#Arcane Spice

[aspenmissing]

Arcane men x reader with a voice kink 😳

ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ʜɪꜱ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ || ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ || 5869 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ, ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴋɪɴᴋ, ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ, ᴍᴀᴋᴇᴏᴜᴛ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴏᴋᴀʏ, ɪ ꜰᴜʟʟʏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ (ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ). ꜱᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏ, ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ ᴍʏ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ

JAYCE

The first time you realized it, it was completely accidental.

You weren’t even doing anything special—just sitting in the council chambers, watching Jayce give one of his impassioned speeches about Hextech advancements. But the way his voice carried, the way it dipped low and rumbled like a summer storm, made something tighten deep inside you.

He was always charismatic, but when he got lost in his own convictions, speaking with such firm belief and certainty, it was like he wove a spell around the entire room. His voice wasn’t just sound—it was presence, warmth, command.

You swallowed, shifting slightly in your seat, a rush of heat crawling up your neck as you forced yourself to focus on the actual content of his speech. But the damage was already done.

That voice did something to you.

And once you noticed it, you couldn't unnotice it.

It was when he murmured to himself in the lab, lips barely moving as he worked through equations, deep in thought. It was when he spoke in that authoritative, commanding tone, making decisions for the future of Piltover with absolute confidence. And it was most definitely when he let his voice soften just for you—leaning in close, murmuring your name like a secret only he was allowed to know.

You were doomed.

=

Tonight was no different.

The two of you had been working late in his private workshop, going over blueprints and schematics. Well—he was. You were mostly trying not to let your thoughts drift to dangerous places.

The room was warm, illuminated by the soft golden glow of hexlights. The smell of parchment and metal filled the air, mixing with something unmistakably Jayce—cologne and the faintest trace of sweat from a long day. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the toned muscles of his forearms, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a teasing glimpse of his collarbone.

He was a distraction. A beautiful, terrible distraction.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Jayce noted, glancing up from his work. “Everything okay?”

You swallowed. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“About?” He smirked, leaning back against the workbench, arms crossing over his chest. His voice had that casual, teasing lilt—the kind that always made your stomach flutter.

Your voice, you thought. I want to hear you say my name again. Want to hear what you sound like when you—

Nope. Nope. Not going there.

Jayce tilted his head, watching you with curiosity, and you cursed his stupidly perceptive nature.

“You sure?” His voice dipped lower now, smoother, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

You bit your lip. “It’s… it’s stupid.”

His grin widened. “Now I have to know.”

You inhaled sharply, debating whether or not you could actually say it. But Jayce was nothing if not patient, and damn it, you trusted him.

“I just…” You hesitated, then finally admitted, “I really like your voice.”

Jayce blinked. “My… voice?”

Oh god. Abort. Abort.

“Forget it,” you rushed, heat creeping up your neck. “It’s nothing, really—”

But then he chuckled.

A deep, rich, amused sound that sent shivers down your spine.

“You like my voice,” he mused, like he was testing the weight of the words. Then, in a tone so sinfully low it practically vibrated through you, he murmured, “You like when I talk to you, sweetheart?”

Oh. Oh, hell.

Your breath hitched. Your entire body felt like it was made of molten want, tingling from your fingertips to the base of your spine.

You clenched your hands into fists, trying not to visibly tremble. “Jayce—”

“Say my name again,” he said, stepping closer. His voice was pure velvet now, smooth and teasing, wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

Your lips parted, but you hesitated. That only made his smirk deepen.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxed, his voice dipping even lower, almost hypnotic. “If you like my voice so much… let me use it for you.”

You exhaled sharply, pulse thrumming in your ears.

He was enjoying this. The realization sent another sharp thrill through you—Jayce was smart, he was confident, and he wasn’t above using every weapon at his disposal. And right now? That weapon was you, unraveling in front of him.

“Jayce,” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

And god, the way he reacted.

His pupils darkened, his fingers flexed at his sides, and that smirk turned into something dangerous.

“There it is,” he murmured. He was close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating off of him, the faint scent of cologne mixed with something deeper.

Your thighs squeezed together involuntarily, and his eyes flickered downward for the barest second—enough to see. Enough to know.

His voice dropped to a devastating whisper.

“You really do like it, don’t you?”

You bit your lip so hard you nearly drew blood.

He reached out, tracing his fingers along your wrist, barely touching, but enough to make you shiver. His lips tilted into something more intimate, more possessive.

“What if I keep talking?” he mused.

You nearly whimpered.

“I could say anything.” His thumb brushed your pulse point, feeling how fast it raced. “Talk about Hextech. About politics. About you, sitting here, looking at me like you want to hear something very specific.”

Your breathing was shallow now, your skin burning under his touch.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he continued, his voice dropping to something wickedly deep, his lips hovering just inches from your ear. “If I just… kept talking to you. Told you exactly what I want to do to you.”

Oh. Oh.

You were completely ruined. Jayce grinned, watching the way you melted, the way your body responded to nothing but his voice. Then, with the cruellest, most devastating smirk you’d ever seen, he murmured—

“Say my name again.”

VIKTOR

Viktor had always been an enigma to you, a man of sharp intellect and sharper wit, with a voice that could command a room or whisper secrets into the dim glow of the Hexcore. You had spent countless evenings watching him work, enthralled by the way his lips formed words, by the careful cadence of his speech.

But tonight… tonight was different.

You were seated on the edge of his cluttered worktable, swinging your legs lightly as he moved around the lab, his cane tapping a steady rhythm against the floor. The sound was familiar, grounding, just like everything else about him.

But then—his voice.

“Pass me the spanner, would you?” His accent curled around the words, the softness of his tone almost affectionate despite the request being so mundane.

You swallowed, fingers gripping the tool tightly before handing it to him.

“Thank you,” he murmured, glancing up at you through tousled auburn hair. The way his voice dropped ever so slightly on the last syllable made heat curl in your stomach.

Gods, he had no idea what he was doing to you.

Or maybe he did.

Viktor cocked his head, observant as ever, his sharp gaze flicking from your face to the way you shifted against the table. A slow smirk tugged at his lips, and he set the spanner down, leaning on his cane as he moved closer.

“Something wrong, milý?” The pet name rolled off his tongue like silk. (Dear)

Your breath hitched.

He caught it—of course he did.

Viktor was nothing if not brilliant, and as soon as realization dawned on him, his expression shifted. Amusement. Interest. And something darker, something that sent a delicious shiver racing down your spine.

“My voice,” he mused, tilting his head. “You like it, don’t you?”

You averted your gaze, but that only made him chuckle.

“Fascinating,” he purred, dragging out the word, letting the syllables sink into your skin. “And here I thought you only indulged me for my mind.”

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, but the way your thighs pressed together betrayed you.

Viktor exhaled a quiet laugh, moving impossibly closer, his warmth wrapping around you like a second skin.

“Ah, but if I am insufferable, then why are you trembling?”

Your breath hitched again, and he smirked, slow and knowing.

His cane thudded against the floor as he lifted his hand, fingers brushing against your jaw, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“Tell me,” he murmured, voice dipping into something velvet and sinful, “what is it that you love so much? The way I speak your name? The way my voice—” he dragged out the last word, savoring it, “—sounds when I’m thinking? Or is it… something else?”

You shivered, nails digging into the edge of the table. “Viktor—” He hummed. A simple sound, but it sent a wave of heat straight through you.

“Mm. I see.” He traced his thumb along your lower lip, his own lips curling into a grin. “You truly are something else.” His voice alone had you unravelling, and he was clearly enjoying every second of it.

And, judging by the glint in his eyes, he was far from finished.

=

The air in the lab had changed.

It was charged, humming with something electric, something that made the fine hairs on your skin prickle in anticipation. Or maybe that was just him. Viktor, standing so close, his cane pressing lightly against your knee as he studied you, as if unraveling some great scientific discovery.

Except this wasn’t an experiment.

This was you. And the way his voice made your pulse stutter.

"Ah," he mused, voice low and knowing, "so this is what makes you tremble."

You opened your mouth to deny it, to say something, anything, but words failed you. How could they not, when he was watching you like that, with sharp, burning curiosity?

His fingers, dexterous from years of precise work, trailed from your jaw down the side of your neck, pausing just over your pulse. It was racing, and he exhaled a quiet laugh.

"I wonder," he murmured, his voice a mere thread of sound, "how far this goes?"

The rasp of his accent, the deliberate way he spoke—it sent another shiver coursing through you, heat pooling low in your stomach. He noticed, of course. Viktor noticed everything.

His smirk deepened.

"Would you like a demonstration, Y/N?"

Your breath caught. He was teasing you, testing you. And yet, beneath the amusement, there was something else. A hunger.

"Viktor," you started, voice unsteady.

"Yes?" He drew out the syllable, savoring it. His thumb grazed your chin, tilting your head up further. "Do you like the way I say your name, milý?"

You bit your lip.

That was all the confirmation he needed.

Viktor chuckled, the sound rumbling low in his chest, before leaning in, his breath ghosting over your lips. "Perhaps," he purred, "I should keep speaking, then?"

His voice dipped into something even more intoxicating, a deliberate whisper of sin against your skin. He wasn’t just speaking anymore—he was using his voice. A weapon, a lure, pulling you in, unravelling you piece by piece.

"Would you like that?" His lips brushed the shell of your ear, sending a shudder down your spine. "For me to talk you through all the ways I could ruin you?"

You let out a shaky breath, thighs pressing together involuntarily.

He laughed. Soft and knowing.

His cane shifted as he moved between your legs, his free hand finding your waist. His grip was firm, grounding, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"I could tell you, step by step," he murmured, his fingers tracing absentminded circles against your hip. "How I would take my time, how I would make you fall apart with just my words."

He leaned in, lips grazing your jaw—so close, so deliberate. "Would you like that, můj drahý?" (My Dear)

Your fingers dug into his shirt, desperate, needing something to hold onto as his words set you alight.

"I—"

His lips ghosted over your pulse, and you gasped.

"You do like it," he mused, wicked amusement dripping from every syllable.

He tilted his head, dragging the bridge of his nose along the line of your throat, inhaling as if memorizing the way you smelled, the way you reacted. His fingers tightened on your waist, his cane shifting as he steadied himself.

"Then," he whispered, voice dark, velvet-soft, "perhaps I should see just how much you can take?"

And with the way your body responded to just his voice, to just the promise of his words—

You knew you were completely, utterly doomed.

JAYVIK

Piltover at night was something of a wonder. The city of progress never truly slept, its golden lights reflecting against the rivers and illuminating the towering spires of Hextech advancement. But inside a candle-lit penthouse, away from the hum of the bustling streets, you were being tormented in a very particular way.

By them.

Viktor and Jayce had long since figured out your little… proclivity. You weren’t sure exactly when or how—perhaps it was the way your thighs had pressed together the first time Viktor murmured something low and slow while working on an invention, or the way your breath hitched whenever Jayce let his voice drop into that rich baritone during council meetings.

Whatever the case, they knew. And they were merciless.

Wrapped up in one of their oversized hoodies—Jayce’s, judging by the scent of metal, parchment, and the faint hint of cologne—you were curled up on the couch, trying desperately to appear unaffected. But it was a losing battle.

Jayce had been reading out loud from one of his research papers, voice slow, deliberate. Each word was carefully spoken, the deep timbre vibrating through his chest as he sat back in the chair across from you. You knew damn well he was exaggerating it, just to make you squirm.

“…The integration of Hextech stabilizers has resulted in a remarkable increase in mana conductivity,” Jayce mused, flipping a page, his voice dropping an octave as he let the sentence roll off his tongue. “Perhaps we should conduct… further tests.”

Viktor, lounging beside you, tapped his cane idly against the floor—a slow, methodical rhythm, as if measuring the seconds between your breathing. He wasn’t reading, nor was he pretending to be occupied. No, Viktor was simply watching you. Observing, calculating, taking in every little twitch of your fingers against the hoodie’s sleeves.

“Oh, I agree, Jayce. Further testing is always important,” Viktor mused, his accent curling around the words like silk, wrapping them into something intoxicating. His golden eyes flickered with amusement, his lips curling in a knowing smirk. “Wouldn’t you say so, darling?”

Your fingers twitched, gripping at the hoodie’s fabric as your throat went dry. “I—I mean, research is important, obviously.”

Jayce chuckled, finally setting the papers aside. He stretched with a dramatic sigh, letting his shirt ride up just enough to reveal a glimpse of his toned stomach. You hated that they were both so effortlessly attractive.

“You’re cute when you try to pretend,” Jayce murmured, voice heavy with amusement. His gaze darkened as he leaned in, resting his chin on one broad hand. “But let’s be honest, sweetheart… you’ve been real quiet ever since I started reading. Why is that?”

You stiffened, your stomach twisting with a familiar warmth.

Viktor shifted beside you, his cane sliding along the floor before resting against the couch. His voice dipped lower, softer—lethal.

“She’s always so reactive to sound, Jayce,” he mused, drawing out each syllable in that dangerous slow cadence. “It’s quite… fascinating.”

A shiver ran down your spine, your thighs pressing together on instinct.

Jayce caught it immediately. His grin widened. “Oh, what’s this?” His hand, warm and too confident, found your knee, squeezing lightly—just enough to send heat flooding through your body. “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

You clenched your fists. “I hate you both.”

Jayce laughed, shaking his head as he ran his thumb in slow, idle circles over your knee. “Oh, do you?” His voice was all velvet and amusement, all taunting warmth.

Viktor hummed, leaning in. His voice was barely above a whisper, golden eyes locked onto yours as if he could see straight through you. “It’s endearing, really,” he murmured, his words slow, drawn-out, teasing. Torturous. “How just a few words can make you so—hmm, what is the word?”

He tilted his head, eyes glinting in the dim light. You knew he already had the answer. He just wanted to hear you squirm.

Then he smirked.

“Flustered.”

Your breath hitched, and you hated how much they noticed it.

You yanked the hoodie’s collar up over your face, your entire body curling inward. “You two are insufferable.”

Jayce chuckled, leaning down to press a slow, lingering kiss to your temple. “And yet…” His lips lingered for a moment, warm against your skin before he finally pulled away. “…you’re still here.”

Viktor exhaled a soft laugh, reaching out with his fingers—light, barely-there, ghosting along your wrist, teasing. The kind of touch that made heat coil in your stomach. His golden gaze softened just enough, but the teasing edge in his tone remained.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, lips dangerously close to your ear, “you secretly enjoy being teased, hmm?”

The shudder that wracked your body was humiliating.

You clenched your thighs together, burying your face deeper into the hoodie’s collar, desperate to escape their knowing gazes.

Damn them both.

VANDER

The Last Drop was quieter than usual tonight. The usual rowdy patrons had filtered out, leaving only a few stragglers nursing the dregs of their drinks. You leaned against the bar, fingers lazily tracing the rim of your glass as Vander wiped down the counter. His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, revealing the strength in his scarred muscles as he worked.

“Long night?” he rumbled, voice thick with the gravel of exhaustion.

You hummed, tilting your head to look up at him. “Could say the same to you.”

A chuckle rolled through his chest, deep and warm, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. You tried to ignore the way it made heat coil in your stomach, but you weren’t very good at hiding things from Vander.

He gave you a knowing smirk, resting his weight against the counter. “What’s got you smilin’ like that?”

You hesitated for a moment, swirling the liquid in your glass before deciding that, screw it, maybe it was the whiskey, maybe it was just Vander looking too damn good under the low lantern light, but you felt bold.

“I like your voice.” The words came out softer than you intended, a confession tucked between the hum of the empty bar.

Vander raised a brow, but the smirk never left his face. “That so?”

Your cheeks burned, but you held his gaze, something challenging in your eyes. “Mhm. Deep, rich… kinda feels like it wraps around you.” You shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant, but the way his expression darkened ever so slightly made your breath hitch.

He leaned in, just close enough that his scent—whiskey, leather, and the faintest trace of smoke—clouded your senses. “Didn’t know I had that kind of effect on you,” he murmured, voice dipping into something even deeper, raspier, like he was testing you.

You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to squirm under his gaze. “You do.”

That was all the invitation he needed. Vander smirked, slow and lazy, before brushing his knuckles along your jaw, tilting your chin just enough so you had no choice but to look up at him.

“Hmm… what is it, then?” His voice was nothing short of sinful, dragging out the words, teasing you. “The way I talk to you? Or the way I say your name?”

You exhaled, pulse thrumming in your throat. “Both.”

Vander chuckled again, but this time, it was deliberate—low, intimate. His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he whispered, “That’s a dangerous thing to tell me, sweetheart.”

His words sent a shiver racing down your spine, and he felt it, the way your body reacted to just his voice alone. He pulled back just enough to watch you, eyes dark with amusement and something else—something possessive.

“Gonna be real hard not to take advantage of that,” he mused, tracing a slow line down your arm, his rough fingertips setting your nerves alight.

You bit your lip, breath uneven. “Who says I don’t want you to?”

Vander let out a quiet groan, his hand sliding to your waist as he pulled you flush against him. His mouth hovered just over yours, his breath warm and whiskey-sweet. “Then you best be ready, love,” he whispered, voice thick and dripping with promise.

Before you knew what was happening, he was gripping your wrist and pulling you toward the back room, his steps purposeful. He didn’t rush, didn’t say a word—just led you through the dimly lit hallway with the kind of confidence that sent heat pooling in your core.

The door shut behind you with a quiet click, the hum of the bar fading into the background. Vander turned to face you, arms folding across his broad chest as he leaned against the wooden desk, watching you. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with something hungry.

