Sevika Is The Pe Teacher And Reader Is The English Teacher And Reader Is Sweet To All The Students And

you cannot tell me this isn't just Vi's life as. Whole 😭😭😭bby girl went through so much this reminds me of herrrr what I feel like she deserves to say out loud

HELLOO! (⁠☆⁠▽⁠☆⁠)

My name is Rai, I am 18 years old, my pronouns are she/her, I am pansexual and demisexual and I love quiet activities like reading, sketching, paper crafts, mehandi art, cooking, and stuff. I am an introvert, and my MBTI is INFP

♡

I enjoy watching horror and thriller movies. My favourites are Lights Out, Train to Busan, Tumbbad, and the Conjuring series. I love animated shows like Arcnae (utterly obsessed) and The Blue Eye Samurai

♡

I love reading and yapping about the recent book I've read. I mostly read fiction but dabble in socio-political and history books ^⁠_⁠^ I enjoy sweet and spicy food, especially noodles, idk I just have a special love for them. I love watching anime, especially slice of life or something with a huge emotional impact, my favourite being Bananafish

✿

Would love to meet people here and get to know them ʕ⁠っ⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠ʔ⁠っ

Racists , homophobics, transphobics, misogynists,etc Please don't interact get help instead :⁠-⁠) respectfully so

What if she is kissing me but then stops to take off my glasses using her teeth then kisses me again ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

A girl can dream 😔

Vi x Reader knew each other when they were younger before everything went downhill with the incident with the explosion, and later they meet again as pit fighters in the arena. After the match, as they tend to the other's wounds, they catch up and over the time they spend together in and out of the arena, they eventually become a couple and move in together.

Fight Me

masterlist!

synopsis: my take on the above request, where instead of becoming a couple and moving in, they get heated (18+ but I’m a coward and can’t write smut)

pairings: vi x reader

The whispers in the underground fight scene were quiet, but the whispers were all saying the same thing: there’s two people to beat, and they’re fighting tonight. 

The Hound versus The Bandit. 

The air in the pit was thick with sweat, blood, and the anticipation of the fight to come. Bodies pressed against the rusted railings, eager to witness another brutal clash between two of the underground’s deadliest brawlers. The energy was electric, charged with the weight of bets, debts, and grudges waiting to be settled. 

You stood in your corner, rolling out the tension in your shoulders, feeling the familiar heat of the arena lights overhead. The rough wrappings around your knuckles were tight, already stained from past battles. You had fought in this pit before—won in it before, you could do it again. 

The Hound stood across the pit, flexing her fingers, rolling her neck. Even from this distance, you could see the glint of something dangerous in her eyes. 

She was watching you, sizing you up—not just as an opponent, but as something more. Something familiar. 

Your stomach twisted, but you shook it off. You had fought countless people in this pit. This was no different. 

The announcer’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, you know the names! You’ve heard the stories! But tonight, only one walks out victorious! Will it be the relentless force of nature—The Hound—or the cunning, untouchable legend—The Bandit?”

A roar of cheers and jeers rose from the crowd, coins clinking, fists pounding against the rusted railings. 

The Hound smirked, and she cracked her knuckles. “Didn’t think I’d see you here,” she called over the noise. 

Your chest tightened. Her voice—it had been years, but you could still hear the echoes of it from a life before this one. Before the explosion. Before everything fell apart. 

You steadied your breathing, meeting her gaze. “Didn’t think you’d recognize me, I’ve made myself pretty faceless down here.” 

She tilted her head, her slightly tipsy, cocky smirk never wavering. “Please. I’d recognize that stance anywhere.” 

The referee raised his hand. “Fighters ready?” 

You shifted your weight, planting your feet. 

Vi rolled her shoulders, dropping into a stance you remembered all too well. The referee’s hand dropped, the bell rang, and the fight began.

Vi came at you fast—faster than you remembered, faster than anyone else in these pits. You barely dodged the first blow, feeling the air shift as her fist grazed past your jaw. She was strong. Stronger than before. 

You countered with a quick jab, catching her just below the ribs, but she barely reacted. She just grinned. 

“Oh yeah,” she muttered, eyes flashing with something exciting, something exhilarating. “I missed this.” 

You missed this too—the fight was a blur of fists and instinct, muscle memory taking over where words had failed. Every blow exchanged was a conversation of its own—questions asked in the form of jabs, answers given in the crack of fists meeting flesh. 

Vi fought like she had something to prove. You fought like you had nothing left to lose. 

The crowd around you roared, but their voices faded into the background, drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears and the weight of Vi’s gaze locking onto yours with every strike. 

She was testing you. And fuck if it didn’t wet your entire body on fire. 

Your fist connected with her jaw, snapping her head to the side. She staggered but barely hesitated before retaliating, her knuckles slamming into your ribs, knocking the wind out of you. You gritted your teeth, biting back a groan as you stumbled. 

Vi, grinned through the sweat and the blood smeared at the corner of her lip, didn’t let up. “You’ve gotten better,” she said, breathless. 

You wiped a trickle of blood from your chin with the back of your hand. “So have you.” 

The fight didn’t last much longer after that. 

It wasn’t that one of you was leagues above the other—no, this was a match of equals. A battle between two people who knew each other’s tells, who had grown up mirroring each other’s movements before life had thrown them into opposite corners of the ring. 

But in the end, Vi took the win. 

She had you pinned, her weight pressing you into the cold ground, your wrists trapped in her grip. Your chest heaved beneath her hips, every breath labored, every inch of you aching. 

For a moment, neither of you moved. 

The crowd’s cheers rang hollow in your ears. 

Vi’s smirk softened just slightly as she hovered above you, her breathing ragged. “Still think you’re faceless?” she asked, voice low, teasing. 

You swallowed hard, feeling the warmth of her breath against your flushed skin. “Guess not.” 

The referee declared her victory, but Vi didn’t move—not right away. Not until her fingers briefly, almost hesitantly, squeezed yours before letting go. 

And just like that, the fight was over. 

————————————

You found her later in the back room, unwrapping the bloodied bandages from her hands. 

Vi barely glanced up as you entered, but the smirk was already on her lips. “Came to gloat?” 

You scoffed, stepping closer, the adrenaline from the fight still buzzing in your veins. “You won. Why would I gloat?” 

She hummed, flexing her fingers before wincing slightly. Without thinking, you grabbed the roll of fresh bandages from the table, stepping into her space. 

Vi raised an eyebrow but didn’t protest as you took her hand, carefully wrapping her knuckles. “Still good at this,” she murmured, watching you. 

You didn’t look up. “Did a lot of patching up over the years.”

Silence settled between you, thick with unspoken words. With memories of a time when fights weren’t for survival, when your fists weren’t used to hurt but to train, to prepare for a future that should have never come. 

Her fingers twitched under yours. “I looked for you,” she admitted suddenly. “After… everything.” 

Your hands stilled. 

You exhaled slowly. “I know.” 

Vi tilted her head, her eyes searching yours. “Then why didn’t you—?”

You cut her off before she could finish the thought. “I didn’t want to be found. I wasn’t the same.” 

Her jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought she might argue. But then, something shifted in her gaze—understanding, maybe. Or acceptance. 

You finished wrapping her hands, but before you could pull away, Vi caught your wrist. 

“Neither was I,” she murmured. 

The weight of her words settled deep in your chest, and then, before you could second-guess it, before the past could creep in and drag you both back down, you leaned in. 

Vi met you halfway. 

The moment her lips crashed into yours, it felt less like a reunion and more like a collision—messy, desperate, something inevitable finally set into motion. 

She pushed you back against the table, hands gripping at your waist, your fingers tangled in her damp hair. The tension from the fight, from the years lost between you, snapped like a frayed wire. 

Vi’s hands were rough, calloused from years of fighting, but they moved against your skin like she’d never forgotten the contours of your body. Her body was pressed tight against yours, heat rolling off her in waves, her breath mixing with yours in the small space between hurried, hungry kisses. 

You barely had time to breathe before she lifted you onto the table with ease, standing between your legs, her finger digging into your hips just enough to send a shiver through you. She kissed you like you were still fighting—teeth nipping at your lower lip, tongue tracing against yours in a way that made your head spin. 

Your hands explored familiar territory, fingers pressing into her back, tracing the muscle that had only grown stronger since you last knew her this way. your nails raked against her skin, and she groaned against your mouth, the sound sending heat pooling low in your stomach. 

Her lips trailed long your jaw, then lower, her teeth scraping the sensitive skin of your neck. You let your head fall back, a breathless laugh slipping out between gasps. “Still cocky,” you murmured. 

Vi laughed against your skin, her hands slipping beneath your shirt, fingertips brushing against your ribs, then your chest. “You like it,” she muttered, her voice rough, her lips pressing against your collarbone before he bit down, just hard enough to make your breath hitch. 

You did. You really, really did. 

Your fingers tangled in her hair, tugging her back up to meet your lips again, swallowing the growl she let out in response. The years apart, the pain, the battles fought with fists instead of words—it all burned away in the fire lit between your bodies. 

She pressed you further onto the table, the cool surface grounding you against the sheer blaze of her body. her hips rolled against yours, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips, The friction, the desperation, the way her body fit against yours like she was still made for you—it was too much, and not enough all at once.

“Vi—” her name left your lips in a breathless plea, “come on, fight me.” 

She grinned against your skin, her voice husky. “Yeah, I got you.” 

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

to the moving and the strange

arcane | silcovander | explicit, 4k, no revolution au canon divergence | fighter Vander, manager silco

written for @zaundads-week Day 4: Alternate Universe

Vander’s heart automatically skips a beat; he knows, he hopes Silco won’t allow him to reach it without a toll, and Vander is very ready to pay it. They both know this dance by now. Even after the cold shower, Vander leaves the fights always drunk on adrenaline, and since they started fucking he feels driven to him the minute he’s out. This is bound to be a disaster: they are supposed to be working together. Silco is the one that actually has the patience to know which fights to pick; before they started working together, Vander lived way worse. He should worry about that, about not losing him as a friend and as a manager for a good fuck.

He should; he doesn’t.

continues here on ao3

My obsession is becoming all-consuming. You can lock me up anytime you want mommy warlord !! 😏🧎🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️

Enemies to lovers sevika.

