the vase in the kitchen toppling over and cracking on the counter. 

vi’s seen you fight in the pit — hell, she’s been on the receiving end of some of your wicked moves — but she doesn’t think she’s ever seen you this angry. 

your chest is heaving as you pace back and forth. 

“so that sounds….bad,” vi remarks, heading over to the kitchen counter to gather the broken shards of pottery.

you freeze. “how much did you hear?” 

vi just shrugs. “just that there’s something bad out there —”

“don’t worry about it,” you say with a forced smile. you walk over and push some damp hair away from vi’s eyes. “let’s take fangs for a walk before we leave, yeah? while it’s still light out.” 

there are whispers throughout the next few days leading up to the full moon. the crowd at the arena starts to thin, most topsiders too scared to journey underground with rumors of a bloodthirsty monster on the loose. 

you’re not sleeping anymore, still fighting during the day to a half-empty arena, out on patrol at night, your rosy scent fading from the bedsheets with each passing night. even if you get home before dawn, you spend your time scouring through books and scribbling into your notebook, mumbling to yourself theories about where and how you can stop this thing. vi tries to get you to take a break, or at least eat instead of burning through shimmer-laced cigarettes to keep yourself awake.

the best vi can do is convince you to sit down on the couch with her and share a snack. you settle for doing some research, flip through yellowed pages as you take a bite of an apple, juice dripping down your chin. 

vi reaches her finger out, puts it in her mouth to suck off the juice, moaning around the salty-sweet taste of your skin. you let out a pleased hum, turning your attention back to your research, but angling your body to invite her closer. vi nuzzles into your side, puts her head on your lap, twitches in pleasure as you reach down to scratch behind her ear. 

she looks up at you, and you finally give her a real smile — the first ray of sun after a pitch dark night.

a slice of paradise vi was certain she’d never find.

….

the night of the full moon is when all hell breaks loose. 

vi tries — she begs you not to go out there, sensing that tonight, of all nights, it will be at its strongest. but you, too headstrong and too righteous for your own good, just won’t listen. 

“this thing has killed eleven people in less than a week. i don’t care what phase of the moon it is — i’m ending this, tonight.” 

“why does it have to be you? that thing is stronger than anything you’ve ever fought!” 

“which is why i’ve been preparing,” you snap.

“can’t you – can’t you just call the fucking council, or something, tell them to deal with it?” 

fangs is right there with vi, scrambling and whining as you’re meticulously arming yourself with as many weapons you can carry.

you scoff, notching a few silver blades to your belt. “it’s not their responsibility, it’s mine. where the fuck — i can’t go out only in this tank top, it’s fucking freezing — ”

vi swallows the lump in her throat.

“you’re gonna die if you go out there alone.”

“yeah, well, i’ve accepted my fate a long time ago,” you say stoically. 

you’re fairly well supplied at this point; if vi was the monster you were hunting, she’d be running scared from a glance alone. you’re only half paying attention to vi’s pleas, and sigh in relief when you find what you’d been looking for. 

“please, angel, don’t —”

“i was literally born for this, violet. if i don’t go out and stop this thing from killing more people, then my life is worth nothing.” 

“you make me happy!” she shouts desperately, forcing you to pause as you slip on her jacket. “that’s worth something, isn’t it?”

a tense silence follows. 

you freeze for a few moments, avoiding vi’s gaze. then, you walk over to the cabinet, grabbing something so quickly vi can’t pinpoint what it is and stuffing it in your back pocket. you clench and unclench your left fist, a tick of yours that vi recognizes from the arena. 

you’re planning your next move. 

in a daze, you pick up the crossbow, but you hesitate once more —

“fuck,” you exhale before letting the weapon clatter to the ground and rushing over to crash your lips against vi’s. 

you’re kissing and kissing, teeth and tongue and a pleasure so guilty, vi’s sure she’ll be damned for all eternity. vi’s lungs are burning when she pulls away first.

“wait. you should know that i’m —”

“i still have to go,” you interrupt, voice determined and sharp, cutting right through to vi’s heart.

there’s a fear curling up her throat as you watch her, your eyes the darkest she’s ever seen them. 

“then let me – i mean, i can help —”

you kiss her again. you taste so heavenly, better than she ever dreamed of, that vi doesn’t even care that it’s probably just to shut her up. 

she almost doesn’t notice that you’ve cornered her between the kitchen counter and the front door, until she hears a distinct click, feels something heavy and burning against her wrists. 

you pull away first this time, eyes glazed over as you back away to make space between you and what you’ve done:

vi, handcuffed to the exposed heating pipe. the cuffs are stronger than any vi has ever been bound by. must be made of real silver. the metal sears into her skin, down to the bone, as she struggles against them, screaming to the point of howling, watching as you pick up the crossbow and a handful of silver tipped arrows as a final hail mary.

“no!” she cries. the pipe you’d cuffed her to rattles, but it doesn’t give. “please, please don’t —”

“i’m…i’m really sorry,” you mumble, quickly wiping away a tear. vi flinches when you try to touch her cheek; she bares her teeth at you like a rabid beast, but you don’t give her the courtesy of a reaction.  

“why are you doing this?” she growls.

“because….you deserve a happy ending, violet. don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” 

you take a deep breath. you look at fangs, affectionately pat her head as she bows her head and whines, tail between her legs. “bring her the key once it’s morning,” you instruct. your eyes slide over to vi’s, for what she fears might be the last time. “take care of each other.”

with that, you’re out the door.

vi isn’t sure how much time passes. her wrists sting, her muscles ache, but still, she keeps going. she doesn’t care how, but she’s not letting you die tonight. 

a sliver of moonlight shines through the window. something claws at her ribcage. 

you’re not dying tonight. 

and vi’s been hungry for too long.

iii. all my devotion turns violent

the streets are empty, deserted due to fear and damp from the cold evening rain.

you search through the shadows, around every corner, play with one of your daggers just to pass the time, the blade weaving between your expert fingers.

all you can really think about, though, is vi, and how scared she was to lose you, and how terribly you must have hurt her — 

fuck. 

you accidentally sliced through your palm, your blood emerging as thick, black tar in the darkness. you sigh and kneel down in the alleyway, dropping your heaviest weapon so you can use your uninjured hand to wrap the other. 

something pounces on you before you can stop the bleeding. the crossbow — the weapon that was supposed to deliver a fatal blow — is now out of reach. 

you jab one of your silver blades into the creature’s side; he howls, but you manage to kick him away long enough to get to your feet, get a better sense of what you’re fighting. you’ve never seen anything like it before: a hulking mass roughly five times your size, wolf-like features, and chemical machinery woven throughout his body, a neon green liquid pumping through glass tubes. 

the beast growls at you, lunges forward once again; you jump out of his path, roll away so run, fast, and grab the crossbow. you quickly notch a silver tipped arrow, aim at his heart; you hold your breath and fire without hesitation. then another, and another, just to be safe.  

your stomach turns as you watch the creature remove the arrows as if they were nothing but splinters. he lets out a roar that shakes the earth. you’ve made him angrier.

you drop the crossbow, deciding instead to propel yourself off the wall, leap onto the beast’s shoulders and stab the glass tubes with all the force you can muster. green liquid gushes out, and the beast howls in pain, but doesn’t give up. with sharp claws, he throws you to the ground, and you shriek as he tears through the skin of your ribs. 

you’re very suddenly dizzy, bleeding out on the cobblestones, yet continue to struggle with whatever strength still courses through your veins. the beast looms over you, foaming at the mouth, and your vision is getting fuzzier by the second.

