#Arcane Fic

[interneteclipse]

Sevika (again !)

if this flops im crashing out like my computer with how many times it shut down mid drawing this and deleting a bunch of progress

[aaksuitac]

[04:24 am] “what are we?”

wc: 2.3k

a/n: [fluff viktor brainrot thanks to @dilemmars. t dije q me vengaría baby, así q zas, un payback por tus podcasts jdjfjjsd. hope u like cause its ur fault]

he’s humming something you don’t quite understand, a distant tune that sounds familiar —probably you’ve heard him sing it before—, and even if you don’t recognize the melody aside from that, you can’t help but appreciate it.

his hands fidget with whatever he can reach as he sighs once more, as if he was stealing breaths from the world, heavy, almost as lidded as his eyelids. his hair falls on his eyes and in between his slender fingers while he curls the untamed strands, and you fall into an endless pit of staring at him as he scribbles, grunts, sighs, and finally pinches the bridge of his nose.

“statistically speaking, i’m starting to feel like the chances of me getting this right are adversatively proportional to the chances of you accidentally swallowing a fly.”

and you just blink, once, then twice.

he stares at you, gives you a pointed look. he can’t really say if you understood that you were just staring at him with your mouth parted, but you squint at him, snickering.

“what,” his low voice fails to ask, unbothered, knowing that you’ll answer regardless.

and you do, answering. “you haven’t even uttered a word in a while. i was just surprised that you could still talk, is all,” you grin cheekily, playing with a screw on the table as you turn left and right on the chair you’re sitting on.

viktor looks at you, and he can’t help but crack a smile. point for you.

“what you laughing for, mhh, mister science?”

“isn’t it enough to bother me from the moment i get inside the lab in the morning that you need to do it at night too?” he pretends seriousness, side-eyeing you teasingly.

“fair enough. i will consider your offer, man of fleeting memory, and take it upon myself to bother you longer.”

his mean stare wouldn’t even make a kitten mewl, but you take you hand to your heart, pretending to be wounded.

“don’t look at me like that! you’ll hurt my feewings,” you pouted, much to his amusement.

“fleeting memory?” he scoffs, accent rolling off his tongue. “when’s the last time you lost a hairtie, mmh?” he mocks.

“unfair!” you can’t help but giggle as you pretend to hide your hair from his view. point for him. “besides. i take better care of my hair than you do of yours.” you pouted smuggly. “mine looks prettier.”

“what?” he finally asks, letting out a chuckle this time as his eyes land on you for the first time in the good part of an hour.

you play with your hair to style it, and funnily pose, hands on your cheeks as you lay your elbows on the table.

“what, don’t I look pretty?” you smiled, letting out a cheeky giggle.

yes. he doesn’t say it, but his eyes haven’t dodged back to his papers just yet. it’s another point for you. so very pretty.

he doesn’t dare. he knows it. his mind, or at least the small portion of his mind that still ties him with the occasional reminder that he’s human, looks at you and wants you in a way that he’s never wanted before.

so viktor resolves in looking at you. maybe only for a moment, maybe only on those fragments of time when he’s tired enough that he looks at the stars and at the moon, yearning to reach them, only to think he’ll miss the moonlight, finally blinking to the realization that he had been staring into your eyes for too long.

his eyes are dull as he stares at you, and your expression of worry at the fact makes his heart skip a beat. “viktor?” you mumble, softly, sleepily, warily. he can’t stop staring at you, and while he supposes success and defeat can look the same in a mirror —therefore, he doesn’t really blame your confusion—, he finds no words to explain which one he’s feeling as you move your chair towards him by a push against the floor, solely accompanied by the sound of the little wheels rolling to him.

he grabs his walking stick and turns it around, pretending to poke at your chair, as if to teasingly shove it away. if you realize that he settles the walking stick just in the correct place so that your stool can’t move back, he doesn’t know. viktor just stares at the floor, to pretend that maybe the way your eyes turn tender when his reflection shines on them has nothing to do with what you’re about to say.

tsk, tsk. clueless viktor.

he’s expecting it, yes, but even with that on mind, he can’t phathom how your course of action chooses laughing as you fidget with the loose button on his vest, the second one from the top down. viktor purposely forces himself to stable his breathing, worry seeping into him, thinking that maybe you could feel his heartbeat grow faster beneath the layers of clothing.

and he feels like the remnants of a cheap ring that stain a finger blue, when comparing himself as he stands —sits— close and next to you. maybe its because you usually wear rings, and he can feel the ghost of them as your hand trails up and absentmindedly fixes his collar.

he can almost see it. your mind working, the pieces falling into place, the—

“either my eyes are deceiving me or yours have been on my lips for a rather long time.”

and he can just. blink. as if that could break how mesmerized he feels, how his heart swells up and covers his throat, how inexplicably he feels when you’re with him, near and alone. the need to know more. the need to use every trinket and screw to map out your body for him to explore, and to map out the wonders of your mind for the world to admire and maybe then find out the reason of his inability to look away.

he was so focused before. used to be.

he is. now, at you. of you. on you.

you.

another point for you. he isn’t keeping count, but something tells him he’s losing.

and as his gaze falls back to your lips in between a battle against your eyes, lost in which to stare and sink into their devotion, he hesitates again.

he thinks its funny. so funny, viktor holds back the dry chuckle that threatens to go past his lips. how to cherish you in a way that matters. how to love, the scientist wonders. is there a way that would allow him to unveil and unravel himself to you? could there be some kind of language, able to express the depth of his insides, that you, too, could understand?

what is love, anyways? is he in love with you because his coffee tastes better when it matches the dark of your pupils? because when he takes the mug from your hand and his fingers brush against yours, it seems warmer? because he notices how the dark shade in your eyes seems to mix with that of your irises, and the way the black eats the colour when you stare at him? because he claims to hate company while he studies alone, but one chair remains empty as he works, waiting for who it was meant for? because when he fails and surrenders himself to the fall, throws his walking stick against the wall, he yearns for your embrace and how your hair smells in the evenings?

is that love? and if it is, could you understand it?

if it is love, and he could say it, would such a short word convey its meaning, or was he speculating just a couple of paragraphs ago? was he assuming the meaning of what love entails?

even so. if he said it, would you repeat it? would you claim you love him because he loves you, claim to love him too? would you instead claim to love him despite everything, even the uncertainty of love itself?

…does he accept it himself?

he’s overwhelmed by the sheer amount of voices in his head. there’s too much chatter. too many questions he can’t answer, too many commas, too many question marks. too much, too much, too many.

so he silences them. makes the voices dim to a deep silence. and when his lips find themselves suddenly against yours, he finds out the true, effervescent meaning of quietness.

his hand fails to pull you closer because of the damn walking stick that gets in the way. or maybe its the chairs you’re both on that clash against each other. maybe its matter itself. for a while, its the first time viktor doesn’t want to know.

in a bold statement, he couldn’t give a fuck.

he’s kissing you.

and it should be bad because of all the unanswered questions. he’s skipping procedure. he’s gone from the fuck around to finding out and he doesn’t know where he is at this point.

what he does know, is that your hand pulls him by his necktie, and he’s gone. science? yours only. the science that he’d study all of the nights he may have left. the science behind what makes you. the science behind how your hand craddles his face while stroking his cheekbones. the science behind how you’re the closest you’ve ever been to him and somehow still not close enough. the science behind the reason why when you pull away makes his heart beat so loudly, as if it had forgotten how to a second ago.

your forehead rests against his. he shouldn’t have done that. he just… did it. maybe that was bad. was it? could it be? he had been waiting for so long too. he never thought he would…

“viktor, what are we?”

and he’s dead. he knows what the question implies, but he doesn’t want to answer. he could follow you like a lost puppy through piltover and zaun and hell knows where else. if he wasn’t dead now he would die right there and now without a second thought, because the feeling that overcame him was that love was suddenly a sentence or two away.

he knows he doesn’t dare. it’s one of the only thing he knows, one of the things he’s sure of.

but somehow, he moves. he stands up, takes the walking stick, and attempts to walk out the feeling that bounces inside him.

the walking stick always makes a noise when he walks, one with dificulties to interpret in terms of onomatopeia. not quite a thud, not deep enough to reach that quality. not a clack, for it is not entirely made of metal. still, as if it was a mix of both, he keeps walking.

viktor is nervous. thud-clack. he’s not moving far from his chair, nor is he going somewhere else. thud-clack. he still keeps pacing. thud-clack. maybe the answer is somewhere in the room. thud-clack. maybe he can reply.

thud-clack, thud-clack, thud-clack.

only does he then realize that he hasn’t answered your question. and a non-answer statement might as well be a rejection.

no. no, no, no. fuck.

he’s sitting again, but you stand up. your hair follows, long. moving and brushing against the skin of your shoulders in a way that he can’t help but claim it to be endearing.

you’re walking. you don’t make any kind of extra sound when you walk. your heels reverberate against the floor like any other, yet also they mark the beat of his heart.

he can’t reach for you. you walk too fast.

you stop when you feel the walking stick on your side. the part made for him to lean on as he walks hooks you, and you stand, not facing him.

he doesn’t use the walking stick as he stands. no, he keeps it hooked to your core, scared that you might leave. you could, he wouldn’t blame you. but he can’t allow it.

he holds it in the air as he takes one step. another step. you’re turning, surprised to see him standing, and you gasp when he lets himself fall on you.

your touch surrounds him. yes. that’s the closeness he needed. he drops the walking stick, his hands slithering on your body, pressing you against him, for no reason at all yet because it is all needs.

“what can we be?” he whispers. he takes the science approach. the viktor approach.

he isn’t too clueless after all.

he raises enough to look at your darkened, sleepy eyes. he wants to drown in them.

“if i wanted to kiss you everytime you hand me coffee, wanted you to sit on the same chair as ne and hug me from behind as I work, wanted you.” he swallows dry. “then, what can we be?”

he doesn’t want to say the words, and its petty.

it’s the 31st when the clock strickes five am and your hands travel through his hair to kiss him again. to unbalance him enough that he falls back on his chair and you follow him, sitting on his lap.

and as he kisses you, his hands worshipping the skin he can touch, the warmth he can feel through layers of clothing, he feels like maybe there’s a life worth living, so he can’t ask.

he’s heard boys and girls when he was young talk about it. “he didn’t want to celebrate our month-versary,” a girl cried as he played with his little boat, watching from afar as she was comforted by her friend.

it’s the 31st. and he can’t really ask the question now, because if he says it, how could you celebrate each month?

he moves the chair and holds you in his arms as your back falls against the table before him. maybe he can kiss you until next month. until the clock strikes and it’s the 1st.

he smiles as he kisses you, feeling you pull his necktie off. he thinks it’s the best idea he’s had in a while. and a true scientist always tries out their hypothesis.

~k.k. (☆) have fun!

aaksuitac, november 2024 ©

[bella-goths-wife]

Kiss the barrel of my gun softly: chapter one

Sevika x reader

Warnings for this chapter: violence, gun and knife usage, drinking, gambling mentions, womaniser Sevika, a little bit ooc sevika but I tried I swear, mentions of sex, mentions of prostitution

The streets surrounding the Last Drop were as busy as usual as Sevika and her men walked calmly along on their way for yet another meeting revolving around how to clean up Jinx’s new mess up. All of them dragging their feet in the process of doing so. 

The markets were alive and thriving with various different creatures running around to steal, sample or buy. The one thing the crowd did do in unison however, was separating and dispersing to make a clear path for the terrifying group. All their eyes trained on the leader of the group with fearful yet respectful expressions, knowing that treating Silco’s second in command with anything but was nothing short of a death sentence. 

Sevika enjoyed this, she liked it even. The respect she was given wherever she went was nothing short of thrilling, knowing she had earned it alongside their fear gave her a feeling that working with Vander never could. So she walks with pride along the newly opened path and tries to ignore the way her men slobber and gloat behind her. 

All's going well until she spots it, until she spots you.

You were rarely spotted in public these days, keeping yourself locked away from undercity society seemed to appeal to you nowadays. You stood there in that familiar black dress and cloak, the one that showed enough of your tempting flesh without exposing your weak points. The dress that showed enough of your figure with your cloak to hide any weapons, the dress that once represented your grief but now represents your power.

You stood there looking beautiful under the lighting of the marketplace, you stood there looking calmly at the woman you were currently attempting to purchase some kind of liquid in a glass bottle from. You stood….

You stood directly in the way of Sevika and her group.

You seemed chillingly calm as you turned your head to notice them, having to be made aware by the muscular red headed woman by the side of you that you had brought along with you for protection reasons presumably.

Your eyes narrowed as your head turned and you made eye contact with sevika, your serenely calm expression changing almost noticeably to one of contempt. The twitch of your eye and the slight snarl of your lips are only noticeable to sevika, having learned all your microexpressions from your past encounters.

You simply quirked a brow at the sight of the group and the situation you had found yourself in, but still choosing to not move out of their way. You stand there still a few feet in front of sevika and her group without a spec of fear or respect in your gaze. The onlookers looked at you with looks of anxiety, knowing that anyone else in your position would usually be shot down or beaten without a second thought, especially given the bad blood that ran between you and Silco.