Sevika absolutely despises reader, and yet reader is still so nice to sevika always smiling at her and offering her nothing but kindness…sevika hates it.(no she doesn’t)

Could be either fluff or smutty just an idea

✞⛧ Tension and Temptation ✞⛧

Warnings: emotional vulnerability, slow burn, developing relationship, implied tension, brief violence, slight injury, angst, reluctant affection (no smut..sorry gang-)

Word count: 5.3K

The air in Zaun always feels heavier, weighed down by the grinding industrial machines and the lingering scent of decay. The narrow streets are filled with the constant hum of activity, the hustle and bustle of a city where survival is a day-to-day struggle. You've barely stepped foot into Silco's territory, but the tension that thickens the air makes you feel as though you've already failed the moment you arrived.

And standing before you, arms crossed, is Sevika.

She's a force of nature, towering and imposing, with the kind of presence that could crush a man just by staring at him. Her broad shoulders and muscular frame practically hum with power, her every movement radiating command. A scar runs down her face, another testament to her brutal world, and her grey eyes, cold as steel, meet yours with a flicker of disdain. Her hair falls in dark waves over her sharp features, partially obscuring the fierce, calculating look she's giving you. The metallic sheen of her copper-colored prosthetic arm glints in the low light, its shimmer-enhanced strength evident even in the way she holds herself.

The first thing you notice is how she's completely unapproachable, the natural aura of violence that wraps around her as tightly as the red poncho draped over her shoulders. You almost feel sorry for the fact that she's been stuck with someone like you. You're just a recruit, fresh off the streets, trying to earn your place. You can already tell she doesn't want you here.

"I don't need a damn assistant," Sevika spits, her voice like gravel scraping against metal. Her tone cuts through the heavy air, sharp and immediate. "So don't get any ideas. Just stay out of my way."

You can't help but smile—soft, almost out of place. It's your natural instinct to meet coldness with kindness, even if it seems pointless. You've always believed that if you show warmth to the right people, maybe you'll get something back in return. But Sevika? She's a brick wall. Her sharp eyes narrow, assessing you as if you were a problem she needed to solve.

"Yeah, whatever," she mutters, dismissing you with a wave of her hand. "Don't make me regret this."

You follow her closely as she turns, stepping with heavy purpose down the grimy streets of Zaun, her boots clicking against the ground in rhythm with the pounding of your heart. Despite the tension crackling between you, you do your best to keep your tone light. "I just want to help. I can handle whatever you need."

Sevika doesn't respond. Instead, her eyes stay fixed ahead, ignoring you completely. The silence between you feels suffocating, but you persist. "I know it might not seem like it, but I'm here to learn. I'm not looking to get in your way, I promise."

Her scowl deepens. "Then keep your mouth shut, and maybe I'll consider it," she growls. Her voice is low, a constant hum of irritation. But it's not just her words that make you pause. It's the way her eyes flash briefly toward you before her gaze returns to the horizon. There's something about the sharpness in those eyes, something that makes the air around you feel charged.

It's like trying to strike a spark in a cold, barren landscape. The more you try to offer, the more Sevika pushes back, her harsh words biting through your calm demeanor.

Still, you can't help but offer a small smile as you keep up with her. You've always believed in the power of kindness. Maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to crack through her tough exterior.

By the time you've reached your destination—a crumbling building where Silco's orders are handed down—you've managed to learn that Sevika has little patience for anything, let alone for someone who dares to try and offer kindness. You find yourself standing in the shadows as she barks out orders to a group of men, her posture demanding respect. There's an undeniable force behind her words, a presence that commands the room as much as her stature does. Her copper arm gleams under the dull lighting, the intricate mechanics of the prosthetic arm seeming almost alien in the harsh, industrial environment.

You're not sure why you still persist. Maybe it's because something about Sevika's rugged exterior, her unrelenting loyalty, and the way she carries herself pulls at you. Or maybe it's the fact that you can see through her cold exterior—there's more beneath the surface, and you're determined to figure it out.

As the hours drag on, the work piles up. It's hard, grueling, and entirely mundane, but you keep at it, offering help when needed, sticking close to her side. There's something about Sevika's quiet, controlled rage that fascinates you. The way she moves, the way she handles everything—each gesture calculated and efficient—reminds you of a well-oiled machine. But machines don't need kindness. People do.

Sevika finally throws you a glance as you hand her a cup of tea, carefully prepared just the way you think she might like it. She takes it from your hand with a grumble, muttering something under her breath about unnecessary gestures, but you know you've won a small victory.

She doesn't throw the cup at you. She drinks it instead, in silence.

The longer you stand beside her, the more her icy exterior seems to thaw—if only just slightly. You notice the subtle shifts in her posture when you speak, the way her lips curve in the briefest of smiles, though she quickly hides it behind her usual scowl.

"Stop smiling at me like that," she growls, her voice softer than before, yet still biting. "It's fucking irritating."

But you don't stop. In fact, you make it your mission to be even kinder, to offer more help, to make her realize that you're not a threat, that you're not here to steal her spotlight, but to be part of the team.

Later, when the day's work is done, Sevika's frustration with you seems to grow. She's angry, but it's not the same anger she directs at the people she dislikes. This one is different. It's more internal, a tension she can't shake, like you're pushing a button deep inside her. She doesn't understand it, and it only makes her hate you more.

"Why the hell do you keep doing this?" she asks, her voice rough with something unreadable. "You think your smile will make this any easier? You think I care about your little act of kindness?"

You stand your ground, though your heart beats faster. "Maybe I'm just trying to help."

Sevika scoffs, but it's not as cutting as before. She glances at you once more, her gaze unreadable, and for a second, it's almost like she's looking at you, really looking at you, for the first time.

"You're wasting your time," she mutters, her tone almost tired.

But when she turns away, there's a slight shift in her movements, an imperceptible change in the way she carries herself. You're not sure if she's getting used to you, or if she's just too exhausted to push you away anymore. But the more she resists, the more determined you become.

In the quiet aftermath of a long day, Sevika lingers at the edge of your vision. She's still rough around the edges, her anger still a flame that burns bright, but there's a small part of her that's starting to crack.

You can see it. She can't hide it from you forever.

And that's when it hits you—despite her constant grumbling, despite her sharp words and cold silences, you're not just an annoyance to her. You're a challenge. One she can't seem to escape.

As Sevika walks away, her prosthetic arm catching the light in a way that makes her seem even more formidable, you smile softly to yourself.

You won't give up on her.

The weight of Zaun hangs heavy in the air, thick with the scent of oil, decay, and danger. The city is a constant, humming machine of chaos and violence, a place where only the strongest survive. And you? You're still trying to prove yourself, trying to make your place known in Silco's ranks. But standing next to Sevika, as always, feels like a constant struggle.

Her presence is like an impenetrable wall of steel—intimidating, unyielding, and cold. Every time you speak to her, it's like your words just bounce off her, sliding into the abyss where they're quickly forgotten. But you're not deterred. You can't be. Her icy demeanor is nothing new. What is new, however, is the way you can't seem to stop smiling at her. Even when she glares at you like she's about to snap your neck, there's something in you that refuses to back down, refuses to let her coldness defeat you.

And it's that same smile you offer her now as the two of you walk through the dark, abandoned streets, on a mission to secure a deal with another faction. You've learned by now that Sevika doesn't deal well with pleasantries, doesn't like the niceties most people in Silco's empire try to pretend at. She's raw, blunt, a woman who cuts to the heart of the matter without hesitation. But despite her sharp words and colder gaze, you remain the same—cheerful, optimistic, and unnervingly kind.

"Quit looking at me like that," Sevika growls, her voice low and gravelly as her grey eyes flick to you. Her gaze pierces through you, as if she's trying to burn holes into your skin. The low hum of her prosthetic arm moving against the fabric of her sleeve is a constant reminder of her strength, her sharpness, and the danger she can unleash with a single movement.

"Like what?" you ask, genuinely curious, despite knowing the answer. You can feel her irritation like a thick cloud around her, but it doesn't deter you. Not today.

"Like you think I'm some sort of charity case," she snaps, the muscles in her neck tensing as her jaw clenches. "If you think you can win me over with your fake little smiles, you're sorely mistaken."

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can say anything, the sudden sound of footsteps echoes in the alleyway ahead. A low hiss of tension fills the air, and instinctively, you tense up, your eyes scanning the shadows.

Sevika's hand immediately goes to the grip of her weapon, her fingers flexing in anticipation. You've seen her in action before—the way she moves, the way her presence fills a room with both fear and respect. But this? This is different. She's on edge, and that makes you on edge too.

"Stay behind me," Sevika orders, her voice a low command as she steps forward, her posture suddenly coiled with dangerous intent. Her left prosthetic arm gleams under the dim light, the cracked blue and purple veins in her skin pulsing faintly beneath the surface. She looks like a force of nature, ready to strike at any moment.

You don't argue. You've learned by now that arguing with Sevika is a pointless endeavor. Instead, you keep your head down, staying close to her as the two of you advance. But as you round the corner, you don't expect what happens next.

Gunshots echo through the alley, and in an instant, you're caught off guard. A burst of shrapnel flies toward you, the sound of the blast ringing in your ears, and before you even have time to react, a sharp pain explodes in your side. The world tilts on its axis as you stumble, your knees buckling under you as you fall hard against the cold, unforgiving ground.

Your breath hitches, the shock of the attack leaving your limbs weak. Blood starts to pool beneath you, and panic surges in your chest. You're not sure how bad it is, but you know you're hurt. You're not sure if you can stand again.

Sevika doesn't hesitate. She spins around with the speed of a predator, her metallic prosthetic arm coming down with the force of a battering ram. The gunmen are taken down quickly, their bodies slumping lifelessly to the ground, but you're not focused on them. You're focused on the sharp, burning pain in your side, the fear creeping in that you might not be able to move.

She doesn't see it at first. She's too caught up in the immediate danger of taking out the rival faction. But when she turns back to look for you, that's when she sees it.

Your hand is pressed tightly against your side, blood seeping between your fingers as you struggle to stay conscious. The shock is setting in, your head spinning, your vision blurring around the edges.