that’s when you see a flash of dark fur, almost fuschia in the moonlight, jump in front of you, knock the beast out of the way, tumble to the side. you glance at the creature that saved you — a wolf with a fierce set of teeth and beautiful powder blue eyes — before you fall unconscious. 

iv. stitch me up (touch me inside and out)

vi barely registers that the temperature in the apartment is dropping.

she doesn’t regret how she had to rip the heating pipe from the wall — there are nasty burns, still untreated, stinging her wrists where the silver cuffs had restrained her. 

she doesn’t regret transforming from human to something wild, unrestrained, in order to save you from something much worse. 

she’s still burning off adrenaline, her nervous system on high alert. it’s been a while, and she’d forgotten how exhilarating it can be.

it all happened so fast. there was something oddly familiar about the beast; he seemed to recognize vi, too. that’s the only explanation — for all the ruthless, bloody stories she’d heard, why else would he have let vi take you away and just disappear into the night without so much as a growl? 

vi doesn’t have the energy to answer such questions. all she cares about is you. she can’t get over the overwhelming scent of your blood, already spilling out onto the street when she showed up. she almost lost control, blinded by rage and a desire to kill the beast — but you were there, on the brink of death, and she just wanted you to be safe, wanted to bring you home.

she just hopes she wasn’t too late. 

vi hyper-focuses on your labored, disjointed breaths from where she tucked you in. she tried her best to stop the bleeding and dress your wounds with combinations of herbs and flowers she frantically read about in one of your books, desperate to keep you alive. 

you’ve lost blood. a lot of blood. 

vi wants nothing more than to curl up on the bed next to you, but after you saw her last night, once you realize that she’s no different than the savage beast you were so determined to kill, she’s not sure you’d want her near you. 

she’ll just stay long enough to know that you’ll wake up, and then she’ll be out of your life forever. 

dawn breaks. the sun shines through cracked, frost covered windows, and your eyes remain shut.

your heart’s still pumping blood, which is a good sign, but otherwise….

day bleeds into night, and you’re still out cold. vi manages to drip some water between your parted lips, and watches with relief as your throat reacts accordingly. you let out a gentle sigh, eyelids fluttering ever so slightly. 

“please wake up,” vi whispers. 

fangs jumps onto the bed and whimpers, nudging her nose against your arm so that she’s snuggled underneath. vi drapes a blanket over the pair of you.

another sleepless night passes.

at first light, vi changes your bandages. she struggles a bit, given her injured wrists, but she’s pleased to find you healing from what might have been a fatal injury to most humans. she tries to feed fangs, but the dog refuses. 

fair enough — vi can’t bring herself to eat, either. 

instead, to pass the time, vi glues together shards from the broken vase and places it back on the kitchen counter. there are no more fresh roses; vi decides she’ll bring you some as a parting gift once you’ve woken up. 

you’re shivering by the time darkness starts to creep in. vi piles as many blankets as she can on you and fangs, but it’s not enough. vi accepts what she had been reluctant to do: she slips into bed next to you, uses her body to keep you warm, arms wrapped around you protectively.

vi doesn’t remember falling asleep, but she wakes up late the next afternoon, to cold rumpled sheets and an even colder empty apartment. 

you must have a knack for perfect timing, because just as vi’s about to start spiralling, the front door swings open and it’s you — cheeks slightly flushed from the cold, holding a brown paper bag with one arm while your other hand grasps the key. fangs rushes through the door, too, tail wagging as she zooms around the apartment, bounces on the furniture and lets out excited little yaps.

“morning, killer.” you smile like you hadn’t been knocking on death’s door since a few nights before. “i would have waited, but you were pretty knocked out and fangs had a ton of energy to burn. clearly she still does,” you chuckle, sending a warm, fuzzy feeling through vi’s body. “i got us some food, too, and i’ll contact the landlord to fix our — whoa!”

the bag drops to your feet as vi pounces on you, engulfing your body in her arms and squeezing tightly. your heartbeat is as strong as ever, steadies her own frantic pulse. 

“s-sorry.” she pulls away and takes a step back. “i shouldn’t have —”

you just shake your head and press a finger to her lips to quiet her.

“i’m sorry,” you say. “i shouldn’t have — i shouldn’t have treated you like that; shouldn’t have used who you are as a weapon against you. you saved me, vi.” you take a shuddery breath. you place a gentle hand on her cheek. “thank you.”

it takes vi a minute to process what you’ve said. 

you thanked her for saving you. 

you apologized for using who she is as a weapon. 

what did you mean by that? 

unless —

i’m not the only monster hunter around here. you need to be careful.

she’s worth it. 

you deserve a happy ending, violet. don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. 

“you….knew,” vi realizes, and even as she says it, she can’t quite believe it. “how….how long?”

“from the first time i landed a punch on your handsome face.” smiling softly, you run your thumb over the faded burn on her cheek, the one mirroring her tattoo, the one left by your silver ring. 

“are you serious?”

“well, fine, i didn’t know what you were, not exactly, until later. i just had a pretty good feeling that you weren’t human; you had a pulse, so you couldn’t be a vampire, which meant —” 

“you knew what i was this whole time and it didn’t bother you?”

you shrug. “you knew what i was this whole time and it didn’t bother you.” while vi continues to stare at you in disbelief, you bend down to pick up the fallen items. vi crouches down with you.

“that’s different,” she reasons, handing you a soft red apple, your cold fingers brushing over her warm skin momentarily. 

“i don’t think so. not all monsters are evil and not all humans are good. i saved you from a human that night, remember?” 

“b-but you’re you and i-i’m me.” vi scrambles to find the right words. she’s still shocked at how calm you are. is it really as simple as you make it seem? “you weren’t….scared that i’d hurt you, because that’s who i am?”

you get up and place the bag of groceries in the kitchen, lean against the counter as you stare back at vi. instead of answering, you challenge her once again:

“were you scared that i’d hurt you?”

vi blinks at you. “never.”

“there’s your answer,” you declare, giving her that razor-sharp grin you flash whenever you win a fight.

fangs has calmed down, and she’s asleep on the living room couch, her snores the only sound between you as vi processes everything that’s been said. 

she feels like her entire world has flipped upside down.

this whole time…..

it went terribly when she last told someone the truth, at least anyone outside her family, and even they would sometimes walk on eggshells around her, like they were worried she might snap. 

but you….you’ve sparred and you’ve bickered and you never even flinched once. 

you welcomed her into your home, into your life. 

you kissed her. 

this whole time.

“i was scared you wouldn’t love me, if you knew,” vi admits, a whisper so soft that she’s almost sure that you didn’t hear. 

except you falter then, your confident posture melting at her confession. your lips part in a soft exhale. 

“well, it’s like you said; i knew this whole time, and i still….” you swallow the rest of your sentence, but you’re looking at vi with so much adoration that it’s overwhelming. “i still want you.”

her brain short circuits, and all vi can think to do is kiss you.

it starts sweet, your lips rose-petal soft. her lips are chapped, rough against yours and already bleeding from the pressure. you run your fingers through vi’s hair, swallow her moans. she’s dizzy with anticipation, imagining how you might do the same when she’s between your legs later. you kiss the scar on her upper lip, gently like you’re hoping to heal the permanent wound. then, your tongue laves over the cut on vi’s bottom lip, soothes her, pushes into her mouth again so you’re both tasting copper. 

but then, you bite down, and a desire buried deep within vi is unleashed: the desire to cut herself open for you so you can love each and every part of her. even deeper down, vi hopes that you’d want the same.

vi brings a hand up to your jaw, pushing you into her mouth even more. she lodges her thigh between your legs and shoves her tongue into your mouth when you gasp. one of your hands slips underneath her shirt to trace the contours of her abdomen, meticulously outlining each one.

