#Jinx x Ekko smut | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kirammanswifey · 5 days ago

Text

arcane characters dealing with fetishes x fem!reader (nsfw)

characters: viktor, jinx, vi, caitlyn, jayce, ekko, silco, sevika, ambessa and vander.

writer's note: this one was a ride. really enjoyed diving into fetishes and blending that with some psychology, gave it a whole different flavor. it was intense and fun to explore. and trust me, i’ve got something even crazier lined up next. stay tuned, it's gonna get real. requests are open ;)

viktor → somnophilia

The first time you did it, Viktor said nothing.

He merely averted his gaze for a second when he noticed your breathing had become deeper, more constant… more fake. It wasn't the first time you'd fallen asleep in the lab, of course. You did it often: long hours of work, mental exhaustion, the constant hum of the hextech devices creating a nearly hypnotic atmosphere. But that night was different. You knew it, and so did he.

Because you had deliberately settled into the chair next to him, with your sweater barely slipping off your shoulders, exposing part of your skin. You had closed your eyes slowly, breathing softly, as if rehearsing the rhythm of sleep… and waited.

You waited for his gaze to settle on you.

Viktor wasn't naive. He had the sharpest mind in all of Piltover, perhaps even in Zaun. He noticed the small patterns: how your body relaxed too quickly. How sometimes you moved restlessly before pretending to sleep, seeking the exact position to leave your legs slightly apart. How, on nights like this, you didn't bother to hide the small shiver that ran down your back when you felt him still watching you.

That night, he took his time to move. The silence in the lab was thick, as if every device knew something was brewing between you.

"Again?" he murmured with his raspy voice, barely a sigh that didn't intend to wake you. A voice laden with a delicious mix of frustration and desire. As if he struggled with the morality that anchored him to sanity, to protocol, to respect… but which cracked when it came to you.

You liked it when he spoke to you like that when you pretended to sleep. It made you feel possessed, devoted. And you knew that he, despite his reservations, couldn't resist that part of you that offered itself without words. That surrendered to him without asking.

The chair creaked when he stood up. You heard the soft tap of his cane, and your body tensed… but only inwardly. On the outside, you remained still, breathing with that measured rhythm you had perfected over the days.

You felt it when he stopped beside you. His warmth. His scent. A slight tremble in your skin when his fingers, calloused from years of inventions and work, grazed the curve of your jaw with a tenderness almost religious.

"You always leave me like this..." he murmured, and though you couldn't see him, you knew he smiled slightly, that expression of his loaded with pain and sweetness. "You don't know the harm you do to me."

But you did. Of course, you did.

Then his fingers moved down. Slow. Exploratory. As if he still couldn't believe he was allowed to touch you like that. As if every inch of your skin was sacred, and at the same time, a forbidden vice he couldn't escape.

His breathing changed when he reached your lips. Not the ones on your face.

"So soft… always so willing."

The touch was light, like a study. Like a new invention that required attention and patience. Sometimes he spoke while doing it, whispering ideas, thoughts, phrases you only half understood. But it ignited you. That way of his to turn passion into science, into something that needed to be understood, dissected… and dominated.

His fingers slid, expert, while you continued pretending to sleep, each of your muscles containing the urge to moan, to open your eyes, to beg him not to stop.

"Do you like it like this?" he said with a hoarse voice, bending to your ear, his breath burning your neck. "Do you like feeling me… when you think I'm not looking at you?"

But he was looking. Always.

The rhythm of his touch became more impatient. Darker. As if everything he contained during the day—the stolen glances, the fleeting touches, the suspended conversations—exploded now that he had you like this, surrendered in your false unconsciousness.

When his lips finally touched yours, it was madness. Moisture against moisture. The visceral sound merged with your increasingly uncontrolled breathing. But you didn't open your eyes. Not yet.

Because he hadn't finished yet.

One of his hands slid towards your chest, gripping it firmly, while his mouth devoured you as if you were the answer to all his failures, his redemption, his only escape. His other hand clutched your thigh, digging his fingers as if he needed to remind himself that you were real. That this was real.

And then, when you couldn't take it anymore, you let out a moan. A subtle one. One you could justify with sleep… but provocative enough to make him lift his head and look at you.

His eyes shone with desire. With hunger. With defeat.

"You're not asleep," he said, as if he had just discovered the greatest secret. But he didn't stop. Not this time.

You remained silent. Waiting.

And he, finally, stopped fighting. He shed his coat, his rumpled shirt, that mask of control that always defined him. He leaned over you, like a fallen angel ready to burn with you.

And you burned.

Once, twice, a thousand times.

Because it wasn't just about sex. It was about contained desire, sick devotion, the tenderness that only found its place in the twilight of that lab. Of two broken minds that needed each other with an urgency that bordered on madness.

And after, when you finally surrendered to real sleep, exhausted, trembling, with your body still drenched in the sin you shared… Viktor hugged you.

As if he didn't want to let you go.

As if he knew that tomorrow you would pretend again.

And he, once more, would fall.

jinx → electrostimulation

There are days when the world simply hurts.

Too much noise. Too much weight. Too many people expecting things from you.

And on those days, there's only one person your steps lead you to without thinking: Jinx.

She receives you as she always does. With an unbalanced laugh, a twisted smile, and that gaze that mixes affection and pure perversion.

"Look who's come looking for therapy!" she sings, spinning around herself, as she drops a wrench on the table. "Mind full of trash again, sweetie-pie? Or are you just here for the tickles?"

You bite your lip and don't respond. Because she already knows.

She always knows.

In a corner of the room, behind dirty curtains, is the table. Painted by hand by herself. Psychedelic colors, doodles, your name written in deformed, shiny letters with spray paint.

And right next to it… the machine.

The beast Jinx created with her own hands. Cables, electrodes, a strange generator humming softly, blinking as if it were alive.

You sit on the table. You lie down. You unbutton your clothes with trembling hands. The air is cold against your skin, but not as cold as the anticipation.

Jinx leans over you, hanging from a pipe with one hand, like a wild child.

"Are you sure you want to play?" she whispers, her face inches from yours. "You know that once I start… I don't know when to stop."

Your voice is barely a thread.

"Yes."

Her laughter is low this time. Almost tender.

"I knew you wouldn't take long to need me again."

Jinx starts placing the electrodes on your naked body. On your thighs. Under your breasts. On your abdomen. One right at the base of your neck. Her fingers are precise. Too soft for someone like her.

Each contact makes you hold your breath.

And then, as always, she leans into your ear and whispers:

"Tell me if it burns."

She activates the machine.

A gentle current runs through your body. Your muscles tense. The tingling is so pleasurable it seems to float between pain and orgasm. Jinx observes with a devotion that's almost scientific.

"You look so pretty like that… all tense, all trembling. My little toy."

She increases the intensity.

Your hips arch. Your legs tremble. The humming of the electricity mixes with your accelerated breathing.

"Do you like that, huh?" she asks with a twisted smile. "Your little body reacting like a broken light."

Your nipples are hard, your body burning from the inside. Each discharge makes you feel more. Want more.

Jinx can't stop looking at you.

"You're like an experiment… that turns me on."

She turns off the machine. The silence is brutal. Your body relaxes suddenly. But the tension doesn't go away.

She crawls between your legs like a hungry cat.

"We're not done, pumpkin… I want to savor every electrified part of you."

Her hands part your legs. Her tongue slides between your folds with a precision and passion that only someone as obsessive as Jinx could have.

And you scream. Because the electricity still vibrates on your skin. Because Jinx knows it. And takes advantage.

Her tongue dances, mischievous, quick, dirty. You feel her moan against you, as if she's eating you with her soul, as if she adores the way you twist, the way you say her name between your teeth.

Your hands cling to the edges of the table. The spray paint digs into your palms. You're sliding in sweat and saliva.

And Jinx, oh, Jinx… doesn't stop.

She watches you while she does it. Her eyes open, shining with pleasure and madness.

"So beautiful…" she whispers against you. "So perfect when you stop thinking."

Her tongue enters. Exits. Surrounds you. Her nose bumps against your clitoris and sucks it, licks it, bites it barely. Destroys you. Elevates you.

You tremble. You beg. You're seconds away.

And then she says it, just before taking you to the edge:

"After this… I want you to be mine forever. Like a battery... that only I can recharge."

The orgasm destroys you.

You scream.

Your back arches like a bow. Your legs close against her head, but Jinx doesn't leave. She licks you while you come. While you convulse. While you cry.

Because that's what she does: she brings chaos to perfection.

When you finally manage to breathe, you feel her lips rise up your stomach, your chest, to your neck.

She snuggles with you on the table, on top of the still warm cables.

"Tomorrow… we do it with fire," she whispers, and gently bites your shoulder.

And you can only smile, half dead, half alive, completely addicted.

vi → stigmatophilia

The lights flickered as they always did in Stillwater. It was a place where time seemed to move slower, where the humidity of the concrete seeped into your skin, and the bars were more than metal: they were part of your body, routine, soul.

Vi was in cell 8516 on the west wing. Always there, always alone, always awake. You knew this because every night you made the rounds in that sector. You were the one who brought her the food tray, who stood in front of her cell for a few seconds longer than necessary, pretending to check the system, making sure everything was under control.

Lie.

You were watching her.

Vi knew it. She felt it. Your gaze wasn't professional. It was hunger. Fascination.

The way her tattoos peeked out from under her white shirt, how her scar split her lip and gave her that invincible look… and those damned piercings. It was a condemnation. One you carried with you every day.