“So,” he drawled, his voice dipping even lower. “You like the way I sound, huh?”

You nodded, breath hitching. “Yeah.”

His tongue flicked across his bottom lip, a quiet tsk leaving him. “Gonna need more than that, sweetheart.”

Your throat went dry, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I love your voice,” you admitted, your own voice softer now, almost breathless. “It’s deep, rough—makes my whole body feel like it’s burning up.”

That earned you a dark chuckle, low and rumbling. “That so?” His head tilted slightly. “Could’ve fooled me. You seem real shy about it now.”

You swallowed hard, heat creeping up your neck. “I—”

“Shh.” He brought a finger up, barely grazing your chin. “I think I like this little confession of yours, love. And I think I wanna see just how much you really like it.”

His voice alone had your thighs pressing together, your breath uneven as he traced slow circles over your hip. He leaned in, lips just brushing the shell of your ear.

“Bet I could have you falling apart just from my voice,” he murmured, each word slow, deliberate. “Bet I could make you squirm just whisperin’ in your ear.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, breath coming in shallow pants. “Vander—”

“There it is,” he praised, voice nothing but gravel and heat. “Knew you’d sound real pretty sayin’ my name like that.”

A quiet whimper left you, and Vander groaned, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your hips. “You really are dangerous, sweetheart,” he muttered. “Damn near impossible to say no to.”

His lips barely ghosted over yours before he pulled back, his expression shifting into something dark, something unreadable.

“But you ain’t getting everything you want just yet.”

You blinked up at him, dazed, your mind fogged with desire. “What—”

Vander smirked, reaching down to give your backside a firm, playful tap—not enough to hurt, but enough to send a spark of heat up your spine. “Upstairs. Now,” he ordered, his voice dropping into something dangerously low.

Your breath caught, your thighs pressing together at the sheer authority in his tone.

“Gonna finish closing up,” he continued, stepping back and eyeing you like he was already imagining what he was gonna do once he followed. “By the time I get up there, you better be waitin’ for me.”

His fingers traced one last slow path down your arm before he turned toward the door, leaving you standing there, still trying to catch your breath.

“Don’t keep me waitin’, love,” he called over his shoulder.

And just like that, Vander strode back out into the bar, his voice carrying through the walls as he barked at the last stragglers to clear out.

You barely had the strength to move, your body humming with anticipation. But you knew one thing for certain—

You weren’t about to disobey that voice.

SILCO

Zaun’s underbelly was no place for soft things, no place for delicate affections or whispered promises. But somehow, you had carved out a place for yourself in his world—woven into the very fabric of his life like the slow burn of a cigar, curling around him, lingering.

No one would ever know.

Silco was a man who kept his power close and his weaknesses closer. He didn't parade you through The Last Drop or allow idle hands to pry into what was his. You were a secret. A well-guarded one.

And yet, even in the quiet, he ruined you.

=

Tonight, you were in his office—again.

The dim glow of lanterns cast long shadows across the room, flickering against the mahogany desk he had pinned you against. His body was close—too close—yet still, he hadn’t truly touched you.

That was always the game.

His patience was infuriating. He knew exactly how to play you, how to leave you wanting, how to drive you to madness without so much as lifting a finger.

"Tell me," his voice came low, a purr of dark amusement as he leaned in, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. "Do you enjoy being kept in the dark like this, my darling?"

Your breath hitched. Gods, you hated him. Not because of what he was saying—but because of what it did to you.

His voice slithered under your skin like silk, threading into every nerve ending, sending heat coiling deep in your stomach. It was the way he spoke—so precise, so controlled, every syllable laced with dark promise.

"Silco—" You tried to turn your head, to get even the slightest bit of control, but his gloved fingers caught your chin, forcing you to face forward.

Not yet.

He let his lips hover just beside your pulse, never quite touching, just letting his breath tease the sensitive skin.

"Shhh." The whisper was soft, almost intimate—but the effect was devastating. You shivered, the warmth of his breath sending a sharp pulse of heat between your thighs. "We wouldn’t want someone overhearing us, would we?"

Your fingers curled into the edge of his desk, knuckles white. He was such an ass—deliberate, cruel in his attentions. Always testing your restraint.

"You’re the one whispering in my ear like you want me to lose my mind," you bit out. A chuckle—dark, rich, sinful—slipped from his lips, and you felt it in your bones.

"Am I?" His voice dropped, becoming rougher, raspier—worse.

You barely had time to brace yourself before he let his lips graze the delicate skin beneath your jaw, his breath leaving a searing trail.

"I think you’re the one who likes being talked to like this."

You sucked in a sharp breath.

His fingers skated down your waist, slow, teasing. Too slow. The way he dragged out every single movement was torture.

"You always respond so beautifully," he murmured, words rolling off his tongue like velvet, deep and indulgent. "A little breathless. A little desperate."

Your thighs clenched together before you could stop yourself, and he felt it. Of course, he did.

Silco was far too perceptive, and even in the dim candlelight, you knew he was watching you with that sharp, knowing gaze—taking you apart, piece by piece, with nothing but his voice.

His gloved hand slid lower, curling possessively around your hip as his other pressed into the desk beside you, trapping you against him.

And still—still—he hadn’t touched you properly.

"Tell me," he drawled, his lips brushing your ear, "how much do you want me right now?"

The heat between your legs had turned to an ache—one that his voice alone had created.

Your fingers dug into the wood. "You already know."

"Mmm." His hum of approval sent a shiver down your spine. "But I do love hearing you say it."

He shifted, pressing his knee between your thighs, adding just the faintest pressure. Not enough. Never enough.

Your breath hitched, your body betraying you, arching closer without thinking. Silco hummed in satisfaction. He had you.

"You drive me insane," you admitted, voice hushed, breathless.

His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his mismatched gaze—blue and ember, sharp as a knife.

"And yet," he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours, "you keep coming back for more."

His kiss was slow, deliberate—a calculated torment. Lips firm but patient, moving against yours with a control that had you shaking. His voice had already undone you, but this? This was the final blow.

And he knew it.

His whispers continued between kisses, words melting into your skin like poison and honey all at once.

"You’re mine." His lips drifted down, pressing against your jaw, your throat. "And I do so love making you weak."

His voice alone was ruining you. And the worst part?

You wanted him to.

CLAGGOR

The flickering candlelight cast long, shifting shadows along the stone walls of your shared hideout. The others had long since retired for the night, leaving only you and Claggor lingering in the quiet, the remnants of your latest heist strewn across the worn wooden table between you. The air smelled faintly of oil and dust, mingling with the lingering scent of sweat and adrenaline from a long day’s work.

You let out a slow breath, fingers idly toying with a small trinket from the pile, but your focus was elsewhere—entirely on the man across from you.

“Alright,” Claggor murmured, leaning forward, his large hands sifting through the items. His voice was rich and low, the kind of sound that settled in your chest and refused to leave. “Looks like we got some decent supplies this time. Food, parts, and—oh, check this out.”

He lifted a small, well-worn book, its spine cracked from age and use. He flipped it open, his thick fingers carefully turning the delicate pages, his eyes scanning over the text with quiet curiosity. But you barely registered what he was saying.

Gods, his voice.

It wasn’t just deep—it was steady. Assured. The kind of voice that made you feel safe, even when the world outside was anything but. And the way he spoke? Each word deliberate, unhurried, carrying a weight that made even the simplest statements feel important.

You swallowed hard, warmth curling low in your stomach, creeping up your neck. You shouldn’t be thinking about this right now. Not here. Not with him so close.

Claggor’s voice softened slightly. “Y/N?”

You blinked, caught off guard, realizing too late that you had been staring.

“Hmm?” you managed, shifting in your seat.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression amused but not unkind. “You listening?”

“Uh—yeah. Totally.” You forced yourself to focus, nodding toward the book. “Food, parts, and… a book?”

Claggor chuckled, a warm, rumbling sound that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Yeah,” he said, thumbing over the edge of the pages. “Figured Powder might like it. Or maybe you. You still like bedtime stories?”

There was a teasing lilt to his words, but the joke barely registered over the sheer effect of hearing him speak. You shifted, pressing your thighs together as subtly as possible, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way your breath had hitched.

Depends, you wanted to say. Depends on who’s reading.

Instead, you tilted your head, smirking to cover your nerves. “Depends. Who’s reading?”

Claggor huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “What, you want me to read to you?”

Your heartbeat stuttered.

Yes.

You shrugged, forcing nonchalance, but your pulse betrayed you, thrumming in your ears. “Maybe. I just like the sound of your voice.”

The words left your lips before you could think better of them.

For a moment, Claggor said nothing, his dark eyes studying you with quiet curiosity. Then, he set the book down on the table with slow deliberation, his movements easy, unhurried.

“You like my voice?” His words came slower this time, more thoughtful. Testing.

Your breath caught.

He was too perceptive. He always had been. Claggor wasn’t just brawn—he noticed things, even when you tried to be subtle. And right now? You were not being subtle.

You nodded, heat creeping up your neck. “Yeah. I do.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, a rare sight. Claggor wasn’t usually one for teasing, but there was something different in his expression now—something amused. Interested.

“That so?” he murmured, leaning back slightly. He let the silence stretch between you, as if weighing his next words. Then, deliberately, he let his voice drop even lower, his tone thick with quiet amusement. “What if I talked to you like this all the time?”

A shiver ran through you, sharp and electric.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice even. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

Claggor exhaled a quiet laugh, but there was something else beneath it now—a quiet satisfaction. He leaned forward again, resting his forearms on the table, his presence filling the space between you with an undeniable weight.

Then, as if testing you further, he reached for the book, flipping it open once more.

“Alright,” he mused, voice slow, deliberate. “Let’s see… ‘Once upon a time…’”

The words were meaningless. What mattered was how he said them. Each syllable rolled from his lips like honey, smooth and unhurried, carrying a warmth that settled deep in your chest. His voice wrapped around the words, made them something more than just ink on paper.

You barely noticed the story. You barely noticed anything except him.

Claggor glanced up, watching you. His voice remained steady, unshaken, but there was something in his gaze—something knowing.

You didn’t even realize you’d been leaning in until he paused, raising an eyebrow.

“Enjoying yourself?”

You swallowed, pulse quickening. “Maybe,” you murmured, voice slightly uneven.

His smirk widened, his expression both amused and intrigued. He turned the page slowly, dragging out the moment, letting the silence settle before speaking again.

“…Should I keep going?”

You hated how easily he was getting to you, but you also loved it.

“Depends,” you said, your voice lower this time. “You gonna make a habit of this?”

Claggor chuckled, deep and warm, shaking his head. “Oh, I definitely am now.”

He closed the book with a quiet thump, resting his palm on the cover as he regarded you. His expression was unreadable for a long moment—then, with deliberate slowness, he leaned in just enough for his voice to drop to a near whisper.

“Didn’t know you had a thing for voices,” he murmured. “But I think I just found my new favourite way to get a reaction out of you.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Claggor wasn’t usually one to tease, but the way he was looking at you now? Like he’d just uncovered a secret he fully intended to use against you?

Yeah. You were so in trouble.

And you loved it.

[aspenmissing]

Hi!! I hope you’re doing well!! Could we get something spicy or smutty with a possessive, protective Silco?

Thank you! 🩷

ᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇᴅ ʙʏ ʜɪᴍ

ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ || 2764 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ - ʙᴏʀᴅᴇʀɪɴɢ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ꜰɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ɪɴᴊᴜʀʏ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏᴏ!!!! ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ᴀᴍᴀᴢɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ, ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ᴡᴇʟʟ!! ᴀɴᴅ ᴍʏ ᴏʀ ᴍʏʏʏʏʏ, ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴡɪʟᴅ ᴏɴᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ. ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʟᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ꜰᴜʟʟ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴅᴇꜰɪɴɪᴛᴇʟʏ ʙᴜɪʟᴅ ɪᴛ ᴜᴘ. ꜱᴏ ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ!! <3 <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ʀᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ

The last thing you remembered was the sharp sting of knuckles against your jaw. The taste of blood and whiskey coated your tongue as you hit the grimy floor of The Last Drop, the world spinning violently around you.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

You were only here to enjoy a drink, nothing more. A bit of respite from the chaos of the Undercity, a chance to unwind without trouble. But some drunk idiot had decided you were fair game, his hands sliding where they didn’t belong, breath reeking of ale as he murmured slurred, disgusting propositions into your ear.

You had tried to shove him off. He didn’t take the rejection well.

Your fingers had barely curled into a fist before he struck. A brutal, cheap shot that cracked against your jaw and sent you sprawling over your overturned chair, pain exploding through your skull. The bar’s lively hum turned to a murmur, a few amused chuckles from those who always enjoyed a bit of bloodshed before the real entertainment even started.

That only pissed you off more.

Groaning, you pushed yourself up on trembling arms, spitting blood onto the wooden floor. The room tilted slightly, the laughter and chatter around you distant, irrelevant. Your head pounded, a dull ache radiating from the point of impact, but the adrenaline was sharper. Hotter. It burned through your veins as you wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand, dragging yourself to your feet.

The bastard stood over you, sneering, his fingers flexing like he was itching to hit you again.

"Stupid bitch," he slurred, swaying slightly. "Should've just been nice."

Rage curled in your gut, coiling tighter with every slow, condescending word out of his mouth. He thought you were weak. An easy target.

Big mistake.

With a sharp inhale, you squared your shoulders and lunged. The idiot wasn’t expecting retaliation, which made it all the more satisfying when your fist crashed into his nose, a wet crunch splitting the air. He howled, stumbling back, hands flying up to clutch his face as blood gushed between his fingers.

"Fucking hell!" he snarled, eyes wide, wild with fury as he staggered forward, swinging blindly.

You ducked, his fist whistling past your ear. Moving quickly, you drove your knee into his stomach, knocking the breath from his lungs. He doubled over with a wheeze, and you grabbed a nearby bottle, raising it high above your head, fully intending to smash it over his skull.

But you never got the chance.

A heavy, meaty hand clamped onto your wrist, yanking you backward before you could land the blow. The force of it nearly wrenched your arm from its socket, a surprised gasp tearing from your throat. Another man—one of his friends, a towering brute of muscle and bad decisions—had stepped in.

"That’s enough, sweetheart," he drawled, his grip tightening painfully. "No need to get nasty."

Oh, you were beyond nasty now.

Teeth gritted, you twisted sharply, using his hold against him, ducking low and slamming your elbow into his ribs. He grunted but didn’t let go, his free hand cocked back for a punch. You barely had time to react before the blow connected, splitting pain through your cheekbone like fire. The world blurred, stars dancing in your vision as your knees buckled. You hit the floor hard, the impact jarring, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

A shadow loomed over you.

"Did he touch you?"

The voice cut through the haze like a blade, smooth as silk and edged with steel.

You swallowed hard, blinking up at the man who ran the Undercity with an iron grip.

Silco wasn’t looking at you. No, his cold, mismatched gaze was locked on the bastard who had dared to lay a hand on you.

The man—your attacker—had gone pale, his drunken bravado vanishing the moment he registered who now stood between you and him.

"Silco, mate, I—I didn’t know she was—"

Silco raised a hand, cutting him off. The bar had fallen silent, all eyes locked on the unfolding scene.

He crouched beside you, gloved fingers curling beneath your chin, tilting your face to his. His single, corrupted eye traced the blooming bruise on your cheek, something dark and dangerous flashing behind his gaze.

"That was a mistake," he murmured, and you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or the dead man standing.

The man stammered out some excuse, but it was already too late.

A flick of Silco’s wrist. A signal.

Sevika was on him in an instant, seizing him by the throat. The man gagged, clawing at her metal arm as she effortlessly dragged him away.

His screams barely lasted a moment before they were cut off, and you knew—without needing to look—that he wouldn’t be coming back.

Silco exhaled slowly, straightening to his full height. Then, his gaze returned to you, softening just slightly as he crouched again.

"You're hurt."

His voice was lower now, softer, as he brushed his thumb against your split lip. The tenderness of his touch sent a shiver down your spine—so at odds with the ruthlessness he'd just displayed.

"I won’t have anyone touching what’s mine."

Heat pooled in your stomach.

Yours.

You’d known Silco for a while now, a relationship that had danced on the edge of something dangerous. He was possessive, always watching, always ensuring no one stepped too close. But this? This was a claim.

"Say it again," you whispered, your pulse pounding in your throat.

His lips curled, fingers tightening beneath your chin.

"You belong to me."

A shiver ran through you. He saw it—felt it—because his grip turned firmer, possessive. Without another word, he stood, pulling you to your feet with him. The whole bar was watching, but you hardly cared.

All you could focus on was the way his arm settled around your waist, guiding you toward the stairs leading to his office.

Silco’s office was dimly lit, the scent of cigars and ink lingering in the air. The familiar creak of the old wooden floor echoed as he guided you inside, his grip steady against your waist. His touch never left your skin, possessive even now, as though ensuring you were still here, still his.

“Sit.”

It wasn’t a request.

You obeyed, sinking into the worn leather chair, the material cool against your aching body. Your knuckles throbbed, bruised from the fight, and the sharp sting of your split lip made every movement of your mouth a fresh jolt of pain. But the worst was the way your body hummed with exhaustion, the remnants of adrenaline wearing off, leaving you sore and spent.

Silco moved toward a cabinet in the corner of the room, his every motion precise, calculated—the same way he handled everything. You watched as he retrieved a small glass bottle, the amber liquid sloshing within, and a clean cloth. His fingers barely trembled as he turned back to you, but you knew better than to mistake that for calm.

He was furious.