For a moment, Sevika's eyes narrow, her face unreadable as she assesses the situation. The emotions in her eyes flash too quickly to read—fury, disbelief, and something else you can't place. Her lip curls, the usual scowl deepening, but she doesn't turn away.

You try to force yourself up, to stand, but your body refuses to cooperate. Your legs shake, and you collapse back onto the cold concrete, gasping for breath.

Sevika swears under her breath, her brow furrowing in a rare display of concern. Her prosthetic arm shifts, clicking with the precision of machinery as she strides toward you, her pace quickening, her boots slamming against the ground.

"You're fucking useless," she mutters under her breath, the words as harsh as ever. But when she kneels beside you, there's a hint of something else in her voice—a softness that's quickly masked by her usual cold exterior. "Stay down."

Before you can say anything, she's already tearing off a piece of her red poncho, using it to staunch the bleeding. Her hands are surprisingly gentle as she presses the cloth against your wound, her fingers rough from years of fighting but oddly careful in their touch.

"You better not fucking die on me," she grumbles, though her voice lacks its usual bite. "I don't need another person I have to drag around."

You can feel her frustration radiating off of her, but there's something else beneath it, something that tugs at the very core of you. She's trying to save you. Despite the way she treats you, despite how cold and distant she's always been, there's a flicker of something deeper in her actions—a recognition, maybe, of your sacrifice for her.

You offer her a weak smile, the corners of your lips pulling up despite the pain. "I'm not going anywhere, Sevika," you say, your voice hoarse but steady.

She freezes, her hand pressing down harder on the wound. The faint glow of purple lights up her eyes for a split second as she injects shimmer into her bloodstream. It makes her scarred veins pulsate, the colors glowing brighter, but it's the softening of her gaze that you notice first.

"Don't make me regret this," she mutters, but it doesn't feel like an insult. It feels more like an acknowledgment of something she doesn't want to face. It's a rare moment of vulnerability, one that she quickly hides behind her usual hard shell. She doesn't want to care. She can't afford to.

But she's already made the choice.

When she pulls you into her arms, lifting you effortlessly as if you're nothing more than a weightless bundle, you feel the odd warmth of her body against yours. The clash of her cold demeanor and this rare moment of tenderness sends a shock through you, a realization that perhaps she's not as immune to kindness as she makes herself out to be.

As the two of you make your way back to safety, Sevika's hand never leaves the cloth pressed against your side. She's steady, unyielding, and yet... there's something in the way she holds you now, something that wasn't there before.

You know she won't admit it. She can't. But for the first time, you see a crack in her armor.

And you can't help but smile, despite everything.

She's still the same Sevika, tough as nails, unrelenting, but underneath it all? You're starting to see that she's capable of something more.

You won't stop smiling—not even for her.

It's the middle of the night, and you're wide awake, groaning softly as you try to adjust your position on the bed. The wound on your side, though healing, hasn't quite been fully stitched up yet, and tonight, it seems, it's decided to protest. The dull ache from earlier has turned into something sharper, something more insistent, as you shift again and feel the sting of stitches pulling loose.

You sit up, pressing a hand to the wound, biting your lip as the pain spreads. Damn it, you can't let this go unchecked. The medic has already gone home for the night, and the last thing you want to do is try to deal with it on your own. You've only been out of the infirmary for a few days, but you know that if you don't do something about it, you could risk making things worse.

So, you do the only thing that comes to mind: you go find Sevika.

She's always there when things get rough, even when she doesn't want to be. Whether she likes it or not, you're stuck with her. So, you pull on a loose shirt, the fabric brushing against your skin, and you make your way toward her quarters in the heart of Zaun's underground complex.

The hallways are quiet, and the dim light overhead casts long shadows across the stone walls. You hesitate for a moment, the familiar nervousness creeping up your spine. What if she's not in the mood for this? What if she snaps at you, tells you to figure it out yourself? But you push the thought aside, biting your lip and walking with more determination toward her door.

You knock twice, a hesitant but firm tap. The response comes quickly—a grunt followed by the sound of heavy footsteps on the other side. The door creaks open, revealing Sevika in nothing but her sleeveless top, her metallic prosthetic arm gleaming faintly in the dim light. She's standing there, as imposing as ever, eyes narrowing when she sees you.

"What the hell do you want?" Her voice is rough, like gravel grinding underfoot, but there's an edge of concern in her gaze that she doesn't bother to hide.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, the wound on your side still aching painfully. "I—uh, I think my stitches came undone." You gesture weakly to your side, a little embarrassed that you've come to her for something like this. "I need help."

Sevika's brow furrows, and before you can say anything else, she steps aside, ushering you in with a sharp, "Get in here."

You hesitate, but the pain is still there, gnawing at you. You wince as you step inside her quarters, and the familiar scent of leather, metal, and the faint, earthy smell of Zaunite air fills your senses. Sevika's space is sparse, functional—a bed, a few chairs, some scattered tools, and a small table with a few half-drunk bottles of something strong.

She gestures for you to sit on the edge of her bed, the sheets slightly askew, but she doesn't seem to care about the mess. You sit carefully, lifting your shirt to reveal the bandages around your side, only to wince again when the motion tugs on the wound.

Sevika doesn't say anything, just walks to the small table and grabs some fresh gauze, a roll of medical tape, and a few tools. You notice the way her gaze flicks to your side, her lips pressing into a thin line.

"Don't just sit there like a damn idiot," she mutters, her voice unusually soft as she crosses the room, "Take that shirt off. You're making it harder for me."

Your heart skips a beat, and your cheeks flush with warmth, even though you try to hide it. You've never been this close to Sevika before, especially not in this context. Her usual scowl is softened, but there's an undeniable hardness to her presence, making your pulse quicken.

You take a deep breath and pull the shirt off, revealing your bandaged side and the remnants of your wound. You're left in just your bra, feeling a little exposed, but you try to push the nervousness down. Sevika doesn't seem to care at all about your state of undress. Her attention is entirely on you, her sharp eyes scanning the injury as she leans over.

The air feels suddenly thick with an intensity you haven't noticed before. Her movements are methodical, but there's an odd tenderness in the way she handles the gauze and the bandages, even though her touch remains firm and practical. When she leans in closer, you can feel the heat of her body as she works on your side, her breath brushing against your skin.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The room is filled only with the sounds of Sevika's breath and the faint click of her prosthetic arm as she moves. You focus on trying to steady yourself, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Hold still," she orders in a low voice, and you comply, not trusting your words to come out steady.

She works in silence, her focus entirely on the task at hand. Her fingers are gentle as she adjusts the bandages, her calloused hands brushing against your skin every so often. You can feel her eyes on you, though she doesn't look up. The soft touch of her hands against your skin is a stark contrast to her usual coldness, and you can't help the way your stomach flips at the intimacy of it all.

When she finishes, she steps back slightly, her gaze lingering on you for a moment before she clears her throat. "There. That should hold for now. Don't make me do this again."

You glance up at her, catching the faintest hint of something soft in her grey eyes, but it's gone as quickly as it appears. She's back to her usual self—stoic, guarded, but there's still that unspoken understanding between the two of you.

"Thanks," you say quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the vulnerability of the moment. "I really appreciate it."

Sevika rolls her eyes but doesn't say anything else. Instead, she tosses the supplies onto the table and walks back to the chair in the corner, leaning back with her arms crossed. "You're welcome," she mutters, sounding almost gruff, but there's a softness in her tone that wasn't there before.

You glance at her, a small, teasing smile creeping across your face. "You sure you're not going to throw me out now that you've seen me in my bra?"

Her eyes flick to you, the faintest spark of irritation flickering before she grunts. "Don't get any funny ideas, alright? This doesn't change anything."

You smile at her, watching her try to keep up her tough exterior. It's the first time you've ever been this close to her in this way, and you can't help but feel a sense of warmth that spreads through your chest.

"Sure, Sevika," you say softly, "whatever you say."

Sevika doesn't answer, but as she watches you, her lips twitch into the smallest of smiles, just for a fraction of a second.

You never quite get used to the sight of Sevika after a mission gone wrong. It doesn't matter how many times you've seen her come back battered and bruised, bloodied and bruised, a quiet part of you always hopes the next time won't be as bad. But it's always worse. Each time she walks in with a limp, a scowl, and that dark gleam in her eyes, you know it's only a matter of time before it breaks you.

And tonight, it's the worst it's been in months. Her left arm, her prosthetic, is badly damaged, sparks still crackling from the shattered circuitry as she stumbles through the door. Her breathing is shallow, uneven. The shimmer-enhanced blue and purple veins pulse under her skin, glowing faintly in the dim light of the warehouse. The glint of her copper prosthetic, normally a symbol of her unyielding strength, now looks like a taunting reminder of the fragility that even she can't escape.

You feel your chest tighten as you rush to her side, hands instinctively reaching out to steady her.

"Shit," Sevika mutters, her voice rough from the effort it takes to stand. "I'm fine. I don't need your help." But her words lack the usual bite. They're hollow, like she's trying to convince herself more than anyone else.

You ignore her, not caring about the gruff tone or the coldness that oozes from every word. You've seen it before—the way she hides behind that wall of indifference, masking the cracks with bravado. But tonight, there's something different. Her guard is slipping. Maybe it's the injury, maybe it's something else, but for once, she's not pushing you away.

Her heavy, labored steps are slow as you help her to the nearest chair, your hands steady as you guide her down. She winces as her weight shifts onto the seat, the strain evident in the furrow of her brow and the clenched jaw.

You sit beside her, your eyes tracing the damage to her arm, the shimmer scars that mar her skin. Your stomach knots. She's always been tough, but this time, there's a vulnerability to her that you've never seen before.

"You need to rest," you say gently, your voice softer than you intended. "You've been pushing yourself too hard. It's okay to take a break, Sevika."

She snorts, her usual sharpness returning, but it's forced. "I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity," you insist, your gaze meeting hers. "It's care. You're not invincible, Sevika. You're allowed to feel things. You don't always have to be the tough one."