That night, as always, the hallway was empty. The rest of the guards had changed shifts, and you decided to stay a bit longer. Vi was lying on the floor, her hands behind her head, legs stretched out, shirt pulled up to her navel. Exposing everything you knew you shouldn't desire. But you did anyway.

When you passed by her cell, her eyes locked onto yours.

"What's going on, officer? Do you like what you see, or did something fall off around here?"

Her voice was mocking, rough like her reputation. But also curious. That spark of provocation ignited quickly.

You stopped. You hesitated for barely a second. Then you let out a long sigh, as if you'd been carrying it in your chest for weeks. Without saying a word, you reached for your belt and pulled out the keys.

Vi sat up.

"Hey… what are you doing?"

You inserted the key into the lock and turned it. The metal creaking was like a bell announcing that the forbidden had just begun.

The door opened slowly.

Vi didn't stand up, but now she watched you with attention. An eyebrow raised, a twisted smile.

"Are you coming to hit me like your colleagues do? Or are you tired of looking from afar?"

You didn't say anything. You closed the door behind you. A sharp click. Now it was just you and her. The air became thicker. Hotter.

Vi sat up, legs open, elbows resting on her knees. The expression on her face was pure defiance.

"Do you know you could get into trouble for this? Don't you fear what a criminal like me could do to you?"

You took a step closer. Another. You looked at her directly. Not with fear. With that mix of desire and obsession you'd kept hidden for too long.

"I'm not afraid," you said finally, with a low, confident voice, "I have... something else."

Vi tilted her head, amused.

"Oh, yeah? And what is that you have with me, doll?"

Your fingers trembled slightly as you touched the back of her arm, where her tattoos began. You traced them with the tip of your fingers, slow, as if the lines were sacred writings.

"I always look at them," you confessed, not taking your eyes off her skin. "Your tattoos… your scars… your piercings. Everything about you… drives me crazy."

Vi clicked her tongue. "So that was it."

Your fingers moved up to her shoulder, then down to her almost exposed chest. You noticed how her skin trembled under your touch. Vi was tough, yes, but not made of stone.

"I used to wonder what was going on with you. Why you stayed here so long. Now I understand."

You leaned over her, your nose grazing her cheek.

"I couldn't help it," you whispered, "there's something about you… that pulls me in."

Vi let out a low, dark, sensual laugh.

"And now that you're in here… are you going to do something with that, or did you just come to drool over me?"

That was enough.

You knelt between her legs, catching her off guard. Your hands moved up her firm thighs. God, how many times you'd fantasized about her suffocating you with them. Vi leaned back, her hands behind her again, looking down directly at you.

"I didn't know you were so brave," she murmured, running her tongue over her upper lip, right where the scar marked her history.

You unbuttoned her pants. Your eyes didn't leave hers.

"I want to savor you… and touch every mark on your body while I do it."

Vi growled softly. "Then do it, doll. Show me why you've been staring at me like a freak."

Your lips descended with reverence. Your hands rested on her hips, your fingers tracing the edges of her back tattoo. Everything about her was a chaotic work of art, a mix of pain and fury that drew you in like an abyss. And you wanted to dive in without a parachute.

Your tongue began to move with rhythm, exploring every part of her with precision, hunger, and adoration. Vi arched her back, her fingers closing and hitting the concrete wall. Her breathing was irregular.

And you, every time you looked up, found that expression of hers. The raised eyebrow, the piercing shining under the dim light, that look of pleasure that only accentuated her scar… God, it was too much.

"Do you like this, huh?" she murmured, her tone hoarse, controlling herself not to moan louder. "Damn, you're fucking good at this."

You looked at her while you did it. You wanted to see her crumble. You wanted to see Vi — the strong woman, the criminal, the legend of the Undercity — tremble because of you. Because of your mouth. Because of your tongue.

And when she reached her climax, her fingers tangled in your hair, her voice broke in your ear, and you took it all in. All her weight. All her vulnerability. All her strength.

You stayed there for another second, breathing in her scent, her sweat, her story.

Vi sat up with difficulty, her chest still agitated.

"Damn..." she said, passing a hand over her face. "You really know how to eat a pussy, huh?"

You smiled, standing up slowly. She took your wrist before you left.

"Don't go yet," she said, pulling you back to her. "You still haven't touched all my tattoos..."

caitlyn → uniform fetishism

The field looked the same as always.

The wildflowers, the thick trunk of the old tree, the scent of grass freshly dampened by the morning dew. From here, you could see both cities: the elevated grandeur of Piltover, majestic and arrogant; the lurking shadow of Zaun, alive and throbbing like a poorly closed wound.

Your fingers brush the tree’s bark as your heart beats in your chest with a mix of nostalgia and anxiety. You've been avoiding this place for weeks, but today, something pushed you to come back. Maybe because you knew she would be here.

And she was.

"Finally found you," her voice cuts through like a gust of icy wind. Firm, elegant. Unmistakable.

You turn around, and there she is—Caitlyn, clad in her Enforcer uniform. You could almost say she wears it like a second skin. High collar, straps tight around her hips, that deep blue tone that highlights the cold gleam in her eyes. Ever since you first saw it on her, something in you changed.

You take a step back. She frowns.

“Are you going to run away again?” she asks, stepping toward you. “After ignoring me for two months without a word?”

You don’t respond. You can’t.

Your body reacts before your mind does. You turn to walk away, but Caitlyn has always been faster. She grabs your arm with a strength you didn’t know she had, gently pushes you against the trunk. The rough bark against your back contrasts with the warmth now spreading through your chest.

“What are you doing?” you whisper, your voice barely audible. You can’t meet her gaze.

Caitlyn looks down at your hands, which are trembling.

“You’re shaking,” she says, her tone softening. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

You can’t take it anymore.

Your fingers clutch at the edge of her uniform, and you kiss her.

It’s clumsy at first, like everything that’s been held back too long. Noses bump, lips hesitate—but desire has always been stronger than fear. Caitlyn stays still for a second, surprised… and then kisses you back.

And she kisses you like someone who’s loved you her entire life.

When she pulls away, her eyes are burning. But not with anger.

“Is that why you pulled away?” she asks, breathless. “Because of how you feel about me? You were confused?”

You nod slightly, wordless.

“That’s stupid,” she says with a broken smile. “You could’ve told me. I’ve always loved you. Since we were kids. Since the first time you defended me from that group of boys and put that stupid heart-shaped bandage on my scraped knee.”

You close your eyes. “It wasn’t just that.”

“Then what?”

“It’s your uniform.”

Silence.

“Ever since you started training with the Enforcers… I couldn’t help it. I started having this fixation, this… obsession. I couldn’t look at you without wanting you. Not out of lust, but because your uniform became everything I wanted. The symbol of you. The power. The control. I didn’t know how to handle it, Cait.”

She looks at you with a mix of astonishment and tenderness.

“That’s why you pulled away?”

You nod.

“And you thought I wouldn’t understand?” Caitlyn leans in closer. “You were wrong. I won’t let you deal with this alone. I’ll help you. You don’t have to repress anything anymore. You have me.”

The kiss she gives you now is deeper. More resolute. Her fingers grip your jaw, forcing you to look into her eyes.

“From now on… you obey me,” she says in a low tone. “Understood?”

You nod. The heat between your legs becomes impossible to ignore.

“Say it,” she demands.

“Yes… Commander.”

Her eyes narrow with delight. “That’s more like it.”

Her hands glide slowly down your waist, skilled and assured. She opens your blouse without rush, as if she were inspecting a crime scene. Each button undone is a sentence. Your breasts are exposed to the cold air, and your nipples react instantly. Caitlyn says nothing. She only watches. Controls.

“You look beautiful like this,” she murmurs, lowering slightly to trap one of your nipples between her lips. You moan, arching your back. Her fingers, meanwhile, slip beneath your skirt, searching, exploring.

“You’re not wearing underwear…”

“I’ve been thinking about you since I woke up,” you confess without shame.

“Such a sweet girl.”

Her fingers stroke the wetness between your thighs, soft at first. Then firmer. One finger slips inside, slow, curling just where you melt. Then another. You cling to her shoulders as your body trembles with pleasure.

“Are you going to come just from my uniform?” she whispers in your ear, her fingers pumping in and out of you, wet, perfect.

“Yes, Commander…”

“Then do it.”

Your body obeys before your mind. You come around her fingers, moaning into her neck, legs shaking, lips whispering her name.

Caitlyn holds you, strokes you, doesn’t let go.

“You don’t have to be afraid of who you are. You have all of me. Not just as a friend. Not just as a lover.”

Slowly, she pulls her fingers out of you and brings them to her lips.

“Now you belong to me.”

And you… don’t want to belong to anyone else.

jayce → spectrophilia

The door closes with a soft click behind him. Jayce enters your home like he’s done it a thousand times, as if his body remembers the path to you better than his mind. His coat is still on, but his tie hangs loose, and his jaw is tight as he sets his keys down on the entry table.

He’s stressed. You notice it instantly.

And yet, as always… his eyes search for you.

No words are exchanged. None are needed.

You turn and walk toward the bedroom. He follows. He always does. And you… you make sure he does.

When you enter, you see it in his face. That subtle shift. That mix of need and devotion. Of surrender and desire.

The room is your paradise. Walls lined with mirrors, reflecting every angle. A single bed in the center: dark sheets, pillows scattered. It's an altar to the forbidden. A stage for your most specific craving.