“it’s been days since you’ve eaten, hasn’t it?” you mumble against her lips, pulling away slightly. your brows pinch together in worry, because you already know her body too well, can tell that each muscle is more defined, each edge a bit sharper. “you must be starving, baby. let’s eat something before —”

vi whines when you start to pull away even more.

“we can do that after.” she offers you her best puppy dog eyes as she pleads: “i’m hungry for something else now. i want you.”

to prove her point, vi guides your hand to her belt. your fingers dance along the metal and she eagerly awaits your response.

“fine,” you decide. “but whoever has the most orgasms makes dinner.” 

“you’re on, angel.”

her breath hitches when your hand moves down the waistband of her pants; you play with her tangle of curls, tease the tip of your fingers into her wetness. she purrs against you. 

“wait —” you pause your actions. vi whimpers when you remove your glistening fingers; you take off the silver ring on your pointer finger, grinning guiltily as you toss it on the counter behind you. “that would have been bad,” is all you say before inserting two fingers into her already slick pussy.

“ugh, ah — fuck, just like that, angel,” she moans, twitching as you ram your fingers into her. 

you hum, stuff another finger into her heat, stretching her so deliciously that her legs start to tremble. 

“such a good girl for me. aren’t you, violet?” you coo and start sucking the skin behind her ear. “you gonna make a mess, right here in our kitchen?” 

and that does it — vi’s walls tighten around you, her wetness soaks through her clothes; she’s almost sure that it drips down onto the floor. vi whines as you remove your fingers, feeling empty. you shove your syrupy fingers into her mouth instead, her tongue greedily lapping up her own cum. a string of spit follows as you rip away your fingers and press your mouth against vi’s kiss-swollen, cum-covered lips. you feel something smouldering in the pit of your stomach at her whimpers; you’re nowhere near satisfied, but her eyes, all wide and dark and desperate, are pleading at you to let her indulge in her hunger, as well.  

“what else do you want?”

vi paws at your breasts from above your shirt.

“i want to fuck you,” she declares, and you nod eagerly, your body bursting into flames. 

she gestures at you to wrap your legs around her hips, and she carries you to the bed as you kiss more fiercely, teeth clacking and tongues fighting to explore every crevice of her mouth. you tear each other’s clothes off; but the cold air doesn’t faze you in the slightess, because you have vi, hot and passionate, above you, keeping you going.

your teeth gnaw on her bottom lip as vi messily thrusts against you, your cunts sliding against each other; sticky, languid bliss. 

vi takes her time. she wants to savor every part of this, of you — the sting of your nails scratching down her tattooed back, no doubt leaving red marks in their wake; the familiar scent of your skin, sickly sweet roses, combined with the thick musk of your desire, dripping against hers so deliciously; the hoarseness of your voice, encouraging her to go faster, harder. 

she nudges her nose against the crook of your neck, salivates at how your vein pulses for her like a tantalizing butterfly. her teeth graze your pulsepoint, but she’s trembling with the amount of self control it takes not to add any more pressure.

“v-vi,” you breathe her name like a prayer. “baby.”

a guttural moan bubbles from the back of her throat in response.

you gently run your fingers through her hair, coax her to look you in the eye, the gesture a sharp contrast to the harsh squelching of your cunts against each other, melding together with each determined thrust. 

“you – ah,” you gasp as vi rolls her hips into yours with even more vigor. “you can bite me, if you want.” 

vi licks her lips, swallows the hunger burning in her throat because you must be too fucked out if you’re willing to let vi fully indulge in this craving. 

“but then you would —”

“lycanthropy is only transmitted when you’re in wolf form,” you explain through labored breaths. “so if you bite me now….and gods, i’m begging you to…..nothing’s gonna change.” 

“i have never been more thankful for your slayer training,” she growls. “you really want that, huh? for me to mark you up really good, show everyone that you’re mine?”

“o-only if i can do the same,” you manage a smirk. “or are you all bark and no bite?” you tease, buck your hips upwards. vi is willing to die for your knife-like smile alone, so of course. she’d let you eat her whole, if that’s what you really wanted. 

vi finally sinks her teeth into you, rolling her eyes back at how absolutely luscious you taste. like a good girl — your good girl — she follows your orders and bites. she bites down your neck, across your shoulders and collarbones, relishing in the imprints left in her wake.

vi knows now that she calls you angel for a reason. it’s a religious experience, watching you throw your head back against the pillow as your orgasm crashes through you. vi follows a few seconds later until you’re covered in her — she drenched the curls of your bush, her cum dripping down on your own wet pussy as she watches from above. vi can’t help it; she bends down, and you jolt slightly when her cold nipple piercing brushes against your clit. she does it again a few more times just to appreciate how you whine, rut your pussy against her perky breast, begging for more. 

but, vi’s on the hunt for something else — she splits your folds with her sharp tongue, sucks any and all of your shared essence. she lets it slosh around in her mouth before hovering over you once more, silently ordering you to part your wet lips; when you comply, so obedient, vi spits into your wanton mouth, thick and velvety. 

“swallow,” she orders, voice rough with lust. you do so quite eagerly.

and just like that, you’re back to grinding on each other, leaving a delectable mess along the skin of each other’s thighs. the tension in vi’s abdomen snaps when you wrap your lips around her nipple, suckling at your own wetness until drool dribbles from the corner of your mouth. 

after feeling her gush against you, a feral impulse rips through you. you release her nipple with a distinct pop, the cold metal still burning on your tongue as you yank vi’s hair, exposing her tender skin, glittering with sweat in the dark golden light as the sun starts to set. you pull her close, bite around the tattoo on the side of her neck, hard. vi howls in pleasure as you taste salt and iron and her, reaching your peak. 

vi waits patiently as you come down from your high, chest heaving, your neck still engraved with the outline of her teeth while yours are stained red. you crash your lips onto hers, chaotic and insatiable, kissing her like she’s your last meal. in turn, she licks into your mouth, tongue tracing your canines to savor what you’ve consumed of hers. 

“you sure you’re not a vampire? that would be quite the scandal,” vi jokes later when you’re sitting in her lap, taking time to clean each other up. vi’s only wearing a shirt, but you’ve doubled up on clothes, the apartment growing colder as night approaches. 

you already tended to the burns on her wrists (and apologized profusely for causing them; you also scolded her a bit for not tending to herself sooner). now you use disinfectant to wipe down her neck, where you broke skin; you quickly place a bandage that soothes the sting and vi presses a grateful kiss to your sternum.

you hum around the unlit cigarette in your mouth, which you had rolled beforehand with dried rose petals. with your hands unoccupied, you reach for your lighter. vi tilts her chin to gaze up at you; you’re backlit by the evening twilight, a silver halo around you as flowery smoke billows from your mouth.

“i’m sure they won’t be thrilled to know that a slayer’s fallen in love with a werewolf, either,” you muse, beaming at her. 

vi clicks her tongue. “sounds like we’re breaking some bylaws.”

“oh, she’s worth it; i’d do anything for my charming, sexy, handsome werewolf.”

you lean forward and exhale smoke into vi’s parted mouth, lips brushing against each other as you share the same breath. you sit back once your lungs are burning and admire the view. 

vi — normally all rough edges and dark shadows — blushing a delicate pink as you praise her.