Sevika's eyes narrow, and for a moment, you think she's going to snap at you, throw out another biting retort, but she doesn't. Her lips curl downward, and she looks away, focusing on the floor as if the weight of your words is suddenly too heavy for her.

For a long beat, there's silence between you two. The sound of Sevika's ragged breathing fills the space, and you can hear the faint crackling of her prosthetic arm, still sparking erratically.

"Why do you always act like this?" you ask, your voice quiet but steady. "Like you're untouchable. Like you don't need anyone."

Sevika's shoulders stiffen, her jaw tightening, but you don't let her retreat into herself this time. You place a hand gently on her arm, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the cool metal of her prosthetic. Her gaze flicks to your hand, and for a moment, you think she'll pull away, but she doesn't. Instead, her breath hitches, and she stares at you as if seeing you for the first time.

"What do you want from me?" Her voice cracks, a sharp edge to it. "I'm not some fucking damsel in distress. I can handle myself."

You lean closer, your eyes softening as you study her face. The harshness of her features, the furrow in her brow, the tightness around her eyes—all of it is a mask. A mask she's been wearing for years, hiding the truth underneath.

"I don't want anything from you, Sevika," you say, your voice soft but firm. "I just want you to stop pretending you don't need help. Stop pretending you don't need someone who cares about you. You're not weak because you need someone. You're human."

Sevika's eyes flash with something—anger, fear, uncertainty—before she looks away, her fingers tightening around the edge of her prosthetic. "I don't need anyone," she mutters, though it sounds more like a plea than a statement.

You shake your head. "You do. And I'm here. You're not in this alone."

Her gaze flickers back to you, her expression conflicted. You see the war in her eyes—the part of her that wants to let go, to accept your care, and the part of her that's terrified of doing so. You know she's been through hell, fought battles that no one should have to face, and survived in a world that doesn't give a damn about her. But you also know there's more to her than the walls she's built.

The silence between you both grows heavier, but instead of pulling away, you stay. You let the quiet linger, giving her space to process the unspoken things hanging in the air.

Sevika exhales sharply, and for the first time tonight, she doesn't try to hide the exhaustion in her voice. "You think I'm just some cold-hearted bitch who doesn't care about anything. But you don't know...you don't know what it's like. To care. To have someone depend on you and then—" She cuts herself off, her eyes flicking to the floor. "It hurts, alright?"

You don't say anything right away. You just listen. Because it's the first time she's admitted that. The first time she's let someone see the cracks in her armor.

"You don't have to carry everything on your own," you say, your voice soft but insistent. "You don't have to be perfect. Not for me. Not for anyone. I'm here. Let me help."

There's a long pause, but eventually, Sevika lifts her gaze to meet yours. Her eyes are dark, but there's something different there now. Something softer, less guarded. She blinks, the tension in her shoulders slowly dissipating.

"You really are ridiculous, you know that?" she says with a faint smile, but it's not mocking. There's something genuine about it. "You don't know when to quit."

"No," you reply with a small grin, "I don't."

She sighs, the weight of the moment finally sinking in. "You're right," she mutters, almost to herself. "I'm not good at this. At...letting people in."

"I know," you say, reaching out and placing your hand over hers. "But you don't have to do it all at once. We can take it slow. Just...let me be here for you. When you need it."

Sevika's eyes flicker down to your hand, her thumb brushing over your skin, and for the briefest moment, it feels like the world pauses. The connection between you two is palpable now, not just a shared silence, but something deeper. Something that neither of you can ignore.

Her lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile before she leans forward, her face inches from yours. "You're not like anyone I've met before," she murmurs, her voice low and rough. "And that's...frustrating."

"Why?" you whisper, barely able to keep the distance between you two.

"Because you make it hard to be a cold-hearted bitch," Sevika says, her voice laced with a mixture of frustration and something else you can't quite place.

Without another word, you close the distance. Your lips meet hers in a kiss that's soft, tentative at first, but soon deepens as the tension between you two finally gives way. The kiss is slow, exploring, each touch of your lips against hers a silent promise, a moment of vulnerability shared between two people who have spent so long hiding from each other.

When you finally pull away, Sevika rests her forehead against yours, breathing heavily. There's no more need for words between you two. The connection is enough.

For the first time in a long time, Sevika lets herself feel what she's been hiding, and you, quietly, let her.

PILLOW PRINCESS — PART III

A PARTY AT HOUSE CAZEA ↬ councilor!sevika x fem!piltie!reader // 5k words

SUMMARY: Your mother suggests that you host a welcome party for Sevika. The problem? Too many to count.

TAGS: 18+ only! evil mothers, toxic yuri, smut, infidelity

NOTES: this chapter has everything yaaaayyyy

-> READ ON AO3 | PILLOW PRINCESS MASTERLIST

That evening, your parents stroll through the doors of your home shortly after you finish your bath, your mother joining you in the bathroom as your father's booming laughter echoes up to the second floor.

“I am very disappointed in you, dear.”

“What did I do this time, Mother?” you ask with a sigh, leaning over the sink to apply your night cream.

“You never told me that there was a Zaunite in our midst. I had to hear it from Abigail's aunt—who, by the way, is looking dreadful nowadays.”

You meet her gaze in the mirror, rubbing the excess cream over the back of your hands. “What's your point?”

This time of night, you've been drained of the energy needed to both entertain her dramatics and feign interest. Can barely manage both on a good day.

“My point is that we must be the first House to host her. This is a historic time we're living in, dear girl, and unless you want our name to wither away into obscurity, you need to plan ahead. Think of your children, and their children, and—”

“Mother.” You turn around to grasp her by the arms, shocking her out of her building monologue. “I understand your concerns, but my responsibilities are a bit short-sighted at the moment.”

She sniffs, raises her chin to look down her nose at you. “As soon as you see her, extend the invitation to your home. Unless you want me to do it.”

You would rather slowly impale yourself on the iron fence in the gardens.

“It’ll be done.”

Her insistence that your home hosts the party is unsurprising. No better power play to display your inheritance of wealth and influence to all of Piltover’s affluent.

Her painted lips curl into a tight smile, bracelets jingling as she pats you on the cheek. “That’s my girl.”

Your mother’s orders prove more difficult than you originally thought. Sevika has turned into a ghost over the last three days, and you hoped to spot her in the halls, or the pavilion, or the garden in the backyard, but the blasted woman has vanished.

Thus leaves only one desperate option: her office. The thought of seeing her again makes your lungs twist inside your chest, but the lingering anger from your argument doesn't sway the need to protect her from your witch of a mother for as long as possible. She's dealing with enough. No need to add to it.

Luckily for you, she stands in front of her office with a book tucked tight between her thighs just as you step out of yours.

“Councilor. Just the person I wanted to see.”

She looks at you out of the corner of her eye, struggling with the lock on the door. “I’m busy.”

You ignore her. “My mother extends an invitation to meet at my home. A welcome party, of sorts. If you value the future of Zaun, I suggest you come dressed in your best clothes.”

After a moment, the lock opens with an audible click, and she grabs the book to tuck it beneath her arm. “I'm not some dog you can order around.”

“You can decline if you wish, but given the nature of your goals and our previous agreement, I assumed that meeting the most influential family in the city would interest you.” You shrug. “Perhaps I was wrong.”

Speaking with her so formally, the same way you speak to everyone else in Piltover, hurts you in a way you can't explain. But perhaps it's for the best. Keeping your distance to focus on more important things than your odd infatuation.

Like building a family. You haven't forgotten about that whole ordeal. Gods, if only you could.

“I don't even know where you live,” she says, low and resigned.

Above everything, you hate this for her.

“I'll give you an invitation tomorrow. It should have everything you need.”

With a sigh, she nods her head, and you stroll back into your office.

.

.

.

Sevika steps into the grand foyer and the entire party grinds to a halt. Fifteen minutes late, soaked by the rain, looking almost regal in her brown and gold outfit. Even switched out the piercing below her bottom lip to match the gold of her jacket buttons.

The throng of people part for both you and Tristan as you descend the steps and approach her. You plaster on your best smile for the crowd, twirling your wedding ring around its finger.

“Councilor, I would like to formally introduce you to our home.” You rest a hand on Tristan's shoulder, and he steps forward.

He gives her his name, offering a hand for her to shake. “It's very nice to finally meet you, ma’am.”

She looks down at his hand, then at you, then back at his hand, and the next time your gazes meet, you widen your eyes and give a slight jut of your chin in his direction. She shakes it after a breath-holding moment, greeting him with a sharp nod.

“Might we interest you in some refreshments?” he asks, taking a step back to loop an arm around your waist. Her eyes dart to the movement as he waves a hand, beckoning her to follow.

The crowd parts once again as you lead her to the kitchen, whispers and stares cloaking you like a second skin as your ever-curious family indulges in the new wave of gossip.

When the three of you step inside, the kitchen bustles with cooks and servants and guests alike. A grand space made to fit thirty people at once, stocked with the best appliances and gleaming, marble countertops. Stunning chandeliers on each side of the room, flower-filled vases recently watered, candelabras casting a warm glow about the space.

She takes the glass of champagne you offer with a curious furrow to her brow, bringing it to her nose for a sniff.

“Don’t worry, it’s very good. My love’s favorite, actually,” Tristan says with a bright smile, pulling you into his side.

He looks down at you just as she raises a brow, and you meet his loving gaze with a shy smile of your own. The stress of the night threatens to cave your chest in, to stop the flow of your heart. A secret you share with the past, one-night lover stood across from you, and the husband who knows nothing about your sexual… proclivities—an unbelievably awkward situation to be in. A plot fit for a forbidden romance book.

No. Perhaps a thriller, instead. At the end, the princess is stripped of all titles and exiled from her land for bringing shame upon her family.

“Right,” she says, tone deadpan before she downs her champagne in two gulps and sets the glass back on the table sprawling with food and drink.

In that moment, your mother strolls in with the too-strong smell of jasmine perfume, destroying any semblance of a good mood you might have managed to recover.

“My dear girl.” She kisses you hard on the cheek, breath stinking of the harder liquor you keep hidden in your personal stash. “Oh, this party is simply wonderful. You’ve outdone yourself for our new guest.”