Not at you—never at you—but at the situation, at the man who had dared to lay hands on you. You could see it in the tightness of his jaw, the slight furrow in his brow. He crouched before you, his mismatched gaze scanning your face, taking in every bruise, every mark.

His fingers tilted your chin, the touch gentle despite the fire burning in his eyes.

"You're bleeding."

"I'm aware," you murmured, lips quirking slightly despite the ache. "Got a bit roughed up."

Silco huffed, shaking his head before wetting the cloth with alcohol. "This will sting."

Before you could brace yourself, he pressed it to your split lip. A sharp, burning pain flared through the cut, making you hiss through clenched teeth. Your grip tightened on the armrests, nails digging into the worn leather.

Silco’s other hand settled on your thigh, fingers pressing firm and warm through the fabric of your trousers. A silent reassurance. A reminder that you weren’t alone in this pain.

He worked in silence, meticulously cleaning the wound, pausing only when you winced. His hand never left your leg, grounding you, anchoring you to the present. The cloth came away stained red, but his focus never wavered as he moved to the bruise blooming along your cheekbone.

His thumb ghosted over the tender skin, his expression darkening.

"I should have handled him myself," you muttered, frustration laced in your voice.

Silco’s fingers traced slow, deliberate circles over your thigh, his grip tightening ever so slightly. "And yet, here we are."

You scoffed, but there was no real annoyance behind it. He was enjoying this—taking care of you, making it clear just how his you were. The possessiveness in his touch, in the way he meticulously dabbed at every scrape and cut, was undeniable.

Reaching up, he gently caught your wrist, turning your hand over to examine your knuckles. The skin was raw, swelling already setting in. Silco exhaled slowly, his gloved fingers brushing over the bruises with surprising tenderness.

"You hit him hard," he mused, his lips curling slightly. "Good."

You grinned—until he pressed the alcohol-soaked cloth to your knuckles. A sharp sting shot up your arm, and you instinctively jerked, but Silco’s grip was firm, keeping you still as he cleaned the wounds with slow, deliberate strokes.

"Stop squirming," he murmured, amusement flickering in his tone. "Or this will take longer."

You narrowed your eyes at him but relented, allowing him to finish tending to your hands. When he was satisfied, he set the bloodied cloth aside and instead reached for a small jar from his desk. Unscrewing the lid, he scooped a bit of the salve onto his fingers and smoothed it over your knuckles.

His touch was careful, calculated, but there was something else there too—something softer. His fingers lingered, massaging the balm into your skin with slow, methodical strokes, as if to ease more than just the pain.

Finally, he shifted his focus back to your face, dragging his thumb along your jaw, tracing the forming bruise with barely restrained fury. His mismatched gaze flicked to yours, something dangerous simmering beneath the surface.

"You will not put yourself in harm’s way like that again."

It was an order.

You leaned forward, so close your breath ghosted over his lips, your fingers curling against the lapels of his coat.

"Or what?"

A dangerous smirk curled his lips.

"Do you really want to find out?"

His fingers tightened against your thigh, pressing possessively, reminding you of exactly who you belonged to. The air between you crackled, heavy with tension, thick with something neither of you were willing to name just yet.

But you both knew it was inevitable.

Your fingers trailed down his chest, slow, teasing, deliberately playful. "Perhaps I should let you rest, Silco. You seem rather… tense."

His eyes narrowed slightly, his amusement thinly veiling the sharp edge of something darker. He knew exactly what you were doing. Testing him. Pushing him.

You turned on your heel, making it halfway toward the door before you felt it—his presence shifting behind you, moving like a predator closing in on prey.

Then, in a blink, you were pinned against the door.

"You're trembling." His voice was soft, amused, but the weight of his touch was anything but gentle. His fingers traced the curve of your waist, the sensation burning through the fabric, before tightening bruisingly at your hip, pulling you flush against him. "Do I scare you, my dear?"

Your breath caught, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of hesitation. Your fingers twisted into the lapels of his coat, nails scratching slightly as you lifted your chin in defiance.

"Not in the way you think."

A low, knowing chuckle rumbled in his throat before his lips descended on yours—hot, demanding, claiming. His kiss was a warning, a threat, filled with unspoken promises of what was to come.

You gasped into his mouth as he pressed you harder against the door, his hands roaming, possessive, gripping, branding you as his.

One gloved hand cupped your jaw, forcing your head back as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth in a slow, devastating stroke. You whimpered, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging, desperate for more.

He growled at the sensation, sharp, possessive.

Then suddenly, you were lifted. A surprised gasp left your lips as your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, his grip bruising as he carried you effortlessly.

The desk loomed behind you.

Before you could brace yourself, he spun you in his grasp and bent you over the smooth wooden surface. The cold press of the desk against your palms sent a shiver down your spine, a stark contrast to the heat of his body behind you.

His hand splayed between your shoulder blades, forcing you down.

"Stay." His voice was a dark rasp, dripping with authority.

You barely had time to catch your breath before his hands were on you again—trailing down your back, gripping, exploring, claiming. His gloved fingers teased the hem of your clothing, ghosting over your thighs, testing your limits, taunting.

His breath was hot against the back of your neck. "Mine," he rasped, his fingers digging into your hips, holding you still as he pressed himself against you. "Say it."

"Yours," you whispered, arching your back, pressing into him, aching for more. "Always yours."

A pleased hum rumbled from his chest.

His fingers traced the line of your spine, slow and deliberate, before he gripped the fabric at your back and yanked, pulling it taut against you, reminding you just how completely trapped you were.

You tried to turn, to look at him, but his hand pressed down between your shoulder blades, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"Ah, ah," he chided, his voice a silken warning. "You'll stay right here until I decide otherwise."

Your breath caught as you heard the rustle of fabric, the sharp clink of metal as he unfastened his belt. The sound sent a fresh shiver through you, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach.

The soft thud of the belt hitting the desk beside you was a slow, agonizing tease.

"Silco—" you started, but before you could say another word, his fingers tangled in your hair, yanking you up.

A sharp gasp left your lips as your back arched, his grip forcing you flush against his chest, your breath coming in short, desperate pants.

"You wanted to tease me," he murmured, voice thick with dark amusement, his free hand ghosting over your exposed throat, fingertips barely grazing your skin. "To test me."

You swallowed hard, pulse hammering beneath his touch.

"Tell me, my dear," he purred, his grip tightening in your hair, forcing your head to tilt back, exposing the vulnerable line of your throat. "Was it worth it?"

His mouth brushed over your jaw, lips teasing, before he bit down—not enough to hurt, but enough to claim.

You whimpered, your fingers twitching against the desk, aching to grasp something, anything.

"Silco—" His name left your lips like a plea.

He chuckled darkly. "That's not an answer." Then, you felt it—the soft leather of his belt slipping around your wrists.

You gasped as he yanked your arms back, his movements precise, effortless, binding your hands together behind you. The press of the leather against your skin was tight, restrictive, inescapable.

Your breath hitched. Your body trembled with a delicious mix of anticipation and surrender.

He leaned in, his voice a dark whisper against your ear. "Look at you." His fingers traced the line of your bound wrists, satisfied, possessive. "So eager. So pliant. And yet you pretend to fight me?"

His gloved fingers slid down the curve of your waist, teasing, trailing lower. You could feel the heat of him, the weight of him, pressing into you, holding you in place.

"You're shaking," he mused, his amusement dripping with satisfaction, sending another wave of heat through you. "Is it defiance, or desperation?"

You could barely think, your body wound so tightly you thought you might shatter. "Please," you whispered.

"Please what?" His fingers remained still, his grip in your hair keeping you helpless against him. Your pride burned, but your need was stronger.

"Please touch me," you breathed, barely able to hold his gaze. "I need you." A slow, wicked smirk spread across his lips.

"Good girl."

Then, without warning, he claimed you entirely.

[aspenmissing]

Helloooo hope you're having a fantastic day (no pun intended🤭I'm sorry-) anyway...could you maybe do young vander x fem!enforcer!reader but it's almost like similiar story like CaitVi but with a hint of spice and everything nice:) pls and thank you💙

ᴛᴀɴɢʟᴇᴅ ɪɴ ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡꜱ

ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ/ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ || 10162 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ/ꜰɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ, ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ/ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ!! ꜱᴏ, ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜰᴇʟʟ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪᴅᴇᴀ, ꜱᴏ ɪ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴀ ꜱᴍᴀʟʟ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʟɪɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ɢᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɪᴛ! ꜱᴏ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ, ᴛʜᴇɴ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ꜰʀᴇᴇ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀ ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2! ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴍᴀʏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀᴅᴅᴇᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴀ "ʜɪɴᴛ" ᴏꜰ ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ (ʜᴇʜᴇ). ʙᴜᴛ ʀᴇɢᴀʀᴅʟᴇꜱꜱ, ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ᴄᴀꜱꜱᴀɴᴅʀᴀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ꜰᴇʟɪᴄɪᴀ | ʀᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ

The heavy iron doors of Piltover's prison echoed through the cool, sterile air as the guards let out an exasperated groan, unlocking them with a long, drawn-out creak. They weren’t accustomed to visitors—especially not ones from the upper echelons of society. But today, they were forced to make an exception.

Y/N Kiramman stood in the hallway, the polished boots of her uniform clicking against the stone floor as she approached. Her posture was rigid, a fierce and commanding presence that carried the weight of her title. The tall windows offered only faint glimmers of sunlight, barely making it to this part of the prison, but it didn’t matter. She’d learned long ago how to operate in the shadows, whether literal or figurative.

Her eyes locked on the guard standing at the cell of one Vander. The name had only recently come to her attention, but it had piqued her interest immediately. He’d been arrested after a street brawl, one that had stirred the streets of Zaun into chaos. A brawler, they said. A criminal. But rumours of his bar—the place where the forgotten of Piltover went to find solace—spread like wildfire. Something about it caught her attention. Particularly since the Kiramman name, whether they liked it or not, carried influence in both Piltover and Zaun.

Her family had always stayed distant from the underworld beneath the pristine city. But there were moments when curiosity took hold. Her sister, Cassandra, had always taken the high road, staying far away from the dirtied hands of the lawless. But Y/N wasn’t the same. She wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty if it meant getting what she needed.

“What’s the fuss?” Y/N’s voice was cool, commanding, but there was an edge to it—one that made it clear she wasn’t asking; she was instructing.

The guard stiffened, his eyes darting to the polished boots at her feet before he spoke. “Ma’am, it’s not... the sort of place you usually associate with your... family.”

She raised an eyebrow, her eyes narrowing as she scanned him. “I’ll decide what’s proper.” The finality of her words made him back away immediately.

The cell was cold and damp, the stone walls reeking of sweat and iron. Vander, broad-shouldered and tough, slumped against the bars. His face was bruised, his hands shackled, yet his eyes held a calmness that spoke of a strength far beyond the physical.

When she stepped into his line of sight, his gaze flicked upward, narrowing slightly. There was recognition there—confusion, surprise, and something more, something deeper. His voice, rough from days of silence, broke the quiet.

“Who are you?”

Y/N didn’t flinch. Her stance was unwavering as she replied, “Y/N Kiramman.” She let the weight of her name hang in the air for a moment before continuing, “I’ve come to get you out.”

Vander chuckled under his breath, though there was no humour in it. “And why would you do that?”

“Because,” she began, her words cutting through the heavy air, “you’re worth more to Piltover out there than you are in here. And I don’t believe a man like you should rot in this cage.”

She watched him closely, gauging his reaction. He looked like he might laugh again, but he didn’t. Instead, he gave a small, respectful nod, though it was clear he wasn’t buying her words just yet.

“You don’t know me.”

“Not yet,” she agreed, but there was something in her gaze that suggested she knew more than he thought. She stepped closer, her voice dropping just a touch. “I’ve heard of your bar. Heard what you stand for. I think we might be able to help each other.”

Vander’s eyes sharpened as he studied her, his voice low but heavy with experience. “And why would I need help from someone like you?”

Y/N’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles. “You’re in prison, aren’t you?”

Vander met her gaze and gave a slow, deliberate nod. “What’s your angle, Kiramman?”

Y/N took a half-step closer, her voice carrying the edge of something more personal. “Cassandra is my sister. She doesn’t get involved in the... less civilized parts of Piltover. But I don’t mind getting my hands dirty. You and I both know that Piltover isn’t as pristine as it likes to think. There’s a lot going on underneath, and that’s where I need you.”

Vander’s brows furrowed slightly, the shadows of the cell making it hard to read his expression. But the tension in his voice was palpable. “What are you after, exactly?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Information.”

Vander’s face was unreadable for a long moment. He was clearly considering her, weighing the request against everything he knew of Piltover’s politics, of his own reputation, and of the games that were played in the dark corners of the city. He knew well that information was power, and someone like her—an enforcer with the Kiramman name—didn’t come for small favours.

“Information on what?”

Y/N’s eyes glinted, sharp with purpose. “On the gangs operating between Piltover and Zaun. The shipments of illegal goods, the weapons, the deals that are slipping under the radar of the authorities. I need to know who’s involved, where it’s all happening. And I need you to help me navigate the mess.”

Vander took in her words, his silence stretching between them like a bridge, building tension. Finally, his lips parted as he spoke, his voice hoarse but direct. “You think I’m just going to hand that over to you, just like that? You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed slightly, her confidence unwavering. “I’m not asking for charity. I’m asking for a partnership. You get me the intel I need, and I get you out of here. Simple as that.”

Vander studied her for a long moment, his gaze intense. “And why should I trust you?”

Y/N’s gaze softened just enough to convey that there was no need for games. “You don’t have to. But you will. If you want out of here, if you want to make a real difference—then you’re going to have to trust me.”

There was a long silence between them, one that thickened with each passing second. Vander’s expression didn’t change, but the faintest hint of respect lingered in his eyes.

“You’ve got guts,” he said, the words holding a weight of grudging admiration. “I’ll give you that.”

Her smile was small, but it was there. “I’ve had to learn. But I’ll make sure you learn to trust me, too.”

Vander gave a low grunt, his voice now more resigned than anything. “What now?”

Y/N turned toward the guards, her tone firm. “Unlock the cell.”

The guards hesitated but complied, and as the bars of the cell swung open, Y/N glanced over her shoulder at Vander. The dangerous glint in her eyes was unmistakable.

“We’re sticking together,” she said, her words carrying a quiet but undeniable promise. “For now.”

Vander took a step toward her, his movements slow and deliberate. He didn’t know where this would lead, but something in the air told him it was only the beginning. He had no idea who this woman was, but one thing was clear: he was going to have to tread carefully around her.

Their worlds had collided—one born of shadows, the other of gilded cages—and neither of them was ready for what was coming next.

Weeks had passed since that first meeting in Piltover's prison. Since then, Vander had been out of his cell, but not free. Not in the way that most people would define freedom. He was still a man caught between two worlds—Piltover’s polished exterior and Zaun’s gritty underbelly—but at least now, he had a hand in shaping his fate.

And Y/N Kiramman, well, she was proving to be more than just a woman with a title. She was a force to be reckoned with, and she had become a constant in his life.

They met in the shadowed corners of Piltover, away from the prying eyes of those who would never understand what they were doing. Sometimes in the alleyways near the bridges connecting Piltover to Zaun, sometimes in the quieter corners of the city’s taverns. Each meeting was brief, but it was enough. Vander had become a silent partner in her pursuit of information—something that had begun as a business deal, as a way to get him out of the prison, had started to feel... different.

The intel he provided was valuable—names, locations, shipments that no one else in Piltover seemed to care about. The gangs operating in the shadows, the black-market deals slipping through the cracks of the law. But it wasn’t just the information that drew Y/N back each time. It was him.

She had never expected to feel this connection with him—not this quickly, not with someone so entrenched in the darkness of Zaun. Yet, with each meeting, it became clear: Vander wasn’t just a brawler, a man who’d fought his way to survive. He had depth, a quiet strength that wasn’t about power, but about something deeper—loyalty, honour, and a kind of stubbornness that reminded her of herself.

She found herself waiting for their meetings with an anticipation she couldn’t quite explain. There were moments when she saw a flicker of something in his eyes that made her feel... seen, understood. Maybe it was the way he would listen—really listen—when she spoke of the politics of Piltover, of her place in it, of the weight she carried as a Kiramman. Or maybe it was the way he had a way of looking at her, as if he was always waiting for her next move, but never judging her for what she did.

And Vander? He wasn’t blind. He noticed the way her eyes softened when she looked at him, how her voice would lose its edge when they spoke. She was more than just the Kiramman heiress. She was someone who, in the chaos of the world around them, had found a kindred spirit in him.

=

One evening, just as the sun set, casting the city in hues of orange and pink, they met again, this time in a quiet tavern near the border of Zaun. The place was bustling, the air thick with chatter and the clinking of mugs, but they sat in the back, far from prying eyes.

Y/N leaned over the table, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass as she spoke in a low voice. “You’ve been holding back on me, Vander. There’s more going on than what you’ve shared.”

Vander leaned back in his chair, his eyes still sharp but softened by the warmth of the dim candlelight between them. “It’s not something you want to get involved in. Some of these shipments are bigger than anything we’ve seen before. Bigger than just the gangs fighting for power.”

Y/N’s gaze flickered with a mixture of curiosity and something more. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, looking around the room before his eyes met hers again, steady and serious. “I’m talking about weapons, shipments that could start a war if they reach the wrong hands. Piltover’s not prepared for that. And neither is Zaun. If it gets out of control, it’ll be worse than the last riot we had.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed. The weight of his words settled on her shoulders like a heavy cloak. But something in his tone—something about the way he looked at her—told her he was trying to protect her from something even darker than she could imagine.