“she’s got a killer right hook, too,” you continue. you offer vi the cigarette and she nods; you hold it, place it between her lips as she takes a drag. “a body so hot that it’s honestly unfair. she’s a fighter, which i love, and some people might think she’s just a scary dog, but i think she’s beautiful and brave and a total softie —”

“okay, okay,” vi coughs, the tips of her ears red. she takes the cigarette from you and stubs it out on the makeshift ashtray by the windowsill. vi rolls over so she’s on top of you, cupping your face in her hands. she pecks across your cheeks until you’re giggling; you try to turn the tables, and the two of you just end up wrestling in a tangle of sheets and laughter and tender kisses.

eventually, you both calm down. 

“you hungry?”

“not really. you?”

vi shakes her head. “we’ll make breakfast together in the morning?” 

“sounds heavenly.”

it’s dark outside, but the stars are out and the waning moon shines bright. vi positions herself behind you, her body curving into yours, chin notched over your shoulder and arm secure on your waist.

fangs must feel left out, because she shuffles under the covers for warmth before immediately falling back asleep, her fur tickling at your feet.

your thumb rubs against the gauze on vi’s wrist. you can’t help but feel regret, heavy like lead in your stomach.

“baby, i’m fine,” vi assures, already knowing what you’re thinking.

“i….i just hate that i did this to you,” you mumble, bringing her wrist up so you can kiss it. 

“you were trying to protect me. it’s what we do, yeah? protect each other?”

when you hum in agreement, vi guides you to turn around so you’re facing each other. on instinct, she parts your legs with her thigh. your sweatshirt has ridden up, so vi starts to rub circles onto your exposed hip bone, her touch soft as velvet.

“next time you go out there, i’m coming with you.”

your breath hitches as you trace the tattoos licking up her arm. “vi….”

“this isn’t up for debate,” vi declares. she reaches her hand up to caress your cheek, thumb delicately rubbing the shadows under your eye. “you almost died. whatever almost killed you is still out there. you’re strong — gods, you’re the strongest person i’ve ever met — but you don’t have to face any of this alone. not anymore.”

you let out a surprised laugh. 

“what?” she murmurs shyly, her eyes the soft, pale blue of moonlight, star-like freckles dazzling her sculpted cheeks. 

“no, it’s just….anyone who’s known that i’m the slayer either calls me delusional, runs scared, or expects me to do it all by myself. hell — that’s how it was written, how it was destined to be."

vi nudges her nose against yours. her breath tickles your lips, heats up your entire being with a warmth so divine, you wonder if you actually have died and gone to heaven. 

you’re both alive, though, a bit bruised and wounded. the world is dark and cold, but here’s this beautiful, strong girl with a beautiful, strong heart who holds you close, parts her full lips — like two rose petals, kiss-bitten and crimson — and vows:

“fuck destiny. it’s you and me now, angel.”

v. my heart is black and beats for you

TWO MONTHS EARLIER

it’s a quiet night. you spent most of it lamenting how you got your ass kicked earlier and fantasizing about the woman who did it, when you see a shadow of a person passed out at the corner of the street, and another trying to steal from them. 

someone has to stand against the forces of darkness and evil, and the universe somehow determined that would be you — a fate you’ve had to accept through bruised ribs and broken hearts and bloody prophecies, but one you’ve had to accept nonetheless. 

if that goes beyond vampires and demons, so be it. 

after you’ve managed to send the creep on the run, you recognize the person you saved:

it’s her. 

she looked more intimidating in the pit, honestly — all harsh and dark, furrowed brows and vicious snarls. 

it takes you kneeling in front of her to be able to really see it through the black face paint. you take a little pride in the bruise that blossoms on her cheek and the cut through her eyebrow, thinking that at least you got a few shots in before she took you out with a killer right hook. 

your jaw still aches and you still taste copper thanks to her, but without the roars from the crowd or the pressure of hefty prize money that you need to survive, you can see her more clearly. she’s bleeding through her bandages; she’s shivering because, gods, it’s freezing this time of year and all she’s wearing underneath a flimsy leather jacket is scrap fabric that would not be counted as a shirt; and she looks like she hasn’t eaten in days despite reeking of alcohol. 

that’s when you see a burn on her cheekbone, too, just about where your silver ring would have collided with her skin. you hold your breath, lean in closer to her chest and listen closely to check — the thumping of a strong, steady heartbeat; the gentle rush of blood flowing through her veins. 

so, not a vampire. maybe a human with a silver allergy, but what’s more likely is that she’s….something else. 

“hey.” you whisper. when she doesn’t respond, you cup her face in one hand and tap her bruised cheek with your thumb. her skin is warm; if she were a human, you’d think she had a fever. “wake up.”

you resist the urge to jerk away when she softly takes your hand in hers, the gesture a sharp contrast to her knuckles bloodied from earlier.

“five more minutes, cupcake,” she whines, her voice echoing down the empty alley.

“look, it’s late and freezing. we should really go before —”

“please. just stay with me. i promise i’ll be good.”

your chest aches at her sincere tone. did you sound the same, when you made a similar promise before to the people you’ve loved after they found out who — what — you are? did you also look so broken, so bruised when they left? 

you know the council wouldn’t approve of what you’re about to do. 

but you also know well enough from years of studying and training and fighting as the slayer that their judgement should not be taken as scripture.

in other words: fuck the council. 

(plus — you need a friend, or just….someone. it’s lonely, being the chosen one. and this girl, in front of you — when you fought, her body reacting to yours so fluidly, you had somehow never felt more understood.)

you manage to get her to her feet. 

she mumbles something incomprehensible into your neck, her breath hot against your skin. you let her lean into your body after a weak attempt at holding herself up. it’s not much trouble for you, though. it’s a cold night, anyways; her body, solid and warm, is almost comforting against yours.

you trust your instincts and carry her home. 

[kokiyoh]

I was bored

[t4tmetalsonic]

in light of recent events

[arsenysworld]

"Dance the Mood Away"

Vi x Male Reader

The dim glow of Zaun’s neon haze seeped through the windows of the cramped apartment. Vi sat slouched on the weathered couch, her head resting in her hands. Her freshly dyed black hair—an impulsive decision to match her mood—spilled over her face. She fiddled with a loose thread on her leather jacket, her boots kicked up on the coffee table like a barricade against the world.

Y/N leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, observing her with a soft smile. He’d seen Vi in all her forms: the unbreakable fighter, the hardened protector, the stubborn hothead. But tonight, she was... closed off.

“You’ve been quiet all day,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, well,” she muttered, not lifting her gaze. “Not really in the mood for small talk.”

Y/N pushed off the frame and stepped closer. “Good thing I wasn’t offering small talk.”

Vi sighed heavily. “What’re you gonna do, Earth Boy? Talk me out of my mood? Trust me, it doesn’t work like that.”

“I know,” he replied, his tone playful. “But I’ve got something better.”

Vi raised her head just enough to shoot him a skeptical look. “Better than leaving me alone?”

“Much better.”

Ignoring her glare, Y/N pulled out his phone, tapping through his playlist with the precision of someone on a mission. He smirked as he turned the volume up and placed the phone on the counter.

The opening chords of “Disco” by Surf Curse filled the room, the sound bouncing off the walls like it was meant to wake the dead:

"And I can't help it with you

Stubborn-hearted, blue."

Vi’s eyebrows knitted together. “What the hell is this?”

“A cure,” Y/N said with a grin as he stepped into the center of the room. Without missing a beat, he started swaying his hips, snapping his fingers in an exaggerated rhythm.

Vi groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Oh, I’m very serious,” he said, twirling dramatically. “You, Vi, are gonna dance with me.”