With a sway to her step, she walks over to Sevika, barely skirting the hand you grab her arm with. You curse inwardly, shooting the Councilor a pitying look before turning toward the presence of your father just over your shoulder.

“I warned her against the liquor, dear,” he mutters, head lowered to your ear. “But you know how the blasted woman is. Stubborn on her best day.”

Your mother wheels a bewildered Sevika away from the kitchen with an arm notched in her elbow, speaking in a rush. “I simply must introduce you to my sisters. They’ve been so excited to finally meet someone from the Undercity. Oh, but it’s Zaun now, isn’t it? Did you know that my daughter was one of the only Councilors appealing for your city’s recognition, and by the gods, she actually did it! I admit, I had my doubts, but—“

Her voice trails off as the bustling crowd swallows them up, and you heave a sorrowful sigh. Gods bless her.

Tristan leads you around the room to mingle, catching up with third cousins twice removed, meeting the grandchildren of your great aunts and uncles, cooing at the babies born of your distant in-laws. It all happens in a rush of questions and suggestions and applauding of your achievements. Everyone asks when you’ll be having children, if you’re pregnant, why you aren't pregnant yet—all questions you expected given the size of your family tree, but no less invasive and uncomfortable. At one point, Tristan looks like he might vomit, and you excuse him on your behalf to the bathroom.

Take a breath, you whisper, hand squeezing at his bicep. It’s alright.

Your mother talks Sevika’s head off for the better part of an hour, and the next time you circle back around to spot them, Sevika looks ready to take a flying leap off the second floor balcony. You approach the pair with a smile, the neck of your most recent glass of champagne squeezed tight between your fingers.

“Why, hello. I see you’re still talking, Mother.”

She gives you a smile in return, but her eyes harden to stone. “Yes, well, there is much to talk about. As you’ve told me before, our differences are what bring us together, yes?”

You’re used to this game: the invisible tug-of-war that your mother plays so well. A war of wills, won by only the most stubborn of psyches. A good thing, then, that you’re your mother’s daughter.

“I’m sure other people would like to speak with her, Mother. To learn about their… differences.”

She must see something in your face, or doesn’t want to make a scene in front of the crowd, because she relents surprisingly fast. Turns to Sevika with a tight-lipped smile and says, “Perhaps my daughter is right.” Turns back to you. “Why don’t you take our guest on a tour of your home? Show her all that Piltover has to offer.”

More like flaunting your wealth, but she’s already given you more grace than she holds in her whole body, so you refuse to press the issue. Instead, you wave your guest along then bow to your mother upon your retreat.

You lead her through the crowd and into one of the winding hallways inside your home, heaving a breath once the last person is out of sight. “So. You met my mother.”

“Quite the character.” She leans against the wall, eyes trailing over the intricate pattern of your mother’s hand-picked wallpaper. “She talked about your husband the whole time.”

“Yes, she tends to do that.” You take a sip of your drink, mouth suddenly dry, the champagne bitter on your tongue. “I'm the failure of the family, and I ruined her chances of having more children, so she's always resented me.”

“Why?”

“Half the people you see out there are related to me in some way.” With a tired sigh, you fluff out the layered skirt of your dress and take a seat on the floor. The shoes your maid chose for the evening already threaten blisters on your heels and toes. “To put it simply: we have large families because we believe that more children means more of an opportunity to do something noteworthy for our House, and my birth seems to have cursed us. Tristan's impotence just solidifies the theory.”

She stands in silence for a long while, brows tugged together in confusion, before finally saying, “I will never understand this shit.”

You laugh for the first time tonight, chest lighter than it’s felt in weeks. “Trust me, I wish I didn't.”

Despite your previous spat, talking with her is… easy, and you wish it wasn’t. Emotional distance would benefit you greatly, but she’s seen more of your soul than every guest in your home put together—even your parents and your dear, sweet, loving husband. Her presence brings a comfort that you haven’t experienced ever in your life, so removed from all the political intrigue and House infighting that you can drop your carefully-curated act and simply be yourself.

The want to be close to her is a dangerous thing. An exhilarating, terrifying, taboo one. Your mother would lock you away to a life of solitude if she knew the inner turmoil of your thoughts.

“About last week…” she begins, shuffling in place, eyes downcast. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. I still stand by most of it, but…”

“Wow. How kind of you,” you say, tone a tinge too bitter than you meant to portray.

“Look, I’m trying. Give me a break.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing this whole time? I understand that things have been horrible for you, and while I don’t hold what you said against you, it still hurt. Gods, did it hurt.”

At least she has the decency to look ashamed. “It was a low blow. I can admit that.”

“If you wish to insult me, there are many things I’m guilty of being. Just—please, don’t use the only night of happiness I’ve ever experienced to mock me.”

You rise to your feet with a shake of your head, stumbling as you regain your footing against the ache in your feet. You know not to look at her right now. Too fearful that she’ll witness the build-up of tears blurring your vision. If your mother can’t make you cry, then you refuse to let her, especially over something so inconsequential.

(The most important night of your life.)

You walk down the hallway, uncaring if she follows or not, but her presence lurks a little ways behind you, boots a steady thud against the floor. Giving you much-needed space. A kindness you rarely, if ever, experience.

“So. I still need a mentor.”

Her voice stops you in your tracks. Almost teasing, her attempt at fixing your sour mood. Little does she know, your night was ruined hours ago.

“I’ll petition the Assembly to hire Shoola on Monday.”

“I don’t want Shoola. And from what I’ve read from those books you gave me, the Assembly doesn’t like to change their mind.”

Damn it. She’s right. Both of you know it.

You turn to glare at her, hands placed on your hips. “And you say I’m convincing.”

She’s closer than you originally assumed, and in three steps, she stands before you, craning her head down to look you in the eye. Such a mirror to your first meeting that you back away on instinct—right into the wall with her following behind.

“I’m learning. That’s what you wanted. Right?”

Your breathing quickens, heart a drumming beat inside your ribcage. Heat pools in the pit of your belly when rough fingers rise to adjust the sleeve of your dress, her touch inciting a buzz just beneath your skin. The trail of her knuckles across your shoulder and up the pulse of your neck threatens to buckle your knees.

When was the last time you felt such arousal? Not out of need while locked away in your bathroom with a hand beneath your night dress, but visceral want at the touch of another?

Three years. You know when. Remember it vividly, dream about it, fantasize about the touch of her hand and the slick heat of her tongue as you lay beneath your husband.

He could never compare.

She leans down, lips ghosting against the curve of your ear. “For what it’s worth, I like it when you’re on your back.”

She mouths at the delicate skin just below your ear, and you shudder, hands rising to the curve of her waist, the fabric of her coat soft beneath your touch.

“My… my bedroom is just down the hall, if you—“

She exhales a laugh, teeth teasing along your pulse. “Do you invite all your new guests to your bedroom, princess?”

“Only the ones I like.”

“Short list?”

“You have no idea, Councilor.”

She lets you whisk her down the empty hall to the double doors of your bedroom. Once inside, she walks around, inspecting the only lived-in space in the entire house. The beauty products on your vanity, two stacks of sleep clothes on the end of the bed, a childhood stuffed animal you brought from your parents' home sat in the armchair near the balcony.

She chooses the small, one-eyed bunny to pick up. Turns it over in her hand, thumbs at its matted fur.

“I would’ve killed for one of these when I was a kid, but my old man couldn't afford it.” Her lips stretch into a sad, almost bitter smile. “My aunt made one for my birthday out of this old jacket she couldn't wear. I fucking loved that thing.” She sets the bunny back down, trailing her fingers over a floppy ear. “Don't know what happened to it. Probably in a box somewhere.”

You're unsure why she tells you this. Many reasons, you suppose. Highlighting the different lives you've lived, sharing a personal anecdote, or maybe she just misses her family.

Regardless, “I'm sorry.”

She looks up at you, grey eyes stormy and shimmering. “I didn't tell you for pity.”

“I'm not pitying you. I'm just… sorry.” You curl yourself around the nearest bedpost, fingers tracing the intricate carvings in the wood. “After I left the brothel, I saw this mother and child sitting in the street, starving to death. I gave them all the gold I had, but I wanted to do more. I wanted to ensure that nobody would ever have to live like that.”

You push away from the bed then walk over to her. “You asked me what my dream was for Zaun? It's that nobody starves in the street, and parents can afford to buy their children toys.”

She shakes her head as you step up beside her. “And if it’s not possible?”

“All we can do is try.” A forefinger catches on her pinky, pulling her hand to yours. “But I need your help. Nobody knows that place like you do.”

Your other hand rises to cup her face, thumb tracing the blue scars on her cheek. Back and forth and back and forth as she stares down at you, eyes searching your face for… something. You brush the hair out of her eyes, only for the strands to immediately fall back into place.

Her brows dip into a furrow. “Whatever you think is between us, it can't go anywhere.”

“Won’t or can’t?”

“Does it matter?”

“The difference lies in the degree of willingness: between those in the relationship, or that of an outside influence. So, which are we? Won’t or can’t?”

She thinks for a moment, glancing off to the side, before her eyes meet yours again.

“Both,” she mutters.

And then your lips meet in a desperate kiss, both of you surging forward at the same exact time. Her lone arm tugs you against her, so steadfast your lungs threaten to deflate as your hands curl over the nape of her neck to pull her closer. The kiss is hungry, angry—her, that she wants this; you, that you’ve gone so long without it. Her mouth is soft, and she tastes of champagne and berry cocktail, tongue hot and curling inside your mouth.

You’ve never experienced such raging desire. Had it projected onto you many a time, by the leering gazes of older men looking for a trophy wife, the young suitors with their tomcat libidos. But never like this: being desired and desiring in return.

She walks you back toward the bed, lips an overwhelming chaos against your own. Uses your body for her pain, her anger, her grief—jerks your dress off your shoulders, bites down hard on the skin covered by your sleeve, grabs you by the waist and lays you back on the bed. Beneath you, your dress crumples, and you briefly consider the fabric wrinkling (what that means for your put-together propriety) before she's kissing you again, and every thought pertaining to the people outside this room dissolves in whisps of smoke.

She buries her face in your neck, panting, shoulders tense beneath your palms. Hisses under her breath, “What the fuck am I doing?”