“I don’t fear danger, Vander,” she said, her voice steady but her heart racing. “If you want me to stay out of it, then you’re underestimating what I can do.”

He watched her carefully, his dark eyes searching hers as if trying to see past the façade she wore so well. “It’s not just danger I’m worried about. It’s the price that comes with knowing too much.”

Y/N’s lips curled into a faint smile, though it was tinged with something more vulnerable than usual. “You’re not the only one who’s been in the dark.”

Vander’s gaze softened, the usual stoicism of his features slipping for a brief moment. “You think I’m keeping secrets from you?”

Y/N’s eyes flickered with something she didn’t usually allow to show—a small crack in her armour. “No. But I think you’re trying to protect me in the only way you know how. You don’t have to.”

There was a long pause between them, one filled with unspoken understanding. Vander leaned forward slightly, his voice low and almost hesitant. “I didn’t think I’d be doing this. The whole helping-people thing. But with you... It feels different.”

She tilted her head, the subtle challenge in her eyes clear. “Different how?”

He gave a small, rueful smile. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you’re not like the others. You don’t expect me to bow down. You’re strong. You’ve got your own battles to fight. I respect that.”

Y/N felt her pulse quicken at the unexpected compliment, but she kept her face neutral. “And you’re not like the others either. You’re not just some thug who runs a bar.”

Vander’s expression softened again. “I’ve had my share of fights. But that’s not all I am.”

The moment lingered between them, a shared silence that spoke louder than any words could. Vander reached for his glass, his fingers brushing against hers just lightly enough to send a small, electric shock through her. Neither of them pulled away. Instead, the quiet comfort of their shared presence filled the space around them.

“So, what happens next?” Y/N asked, her voice barely a whisper, though there was a spark of curiosity in her tone.

Vander’s smile deepened, a hint of warmth in his eyes. “Next? We keep fighting. Together. You want the intel. I want to make sure Piltover doesn’t burn the rest of us alive while they sit pretty in their towers. We’ll do it in our own way.”

Y/N leaned back in her chair, her eyes studying him. It was clear there was something growing between them—an understanding, perhaps even something more—but neither of them had the words for it yet.

“All right,” she said finally, her voice low but steady. “Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen. Together.”

The brief touch of their hands earlier seemed to linger in the air between them, unspoken and still heavy with promise. Whatever was developing between them wasn’t just about the job anymore. It was about trust, and something more—something neither of them could name, but neither of them could ignore either.

Their worlds had collided weeks ago, and now, they were no longer just allies—they were partners in the truest sense, ready to take on whatever Piltover and Zaun threw their way. And neither of them was ready to stop.

The moonlight filtered in through the tall windows of the Kiramman estate, casting long shadows across the grand hall. The night was quiet, but there was an unmistakable tension in the air. Y/N stood by the window, her eyes gazing out over the skyline of Piltover, where the towering spires of the city met the smoky haze of Zaun.

The door behind her creaked open, and Y/N didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Cassandra’s presence filled the room as it always did—authoritative, steady, and impossibly sharp. The older sister had always had a way of knowing what was going on, even when Y/N tried her hardest to keep her secrets buried beneath the weight of her title.

“Don’t you think it’s time we had a little chat?” Cassandra’s voice was low but firm.

Y/N sighed, straightening her posture, but didn’t turn to face her just yet. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean,” Cassandra replied, her footsteps nearing. “You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with someone who has no business in Piltover—let alone in our family’s affairs. Vander, was it?”

Y/N turned slowly, her eyes meeting her sister’s for the first time. Cassandra was older, more experienced, and her eyes held a mixture of disappointment and concern.

“You know, I didn’t want to believe it at first,” Cassandra continued, her voice tinged with that sharp, careful tone she always used when trying to keep things controlled. “But I’ve seen the way you’ve been acting. The meetings. The secrecy.”

“I’m just getting information,” Y/N replied coolly, though there was a flicker of something in her eyes that betrayed her calm exterior. “Nothing more.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a slight frown. “Information, huh? You know, you’re playing a dangerous game, Y/N. People like Vander—they don’t stay out of trouble for long. And neither do the people they associate with.”

Y/N felt the weight of her sister’s words pressing down on her. The truth was, Y/N had never been blind to the risks, but there was something about Vander—something she couldn’t explain—that kept pulling her deeper into his orbit.

“He’s not like the others,” Y/N said quietly, her voice softer than she intended.

“Maybe not,” Cassandra said, her gaze softening for just a moment. But that softness was fleeting, and the sharp edge returned quickly. “But he’s still a part of it, Y/N. You’re not some naïve child anymore. You know what happens when you get too close to people like him. It will come back to ruin you. I’m telling you this as your sister, because I don’t want to see you dragged down by someone like him.”

Y/N felt a pang in her chest at her sister’s words, but she kept her expression neutral. She knew Cassandra was only looking out for her, but part of her resented it. Part of her didn’t want to be protected, didn’t want to stay locked away in Piltover’s ivory tower while the real world played out beneath her.

“I can handle myself,” Y/N said, her voice firm. “I know the stakes. But I’m not sitting idly by while things happen around me. I’ll do what I have to, even if you don’t agree with it.”

There was a long pause as the two sisters locked eyes, the tension between them thick. Finally, Cassandra sighed and stepped forward, placing a hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “Just... be careful, okay? I don’t want to lose you to this.”

Y/N’s expression softened, and she nodded, though the weight of her sister’s words lingered. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

=

Meanwhile, in the shadows of Zaun, things were brewing, and Vander was starting to feel the weight of his own choices.

The small warehouse had seen better days, the walls thick with the smell of oil and rust. Felicia, a sharp-eyed enforcer, stood leaning against a barrel, her arms crossed as she watched Vander pace in front of her. Silco, ever the calculating figure, sat nearby, watching the exchange between the two. The air in the room was thick with tension, but there was something else too—something that neither Felicia nor Silco could quite place.

“You’ve been walking a little lighter these days, Vander,” Felicia remarked, her voice laced with a mix of curiosity and a touch of suspicion. “What’s got you so... upbeat?”

Vander, who had been pacing for the better part of the hour, stopped and looked at her with a faint, almost amused smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Felicia retorted, pushing herself off the barrel with a shrug. “You’ve been moving differently. Almost like you’ve got a reason to smile. Spill it.”

Silco, ever the silent observer, narrowed his eyes. He had noticed the change in Vander too. The man who had once walked with a weight on his shoulders now had a bounce in his step, an ease to his movements that had never been there before. It didn’t take a genius to figure out something was happening.

“Something’s different,” Silco said, his voice smooth, but sharp. “You’re not the same man you were when we first crossed paths.”

Vander met his gaze, but his expression remained guarded. “I’m not sure what you mean, Silco.”

“Cut the act,” Felicia snapped, her patience wearing thin. “We’ve known you long enough to see it. You’re distracted. Lighter. So, what is it? Did someone put a spark in your step? Something—or someone—keeping you up at night?”

For a brief moment, Vander’s eyes flickered, a hint of something unspoken passing between him and the two others in the room. He wasn’t sure how much to reveal, but there was no denying the truth of it. Y/N was a constant presence in his thoughts, in the quiet moments when he wasn’t focused on the fight or the schemes of Piltover and Zaun. She had been his unexpected ally, and he found himself drawn to her in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

“I’ve got other things on my mind,” Vander said after a pause, his tone deliberately nonchalant. “Things that might help us in the long run.”

Felicia shot him a look, not entirely convinced by his words. “Yeah? And those things are what?”

Vander didn’t respond immediately, choosing instead to turn his attention back to the room, but Silco could see the faintest shift in Vander’s demeanour. There was something... softer in the way he held himself, an openness he hadn’t seen before.

“Let’s just say I’ve made some alliances,” Vander said quietly, his voice low and purposeful. “Ones that could help both of us—if we play our cards right.”

Felicia raised an eyebrow. “This doesn’t sound like the Vander I used to know.”

Vander’s gaze hardened slightly, but the faint glint of something warmer lingered in his eyes. “Maybe that’s because I’m not the same man I used to be.”

And as Vander stood there, surrounded by his closest allies, he couldn’t help but wonder what the future held. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he might just have a chance at something more than the war-torn streets of Zaun. Something that didn’t involve endless fighting or running. Something—someone—that made him want to walk just a little bit lighter.

Little did he know, the sparks between him and Y/N were only beginning to ignite, and the consequences would soon come to a head. Both of them, playing dangerous games on opposite sides of the divide, were about to find out just how much their choices would cost them.

Months had passed since the initial spark had been ignited between Y/N and Vander. Their uneasy alliance had turned into something more—a bond forged in secrecy and shared goals, though neither of them would admit it aloud. They were both too cautious to put names to what was happening between them. But the longer they worked together, the more it became clear: they were growing dangerously close.

Y/N had made significant progress, her investigation into the illegal shipments and the criminal dealings between Piltover and Zaun inching closer to a breaking point. The intel Vander had given her had been invaluable, and each new lead brought her one step closer to uncovering the full extent of the underground empire threatening to tear the fragile balance between the two cities apart.

But as her progress accelerated, so did the danger. The deeper she dug, the more attention she drew. And she hadn’t yet realized how much of that attention was aimed directly at her.

=

One evening, Vander sat at the bar of The Last Drop, the familiar hum of conversation swirling around him. He was cleaning glasses when a low murmur from a nearby table caught his attention. He pretended to ignore it at first, wiping down the counter, but the words reached his ears clearly enough to make his blood run cold.

“I heard there’s an enforcer poking her nose into things again,” one man muttered, his voice low but urgent. “She’s getting too close. If she keeps pushing, she’ll blow the whole thing wide open.”

Vander’s hand stilled for a moment, his knuckles tightening around the glass he was polishing. The man’s voice dropped even lower as he leaned in, speaking to his companion with a dangerous edge.

“I don’t know what she’s up to, but we’ve got to put a stop to it before it’s too late. The Kiramman girl… she’s already got too much power. If we let her keep poking around, she’ll expose everything.”

Vander’s heart raced in his chest as the words hit him. Y/N. He hadn’t realized how much she was putting herself on the line, how much danger she had attracted just by being so close to the truth. It had been subtle at first—the odd whisper here or there—but now it was clear. They were planning to silence her. Permanently.

He felt a surge of panic grip him, though he quickly buried it beneath the weight of his resolve. Vander knew better than to show his emotions. He had always kept his cards close, always played things slow. But this—this was different. Y/N was different. She didn’t deserve to be caught in the crossfire of a world she was only trying to understand.

Vander’s mind raced, the realization dawning on him. He couldn’t wait around for the people behind the shipments to act. He had to warn her—now.

=

By the time the last of the patrons had filtered out of The Last Drop, Vander’s mind was already consumed with one thing: Y/N’s safety. He had to warn her. He knew the streets and alleys of Zaun like the back of his hand, but there was something about the opulence of the Kiramman estate that made him feel... exposed. Still, he couldn’t wait. Every second counted.

The estate was quiet when he arrived. The guards stationed at the front were alert, but Vander knew the back routes—the hidden paths that would take him past their watchful eyes. He moved swiftly, like a shadow in the night, each step deliberate, carrying the weight of his urgency. Tonight, there was no room for hesitation. He had to get to Y/N before it was too late.

The window to her room was his only option. The servants’ entrances were far too exposed, and the last thing he needed was to get caught by someone who could alert her family. He could feel the tension in his chest, tightening with every step as he scaled the wall. His muscles strained as he pulled himself up to the balcony, where Y/N’s window was slightly ajar.

Vander didn’t waste time. He had done this many times before in darker places, but this felt different—more personal. He slipped inside quietly, careful not to disturb anything, his presence more felt than heard. His heartbeat was loud in his chest, but the thought of Y/N in danger kept him grounded.

Y/N sat at the desk by the window, back turned, as she pored over a stack of papers, her focus unwavering. The soft rustle of the curtains in the wind was the only sound, until the quiet creak of the window caught her attention. She tensed, spinning in her chair, eyes widening as she caught sight of Vander slipping inside.

“Vander?” Her voice was a mix of surprise and confusion, though the instant recognition in her eyes melted into concern. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer at first. Instead, he closed the window behind him, locking it shut before turning to face her fully. His broad frame filled the space between them, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist.

“I need to talk to you,” Vander said in a low voice, urgency threading his every word.

Y/N stood up, her frown deepening. “What’s going on?”

Vander didn’t waste time with pleasantries. His jaw was set, his tone steady but laced with frustration. “I overheard something tonight. There’s talk of you getting too close to the shipments—the ones we’ve been tracking. People are saying you’ve crossed a line. They’re planning to get rid of you. You need to stop.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her heart skipping a beat as the gravity of the situation settled in. She had known the risks of her investigation, but hearing them spoken aloud like this—so matter-of-fact, so immediate—made everything feel far more real. She felt the distance between them narrow as the tension in the room thickened, like a storm cloud about to break.

“I can’t stop now, Vander,” she said, her voice trembling just slightly, but her determination was unmistakable. “I’m so close to figuring this out. I’ve come too far to turn back.”

Vander’s eyes darkened, his brow furrowing as he stepped closer to her, his presence dominating the room. Frustration and something far more dangerous flickered in his gaze. His hands reached for her, gently but firmly, his fingers brushing against her arm as if grounding himself, as if anchoring her to him.

“You don’t understand, Y/N,” he said, his voice a growl now, low and filled with raw intensity. “I’m not asking you to stop. But I can’t lose you to this. I can’t just sit by and watch them get to you.”

Y/N’s pulse quickened as she met his eyes, the pull between them undeniable. He was so close now, his presence overwhelming, like a wall of warmth and strength that threatened to swallow her whole. Her heart pounded in her chest, her breath hitching at the intensity of the moment. She had never seen him like this before. Never felt the weight of his protectiveness so sharply. It was both comforting and terrifying.

“I can take care of myself,” she said, her voice soft, but there was a tremor in it she couldn’t quite mask. She wasn’t sure if she believed her own words. She didn’t want to admit it, but the rawness in his voice, the sincerity in his gaze, shook her to her core.

Vander’s jaw tightened, his hand moving to her cheek, his thumb brushing along her jawline in a slow, deliberate motion. The touch was tender, but there was something more in it—a deep longing, a vulnerability he had never shown before. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against her skin. “You shouldn’t have to,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

The words hung between them, thick with unspoken promises and quiet desperation. Y/N felt the heat of his breath on her skin, the urgency in his touch, and her heart raced faster, louder. She didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t know what to say to this man who was giving so much, offering so much, without asking for anything in return. She didn’t know how to reject it.

“I’m fine,” she finally whispered, though even she could hear the uncertainty in her voice. “You’re worrying over nothing.”

Vander’s gaze hardened, but there was a trace of tenderness in the way he looked at her. He wasn’t convinced. His hand slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, his grip firm, insistent. The air between them crackled with tension, the heat of their bodies rising even in the cool silence of the room. For a moment, everything else—everything outside the walls of the estate—seemed to disappear.

“I’m not letting you go, Y/N,” Vander said, his voice rough, thick with emotion, and the weight of something unspoken. “Not like this. Not when I can protect you.”

The words hit her like a wave, and for a heartbeat, her body betrayed her—leaning into him, the pull of his presence too much to resist. But as his lips brushed against her ear, his words soft but fervent, something inside her rebelled. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to pull back slightly, though her hands still rested on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath his shirt.

“I don’t need you to protect me,” she said, her voice trembling with both frustration and longing. The contradiction twisted in her chest, but she couldn’t back down now. Not when she was so close to the truth. “I can’t be your burden, Vander. This is bigger than both of us.”

The frustration in his eyes deepened, but so did the pain. He reached for her again, his hands sliding gently, but with an urgency that made her heart race. “You’re not a burden, Y/N,” he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet intensity that she hadn’t expected. “You never were. But I can’t let you walk into danger alone. I won’t. I can’t.”

The closeness between them was suffocating, and for a moment, Y/N felt the world outside them slip away entirely. His touch, his presence, was more than she could ignore, and the distance between her resolve and his overwhelming protectiveness was growing smaller with every passing second.

The silent battle between them—the tug of war between her independence and his devotion—played out in the quiet of the room. She wanted to push him away, to tell him that she could handle it, but the truth was, she didn’t know if she could. His words, his unwavering belief that he could shield her from it all, felt so real, so right—but it also terrified her.

“I’m not asking for permission, Y/N,” Vander said, his voice softer now, more vulnerable than before. He lowered his head, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’m asking you to trust me.”

Her breath caught in her throat, the vulnerability in his voice almost enough to break her resolve. She swallowed, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. The room was thick with unspoken understanding, the weight of their bond heavier than any danger they faced.

She finally nodded, barely perceptible, the movement a mixture of surrender and acceptance. She wasn’t sure what they would do next, or if her decisions would place them both in even more danger. But one thing was clear—they were in this together, whether she liked it or not.

And just as she closed her eyes, letting herself lean into him, Vander’s grip tightened on her, drawing her even closer, sealing their shared promise with a kiss that burned with everything neither of them had been able to say.

“Vander...” she whispered, her voice trembling, unsure if she was warning him or pleading for more.

His lips met hers softly at first, a delicate brush that left her breathless. It was tentative, like both of them were testing the waters, unsure of how far they could go or what the consequences would be. But as the seconds stretched on, that hesitation melted away, replaced by something far more urgent. The heat between them, once a flicker, was now an all-consuming fire.