“Not a chance,” she said flatly, sinking further into the couch.

“Come on,” Y/N teased, pointing at her with both hands like some cheesy lounge singer. “Don’t make me dance alone. That’s just cruel.”

She snorted, though the corners of her mouth betrayed the faintest twitch of a smile. “Cruel is making me watch this.”

"Lights come into the room

When disco plays our tune."

Y/N extended a hand toward her, his grin widening. “One dance, Vi. I promise, it’ll make you feel better.”

She tilted her head, staring at his outstretched hand like it was a grenade. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe. But you’re the one who fell for me, so what does that say about you?”

Her glare softened into something closer to amusement. With a dramatic sigh, she shoved herself off the couch. “Fine. But only because you’re too stubborn to quit.”

“That’s the spirit!” Y/N cheered, grabbing her hand and pulling her into the middle of the room.

Her movements were stiff at first, her arms awkwardly positioned as he tried to guide her into a makeshift waltz. “You’re terrible at this,” she said, wincing as his foot collided with hers.

“Hey, I’m doing my best here,” Y/N shot back, spinning her in a clumsy circle. “You’re the one with combat training. Shouldn’t you be light on your feet?”

“I fight people, not waltz with them,” she retorted, though a laugh slipped out before she could stop it.

"Cause there's nothing like it

Not like the way you move."

As the music picked up, so did their movements. What started as an attempt at elegance devolved into chaos. Y/N twirled her too fast, and they both nearly toppled over, sending the coffee table skidding across the floor.

Vi burst out laughing, the sound loud and unrestrained. “You’re worse than I thought.”

“Excuse me, I’m nailing this,” he said, puffing out his chest dramatically before pulling her into another spin.

Her grin widened, her black hair flying around her as they stumbled through the room. It wasn’t graceful or coordinated, but it was perfect in its own ridiculous way.

"I can try, but I can't hide it from you

'Cause I can't wait for you."

Y/N, caught up in the moment, dipped her low with a flair that was more enthusiasm than skill. Vi yelped, clutching his shoulders to keep from falling. “Careful, dumbass!”

“Relax, I’ve got you,” he said, his voice smug despite the fact that he was teetering on the edge of dropping her.

When he finally pulled her upright, they were both breathless, their faces inches apart. For a moment, the world outside—Zaun’s grime, the weight of their struggles—faded into nothing.

"I can't wait for you

I can't wait for you."

As the final notes of the song faded, they collapsed onto the couch in a heap, laughing like kids. Vi shoved his shoulder playfully. “That was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”

“And yet, you’re smiling,” Y/N pointed out, leaning back with a satisfied grin.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. “You’re lucky you’re cute, you know that?”

“Cute enough to fix your mood?”

“Barely,” she teased, though the soft kiss she planted on his cheek said otherwise.

The room fell quiet, save for the faint hum of Zaun outside. Vi leaned back, her head resting against his shoulder.

“Thanks, Earth Boy,” she murmured, her voice softer than usual.

“For what?”

“For being an idiot,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Y/N chuckled, wrapping an arm around her. “Anytime.”

And as they sat there, tangled up in each other, the weight of the day didn’t seem quite so heavy anymore.

@fandomnerd9602 @jacenradio7 @6rookie-writer0110 @multi-fandom-enjoyer

[zarstarss]

winter outfits ❄️

[astrodart]

returns from my grave to post my fish wife

[silcodependent]

Sway Silco x Fem!Reader

5.5K Words - NSFW Explicit MDNI Silco POV / Changing POV

Chapter 12

Rules were meant to be broken. At least that’s how Silco felt when it came to your rules. He enjoyed your cat and mouse, taking full advantage of the obvious attraction, dangling temptation ever so close. Pressing his luck.

You were resolute, however. Something that impressed him as much as it frustrated him. You were infuriatingly disciplined but also beautiful, clever, intelligent, charismatic, and an undeniable tease. Silco had never met anyone like you.

Being a tease was central to your business but the way you wielded that power offstage had wormed its way into his mind making for a delicious distraction. During the day he forced those thoughts from his mind, but at night he let them have a little more leeway. Occasionally he even let himself enjoy them.

Imagining the two of you playing your little game until the temptation became too much to bear. 

Imagining breaking the rules you clung to so desperately. 

Imagining you loving every moment of it. 

Thoroughly ruining you. 

Silco had spent more nights than he would ever admit thinking of all the ways he’d break you and put you back together again. Reducing you to nothing more than a sobbing, pleading mess beneath his touch. 

There was no denying the effect you had on him on those nights. But more dangerous still was the lingering fondness and soft sentiment that persisted into the light of day. What had begun as seductive tet a tet had bloomed into something more. A secret that Silco would take with him to the grave rather than having to acknowledge such weakness aloud. As much as he fought it, he was fully enchanted by you. Just like the rest of Piltover. 

He had kept himself entertained with dalliances over the years but never anything quite like this. Never anyone he was truly curious about. Never a true equal. And that’s how he liked it. It kept things simple and let him focus fully on the Cause. Silco shook his head at the irony. It had never been a ‘rule’ per say, but it was another thing you shared. And it certainly didn’t tame his desire to see you break.

Silco leaned his back against the brick of your apartment building with a dull thud, a perfect expression of his frustration, desire, and exasperation at the whole situation. A fire that he tended to, all too happy to keep lit-- if for nothing else just to watch it burn. He fumbled in his coat pockets for a cigarette muttering awed curses. 

You were more than he could have ever dreamed of. You were perfect. The perfect partner for a Kingpin. A showstopper. 

He tried to dismiss such thoughts with the light of his cigarette and return to fantasies of having you bent over the edge of the stage at your own club. Or over the bar with its glittering glass bottles clinking with every thrust. Or perhaps one of the tables in those velvet lined booths. Or the railing of your own balcony with that breathtaking view of the bridge.

Silco’s bicolored eyes traced the lines of cracked mortar up several stories until they met the ledge of that balcony. He knew exactly which one was yours. The view would be beautiful from there, but nearly as beautiful as the sight of you beneath him. The railing pressing into you as you arched your back giving him more access to your dripping heat. His long fingers gripping the generous swell of those hips to near bruising, anchoring you against his powerful measured thrusts that reverberated through the metal of the railing. 

There was a lavish pleasure to his hum as he eyed that balcony over the bright burning cherry of his cigarette.

Since your initial meeting Silco had kept a close eye on you. Where you went, what you were up to, and with whom. Perhaps it was overstepping but he was curious after all. Curious about who the hell you actually were. Who had he invited into the Undercity when he sold Remy those buildings. Curious about you.

Having you tailed was easy for Silco to dismiss as protecting his investment, even though a part of him knew better. Protection was certainly part of the motivation but he was surprised by how little you needed. Once the Club had opened it only took Silco’s men one or two times to get the message across that you weren't to be touched. Of course they got that message across by shattering one man’s face, another’s leg but you would never have to know that. The part that surprised Silco the most was how much the Undercity had embraced you. Maybe it was because you never charged any of them admission to the club, while being all too happy to charge the Pilites double. Maybe it was the attention you gave them during every performance. Most of the Underground was used to being looked over in favor of the pristine wealth that they could never touch. But you didn’t bat an eye at that. You’d spend just as much time with those from the Undercity as those from the shining buildings of the upper city, without a second thought of what it could be costing you. Regardless of the reason, The Undercity adored you. It became obvious in the following weeks that there was no need for Silco to have you followed for your own protection but he still hadn’t called them off. He liked to know where you went, who you talked to. What you were up to. 