Sevika could feel her men getting antsy at the sight of your clear disrespect towards them, looking at you with faces of anger and disbelief. Still, your eyes remained trained on Sevika and hers kept on yours. 

Sevika battled internally with how to respond to your disrespect, you seemingly doing the same as you both stood still as statues with gazes locked in a heated battle of wills.

Sevika’s men make the first move, one of the skinner ones darted forward with the clear intent to slay you down as his hand grips the handle of his knife. The muscular red headed woman next to you acted in kind as she also moved forward with her hand grabbing the gun that had been strapped to her thigh.

You both stopped the attacks in action. Sevika gripped the collar of the skinny man's shirt and threw him back into her small group huddled behind her while you simply raised your fist and the woman beside you halted and lowered her gun. The skinny man rubbed his bumped head and glared at Sevika while the muscular woman nodded and slotted the gun back into the holdster on her thigh. 

Sevika stared at you while you stared at her before suddenly you were walking towards her, until with a blink of an eye you and the red headed woman had passed the group with barely an inch between you, you exchanged one more cold look to sevika before you had passed her fully. The onlookers let out sighs of relief, knowing that they had missed what could have been a bloodbath.

“What the hell boss?!” the skinny man exclaims as the group continues to walk, trying to figure out their bosses intent “why’d you stop me?”

Sevika turns and gives the man a deadly glare, towering over the skinny man with a snarl on her scarred lips

“You never attack without my command!” Sevika barks out fiercely “understand me?”

“But she was disrespecting us” The skinny man grunted out, although with much less conviction than before when his intimidating boss wasn't burning holes into his head with her glare “we could have taken her out!”

Sevika’s glare harshens at his words and her body seems to become more tense as her mechanical hand reaches out and digs into the front of his shirt and drags him close enough so that he was looking directly into her angered.

“I don’t care if she was spitting directly into your fucking face, you never attack unless i give the command” Sevika snarls out, droplets of her sit landing on the skinny mans face because of her harsh volume and tone “we ain’t here to start fights over petty shit like that, especially with someone with that amount of influence around here, you understand me?”

The skinny man quickly nods his head, knowing he'd severely overstepped his station by questioning her and sorely regretting it. Sevika only grumbled as she threw him back into the group behind her before turning back around and continuing to walk.

“I just don’t understand why she gets a free pass” The man mumbles out with a sulking expression despite the warning looks from the other members of the group gave him “what makes her so special?”

Sevika simply lets out a sigh and continues walking the route to the last drop, not even sparing the man a look over her shoulder.

“Madame obsidian and Silco already have bad blood between them, we can’t afford to make it worse over something petty” Sevika explains stoically as she aggressively rams her shoulder against any onlookers who got in her way, desperate to cover up her previous weakness that they had witnessed “The Madame has too much influence for us to do that currently”

“How much influence can a brothel owner have?” The man scoffs out in disbelief.

“You’d be surprised” sevika grumbles out with a grim expression.

Sevika tunes out the rest of the group's rants and conversations for the rest of the journey. Her mind wandered back to you, the cold look you gave her as you passed. Your eyes, god how they’d changed so radically. What they once held of warmth and curiosity had now disappeared and left nothing but a hollow calmness and cold contempt.

It's true, Sevika enjoyed the respect she received, although sometimes she regrets what she had to give up in order to maintain it.

Your eyes looked so different from the night you had first met.

——————————-past———————————

It had been a great night for sevika.

She’d successfully overseen a large amount of shimmer making its way into Piltover, meaning Silco had a hefty bag of gold coins waiting for her on his desk when she returned. She’d decided to spend it on her usual vices as she made her way to one of the rundown bars near to her apartment, somewhere she could wind down away from the drama of The Last Drop.

She’d drunk whiskey neat and gambled the night away, cheating her way into winning most of her games. This, mixed with her sore winner attitude, made it so her opponents left in a huff as they’d slam their cards down and refuse to play with her anymore.

This made her consider packing the cards up, settling her tab at the bar and going to babbettes to pick some sweet looking girl to release her excessive energy onto. But something stopped her as she approached the bar to pay her tab.

She spotted you sitting at the bar, sipping some kind of sickly sweet looking concoction. Your dark clothing was dirty and ripped but that did nothing to distract from your lustrous figure and obvious beauty beneath the messed up hair and exhaustion. 

“Don’t you think it's a little dangerous for someone like you to be out here alone?” sevika asks stoically as she sits on the bar stool beside you “especially at night”

You don’t even look at her as you sip your drink before opening your mouth to respond.

“That a threat or an offer?” you ask calmly with a raised brow as you turn to face her

“Your choice” sevika offers stoically as she leans back in her seat to observe you, locking eyes with you

She eyes you with barely concealed lust, eyes obviously trailing from your muddy boots all the way up to your eyes. She notices a considerable amount of curiosity within them that lingers as you watch her trail your body.

“I’ll take offer” you say as your head tilts slightly in curiosity, similar to a puppy dogs, Sevika remarks to herself internally “I’ve had enough threats for one night”

Sevika’s face becomes slightly smug at your acceptance before signaling to the bartender for two of the same drinks.

“What are you doing drinking alone?” Sevika asks as she turns her attention back to you before eyeing your dirty torn clothing “on the run or something?”

“It's the undercity” you point out calmly as you sip your fresh drink “everyone’s running from something down here”

“That's vague” Sevika states somewhat suspiciously “trying to keep yourself a mystery or something?”

“It's not exactly smart to make yourself known to Silco’s right hand woman, now is it?” you point out with a raised brow and narrowed eyes

Sevika is slightly surprised at your correct observation, having it not exactly been public information where Sevika’s place was within Silco’s scheme at the moment. So having you guess it so quickly was certainly intriguing and almost suspicious.

“Clocked it when I heard your voice, you and your boss have had a few meetings at Madame Emerald’s brothel” you explain calmly when noticing her surprised look “you talk loudly in meetings”

“You're one of Emeralds girls?” Sevika asks, slightly confused on why she hadn't seen you working the floor on one of her various visits.

“I’m the Madame’s assistant” you answer calmly as you sip your sweet drink.

Sevika eyes your messy and dishevelled appearance before huffing out a slightly mocking laugh.

“You must be one of the madame’s favourites” Sevika assumes as she sips her whiskey, the implication thick in the air between the two of you.

“It isn't what your thinking” you clarify with a slight scoff “I don’t do brothel work”

“That so?” sevika says with a mocking tone “Then what do you do?”

“I told you” you point out calmly “i’m an assistant”

“Assistants a bit vague, don’t you think?” Sevika asks with a scoff

“So ask so i can clarify” you say in a challenging manner, a manner that would usually have sevika choking out anyone else who used it.

“Go ahead” Sevika says with a scoff and a challenging tone that rivalled your own “what do you do as her assistant”

You smirk at this as you place your empty glass on the bar and you lean forward slightly 

“I assist Madame Emerald with day to day tasks as well as meetings, business ventures, money handling” you list off calmly as you eye her curiously

“So basically you're her second in command?” sevika asks with a raised brow and an almost condescending tone “might as well be running the damn empire”

“Isn’t that what you do for Silco?” you fire back in a way that has Sevika questioning if your flirting back or if you're genuinely trying to pick a fight with her.

“Suppose so” Sevika states as her eyes narrow slightly and her tone becomes mocking “don’t think Silco would like that comparison though, considering old emerald isn’t particularly good at anything besides playing with the hearts of desperate men”

“Madame Emerald is smarter than this place gives her credit for” you shoot back defensively with a firm tone, your brows furrowing in a way that sevika finds just delightful

The bartender comes over to collect the empty glasses and you reach into your pocket to pull out a few coins for payment, only to have sevika slap your hand away before instructing the bartender to put it on her tab. This causes you to raise your brow at her.

“What exactly are you aiming for out of this conversation?” you ask bluntly as you put your coins away, becoming all too aware of the situation.

“What makes you think I'm aiming for something?” Sevika replies with an amused tone 

“Because you don't even know my name, yet your sat here talking to me and buying me drinks” you point out with a suspicious tone and narrowed eyes “no one does that in the undercity without wanting something”

Sevika lets out a breathy chuckle at your accusation before grabbing one of her cigarettes from her pocket and lighting it up.

“I think you know exactly what I want from you” Sevika states with a smug tone, blowing smoke gently in your face

“You seem pretty confident in how you think the nights gonna end” you scoff out 

“sweetheart , i don't think” Sevika says smugly “i know how tonights gonna end”

This elicits an irritated reaction from you as you let out a scoff before rolling your eyes and crossing your arms.

“I’m not gonna sleep with you” you state bluntly with a firm tone as you lean away from her, temporarily breaking the intense eye contact the two of you had been sharing

“What makes you so sure?” Sevika asks smugly

“Madame Emerald and Silco are business rivals and have a very intense hatred of each other” you point out with an obvious tone “sleeping with her assistant doesn't make you look particularly loyal”

Sevika bristles slightly at your words, always finding it extremely uncomfortable whenever her loyalty was called into question, especially after the Vander incident. She brushes those feelings away quickly with a mocking chuckle.

“Not gonna say that hasn't crossed my mind, but Silco doesnt tell me who i can and can’t fuck” sevika states smugly as she leans in slightly “so your free game in my mind, sweetheart”

“____” you state your name as you stand from the bar stool, correcting her on her pet name “my name, not sweetheart”

“Leaving so soon?” Sevika almost sounds disappointed as you get ready to leave, tipping the rest of her drink down her throat

“You’ll see me around” you state in a way that almost sounds like a promise as you make your way out of the bar, the interaction forcing a small, bashful smile  onto your lips.

Sevika sports her own grin at your words as she lets out an amused huff before slamming some coins down on the bar to pay her tab and getting up to leave.

——————————-present—————————-

Sevika shakes her head to rid her thoughts of you with a grumble and clenched fists as she approaches the Last Drop with the intention to get the work done and go home to drown her sorrows in some kind of bottle, hoping slightly that silco wouldn’t hear of your clear sign of disrespect. She can’t keep protecting you from his and his men’s wraith if you didn’t try and at least act civil with them.

Then again, after all they’d done, she’s not sure she’d act civil either.

Her mind thinks of the girl she had met in that bar, the one she’d determinedly pursued and the one who shut her attempts down but in a way that only made her want you more.

She thinks of the woman who you were now, cold and calculating with anger and sorrow behind every action.

How times had changed for the two or you.

[dontyoufeelitangel]

When I first saw the mural, I thought they were celebrating Jinx’s explosions on topside. That the explosions were a sign of rebellion and destruction towards topside, and that’s why they were included in the mural. That this mural was a sign of victory for Zaun.

But those “explosions” weren’t explosions at all. It was gas and smog. They represent not violence or destruction, but freedom. Freedom is also noted from the doves flying and Jinx’s holding up her right fist. The gas in the mural is so important because it was literally was the only thing keeping the people of the under city from breathing. Jinx is the reason that clean/breathable air was brought back to Zaun.

And because of that courageous act, they put her on a mural, with Vander. Zaunites think so highly of Jinx that they put her on a mural with the last person they felt freedom with, Vander.

[riality-check]

Viktor thinks his leg should go without saying. Everyone else seems to disagree.

He is a cripple, not deaf or blind. He is perfectly capable of hearing the whispers over the thud of his cane as he passes by, not so focused on walking that he cannot see the way their gazes track him as he shuffles down the Academy’s halls.

There are too many stairs in the Academy, he is finding. Every time he encounters another set, he grits his teeth, hefts his bag a little higher on his left shoulder, and climbs, despite the growing ache in his right hip and the inordinate weight of the tomes he carries.

There is only the work, he reminds himself.

The number of people does not shrink as he climbs up to the fourth floor. They eye him in a way he cannot easily describe. It is not… hate, that is in their eyes. It is not quite suspicion, though Viktor is sure it would be were it not for the too-loose, too-stiff, too-fine Academy uniform he is wearing. It was a courtesy of Professor Heimerdinger, who had sent it along with the books and a map of the Academy, annotated with Viktor’s class schedule.

Heimerdinger has worse handwriting than the “doctors” Viktor is well acquainted with in the Undercity. Hence the early-morning visit to his office, where he is the entertainment for the other early Academy students. The ones who are more assured of their belonging here, if he can judge by their jewelry and their shoes.

(He wears no jewelry, has never owned any, and he stapled the outsole of his right shoe back together this morning.)

The other students, congregated around classroom doorways in their impenetrable social groups, stare at him in the same way he used to look at strays back home. They were a good source of amusement, given the absence of human company that plagued his childhood. He liked those animals. He fed them when he could, pet them when he couldn’t, and learned early how to tell when one would bite.

He realizes, as he spots the plaque outside of Heimderdinger’s office, that these students stare at him like that. They smirk with bemusement or avoid his gaze altogether. They hide their remarks poorly behind their hands.

They regard Viktor as a stray. Something to pity. Something to be cautious of. Something to be nice to, if he can prove himself by rolling over enough times.

Viktor supposes he is a stray, with how Heimerdinger plucked him off the streets of the Undercity and gave him a new “home.” What, does he now need a bell around his neck? Perform tricks?