When Y/N didn’t pull away—when she leaned in, just slightly—Vander deepened the kiss. His hands slid around her waist, pulling her closer, the magnetic pull between them igniting as if a dam had broken. The kiss wasn’t slow anymore; it was desperate, hungry, a feverish need that neither of them could deny.

The sound of their breaths filled the room, harsh and uneven, and the dangers of the world outside, the threats that loomed over them both, seemed to fade into nothing. There was only the feel of each other, the softness of her lips against his, the taste of desire overwhelming their senses. Vander’s hands roamed, his fingertips tracing the sides of her neck, moving lower to explore the curve of her back, every touch a promise he hadn’t intended to make but couldn’t stop himself from fulfilling.

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat, her body instinctively pressing closer to him. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him even further into the kiss. The urgency of it was raw, unfiltered. Each kiss, each touch, felt like it was the only thing that mattered. Her thoughts scattered—those endless worries, the responsibilities that constantly weighed her down, the danger she faced—they all vanished in the heat of the moment. In his arms, nothing else existed.

Vander responded in kind, his hands moving to her sides, his grip tightening just enough to pull her flush against him, their bodies pressing together, the undeniable tension between them palpable. The kiss deepened, more frantic now, the pulse of desire rushing through him, overwhelming his usual restraint. The way she kissed him—fierce, passionate, desperate—was everything he didn’t know he needed, everything he’d been missing.

His body pressed into hers, and Y/N gasped, the sensation of his strength, the heat of his chest against hers, making her knees feel weak. His touch, the weight of him, everything about this moment was too much, and yet it wasn’t enough. His mouth tasted of whiskey, of something forbidden, and she couldn’t get enough. The last thing she expected was to feel this out of control, but there she was—pulled into him, into this moment, and she didn’t want to let go.

Vander’s hands slid lower, his fingers tracing the curve of her spine before resting at the small of her back, urging her closer. His other hand tangled in her hair, pulling her deeper into the kiss, if that was even possible. His lips never left hers, not even when his heart raced faster, when the weight of what they were doing began to settle heavily between them.

But even as their bodies pressed together, as the heat between them threatened to overtake them both, Y/N’s mind couldn’t completely quiet. She pulled back just enough to catch her breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her skin flushed with heat, her eyes meeting his, filled with a mixture of desire and something else—a silent acknowledgment of the danger, the commitment that came with this path they were on.

“Vander,” she breathed, her voice low, her words laced with the same raw need he felt. She wasn’t sure if it was a plea or a challenge, but the words fell from her lips anyway. Her body, betraying her mind, pressed even closer to him, urging him to continue, to push the boundaries that were beginning to blur.

“I won’t let you go, Y/N,” Vander murmured again, his voice thick with emotion, no longer holding back. There was no hesitation this time—no question, no retreat. His lips found hers again, this time more insistent, deeper, urgent. His hands roamed with purpose, urgent yet tender, as if trying to memorize every inch of her, the feel of her skin, the softness of her body against his.

Y/N’s hands slid under his shirt, her fingers grazing over the solid muscle beneath his skin. She felt the heat that radiated from him, the tension of his muscles, and it was like an anchor in the chaos of everything they were both feeling. She couldn’t pull away, not now, not when the desire between them was so palpable, so real. It was all-consuming.

His hands slipped under her clothing as well, his fingers brushing the skin of her back, the small of her waist, his touch igniting a wave of heat that coursed through her veins. He pulled her even closer, as close as he could, until there was no space between them, until every inch of them was pressed together, feeling the rise and fall of each other’s chests.

Y/N’s breath hitched as his lips moved down to her neck, his kisses searing against her skin. She felt the rawness of it, the intensity of everything—how badly they both needed this, how much they both longed for something to anchor them in the middle of the storm that was their lives. Every kiss, every touch was a promise, a surrender. It was no longer about control or restraint; it was about feeling everything, giving in to it, trusting each other with their most vulnerable selves.

“Vander...” she whispered again, her voice thick with desire, but it was a word lost in the heat of the moment. There was nothing but the feeling of his touch, the sound of their breaths, the rush of passion that overtook them both.

His lips found hers again, and there was no going back. The kiss was deep, frantic, desperate—like two people who couldn’t hold back any longer, who had pushed their limits until they had no choice but to cross the line. And they did. Together.

When they finally broke apart, both of them breathless and flushed, the room was thick with the remnants of everything they had just shared. Y/N’s eyes searched his, dark with desire, but also something deeper—something more than they had ever dared to acknowledge. The silence between them felt heavy, saturated with the weight of the passion and connection they had just forged.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. The air between them hummed with everything they had just experienced—the desperate urgency, the growing intensity, the deep connection. It was a bond neither of them had planned for, but one neither of them could deny, no matter how hard they tried.

Y/N swallowed, her voice barely a whisper as she found herself struggling to regain control of the pounding in her chest. “What now?”

Vander’s hand brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her skin as if reluctant to break the contact. His voice was thick with emotion, a mix of tenderness and a raw hunger that hadn’t yet been satisfied. “Now... we face everything together. No matter what.”

He pulled her back into his embrace, this time with more urgency, his lips brushing over her temple in a soft, lingering kiss that quickly deepened. Their bodies were still pressed so closely, the heat between them becoming a constant, searing hum that neither of them was ready to release. The world outside was now forgotten; there was nothing but the shared rhythm of their bodies, the mutual need growing as the night wore on.

They didn’t speak for a long time. The silence between them was charged with something primal, and in it, their connection only deepened. Every kiss was now a promise, every touch an exploration of desires neither of them had fully understood until this very moment. Y/N’s hands slid up the firm muscles of his back, pulling him even closer, if that was even possible. His hands moved over her body with a growing urgency, as if he was memorizing every inch of her, marking her as his.

=

As the hours stretched on, their movements became a dance, fluid and urgent, each kiss, each caress, pushing them toward a place where nothing else mattered. The danger that had once seemed like an insurmountable barrier now felt so far away, drowned out by the overwhelming desire flooding them both. They were no longer two people on separate paths, trying to keep their worlds together—they were one, caught in the fire of something that burned brighter than anything they’d felt before.

With every kiss, every heated touch, they shed their inhibitions, the world outside fading entirely from their minds. Vander’s hands slid under her clothes, his touch scorching her skin, tracing the contours of her body with careful intent before pulling her closer, deeper, making her gasp against his mouth. Y/N responded in kind, her body pressed against his as if she couldn’t get enough of him. The heat between them intensified, their breaths more frantic, their hands roaming without hesitation.

When their lips finally parted for a brief moment, Y/N’s voice was low, shaky with desire. “Vander... I...”

“Shhh,” he whispered, his lips returning to her neck, his kisses hot and demanding, as if trying to claim every inch of her. He cupped her face gently in his hands, kissing her with such fervour that it felt like they were consuming each other.

Y/N’s hands moved to the waistband of his pants, pulling at the fabric, the urgency in her movements matching his own. There was no need for words anymore, no need to hold back. Their bodies moved together, pushing and pulling, as if they had been waiting for this moment for far too long.

The air in the room grew thick, heavy with their shared need, their bodies entwined in a rhythm that matched the racing of their hearts. They were lost in each other now—completely—and neither of them wanted to stop, not when it felt this good, not when the world outside no longer mattered.

When the first light of dawn filtered through the window, casting soft golden hues across the room, they lay tangled together, their bodies still pressed close, skin slick with the remnants of their passion. Y/N’s head rested against his chest, her breath steadying, though her heart still raced in the aftermath of everything they had shared.

The chaos of the world outside, the dangers that still loomed over them—it was all still there, waiting. But in this moment, none of it mattered. They were united in a way neither of them had ever expected, and for the first time, they didn’t need to worry about what would come next.

Their fingers intertwined lazily, the warmth of their bodies still radiating between them as the minutes stretched on. Neither of them spoke, but the weight of the night hung between them, the shared knowledge that they were now connected—body and soul. And as they held each other, neither of them wanted to pull away, not just yet.

They didn’t need to say it. The weight of the night, the intensity of what they had just shared, was enough. It was a beginning, a turning point in their story. And neither of them was ready to walk away from it.

They drifted back into the silence of the room, their bodies tangled together, with the certainty that, whatever came next, they would face it together. And nothing, no danger, no threat, could tear them apart—not after everything they had just experienced.

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. The quiet of the early hour was peaceful, and the rhythmic rise and fall of Y/N's chest as she breathed in the steady warmth of Vander’s body beside her was the only sound in the space. They were tangled together, their bodies still pressed closely, the aftermath of the previous night hanging in the air like an unspoken secret.

Y/N stirred slowly, her eyelids fluttering open to the familiar warmth of his embrace. Her head rested against his chest, and she could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. She smiled faintly, a soft, contented expression on her face. The night had changed everything between them, and though there was still so much uncertainty in their world, in this moment, it didn’t matter.

Vander, still half-asleep, shifted slightly, his arm tightening around her, as if pulling her even closer. She could feel the heat radiating from him, his body strong and solid, and she buried her face deeper into his chest, not quite ready to face the realities of the day.

But the moment of peace didn’t last long.

A sound from outside the room pierced the quiet—footsteps, quick and determined, echoing in the hallway. Y/N’s eyes widened in sudden realization, her body tensing instinctively.

"Cassandra," she whispered under her breath, a soft curse escaping her lips. Her sister was approaching.

Even with the door closed, her footsteps were loud as they grew closer, sharper. Y/N’s heart began to race, and her mind spun frantically. She could already feel the weight of the secret she was keeping—an entire world that Vander and she had created in those hours, one that couldn’t survive in the daylight, not yet.

She glanced over at Vander, who was still asleep, blissfully unaware of the impending danger. She bit her lip, trying to suppress a rising panic. What now?

There was no time. She needed to act fast.

Without thinking, her eyes darted around the room, landing on the wardrobe in the corner—a large, wooden piece that she knew would easily conceal his towering frame. She wasn’t about to let her sister walk in and find Vander lying beside her, especially not after what had just happened.

With as much urgency as she could muster without making too much noise, Y/N carefully slid out of bed and gently shook Vander awake. His eyes fluttered open, a confused, groggy expression on his face.

“Vander,” she whispered urgently, her voice strained with the tension in the air. “You have to hide. Now.”

He blinked, disoriented for a moment, before his gaze sharpened as he understood. Without a word, he quickly scrambled out of the bed, moving with surprising grace for his size. Y/N gestured to the wardrobe, and he nodded once, a silent understanding passing between them.

He moved quickly, ducking behind the wardrobe door, his broad frame barely fitting inside as he crouched down. Y/N closed the door with a soft, deliberate motion, doing her best to make it look natural. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a reminder of how dangerous this moment could be if her sister found out.

Before she could calm her nerves, she heard the unmistakable sound of Cassandra’s knock on the door.

“Y/N?” Cassandra’s voice rang out, cool and sharp. “Are you up?”

Y/N took a breath, steadying herself. She had to be calm, convincing. “Just a moment,” she called out, her voice betraying none of the panic she was feeling.

She quickly straightened the bed and ran a hand through her hair, trying to look as natural as possible, though she could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins. The knock came again, louder this time, and Y/N’s stomach tightened.

With a deep breath, Y/N made her way to the door and opened it slowly, her best mask of casual indifference firmly in place.

Cassandra stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her sharp eyes scanning Y/N with a mix of concern and skepticism. “I thought I heard voices in here this morning. You didn’t oversleep, did you?”

Y/N forced a smile, trying to keep her voice light. “No, just... woke up a bit late, I guess. Didn’t hear you coming.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed slightly, her gaze flicking past Y/N into the room. There was something unreadable in her expression, and for a moment, Y/N felt like her sister could see straight through her.

“Hmm.” Cassandra’s voice was low, her tone skeptical. She glanced at the rumpled bed before her eyes flickered to the wardrobe, lingering for a moment. Y/N felt her breath hitch, every muscle in her body tense as she silently willed her sister not to look too closely.

“You’ve been acting strange lately,” Cassandra remarked, her voice sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. She took a small step forward, just enough to make Y/N shift her weight uncomfortably. “I’m not blind, you know. I can sense something’s off.”

Y/N froze, her mind scrambling to mask her growing nervousness. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play coy with me,” Cassandra snapped, her gaze never leaving Y/N’s face as she stepped into the room, her presence commanding. “We’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we? The rumors, the whispers. And I’m not blind to what’s going on behind closed doors. I know you’re still working with him.” Her eyes flickered briefly toward the wardrobe, but she quickly returned her sharp gaze to Y/N, as though testing her.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. Sweat began to bead on her palms, the room suddenly feeling too hot. She’s onto me. Her mind raced as she fought to keep her composure. “What are you talking about, Cassandra?”

Cassandra studied her for a long moment, as though she could see straight through the lies Y/N was trying to stitch together. “Vander,” she said, the name weighted with quiet suspicion. “I know you are still seeing him. Don’t try to deny it, Y/N.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected Cassandra to be this perceptive, but then again, her sister was always a step ahead. How much does she know? The thought sent a chill through her.

“We’ve talked about this already,” Y/N said quickly, her voice steady but with a slight edge. “I’m just talking to him for information. Nothing more. We’re not... involved.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Information, huh? You’ve been saying that for months but something’s different. You’re getting too close to him, Y/N. And I’m telling you, it’s not going to end well. You think you’ve got everything under control, but you’re playing with fire.”

Y/N’s pulse quickened, but she forced a calm smile. “I’m fine. I can handle myself. I’m doing what I need to.”

Cassandra didn’t back down, her gaze flicking to the wardrobe again before returning to Y/N. The look on her face was calculating, measuring. “If you say so,” she replied coolly, her voice not softening in the slightest. “But just be careful, Y/N. I know you think you’re in control, but things like this always come back to bite you. And when they do, you’ll wish you’d listened to me.”

The tension in the room was palpable, the weight of Cassandra’s words pressing down on Y/N’s chest. She could feel the walls closing in, the unspoken threat hanging between them. How much did her sister suspect? How much did she know?

With one last lingering glance at the wardrobe, where Vander was hidden, Cassandra stepped back, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized Y/N once more. “I don’t want to see you hurt,” she added quietly, the concern underlying her words evident, even if it was wrapped in a shell of suspicion. “Just don’t get too wrapped up in this.”

The door clicked softly behind Cassandra as she left, and Y/N stood there, frozen for a moment, her body tense and her heart pounding in her chest. The weight of what had just passed settled over her like a heavy fog, her mind spinning with the questions that had no answers. How much longer can I keep this up?

She didn’t move for several long moments, staring at the door as if willing it to open again, to reveal more. But when it didn’t, she finally let out a long breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Her gaze moved to the wardrobe, where Vander was still hidden, silent and still. The thought of how close they had come to being discovered sent a chill through her. She’s starting to put the pieces together.

Y/N’s hand trembled as she reached for the wardrobe door, her pulse still racing from the tension of the last few minutes. She carefully opened it, peeking inside at Vander, who was crouched in the cramped space, his broad shoulders barely fitting inside. His eyes met hers, dark and filled with quiet understanding. There was no need for words between them. They both knew how dangerous things had become.

The space felt smaller now, the air thick with the realization of how much they were both risking. Y/N took a deep breath, steadying herself. I bought us some time, but for how long?

Vander didn’t move immediately, taking a moment to collect himself. But as Y/N closed the door behind her, the silence between them deepened. She sat down on the edge of the bed, her legs feeling like they might give out. Her heart was still racing, her thoughts scattered. Cassandra was suspicious. And as much as Y/N had hoped to hide the truth, there was no denying that her sister was starting to catch on.

Y/N glanced toward the wardrobe again, her eyes lingering on the door, wondering what would happen if she couldn’t keep up the façade much longer. She wasn’t sure how long they could keep this secret from everyone around them, but for now, there was nothing else she could do but hold on.

=

Suddenly, she heard the soft creak of the wardrobe door. Vander stepped out, moving with a quiet grace despite his broad frame. He was still partially dressed—his shirt askew, the buttons not fully fastened, the muscles of his torso visible under the fabric. His eyes met hers, and for a brief moment, neither of them spoke.

Y/N’s gaze moved over him, her heart still beating wildly in her chest. There was something both calming and dangerous about his presence, something that made her feel like nothing else mattered as long as they were together.

He took a few careful steps toward her, his face softened by the same concern that had been present in his eyes since the moment they’d crossed paths. The tension was still heavy, thick with the realization of just how much was at stake.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, his voice low and smooth, but laced with that same protective edge she had come to recognize.

Y/N nodded slowly, though it was clear that she wasn’t entirely fine. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep this from her... from everyone.”

Vander moved closer, kneeling in front of her, his gaze never leaving hers. He reached out, his hand brushing over hers in a slow, comforting gesture. The touch was gentle but carried an unspoken promise—he wasn’t going anywhere.

“You don’t have to,” he said softly. “But for now, we have to keep going. We face this together.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered at the sincerity in his words, at the raw emotion that flickered in his eyes. She knew he meant it, and she felt that weight settle into her bones. Together. That was the one thing that kept her grounded, the one thing that made her believe they could survive whatever came next.

She didn’t know what the future held, but in that moment, she realized that with Vander by her side, she was no longer fighting alone. They had each other. And that would have to be enough—for now.

Y/N felt a strange calm wash over her. She didn’t have all the answers, and she wasn’t sure how much longer they could hide the truth, but at least they were in this together. That thought was the only thing that kept her steady as the world outside continued to close in on them.

Vander paused for a moment, his eyes meeting hers, as if reassuring her without saying a word. He then turned toward the wardrobe, pulling on his shirt and buttoning it with practiced ease. As he dressed, Y/N watched him silently, her heart still racing from the earlier tension. His presence was a steady anchor in the storm of uncertainty, and for that, she was grateful.