Which is why it was a relief to learn that the Kanes were merely fans you were fond of. That he could handle. But the way he had heard Nox talking about you--

Silco took a deep drag of his cigarette. A distraction. Looking up at the night sky from the brick alley of your apartment building, he was surprised by how many stars were visible tonight. The fog and glow of Undercity blocked all such views from the Lanes. But here, there was a serene sensation of being outside time forged by the quiet, the neighboring empty buildings, the broken street lights and the darkness they afforded. This was something Silco had encountered many times on one of his strolls through the Undercity but this was different. For reasons he didn’t want to think about. It was time to go, to walk. 

A flash of your face looking over your shoulder at him, racked with ecstasy as he took you from behind, the glint of the lights of the bridge, of Piltover in the distance, a fleeting image in his mind.

Enough. It was time to go, to walk. 

The Piltover Bridge held both good and bad memories for Silco, but it was the view that kept him returning to the place he should despise. He liked the way it looked over the Undercity and the roiling dark waters that divided it from the pristine shore and streets of its counterpart. It also provided a perfect reminder of the juxtaposition of those who had everything, those who had nothing, and the darkness in between. The gold and the gutter. The Cause.

That’s what needed his attention now. Not you. You got plenty of attention from others, even if you expressed disinterest in it. Even if you had expressed interest, excitement at the idea of having him around. He wanted to hate you for being such a distraction, but he didn’t. He found you too amusing. Too alluring. A puzzle for him to crack. A challenge.

But he did his best to turn such thoughts into something more productive. If they were going to take up space in his mind, he might as well enjoy them, a thought he mulled over as he made his way towards the bridge. 

He could have had you tonight, right there in the alleyway. He had felt your resistance slipping, that resolve failing. It was in your eyes, more and more they had become deep pools of want. You looked tormented by it. And oh, how he would release you, he thought as the sounds of his footsteps echoed into the empty night. How you would beg for it.

In the dust of the alleyway. In the stairwell of your apartment. Against your door. On your counters. Each image of you beneath him, willing, pliable, better than the one before.

Your hands in his hair. His teeth trailing down your neck. Strong fingers tugging instantly at your clothes until you were fully exposed, unable to hide your want any longer. 

His lips on yours. Your legs spread on his desk. In his bedroom. In his bed moving in unison to the soft sounds of sighs you shared. A secret that only you knew the significance of. A breath you shared in your undeniable pull towards one another. The sway you held over each other.

No. 

Silco snapped his attention back to Bridge and its stagnant lights above him. The rush of water in the silence. He willed it to drown those thoughts out. The thoughts that were too close and too deep, like a lethal wound. A danger in your softness and the softness it inspired within him.

That wouldn’t do. 

Too soft. Too…

Images of you dissolving into desperate puddles of desire, however, helped return the control Silco required for your dance. That’s as far as he could let himself indulge in you. The rest…the rest would have to be chased off with desire and impending release. A nagging demand that must be answered to tonight if there was any hope of refocusing his attention back to his work.

Silco sighed and took the last drag of his cigarette before stomping it out on white stone of the bridge. He did his best to drag the ash out with his boot leaving a dirty gray mark for the Pilities to clean up. At least he had accomplished that much by coming to the bridge tonight. Not what he had hoped to but seeing as thoughts of you wouldn’t be banished without some attention, it would have to do. 

Silco did his best to keep such thoughts at bay until he was back in his office with the door locked behind him. The stiffness that remained from earlier caused enough problems already. He dropped into his chair with relief. It had been a long night. His work newly abandoned for the evening, he could let himself relax. He didn’t have to fend off those too enticing thoughts. He could finally enjoy them. A danger still, but a danger and delight.

Perhaps that’s why the Undercity had embraced you so readily. They saw in you what was in each of them. That sharp glint in your eye that could only mean one thing. Danger. And a true sign that you belonged. You were one of us. 

The danger certainly was real but nothing in the Lanes came without danger. In fact, that might be the most enticing part of both. A chuckle rumbled through Silco’s chest at the musing as he shed his vest and began work on his tie. 

He imagined your hands pulling the fabric instead, slow, delicate, intentional. The heat burning behind your eyes, overpowering all of that previous resistance. Forcing yourself into slow movements to suppress your own desperation and keep from losing control completely. But it wouldn’t be long now. Not with that pained look on those lovely features that gave away how you ached for him. He would not deny you. But he would take his time with you. Enjoy every small sound he could pull from you until that desperation overcame you and left you begging for his permission to cum. 

Silco hummed in satisfaction at the image in his mind, his pants now constricting painfully at the thought. Just what did you wear under those glimmering dresses? Elaborate lingerie of decadent lace? Or perhaps that was just for stage. Perhaps, when you thought no one else was looking, you wore nothing under those dresses at all. Silco enjoyed that thought the most. 

The wonder he would feel when he unzipped that gown to reveal you, completely exposed to him. His hands trailing lightly over the outline of your curves, finding purchase on your waist. He’d lift you against him and carry you to his desk where he could truly admire you. Naked in nothing but your diamond jewelry, basking in the green light spilling in from the window, making his desk look like a throne you sat atop of. He would drink you in with his eyes first, then his lips. Your delicate neck and collar bone, supple breasts, the curve of your waist giving into those divine hips and generous thighs. He would worship each with his lips before indulging himself in you. His hands would cup and knead at those perfect breasts, long fingers circling and pinching your erect nipples to the encouragement of your wanton sighs. An attention he would follow with his lips, licking your nipple in a teasing temptation before sucking and nipping at the sensitive area usually hidden behind the shine of crystal pasties. 

But not tonight. Tonight you had fully given yourself over to him and he would make it worth your while. You arched into his touch as he moved to lavish your other breast with the same attention drawing a moan from those beautiful lips. Large hands came to rest on your waist and you indulged in every touch he gave you, lost to your own pleasure. His hands encompassed you, making you seem small beneath him. A thought he had never entertained, as his hands found your legs lifting them onto the desk as his mouth began to work down your stomach, your hips. You whined in impatient anticipation. Lower and lower, taking his sweet time, he intended to draw out each of those sweet sounds. 

He splayed his hand across your chest and you followed the simple command, laying back on your elbows in one fluid motion granting him access to your dripping sex. It was hard not to stare, such a perfect image of want; the wetness that covered the inside of your spread thighs, that pretty little cunt, the rise and fall of your perfect breasts with each pleading pant, the look of desperation that was painted on your face, as though it might consume you, teeth sinking into your lower lip. Most men would have come undone at this sight alone. But he wasn’t done with you. Not by a long shot.

His breath tickled warmth across your sex and he heard your gasp from above him. He chuckled, sending more breath into your folds.

“So sensitive.” His voice, gentle and teasing. 

A lascivious whine was your only reply, fingers now digging into the desk in your desperation. How he loved seeing you like this. All bravado and armor gone, naked in more ways than one. 

“You look terribly touch-starved, darling. When was the last time someone touched you?”

You couldn’t answer, couldn’t speak, just let your head fall back against the desk with a desperate whine. If only you could see the sadistic smile that pulled from those scarred lips. He extended a long finger and lightly traced the exterior of your folds, causing your body to go taught like electricity jolting through you, back arching off the table in a silent plea for contact. 

“So eager”, Silco chided, pressing a hand to your pelvis encouraging you to melt into the desk, into his touch.

Fingers continued their exploration circling the outside of you, not giving you the satisfaction of anything more.

“I’m willing to bet no one’s touched you since you arrived in the undercity.” A finger ghosted over your wetness and he could see the way you fought from squirming on his desk.