He breathes and takes a moment to unclench his right hand from around his cane before it cramps too much to be useful. He resolves to do what he has done all his life: ignore the way they make him a spectacle, though they are worse up here, like they have never seen a cripple before.

Maybe topsiders have not. Viktor cannot recall seeing anyone like him so far.

He knocks on the office door before his brain can take him too far down that path. Unproductive.

Heimerdinger answers promptly. It is odd for Viktor, at his height, to have a superior he must look down at. He supposes it is something else he must get used to.

“Viktor,” the professor says, surprised, though he does let him in. “It’s early. Very early, my boy. Classes don’t begin for another half an hour.”

Viktor stands in front of the massive, dark wood desk and waits for Heimerdinger to sit back in his chair before he says, “Your map is illegible, and there are too many stairs.”

Undercity habits beget speaking quickly and directly; in an environment in which nothing is wasted, words are no exception. Topsiders, however, can afford waste.

“Professor,” Viktor tacks on in a too-late attempt to adhere to topside standards of respectability.

Heimerdinger, thankfully, chuckles. “Terribly sorry. You’d think that after enough decades of scribbling on blackboards, I could use a pen well enough.”

Well, no. After seeing this map, Viktor began to fear for this man’s students, himself included. Professor Heimerdinger teaches his introductory engineering course.

He draws up a new map, humming as he works. With nothing else to occupy himself, Viktor leans his cane against the desk, placing both hands on top of the furniture to take some weight off his hip, and surveys the office.

A bookshelf, matching the dark wood of the desk, stands along the far wall. Its shelves are bowed under the weight of the tomes it contains. Most of the spines are in languages he can read, some are not, and his fingers twitch toward them all the same. He stands on a plush, patterned rug - that explains the instability of his cane, and of his leg, he should rest a little more weight on this immovable desk - that would be better used as a blanket down below. Trinkets and baubles clutter the desk, the biggest of which is a globe. It spins of its own accord, illuminated by… something.

Viktor wants to take it apart. See how it works.

He takes his weight off the desk to kill that temptation and barely muffles a hiss at the flare of pain that shoots up his right leg from ankle to hip. He stretches his right hand surreptitiously behind his back, preparing to grab his cane once again.

This office looks exactly as he had expected it to from his one previous meeting with Professor Heimerdinger. It is practical… by topside standards; it is as large as his kitchen and bedroom back home put together, and any one of the items on the desk could pay three months’ rent, though that is… “low-balling” it, as he has heard some people say.

“Here you are,” Heimerdinger says, handing him the new, blessedly legible map.

Viktor takes it and scans it quickly. His first course is on this floor, thank goodness, but the rest…

“Professor, these are,” he pauses, trying to think of how to phrase his concern. He cannot seem ungrateful, not when Heimerdinger has already helped him and when he has him later for class, and he cannot be annoying, not when he was already ignored when he brought up the stairs the first time. 

But his leg screams at him, and to prevent the pain from giving him a sympathetic headache, as sometimes happens, he grabs his cane. To hell with the hand cramps.

“Is there any way to have all my classes on the first floor?” he finally says.

Heimerdinger glances at his cane, and his furry eyebrows raise. This is not the first time he has seen it, but Viktor thinks it is the first time the professor remembered it was there, or that it meant something besides… well, he does not know. A fashion statement, maybe?

Perhaps topsiders haven’t seen a cripple before. They would see plenty if they ever went down.

“We can’t move classes this late, I’m afraid,” Heimerdinger says sympathetically.

Viktor hears the unspoken “but if you had asked earlier” and bites his tongue against excuses.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I will manage.” And Viktor will, because Undercity habits mean that opportunities are not wasted either. A little pain is worth it. It will be no more difficult than anything he has already done.

Heimerdinger hops down from behind his desk and totters toward the door. As he passes Viktor, he pauses and makes an aborted movement to reach out to him before correcting course.

At least he stopped himself, but that was probably only for practical reasons. Unless Heimerdinger wished to replace his cane altogether - and what a shoddy replacement his bouncing steps would be for solid wood - there is nothing he can do.

And Viktor can walk on his own just fine. It is why he has the cane in the first place.

He grips the map a little tighter, hefts his bag onto his shoulder, and turns toward the door.

He makes it one step (on his injured leg, cane in his right hand) before Heimerdinger asks, “Viktor, which one of your legs is the bad one?”

He grits his teeth. There is no moral attribution to his body. It is neither good nor bad. It just has parts that work and parts that do not. He has one leg that works and one that does not. If he could chastise it into functioning by calling it “bad,” it would have been fixed when he was a child. But that is not how it works, and it is wasted energy.

“My right leg, Professor,” he says because he always wishes that any and all conversations about his leg be redirected to important matters as soon as possible.

Heimerdinger hums. “You’re using your cane incorrectly. You should hold it in your left hand, not your right.”

He mimes the motion, and Viktor tries not to feel… insulted? Ashamed? Coddled? Belittled? He cannot quite put a finger on it.

But there is no time for him to articulate it. Heimerdinger checks his pocket watch, squeaks, and runs faster than Viktor estimated his legs could carry him, leaving him alone in the threshold of the hallway.

He tries Heimerdinger’s suggestion, out of curiosity. The class is on this floor, and he has more than enough time to get there.

When he was a boy, no one taught him how to use a cane. He did what felt natural and what let him move the fastest. It was awkward, sure, but anything that caused him less pain was deemed a success.

It is awkward now, with the cane in his left hand. Slower as he walks down the hallway, because it is new. But it is more stable, he finds. A little less painful, as the pain stays localized to his ankle and knee, rather than his hip.

He could get used to it rather quickly, once he stops feeling so stupid about not knowing.

As he gets to his first class - it is in a room bigger than most big Undercity shops - the thump of his cane and his slow pace prompt more students and even his professor to stare at him. Viktor takes the closest open seat and is briefly, ludicrously, tempted to bark at them.

If they are going to treat him like a stray animal, should he not act like one?

No. He should not. Nothing is wasted, least of all this opportunity. He ducks his head down and opens a book on subjects he knows, matters he gets right, instead of wrong, like how to use his own cane, apparently.

Viktor thought he knew the comprehensive list of all his nonworking parts: the leg, of course, but also the childhood rickets, his lungs, his spine, the calcium deficiency that left his teeth stained slightly more yellow than topsiders’, whatever made him bendier than the average person, and not always in a good way.

Evidently, topside is intent on adding more to that list. Like the cane.

It does not matter. When he is the only one in the lecture hall who can answer the professor’s question - a leading one that she said they will know by the end of the semester - as a largely self-taught trencher, he relaxes. He even smiles.

There is only the work.

[gingernut1314]

Sack of Potatoes ch. 3

Summary: You messed with the wrong gang and just as you think you've lost, a familiar face comes to your rescue.

Content: female reader, gendered terms, pre-season 1 arcane, introduction to Vander, Canon typical violence (description of being jumped), young Silco, young Vander, young reader, the boys come to your rescue, slight Arcane season 2/League of Legends spoiler (Janna)

Word Count: 2.9K

A/N: Okay, so I've kind very loosely planed things out and there is only going to be one more chapter as them as teens and then we are officially aging up! I hope you all enjoy!!

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You had royally fuck up. 

More so than usual, which was saying something because you had a tendency to fuck up on a daily basis. But today, gods, today you’d pissed off the wrong gang of Undercitians. A group known to put fourteen-year-olds six feet under for fun. 

What had you done, exactly? Well, this gaggle of idiots tended to take trophies from whoever they terrorized, and one item in particular had caught your eye instantly. 

In lack of better words, it was pretty and shiny and you wanted it. 

And it had been too easy to steal it off them. Some would say they deserved to have had it stolen just for that fact alone. 

You cut sharply down a crowded road, pushing and shoving people out of your way. The gang was too close for your liking. You could clearly make out every curse and insult they threw your way. 

If you could just get to the docks, you could take them head-on without fear, but you were in the heart of the city and nowhere near the docks. 

Just as you made to push out of the crowd and run into any building you could get into, a pair of hands grabbed you around the waist. You screamed, but a hand was shoved over your mouth before you could really get a strong bellow out. 

“Thought you could get away, you fucking cunt.” The guy who’d grabbed you hissed gleefully. 

You were dead. Oh gods you were so dead. 

“I caught our little fishy!” He shouted, his gang throwing up wicked laughs as he dragged you away. You wriggled and thrashed and kicked about, trying desperately to get away, but it was no use. He was stronger than you by a mile. 

You were going to endure a slow, truly horrible death all because you’d wanted something shiny. Because your greed had gotten the best of you. 

Weak! Pathetic!

If only you had listened to Janna. If only you stayed put when she told you to stay put. Of only you had stayed in the dunk little cave you called home and practiced your magic like she said.

Stupid. So, so stupid. 

You were dragged down a dark alley and thrown roughly to the ground. The skin on your hands and knees split, but you pushed the pain down and got up as fast you could muster.  

Get away. 

You needed to get away-- 

“Where do you think you're going little fishy?” You screamed as another pair of hands grabbed you, Before you could even throw a punch, you were shoved into one of the brick walls of the alley, nose giving a blood-curdling crunch. The pain made it so you could only give a pathetic whimper. 

If there was anything you hated more than enforcers or fancy Piltover pansies or gaggles of foul-smelling boys, it was breaking your nose.

More hands grabbed you, tossing you against the wall, to the ground, and into more awaiting hands. Hands that grabbed at you shirt and hair. Everything was happening so fast. Too fast for you to get a hold of yourself and fight back. 

Weak!

There was no hope of being rescued, you knew that. 

In The Lanes, it was kill or get killed. Fend for yourself and expect nothing from anyone. 

And Janna was nowhere near the city right now, her winds having been called back to the sea for some reason unknown to you.

It was over--your life. Over when it had only truly just begun. 

“Giving up so quickly, fishy?” One of the cruel boys teased, grabbing a fist full of hair and pulling you to your feet. A small, sad sound escaped your lips. “We’re not done playing yet.” The guy, who was as butt ugly as you could get, got right up in your face. His yellow teeth were on display for your eyes and yours eyes only. His breath was so vulgar it nearly made you puke. 

“I think,” You gasped out, “you need a breath mint.” 

Rotting teeth did not like that. 

The guy dealt a swift punch to your temple, your knees nearly giving out from under you but you fought too damn hard to keep yourself up.

Gods , your vision was getting spotty. You tried to blink the blackness away, but it only made it worse. 

“You little whore. You’re gonna--” 

“That’s not a very kind thing to say to a lady.” A voice spoke from behind you and the gang. 

It was a voice you’d heard before…but your mind was too foggy to truly pinpoint it. 

“Don’t you know not to stick your nose in our fucking business?” One of the gang memebers hissed. 

“If you can call beating a kid to death business.” The voice said something else but your hearing was faded in and out. 

Child?

You were not a child. 

Suddenly, you were thrown to the ground, pain flaring in your elbow as more skin was ripped open. If you made it out of this, you were going to be in pain for days.  

And to top your horrid day off, you landed in something wet. Something you prayed to any god listening was just street water and not piss. 

Shouting filled your ears, but faded out in seconds. 

Shit, that couldn’t be good. 

The screaming and your hearing loss. 

Get up, get up! Your fogging mind screamed at you. It was the only thing you could hear anymore, so you were inclined to listen. 

With gritted teeth, you struggled to get to your hands and knees, your open wounds screaming almost as loudly as your brain was. Before you could shove to your feet, a pair of hands grabbed you under your armpits, trying to get you up.

No, no, no! Not again! They’ll kill you!

And you found you really, really didn’t want to die. 

You clenched your fist and swung without a second thought. 

Knuckles collided with someone's jaw. 

Pain flared in your fingers brightly. 

You’d fucking broken them --gods damn it!

The person, a man by the sound of it, gave a grunt, his grip on you loosening. You ignored the new pain in your hand and wiggled out of your captor’s grip, falling back to the ground in the process. 

Someone was saying something, but you couldn’t make it out past the pounding of your heart and buzzing of your ears.

Your vision slowly started to fill with color again just as another pair of hands placed themselves on your shoulder. 

“--ts me! It’s me, remember?” 

That voice. You knew that voice. You liked that voice.

And that voice was calling your name. You didn’t just give your name out to anyone and the only person you had given it to in the past few months was…

You blinked rapidly, turning to look at the boy who was calling your name. 

Long, dark hair attached to a thin, sharp face. A face that bore two blue-green eyes.

Seafoam eyes.

“Silco?” Your voice came out cracky and hoarse from all the screaming you’d done. The boy nodded, thin lips set in a frown. 

“Yes.” You looked back towards the alley you’d been dragged into, finding bodies sprawled out down the tiny space. Some of the bodies looked like they’d been beaten to hell and have one hell of a headache when they woke up. But the other bodies--they didn’t move or breathe and sat in pools of red. 

What the hell…had--had Silco done that? 

Why?  

Why the hell was he here? 

Better yet, why the hell would he risk his life to save yours? 

Your heart gave a painful twist in your chest. 