Jayce closes the door behind you. Still silent. He just watches you, his brow furrowed slightly with the weight of his day. You face him with a half-smile.

And then… he kneels before you.

His hands, firm and sure, begin to unbutton your blouse with a tenderness that almost hurts. There's no rush in his fingers, only purpose. He looks at each button he frees like he’s peeling away sacred truth. When your blouse falls to the floor, his fingers trail your waist, slide up your back, unfasten your bra. He lets it slip down your arms, picks it up… and sets it aside with silent reverence.

“I want you to look at yourself,” he says softly, his voice rough with restrained desire. “Look. See what I see.”

You obey.

The mirror in front of you reflects your half-naked body, skin flushed under the warm light. Jayce stands behind you—imposing, tall, strong—with his hands still on your waist. His lips graze your neck, barely touching. And you… you watch yourself shiver in your own reflection.

“You see that?” he whispers. “Every part of you… perfect. Every curve, every shadow.”

His right hand moves to the clasp of your pants, unfastens them, slides them slowly down your hips. Then your panties. Leaving you exposed, completely bare, under the gaze of every mirror. Under his.

Jayce pauses, just watching you.

“You’re my downfall,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing the inside of your thighs. “And you don’t even want to be mine.”

The confession slips out like a breath full of ache. But you don’t answer. You can’t. You don’t know if you want him, or just this. This moment. This act.

He accepts it.

He always does.

Jayce removes his shirt slowly, revealing that sculpted torso you’ve touched so many times. Then his pants. He lets them fall to the floor, and when he finally joins you in the bed, he does so like a man stepping into a temple. His temple. To worship you. His goddess.

He lays you on your back, but your gaze stays fixed on the mirror. He positions himself over you, one hand on your hip, the other caressing your face.

“I want you to see everything,” he says. “I want you to watch yourself come.”

And then he kisses you.

Slow at first. Desperate soon after. His tongue plunges into your mouth like he’s trying to steal the air from your lungs. And you… you let him. You give yourself to him, as you always do. With your body. Never your heart.

Jayce enters you with a stifled groan, his forehead pressed to yours for a moment before he starts to move. His hips grind into you with force, with rhythm. Each thrust pulls a moan from you that bounces off the mirrors and comes back louder. You exist in all your reflections: you being taken, you watching, you savoring the moment.

His hand grips your thigh, lifting it, driving deeper. “Look,” he growls, his lips against your ear. “Look at how I have you. How you take me.”

And you do.

You see yourself shudder. You see yourself moan. You see yourself alive.

Jayce never stops praising you. “You’re beautiful. You’re made for this. For me. Look at yourself. God, just look at yourself.”

When you arch beneath him, when his name escapes your lips, when the orgasm rips through you like a crashing wave, it all reflects. You see yourself tremble, scream, surrender.

And Jayce… Jayce follows seconds later, his body collapsing onto yours, his breath hot against your neck. He stays inside you a moment longer, as if that’s the only place he wants to be.

But when he pulls out, when he covers you with the sheet and lies silently beside you, you know the truth.

You gave him nothing you can’t take back.

He loves you.

And you… you only love the mirrors.

ekko → chirophelia

The soft hum of gears and metallic clicks guides you through the hallways of the workshop. It smells of oil, hot metal, and that characteristic scent you always associate with him. You see him before he sees you: Ekko, leaning over a table full of mechanical parts, his arms tense, his gaze focused, his skilled fingers manipulating tiny components with a dexterity that leaves you breathless.

You lean against the doorframe, not announcing yourself yet. Your eyes are fixed on his hands, on how he turns a small wrench with precision, on how each of his movements seems almost choreographed. He knows it. Of course, he knows it.

"You know I like it when you watch me... but you're taking too long to greet me." His voice is smooth, deep, loaded with that playful tone he only uses with you.

You approach, still with adrenaline buzzing in your blood from the mission. He stands up, and the first thing he does is examine you, from head to toe, without subtlety. His gaze stops at a slight cut on your eyebrow. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. It's enough for him to look at you like that for you to feel how the air thickens between you.

"How was it?" he asks while sitting on the table, letting his legs dangle. "The mission. Tell me everything."

You start talking, but it's hard to keep a straight line. His hands continue moving, playing with a tool you don't need to identify. It doesn't matter what it is. What matters is how he holds it. How his long, firm fingers turn the object. How the muscles in his forearms tense and relax with each turn.

"Are you going to tell me or are you going to keep checking out my hands?" His smile is slow, sly, dangerous. The tone of his voice disarms any attempt at a logical response. You bite your lip, knowing he's provoking you.

He drops the tool on the table and runs his hand through the back of his neck, stretching his arms with every intention in the world. The movement lifts his shirt slightly, revealing skin. Heat. Strength.

"Come on," he says, leaning towards you. "You can touch them now."

You approach. Your hands tremble slightly, but he doesn't move, waiting for you, offering himself without words. You take one of his hands with both of yours, and your breathing becomes heavier instantly. You run your fingers over it, from the nails to the wrists. They feel rough, warm, alive. You lean in and bring his palms to your face, caressing yourself with them, absorbing the scent of metal and smoke. You lose yourself in them as if they were a secret sanctuary.

He doesn't say anything. He just watches you. Your eyes meet his for a second, and you see something dark, lit, expectant.

Slowly, you place his hand on your chest, and guide it without speaking. He doesn't resist. His fingers move instinctively, as if they knew you better than you know yourself. His large hands cover your skin as if molding it. Your body reacts with a wave of heat that makes you moan, barely audible.

You lean over him, your forehead against his chest, and take his other hand. This time you bring it lower, trembling. He lets it rest where you need it, calmly, with intention, without breaking eye contact.

"Like this?" he whispers, as if he didn't know perfectly well what he's doing. "Is this what you wanted?"

You nod, panting, trapped between pleasure and vulnerability, between need and desire.

His hands move with a devastating softness, as if each caress had the power to make you lose your balance. And they do. You break between his fingers, with your forehead on his shoulder, your lips trembling with his name.

When you finally collapse against him, exhausted and trembling, he wraps his arms around you, pressing you against his body.

"You have to stop looking at me like that when I work," he says with a husky laugh, kissing your neck. "You're going to make me stop being productive."

You lift your head, still breathless. "Thanks..."

He looks at you, those bright eyes full of affection and danger. "Anytime," he responds with a slow smile before trapping you in a kiss that tastes like love.

silco → bondage

The air in Silco's office always smells of power. Dark tobacco, aged whiskey... and today, also of you.

You're on his desk, naked except for the masterpiece of ropes that envelops your body like a delicate altar to desire. Each knot has been placed with care, following the curves of your skin with artistic precision. Your arms are tied above your head, wrists crossed, and your thighs are held firmly, keeping you open, vulnerable, surrendered.

But there's no fear. Only that live tension that blooms in your chest when you see him there, sitting in his chair, contemplating you as if you were something precious. Something his.

Silco exhales a puff of smoke, his eyes half-closed. His pupils, uneven due to the effect of the drug still marking his face, scan you with a slowness that shivers. The scar above his eye blinks to the rhythm of his breathing. And you... contain yours.

"I could get used to this," he murmurs, resting an elbow on the arm of the chair. "The silence. Your obedience. The exquisite form... trapped just as I like it."

Your body burns under his voice. Each of his words is a silent order for you to feel smaller, more his, more desperate.

Silco rises without haste, as if he had all the time in the world to savor you. He crosses the room, picks up a glass of liquor, and stops beside the table. Next to you. He observes you from above, and for a moment, that's enough to make you tremble against the ropes.

"There are no distractions here," he says softly, lowering the glass to your belly. "Just you... a feast waiting to be unwrapped."

Then you see it. The small bowl with thick cream that he leaves beside you. The strawberries, the mango pieces, the figs cut with precision. You don't know when he brought them, but you understand that this has been planned. Like everything he does.

Silco picks up some of the cream with his fingers and slowly spreads it over one of your breasts. Your skin shivers with the contact, and the contrast of the cold against your internal heat is unbearably delicious.

"Pleasures... like discipline... are best served slowly," he whispers as he slides the tip of his thumb over your nipple, spreading the cream. "I learned that long before I had power."

His lips touch your skin seconds later. Slow, soft, sipping, tasting. His eyes never leave yours. He licks. Sucks. Leaves a barely perceptible bite.

The sound that escapes your throat is involuntary. He savors it as if it were a confession.

The fruit comes next. A piece of mango on your stomach, which he picks up with his tongue after letting it drip. His teeth barely graze your skin. He licks just below your navel.

Your body arches, limited by the ropes, and that makes him smile.

"It's curious... how the forbidden increases desire," he says, picking up more cream, now bringing it to your clavicle. "You're defenseless... and yet you beg without words."

You look at him, your eyes shining. You know he can see what's inside you: the hunger. The devotion. The complete surrender.

"Do you want to please me?" he asks, his voice lower now, like a contained thunder.

You nod.

But that's not enough.

"Say it."

"I want to please you."

Silco moistens his lips. "Good."

And then it happens. He takes a step back. He sits on the edge of the table, right in front of you. With a gesture almost lazy, he unzips his pants. His gaze doesn't leave yours while he adjusts himself, elegant even in the crudeness of the act.

"So do it. But be careful..." he says, placing a hand on your head. "Each of your movements... is part of the art."

You lean in as best you can, limited by the ropes, and that only intensifies the feeling of submission. Your lips brush against his skin. Your eyes look at him, surrendered, hungry. He barely groans when he takes you by the hair, guiding you slowly.