You lay frozen beneath her, legs spread to make room for her hips, snapped back to the present with a sweeping chill of recognition. Her question echoes in your own mind, over and over again, because what are you doing? Succumbing to lust beneath a woman in the very spot your husband sleeps in, while he and your parents and extended family chat a hallway away. You should hate yourself. Should stand up and tell her that this can’t continue, but you’ve never been known for your self-control, and the hand she slides up your inner thigh makes your hips twitch in anticipation.

"Shit—tell me to stop," she grits, sat on her haunches to peer down at you, hair a curtain around her eyes as she works your dress over your hips.

Why would you ever do such a thing? You've been dreaming about this for three years now. Yearning for her touch every time you lay down in this very bed.

"I don't want to," you say, voice little more than a whisper as you guide her hand to the gusset of your silk underwear, already–

She groans, tracing her thumb around your clit, the fabric sticking to the outline of your pussy. "So wet. All this for me?"

You nod, a desperate whimper trapped in your throat—the sound punched from your lungs when she slips a finger beneath the hem and feeds it into you. Thick and long as you remember, curling and twisting to make room for another. She knows exactly what to do. Massages all your sensitive spots, thumbs over your clit, brushes against your cervix when she thrusts in deep. A master of her craft, plays your body like an instrument.

Beneath her jacket, the muscles of her arm flex and shift deliciously, pretty eyes downcast to gaze between your legs, and you reach up to comb a hand through her hair so you can see her face. Still soft and thick, face equal parts handsome and beautiful. The most stunning woman you've ever seen.

You pull her in for a kiss by the back of her neck, and her weight topples over, chest heavy against yours. Gods, you forgot that her only arm is currently occupied.

"Sorry," you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek and curling an arm around her shoulders.

"You could've warned me," she grumbles, rolling to the side to lay next to you.

You hook a knee over her hip, pussy blooming around the fingers still buried inside you. "I know. 'm sorry."

She nuzzles against your cheek, sinks her teeth into the curve of your jaw as her fingers quicken their pace. The slick squelch of your pussy makes your ears burn, and she begins to mock you:

Letting me fuck you with your ring on? What would your husband think?

Haven't been this wet in three years, I bet.

Does your husband know you're this easy?

Her words really shouldn't affect you the way they do. You should be angry at the mention of your husband, the reminder of your infidelity, but somehow, she knows exactly what you need. Knows that her humiliation sends you crashing into a breath-stealing orgasm.

(Nobody in Piltover would dare talk to you in such a way, and maybe that's the appeal. Her dragging you off your golden pedestal to remind you that you're still human.)

She coos into your ear, says, "There you go," as you clench hard around her fingers, head thrown back against the sheets. Your teeth threaten to break from how hard you clench your jaw, each moan dying in your throat.

You have to be quiet. Nobody can know.

The afterglow bathes you in guilt. Boneless, relieved, calm guilt. She stuffs her slick fingers in your mouth, and you suck them clean on instinct, meeting the heat of her gaze. Her eyes flicker over your face before settling on the pucker of your lips, their shade of grey dark and cloudy.

The advent of a thunderstorm.

When she pulls away, her fingers slick with saliva, you slide a hand over her hip, skin warm beneath her trousers.

"Can I return the favor?"

She exhales a humorless laugh. Says, "No need. I have people for that."

Jealousy has no place swirling around in your gut, considering where you met her in the first place. But you can't help it. What do these people have that you don't? Why are they good enough for her?

"Why not me?"

She sits up then moves to the edge of the bed. "I like my women to know what they're doing."

"I've never even—" Stop. There's no point. "Fine."

You aren't sure why you're even here anyway. Why she infatuates you so. Why you want so badly to prove yourself worthy, to please her. You come from completely different worlds. This will only end in tragedy.

Then why—why—do you insist on making the situation so difficult for yourself?

"Fix your lipstick," is the last thing she says before leaving the bedroom.

Once again, you're alone. For the first time in your life, after years of basking in the silence of an empty room, you wish it weren't true.

But you heed her advice. Straighten out your dress, fix the state of your makeup, flatten down your unruly strands of hair. By the end, you look fairly presentable again. Nobody should know that you just cheated on your husband.

You stroll back to the lively party with the ghostly stretch of her fingers between your thighs, each step leading you closer to the hum of music and a bustling crowd teetering on drunkenness.

Aunt Elise catches you at the final stretch of hallway, reaching out a hand for you to take. "My sweet girl. What a lovely party you've set up for us."

She pulls you into a one-armed hug, the other busy holding her drink, and you pray that your dousing of perfume covers up any… lingering scents.

"Nice to see you, Auntie."

She steps away then pins you with a sharp look over the rim of her glass. “So. Our new guest cuts a nice figure, doesn't she?”

You stiffen at the mention of Sevika, her warm hand and soft lips on you lingering fresh at the back of your mind. Her quick exit, too.

“I suppose.”

“Don't tell me you haven't noticed, dear girl. You took your sweet time on that house tour.”

Ah. Just like Aunt Elise to stick her nose in everything—especially where it doesn’t belong. A favorite pastime of hers.

“We had… matters to discuss. About Piltovan law.”

Her head tilts to the side, eyes thinning in confusion. “Is that why your sleeve is ripped?”

You jolt to attention, pulling your arm to your face to inspect the fabric.

And then she laughs, half-collapsing against the wall. “Oh, I just knew it! I knew it! You weren't as subtle as you thought, you know.”

Your heart drops like a heavy stone in the pit of your stomach as the last of her giggles fade. You might be sick, right here on the floor, and she steadies you with wide eyes and a hand on your elbow.

“No, my dear, it's alright. I've known for a very long time." A soothing hand rubs over your arm. "This changes nothing.”

You fall into the hug she offers, chin perched atop her shoulder. She smells like lavender and lemongrass, clean and earthy. “Please don't tell anybody. I'm begging you, Auntie.”

“Your secret is safe with me. It has been for years, alright?”

At least you have two people now that know. Two people that you trust to keep your world-ending secret. Aunt Elise is your favorite family member for a reason. She’s always treated you like a person, always gave you the reprieve of freedom at her home when your mother’s incessant hovering drove you half-mad. As a child, she let you dirty your skirt in her garden and carry bugs in your pockets and climb the fruit trees in her backyard and never once yelled at you about propriety or femininity or the price of girlhood.

Maybe the six children she gave birth to, the last two—a set of twins—that she raised as a grieving widow, helped shape her worldview into something more delicate than your mother and the rest of her sisters.

“My poor, sweet girl. I don't envy you one bit.”

“How did you know?”

She hums, the vibration passing through to your chest. “There were signs. You never much looked at the boys like you did the girls, and don't get me started on you running off every suitor your mother lined up for you.”

So, you truly weren't as subtle as you thought.

“And Mother doesn't know?”

“She used to suspect, but you know how she is. As long as she gets what she wants, nothing else matters.”

Mother knowing your preferences and ignoring them for her benefit makes your situation even worse because it isn't surprising in the slightest. Self-serving witch. Can't have a daughter who prefers women. No, that won't do. How else will she continue the precious family bloodline?

A cold hand cups your chin, and you meet your aunt's severe gaze.

"Don't let anybody rule your life. You only have one to live."

With those words, she turns and enters the ballroom.

arcane characters x fem reader! in a fantasy au

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

writer's note: yo, just had the BEST time writing this! felt like i was in my element, total geek vibes. i'm all about that fantasy stuff, and i think i nailed every character. maybe we’ll do more parts of this, but y’all gotta let me know if you’re down! as you already know request are open ;)

viktor as a cursed sorcerer!

The tower stands in the middle of nowhere, an ancient and somber structure, surrounded by an unsettling silence. The full moon bathes its gray stone in an ethereal light, as if the very sky itself fears coming too close. You know you shouldn’t be here, but the urge to uncover the secrets this fortress holds has led you to its doors. The mission is clear: steal a single object, a forbidden grimoire, and escape before the sorcerer notices.

Your footsteps echo against the walls of the tower as you venture into its dark corridors. Every corner is filled with ancient books, bubbling vials of mysterious liquids, and artifacts that seem to radiate an arcane energy beyond comprehension. The air, thick with magic, wraps around you like a second skin, making you feel both small and infinitely connected to something greater. A soft sigh escapes your lips, a shiver runs down your spine. The tower itself feels alive—breathing, watching.

At the highest point, in what seems to be a laboratory where the darkest secrets are woven, you find what you were searching for: an ancient grimoire, bound in black leather with golden symbols that faintly glow in the dim light. You take it with trembling hands, knowing that with it, your fate is sealed. But before you can take a single step toward the exit, the air grows heavy with dark energy, and the room’s light seems to fade.

A whisper, soft as a sigh, echoes through the chamber. A deep resonance that reaches the most hidden parts of your being. The sorcerer is near.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” The voice is deep, rasping, filled with an authority that makes your skin prickle. You cannot see his face, but the pressure in the air tells you he is watching you with an intensity that makes you feel utterly exposed.

You turn, and there he stands. His figure is outlined in the gloom like an eternal shadow, a being that seems to exist beyond death. His skin, pale as the moon, is almost translucent, and his golden eyes glow with an intensity that pierces through your soul. Viktor—the cursed sorcerer, the lich who has sacrificed his humanity in pursuit of a power that not even the gods can comprehend.

“What brings you to my domain, intruder?” His voice slithers toward you, a cold whisper that cuts through you like a dagger. “Do you not know that everything has a price? Curiosity, greed… and now, your soul.”

But you do not step back. You are not afraid, not even as you feel the dark magic coiling in the air, making it difficult to breathe. Instead of fleeing, you stand your ground, holding the grimoire in your hands as a silent declaration of your defiance. You know what he has done, what he is, and yet, something inside you tells you that perhaps this being, who has forsaken life itself, can teach you more than you ever imagined.

“I am a scholar,” you answer, your words firm despite the slight tremor in your voice. “I came to learn, not to steal.”

Viktor watches you in silence, his golden eyes gleaming with an eerie light. A flicker of interest crosses his gaze, and for a moment, he forgets his own power. There is something about you that intrigues him, something even he cannot explain. In that instant, the tension between you shifts, as if the universe itself had decided to intertwine your fates in a way neither of you can comprehend.