He finished quickly, his usual commanding composure returning as he adjusted the cuffs of his shirt and checked his appearance in the small mirror. He caught her eye, giving her a nod that was both reassuring and final.

Without a word, Vander moved toward the window. Y/N’s stomach fluttered slightly at the thought of him leaving, even if it was necessary. He always did things his own way, and this—leaving by the window, the same way he’d come in—felt right in some strange, unspoken way.

With a practiced grace, Vander opened the window and glanced back at her, his eyes briefly meeting hers before he stepped through the frame. The cool air from outside swept into the room, but it didn’t feel as cold as it should. He moved fluidly, effortlessly, disappearing into the shadows of the morning.

Y/N stood there, watching the empty space where he had been just moments ago. The sound of his footsteps faded, leaving behind a silence that was both comforting and heavy. She knew he would return when the time came, but for now, she was left to face the world alone once more.

She glanced toward the window, her mind whirling with questions. How much longer could they keep pretending?

The peace they had shared in the quiet of the night now seemed fragile, like something easily shattered. The weight of Cassandra’s suspicions still hung in the air, a constant reminder of how little time they had before the truth could no longer be avoided.

But for now, Y/N held onto the calm that Vander had brought into her life. As much as things were changing, as much as the walls were closing in, they were in this together. That thought, that knowledge, was what kept her steady as the day ahead loomed uncertain and dangerous.

With one last look at the empty space where Vander had been, Y/N exhaled deeply. For now, we have time. But how much longer?

[aspenmissing]

ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ 2

☆ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ | ❋ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ | ✧ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ | ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ

ᴍᴏꜱᴛʟʏ ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx - ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ꜱᴀɪᴅ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ <3

ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ || ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ 1

ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ'ꜱ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ᴍᴇʟ/ᴇᴋᴋᴏ) ❋☆

ᴛᴀɴɢʟᴇᴅ ᴡᴇʙꜱ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ᴍᴇʟ) ❋☆

ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ʜᴀɴᴅꜱ, ᴅᴇᴀᴅʟʏ ɢʀɪᴘ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ᴠɪ) ☆

ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇʟɪᴛᴇ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ᴍᴇʟ) ☆

ᴘʀɪᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇᴀꜱɪɴɢ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ) ✧☆

ꜱɴɪᴘ, ꜱɴɪᴘ ☆

ꜱᴛᴇᴇʟ & ᴍᴜꜱᴄʟᴇ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ) ✧(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)☆

ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴜꜱ (ᴡɪᴘ) ❋☆

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ☆

ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ᴋɪᴛᴛʏ, ᴡᴀʀᴍ ᴋɪᴛᴛʏ ☆

ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ) ☆

ᴘʜᴀɴᴛᴏᴍ ᴘᴀɪɴ ❋☆

ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴꜱ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ᴍᴇʟ) ☆

ʙᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ ꜱᴄᴀʀꜱ ☆

ꜱᴀꜰᴇ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ᴍᴇʟ) ☆

ꜱᴇᴀ ᴡʜɪꜱᴘᴇʀᴇʀ ☆

ᴍᴀʀᴋᴇᴅ ʙʏ ʏᴏᴜ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ) ✧☆

ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ʜɪꜱ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ) ✧

ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ʙʟᴏᴏᴍ (ᴊᴀʏ|ᴠɪᴋ|ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ) ❋? ☆

[aspenmissing]

Hiii, are you comfortable with writing something about Reader x Arcane character getting caught while making out? Maybe both of them are really stressed and needed a little distraction at work or in a hidden corner somewhere in the city.

ɪɴᴛᴇʀʀᴜᴘᴛɪᴏɴꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ || ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ || 4493 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ, ꜱᴜɢɢᴇꜱᴛɪᴠᴇ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀꜱ: ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴇᴇᴅ ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ɪ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴʟʏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ (ᴍᴏꜱᴛʟʏ ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ʜᴇʜᴇ)

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ

JAYCE

The weight of the council meeting still lingered in the air, thick and suffocating. Jayce slumped into his chair, one hand dragging through his already-mussed hair, the other tapping mindlessly on the table. Across from him, you mirrored his exhaustion, arms folded as you stared at the mess of blueprints and reports scattered before you.

"This is impossible," Jayce groaned, tilting his head back against the chair. "How do they expect us to solve everything at once?"

You sighed, shaking your head. "They don’t. They just want to watch us try until we collapse."

A humourless chuckle left him as he rolled his shoulders, rubbing at the tension there. His usually confident posture was weighed down with exhaustion, frustration evident in every movement.

The stress had been building for weeks—long meetings, sleepless nights, the pressure of expectation closing in on both of you like a vise. The worst part? You barely had time for each other. Stolen glances, brief touches in passing, but never enough to ease the ache of missing him.

Jayce exhaled sharply, rubbing his face. "Maybe we just need a break. Five minutes. Just… something to clear my head."

Your gaze flickered to him, taking in the way his fingers twitched restlessly on the table, how his broad shoulders seemed so tense, like he was carrying the weight of the world.

"I have an idea," you murmured, standing and rounding the desk.

Jayce barely had time to react before you slid onto his lap, straddling him with ease. His eyes widened slightly, but the second your hands cupped his face, his tension melted like snow in the sun.

"What are you—?" His words were cut off as your lips brushed against his.

A slow, lingering kiss. Not rushed, not desperate—just enough to make him forget, to remind him that he wasn’t alone in this.

A deep hum rumbled in his chest as he kissed you back, slow at first, like he was savouring the taste of you. His fingers skimmed your sides before gripping your waist, pulling you just that much closer. The heat of his touch sent a thrill up your spine.

But when you tangled your hands in his hair, tugging lightly, everything shifted.

Jayce exhaled sharply against your lips, the frustration of the day bleeding into something else entirely. His grip on you tightened as he moved suddenly, one strong arm wrapping around your waist while the other gripped the desk.

The next thing you knew, you were on the table.

Papers and blueprints scattered to the floor as Jayce pushed them aside without a second thought. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them just enough for him to step between them, his body pressing into yours.

"Jayce—" you half-gasped, half-laughed, but he swallowed whatever protest you had with another kiss.

This one was different. Deeper. Desperate.

His lips crashed against yours, stealing the breath from your lungs, his hands pressing into the curve of your back, pulling you against him like he needed this—needed you—more than anything else.

"You're too damn distracting," he murmured against your lips, breathless, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt, skimming the bare skin at your waist.

You smirked, letting your nails drag lightly along the back of his neck. "Funny. I was just about to say the same about you."

His answering chuckle vibrated against your skin before he dipped his head, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw. You shivered as his lips found the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

"Jayce—" you whispered, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat as his hands wandered, heat pooling in your stomach.

And then—

"Ahem."

You froze.

Jayce’s lips lingered against your skin for a second longer before he stilled, his body going rigid.

Slowly, reluctantly, he turned his head.

Standing in the doorway, arms crossed, was none other than Viktor. His expression was somewhere between exasperated and amused, his golden eyes flicking from you to Jayce and then to the mess of scattered papers on the floor.

"I take it this is your solution to stress management?"

Heat flooded your face as you scrambled to push yourself upright. Jayce stepped back immediately, coughing into his fist while straightening his shirt, trying—failing—to look composed.

Viktor sighed, shaking his head. "By all means, don't let me interrupt your… problem-solving session."

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. Jayce groaned too, dragging a hand down his face, looking anywhere but at Viktor.

Viktor turned to leave but paused just before the door. "I’ll let the council know you’re… preoccupied."

The door shut behind him. Silence stretched between you and Jayce.

Then—

"Of all people, why did it have to be Viktor?" Jayce groaned, dropping his face into his hands.

You bit your lip, barely holding back a laugh as you nudged him. "So… continue?"

Jayce groaned again, but the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him. Maybe stress relief wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

VIKTOR

The apartment was filled with the soft glow of the city beyond its grand windows. Piltover's skyline stretched high in the distance, golden lamplight flickering against the polished glass, illuminating the intricate brass fixtures that adorned the walls. The faint hum of the Hextech trams outside blended with the quiet ticking of the many clocks and machines scattered around the room. The air smelled of ink, metal, and the faint remnants of Viktor’s tea—long forgotten and cold in its cup.

You sat on the couch, head resting against the cushions, eyes trailing Viktor as he paced. His cane tapped against the floor in a slow, rhythmic beat, his free hand raking through his messy curls as he mumbled under his breath.

“This is not working,” he muttered, exhaling sharply. “If I adjust the schematics for the stabilizer, it offsets the energy balance entirely—”

“Viktor.”

He didn’t seem to hear you.

“Viktor.”

Finally, he stopped pacing, turning towards you with tired, golden-brown eyes. The soft candlelight caught the sharp angles of his face, the deep crease between his brows evidence of long nights spent battling his own mind.

“You need to take a break,” you said, patting the space beside you.

“I cannot afford a break,” he countered, though his voice lacked conviction.

You tilted your head, a smirk playing on your lips. “And what if I make it worth your while?”

His lips twitched, curiosity flickering in his gaze. But before he could overanalyze it, you reached for him, fingers curling around the collar of his shirt as you pulled him down. His breath hitched, but he didn’t resist—if anything, he melted into you, his hands bracing on either side of you as your lips met in a slow, desperate kiss.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t frantic. It was the kind of kiss that unraveled knots in the soul, the kind that softened the weight of sleepless nights and overworked minds. His hand cupped your jaw, fingers tracing along your skin as if memorizing the feel of you.

Viktor sighed into the kiss, his body finally relaxing as he deepened it, stealing another taste of you like a man starved. His fingers tangled in your hair, and you found yourself tugging him closer, lips parting to let him in—

Without breaking the kiss, you shifted, moving to straddle his lap, careful not to put too much weight on him. His breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands found your waist, hesitating only for a second before gripping you as if anchoring himself.

“You’re being reckless,” he murmured against your lips, though the amusement in his voice betrayed him.

“I’m being helpful,” you corrected, brushing your nose against his.

He huffed a quiet laugh, his hands sliding up your sides, fingertips teasing along the curve of your back. You could feel the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric of his shirt, the way his pulse quickened beneath your touch.

His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, leaving slow, lazy kisses against your throat. You tilted your head to give him more access, fingers threading into his hair, tugging gently. The way he sighed, almost blissfully, sent a shiver down your spine.

“Much better than schematics,” he murmured against your skin.

“Mhm,” you hummed, tracing slow circles into his shoulders. “And much better than pacing yourself into exhaustion.”

He chuckled, low and warm, before reclaiming your lips in another kiss, his fingers pressing into your waist. You could feel the tension melting from his body, the weight of his thoughts momentarily forgotten—

"Oh—oh my GOD!"

You both jolted apart, breathless and wide-eyed as the unmistakable voice of Jayce Talis rang through the apartment.

Viktor turned his head just in time to see his best friend standing in the doorway, hand over his eyes like he’d walked in on something far more scandalous.

“Jayce—!” Viktor’s voice cracked slightly, his cheeks burning as he scrambled to straighten his shirt.

“I— I was coming to check on you because you haven’t answered in hours and I was worried but clearly I was wrong to do so—” Jayce rambled, still shielding his vision.

You covered your face with both hands, mortified. Viktor, on the other hand, exhaled slowly, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he muttered, “For the love of— Jayce, knock next time.”

Jayce made a sound somewhere between an embarrassed chuckle and a strangled cough. “You never close your door! I figured you were just working!”

“Well, clearly, I was busy.”

Jayce groaned. “I hate this. I’m leaving. I’m pretending I never saw this. Have fun— or don’t, actually. Just— I’m leaving!”

With that, he fled, the door slamming behind him.

Silence stretched between you and Viktor. Then, despite everything, a small laugh bubbled from your lips. Viktor shook his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him as well.

“Well,” he murmured, leaning in just enough that his nose brushed against yours, “that was unfortunate.”

You smiled, brushing a stray curl from his face. “Maybe next time we should lock the door.”

He hummed in agreement before pressing another quick kiss to your lips.

“Next time,” he whispered, fingers ghosting along your spine, “I will not be so easily interrupted.”

JAYVIK

The apartment was supposed to be a place of solace, a refuge from the chaos of Piltover’s ever-demanding scientific advancements. Instead, it had become an extension of the lab—blueprints scattered over the coffee table, half-finished devices blinking with dim light, and a lingering scent of metal and ozone in the air.

Viktor sat hunched over a set of schematics, fingers curled into his hair, while Jayce paced in front of the window, arms crossed, jaw tight. Y/N, squeezed between them on their small shared couch, rubbed her temples, feeling the weight of their collective stress.

“This is getting us nowhere,” Jayce finally muttered, throwing himself onto the couch beside her with a heavy sigh. “We need a break.”

Viktor snorted but didn’t argue. He just leaned back, rolling his stiff shoulders. Y/N looked between them, their exhaustion clear in the droop of their eyes and the tension in their muscles.

“A break,” she echoed, thoughtful. A smirk tugged at her lips before she turned to Viktor first, placing a hand against his cheek to guide him to her. He inhaled sharply, but when she kissed him, his breath softened against her lips.

Jayce chuckled beside them. “Oh, I see what kind of break you mean.”

Y/N barely had time to grin before Jayce tilted her head toward him, catching her lips in a deeper kiss. His hands were warm against her waist, his touch grounding, and when he pulled away, Viktor leaned in, catching Jayce’s mouth in his own.

The stress that had suffocated them melted away between kisses, fingers threading through hair, soft sighs filling the space. Viktor’s hands found Y/N’s hips as she curled into him, and Jayce’s fingers brushed against Viktor’s wrist before cupping the back of his neck, pulling him in again. It was the kind of comfort they all needed, a reminder that despite the frustrations, they had each other. The warmth between them built steadily, deepening with each brush of lips, each squeeze of hands against familiar bodies.

And then the door opened.

“What the—”

All three of them froze.

Caitlyn stood in the doorway, eyes wide, a folder of papers tucked under her arm. Her mouth opened, then shut, then opened again as she took in the sight of all three of them tangled together on the couch, breathless and undeniably caught.

“Uh,” Jayce started, clearing his throat and trying to shift subtly, but Viktor was still half in his lap, Y/N’s fingers still curled in Viktor’s shirt. “We were, um, taking a break?”

Caitlyn blinked. Then smirked. “I can see that.”

Y/N groaned and buried her face in Viktor’s shoulder. Viktor sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead. Jayce just let out a nervous laugh. “You’re, uh… you’re early.”

Caitlyn lifted the folder. “Heimerdinger wanted me to drop these off. But, uh, I’ll just… leave them here.” She set the papers on the counter, giving them all one last amused glance before backing toward the door. “Carry on.”

The door clicked shut, leaving silence in her wake.

Y/N exhaled, pulling away from Viktor’s shoulder to glance between her lovers. “Well. That happened.”

Jayce ran a hand down his face, groaning. “We’re never living this down, are we?”

Viktor, ever the unbothered one, simply chuckled. “I highly doubt this is the most scandalous thing Caitlyn has ever walked in on.”

Y/N smirked, brushing a thumb over Viktor’s cheek. “Guess we’ll just have to get used to locking the door.”

Jayce huffed a laugh and leaned back. “Yeah. Next time, we plan our distractions better.”

“Next time?” Viktor mused, arching a brow.

Y/N grinned. “Oh, definitely.”

Jayce grinned too, leaning his head back against the couch. “You know,” he mused, eyes flicking between the two of them, “I don’t regret it.”

Viktor sighed, shaking his head with an amused smile. “Of course you don’t.”

Y/N nudged him. “Neither do you.”

Viktor huffed a small laugh before conceding. “No. I do not.”

Jayce let out a satisfied hum, looping an arm around both of them. “Then I say we finish our break properly… after we actually lock the door.”

Y/N and Viktor exchanged looks before laughing softly, leaning into his embrace as the tension from the day fully melted away. Even with the inevitable teasing from Caitlyn and whoever she told, they had each other—and that was enough.

VANDER

The Last Drop was busier than usual, filled with the usual rowdy crowd, the smell of stale ale, and the low hum of conversation. Vander rubbed his temple, exhaustion settling deep in his bones. It had been a long day—dealing with drunken fools who thought they were tougher than they were, extra mouths to feed, and the constant chaos of running the bar.

Y/N was just as exhausted, having spent the day tending to the younger kids and ensuring no one got into trouble. Stress hung between them like a thick cloud, and one knowing glance was all it took before Vander took her by the wrist and led her into the small backroom of The Last Drop.

The moment the door shut behind them, she barely had time to breathe before he was on her, pressing her up against the wooden wall. His large hands gripped her thighs, lifting her with ease as her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. His lips were firm and demanding, the taste of whiskey still lingering on his tongue as he kissed her deeply. She sighed into him, letting the tension of the day melt away, fingers threading through the silver streaks of his beard as he growled low in his throat.

He pressed himself closer, his body flush against hers, trapping her against the wall. The heat between them was undeniable, the way his hands kneaded at her thighs making her breath hitch. His kisses grew more intense, hungry, as his mouth trailed along her jaw, down the column of her throat, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. She gasped softly as his teeth grazed her pulse, a smirk tugging at his lips at the sound.

“Vander,” she breathed, gripping his shoulders tighter. He chuckled against her skin, his hands shifting under her thighs, pressing her higher, closer.

“You always sound so sweet when you say my name like that,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over hers before diving back in, this time deeper, more desperate. His fingers dug into her hips, grounding himself in the moment as she tugged at the strands of his hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

“You know how to drive me crazy, woman,” he murmured against her lips, his breath warm as he trailed kisses down her neck.