"That's it," he murmurs between his teeth. "There's no heaven more perfect... than your mouth when it knows how to obey."

And you, completely lost, think that there's no hell sweeter than the one he offers you.

sevika → hemophilia

The kitchen of your residence in Piltover was a temple of marble and gleaming steel, immaculate… until Sevika showed up. The door slammed shut behind her, her steps echoing loudly across the polished floor. Her jacket hung open, muscles defined by the shadows, and her eyes locked on you like a predator savoring the moment before striking.

She didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to. Between you two, words were always unnecessary.

You leaned against the kitchen island, the cold marble contrasting with your heated skin, expectant. You were still wearing the gloves from receiving the shipment. The exchange had been brief, professional. But your glances… that had been a different story.

Sevika approached slowly, her mechanical arm glinting under the white light. You let her look you over with that crooked smirk she always gave you when she knew you were about to do something dangerous. And you did. You slipped off the gloves and let them fall to the floor with a slow, deliberate motion. Then you unbuttoned the collar of your blouse, revealing a trace of skin that made Sevika scowl, holding herself back.

"Still playing with fire," she muttered, her voice rough as gravel, so close you could feel her breath brushing your jaw.

"And you keep coming back," you replied without moving. "I guess you like getting burned."

Sevika’s deep, guttural laugh filled the room just before her hand — the flesh one, hot and firm — grabbed your waist with force. She lifted you, literally, and sat you on the island. The liquor bottles on the shelf rattled with the motion. Her lips claimed yours in a violent, rough kiss, charged with a primal need that you met with your fingers gripping the back of her neck, nails digging in exactly where you knew it hurt.

The knife was her idea.

She pulled it from her belt — not just any knife, but a sharp, curved, dangerous one — and ran it along your collarbone, not to hurt, but to scare. To arouse. The blade grazed your skin and a soft laugh escaped your lips.

"You’re insane," she growled.

"And that’s why you stay?"

"No. I stay because I guess I’m just as fucked up."

Sevika pressed the blade just enough for a thin line to open on your skin. A drop of blood rolled down your chest as she followed it with her eyes — and then with her tongue. You moaned, caught between the cold marble and the searing heat of her mouth. Her tongue moved downward with cruel slowness, licking the blood, claiming it.

"You taste like danger," she murmured.

You got rid of your blouse, opened yourself to her, entirely hers. Sevika yanked at your skirt with impatient clumsiness, leaving wet kisses over every mark, every red trail that adorned your skin. Her breathing was ragged, and all you could do was cling to the edge of the marble while her mouth descended.

She bit your thigh, hard. Hard enough to leave a mark. You cried out through gritted teeth, your legs trembling, and Sevika smiled with blood-stained lips.

"You like that?" she teased, watching your cheeks flush.

"More than I should."

She didn’t answer. She lowered her head and this time, there was no bite. Only her tongue. Her mouth. Her strength between your thighs, devouring you with primal hunger. Your hands tangled in her short hair, desperate.

When you were finished, still trembling, she rose with her mouth wet, face smeared, eyes ablaze.

"Want a taste? You’re especially sweet today," she said bluntly.

"Come here," you replied, still breathless, still unable to move.

She leaned in and licked the last drop from your collarbone. Then she kissed you — long and deep — sharing the metallic taste between you both. She tasted like war, like sin, like an addiction you could never quit.

And you kissed her back with a mouth full of blood, smiling through your teeth.

ambessa → BDSM

The room Ambessa Medarda has reserved has no windows. She doesn’t need them. The controlled darkness, the warm glow of candles placed with precision on wrought iron candelabras, and the soft sound of tense string music create the perfect setting for what you’re about to experience.

You knew what you were walking into when you saw her walk through the door weeks ago, with that regal bearing and a tone of voice that doesn’t accept answers. You’re used to dealing with powerful people… but not like her. What’s in her eyes isn’t simple authority: it’s hunger, a desire to dominate, to see how much you can take before you break. And you, with your body marked by the pleasure of pain, with your deep need to obey and submit, were chosen by her as an extension of her power.

Now you're naked before her, on your knees, back straight, your mouth filled by a red leather gag strapped tightly behind your head. The taste of metal fills your mouth. Your hands are bound behind you with thick rope, your wrists burned from the friction of previous sessions, and across your skin are traces of dried wax, remnants of past games. Ambessa is seated in a high-backed chair, sipping wine as if she were at a trivial soirée. Her black boots gleam in the firelight, and her legs are crossed, relaxed, dangerously elegant.

“You’ve learned to stay quiet,” she says in a deep voice, like a knife slowly slicing through the fabric of the air. She sets her glass aside and rises. The silhouette of her body beneath that leather corset makes you feel even more vulnerable. Her physical strength is palpable, and every time she approaches, your breathing grows more shallow.

She circles you slowly, inspecting you like freshly brought prey at her feet.

“You haven’t forgotten your place,” she whispers as she leans in and picks up one of the lit candles.

The heat starts before the wax falls. The anticipation is a delicious torture. And then… a drop lands on your collarbone. It burns. Another stream, longer, slides down your chest to reach your nipple, making you moan against the gag, arching your back.

Ambessa smiles. “Ah… there she is. My little masochist.”

Another drop. And another. Now over your abdomen, your thighs, your breasts. The pain is sharp, searing, exquisite. And the way she looks at you… as if every tremor was a symphony composed for her pleasure.

She sets the candle aside and pulls out her braided leather whip. She drags it slowly over your red-marked skin, provoking a shiver.

“Are you ready to bleed for me today?” she asks, though she expects no answer. She doesn’t need one. The trembling of your legs, the tension in your body, the quiver in your breath are enough.

The first strike is not gentle. It’s no warning. It’s an affirmation. Cruel and precise. The whip cuts through the air and lands on your back. The sound is beautiful. The immediate sting, even more.

Once. Twice. Three times. Each blow makes your bones vibrate. The gag catches your screams. Tears gather in your eyes, not from regret, but from that painful joy only she can give you.

Ambessa approaches again, caressing the new marks with her gloved hand. She makes you turn on your knees to face her. “You’re trembling, girl. Tell me, how much more do you need to feel alive?” she murmurs, caressing your jaw.

She picks up another candle and lets it drip onto your spread thighs, one drop landing dangerously close to your already wet center. The pain mingles with raw need. You writhe in desperation, and she notices.

“You’re so wet you can barely think, huh?” she says with a harsh laugh. “Pleasure tends to cloud judgment, but in your case it makes you pathetically stupid. And I must admit, I quite enjoy that.”

She removes the gag slowly and lets it fall to the floor.

“Do you have something to say?” she asks, leaning in just inches from your face.

“Thank you… ma’am,” you reply, panting, your voice hoarse and broken.

That excites her even more.

She makes you lean forward, cheek against the floor, knees apart. Your buttocks are exposed, red and glistening from the blows. And then, you feel the touch of her fingers between your legs. A brief touch. She strokes your wetness with the precision of someone who’s dismantled bodies in war.

“You have no right to come yet,” she says cruelly. “Only when I say so.”

She whips you once more, while her fingers continue exploring you mercilessly. Your entire body trembles between need, fire, and exquisite pain. Your lips gasp for air, your soul seeks to shatter. You’re on the edge of submission, and Ambessa knows it.

Finally, she grabs you by the hair and lifts your head so you can look into her eyes. Her face is that of an unholy goddess.

“Beg. Moan. Break for me.”

And you do.

You break.

And in that moment, when she gives permission, your orgasm comes like a fierce explosion. Ambessa holds you with strength and pride, as if she had forged you with her own hands.

vander → olfactophilia

The bar smelled of old wood, stale beer, and sweat. The last lights of the day filtered through the grimy windows. Laughter and voices had gradually faded away until they were gone completely. Only the distant echoes of footsteps in the alley remained, and the sound of a damp rag sliding over the counter.

Vander had his back to you, drying glasses with his large, calloused hands. His shirt was soaked, clinging to his broad, powerful back, marked by the sweat of a day spent serving drinks, hauling barrels, and solving problems. Heat radiated from his body, filling the air around him with something… deeply masculine. Real. Raw.

You leaned against the doorway without saying a word, watching him in silence. You always came when everyone else had already left, when it was just him and that unmistakable scent that made you lose control.

"Hello, little stalker," he said without turning around, a barely-there smile in his rough voice. He set the glass down on the bar and finally turned, resting both arms on the surface. His armpits were dark with sweat, his chest rising and falling slowly.

You stepped closer without replying, your pulse quickening. The smell wrapped around you with just a couple more steps. It was wild, strong, but warm. You hugged him tightly, burying your nose in his neck first, then lower, pressing your face into the damp fabric beneath his arm.

"How many days has it been since you last bathed?" you asked, caught in a trance that made you slow, as if drugged.

Vander laughed with that deep, rough voice that always made you tremble. "Three days."

"Fuck, you’re going to drive me insane."

"It’s not like I do it on purpose. Maybe I just don’t have time, you know?" he joked, wrapping one arm around you and letting you lose yourself in him.

"Don’t lie. Of course you do it on purpose. You... knew I’d come," you murmured, unable to stop the moan that slipped from your lips as your face pressed harder into his hot, sweaty armpit. His shirt was wet, and every breath you took was a direct jolt to your core. You shuddered.

"The kids aren’t here, right?" you asked, voice low and husky, almost panting.

"They’re at Benzo’s shop. They won’t be back for a few hours," he replied, his hand slowly sliding down your back, resting firmly on your waist—strong, protective… but waiting.