What if he was here to finish you off? 

You pulled yourself out of Silco’s grip, all but throwing yourself at the closest brick wall. All your wounds screamed at you to stop, be you had to keep moving. 

“What are you doing?” Silco asked, seemingly unamused. You hissed through your teeth and pulled your feet under you, using the wall as support. “You’re just going to hurt yourself further.” 

“What the fuck does it matter to you?” You snapped, taking Silco in again. He had stood back to his full height, a smirk on his thin face. 

He found this funny. 

“You’d think she’d be more appreciative, seeing as we saved her life.” He spoke, but he wasn’t talking to you. No, what you had failed to take in was the other guy standing in the alley with Silco, rubbing his jaw. A tall, hulking guy who could no doubt squeeze the life out of you with little to no effort.  

“Throws a mean punch, I’ll give her that.” The gigantic man’s his voice was warmer than that of Silco’s. Not that Silco’s voice wasn’t nice. You much preferred it over this stranger’s. 

“Who the fuck is that?” Silco ran a hand through his longer hair, casting a glance toward the other guy. 

“I’m Vander. A friend.” The other guy spoke, seeming to try and come off as unintimidating as he could. It was working, but only a bit. Like--a hair’s width bit. 

“Why were those halfwits after you, anyhow?” Silco asked, changing the subject off his friend quickly. You sniffed sharply, your nose so clogged with blood it was a struggle to breathe. 

You’d have to fix that quickly before it healed crooked. 

You reached into your jacket pocket, pulling the golden flask you’d stolen out. Silco caught it with ease when you tossed it his way, though his eyes widened like it might explode.

You nearly laughed, remembering the last time he saw you throw a flask. A flask that had exploded. 

“They stole that off some rich guy from Piltover. I thought it was an okay replacement for the one I broke.” 

“Wait--this is the girl that chipped your teeth?” Vander gave a deep laugh that lifted your spirits near instantly. You looked back to Silco whose lips were purposely glued shut, his arms crossed. He was the embodiment of annoyance.

“You’re kidding?” 

“Made a V shape and everything.” You all but slapped a hand over your mouth, a small laugh escaping your lips. 

“Need I remind you I just saved your ass.” Silco seethed, giving you a direct look at his front teeth. 

They were chipped, alright. In that same V shape Vander had said. 

You let out a chest-rumbling laugh you couldn’t have helped stop even if you had wanted to. A laugh that had most, if not all, of your wounds barking at you again. Vander joined in with a bellowing laugh right alongside you. 

“Holy shit! Oh gods, that’s horrible.” You spoke, trying to stifle your laugher. Silco’s face flushed red and his eyes narrowed. He was pissed now. “I guess I owe you more than some fancy flask, huh?” 

“Oh, you owe me for more than my teeth. I just saved your life.” Vander walked over then, slapping Silco on the shoulder. 

“Come on, brother, don’t be like that. We’re just having a little fun.” Silco gruffed, shrugging Vander’s hand off his shoulder sharply. 

“Well, I don’t share in your amusement.” 

“I know, I know,” A bright smile pulled to his lips, “How about we get a look at you, yeah?” He asked, turning his attention back on you. 

Your heart twisted in your chest again and you tried to stand straight. Tried to look like you weren’t some weak, pathetic little creature.

He isn’t going to hurt you. He just helped save your life for god's sake! But as Vander got closer, you couldn’t ignore the fear that burst from your chest. 

“Thank you, really, but I can manage on my own,” You stumbled out a bit too quickly, trying to push off the wall to walk away. Your knees nearly gave out again and you fell back to the wall with a frustrated hiss. 

“You can hardly stand on your own. My father owns The Last Drop, just over there. We’ll get you patched up and you can be on your way.” You cut a look over to Silco who was still sulking behind Vander. When he noticed you looking his way, his eyes narrowed in that calculating, all-seeing way they had when you’d first met him.

“Vander, you’re scaring the kid.” He briskly made his way over to you.

“I’m not a kid.” You hissed as Silco came to a stop before you. 

“I feel as though we’ve already done this.” He extended his hand for you to take. You eyed it, then Vander, who smiled your way, before your gaze landed back on Silco. His eyes hadn't left you. Not even once .

“Nothing is going to happen to you. Not with us around. Promise.” Silco softly said. 

It shocked you, his tone. Though you didn’t know him in the least, you could tell just by the look on Vander's face this wasn’t a regular occurrence. 

But what did that mean? Was it something to worry about?

You pushed your thoughts down as your pain began to bubble up once more. You really needed to sit down and these two didn’t seem horrible . 

Hesitantly, you reached out your unhurt hand. 

Silco was quick to change his position to accommodate this, taking your hand up in his steady one. He gave a kind nod, pulling your arm over his shoulder and wrapping his other around your waist.

Damn-- he may be built like a sting bean but there was muscle under those clothes of his. Muscles you could feel work as they helped you along. 

Your nose took another clogged inhale of breath and you felt your heart untwist and flutter against your ribs. 

It was very hard for anyone in The Lanes to smell good, thanks to the overall nasty atmosphere. It was very rare to come across anyone who didn’t smell like the polluted air they all lived in, but Silco-- Gods he smelled good. Fresh. Like he’d been able to take a shower recently.

It almost had you forgetting about all your aches and burning pains until he started all but pulling you back down the alley. 

“OW! Fuck ! You could try to be gentle .” You whined, grabbing a fistful of his jacket and tugging like he might stop him.

“Oh, would you stop your complaining?” Silco huffed. “This is me being gentle.”

“I’m a complainer . I complain.” You huffed right back at him. 

“I can tell.” Silco was quick to shoot back. A quick response that stirred a sort of-- excitement in your chest. There were very few people who didn’t find your ability to go on and on annoying. Very few that did this sort of--back-and-forth. A back-and-forth Silco was and had engaged with you. 

You wondered for a moment if he was annoyed. If he would tell you to shut up and drop you right back into the bloody alley and leave you there.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to complain if you weren’t dragging me along like I was a sack of potatoes.” You continued.

“Might as well be a sack of potatoes.” 

“I have dense bones.” 

“I can tell.” You have a mockingly offended gasp.

“I’ll have you know my dense bones are a veryyy sensitive topic to me.” Silco gave a scoff that sounded more like a stifled chuckle. 

“Wasn’t it you who compared yourself to a sack of potatoes?” 

“I don’t remember that.” Silco shook his head in that same held-back amusement. “I bet your bones are brittle. Like a strong wind would knock you right over.” 

“I’ll have you know my brittle bones are a very sensitive topic to me.” You pressed your lips together tightly, trying your hardest not to let the laughter bubbling in your chest out. But the longer you held it in, the more it leaked out in sharp pfftted spurts. 

“O-oh yeah?”

“Oh yes.” Silco continued, a glimmer in his eyes that made it all the more difficult to not burst into laughter. “Ever since I was a child people would point out my brittle bones. And here you are now, doing the same.” He gave a mocking forlorned shake of his head. “After I just saved your life as well.”

“I didn’t need saving.” 

“Oh really?” You nodded matter-of-factly.

“Really. I was this close to getting the upper hand.” You showed just how close with your hurt fingers, wincing at the pain that shot through your hand at the movement. “You ruined my plans.” 

“Well forgive me. Shall I stop carrying you too?” 

“If my dense bones are a hindrance then be my guest. I can walk on my own.” 

“I doubt that.” 

“I can . Be better than getting dragged around so brutishly.” Laugher filled your ears. Not Silco’s laughter which you were so close to hearing again, but a deep, bellowing laugh. You turned your head just as Silco did to find Vander there. You’d almost forgotten all about the hulking man. 

“What’s so funny?” Silco shot his way. Vander merely held his hands up as if to ward off his friend. 

“Oh nothin’, nothin’.” Vander gave Silco a look you couldn’t quickly figure out. A look that had Silco’s cheek grow a bit of a pinkish hue.

You were once more annoyed at your inability to fully grasp all emotions and silently cursed Janna and her near-robotic ways. 

You watched Silco grit his teeth Vander’s way, that pink hue only deepening when he glanced your way and found you watching him closely.

You liked that color on him. You liked it very much.

Previous | Next

[icequeenlila]

I'm writing a CaitVi Oneshot. Prepare for angst!

[midnightseashell14]

Help Finding a Jayvik Fic

It was a One-shot where Viktor was from Zaun and Jayce was from Piltover. I'm pretty sure it takes place while they are having sex and Viktor compares Jayce to a wolf or a mad dog. Something along those lines. I also think Jayce remembers first seeing Viktor and thinking he couldn't protect himself but then Viktor knocks out some thugs with his cane.

Anyways is you know what fic I'm talking about please drop the name and/or link! Thanks!

[sleepy-fiction]

Got a crush- got a crush- Crush you all beneath me. ⚗️

Jinx x F!Reader SMUT

3k WORDS

tgs: intense violence, erotic asphyxiation, water sports, bdsm, knife play, powerplay, masochist reader, oral, cunnilingus, sexual repression, religious terms/oppressive religious language, reader is shit and pathetic its lovely

syn: Jinx spares you before your death, the adrenaline, the ecstasy, its euphoric. You re-emerge bright-eyed like the first oracle of a God. Only this time, you want to eat God's cunny, and she'll let you.

an: hii err questioning myself with this one wow. this takes place in act 2 of arcane s2, jinx is rumored to be older bc of a possible time skip between act 1 & 2, but jinx is early 20s in this fic. I wanted to write something freakalicious and get back in touch with my weird side. mildly proofread

Smeech's gang had been your home since you were little. You were born into it, your parents' loyal followers, devout, and strict as they came. The rules were engraved into your brain, defined like the Old Testament. You were linear, closed-minded, and point. Your parents died in the battled post silco. Your neighbors, the other kids. The gang's numbers were dwindling, if not by death, then by them abandoning the cree for others. And the years went by. Your silent, dormant hatred for Jinx muddled up.

It continued until her little revolution, where she gained her little blue headed cult following. You'd be lying if you say a part of you wasn't swooned. But your revenge called for more.

What they called "Safety". No, it was nothing but plain blameless sin.

And you were put on this earth to eradicate it.

So it only came natural after Smeech's disassembly, for the gang to disemble themselves as well. Like a ghost town, you found yourself being the only righteous one holding up the banner. And if A^2 + B^2 = C^2, you were going after the women responsible for it.

No.

THE woman responsible for it all.

Jinx.

Blue eyed, blue braided, soon to be blue bellied, Jinx.

Jinx was a flithy mongrel, poisoning Zaun from the inside out. Her almost physiological poison bubbled out of its bloodied cauldron and frothed onto the deep floors of Zaun. Like a thick and heavy smoke blinding the ground, sucking the souls out of sinners, and blinding even the most powerful. Tempting, and as small as an ewe lamb, yet brewing and seizing like an unruly urchin. Baring pretty pale hips, milky white skin smothered in tattoos. And those eyes. Those round doe eyes.

They kept you awake at night.

Tempting.

They made you shudder.

With the bloodlust you had been building for weeks, weeks until the day your holy vengeance struck from the skies. With the last remaining loyal souls with nothing to live for, other than the fragments of Smeech's impressive legacy.

Yet why.

How.

How did things end this way.

Your body seized the moment your very own blades, the one you fantasized about taking the life of Jinx, was twisted deep into your belly. Your eyes flashed white, your gasp deep and profound, your balance suddenly no longer mattering to you anymore. The surprise attack was going well, well, until Jinx drew her devilish strength from hell and slaughtered your gang like animals. And you, being brave enough to stop her, freed her of all her guns. You fought like chickens, scratching and scraping at each other, throwing rocks, tossing dust, kicking crotches, pulling hair (you mainly), all until you had her.

She was pined beneath, whimpering and blabbering useless mantra. You revved your blade. But you stopped. You had to tell her why she deserved this. Your speech you had prepared before vanquishing this world of evil. Your glorious speech of Smeech and your gang. And unbeknownst to you, that was more than enough time for her to flash bright magenta eyes. And whimper a sound so attainable, your breath locked, and suddenly, for no reason at all, you had an urge to piss.

That one second of weakness.

No.

She turned your speech against you, she built up her bewitching tactics, disarming you and filling you with mercy, all for her to drive your beloved knife, your knife that your parents made you, deep, deep into your belly.

Then those doe eyes sharpened and she laughed.

She pushes you off her like you were nothing, your body hitting the wet dirty floor. It was raining, and glory's pellets dribbled woefully onto your cheek. Your breath was broken up into sharp, unattainable gasps as you meekly tried to crawl away. Your vision shook white in a painful mix of adrenaline, pain, and panick. Panick thick enough to make you spit and froth out the corners of your mouth.

Your body was ringing, brazen silver alarm bells loud and sparky in your ears. The flashing of tree roots and veins in your vision, and how sharp your sense of smell suddenly became. You could smell the muddy streets clearer than day, and even the smell of cotton candy and battery acid death pouring out from her body. A smell that, even now, still made your lower parts clench.

"Ha-! Ahaha-ha," she laughs. Her voice echoes. In your shaken vision, you see her rise before you, blurry bright cyan blue blinding. Pitifully, you crawl backward, desperate to flee death. Once Jinx has you, she never spares any mercy. You knew that going in, but never, never did you believe it'd become a reality.