“To learn?” The word leaves his lips with a mocking edge. “What do you think you can learn from a being like me? A mere mortal who is not even fortunate enough to still be among the living?”

His words strike your chest like a blow, but you do not falter. Instead, you step closer to him, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve.

“Perhaps I will learn what lies beneath your power,” you say, surprising even yourself with the strength in your voice. “Perhaps what you have sacrificed… was not what you thought.”

The sorcerer seems frozen in time, his glowing eyes flickering with something that is neither anger nor disdain, but something far more dangerous… desire? For a brief second, the hollow space within his chest seems to pulse—a heartbeat long forgotten, one that calls to you like a leaf caught in a current.

“Do you know what it means to renounce your humanity?” Viktor’s voice is softer now, almost vulnerable. “Do you know what it is to exist like this? Without a soul, without emotion, without love… all for power.”

His words resonate within you. You know he has paid a price, but at the same time, something in his eyes tells you that not all is lost—that somewhere, deep within him, something still lingers.

“No,” you whisper. “But I do know what it is to lose oneself. And I know that what we have lost does not have to define us. Perhaps there is still something you can reclaim.”

Viktor remains silent, and for a moment, the dark magic around him dims, as if, just for a second, he wants to believe in your words. The connection between you is intangible, like a breeze that travels the space between two lonely souls, each trapped in their own prison.

You take another step closer, your fingers grazing the surface of the grimoire you still clutch. Viktor watches every movement, and for the first time, you see something in his eyes—something that is not malice, but a profound sadness, a distant longing.

“And if I let you go,” he says quietly, his words laced with bittersweet tenderness, “what will you do with your life, scholar? Will you continue seeking what others have forgotten, or…?”

“I don’t know,” you answer, almost in a whisper, but there is something in your voice that speaks louder than any words. “But if you let me go, I will find a purpose. I always do. And maybe… you can, too.”

The magic in the tower seems to shift, as if a door has opened—not to a future you fear, but to one you might walk together. Despite his curse, despite his nature, Viktor feels as though he has found something in you that makes him question his fate. And you, in that same moment, realize that you have not only found what you came for, but something far more important: someone who, though cursed, is still capable of love.

You both know it is dangerous. You both know that the dark magic surrounding him could consume everything. But there is something else, something beyond death itself. Something only the two of you can understand.

The silence between you is thick, charged with the electricity of the forbidden. Viktor watches you as if you are an impossible riddle, as if your mere presence in his tower threatens to unravel centuries of solitude and absolute knowledge. For years—decades—he has mastered dark magic, crossed the limits of life and death, but he never anticipated this. He never imagined that a mere human could disrupt his world with nothing but words.

“You are strange, scholar.” His voice is a murmur, a confession carried by the spectral wind that haunts the tower. “You are not like the others. You do not tremble before my power, nor flee from what I am.”

You take another step closer, your fingers brushing the cold marble of the table between you, the grimoire still in your hands.

“Perhaps it’s because I see beyond what you are now.” Your voice is soft yet firm. “I see what you were. What you could be.”

Viktor lets out a low, bitter laugh.

“A condemned man. A soul that ceased to exist the moment I sealed my fate.”

You take a breath and dare to look directly into his eyes—those golden depths glowing with an unnatural light. Despite his curse, there is something human in them, a distant echo of the man he once was.

“I don’t believe you ever ceased to exist.” You clutch the grimoire to your chest. “If you had, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

His expression hardens—not with anger, but with something far more dangerous. Vulnerability.

The magic in the tower hums, expectant. And then, Viktor speaks.

“Very well,” he murmurs. “You may stay.”

But as he looks at you, his gaze burning into your soul, he gives you one final warning.

“Knowledge comes at a price. And in my world… love is the greatest curse of all.”

And yet, you do not turn back.

Because even in the deepest darkness, love still lingers.

Even if it means being damned along with him.

And so, in the shadows of the forbidden tower, begins the story that was never meant to be told.

jinx as a banshee!

The mist clings to the ground like a shroud, wrapping the cursed village in an icy embrace. The air is saturated with whispers, spectral laments that slip between the abandoned houses, carried by the nocturnal wind.

And then, the laughter echoes.

A sharp, mocking sound, distorted by death itself.

Your skin prickles, but not from fear. The first time you heard it, you thought it was a bad omen. That the villagers were right to warn you about the banshee that roamed the town, announcing death with her song. But over time, you began to seek that sound, to long for the moment when her voice would tear through the stillness. Because behind that ghostly echo, there was something more. Something that called to you.

And tonight, she has come for you.

The air turns frigid in an instant, and when you blink, Jinx is there. Suspended in the air, as if the wind itself cradled her in its arms. Her skin is pale as alabaster, her blue hair floating around her like ethereal flames. Her eyes glow with an otherworldly light, but what captivates you most is her smile—tilted, playful, with a touch of madness and melancholy woven together.

"Found you." Her voice is a seductive murmur, gliding through the air like a thread of silver.

You don’t scream. You don’t run. You only watch her, fascinated.

She tilts her head, circling you slowly, as if evaluating a new toy. "You know, most people scream when they see me." Her icy fingers brush against your cheek, sending a shiver through you, but you don’t pull away. Jinx narrows her eyes, amused. "But you don’t. Why?"

Because you don’t fear her. Because death has never scared you. Because, somehow, she doesn’t feel like a harbinger of doom, but like a mystery you want to unravel.

"Because you don’t seem as terrifying as they say."

Jinx’s laughter vibrates in the air, a melody both inhuman and enchanting, twisting between the real and the spectral. "Oh, sweetheart… that’s a mistake."

Suddenly, the world shifts.

The village distorts, buildings contorting, shadows coming to life. You’re somewhere else now—a realm between life and death, where colors are too vivid, where the ground beneath your feet feels unreal. Spirits drift around you, translucent figures who weep and laugh, trapped in an endless cycle.

Jinx watches you with delight. "Welcome to my world."

Your breath catches. You don’t know if it’s terror or wonder that fills you, but Jinx steps closer, her cold hands holding you with an unsettling gentleness. "Aren’t you scared?" she whispers, her lips inches from yours, her laughter dancing in the air.

You don’t answer. Because the truth is, you are. But not in the way you should be.

You’re afraid you won’t be able to walk away from her.

You’re afraid you won’t want to.

Jinx smiles, as if she can read your thoughts. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

The ground beneath your feet feels unsteady, as if you’re walking on the breath of a dream that could vanish at any moment. You’re in Jinx’s world now, a dimension suspended between life and death, where the lights flicker like ghostly fireflies and the sky is an endless stretch of shadows entwined with blue glimmers.

The banshee moves with eerie lightness, her feet barely touching the ground as she twirls, radiating the capricious joy of someone who has long forgotten what it means to be human. Her laughter rings through the air, a melody that dances between beauty and terror.

"So, little adventurer," she murmurs, watching you with those eyes that burn like blue fire, "what’s your story?"

Her voice reverberates through the corners of this spectral realm, as if each word leaves a scar in the air itself.

"My story..." you repeat, trying to grasp onto something tangible while your mind struggles to understand where you truly are. "I don’t know. I don’t think it matters here."

Jinx stops. Her expression softens for a moment, as if she’s found something unexpected in your answer. "Exactly," she whispers, almost like a secret shared between you. "Here, nothing matters. Not time, not names, not even memories."

She extends a hand, and without thinking, you take it. Her touch is frigid, as if death itself dances on her skin. But her grip is firm, so real that you can almost convince yourself you still belong to the world of the living.

"Come, I want to show you something."

You follow. Not because you trust her, but because the pull of her presence is impossible to resist.

She leads you through a forest of barren trees, their branches twisting in the air like skeletal fingers. Tiny lights float between them—souls trapped in the border between worlds. Some whisper in barely audible sobs, others laugh with a hysteria that chills the blood. Jinx ignores them.

Finally, you reach a clearing where an ancient fountain stands at the center. Its water is not water, but a swirling mist of silver that churns endlessly. Jinx lets go of your hand and sits at the fountain’s edge, swinging her legs with the careless joy of a mischievous child.

"This is my favorite spot," she says. "It’s where I can hear the voices of those about to die."

Your stomach tightens. "You hear them?"

She nods, and for the first time, the laughter fades from her face. There’s something melancholic in her expression, a weight you hadn’t noticed before. "Always. Every time someone is about to cross over, their last words drift here. Sometimes they’re broken promises. Sometimes regrets. Other times..." She pauses, staring at the mist with a sorrow that surprises you. "Other times, they’re just a sigh."

The silence between you is heavy.

You kneel beside her, feeling the cold radiating from the fountain. "It must be exhausting to hear that all the time."

Jinx looks at you, and for the first time, there’s no mockery in her eyes. Only something that resembles vulnerability.

"No one ever says that."

Your heart pounds harder. You don’t know if it’s from fear or from the strange tenderness you’ve just discovered in the creature before you.

Jinx leans closer, her smile returning, though softer this time. "You know, I like you," she murmurs, her fingers brushing your wrist with the delicate touch of a breath of wind. "Maybe I’ll let you stay a little longer."

You don’t know if that’s a reward or a curse. But when she intertwines her fingers with yours and the world around you seems to grow more vibrant, you realize you’re already trapped.

Not in her world.

In her.

vi as a werewolf!

The moon hangs in the sky like a watchful eye, spilling its pale light over the forest. Mist swirls between the tall, gnarled trunks, filling the air with the scent of damp earth and the whisper of rustling leaves.

You shouldn’t be here.

The stories about this forest are not mere superstitions; every villager who has crossed the border of these trees has vanished without a trace.

But fate, cruel and capricious, has drawn a different path for you.

A howl tears through the night before scarlet eyes emerge from the undergrowth. There are many of them. Shadows within shadows, stalking with a silent ferocity that makes your skin prickle. Your heart hammers in your chest as a deep growl rises to your right, and before you can even think of running, something strikes you.

The world tilts, and you fall onto the cold grass. An overwhelming weight pins you down, and when you look up, you meet a pair of impossibly pink eyes glowing in the darkness.