Then you said it without shame, your gaze lit with hunger: “Good. Because now you’re going to fuck me.”

You hopped up onto the counter with an agility you didn’t even know you had, and he followed with eyes burning somewhere between amusement and hunger. He approached slowly, his steps echoing against the hollow wood. His hands went straight to your thighs, parting them with a confidence that made you gasp.

"You know I could leave you like this. Just to watch you squirm a little more…" he murmured, his deep voice and beard grazing the skin of your thigh as he leaned in.

"Do it. But don’t take too long…" you whispered, lost in his scent, his strength, his overwhelming presence.

His fingers found the soaked fabric between your legs and he growled into your ear. "Fuck… you’re dripping just from smelling me."

"It always happens with you."

Vander didn’t need to play at being gentle. His was the honest kind of passion—intense. When his hands gripped you firmly, when he lifted you just enough to place you exactly where he wanted on the bar, the world stopped.

The rest was all skin, ragged breathing, the smell of sweat, of wood, of desire repressed for days. His lips explored your neck, and his hands—rough and warm—left no place untouched. You could only moan, clinging to his broad shoulders as he made you disappear into that overwhelming heat only he could give you.

And when you finally came undone, trembling, gasping his name, you felt his lips at your ear whisper:

“Good girl.”

You stayed there for a while, on the counter, still shaking. Vander wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder, and you simply breathed together. He didn’t say much else—because he didn’t need to. His presence was enough.

And you knew you’d come back. Every night. For that heat, that scent, for him.

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xetlynn · 5 months ago

Note

hii i have a little request for ekko like omg i love him so bad

so imagine winter times come around and you an ekko are in your shared room (the firelights bases ofc)

and he sees you shivering under your cover so he comes over and just cuddles all up under you

thennn a few words and giggles are shared and thingss get a little heated between yall and ykyk 🤗

I hope you wanted smut. That’s what I made.

Arcane Imagines- Ekko

Still Cold

⚠️WARNING🔞: SMUTTTT

[arcane] [main page]

Prompt: it’s cold, you need to be warmed up. (Established relationship)

Contains: hand job, oral m! Receiving. Afab. Whimpering, whiny sub Ekko:(

You shiver, wearing a few layers of clothes along with tons of blankets. Your nose practically freezing off since you feel claustrophobic if you put your face under the covers. You hear the door open to you and your boyfriend’s shared room. Steps coming towards you. “You cold or something?” He asks, You just scoff in response like it wasn't obvious.

He snickers, throwing the blankets off of you causing you to whine. “Oh shush, c’mere you big baby.” He climbs into bed, pulling your body on top of his.

”You’re warm.” You mumble, clinging onto him. “I’m so cold.” You complain, he puts the covers back over the both of you.

“I know a way to make us even warmer.” He wiggles his eyebrows and you shove his face away from your neck before he got the chance to pounce on it with his lips. He got hard before he even got into the bed. “I’m too cold to think about that.” You huff, adjusting yourself on him so you were more comfortable.

It didn’t help Ekko’s situation though. He needed you badly and you put yourself right over his crotch. He tensed up but nonetheless stayed quiet, rubbing your back to get you warmer. “My body aches from how cold it is.” You wiggle over top of him. Ekko lets out a low, almost inaudible grunt. “Stop moving so much.” He grabs your hips to keep you in place. “Sorry, sorry.”

A few moments go by and you begin to understand why he told you to stop moving. You feel something poking against your core. Your lips lined into a smirk, deciding to mess with him. “Ekko, massage me again.” You look at him with a pout. His eyes met yours, he seemed extremely nervous. He never wanted to push anything on you, so when you said you were too cold to think about it he stopped and he tried to take the thought out of his brain.

“Um, alright.” His hands move on your back again, you let out a soft moan, humming into his chest. The vibration only worsening his perverted thoughts. Your digits find his hips, going up and down his body in slow motions. He wanted to stop and shove you off of him.

You were so soft, such a comforting body he just wanted to explore every part of you. Keep you warm and safe. His member twitches and you chuckle. His face flushes.

“He sure has a lot to say.” You tease him, not looking at him as your hand goes underneath you, trailing all the way down to the place he needed you most. He lets out a gasp.

Your smaller hand palms him through his sweatpants. “Pretty girl, please.” He whimpers, he pulls his arms up to his head, watching your focused expression. “You wanted to keep me warm, right?” A smug smile tugging upwards, “my hands are pretty cold.” You go to his ear, kissing it softly as the hand that was once palming him went to the waistline of his pants. “Gonna treat you so well.” You lay your head back down on his chest, moving your body slightly off of him so you could get a better view of your actions.

Ekko watches as his girlfriend extracts his dick from his clothing agonizingly slow. Spitting on your hand before smearing it on his tip, mixed with his precum. “So cute.” You compliment.

“Cute?” He huffs, your thumb rubs it over the sensitive mushroom top. “Mhm.”

He bucks his hips up, desperate for you to touch him more. You take your hand away to shove his hips back down. “Be patient.” You sit up with the blankets over your shoulders. You spread his legs apart enough so you could sit in between them. You yank his pants off half-way, keeping them at his thighs.

His orbs grow darker by the sight of you on your knees before him. Even though you're clothed up you are the only one to affect him this way.

“What do you want?” You ask, your fingers dancing around his skin. “Take your shirt off. Please.” He mewls in a soft tone. “Then I’ll be cold.” Your bottom lip puckers out as you give him puppy-dog eyes. “I need to see them, they’re so beautiful.” He begs, his hand going down to his dick, using your spit to pump up and down. “If that’s what my boyfriend wants. I guess I can make some sacrifices.” You take off your sweater along with the tank top that was underneath. Flaunting your breasts.

“Stop touching yourself.” You prod aside his wrist replacing it back with your palm once again. Stroking his cock while leaning over to pronounce your boobs out. “I was supposed to b-e warming- shit- warming you up.” He stammers, grabbing at your left tit, massaging it gently. “This is warming me up.” You giggle, laying a kiss on the cockhead. He squeezes his eyes shut as your tongue kitten licks him.

Your hand is still kneading at the base. “I- ohmygooodd.” He groans. “Use your mouth.” He runs a hand on top of your hair, grasping at it. “Not very good manners.” You glance up at him. He holds a breath. “Please use your mouth pretty girl. Please.” He whines like a dog, rutting his hips up only to be knocked back down. “Patience, Ekko.” Your voice was soft but stern.

You’ve never acted like this before, it was new to him. He was normally in control. “Fuck, okay, okay.” He throws his arm over his eyes. You snigger, sticking your tongue out. You smack his cock on it repeatedly until popping it between your lips. Hollowing out your cheeks, sucking on his tip.

You lower your head until your nose hits his pelvic region. His happy trail tickles you ever so slightly. You go back up then continue at a leisurely state. Frustrating him ridiculously. “[Name] please stop messing with me. I need more.” He tugs at your hair. “Mmmmhmmm?” Your noises pleasuring him. “I’m going to fuck your throat if you don’t do something.” He tells you through gritted teeth.

The thought of him facefucking you aroused you. You felt the wetness in between your thighs even through all your clothes. You move your heel underneath your cunt. Pressing your butt down to feel the friction as you bob your head up and down on your boyfriend's thick cock.

Now being more mindful of his needs. The slurping sounds with a mix of occasional gags. You hold onto the top of his thighs as you get faster. Ekko’s toes curling from your skills. He felt like he was about to cum at any moment. His abs tightening, flexing just for you.

“[Name], pretty girl. I- oh fuckfuckfuck… I’m close.” Once again his pelvis went up. You weren’t expecting it causing your upper torso to contract as you gag. You lift up, his dick falling against his stomach. The saliva and pre-cum dribbling down your chin. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’ll be better. I promise.” He implores, his hands wandering on your chest down to your stomach.

“Fuck my throat.” You vocalise, sounding raspy. “A-are you sure? You don’t have to do it because I mentioned it.” He double checks and you smile, pulling forward by his shirt, kissing him. Your spit and his own liquid smudges across his mouth.

You drop him back down on the pillows. He plants his feet down on the bed, lifting himself up a tiny bit and you put your mouth back on his dick. “You ready?” He bites his lip, your eyes look up at him. Your cheeks rise, making you seem like you’re squinting to show that you’re smiling. You give him a thumbs up. Both of his hands go to your head.

He thrusts up into your muzzle, starting off tender you wink at him then his hips begin to accelerate. You hold onto his legs for support. His hands pushing you down as far as you can take him.

“I’m going to cum! Fu-uuuuck!” He keeps the quick pace. Your pussy spasms at his moans and whimpers he made. “I love you so much, pretty girl. So so so much.” He breathes heavily. “Gonna let me spill into your throat? Swallow it like a good, beautiful girl that you are?” He questions you and you hum out. Slightly nodding your head. “Fuck, that’s my girl.”

His cock convulses, his tip bruising your uvula. “Ohhh, love you, love you , love…” His voice gets cut off as he cums, his mouth hanging open with no noise coming out. His seed spurting down your throat as your nose pressed against his skin. He restrains you in place until his balls are completely empty. He roughly drops down and you swallow everything before coughing to catch your breath.

His dick lays limp and his face looks fucked out. “Hope you know I’m not done with you.” You smirk, grabbing his soft cock and he whines, attempting to push you away. “Too sensitive, pretty girl.” He complains. “Mmm I’m still cold though.”