She grinned, tilting her head back to give him better access. “Then maybe I should do it more often.”

She could feel the rumble of his chest as he let out a pleased sigh, savouring her, indulging in her. The tension of the day faded, replaced by something heady, something undeniable—

“Vander?”

The sound sent a jolt through him, and before he could react, his grip on Y/N loosened. With a surprised yelp, she slipped from his hold and landed on the floor with a graceless thud.

Vander winced. “Shit—Y/N, love, you alright?” He knelt quickly, reaching out to help her up, but the glare she shot him had him pausing.

“Do I look alright?” she hissed, rubbing her sore backside. “You dropped me!”

The voice outside knocked again. “Vander?”

He groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. “One second, kid!” He turned back to Y/N, his expression sheepish. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Oh, I know,” she muttered, swatting his hand away and getting up on her own. “You owe me for that.”

Vander sighed, but a small smirk played at his lips. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll make it up to ya later.”

“You better.”

Straightening his clothes, he took one last look at her—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and narrowed eyes—and sighed before heading to the door. As soon as he cracked it open, he was met with Vi’s unimpressed face.

“Really?” she deadpanned, arms crossed.

Vander sighed again. “Not a word, Vi.”

She grinned. “Oh, I was gonna say I needed your help with something, but after seeing that? I think I’ll just go tell Enzo instead.”

Vander groaned as she walked off, chuckling to herself, while Y/N simply shook her head behind him.

“We need a better backroom.”

SILCO

The dim glow of Zaun’s skyline filtered through the blinds of Silco’s office, casting jagged shadows across the room. The scent of smoke and whiskey lingered, mixing with the faint metallic tang of ink and gunpowder.

You sat on the edge of his desk, arms crossed, watching him. He was tense—his fingers pressed against his temples as he reviewed documents, his ever-present cigar smoldering in the ashtray beside him. The weight of the undercity rested heavy on his shoulders, and tonight, it seemed heavier than usual.

“You need a break,” you murmured.

Silco exhaled sharply, a humourless chuckle leaving his lips. “Zaun doesn’t rest, my dear. And neither do I.”

You pushed off the desk and moved toward him, letting your hands rest on his shoulders. He was stiff beneath your touch, his body coiled like a spring, but he didn’t push you away. Instead, he let out a slow exhale as your fingers trailed along his collar, loosening the tension there.

“Then let me help,” you whispered, sliding into his lap.

His mismatched eyes flickered up to meet yours, a silent challenge in them. “Oh?”

You straddled him, resting your hands against his chest, feeling the slow, steady rise and fall of his breath. His hands found your waist, fingers pressing into your hips as if grounding himself. The shift in power between you was intoxicating, a game you both played so well.

His lips found yours, slow and deliberate at first, teasing, testing. But when you tugged at the collar of his vest, pulling him closer, the dam broke. The kiss deepened, rougher, more desperate. A growl vibrated against your lips as he shifted, his hands gripping you tighter before he stood, turning, laying you across the desk in one swift movement.

Papers fluttered to the floor, his knee nudging between your legs as he braced himself above you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, his breath warm against your skin. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his restraint slipping, his need surfacing.

Your hands roamed over his chest, tugging at the buttons of his vest, eager to feel him without the layers between you. Silco’s breath hitched slightly at your insistence, his fingers tightening on your hips in response. The fabric loosened under your touch, the top buttons slipping free as your nails scraped lightly against his exposed skin. He growled against your lips, his mouth trailing down to your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck.

“You’re playing with fire, love,” he rasped, his voice thick with want.

“Maybe I want to get burned,” you shot back, your fingers slipping lower, pushing the vest further open.

Silco let out a low chuckle, his lips brushing against your ear. “Careful,” he murmured, his hands sliding down your thighs, “I don’t do half-measures.”

“I know,” you whispered, tilting your head as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss just beneath your jaw. “That’s why I’m here.”

He pressed closer, his weight pinning you against the desk, his lips finding the hollow of your throat. “Always so eager,” he mused, his fingers tracing down your sides, slipping beneath your blouse, teasing the skin beneath. “And so damn tempting.”

Your breath hitched as his teeth scraped lightly against your pulse. “Then stop talking,” you breathed, a smirk curling at your lips. “And do something about it.”

The heat between you was electric, a slow burn that threatened to consume you both. Then, the door slammed open.

Silco didn’t stop—didn’t pull away. His weight remained pressed over you, his breath still warm against your throat. But his head snapped up, his sharp mismatched eyes locking onto the intruder with a deadly glare.

His hand slid to the side, fingers wrapping around the pistol resting beside his ashtray. Without shifting an inch from his place above you, he lifted the gun, aiming it directly at the unfortunate soul who had just interrupted.

“Get. The hell. Out.”

A strangled noise left the intruder’s throat—one of shock and perhaps a touch of fear. They stammered something unintelligible, clearly regretting whatever urgent reason had brought them here.

Silco cocked the gun, his grip steady. “I won’t ask again.”

As the intruder stood frozen in place, your hands continued their work, fingers slowly undoing the remaining buttons of his shirt. You could feel the slight tension in his muscles, the way his breath hitched as your fingers traced over the newly exposed skin.

His grip on the gun didn’t falter, but the slight twitch of his jaw revealed that he was aware—oh, so aware—of your touch. You smirked against his collarbone, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss there, reveling in the contrast between his deadly stillness and the heat rolling between you both.

With a muttered apology, the intruder scrambled backward, slamming the door shut behind them.

Silco exhaled through his nose, his gaze still fixed on the door. Only when the room was silent again did he shift his attention back to you. A slow, dark smirk curled at his lips, his voice low and dangerous.

“Now… where were we?”

MEL

The grand halls of the Piltover Council shimmered under the golden glow of the chandelier lights. Stately, regal, and intimidating as always. But in that moment, they were also completely empty—except for two figures entangled at the grand council table, right at Mel Medarda’s designated seat.

Mel’s fingers traced slow, languid circles against Y/N’s waist, the warmth of her touch seeping through layers of silk and gold-trimmed fabric. Y/N, half-seated, half-pinned against the polished surface, could feel the cool marble beneath her, a stark contrast to the heat between them. She sighed softly as Mel pressed closer, trapping her in place with the gentle yet commanding presence that made it impossible to think of anything else.

“You’re distracted,” Mel murmured against her lips, voice rich like honeyed wine. “You’re always so serious, my love.”

Y/N let out a breathless chuckle. “Says the woman who orchestrates half of Piltover’s political schemes.”

Mel tilted her head slightly, her golden eyes glinting with amusement. “Exactly. Which is why I know when it’s time to take a break.”

Before Y/N could respond, Mel leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep, lingering kiss. It was slow, unhurried—an indulgence neither of them could often afford. Y/N melted into it, her hands sliding up to cradle Mel’s face, fingers tracing along the delicate golden ornaments adorning her.

The tension that had been knotting in both their shoulders, the weight of the Council’s never-ending debates, the pressure of expectations—it all faded into the background. For a moment, there was only warmth, only the way Mel sighed into Y/N’s mouth as their kisses grew more urgent, more desperate.

The world outside their little sanctuary ceased to exist.

Until, of course, the sound of a sharply cleared throat shattered the illusion.

They jerked apart, Mel’s regal composure returning in an instant, though her lips were still slightly parted, a single golden brow arched in intrigue. Y/N, on the other hand, felt her face burn as she turned toward the source of their interruption.

Councilor Hoskel stood a few feet away, arms crossed, an expression hovering between scandalized and deeply amused.

“Well,” he said after a pause, “I suppose I should be grateful that at least some of our esteemed members know how to… ‘negotiate’ effectively.”

Mel, utterly unbothered, hummed and tilted her head toward Y/N. “Would you say we reached an agreeable consensus, darling?”

Y/N, still breathless, exhaled a laugh. “I’d say the matter was well settled.”

Hoskel huffed, shaking his head as he turned on his heel. “I saw nothing,” he muttered as he strode off. “And I’ll continue seeing nothing, provided you keep it outside the Council Hall.”

Mel watched him go, then turned back to Y/N with a satisfied smirk. “That’s one way to adjourn a meeting.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face against Mel’s shoulder. “We’re never going to live this down.”

Mel only laughed, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s temple. “Perhaps. But I promise you, my love—it was well worth it.”

[aspenmissing]

ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

☆ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ | ❋ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ | ✧ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ | ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ

ᴍᴏꜱᴛʟʏ ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx - ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ꜱᴀɪᴅ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ <3

ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ || ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ 2

ʙᴀᴛʜʀᴏᴏᴍ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ☆

ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇꜱ ☆ ❋

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ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ? ☆ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

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ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇʟɪɴᴇꜱ ᴘᴛ 1 ☆ (ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ) ❋

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ᴅʀᴜɴᴋᴇɴ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ☆

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ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ ʙᴏɴᴇꜱ ᴘᴛ 2 ☆

ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴛ ꜱᴛʀᴜɢɢʟᴇꜱ (ᴊᴀʏ|ᴠɪᴋ|ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ) ☆❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

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ɴᴏ ʜᴏʟᴅɪɴɢ ʙᴀᴄᴋ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx | + ᴍᴇʟ) ✧☆

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ᴍɪɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ ☆ ❋

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ꜱᴀꜰᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴀʀᴍꜱ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx | +ᴍᴇʟ)☆ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ʜᴇʀᴇ ꜰɪꜱʜʏ ꜰɪꜱʜʏ ☆

ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀ ᴋɪʟʟᴇʀ? ☆ ❋

ᴡʀᴏɴɢꜰᴜʟ ᴀꜱꜱᴜᴍᴘᴛɪᴏɴꜱ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx/ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ) ☆

ᴘᴇʀɪᴏᴅ ᴘᴀɪɴꜱ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx | + ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ) ☆

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ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʙꜱᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴀɪɴ ☆ ❋

ᴛʜᴇ ɢʜᴏꜱᴛꜱ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴀʀʀʏ ☆ ❋

ʟᴏɴɢ ᴅɪꜱᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ (ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ|ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ|ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ) ☆

ʀᴇᴀꜱᴏɴꜱ ᴡʜʏ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx/+ᴍᴇʟ) ☆

ɢᴇɴᴛʟᴇ ʜᴀɴᴅꜱ ☆

ʀᴇꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴇᴀʀʏ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ) ☆

ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴠᴀʟᴇɴᴛɪɴᴇꜱ ᴅᴀʏ || ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2 ☆

ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜ ☆(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ) ❋

ɢᴜᴀʀᴅ ᴅᴏɢ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ᴍᴇʟ) ☆

ꜱʜᴀʀᴇᴅ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀᴍᴀᴛʜ ☆ ❋

ꜱɪɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄɪᴛʏ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ) ☆ ❋

ʀᴏᴀᴅ ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛꜱ ☆ ❋ (ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛꜱ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx) ☆ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴛʀᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇ ʟᴇꜰᴛ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ☆

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜʀꜰᴀᴄᴇ ☆ (ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ) ❋

ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀʏ ☆ ❋

ᴀ ᴅᴏꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ☆

ɪ'ᴍ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ꜱʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄʀᴀᴢʏ ☆(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ) ❋

ʜɪꜱꜱ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴊᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ☆

ʙᴜʀɴᴏᴜᴛ (ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ|ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ|ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ) ☆ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴅᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʟᴏᴠᴇ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx) ☆

ᴋɪᴛᴛᴇɴꜱ ☆ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ꜱʜɪᴍᴍᴇʀ ᴋɪʟʟꜱ (ᴊᴀʏ|ᴠɪᴋ|ᴄᴀɪᴛ|ᴠɪ|ᴍᴇʟ) ❋

ꜱʜɪᴍᴍᴇʀ ᴋɪʟʟꜱ ᴘᴛ 2 (ᴊɪɴx|ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ|ᴇᴋᴋᴏ|ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ) ❋

ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʙꜱᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ɴᴇᴇᴅ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx) ☆

ᴜɴꜰᴏʀɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ☆ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴀ ᴍᴀɴꜱ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ☆

ᴡʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴡᴏʀꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴀᴄʜᴇꜱ? ☆

ᴜɴꜱᴇᴇɴ ꜱᴛʀᴜɢɢʟᴇꜱ (ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ|ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ|ᴊɪɴx) ☆ ❋

ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴏɴᴇ? ☆ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴀ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜ ☆ ❋

ʜᴇʟᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴀʀᴍꜱ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ᴍᴇʟ) ☆❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴘʀᴀɴᴋꜱ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ☆ ✧(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ʀᴇᴀᴄʜ ☆ ✧(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ꜱᴄᴀʀᴇᴅ ᴋɪᴛᴛʏ ☆❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ) ❋

ꜰᴏᴏʟ'ꜱ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴀᴛᴛᴇᴍᴘᴛ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ᴍᴇʟ) ☆❋

ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ☆

ʙɪᴛᴇ ᴍᴇ​ ☆

ʀᴀᴡ ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ) ☆

ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ ʙᴀʀʀɪᴇʀꜱ​ ☆

ꜱᴀꜰᴇ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ) ☆

ꜰᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛ, ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ☆❋

ᴀ ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ'ꜱ ɢᴜɪʟᴛ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ) ☆❋

ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ᴛᴇʟʟ ☆ (ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ) ❋

ʙᴀʟʟᴀᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴜꜱ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ᴍᴇʟ) ☆❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴛʜᴇ ꜱʜᴀᴘᴇ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏᴠᴇ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ᴍᴇʟ) ☆

ꜰɪʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴍᴏᴋᴇ ☆

ᴜɴᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ʀᴇᴍɪɴᴅᴇʀꜱ ☆? ❋

ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ᴛᴇʟʟ ☆? ❋

ᴘʀᴏᴜᴅ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ) ☆

ᴍᴀʀᴋꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴛʀᴇɴɢᴛʜ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ᴍᴇʟ) ☆❋✧(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴛᴀɴɢʟᴇᴅ ᴛᴏɴɢᴜᴇꜱ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+?) ☆

ʀᴜɴᴀᴡᴀʏ ʙʀɪᴅᴇ ᴘᴛ 1 (ᴊᴀʏ|ᴠɪᴋ|ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ) ☆❋

ʀᴜɴᴀᴡᴀʏ ʙʀɪᴅᴇ ᴘᴛ 2 (ᴠᴀɴ|ꜱɪʟ|ᴍᴇʟ) ☆❋✧(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ʙᴜɪʟᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴡᴏʀꜱʜɪᴘ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ) ☆

ᴀ ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴘʀᴏᴍɪꜱᴇ ☆

ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ) ☆

ʟᴇꜰᴛ ɪɴ ʜɪꜱ ʜᴀɴᴅꜱ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ᴇᴋᴋᴏ) ☆

ᴀ ʟɪꜰᴇ ʀᴇᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ❋ ☆(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴍᴜʟᴛɪʟɪɴɢᴜᴀʟ ᴍᴇʟᴏᴅɪᴇꜱ ☆

ɪɴᴛᴇʀʀᴜᴘᴛɪᴏɴꜱ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ᴍᴇʟ) ✧

ꜰᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ) ☆

ᴛᴏꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴜʀɴ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ) ☆

ʜᴇʀ ꜰɪꜱᴛꜱ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ) ☆

ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜᴄᴀʀᴇ ☆

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ᴊɪɴx (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ) ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

☆ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ | ❋ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ | ✧ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ | ​⁂ꜱᴍᴜᴛ 18+ | ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ

ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ᴛʜᴇ ᴜɴʟɪᴋᴇʟʏ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ☆❋ ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2 | ᴘᴀʀᴛ 3 | ᴘᴀʀᴛ 4 | ​ꜰɪɴᴀʟᴇ​

ᴄᴜᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴛɪᴇꜱ ☆❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ɪ ᴅɪᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ʜᴇʀ ❋

ᴏɴᴇ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇꜱ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ❋

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ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

☆ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ | ❋ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ | ✧ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ | ​⁂ꜱᴍᴜᴛ 18+ | ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ

ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀɪᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ​ ❋ || ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴀꜱꜱɪᴏɴ​ ✧

ᴛᴇᴛʜᴇʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ ʟᴏʏᴀʟᴛʏ ☆

ʜᴇᴀᴠᴇɴ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇʟʟ ☆❋

ᴅᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ ☆

ᴢᴀᴜɴ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ ☆❋ (ᴅᴀᴅ!ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ)

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ʜᴇʀ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ☆(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ) ❋

ʜɪꜱ ᴘʀɪᴅᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴏʏ ☆❋ (ᴅᴀᴅ!ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ)

ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ☆❋

ꜰᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ ɪꜱ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ☆

ᴇʏᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʟɪᴇ ☆❋ (ᴅᴀᴅ!ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ)

ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅɪɴɢ ☆

ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ʜᴇʀ ᴇʏᴇꜱ ☆

ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ☆❋

ᴀ ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ ꜰɪᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ Qᴜᴇᴇɴ ☆

ʙʏ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴏʀ ʙʏ ꜰɪʀᴇ ☆

ᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇᴅ ʙʏ ʜɪᴍ ☆✧

ʙᴇɴᴇᴀᴛʜ ʙʀᴜɪꜱᴇᴅ ꜱᴋɪᴇꜱ ☆❋

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ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

☆ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ | ❋ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ | ✧ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ | ​⁂ꜱᴍᴜᴛ 18+ | ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ

ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ᴀ ɴᴇᴡ ꜱᴘᴀʀᴋ ☆ (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ!)

ꜰᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴀ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ​ ☆

ᴀ ʟɪꜰᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴡᴀꜱ ❋

ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ʜᴏᴜʀꜱ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴅʀᴏᴘ ☆✧

ᴄᴀɴ ᴡᴇ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ʜᴇʀ? ☆ (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ!)