“Am I right?” He asked innocently as he lightly ran a finger from base to clit. You let out a loud cry that arched your back off the table again. If there was anyone left in the Last Drop, it would be no secret what you were doing behind the locked door of his office. For that reason alone he wished he’d left it unlocked. Let them see. 

“Tsk tsk, I don’t believe that’s an answer” he said as he repeated the movement. This time the sound that left you was a moan so full of desire it broke Silco’s concentration, as he watched the sound draw you up, propped on elbows panting and looking at him, eyes wide with your silent plea. You nodded your head fiercely. 

“Words, darling. Use your words.” He returned to tracing his fingers languidly on your lips. You blushed at his gentle reprimand as your brows pinched in frustration. Your desperation was becoming unbearable.

“Yes! It’s been so long! You’re the only one in this city that--Ah!” your words cut off by the press of his middle finger to your clit. Such a needy thing. Such a delight to play with.

You stayed propped up on your elbows panting, eyes locked on his, desperate for more.

“You’re the only one I’ve let touch me in a long time” your voice was barely above a whisper.

That was exactly what he wanted to hear. The fire behind his eyes lit in response. 

“Good girl” he cooed, giving into you just a bit. Stroking your cunt in long unhurried movements. You let a soft moan of relief escape as your head rolled back on to the desk again, indulging yourself fully in the pleasure he was giving. 

“I’m honored.” His digits now coated in your arousal pressed into your core and you gave a blissful shuttered breath in response to the finger he’d plunged inside you. One he removed nearly completely before driving it back into your warmth, working you, pumping you.

You’d always been beautiful. Too beautiful. But this, watching your longing movements wracked with ecstasy as that soft smile lingered on your lips--it was unlike anything he had ever seen. It was enough to make--

No. His eyes squeezed shut driving the thought from his mind. All was still for a moment in the silence. A focusing breath. Then the pleasure returned.

He forced a sharp exhale and a second finger in along with the first, giving you no time to prepare or adjust. A sharp gasp burst from your lips causing you to sit up a little further, only to be met with that wicked smile of his, the pain increasing the pleasure. You couldn’t help the urge to move your hips along with his touch and he knew it. 

Such a pretty sight, he thought, lowering his head again to your core. Watching you as your brows furrowed with anticipation at where he was heading. He could hear the sound of fingernails on wood as he got closer and closer to that wetness. He removed his fingers and you whined from the loss of contact. He nearly chuckled at such neediness, but instead he took pride in licking a long slow stripe to your folds from back to front that had you crying out. Every muscle tensed in your body as you whined for him to do it again. He obliged, leaving you panting. By the third time you had fallen back on the desk in ecstasy. 

So responsive to his every touch. You were perfect. He repeated the motion again, this time circling your clit with his tongue when he reached the top. The moan you let out was unlike anything he’d ever heard and made the strain in his pants almost unbearable. He had to have you. But not yet. Just a little longer like this. Tasting you, feeling your walls clench around nothing as his tongue brushed over you. Silco hummed his approval at your sounds, sending vibrations through you that had you writhing on his face. 

Greedy little thing. He thought as he sucked on that sensitive bud of nerves. Your hand slipped into his hair pulling with desperation at the strands, a plea for more as you cried out into the stillness of his office.

Would he let you cum like this? Or leave you here to finish you in another way?

“Silco!”

The cry of his name cleared all thoughts of toying with you. It made every muscle in him go tight, and left him with one desire. To hear you say it again.

He worked his fingers back into you, pumping you with the fullness you craved. His tongue swirled around your pearl before he sucked it between his lips.

“Ah! Gods--Silco!” 

You were close now. Silco stared into your wide eyes as you approached your release, the want, the pure need in them was nearly enough to make him come undone with you. 

“Please--Ssilco, please!” You begged between gasps of air. Such pretty begging, it gave him chills. He had no intention of denying you.

Another wicked suck of your pearl as he plunged his fingers into you had you screaming his name as your walls clenched around the digits still buried inside you. He continued to pump his fingers in and out, continued to lap at your clit, continued to work you through wave after wave of your orgasm as you rode out every pleasurable moment on his face. Finally, you went limp with only the panting of heavy pleasure echoing in the empty room. 

But Silco did not stop. His tongue swirled around your clit again and again. You let out a shriek and shuttered from the overstimulation, scrambling to push him away. But Silco had not had his fill of you and his grip on your thighs was proof of it. You tried to squirm out of his grasp but his fingers dug into the soft flesh, hard enough to leave bruises. Good.

“Silco--! It’s too much--I can't!!” You cried out.

He could feel your muscles spasming against him and chuckled. The sensation tore through you as fingers clutched soft hair again. Panting, your grip tightened as all resistance diminished, slowly moving your hips against his mouth instead. He hummed against your sex and you moaned in response giving yourself over to the pleasure as you whispered his name over and over.

Everything about you was divine to Silco. You tasted of salvation and damnation and made his blood boil. His own desperation fueled by seeing your pleasure. The aching need had become irresistible. You would be his and he would claim every inch of you. Again and again. On every surface of this damn building. 

His eyes flashed with the glint of something dangerous as he pulled away from your heat, a string of arousal still connecting you. Your legs trembled at the sight of his sharp features painted with your wetness. Silco’s graceful hand wiped his face clean, only to lick your slick off his fingers, sucking each clean while holding that molten stare. It left you speechless. 

“You taste…”

You swallowed dryly, suddenly self conscious.

“...incredible.” The sound was as lewd as the action and you were mesmerized by it. You had already cum once but the tension was building again. Even looking at him like this left you slack jawed. 

It would be selfish to ask for more, even in your own fantasy. What he had already given you with his tongue and his fingers still had you catching your breath, but that didn’t stop you from craving more of him inside you. You wanted to feel him, you wanted him to feel you. You wanted to watch his face as he buried his cock inside you for the first time. 

If you could keep her eyes open, that is. The line between reality, dream, and fantasy danced and blended to the point where you no longer knew where you were. Not in the alleyway, not anymore. Your bedroom? An office somewhere? It didn’t matter. Not when Silco looked at you like that. All your resolve melted away. You’d let him take her in the middle of the bridge in broad daylight. You were his. Entirely his. It felt so good not to fight it anymore. Even better to enjoy each other, like a reward, like fate. 

Silco removed the last finger from his mouth with a pop, before his lips curled into a wolfish grin.

“Can you handle more, Darling?”

It was both a question and a challenge. You wished you could find her voice instead of just nodding with vigor, but words had failed you. You were completely empty of anything but your need for him.

Gods you were perfect. Past the point of speech already and he hadn’t even given you his cock yet. Silco found a cruel amusement in your enthusiasm, as your hands hastily fumbled with the buttons of his pants. He had no intention of being cruel, he’d give you what you were after.

With a final tug of fabric you had freed him, the full length of him springing forward from the confines of his pants. Your hurried motions halted as you took in the sight of him. Large, long and fully erect, enough to cast a noticeable shadow in green light spilling in from the street. You  reached for him, taking him in your hand, now small by comparison. Or had you always been so small beside him? He couldn’t recall. Your eyes met his as you began to pump him slowly. 

Silco’s heavy sigh filled the silence between you, his eye fluttering shut at the feel of your hand. It was lovely. But it was not what he was after. You watched his expression with a gentle smile on your lips while you stroked him smooth and steady. He needed you. 

The press of long fingers into your bare chest had your back hitting the desk again, this time not nearly as smooth. Silco watched as your chin dipped, eyes focused on his length as he positioned himself between your legs, aligning himself with your core. 