He tiredly rubs his face realizing how long of a night he was about to have.

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cravinghexstrap · 4 months ago

Note

ANYTHING EKKO X READER X JINX IDCCCCC 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

I GOTCHUUUUUU

Literally dream threesome.

Jinx is insane but Ekko makes sure she doesn’t go too far. She most definitely loves making sex toys for you to try out in the bedroom. She’ll tie you both up, facing each other and go to town. She’ll put a cock ring on Ekko and attach a vibrator to your clit, stimulating you both. If she’s feeling mischievous she’ll leave you both there for hours as she plans out how to torture you both next.

You and Jinx love taking care of Ekko. He deserves it, you know? He’ll be sitting in between Jinx’s legs as you go down on him. She’ll whisper dirty things into his ears, telling him what a good boy he is and he can’t help but cant his hips into your mouth which causes you to gag.

Hearing you gag turns Jinx on so much too. She’ll force your head down his cock further just to hear his pretty moans and your struggle to take him.

Now here’s the best part. Them double teaming you. They have this whole good cop bad cop thing going. Ekko will start it, laying you down and eating you out until you’re all nice and pliant for them. He kisses your forehead before stepping back and letting Jinx tie you up. You’re so caught up in the pleasure you don’t even register at first. It’s not until you try to reach out for Ekko that you realize you’ve been restrained. You lightly tug at the rope but give up when you realize it’s useless.

Ekko will spend the entire time praising you. He’ll delicately caress you as he thrusts deep inside of you, gently squeezing every inch of you he can reach.

Meanwhile Jinx is pulling your hair as she rides your face, calling you slut or whore or any degrading thing she can think of at the time. She loves making eye contact with you while you eat her out too. Seeing your focus on her makes her go wild.

You’re so focused on her pleasure that you jump when you feel a vibrator pressed to your clit. Ekko had grabbed one of Jinx’s toys and is directly stimulating you. Your thighs begin trembling from everything happening at once. It’s all just so goooddddd. You cum twice before Jinx is finished riding you. She finally lifts herself up, a trail of her slick and your drool following her pussy. You whine at the loss of her touch. She just coos and reassures she’ll be right back and once she cleans herself up.

Now Ekko can have your attention all to himself. He puts down the vibrator to give you a break but continues to thrust into your aching cunt. He leans down and trails kisses all over your chest, making sure to give extra gentle kisses to any hickeys left around (there’s so many.)

Once he gets close he pulls out and finishes himself off on your stomach. He fingers you to completion and unties you. Jinx comes back with a towel but drops it to draw a heart with the cum on your stomach. Ekko flicks her hand away and grabs the towel to wipe the cum off before it dries and you all cuddle together and pass out, Ekkos light breathing and Jinx’s snoring lulling you to sleep.

#arcane smut #arcane #jinx x reader #jinx smut #ekko smut #ekko x reader #ekkojinx #ask #cravinghexstrap

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imsogirlkisser · 5 months ago

Text

.𖥔 ݁ ˖๋ Powder + Jinx.

#— imsogirlkisser blogie!! ⊹₊⟡⋆#© moodbored. ᡣ𐭩 #they’re so cutie!!!#arcane #lesbian #wlw #arcane league of legends #arcane season two #arcane smut #jinx arcane #arcane netflix #arcane series #jinx and ekko #jinx x reader #jinx league of legends #jinx lol #jinx smut #jinx #jinx fanart

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misswynters · 5 months ago

Text

* . misswynters Arcane masterlist

here is the list of all my works!

note l it would greatly appreciated if you would not only just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. thank you!

last updated: December 1, 2024

smut (18+) / suggestive (s) / fluff (f) / angst (a)

Viktor

Broken & whole | The Noble Daughter (18+) | A Noxian Christmas (f)

His most prized possession (18+) | Scientific purposes (s) | Christmas Present (18+)

drabbles.

Jinx

XOXO (18+) | having a gf who’s touchy and affectionate (f) |

Lil Daredevils with big hearts (makes an appearance) |

The Idol Star |

drabbles.

spending time with ekko, her and your twin girls (f) |

Violet (Vi)

Distrust | Fighting fire (s)

Caitlyn

Cold Heart (s) | Impenetrable Fortress (f) | Princess Treatment (f, s) |

Ekko

drabbles.

Ekko and heimerdinger being nerdy while you sleep (f)

Ekko being protective while you are expecting (f)

A lazy and calm day with ekko (f) | Tag, you’re it! (f) |

Ekko rewinding time to save you | Childhood Besties (f)

Getting into a slight argument while heavily pregnant (f) |

Spending time with him, jinx and your twin girls (f)

Alone in the rumble as you died in his arms (a) |

Getting Married | Drunken |

Headcanons with ekko: as your bf | your husband

Sevika

Brothel (18+) | Strapped up (18+) | Steel and sunshine (f)

Headcanon: sevika as you’re partner | Warrior’s bond (s): part two , part three (18+) |

Found Family (f) | More than a transaction | hands off

drabbles.

Ambessa/sevika ignoring you in public, affectionate in private (s)

Ambessa

Warrior’s bond (s): part two , part three (18+) |

drabbles.

Ambessa spoiling her girly s/o | Ambessa/sevika being cold in public, affectionate in private (s)

Mel

Elegance is key |

drabbles.

Spoiled Rotten | Her Golden Shield |

Seb

drabbles.

Him complaining to you after a days worth of work |

Silco

Desperately trying to find something more (s) | Possesive

Lest

Smoke and kisses |

Claggor (au)

Big Bear (f) | Underneath (s)

Arcane characters

Reacting to you: being a vs model (s) | Patching them up (f)

Other…

Misswynters Christmas series 2024

send requests to my inbox!

if you would like to be added to my taglist for arcane or anything else let me know!

banner by @anitalenia

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jhyoos · 2 months ago

Text

Off Limits

chapter one : cold hearted snake

soccer player vi x talis reader

mentions : player vi, besti ekko, romance, lesbianism, modern au, college au, drama, abby tlou, ellie tlou, cheerleader reader, mention of sex, mentions of overdosing

notes: semi long chapter so get some snacks, turn your fan on and rub your feet together

edit: i ended up changing nyu to asu (arcane state university)

next chapter ->

"Jayce… don’t piss me off," you mumbled groggily, swatting at the air as you turned away from the light creeping in through the curtains. Your brother had this awful habit of waking you up early, and this time, it was no different. You groaned as you felt the edge of his foot on your nightstand, a clear sign that he wasn’t planning to leave until you gave him the attention he craved.

"Please, sis. Just tell me if they go good with my outfit. It's my junior year. I gotta look fresh," Jayce said, his voice high-pitched and over-the-top, just the way it always was when he was seeking validation.

You blinked open one eye, then the other, squinting up at him. The sight of his goofy grin—complete with his messy hair—did nothing to help the headache that was already forming. He was holding a pair of sneakers in one hand, his new must-have shoes for the school year.

You rubbed your eyes and sighed, giving him the most unimpressed look you could muster. "Yeah, Jayce. You look good," you said flatly, trying to roll over and go back to sleep.

But Jayce, of course, wasn’t done. He let out an exaggerated sigh and plopped down on the edge of your bed, his body taking up far too much space. "Don’t go back to sleep, c’mon! It’s your first day here at ASU. You gotta make a statement," he said, wiggling his eyebrows, clearly proud of his well-meaning, annoying attempt to motivate you.

You cracked open an eye again, giving him a deadpan stare. "I don’t want to hear it, Jayce. You’re lucky I’m even awake right now."

Jayce chuckled, nudging you lightly with his foot. "Get up, you lazy bum. I need to know if this shirt works with my new kicks or not. It’s important!"

You sighed, sitting up slowly, still trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. Looking at him—his eager face, his ridiculous outfit—wasn’t helping your mood. You glanced at his sneakers, then his shirt, then his whole vibe. Jayce looked like he was trying way too hard to impress everyone on his first day back. He had his typical “I’m cool” swagger on display, and you weren’t sure if you should laugh or just roll your eyes harder.

"Yeah, Jayce. You look good," you muttered, not really caring but knowing that was the answer he wanted to hear.

Jayce leaned in closer, his face inches from yours, all dramatic as he asked, "Really? I mean, really? You sure about that? ‘Cause I need you to be my fashion consultant today."

You shook your head, not even bothering to reply to his antics. You were too tired for this. But he wasn’t backing down. He was, after all, Jayce—a master at annoying people to no end.

"Don’t make me get Mom on the phone, you know she’s got the best opinions," he teased, but you could hear the hint of excitement in his voice. He wasn’t just annoying you for attention; he genuinely seemed to need your approval.

You shot him a glare. "If you don’t stop, I’ll tell Mom you’ve been wearing the same pair of socks for two days."

Jayce’s grin faltered, just for a second, before he playfully shoved your shoulder. "Low blow, sis. Low blow."

Finally, you could hear him sigh in defeat. "Fine. I’m leaving, I’m leaving. Get up, though! Or I swear, I’ll drag you out of bed myself."

You stared at him as he got up and headed toward the door, but not without another remark. "Oh, and don't even think about that raggedy bus today. We’re taking my car. And you're making a statement whether you like it or not."

The door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment, there was silence—glorious silence.

You glanced at the time on your phone. 5:47 AM. With a groan, you threw the covers off and rolled out of bed.

The thought of the first day at ASU made your stomach churn with nerves, but you couldn't show it. Not after all the teasing and endless talk of “making a statement” from your brother. You needed to at least pretend like you had it all together. So, with a loud sigh, you shuffled into the bathroom for a shower, hoping the cold water would wake you up enough to deal with the day ahead.