ᴛᴀɴɢʟᴇᴅ ɪɴ ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡꜱ ☆✧❋

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ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

☆ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ | ❋ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ | ✧ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ | ​⁂ꜱᴍᴜᴛ 18+ | ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ

ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ❋

ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀʟɪꜱ ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇʜᴏʟᴅ ☆ ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

ᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴀ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ✧☆

ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇꜱ ☆❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ) (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ!)

ᴄᴀɴᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏᴛ​ ☆

ᴀɴ ᴀʀᴛɪꜱᴛꜱ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ☆ ❋

ɪɴᴠᴏʟᴜɴᴛᴀʀʏ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ☆

ꜱᴛʀᴀɴᴅꜱ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ☆

ᴀꜱʜᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ☆ (ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ) ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴇɪɢʜᴛ ☆

ᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ ɪᴍᴘᴏꜱꜱɪʙʟᴇ (ᴏʀ ɪꜱ ɪᴛ?) ☆✧ ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀʜᴏᴏᴅ ☆ ᴘᴀʀᴛ 3

ᴀ ʟᴏɴɢ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ☆ ❋

ᴄᴜʀʟᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ☆

ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ❋❋

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ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

☆ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ | ❋ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ | ✧ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ | ​ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ

ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ᴀ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇꜱᴛ ☆

ɴᴇᴡ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢꜱ (ᴅᴀᴅ!ᴠ) ☆ ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2 | ᴘᴀʀᴛ 3 | ᴘᴀʀᴛ 4

ᴀ ᴍᴇʟᴏᴅʏ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴜꜱ ☆

ɪɴ ʜᴇʀ ꜰᴏᴏᴛꜱᴛᴇᴘꜱ ☆❋ (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ!)

ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴇQᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ☆

ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ʜᴇʟᴘ ☆❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏʀᴏ ᴇꜰꜰᴇᴄᴛ ☆

ᴡʜɪꜱᴘᴇʀꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴜᴛᴜʀᴇ ☆

ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴜʀᴇᴅ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ☆

ɴᴏ ʙᴀʀʀɪᴇʀꜱ ☆❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

4ᴛʜ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴍ ☆

ᴛᴡᴏ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ᴋɪɴᴅ ☆

ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀᴛᴄʜᴍᴀᴋᴇʀ ☆ (ʙʀᴏ!ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ) || ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2 || ᴘᴀʀᴛ 3

ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴜꜱ ☆

ꜰʀᴏᴍ ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡꜱ ᴛᴏ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ☆❋?

ꜰᴀꜱᴛᴇꜱᴛ ᴡᴀʏ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀꜱ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ☆

ᴅᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀxᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ☆

ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀ (ʙʀᴏ!ᴊᴀʏ | ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ!ᴠɪᴋ) ☆

ᴘʟᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴏɢʀᴇꜱꜱ ☆❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ɴᴏ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ɴᴇᴇᴅᴇᴅ ☆

ᴀ ʟɪꜰᴇᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴏɴ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴀ ☆

[aspenmissing]

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

☆ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ | ❋ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ | ✧ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ | ​⁂ꜱᴍᴜᴛ 18+ | ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ

ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ʜᴏᴍᴇ ɪꜱ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ☆

ᴡʜᴇɴ ꜱᴘᴀʀᴋꜱ ꜰʟʏ ☆

ꜰᴀꜱᴛᴇꜱᴛꜱ ᴡᴀʏ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ'ꜱ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ☆

ᴀ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴛʜ ᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢ​ ​⁂ 18+

ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪᴢᴇ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ☆

ʟɪᴍɪᴛꜱ ᴘᴜꜱʜᴇᴅ ☆❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴀ ꜰᴀᴛᴇ ᴜɴᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ❋ ❋

ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘᴏᴠᴇʀ ☆

ɢᴏʟᴅᴇɴ ʜᴏʀɪᴢᴏɴꜱ ☆ ❋

ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴍɪꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴜꜱ ☆

ᴛʀᴜᴇ ᴀʀᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀ ☆

ᴜɴʟᴇᴀꜱʜᴇᴅ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ☆

ᴇᴄʜᴏᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛ ❋

ᴀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛꜰᴇʟᴛ ᴘɪᴄᴋ-ᴍᴇ-ᴜᴘ ☆ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴡʀᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴡᴀʀᴍᴛʜ ☆

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴜʟᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴇ ɢɪʀʟ ᴅᴀᴅ ☆ ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

ʙʏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱɪᴅᴇ ☆ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ ᴍᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢꜱ ☆ (ʙʀᴏ!ᴠɪᴋ)

ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏ ❋ ❋

ᴀ ᴅᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ☆

ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜꜱʏ ☆❋✧

ᴄᴜʀɪᴏꜱɪᴛʏ ꜰʟᴜꜱᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ ☆

ᴘʀᴀɴᴋꜱ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ☆

ʜᴇʀ ꜰɪɴᴀʟ ɢᴏᴏᴅʙʏᴇ (ʙʀᴏ!ᴠɪᴋ) ❋ ❋

ᴏᴜʀ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛꜱ ☆

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ ᴛᴀʟɪꜱ: ᴅᴇꜰᴇɴᴅᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ꜰʟᴀᴠᴏᴜʀ ☆

ᴇᴛᴇʀɴɪᴛʏ ɪᴛ ᴏᴜʀꜱ ☆❋✧

ᴀ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄɪᴀɴ'ꜱ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ ☆

[aspenmissing]

ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ʜᴏᴜʀꜱ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴅʀᴏᴘ

ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ || ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ/ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ? || 1135 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ, ʜᴇᴀᴠɪʟʏ ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ᴍᴀᴋᴇᴏᴜᴛ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴄʟᴏꜱɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴅʀᴏᴘ, ᴀ Qᴜɪᴇᴛ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴜʀɴꜱ ɪɴᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ. ᴀᴍɪᴅꜱᴛ ᴛᴇɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴛᴏʟᴇɴ ᴋɪꜱꜱᴇꜱ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀʀ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇʀ, ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴏᴛʜ ʀᴇᴠᴇᴀʟ ʟᴏɴɢ-ʜᴇʟᴅ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢꜱ, ꜰᴏʀɢɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴅᴇᴇᴘᴇʀ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʀᴍᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ.

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ

The Last Drop had finally gone quiet. The laughter, shouts, and clinking of mugs faded as the last patron stumbled out into the dimly lit streets of Zaun. You let out a breath, wiping down the counter with a damp cloth. Your muscles ached from the long shift, but the peaceful silence made it all worthwhile.

“Tired?” came Vander’s deep, gravelly voice, his presence as comforting as it was commanding. He stood by the doorway, arms crossed and a faint smile playing on his lips.

“A little,” you admitted, tossing the cloth into the sink. “But it’s a good kind of tired.”

He stepped closer, his heavy boots echoing softly on the wooden floor. The warm glow of the lanterns cast golden highlights on his rugged features, and his apron was slung carelessly over one shoulder. Vander always had a way of filling the room, not just with his size, but with an undeniable presence that made you feel both safe and seen.

“You’ve been working hard tonight,” he said, resting his broad hands on the counter. “You deserve a break.”

“You’re one to talk,” you teased, leaning against the bar. “I’ve seen you haul barrels all day and break up fights all night. If anyone deserves a break, it’s you.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rich. “Fair point. But I’ve got a good team. Makes it easier.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks at the compliment. Vander had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the room, even when the bar was packed.

“Maybe we both deserve a break,” you suggested, a playful edge to your tone.

He tilted his head, his blue eyes sparkling with interest. “What did you have in mind?”

Your gaze flicked to the counter between you, an idea forming. “Well, the bar’s closed. No one’s around. We could… make our own fun.”

Vander raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Is that so?”

Before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned across the counter and kissed him. His lips were warm and surprisingly soft, and for a moment, he froze, caught off guard. Then he responded, his hands moving to cup your face as he deepened the kiss.

The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in the dimly lit bar. His touch was firm yet gentle, and his beard tickled your skin in a way that made your heart race. When you finally pulled back for air, Vander’s expression was a mix of surprise and something deeper, something that made your stomach flutter.

“You’re full of surprises,” he murmured, his voice huskier than usual.

“I’ve been told that,” you replied with a grin.

He laughed softly, then stepped around the counter, closing the distance between you. His large hands settled on your waist, pulling you closer. You could feel the strength in his grip, the way he held you like you were something precious.

“You sure about this?” he asked, his eyes searching yours.

Instead of answering, you looped your arms around his neck and kissed him again, this time with more urgency. Vander growled low in his throat, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter. The cool wood against your legs was a stark contrast to the heat building between you.

His hands roamed your sides, calloused palms exploring the curves of your body. You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging lightly and earning a pleased rumble from him. The bar counter creaked under your combined weight, but neither of you paid it any mind.

Vander’s lips trailed down your jawline to your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He nipped at the sensitive skin just below your ear, making you gasp and cling to him tighter. His beard added a roughness to his kisses that sent shivers down your spine.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered against your skin, his voice thick with emotion.

“So are you,” you managed, your hands tracing the broad planes of his shoulders and chest.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark with desire but still filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache. “If this is too much, tell me,” he said softly, his thumb brushing your cheek.

You shook your head, smiling. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

That was all he needed to hear. Vander’s lips found yours again, more demanding this time, as his hands explored your body with newfound confidence. The scent of ale and woodsmoke mingled with the heady warmth of the moment, creating a heady atmosphere that left you breathless.

Time seemed to blur as the two of you lost yourselves in each other. The sturdy bar counter became your sanctuary, a space where the weight of the world outside didn’t matter. It was just you and Vander, connected by something deeper than words could express.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing heavily, your body rests against the counter, head laying on your crossed arms Infront of you. Vander's hands remain on your waist, his body laying across your back - but not so much for you to feel his full weight, gently leaving trails of kisses up your back to your neck.

“That was… unexpected,” he said with a soft chuckle, his cheeks flushed. You lift yourself up, turning around and wrapping your arms around his neck, his own moving to your hips.

“In a good way, I hope,” you teased, brushing a strand of hair from his face.

“The best way,” he replied, his smile warm and genuine.

For a moment, the two of you simply stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms. The quiet of The Last Drop felt almost sacred, a rare moment of peace in the chaos of Zaun.

“I guess we’ll have to clean the counter again,” you said with a laugh, breaking the silence.

Vander grinned, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Worth it.”

As you hopped off the counter and began straightening up, Vander stayed close, his hand resting on the small of your back. The connection between you felt stronger than ever, a bond forged in the quiet hours of the night and sealed with stolen kisses.

“You know,” he said, watching you with a fond expression, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”

You looked up at him, surprised. “Really?”

He nodded, a hint of sheepishness in his smile. “Didn’t want to cross any lines. But I couldn’t help myself tonight.”

“I’m glad you did,” you admitted, stepping closer to him. “Because I’ve felt the same way.”

Vander’s smile widened, and he pulled you into a tight embrace. “Guess we’ll just have to see where this takes us.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you said, resting your head against his chest.

Together, you finished tidying up the bar, the warmth between you lingering in every glance and touch. As the lanterns were extinguished and the doors locked for the night, you couldn’t help but feel that this was just the beginning of something wonderful.

[aspenmissing]

ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴀꜱꜱɪᴏɴ

ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ || ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ || 1341 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ, ᴍᴀᴋᴇᴏᴜᴛ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ɪɴ ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ'ꜱ ᴅɪᴍʟʏ ʟɪᴛ ᴏꜰꜰɪᴄᴇ, ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴇꜱᴄᴀʟᴀᴛᴇꜱ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ʜᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴄᴏɴꜰʀᴏɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ. ᴀꜱ ᴅᴇꜱɪʀᴇ ʙᴜɪʟᴅꜱ, ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ ᴘᴜꜱʜᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏɴᴛᴏ ʜɪꜱ ᴅᴇꜱᴋ, ɪɢɴɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴘᴀꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀᴛᴇ, ʀᴀᴡ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʙᴇɢɪɴꜱ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ꜱᴛʀᴜɢɢʟᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ ꜱᴏᴏɴ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴜɴᴅᴇɴɪᴀʙʟᴇ ᴄʜᴇᴍɪꜱᴛʀʏ.

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ

The dim light from Silco’s office flickered as the rain poured relentlessly outside, casting soft shadows across the room. The air in Zaun was thick with both moisture and the weight of the past few days. You had been working late, just as you always did. Silco’s operations required constant attention, and there was no room for mistakes—not in his world, where loyalty was both a weapon and a currency.

You had grown used to the silence that dominated his office, the only sound the occasional clink of a glass or the rustling of papers. Silco was no stranger to solitude, but tonight something felt different. It was as if the very air around him crackled with an unspoken intensity.

You stood by the desk, eyes tracing the sharp angles of his face. Silco was a man of precision, both in his actions and his words. There was something about the way he carried himself—his posture, the coldness in his gaze—that made him seem untouchable. Yet, beneath it all, you could see the flickers of something raw. Something you couldn’t quite place, but something you longed to understand.

“Is something on your mind?” Silco’s voice broke through the stillness, smooth and commanding. His eyes never left his work, but you knew he was aware of your every move.

“Just wondering how long you plan on burying yourself in work tonight,” you replied, your tone light, but there was an edge to it—an unspoken challenge.

Silco’s lips curled into the slightest of smiles, the kind of smile that promised danger and pleasure in equal measure. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the wooden surface. “I don’t bury myself in work, Y/N,” he said, his voice lowering ever so slightly. “I embrace it. It’s the only thing that keeps this place standing.”

You could hear the bitterness in his words, but there was also something else—a vulnerability he rarely allowed to surface. It stirred something within you, but you kept it buried, hidden beneath layers of indifference.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, and the tension thickened, hanging heavy in the air like a storm about to break. You could feel it, just beneath the surface—the electric pull between you two. The way his eyes, dark and intense, seemed to study you, taking in every detail, every shift of your posture.

“You’re not one for small talk, are you?” you finally said, leaning against the desk, arms crossed. You could feel his gaze on you, but you refused to let it unnerve you.

“Small talk is a waste of time,” Silco replied, his voice a soft growl, a sound that seemed to reverberate in your chest. “But you, Y/N... you intrigue me.”

Your pulse quickened, and despite your best efforts to remain composed, you couldn’t help but react. You pushed yourself off the desk and moved toward the window, the sound of the rain growing louder as you stared out at the dark streets of Zaun. You could feel him watching you, the weight of his gaze pressing against your back like an invisible hand.

“You think you understand me?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper, but Silco’s hearing was sharp. His steps were quiet as he approached, his presence a constant pull, drawing you back toward him.

“I don’t need to understand you completely,” he said, his voice just behind you now, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body despite the distance. “I just need to know you’re mine.”

The words hung in the air between you like a challenge, a promise, and a threat all at once. You turned slowly, meeting his eyes, and in that moment, everything shifted. The tension that had been building for so long was finally palpable, crackling in the air around you.

You didn’t respond immediately, instead taking a step closer to him, your breath quickening. Silco’s eyes narrowed, studying you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. You were close enough now to feel the warmth radiating off him, the tension between you both almost unbearable.

“Is that what you want, Silco?” you asked, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside. “For me to be yours?”

Silco didn’t speak, but the way his gaze flickered to your lips and then back to your eyes said everything. You could see the conflict in him—the part of him that wanted to control, to dominate, and the part of him that was, perhaps, just as desperate for connection as you were.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached out, his hand brushing lightly against your cheek. The touch was almost tender, but there was something darker behind it. Something that promised far more than just a fleeting moment of affection.

“I don’t want your submission,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “I want you to want this as much as I do.”

Your heart raced, your breath catching in your throat. There was something dangerous about the way he spoke, something that ignited a fire deep within you. It wasn’t just the words—it was the way he held himself, the way he made you feel both vulnerable and powerful at the same time.

For a moment, you thought about stepping back, about maintaining control and pushing him away. But something inside you wanted to let go. Something inside you wanted to dive into the darkness with him, to explore whatever this was between you two, even if it scared you.

Before you could speak, Silco’s hand was at the back of your neck, pulling you closer with a gentle yet firm tug. His lips brushed against yours, soft at first, testing the waters. You hesitated for only a moment before responding, your lips parting to meet his, the kiss deepening with a hunger that surprised you both.

It was as if a dam had broken. Silco’s other hand moved to your waist, pulling you flush against him. His body was solid, warm, and the moment he felt the press of your chest against his, he was lost. In one swift motion, he shoved you back onto the desk, the force surprising you, but the roughness only ignited the tension that had been simmering between you for weeks.

Your breath caught as the edge of the desk dug into your back, and Silco was right there, his eyes dark with hunger. You could feel the heat of his breath against your skin, feel the subtle shake in his hands as he fought to maintain control.

“Careful, Silco,” you warned, your voice hushed, but the thrill of the situation was too intoxicating. His hand moved from your waist to your throat, but instead of constricting, it merely rested there, a gentle reminder of his power.

“I’ll never be careful with you,” he rasped, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Not when you’re this close.”

You could feel the desperation in his words, the rawness in his touch. It was more than physical. It was an unspoken need between you two, something that transcended the world you lived in. The moment was brief but intense, the tension hanging thick in the air.

Silco leaned in, his lips hovering over yours, the intensity of the moment almost unbearable. His eyes searched yours for something—permission, perhaps. Or maybe an acknowledgment of the raw, chaotic attraction that had pulled you both into this moment.

But before either of you could speak again, Silco closed the distance between you. His kiss was insistent now, his hands gripping the desk on either side of you as he pulled you deeper into the embrace. There was no turning back from this, no running from the desire that surged between you like wildfire.

And in that moment, as you gave yourself to him fully, you knew this connection, this spark, was only the beginning. The game had changed, and neither of you would ever be the same again.