You were going to become another number on an ever growing list of people who thought they could kill Jinx and failed.

Once that settled in your brain, pitifully thick tears sprang out from your eyes. You cried loudly, a wail strong enough to shake the most powerful souls. A wail so primal, so childish, a wail that stemmed from early development yet also the evolution of humans itself- the last cry of a dying homosapien at the hands of a bloodlust driven Neanderthal.

A cry that was stopped by the quaking footsteps of Jinx. The booming, sloppy, wet footsteps filled with the vibrations of her getting closer. She fell on top you with a cadence, a gust of quick wind as she straddled you. You gasped and reached forward blindly, raindrops falling in your eyes and mixing with the tears as you clawed at her jaw and neck.

She didn't care. She grabbed your left wrist in a vice, hard enough for you to cry out like an injured lamb. And with her other hand, she gripped your face and trusted hers into your view.

She spoke, "You feel that?"

You gasped, your breathing erratic.

"You're going to die," she laughed at you. "You're going to die, and you almost had me! Not even my sister got that close!" Her voice is like a wicked hyena. Gravely and strained from the battle, creaking to show her physical pain.

But it was enough. It enough for your body to grow limp in her hands like a frightened goat.

Your eyes bare into her face, your head uplifted by her tight hands. As you stare at her skin, as pale as powder, eyes as tired and jaded as a wilted flower, and smile as deranged as a wheel on its last hinge.

She smiles, growing ever close, closed enough for your noses to touch, and for her breath, the mingle with yours, "You know. At this stage. You're suddenly aware of everything around you. Your vision goes to shit. But you can still hear the little birds go 'cheep-cheep-cheep', and the rain-- 'pitter-patter-pitter-patter'. And you can't quite feel the pain, but it's the fear of knowing it's coming that gets you." She grabs the knife, twisting it slightly.

You jolt, crying out in agony. "Your heart rate spikes, you begin to hyperventilate. And there's this ringing in your ears... And... My favorite part, the buzzing behind the eyes," she says as she reaches and stretches your eyelids back. Your pupils shrink, and just as she says, your body systematically begins to follow. Snot pools down your nose, a tell tale sign of your inability to get oxygen. "It's totally useless how we have a nose and mouth. But yet they get so scared and they start working against eachother! Just like families... Just like gangs... like rats," she hisses, and you can feel the etchings of her lips near your cheek as she loopily giggles towards your ear.

"You know, if you breathe through your nose, your hyperventilating will stop," she smiles. Eagerly and foolishly, you obey, shutting your mouth instantly and sucking in gifts of air. But just as instant as you gain it, you lose it within seconds. Jinx pinches your nose shut, her thumb and index vicious like the jerking bite of a shark.

You panick, you eyeballs ringing. And as you try to open your mouth again, she drops your head, ot crashes to the ground, and she slams her free hand to clamp your mouth shut.

"Nhahaha," She laughs. Oh, she laughs. It's manical in nature, enough for you to wet yourself in pure fear. Your hands shoot up to claw at her hands, albeit weakly, and it feels nothing more than a massage to her. By now, you're aware of the warm wet clinging your shirt has to your belly, your pants to your crotch, and the flavorful blend of urine and iron in the wet muddy air.

Your vision spots.

She releases you, but it was already much too late.

"You know what," she says. Her voice trails in and out in your ears. Her blurry figure rises, "I think I'll spare you... That is, if you don't bleed to death out here."

Your head sags, catching the final glimpses of her limping away before it all fades to--

You jolt awake with a hard start. You shoot up, blinded by white lights that eventually shimmer down to a familsr room, your hideout. Your heart bursting a hundred miles an hour out of your chest. It was the feeling of shimmer running down your veins like a cold shower.

Instantly, you recognize your old partner, Kilo, rushing up to you from their seat in the back. Their hands grab yours, but you're even quicker to smack them away. "What t'hell! I was supposed ta-ugh die," you blabber out, spit flying in your jittery rage. Your hands grip your head of hair, your heart racing painfully.

"I heard about your dumb plan, and I came to save you, (y/n)! You had been laying there for God knows how long--" They say but you cut them off with a deadly glare, "Why are you mad? I saved you! Listen, God, you just need to calm down," they pleaded, burning their doe shaped brown eyes into your skull. Eyes you used to find allu ng, before they abandoned Smeech.

Smeech.

Dammit.

Did it really even matter anymore.

Dammit you can't fucking think straight.

How much shimmer did they use on you?

They reached again for you, and you smacked them harder, as hard as your jittery body could manage. They were as thick as a barn, burly and bearded, so your shove did nothing to them. But still, you powered up, barely making out of your bed before you knocked into your bedside table and cracking into your lamp.

As soon as you stood, your heart rate spiked, causing a brilliant gasp to leave your body. The kind of gasp they've only ever heard you release in bed. The kind of gasp that was filled in nostalgic ecstasy, the pain was so reminiscent of when Jinx--

Fuck.

No. Please God no.

"Are you okay," they asked. And with one look from them, you knew that they knew.

They knew.

And they were judging you with those pitiful eyes.

"Jinx did a number on you," they tried to whisper, but you seethed like a jackal.

"Jinx did nothing to me! I am normal! I am fine! I haven't changed," you screeched. Your face was warming, your heartbeat was painful, but memories of your last encounter flooded your brain.

You were going to die in the marvelously sinful hands of Jinx. But she spared you. It made every part of you tingle. You didn't notice when your partner sprang up to catch you, and you as hell didn't notice you falling forward. No, but what you did notice was the worry in their eyes. The worry in their deep masculine voice. And the devil horns springing out of their head.

They knew.

They knew and they were going to tell everyone.

"Get the fuck out of here, bastard!"

You yelled it with all your heart and soul.

And within seconds, you notice their heart crumble. Bleary brown eyes only complimented the flicker of guilt that panged you.

You just.

Needed them gone for good.

You collapsed moments after they left you, moments after the door quietly shut.

You were never going to see them again. They weren't just a partner they were your best friend.

And Jinx.

Jinx was brewing in your heart.

And you knew it then.

You were becoming something you never knew before.

⚗️

You'd imagine Jinx's surpise when the little runt she spared weeks ago came crawling deep onto Silco's old zone (now turned her streets), fully armed. What she thought was a foolish revenge battle turned into something else.

Sevika dropped you dead onto your knees before the desk in Silco's office. Your hands were bound behind your back, and Sevika had already stripped you of all the weapons you had. She walked up to the desk, where the back of Silco's chair faced you, and dropped all the weapons onto it. The daggers and guns flattered and shined in the light.

A dry, crackling laughter sparked into the air. A laughter you knew was hers. It made you tingle again. It made the bruises Sevika left you in all the more worth it.

You were shivering from withdrawals. Jinx withdrawals, adrenaline withdrawals, shimmer withdrawals. You needed her to make you experience that death spark again.

Please Jinx.

"Are you dumb or something," she asks. The chair finally spins to face you, her feet clashing against the table. Her face ridden with withheld rage. She blinks in disbelief with an agape mouth. She jolts forward, grabbing ome of your daggers and launches it towards your face. It narrowly dodges your eye and slices a thin scratch into your cheek.

You hiss and laugh.

It irrates her instantly. Her eye twitched. For the first time in forever, Jinx experienced the stress felt Silco once before. The stress of dealing with idiotic subordinates.

And for once. She didn't find it fucking funny.

"I spared you! But you come back with an even dumber plan. What? Did you think you could just waltz in here and slice me up," she asks. You laugh. She clenches her jaw. With an aggravated start, she jumps out of the chair, stomping on the desk as she slides off it in one quick athletic gesture. In seconds, she's on her feet crouching before you, squeezing chunks of your cheeks between her fingers. "What are you thinking," she spits.

Her grip is vice. It makes your eyes water. But you tingle and shiver all over.

"Mmh. Look at those pupils. You're on shimmer. Or- well, off it. What? Did the jitters make you think you could take me? Reclaim your honor," she says.

"M'hehe..mh," you giggle.

She bares her teeth. She drops your face and stands at break neck speed. Your head crashes to the floor, and you hear the familiar sound of a click.

"Everything about this is stupid and makes no sense. Your plan before was beautifully executed and thought out. So why... Why are you," she winces before she can finish her sentence and pinces her temples. You can hear Sevika cackle in the background. You peek up, staring up the barrel of a pistol. "Geez toots... I might get withdrawls next if you don't- I'dunno, say something," she says.

"Mmh... Jinx... Jus' just kill me... Jinx," you gasp out. Your nose aches, a perfect compliment to the ringing from your ribs from taking a robotic punch earlier. "Kill me... And it'll all be... like it was supposed to... Another number on the "anti" tally," you murmur. Not even you know what you're getting at. Why you're here.

Her heel touches your head. She's purposefully digging it into you. "Aah- haa," you shake.

Sevika gasps sharply, "Oh?" Her eyebrows quirk knowingly. Jinx turns to her, but Sevika merely smirks. "I'll leave you to it," Sevika hums, her shoulders slumping as she steps out. Jinxs eyes flicker with wilderment. Sevika lowered her guard. Totally.

They both knew you weren't a threat. But here, that small gesture confirmed a lot to Jinx. You were harmless, you didn't want to die, but you wanted to be around her. No. You wanted her to hurt you. She tests the waters. Jinx's muddy shoe pets down your head, its light not to hurt you. You buck and shiver again, blabbering out heedless.

No.

You didn't want her to hurt you.

When the realization dawned on her, a breathy cackle split the air. "Ooh! Oh god this is too good! What's that little runt," she squats right down next to you, flipping you onto your belly, "you want me to play with ya? Oh, daddy'll play with you toots."

"Wait- that's not what I what I w-want you to kill me! My honor! I lost it in battle, and i-it can only be claimed in--"

"Nn'haha! You really believe that? Oh god you're a riot! Say it. You want Jinxsy to touch you... And err... Ya'know! Take you to p-town. Play with your cunny?"

You felt an electric jolt sink to your clit. One strong enough to shut you up. Your eyes flicker to her crotch, where her legs were spread as she crouched.

"Ooh," she caught it immediately, "you want my cookie instead, eh?"

You gasped in horror.

"Or box? Is that what the kids call it nowadays? Box... Box... I always wonders why, but," she says as she pushes Silco's desk out the way and sits down in the chair, spreading her legs wide, "apparently! It's called a box cause you can stuff it! Myahaha! Ain't that something?"

You stare blissfully at her spread legs, painfully aware of your slick oozing.

She pats her thigh. "Well? What's the verdict? I'm not pulling my pants down till ya tell me ya' want it. Say it cute-like! Oh Jinx-jinx-jinx-jinx! I want your cookie wookie! Pleaase'z," she drags it out, saying it sing-songly to fuel your embarrassment.

You blabber in disbelief, "Buh," and gulp, "B-But why. Why are you letting me?" You sound like a shy child.

"Why dya' think I spared you? You're pretty hot. And... I liked being handsy with you. It felt good... Gooder than usual... Hah! Prolly cause your whorish, sensual aura stunk up the place. All that temp'TIT'ous-humbo-jumbo! N'ahaha... God you-"

"Please, Jinx," you whimper.

She returns, "Hey. I already told you. We're not unt--"

You squeak, "Let me... Eat it..."

"Huh? Is that how you ask -"

"Let me eat your cookie," you say. She gives you a bland look. "Uh," you gulp, "Please Jinxsy... Let me eat your- c-cookie. Wuh... Wookie."

She laughs, "Tehe, you got it dollface!"

this wasn't ever about smeech, was it?

⚗️

"Ooh... ff-fuck dollface," she mewls breathlessly. Your hands are still tied tight behind your back, balancing wobbly on your knees as you bury your face deep beneath Jinx's bare, pale, milky legs. Your nose is buried deep into her cunt, your tongue and lips viciously lapping at her clit. Twitching between sucking and tapping it. She was swollen already, a clear sign of her sexual negligence.

No, part of you is convinced she is a virgin. Jinx bucks into your mouth, gripping chunks of your hair. Her leg twitching, barely missing kicking your shoulder as it flies off the seat it was propped up on. She let's it slump over your shoulder. And you almost cried at how far her hole was now from your greedy lips.

You growl, "Jinx put your other leg on me... C-cant suck all of you like this."

"Uhh... Hmm," You're sure she was only half listening, but still, she lazily hunches down and stops her other leg on your shoulder. She adjusts herself and leans slouches downward more, sitting on her upper ass and pushing her cunt straight onto your face in the process.

You snuck in deep sniffs, the smell balanced, tart, and salty. You slurp up her folds into your lips, pulling and letting them slip out between your lips. She hisses and mewls delightfully, an airy cackle leaving her lips. She taps your head with two fingers and bobs her head rhythmically, a delighted hum squeaking from her lips. You giggle humored, licking a stripe up her, slowing down to enjoy the moment.

She's staring deep into your eyes, grinding against your flat tongue, slowly matching your rhythm. Your rhythm was closely following the one she hummed and drummed on you.