As you stood under the stream of water, you tried to clear your head. You'd never been one for drama, but here you were, starting college at one of the most prestigious schools in the country. It was supposed to be exciting. New people, new opportunities, new everything. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were stepping into something much bigger than you were ready for.

Still, there was no turning back now.

You had spent your freshman and sophomore years in Italy, a place you quickly grew to love. It was a dream come true—walking cobblestone streets, sipping espresso in tiny cafes, and studying architecture and art history in a country that felt alive with culture and tradition. At first, you were nervous about being so far from home, but Italy embraced you with open arms, and soon, it felt more like home than your actual home ever had.

The plan had been simple: you would study abroad, and Jayce would come with you. Your mom had made it clear that he had the option to join you. “Think about it,” your mom had said, “two years of sibling bonding while experiencing a whole new world.” But, of course, Jayce had shrugged it off.

"Pass," he'd said without hesitation. "All my friends are here. Plus, who's gonna keep the soccer team alive without me?"

You’d rolled your eyes when he said it, but deep down, his refusal stung. He didn’t even consider it. And as much as you hated to admit it, part of you had wanted him there. Sure, he was annoying and constantly in your space, but he was also your big brother—the one who always knew how to make you laugh when you were stressed, the one who looked out for you when no one else did. Without him, you felt a little more alone than you were ready to admit.

But Italy had been a journey all its own. You’d found your rhythm there, made lifelong friends, and grown in ways you never expected. You learned to navigate bustling markets in Florence, spent lazy afternoons sketching by the canals in Venice, and even picked up enough Italian to argue with locals over gelato flavors. It wasn’t just a study abroad experience; it was a transformation.

Then, two years flew by faster than you thought they would. And just like that, it was time to say goodbye to everything you’d built in Italy. The narrow alleyways you knew like the back of your hand, the corner cafe where the barista always greeted you with a warm "Ciao, bella," and the friends who had become family. It wasn’t easy leaving it all behind, but the opportunity to finish your degree at home on a full-ride scholarship was too good to pass up.

There was one silver lining to returning home: Ekko. Your best friend since middle school. He’d been the one constant in your life before you left for Italy, and as much as you loved your new friends abroad, no one quite compared to Ekko. He was like a brother to you, but cooler than Jayce ever could be—not that you’d ever tell Jayce that to his face.

Ekko was in ASU with a full ride scholarship majoring in Engineering, balancing school with being on the soccer team alongside Jayce. The two of them had always been close, despite being complete opposites. Jayce was loud, confident, and always seeking the spotlight, while Ekko was more laid-back and analytical, content to let his skills speak for themselves. The idea of seeing them again—especially Ekko—was one of the few things keeping you grounded as you prepared to face New York after two years away.

After your last class wrapped up, you decided to head over to the campus coffee shop to grab something to eat. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods hit you as soon as you walked in. You ordered an iced coffee and a bagel sandwich before making your way outside, where small tables with umbrellas dotted the courtyard.

Finding an empty table near the edge of the patio, you set your things down and took a seat. The campus buzzed around you as students chatted or hurried to their next destination. Sipping your coffee, you opened your book and began reading while occasionally taking bites of your sandwich.

As you lost yourself in the story, two hands suddenly grabbed your shoulders, making you jolt and nearly drop your sandwich. Your head whipped around, your heart racing, only to be met with a familiar face—Ekko.

“Holy—Ekko!” you exclaimed, standing up with a wide grin.

He laughed, his grin just as big as yours. “Surprise!”

Without hesitation, you threw your arms around him, hugging him tightly. “I missed you so much,” you said, your voice muffled against his shoulder.

“Missed you too,” Ekko said, his arms wrapping around you firmly. After a moment, he pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders as he took a good look at you.

You twirled around dramatically, giving him a full view of your outfit. His brows shot up in surprise as he took it all in. “Damn… Italy changed you in more ways than one. What happened to my (Y/N) who wore oversized hoodies and partied like a rockstar every other weekend?”

You smirked, crossing your arms. “She’s dead, but I still love a good party,” you quipped.

Ekko leaned casually against the wall, his arms crossed and a playful smirk on his face. “There’s gonna be a first-day bonfire tonight. Good music, new faces, and…” he paused for effect, “…Caitlyn Kiramman, the cheer captain, might be there. You could ask her about whether there’s a chance you’re on the team since you submitted that video for tryouts.”

Your face lit up with excitement. “You always come in clutch,” you said with a grin. “Only if you’re taking me, though.”

Ekko shook his head, his smirk turning into a sheepish grin. “Can’t. I’ve got a date for the bonfire.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Aw, really? Who’s the lucky girl?”

“A girl named Jinx. She’s in most of my classes. Thought she was cute, so I asked her out,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal. “She surprisingly said yes.”

“Surprisingly?” you teased, folding your arms and leaning toward him. “Please, Ekko, you’ve got more game than you think. Good for you, seriously.”

He chuckled, his cheeks dusted with a hint of pink. “Thanks, I guess. What about you? Got your eye on any girls here yet?”

You grinned mischievously, your voice dripping with confidence. “Always.”

Ekko leaned in slightly, his eyebrows raised. “Oh, really?” he asked teasingly.

“Yup. Vi,” you said with no hesitation. “She’s really hot—pink hair, tattoos on her back. God, I would love to take a ride on h—”

“Oh, fuck no,” Ekko interrupted, his voice sharp as his expression shifted to something between disbelief and warning.

You blinked, startled by his sudden tone. “What?!”

Ekko groaned, running a hand down his face. “She’s a player, (Y/N). I should know. She’s on the soccer team with Jayce. Don’t mess with her—you’ll get hurt. Real shit.”

You frowned, confused by his sudden seriousness. “What are you talking about? She seemed fine when I talked to her earlier.”

He pushed off the wall and crossed his arms again, his expression dark. “I’ve seen it happen. She’s got game, yeah, but not the kind you want. I don’t like the way she moves. I used to hang out with her, but I stopped for a reason. The only time I’m even around her is when Jayce is.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Okay, but maybe she’s different now.”

Ekko narrowed his eyes at you, unimpressed. “Look, I’m just saying—don’t let her mess with your head, (Y/N). You’re better than that. Just…be careful, okay?”

You rolled your eyes, though a small part of you appreciated his concern. “Fine, Dad.”

When you got home, Ekko’s warning was the last thing on your mind. Vi was texting you, and there was no way you were going to ignore her. She was too hot not to respond to. Balancing your bag on your shoulder and your coffee cup in one hand, you pushed the door shut with your foot. As soon as the door clicked behind you, you checked your phone again, a grin spreading across your face as you read her latest message.

Heading upstairs, you scrolled through the playful back-and-forth between you and Vi, feeling giddy. The attention she was giving you was addictive. You were so lost in the conversation that you didn’t notice Jayce stepping out of the bathroom until you nearly bumped into him.

He stood there with a towel slung around his waist, droplets of water still clinging to his skin. He raised an eyebrow as he noticed the stupid grin on your face. “The fuck are you smiling about, dopey?” he teased, crossing his arms over his chest. “You look a little too gay right now.”

You rolled your eyes and brushed past him. “Ha, ha, hilarious,” you muttered, holding your phone a little closer as you tried to move toward your room.

But Jayce wasn’t going to let it go. He reached over and snatched the phone right out of your hand.

“Jayce! What the fuck!” you yelped, spinning around and reaching for it.

Jayce held it out of your reach, laughing as he glanced at the screen. But his laughter quickly died when he saw the name at the top of the conversation. His eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “You’re fucking around with Vi?” he asked, his tone dripping with judgment.

“It’s the first day, so not yet, clearly,” you snapped, grabbing your phone back with an irritated glare.

Before you could retreat to your room, Jayce stepped in front of you, blocking your path. His expression shifted to something more serious, almost protective. “Whatever you’re doing with her, stop. She’s a close friend of mine, and she gets around, (Y/N). It’ll be awkward as hell, and on top of that, I’m not trying to get embarrassed by you.”

You rolled your eyes, brushing past him. “Whatever,” you muttered dismissively, though his words stung.

Jayce didn’t move from where he stood, following you with his eyes as you turned toward the stairs. “Hey, wait. Are you going to the bonfire tonight?”

You stopped and turned to face him. “Yeah, Ekko has a date, so I need a ride. Can you take me? Mom and Dad still haven’t gotten me a car yet, so I’m stuck.”

Jayce shook his head immediately, folding his arms again. “Oh, you’re not going. No way. Vi’s gonna be there, and that’s officially off fucking limits.”

Your jaw dropped in disbelief. “What? What the fuck, Jayce! I can’t even go socialize?”

Jayce gave you a hard look. “You’re not going to socialize, (Y/N). I know how you are when it comes to alcohol and…other shit. Or do I need to call Mom and tell her you need to go back to Italy after I let you relapse?”

His words hit you like a slap. Your stomach dropped as anger flared in your chest, and your eyes burned with unshed tears. “Fuck you, Jayce,” you said, your voice trembling with a mix of rage and hurt. “What a low blow.”

You yanked your arm out of his grip and stormed up the stairs, slamming your bedroom door shut behind you. You locked it for good measure, leaning against it as hot tears began to roll down your cheeks.

Outside the door, Jayce’s voice softened, guilt creeping into his tone. “Wait, sis… I didn’t mean it seriously,” he said, knocking lightly.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t even look at him right now.