You were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, laid out before him, legs spread, desperate and waiting. Silco took his time as he buried himself inside you. Pressing past your entrance he could feel you stretching around him, unbelievably tight and wet, and released a groan as he continued on. His fingers gripped your hips as he filled you painfully slowly. Your back arched in desire and in protest. You wanted more of him. Had to have more of him.

Such a greedy little thing. 

Once buried to the hilt, he gave you a moment to adjust before he pulled nearly all the way out and thrust himself back in, quicker and harsher than before. You moaned for him, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as he continued to pick up the pace.

If he had thought you were beautiful before it was nothing compared to now. His name on your lips as your hips met his in each thrust, taking all of him, breasts bouncing from each union, face etched with ecstasy. Nothing could be more beautiful than this.

Nothing could feel better than this. He knew you’d feel good but this…Janna, this could ruin him.

The feeling of him inside of you was like nothing you’d felt before. Had it been that long or was there something about this that was different? Something about him that was different. That was the truth you were unwilling to see. Something that you couldn’t consider when each thrust of his hips hit a spot inside of you that made you see stars and cry out in pleasure. When had anyone felt this good? When had anything felt so right?

So vocal. So responsive. So sensitive. He could watch you like this all night. Each motion met with a moan, a sigh, a whimper of your own desire. Nothing could be more divine. Except to watch you come undone around him.

Silco’s deft fingers slid down your thigh, between your legs, to find your swollen bud at the top of your heat. Your whine grew louder. His fingers circled your clit in time with each thrust. Your brows knit together and Silco watched as you gasped for breath between moans. You were tightening around him and soon his moans joined your own. His name was a mantra on your lips, like a prayer you’d been saying all your life as your nails dug into his desk. Adding mark after mark telling the story of tonight, of each tease and release Silco had given you. Of the way you had blossomed for him, like you were doing right now. The coil twisting and tightening inside you in unbearable pleasure. How long could you last, he wondered.

Unbearable pleasure. 

That was the only way to describe it. 

To be so thoroughly consumed with want and desire that every muscle in your body begged for release. 

Cried out for it. 

For mercy. 

For more.

“Silco-!” a plea, and he knew it.

He cocked a curious eyebrow as he continued his ministrations. 

“Yes, darling? Is there something that you need?” His dark voice, a cool seductive pool to fall into. So measured and smooth even now. How did he do it?

He pistoned into you as needy whine spilled out, both at the feeling of his cock and his words. You could hardly think, hardly breathe.

“Are you close?” He teased. 

You were helpless but to endure it, nodding furiously.

“And would you like me to let you cum again?” The authority in his voice gave you chills. It wasn’t until now that you had even considered him denying you. Something that he must have seen from the desperation in your eyes as nodded again in answer.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk” he sounded through the panting of his breath. He was close too.

“Words, darling. We’ve been over this. Where are your manners?” He said sharp features cutting a smile across his as he thrust each word into you. 

“Please!” The plea broke from you as a shout as you fought to regain some sense of control from all the pleasure spilling out of you. Pleasure he was responsible for.

The whimper at his command was like music. But nothing gave him more joy than your words.

“Please! Sil- Please!” you begged.

“No one has,” you let out a broken moan, “ever made me feel this good.”

Gods he wanted that to be true. Was it wrong for him to enjoy seeing you like this? That witty mouth of yours almost speechless from the pleasure he was giving you. His taunting you back into that pretty pretty begging, to the word he was so desperate to hear. To the words that had the power to break him.

“No one has ever” you repeated, mouth frozen in an O at a particularly delicious stroke he had given you, “Made me feel like this.” 

The words alone had the coil inside him tightening to the point of breaking. His fingers dug into the ample flesh on your hips, his own desperate attempt at control. Silco smiled down at you watching how you lost yourself to the pleasure he was giving you. Gods, he was close.

“Good girl. So well mannered. Cum. I want you to cum on my cock while I fuck you senseless.”

The teasing touch turned into tight circles around you clit as he fucked you harshly with each stroke. It was with a cry of his name that you came undone around him. Back arching off the desk, gasping, eyes meeting his. Walls tightening, squeezing, fluttering as he continued to fuck you through your release. Rapture and ecstacy over taking each part as each wave washed over you until your orgasm began to subside. 

The sight of you, that look in your eye, had him stumbling off the edge too. Crashing into you with the force of his orgasm as it tore through him with an intensity he had never felt before, painting your insides with his cum.

Silco squeezed his eyes shut coming down from his orgasm, panting, as he felt the wet of his own release coating his fingers. 

It was late and The Last Drop was empty. Thank the Gods. 

Silco opened a drawer in his desk removing a handkerchief and promptly began cleaning himself up. The office was empty, save for him in his chair and every sound seemed to echo with its emptiness. 

He stared at the spot he had imagined her in with such clarity it had almost felt real this time. But it hadn't been real and the spot remained empty still. As did his office and his bedroom. 

He hadn’t meant to imagine her here. That had been both an accident and a mistake. It should have been in that dirty alleyway or her club or anywhere but here. Somewhere far far away. But instead he stared at his desk, eyes of fire and ice tracing pristine wood instead of small scratches.

Cleaned up now, Silco took the stairs up towards his bedroom where there was no one waiting for him. No one to care if he smelled of sex. No one to notice how he shivered against the cold of the sheets, waiting for his heat to sink in and for sleep to take him.

[flightofthejackdaw]

Me whenever I see someone completely misinterpret Jayce’s character and dumb him down to “privileged white boy” (even though he’s not even white omg):

It’s so frustrating, like in the show where EVERY CHARACTER is morally grey and you’re supposed to consider every side to the story, you decide that this one guy should be shit on

Like yes he didn’t make any good choices as a councillor and was spontaneous in his decision making, but he was only a councillor for like a few days at most and literally doesn’t know shit about politics as HES A SCIENTIST!

Also he was trying to help the Undercity, him and Viktor developed technology to better their lives and were planning ways to clean their waters but BOTH got caught up in the progress of Piltover that: “In the effort to do great, we forgot to do good” they both lost their way and forgot about those they originally wanted to help

Yes he didn’t destroy the Hexcore when Viktor told him too, but he was panicking after the explosion literally KILLED VIKTOR and did the only thing he could think of in this chaotic situation, he then later fulfilled his promise by destroying the Hexcore when he shot Viktor (though at that point it was little to late as Viktor had already become part of the arcane web)

And also to reiterate HES NOT WHITE! Like I know his mum only shows up for a few seconds but she’s not white either and it’s made abundantly clear in his backstory that they are not from Piltover and Jayce’s mother married into the Talis family (Jayce is quite literally an immigrant) So don’t erase his ethnicity just because you don’t like him

My boy fucked up a lot but so did everyone else, so I stand by my cancelled wife he just wanted to hang out in his lab with his boyfriend and make cool gadgets to help people

[0ghostwatcher]

The tension between a girl and that game they keep delete and reinstall cause it takes up too much space but they still love it

[arcanegifs]

ARCANE LEAGUE OF LEGENDS: 2x09 - “The Dirt Under Your Nails.” ↳ "You are the wolf."

[nanocados]

Yuries your jayvik 👭

uhm Viktoria please take a break, Jayce needs her daily walk she’s just a uoppy

[thetireddemon]

another one of cyberpunk x arcane au cuz I find too much comfort in it

[compressednerve]

I feel so completely insane over this. Both ending options make me WEEP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Working together... as old colleagues... old friends 😭