It was odd, how calm it all suddenly became. How you couldn't seem to look away. You wanted to please her so bad.

A ferocious shiver sparked down you again. You locked in, cupping her clit in your lips, suckling and tapping against it. You buried yourself into her, erratic and fanatic, slurping all of her like it was your last dinner. She squeaks and bucks into your mouth at the sharp change, bowling out her moans. "Aah- ff... Oohh, dollface-ugh," she whines. Her arms fall out, one landing on her forehead, her index and thumb propped up on it, rolling her head back into the chairs cushions.

Her bucking became erratic, her moans spiking, her grip on herself becoming undone. As she reaches with her free hand again to grab chunks of your hair at the root. Her cunt is pink and pale, littered with pretty hair. But your bullying turned it a vulgar shade of red. A red you'd wear on your lips any day.

"Aah! Ah! Aaa-mmgh," she barks out. Her thighs clench vice around your neck, her leg spasming before finally, "Oouh," she janks your head away from her pussy, gasping and waning in the chair.

Her eyes rolled back, while senseless blabbering drooled out her lips. "Mmht... D-Dollface," she sighs blissfully.

"It's (y/n)," you murmur and lean back in to peck at her swollen, ruined pussy.

"(Y-Y/n)?" She gulps, her eyes never returning from their blissful heaven beneath her eyelids. "Mmh yeah... (y/n)," she mumbles, half listening. She sighs after a few seconds, finally looking down at you and- smiling? It was a soft one, geninue and pure.

She asks, "What else can you do?"

"Mmh... I want... to feel good too," you murmur still pecking her pussy and inner thighs.

"Hmmmrr.... Alright. Let's get you fingered up."

"N-No... At the same time as you... Let's grind on our thighs... er like how they do in those... Brothels."

"Ooh what? You mean scissoring? Ha, is this your first time with a woman," she barks a laugh.

"Is this your first time ever, Jinx?"

"Hey," she commands, her face twitches. She shoved your face back into her lips. "Don't get smart with me. You're still my doll," she hums.

"M'forgive me," you mumble out, with pussy between your lips. That was all the answer you need. You slowly begin to suckle her again, hearing her breathy moans pour in.

"Mmh yeah... Let's go to my room..."

⚗️

😁

[chappellroansdreamgirl]

nsfw sevika headcannons.

author's note - this is really short sorry but hi i'm making a comeback.

--------------------------------------------

- def into choking. she loves seeing you claw at her arm, loves seeing your eyes get all glassy eyed from how stupid she's making you on her cock.

- she loves marking, seeing bites she littered on your body from the night before gets her all hot and bothered. "who did that to you, bunny?" , she always asks you the next morning, thinking it's so cute how flustered you get.

- she can't get enough of manhandling, especially if you're on the heavier side. it's such an ego boost when she's able to pick you up and throw you around, hauling you into any position she'd like.

- face fucking is a must. she'll make you look at her while she grinds her clit up on your tongue, her juices spreading all over your face. or she'll force you to go all the way on her dick, sevika will swear up and down that she can feel the way throat constricts when she shoves her strap all the way down your throat, relishing in the way you gag, making some of the prettiest sounds she's ever been blessed to hear.

- show!sevika would probably be too afraid to do anything in public for the sake of your safety, but modern!sevika's favorite thing is to fuck you in the most public of places. fingering you on trains, eating you out in a resturant's bathroom stall, sometimes, she loves to use those long distance vibrators whenever you're out alone.

uhhh that's all i have sorry :3

[peapeapeapa]

Pov you messed with Powder:

[eightstarr]

pacify — sevika.

summary: is it possible to miss a stranger, or does one thing negate the other? maybe you miss sevika because she isn't a stranger, because she stuck her claws far too deep in you and never let go— or just because she looks really fucking good sitting there, looking at you like she's waiting for you to say "hello again".

warnings: mild descriptions of violence, smut (mdni!), pre time jump sevika!

notes: my thesis with this one is that eating out a woman you love will revolutionize you in a way nothing else can and i'm joking but also dead serious. also dear god please me and who… okay bye i love you

・。.・゜✧・. ────

“You know, I’ve always liked this place the best.”

It’s the first thing you remember him saying, blue uniform to match his now slightly reddened eyes, vile alcohol in his breath. You’re at a different bar, not Vander's, the first actual job you ever had if you don't count what came before— the shiny rock of a stranger’s ring in your pocket, another’s gold coins in your bag, all from the quick trips to the city above with your father. “It’s not difficult to steal from a Piltovan,” he’d say, squinting at the engraving on the inside of a sparkly bracelet, a small bounty spread over the kitchen table, “they’re all show, all ego.”

Now watching the smirk on the Enforcer’s face after he downs his fourth glass without taking a breath, a laughable skill for an audience of no one, you find it hard to disagree with your father’s assessment. The well nurtured instinct to wonder what you’d get if you slipped your fingers inside the pockets of his tailored jacket grows loud and tempting in your head, but you shove it away and keep your eyes on the dusty floor you’re meant to sweep, determined to keep this job.

“The drinks are better than up there, I’ll give you that,” the drunk man continued, half empty fifth glass tipped dangerously towards the brooding barman, your only coworker tonight. There’s barely anyone left in the bar at all except a couple regulars. Tension has been brewing through the entirety of your shift, an argument in one of the booths during your first hour, a drink on someone’s face by the third, a wave of tired scoffs when the man in uniform walked in near the end of the night; the last nail on the coffin. In your head, you’ve listed all the possible exits you could use to escape enough times to memorize them.

The man takes a surprisingly controlled sip, thin lips furrowed in a grimace. “Wish it was enough to make up for that fucking stench.”

The air in Zaun is different to foreigners. You’ve never minded it the way they do. It's your air, the first to ever fill your lungs, the one you’re so used to that you can feel the way it shifts— the way it becomes a stench, as he called it, when blood is about to be spilt.

The barman does, to his credit, offer you the chance to leave. Or orders it, morelike, his sharp eyes meeting yours and then a tilt of his head towards the door. Maybe he pities you for the nerves splashed all over your face, or maybe he’d just find it a shame to lose an employee he hired barely a month ago. “You. Out.”

“Out?” the Piltovan repeats, turning his head, his voice grossly high pitched. “Why? What's gonna happen now?” he’s drunk enough that you notice the seconds that pass before his eyes properly focus. You remember the exact way his smirk faded, the deep-set wrinkles between his eyebrows when he recognized your face, a nauseating anger. “No. No, you don't move.”

Enforcers never go anywhere alone. Maybe the man had just remembered this, just now realized the true risk of his cockiness when it's not backed up by two or three of his colleagues. Maybe that's why he finds it easy to target you rather than the angry figures lurking in the tables behind him. Maybe that's why he draws his gun so fast.

“I know you, little thief—”

A woman approaches at the same time he does, and you don't know why exactly you decide to focus on her instead. A plea, maybe. You remember the dull gray of the brass knuckles on her fingers, the thick leather belt hung around her lower waist, the thump of her boots against the old floorboards. You've never noticed her before. How ridiculous it feels to think that she was there all night. How lovely that she could be the last thing you see. There's comfort in her being there, a morbid, sad thing that feels almost like company. At least you’re not alone in the room with the monster, at least there's someone to watch you die. 

Her hand falls on the Enforcer’s shoulder and she pushes him back with little effort, the quickest movement, almost without thought. The man stumbles (blame the well praised alcohol or Sevika’s strength), and the glass that had stayed in his hand shatters against the edge of the bar at the same time his gun fires a loose shot to the wall behind you.

Next comes a blur, a vague memory of hearing the Enforcer hiss in pain, a thread of red spilling down the open palm of his hand.

“You got somewhere to go?”

Her voice is the first and only thing that brings you back, the only sound louder than the heartbeat pounding in your ears. She sounds smooth, clear-headed, not like a woman who just stepped in the middle of the fastest paced violence you’ve ever encountered. Gray eyes move across your face, then the rest of you, and you quickly look down at yourself as if to check along with her that you’re actually unharmed.

Your lips feel awfully dry when your tongue brushes against them, enough air passing through to let you breathe, but not quite talk. You nod your head and remember in a rushed, distorted thought— somewhere to go, yes, home, now.

Sevika returns your nod, small praise, an odd way of saying something like good job. Less odd than the quiet satisfaction you feel for having earned it. She tilts her head towards the door, short black hair brushing her shoulder, her voice the kindest you’ve ever heard to this very day. Perhaps the thing you remember most. “Go on, love.”

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Years pass, deaths and joys and new odd jobs, and you still think about it. She sits at the back of your head like a softly worded reminder. And then one day, as things go, you find her again. Her making a deal at the back of The Last Drop, you behind the bar serving drinks.

There's a chance she doesn't remember it. What are the odds that she thought about you at all after the incident? You were just a stranger on a random night. It's not often that people fully understand the weight of what they did for someone, the trickle down of an action, of a kindness. There's a chance for you to go home, alone and unchanged. Instead (and not for the first time) you work for an hour longer, unpaid labor for a chance to serve her a drink.

Sevika doesn't come every night. You see her maybe once a week, talk to her maybe once a month. You don't expect tonight to be any different, but—

“You gonna watch me all night?” she mutters it into her glass, swallows the last sip before she looks at you. The are tiny wrinkles beginning to form on the corners of her eyes now, along each side of her lips from her smiles. Watching her is entrancing, the easiest thing you do, as natural as drawing a breath. “What are you still doing here?”

You blink downwards at the washed glass in your hand, continue to dry it like it could ever be half as interesting as being under her spell. “Working overtime.”

“Vander can't afford to pay you overtime,” Sevika scoffs, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smirk. 

You frown, maybe a little flustered. “He—”

“She's right. Why are you still here?”

The man himself stands tall to your left, glaring at this one permanently stained spot on the bar, working at it with a rag like he hasn't tried the same thing a hundred times before. There are dark shadows under his eyes, a purple hair tie on his wrist— Powder’s, if you were to guess. You’ve grown close to Vander since you met him, even closer when he hired you to work here. “‘S not a favor,” he’d said, quickly catching the suspicion on your face. “Just a gesture to him.” Turns out a lot more people knew your father than you thought; Vander isn’t old enough to have grown up with him, but they still found ways to end up at the same places. If he hadn’t been so secretive about who he was beyond the man who raised you, maybe you would’ve met Vander years ago, became friends at some bar in your teen years instead of at a diner a few days after your father’s funeral. But gaining a friend is a timeless thing, it obeys luck, not sensitivities. One day he wasn’t there, and then the next he was.

You spray some cleaning liquid over the spot on the table, roll your eyes as he leans closer to wonder at how the stain begins to slowly fade. “I’m working,” you repeat.

He looks at you from the corner of his eyes, one eyebrow raised. “I ain’t paying you.”

“I know, okay? It's fine,” you cross your arms over your chest, embarrassed to have been caught even though neither Vander nor Sevika seem to know what the real reason behind you staying late is. “It's a busy night, take it as a favor.”

“I can't afford favors.”

“Good thing they’re free, then,” you deadpan.

Sevika chuckles at the banter, forever amused at your unreserve, how simple you make things. It makes no sense to her to be that generous, that open, but it makes even less sense to think that you’d be any other way. Sevika isn’t particularly trusting, but she is loyal— the more you talk, the more watching you becomes addicting, her thing. She fixates on learning new things about you, clings to your words like a cat to its owner’s scent and wonders, over and over and over, if you remember her. From all those years ago. From last week. With you, she’d take anything.

And when she does finally see you up close, finds a good enough excuse in asking you for fire or a refill, there's little you could ask that she would say no to. It's senseless and thrilling and above all, it's true. She feels it down to her bones, painfully clear, like it's written all over her face.

“What do you do, Sevika?”

Sit and wait for you, she thinks, and instead replies, “What?”

“For work,” you clarify, your hand against the bar, leaning slightly forward. “I see you every week and I still don't know.”

You do know what she does, at least as much as anyone else does— too little to run your mouth, enough to stay away. And if you didn't know, you know her enough to be certain that she wouldn't tell you. It's a pointless question. Unless, of course, you’re as infatuated as you are.

Sevika takes another gulp of her drink, her eyes tracing over the line on your waist where the apron ties behind your back, the soft curve that the pull of it forms. She needs a smoke. “Same shit as everyone else,” she answers, and palms her pockets for a cigarette case. “What do you do? Other than this.”

“This is it,” you watch her flick open the case and shrug. You don’t sound particularly sad or frustrated, just plainly aware. “I pour drinks for people who all seem to do the same shit.”

Sevika hums, sets the case down, a click of metal against well worn wood. An unlit cigarette sits between her index and middle finger. “Be honest,” she starts, and it's the same voice that's been talking to you this whole time, but the gruffness still manages to catch you off guard. “Am I just as bad?”

You chuckle, the same addicting shimmer of genuineness in your eyes that she chases everytime you speak. “Just as bad as what?”

Her eyes follow your hands where they go to pull a lighter from the chest pocket of your apron. “The drunks that flirt with you while you do your job,” she lets the cigarette hang from her lips and leans forward.