When it became clear you weren’t going to answer, Jayce sighed. “Let me know if you want anything to eat when I get back,” he said quietly before walking away. The sound of his footsteps faded down the hall, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

While you sat on your bed, still upset over the argument with Jayce, your phone buzzed. You glanced at it, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw it was a text from Vi.

Vi: Are you coming to the bonfire party? I wanna see you.

You hesitated for a moment before typing back.

You: Can’t. My brother’s not letting me go. And I don’t have a car. He was my only ride.

Her reply came almost instantly.

Vi: Well, I have a car. Give me your location and get ready. I’ll pick you up, beautiful.

A grin spread across your face despite everything, and you quickly sent her your location. Tossing your phone onto the bed, you sprang up and went straight to your closet. You scanned your options until you finally settled on a black fitted mini-dress paired with, a denim jacket draped off your shoulders, and chunky black boots. The look was edgy yet flirty—perfect for a night out.

You glanced in the mirror and realized your makeup was a mess from crying. Grabbing a makeup wipe, you cleaned up the smudges, reapplying your eyeliner and lipstick carefully. After smoothing out your hair and giving yourself one last look-over, your phone buzzed again.

“I’m parked outside the complex,” the text read.

“Shit,” you muttered, scrambling to find a cute bag. You tossed your phone, keys, wallet, and lip gloss inside, then rushed out the door.

As you left your apartment complex, you gave the doorman a quick wave. “Goodnight!” you called, like always.

“Have fun!” he replied with a knowing smile.

Outside, a sleek car idled by the curb. You spotted Vi leaning against the driver’s side, her pink hair glowing under the streetlights. She grinned when she saw you, and as soon as you slid into the passenger seat, she leaned over and kissed you.

You froze for a second, caught off guard, but then you melted into the kiss, returning it shyly. When she pulled back, her smirk was devilish.

“Nice place you live at,” she said, glancing at the complex as she started driving. “A friend of mine stays in one of these apartments. You must have a lot of money to live here.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Vi gave you a quick side glance, her smile softening. “Well, good for me. I like spoiled girls,” she teased.

As soon as you and Vi stepped onto the sandy beach where the bonfire party was in full swing, she casually draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in close. The heat of the fire reflected in her smirk as she held you there like she had no care in the world.

Immediately, you pulled away, glancing around to make sure no one—especially your brother—had noticed. “Stop,” you hissed, swatting at her arm. “You’re going to blow my cover. I’m not even supposed to be here, remember?”

Vi chuckled, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her ripped jeans, clearly enjoying your paranoia. “Fine, fine,” she relented. “But text me when you’re ready to leave.”

“Where are you going?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m gonna go find Jayce and keep him occupied,” she said with a smirk, already scanning the crowd. “Don’t worry, princess. I got you.”

“Cool,” you said with a nod before slipping away from her, weaving through the bodies of drunken students and the glow of the bonfire’s flickering flames.

Your eyes darted across the party until they landed on Ekko. He was in the middle of a crowd, dancing with a girl who had strikingly light blue hair, her movements wild and carefree as they swayed to the music.

“Hey, Ekko!” you called out over the sound of the music.

Ekko turned his head at the sound of your voice, a grin forming when he spotted you pushing through the crowd toward him. “(Y/N)!” He gestured for you to come closer. “This is Jinx. Jinx, this is (Y/N), my best friend since middle school.”

You smiled, sticking out a hand for her to shake. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Instead of shaking your hand, Jinx’s face lit up, and she immediately pulled you into a tight hug. “Sorry, but I’m a hugger, girl,” she said, squeezing you before letting go. “And middle school? That’s so adorable!”

You chuckled. “Yep. We used to do chemistry projects together in high school and blow shit up. My parents had to pay millions.”

Ekko laughed, shaking his head. “Yup, we were menaces,” he agreed, nudging you playfully.

Jinx grinned, eyes flickering between the two of you. “I like you already.”

The party was loud, the music pulsing through the air as laughter and shouts filled the night. You were mid-conversation with Jinx when suddenly, a random frat guy shoved an opened Cayman Jack into your hands. The condensation from the bottle chilled your skin as you instinctively curled your fingers around it.

“Chug, pretty thang,” he slurred, grinning like he had just offered you the holy grail.

“Oh, um… no, it’s okay. I’m taking a break from drinking,” you said, trying to hand it back to him.

Instead of taking the rejection, he popped the cap off with his thumb and shoved it back toward you, his eyes wild with excitement. “Chug!” he chanted.

At first, it was just him, but soon, others joined in, the word picking up like a wave, echoing louder and louder around you. "Chug! Chug! Chug!"

Ekko shot you a worried look, his lips parting as if he was about to intervene, but before he could, the pressure of a dozen eyes on you—waiting, watching, expecting—became too much. Without thinking, you tilted your head back and downed the entire drink, the carbonation burning your throat, the alcohol hitting your stomach like a rock.

“There, happy?” you said, shoving the now-empty can into the frat guy’s chest.

He let out a cheer, eyes gleaming with drunken satisfaction. Then, in a final act of bravado, he crushed the can against his forehead with a loud crack and stumbled off into the crowd.

Ekko’s hand was on your shoulder in an instant, his grip firm but gentle. “Fuck…” you muttered, your stomach twisting. Your fingers trembled slightly, your body already remembering the ghosts of your past. “I haven’t had a drink since I…”

Ekko rubbed your shoulder reassuringly. “I’ll get you some water.” His voice was calm, but you saw the worry in his eyes. He turned to Jinx. “Watch her for me?”

Jinx gave a quick nod, her face uncharacteristically serious.

Ekko disappeared into the crowd, leaving you standing there with the taste of alcohol still lingering on your tongue.

“What’s wrong?” Jinx asked, tilting her head.

“I—I just…” Your voice faltered.

Before you could finish, a voice sliced through the noise, sharp and furious.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Your stomach dropped. You turned to see Jayce standing a few feet away, his face twisted with anger, his fists clenched at his sides.

“I’m just hanging out, Jayce,” you said, trying to keep your voice even.

Jayce scoffed, stepping closer. “(Y/N), I can smell the alcohol on your breath.” His eyes darkened, his voice tight with frustration. “Shit, dude—not even a whole two weeks and you’re already relapsing?”

Your throat tightened. “I’m not relapsing. I was just pressured into taking a drink by those stupid frat boys,” you argued.

“Bullshit,” Jayce snapped.

Ekko returned just in time, a bottle of water in his hand, but he barely had time to process what was happening before Jayce was right in your face again.

You barely heard him, your mind spiraling as the weight of his words sank in.

Yes, you were an addict in high school.

After your dad’s death, you took it harder than anyone else in your family. You fell in with the wrong people, numbing the pain however you could. The night you overdosed, you had been left in an alley, a needle in your arm, your body convulsing, vomiting, barely clinging to life.

Your mother couldn’t handle it anymore.

Instead of sending you to rehab, she sent you to Italy—far away, somewhere new, somewhere she hoped you could start over. And you did. You got therapy. You worked on yourself. You fixed yourself.

But now, standing here with Jayce looking at you like you were a failure, it felt like all that progress meant nothing.

His next words shattered whatever was left of your resolve.

“Go home,” he said coldly. “I don’t care how you get home—just go.”

Then, without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, your vision blurring with tears.

Ekko’s hand found yours, squeezing it gently. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

Jinx nodded, stepping closer. “Yeah, I’ll come too.”

You swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in your throat. “Thanks. Just—let me say goodbye to someone first.”

Ekko nodded. “Cool. We’ll wait by the car.”

He took Jinx’s hand, leading her toward the parking lot, leaving you alone in the middle of the party, feeling like the ground beneath you was slowly cracking apart.

You pushed through the crowd, weaving between sweaty, drunken bodies, the pulse of the music thrumming in your ears. The fire in the middle of the yard crackled, casting flickering orange light over the partygoers gathered around it. Your breath was shallow as you scanned the area, searching for Vi.

And then you saw her.

She was standing by the fire, her red hair illuminated by the flames, her toned arms flexing slightly as she laughed at something. But she wasn’t alone.

A girl with long blue hair stood close—too close. She traced her fingers up and down Vi’s arm, her nails dragging over the inked skin like she had every right to touch her. Vi smirked, that signature, cocky grin that made your heart race earlier in the night. But now, it only made your stomach twist.

Then, before you could even process what was happening, Vi grabbed the girl by the waist and pulled her in. Their lips crashed together in a deep, messy kiss—not just a casual peck, not like the ones you and Vi had shared. This was something more. Their bodies were flush, Vi’s hands gripping the girl’s hips, their mouths moving like they’d done this before.

You felt a lump in your throat, but not because you were heartbroken. No, this wasn’t heartbreak. It was disappointment.

Because everyone was right.

Vi was a player. A flirt. She wasn’t the kind of girl to settle down—not even for you.

Without a second thought, you turned away, pushing through the crowd with more force this time, ignoring the people who grumbled or stumbled in your wake. Vi didn’t even see you.

By the time you reached the car, Ekko and Jinx were already waiting.

“You good?” Ekko asked as you slid into the backseat.

You didn’t answer. You just stared out the window, watching as buildings and trees blurred past. The streetlights flickered across your face, casting shadows that stretched and disappeared.

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t even feel angry.

You just felt disgusted.

For the first time in two years, that familiar, suffocating feeling crept back in—the one that made your skin crawl, the one that made you want to disappear.

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