“Hm,” you hum. The reflection of the flame sparkles in her eyes before you pull it away, orange against gray, odd and pretty. “I don't know.”

You’re not sure if she looks amused or slightly offended. It's a nice view regardless, the way her eyebrows lift and her lips curve downwards for a second before she breathes out, spilling smoke from her mouth as she talks, “You don't know.”

“I guess I didn't realize you were flirting with me.”

Sevika chuckles, a tiny half moon of a smile line on her cheek when she smirks, smugly aware of the way your eyes are looking at her. “You’re funny.”

Sevika is loyal. It would be easy to say that she doesn’t get what this feeling is, that it’s meaningless, that she doesn’t understand it— but she knows. She knows what it is even if it goes unnamed, because she’s the one deciding to keep it, stubborn and tight gripped, close to her heart. It’s in her dreams, in her first thought of the morning, in the disappointment that sours her mouth when she doesn’t find you at the bar. It’s in her stomach, tugging with need, when she looks at your face and realizes that if she asks if you wanna go home with her tonight, you will say yes.

She takes the leap. Parts her lips, names herself yours. “You wanna get out of here?”

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

You rarely pour your own drinks anymore. It’s a funny thing— Sevika doesn’t ask about your preference, which liquor is your favorite, if you’d like for her to do it for you. She figures it out like she does most things, making a study out of it, watching you enough. Maybe a little extra, too. The cork slides up with a pop!, her fingers around the neck of the bottle. The warmth of her still lingers on your thighs, your own fingers sitting restless over your lap now that her hair is not close enough to play with.

It’s been months since the first night she came home with you. You wouldn’t yet say that the newness is gone, or that you’re as quick of a student as she is, but there are things you know about Sevika already. Vivid truths, bright like the visions of her in the sunlight that you dream about sometimes. Reassurance is one of the first languages you learn from each other.

For Sevika, it's almost always about touch— you notice it immediately at the core of most of her silences, the way closeness makes her demeanor shift to something calmer, more true to herself. Slide closer to her on the couch and her arm will find itself around your shoulders immediately. Pat the empty spot next to you on the bed and she’ll let out a heavy sigh of relief, join you in sleep instead of torturing herself about tomorrow’s line of business. Part your lips when she's kissing you late at night with no goal other than to kiss you and she’ll let out a sound that vibrates through you and changes her mind on what was once an innocent gesture; she’ll tug your shirt off instead. Brush your hand over her shoulder when she's resting her head on your lap and she’ll guide it to her face instead, a lazy hold on your wrist while your thumb brushes her cheek. Coming to love her is the warmest science. But it’s not always exact.

You watch her pour you a drink at the bar table that sits in front of your bed— watch the dark hair that sits against the nape of her neck, messy and loose, watch the waistline of her pants sitting low on her waist, watch the bareness of her back. If there’s a reason why you decide to say it now, you don’t yet realize it. The words just spill out of you before you have a chance to stop them. “I remember you, you know."

Sevika’s hand hovers over the whiskey glass before she hums, resuming the movement and bringing it to her lips. "You didn't say."

“You didn’t ask,” you rest your back against the bed frame, watch her carefully.

The air sits still and you see her shoulders lift, muscles shifting as she shrugs, a big gulp of golden liquor sliding down her throat. Her voice comes in a mutter, low and almost shy, "Thought I might scare you off.”

The idea is so ridiculous that it's almost laughable. A startled chuckle dies in your chest and leaves room for aching sadness, your back leaving the frame as you lean forward and pray for her to turn around. "He was going to shoot me. Nobody moved a finger but you, Sev," you shake your head, try to manage your expression from saying too much, from confessing to something that’s been inside of you for years. At the tip of your tongue sits a raw desperation for this exact unraveling, for her. "How could you scare me?"

Another moment passes before Sevika turns to face you, lower back against the edge of the table, holding her drink down by her side. She won't look at your eyes— can't, maybe. You wonder if she's considering leaving, if she's already decided that she will, as soon as this is over. A part of you, small but dramatic and loudly pessimistic, is surprised that she’s entertained you this long. Even more surprised when she asks, "Is that what this is?" a turn of her head and the gray in her eyes finds you in a second, mechanical and unforgiving, the snap of a bear trap. You don't think you could look away if you tried. "Are you here because you think you owe me something?"

Your reaction is something close to a flinch, your frown deepening, feet firm on the floor instantly. "You can't seriously think that."

Sevika feels the regret come instantly. It splatters on her face, the pads of her fingers rough when they're brushed over her cheek to wipe herself clean of it like she does blood, gunpowder, fear. She watches out of the corner of her eye the way you part your pretty lips and can hear it in her head, imagine it so clearly, you asking her to leave. 

She's already reaching for her coat to make quick work of obeying your wishes when, instead of that, you ask, "You wanna know why I’m here?"

Sevika lowers her hand and the glass hits the table with a thud. Her head tilts to make the slightest nod— and that's as much of an answer as you'll get, you think.

“Look at me,” your finger sits under her chin, a touch barely there, the rise of her head more her choice than your doing. “You’re good, Sevika,” she grimaces, feels like she's swimming in gross viscous shame older than herself and barely surviving it. You press your thumb into her cheek, firm but kind, and keep her from being swept away by it. If she used to find your openness sweet, right now she finds it fucking miraculous. How can you call her good and mean it, how can someone else know so deeply that she could be, that she will be, when most days she doesn’t even know it herself? How can she look you in the eyes and deny you that truth? Her face relaxes, grimace replaced by an aching need as she listens to you. “I see it better than most, but they all catch up eventually. Whatever you put your mind to, you’re fucking good at it,” you pause, try to read her expression and find yourself unsure, but calm. How lovely to think that there's still so much to learn. “You don't owe me and I’m not trying to change you… you don't need—”

Sevika rests her hand over your cheek, a warm hum from her throat to acknowledge what you're saying, a desperate shake of her head to say but I do. “I need you,” her forehead falls against your own, in her brain a chant of please.

You look at her through your lashes, nod your head and feel warm, warm, warm. Her hand guides your face closer, a needy pull of her fingers where they press against the back of your neck, your whisper of “me too” spilled into her mouth. Sevika kisses like there's nothing in the whole fucking world she’d rather be doing, nothing that could possibly distract her. She has kissed you in nightclub bathrooms even with someone's knocks shaking the flimsy door, in alleys with her knuckles still bloody from a fight, dangerously close to opening hours with your back against the very bar where she rests her drinks every night. She's hungry, insatiable, and every time you can't wait to part your lips and let her in.

It takes godlike strength to hold on for as long as you do, but there's power in making her wait too, a satisfaction that feels drunk and just as divine as it makes its way down your spine. A few more chaste kisses take seconds or a century, and Sevika indulges them for as long as she can before she breaks, falls to her knees at your altar and breathes, “Please.”

There's nothing you like more than hearing her beg, except maybe what happens after you give in— the relief, the sigh against your mouth, the wet warmth of her tongue and the desperation in the way she pushes her body against you like she hadn't til then realized just how famished she’d been. Her hands wrap around your waist meanly, pressing indents, and you're too busy soothing your own hunger on her lips to realize that she's switched your positions.

You feel the harshness of the table against your back and pull away to look down, catch up, your daze maybe a little too obvious judging by the curl of her mouth. She's panting as much as you are, though, tongue peeking out barely to brush over her lips, tingly and wet from your kisses. “Up,” she says with a tilt of her head, more a warning than a command, her hands already down on your hips to get you sitting over the wood.

Sevika is a sight, pretty and inviting and overwhelming— you reach for her waist and pull, entranced by the way she follows, the way your legs interlock. A thin layer of sweat glimmers over her chest and you've never found so much beauty in the undercity’s humidity, never felt yourself get wet as easily as she makes it, never been so desperate to find some relief from the aching between your legs. Your thighs squeeze into Sevika’s and looking up to meet her eyes feels like a punch, like the sweetest blood, a sea of glazed-over gray barely visible against the black of her pupils. A mirror of your wanting; how the hunger grows when it meets reciprocation this delicious. You lean forward to taste it from her lips and she meets you halfway, a hand traveling up your spine and ending at your neck.

You don't know when you started grinding against her, but you know you want more. And you know Sevika’s holding back, savoring the same power you’d tried before, a smirk against your lips when she feels you speed up, hears you moan from somewhere deep in your throat. It suits her, the way she holds control. Sevika likes to wonder if she’d ever hold on longer, make you really wait. Sometimes she thinks she might, and then (like now) your voice fills her ears and clouds every thought that says anything other than please, god, fuck, let me make you feel good. “Don’t be mean,” you say this time, breathy and achingly sweet. “Please, Sevika.”

The first grind of her thigh against your pussy makes you end a kiss with your teeth biting into the meat of her lower lip, rougher than you intended. “Fuck, Sev—” you say, cut yourself off with a gasp when she does it again. Sevika figures out the angle unsurprisingly quickly, a hand on your hip and another on your ass to guide you back and forth at a rhythm that matches the movement of her own hips, enough fervency behind it that you know she needed this as much as you did. Maybe more, judging by the groans she spills on your neck every time you press up into her.

Full lips kiss at your pulse, open mouthed, her breath cool against your skin when it meets the wetness she left there. Your nails rake over her shoulder, over her scalp where your fingers are buried in between strands of dark hair— and when Sevika groans it sounds raw, a broken noise, her hips moving desperately faster. You can feel her warmth on your thigh and you've never wanted so badly to have her undressed, laid out, rubbing her pussy against you, leaving a mess on skin rather than the fabric of your pants. She's getting carried away, you know it, chasing her high and barely giving you a chance to catch up. You've never wanted anything more than to let her use you.

“You feel so fucking good,” she grunts, wrecked with need for you to pacify when she lifts her head from your neck, her eyebrows furrowed. You watch her get lost on your lips and you can imagine what they look like, how plump she left them, how the pride of that must simmer in her lower abdomen. Her thumb brushes over them once, then again, and you barely register that she's asking for permission before your mouth moves on its own accord to let her index and middle finger inside. It's filling, just what you needed; how beautifully unsurprising that she knew it more than you did, or that she needed it just the same.

You're fully caged in now, your back pressed against the wall, Sevika’s free hand on your waist still steering you back and forth on her thigh. “Too— hm, fuck,” her fingers slide out of your mouth and press wet indents into your cheek as she holds your jaw, traps you in her eyes. She’s far too gone to warn you but she doesn't have to, it's so painfully clear. Her eyes two dark pits to swallow you whole, lips parted, the grinding brutal and so fucking good— she says it until she can't form the words anymore, her head tilted back, thighs stuttering and tightening around your leg as she comes.

Your tongue tastes the skin of her bared neck and you feel yourself get closer and closer, fed by the feeling of her nipple under the pad of your thumb, by the shaking moans she spills into your ears as you keep grinding against her. Sevika must feel it too, in the same way you did, notice the change in your breath or the speed of your hips— because she pulls away and knows to soothe the needy desperation on your face with a messy kiss before she gets down on her knees.

“Shh,” her shushing comes soft and agonizingly kind, your whines barely contained as she presses kisses to the inside of your thighs. “What happened to my patient girl?” she asks, a tilt of her head and a smirk, the meanest angel.

Your palms press onto the table to lift yourself up enough to let her slide your pants and underwear off in one motion. “Spoiled me too much,” you answer, your mind foggy, drunk on the sight of her kneeling in front of you.

It takes Sevika a moment to reply, the pads of her finger pressing into your thighs. Her eyes meet yours and she wants to tell you, how could I not? You’re not trying to change her, you’d said, but you do. These days, she doesn't think about anything else like she used to— I love you prefaces everything. I love you, so I’m winning this stupid fight and making some money. I love you, so I gotta get home alive. I love you, so I think we could change this city. I love you, you should have every-fucking-thing. But Sevika's not really a woman of many words, especially not when you're looking at her like this, especially not when she's this hungry, so she shrugs her shoulders and says (like it explains everything, and maybe it does), "Look at you.”

The intensity of her makes your legs squeeze together, but you barely make it an inch before she’s pulling them apart and hooking them over her shoulders exactly how she likes.

Your face feels like it's burning, heat crawling up your neck, your grip on the table tight. “Please.”

Sevika barely manages to pry her eyes away from where you're open and glimmering, soaking her fingers after just one brush of them against your lips. Her voice comes out strained, drowned in hunger. “Please what?” 

You must sound worse, but the thought barely registers, hardly matters. “Please, Sevika, make me come.”

And she does— pretty nose bumping perfectly against your clit whenever her tongue is too busy inside you, her lips shiny and wet and relentless. Like everything else, she's fucking good at it.

[bella-goths-wife]

Kiss the barrel of my gun softly masterlist:

Synopsis: Silco and the owner of gemstone brothel Madame Emerald had been rivals for many years, so what happens when their second in commands happen to fall each other and will the relationship be able to survive the rocky society of the undercity?

Or:

Going between the past and the present of your relationship with Sevika

Fic warnings: angst, smut, prostitution, character death, age gap relationships, switching from past and present, both you and Sevika aren’t good people, toxic yuri fr, power imbalance, probably ooc Sevika but I tried my best, stalker vibes, yandere vibes in certain parts

Chapter one

[dontyoufeelitangel]

So basically

[redr0sewrites]

ahem ahem... I saw your requests were open and i am viciously starving for arcane content sooooooo

Praise n Mommy kink w/ Service top Caitlyn x fem reader? 👀

Decent...?

🥀A/n : GRRRRR I LOVE U FOR THIS- it has a twist at the end i really enjoyed hehe, so i hope u like it too!!! gen considering making this a series...

🥀 Pairing(s) : Caitlyn x fem!reader

🥀Cw : smut, aftercare/fluff at the end, mommy kink, praise, safeword mention, pwp, Vi walks on on yall at the end, sub!fem!reader

🥀 minors dni

you hurry up towards Caitlyn's room, navigating the familiar passageways of her mansion towards your lover. you were stopping by to visit her after hearing about her return to Piltover, and you couldn't deny that you were excited to hear about the experience. she had sent you a letter in the middle of her trip, but you were practically dying for more details.

while it had only been a few days since you'd last seen her, you were already bubbling with anticipation. you had heard all about her theories and hoped, for her sake, she had caught a lead.

you had also heard about her escapades with a certain red head from the undercity, and above all, you were intrigued about the new acquaintance she had seemingly made.

as you approached the door to her room, you felt a moment of hesitation overcome you as your hand hovers over the door knob. you hope she wasn't too tired, Caitlyn had a tendency to wear herself out after long days and difficult jobs. you didn't want to wake her if she was sleeping, but your desire to see her trumps your worries.

knock, knock.

you gently knock on the door, and after a beat of silence, a familiar voice beckons you in. however, before you could enter, Caitlyn opens the door without you even touching the handle and pulls you into a tight hug.

"hey, baby.. you okay?" you ask, gently carding a hand through her hair. she releases you, a tired but warm smile on her face. "i'm better now that you're here, darling." she gently pulls you into her room, closing the door to reveal its emptiness. you were both relieved and disappointed, as you were hoping to meet Vi, but grateful for the time alone.

the room is quiet as you move towards the bed and sit down, the mattress dipping beneath you. you kick off your shoes before climbing fully onto the bed and, after a beat of silence, you broke the tension.

"soo... how'd it go?" Caitlyn heaves a sigh, flopping down beside you on the bed and groaning. she takes off her shoes and outer layers, and begins to rant. "so much happened, it was incredible, and terrible, and life-changing all at once... and even after all that we- I failed. i found the truth about the undercity, about the crystal, everything, and yet- i couldn't retrieve it." Caitlyn sighs again, and turns to press a kiss to your temple.

"i'm sorry.." you whisper, unsure of what to say. fuck, why is comforting people so hard? Caitlyn chuckles, her breath light against the side of your face. "it's okay, none of it is your fault. i'm just a bit... stressed, darling. nothing to apologize for."

Caitlyn's gaze meets yours, and your breath hitches as clear blue eyes meet yours. "y'know.. i know something that can help with stress," you tease, and shoot Caitlyn a corny wink. she bursts out laughing, lurching forward slightly and your noses brush together as you both giggle.

"oh, shut it, you!" she laughs, but pulls you into a kiss. the mattress creaks slightly as she gets onto her knees, and you follow her lead. she sits up on the bed and you follow, lips chasing hers as she ravishes you.

"mngh.."

the soft whine that escapes your lips made your cheeks heat as Caitlyn pulls you onto her lap. how is this woman so composed? her lips immediately find yours again as she pulls you in, both of her hands frame your face as you meet in another electric kiss.

even though it had only been a few days since you had seen eachother, Caitlyn was determined to make it up to you.

you struggle to ground yourself, gasping between kisses as Caitlyn gently pushes you down upon the bed. she moves to straddle you, her muscular thighs are firm against you and in the moment, you can think of nothing but her. fuck, how did i pull her? the thought evaporates in an instant as she leans down to kiss you again, her skirt riding up as your lips press together.

this kiss is more fierce, a sloppy and entrancing mixture of teeth and tongue. delicate hands travel down to your waist as your back arches off the bed, and you feel a twinge in your gut as Caitlyn rolls her hips against you. "hngh-" you gasp, and Caitlyn pulls away slightly to take in your flushed features.

"is this okay, darling?" you nod fervently, your back arches slightly as your hands find purchase on her hips. Caitlyn chuckles at your enthusiasm but says nothing, before climbing off of you completely. you almost let out an indignant whine, when Caitlyn quickly begins to undress. immediately understanding, you follow her lead, until your both bare except for your undergarments.

"your so pretty, darling," she murmurs, and kisses your collarbone. your breath hitches as her trail of lovemarks and affection travels lower and lower, until she reaches your navel.

Caitlyn presses a gentle kiss on your happy trail before hooking her fingers through the waistband of your soaked panties. her gaze drifts down to your drooly pussy, yet she doesn't move an inch.

"is this okay, my sweet?" the sight of her piercing gaze on your clothed cunt combined with her velvetty words made you tremble, and you nod yet again. your brain is already turned to mush, and both of you know that you're too far gone for words at this point. you have been dating Caitlyn for a few months, and yet you still fold from just a few simple touches. maybe you are pussy whipped.

Caitlyn removed your panties and tosses them to the side before gently toying with your soaked pussy. you clench around nothing as nimble fingers trace through your folds, gathering your slick.

"already so wet, such a good girl," Caitlyn whispers, before leaning down to press a kiss on your clit. simultaneously, she curls a finger inside you, slowly stretching out your gummy walls and easing you into a comfortable rhythm. you can't help but squirm at the intrusion, and the addition of another finger only makes your brain more fuzzy.

"thats it, that's my girl," she coos, curling two fingers against a spot that makes you see stars. at the same time Caitlyn leans down and licks a stripe up your cunt, sucking on your pulsing clit and stimulating all the places her fingers can't reach. "o-oh!" you gasp, your back immediately arching as you begin to slowly grind against her face, desperate for friction. Caitlyn chuckles against your aching cunt, and the vibrations against your pussy make your head spin.

"ffuck- Caitlynnghhg-" you mewl as she slips a third finger into your clenching heat. your slick coats her lips and fingers, and you can feel your release approaching. "m close, please please mommy-" you whine, throwing your head back as your thighs begin to tremble. your lover notices the familiar pet name and realizes how close you are, and begins to speed up her fingers' pace.

in tandem with her strokes, Caitlyn sucks harder on your clit, her tongue working wonders as it swirls over your needy bud. "mommy, please-" you keen, feeling the coil in your stomach tightening to a breaking point.

your cunt flutters and siezes around her fingers as she pushes you over the precipice. with a final, guttural moan, your back arches and your thighs squeeze around your lovers head as your first orgasm of the night washes over you.

as you begin to come down from your high, you realize that Caitlyn has stood up and is scuffling around by your bedside table. your stomach flips in excitement as you see her take out a familiar strap. Caitlyn quickly joins you on the bed, and fastens the harness.

"you did s'good for me, darling, so good. now, i need you to suck on mommy's cock n' get it all wet, okay?" your cheeks flush at her words, and you realize how lewd you had sounded before. "don't get shy on me darling, i need you to stay with me. now, open up, okay?" Caitlyn reaches out to grab your face as you lay on your stomach in front of her. your neck cranes to "taste" her silicone dick as it rubs against your cheek, and you take her cock in your mouth.

you make sure to swirl your tongue over the tip, making direct eye contact with Caitlyn as you do so. a sliver of drool slips past your lips and she doesn't hesitate to scoop it up with her thumb. the amount of trust between you two, combined with the vulnerability of your position, only makes you more needy.

Caitlyn gently pulls her strap out of your mouth, careful not to move around to much lest she choke you. her silicone cock is dripping with your own spit, and she orders you to lay back on the bed.

"relax, dear, just give me a second.." Caitlyn murmurs, crawling atop you and aligning her dripping strap with your soaked cunt. she pauses as she rubs her dick against your folds, and makes eye contact with you. "do you remember the safeword?" you nod, tucking your head into the crook of her neck and whispering it in her ear.

"good girl," Caitlyn murmurs, almost absentmindedly. she aligns her strap with your aching cunt, one hand rubbing soothing circles on your thigh while the other toys with your clit. "your so sweet for me.." she whispers, and slowly begins to push her cock inside of your cunt. you mewl at the intrusion, burying your head into thr crook of her neck as your gummy walls clamp down on her strap.

"you can take it, darling," Caitlyn purrs, and thrusts fully into your soaked heat. swift fingers continue to toy with your clit as you fall apart, crumbling even though she hasn't even moved yet. Caitlyn seems to realize this, and slowly pulls out before pushing her cock back inside of you. her strap reaches places inside of your pussy that your fingers could never hit, and your eyes roll back from pleasure.

"mnghh-ommy!" the term of endearment slips out yet again before you even have the time to think, and Caitlyn curses under her breath. her thrusts begin to increase in pace, reaching deeper and deeper inside you as tears well up in your eyes. the pleasure is mind numbing as she continues to circle your clit with her thumb, and your hips instinctively roll up off the bed towards her touch.

Caitlyn's hair slips over her shoulders, framing the both of you in an indigo silhouette. you can already feel your release beginning to build as Caitlyn thrusts in, buried to the hilt in your sloppy pussy. your clit pulses beneath her touch, already yearning for release.

"mommy, please," you mewl tearily, thighs quaking as your eyes roll back into your head. "m close-" Caitlyn shuts you up with a kiss, burying her tongue in your mouth. you can taste your own slick, and the thought only makes you needier. Caitlyn's thrusts begin to grow sporadic as the bed shakes, and you know that you won't last much longer.

as if on cue, Caitlyn breaks away from your kiss to whisper in your ear. "its okay, baby, you can cum," she murmurs, accentuating her words with a deep thrust. the tip of her cock ever so gently brushes against your cervix and you sob from the mixture of pain and pleasure. the coil in your abdomen is tightening beyond belief, and a few more wanton moans fall past your lips.

Caitlyn rolls her hips especially deep, rocking against you as the sound of skin slapping against skin and your own moans drown your senses.

"go on, hah, darling. you can cum," Caitlyn's voice slurs, her breath tickles your face as your bodies collide. all it takes are these few words for you to come undone, your back arches and your eyes roll back as you fall into ecstasy. tears stream down your face as pleasure washes over you like a tidal wave.

as you come down from your euphoric high, Caitlyn presses soft kisses across your face. "you did so good for me, my sweet, so good. 'm so proud," she coos, brushing the hair out of your face and pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead. all you can do is nod, too fucked out for anything else.

"lets get you cleaned up, okay darling?" again, you nod, melting into her embrace as she scoops you up. and head towards the bathroom. fuck, she's strong, you think, nestling into her embrace as she presses yet another kiss to your forehead. you wouldn't have it any other way.

suddenly, a knock on the door startles you both and, without warning, a red haired girl barges in.

"Caitlyn! i have something to- OH SHIT" the girl turns away, face almost turning the color of her hair in shock. you rush to cover yourself with a nearby robe, flushing under the scrutiny of the stranger in front of you. Vi, you recognized internally. Caitlyn had only been able to send you one letter while she was in the undercity, but it had told you a bit about the red haired stranger in front of you.

"Vi! what did i tell you about knocking!" Caitlyn is flushed, and quickly wraps a towel around her bare form. Vi, clearly embarrassed, turns away, and you can't help but laugh at the sight of such a gruff individual looking so awkward.

Caitlyn soon joins you in your laughter, and Vi rolls her eyes. "can you two please get decent so i can talk to you?" she huffs, and you can't help but smile. "alright, alright", Caitlyn sighs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "you bathe without me, okay? i'll join you in a minute, after i get decent". she accentuates the last words in a mocking tone, and Vi grumbles again. "lovebirds.." she sighs, and leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

"that should teach her to knock," you giggle, and Caitlyn shoots you a look. "knowing her, it won't," she chuckles, and you squeeze her hand. you can tell she's concerned about whatever Vi had to say, and you know how important this case is to her. "go talk to her, she wouldn't have barged in if it wasn't important."

"i don't want to leave you-"

"i can handle myself, Cait. now seriously, go. i think Vi will throw a fit if you don't join her soon," you reply, kissing Caitlyn again on the nose.

"i love you, darling," she murmurs, and you watch as she gets dressed. blowing you one last kiss, she leaves the room, where you can see Vi's silhouette in the hallway. Caitlyn closes the door behind her and you enter the bathroom, relaxed and content. you knew Caitlyn would join you soon, but for now, it would be best to enjoy a peaceful shower alone. you hope your next meeting with Vi would be less chaotic, and more, as she put it, decent.

Caitvi x reader slowburn multi chapter fic... what do yall think... ummm...... these woman are corrupting my brain hhhhhh..... aaaaaaaa!!! would yall want Decent to become a series?? anyways GOSH this took wayyyyyy too long like i could NOT finish the smutty part in the middle i hope it wasn't too obvious🙏🙏🙏 i actually really enjoyed this req ehhehee- hope u enjoyed too!!!

[interneteclipse]

Sevika post

Went through hell and back to post this and still very unsatisfied anyway check out my new shirt