Her face is mere inches from yours, her breath warm against your skin, but what truly sends a shiver down your spine is the intensity in her gaze. It’s not just the fierceness of a hunter—it’s something deeper, something primal. Something that doesn’t understand why she hasn’t killed you yet.

“Who are you?” Her voice is a low growl, threatening.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to find your voice. “Just… a traveler.”

Vi narrows her eyes, her fingers pressing your wrists harder against the ground. Her grip is firm, but not crushing. There is control in her strength, yet also a subtle tremor, as if she’s holding back.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.”

The pack moves around her, wolves with dark fur and glowing eyes watching the scene with anticipation. Vi is their leader, and they await her decision. But she remains still, looming over you, her breath heavy, her chest rising and falling in an unsteady rhythm.

Finally, after a long, tense silence, she jumps back.

“Lock her up.”

The wooden cage is stronger than it looks, reinforced with claws and teeth of creatures that once dared to challenge the pack. Hours pass slowly, and the feeling of being watched never fades. Vi hasn’t returned since you were thrown in here, but her presence lingers in the air like a storm waiting to break.

When she finally appears, the moon is high in the sky. She no longer carries the form of the beast, yet you can still see it in the way she moves, in the way her eyes never blink as she watches you.

“I should have killed you,” she says bluntly.

“Why didn’t you?”

Vi remains silent. Then, with calculated slowness, she steps closer to the cage, wrapping her fingers around the bars. You can see the tension in her hands, the muscles in her arms tightening with restrained strength.

“I don’t know,” she finally admits.

She doesn’t know, but you do. You saw it in her eyes, in the way her wolf fought against its instinct to tear out your throat. There is something holding her back. Something she doesn’t want to name.

Fate.

The word hangs in the air, unspoken yet ever-present.

She feels it, just as you do.

You know what it means to werewolves. An unbreakable bond. A tie forged by the moon itself. If what Vi feels is real, then she is trapped in an impossible dilemma.

Kill you. Or claim you.

The thought sends a shiver down your spine. And yet, a part of you wonders… what would you choose?

And the next full moon will decide the rest.

caitlyn as a vampire!

The night in the Ravencourt mountains was an icy whisper among the dead trees. The castle loomed over the mist like a stone sepulcher, its gothic towers cutting against the pale moon. The stories spoke of a monster dwelling within—a creature with sharp fangs and eyes that gleamed like sapphires in the gloom.

And you had come to kill her.

Your footsteps echoed through the silent halls, the shadows stretching like spectral fingers as your hand clutched the hilt of your silver dagger. The air smelled of melted wax and aged wine, but beneath it… blood.

You were not alone.

"How disappointing," the voice reached you before the figure did. "I was expecting something more… imposing."

You spun in an instant, your dagger poised to strike. But Caitlyn didn’t move. She was leaning against the stone wall with the elegance of someone who had centuries to perfect arrogance. Her eyes gleamed in the dim light—cold, calculating, yet laced with amusement.

"A monster hunter, sent to kill me. How ironic."

"You’re no different from the other vampires I’ve slain," you spat.

Caitlyn smiled, her fangs glinting under the moonlight filtering through the stained glass windows. "Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong."

In a blink, she was no longer against the wall. She moved faster than you could react, and suddenly, your back collided with a marble pillar. Her face was mere inches from yours, her breath as cold as the night wind.

"If I were like them," she murmured, her fingers grazing the line of your jaw, "you’d already be dead."

Your heart pounded against your ribs.

"Don’t play with me," you warned, trying to ignore the shiver running down your spine.

Caitlyn tilted her head, her lips dangerously close to your neck. She didn’t press down, didn’t bite. She merely let the moment stretch, let the tension weave between you like an invisible thread.

"Play?" she whispered. "Darling, if I were playing… you would have already lost."

Her voice was like dark silk, like the caress of the night itself.

And the worst part… was that she was right.

She didn’t kill you that night.

Instead, she let you go, with a challenge on her lips and a promise in her gaze. You returned to the castle, night after night, searching for reasons to hate her, to convince yourself that she was no different from the monsters you had hunted before.

But every time she found you in the shadows, every time she saved you from something worse than her, every time her smile curled with that exquisite taunt… the certainty inside you crumbled a little more.

Caitlyn played with limits, with the space between desire and danger, between the hunt and surrender.

And you didn’t know how much longer you could resist.

jayce as an elf prince!

The Kingdom of Eldareth was a dream carved in light and sculpted in gold. Its crystal towers rose toward the sky, capturing the sun’s rays in an ethereal glow. The forests whispered with ancient magic, and the rivers sang songs only the elves could understand. Here, everything seemed unchanging, eternal. Here, the ephemeral had no place.

That was why, when you set foot in the court of the crown prince, you immediately felt the weight of the gazes upon you. A human in the heart of the elven kingdom. A foreigner in a land where perfection was the norm.

And no gaze was more intense than that of Jayce Talandriel, the golden prince.

From the moment you were introduced as his escort, he regarded you with a mixture of disdain and curiosity.

"A human protecting me?" His tone was a blade wrapped in velvet. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"If it is, Your Highness," you replied with a mocking bow, "I hope you find it amusing."

The court held its breath. Jayce raised an eyebrow.

From that day on, your relationship became a battle of wills.

He tested your patience with comments about "human clumsiness." You proved to him, with every training session, that you could disarm him in seconds. You argued daily, clashed like summer storms, and yet…

When he thought you weren’t looking, his eyes followed you.

When night fell and the kingdom was draped in its mantle of stars, he took you to places where magic flowed purest. He showed you trees whose leaves glowed like fireflies, rivers where creatures of light swam, ruins where time stood still.

"I’ve never brought anyone here before," he murmured once, leaning against an ancient silver-barked oak.

"Not even some noble elf you’re destined to marry?" you asked with a teasing smile.

He let out a soft laugh but didn’t deny it. His world already had a predetermined path. And you were not part of it.

But then, one night, as the moon bathed the fields in a melancholic blue, you felt his hand on yours. A light touch, barely a graze, as if the difference between you could crumble with a single gesture.

"If things were different…" he began, but let the sentence drift into the wind.

Because things were not different.

You were a human warrior, born to fight and move on.

He was an elven prince, born to stay and rule.

But for a fleeting second, as his breath brushed against your lips and the world seemed to hold its breath… none of that mattered.

You could feel the magic in the air, vibrating between you. The same magic that flowed through his veins, the same magic that separated his world from yours. You weren’t blind to reality. You knew that an elf like Jayce had his destiny set from the moment he was born, his ties to the royal family bound by ancient pacts that ensured the kingdom’s balance.

And yet, you did not step back.

"You are the crown prince," you said softly, the whisper of leaves carrying your words. "And I am just a passing human. What’s the point of imagining things could be different?"

Jayce clenched his jaw, as if the truth tasted bitter. "You are more than that."

The echo of his confession lingered between you. And for the first time, after all the arguments, all the clashes, all the defiant glances… you didn’t know what to say.

ekko as a wayward fairy!

The forest had no end.

Each tree seemed to reflect upon the next, as if the whole world repeated itself in an endless cycle. The shadows stretched and shrank with every step, and the whisper of the wind carried laughter. Childish, mocking laughter that bounced between the leaves like tiny bells shaken by invisible fingers.

You stopped, your breath caught in your chest, feeling the weight of magic pressing against your skin. You were not alone.

“Well, well… what do we have here?”

His voice was a playful murmur, barely a caress in the air. Then, a presence appeared above you: a young man with bright eyes and translucent wings that reflected the moonlight in shades of gold and emerald. He was floating upside down, elbows resting on the air as if it were his own throne.

“Let me guess,” he said with a crooked smile. “You’re lost.”

You didn’t answer immediately. It was hard to tell if he was real or just another illusion of the forest.

Ekko snapped his fingers, and suddenly, the moon multiplied in the sky. Five, ten moons twinkled above you, each spinning in opposite directions. You blinked, stunned, and when you looked again, reality had returned to normal.

“Well, well, seems like you're more resilient than I thought.”

He landed softly in front of you, tilting his head in curiosity. Though his expression was mischievous, his eyes held a glimmer that wasn’t entirely joyful.

“Listen, little human,” he began, circling around you. “This forest is no place for your kind. Time here is… fickle. A day, a decade, a whole lifetime… who’s to say how long you’ve been wandering?”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“I’m looking for the way out.”

Ekko smirked. “Of course you are. Everyone does.”

He stopped in front of you, and for a moment, his gaze seemed to darken. But then, his smile returned, and a spark flashed in his eyes as he took a step back.

“I’ll make you an offer, human,” he said, spreading his arms. “Let’s play a game.”

The word floated between you, light yet charged with meaning.

“A game…?”

“A game,” he repeated, spinning in the air with the ease of someone unbound by time. “Follow my lead, do as I do. If you catch up to me, I’ll guide you out of the forest. If you don’t…” His smile widened, revealing sharp teeth. “Then you’ll be mine.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

“Mine forever.”

The night breeze whistled through the trees, carrying his last words like an echo.

You knew you had no other choice.

“Alright,” you said, lifting your chin. “I accept.”

Ekko snapped his fingers, and the forest came alive.

The game began with a chase.

Ekko weaved through the shadows, vanishing and reappearing between the trunks as if time itself bent to his will. Roots tried to snare you, bushes turned into walls, and the fairy’s laughter filled the air, mocking your every stumble.

“Is that all?” his voice echoed behind you, yet when you turned, he was already gone.

You ran faster. You leaped over a stream that hadn’t been there a second before, dodged branches that seemed to move on their own. Your breath burned in your lungs, but you refused to give up.

Then, without warning, Ekko stopped in front of you.

You crashed into his chest.

He didn’t move. His hands closed around your arms with an unexpected gentleness, keeping you from falling.

“You’ve got guts, human.”

His voice wasn’t just teasing anymore.

The forest lights flickered. In that instant, with his dark eyes locked onto yours at such a close distance, you saw past the mask of mischief.

Something inside him was broken.

“Why do you live here alone?” you asked, your voice still unsteady from the chase.

Ekko didn’t answer right away.

For the first time since you met him, his smile faded completely.

But then, with a flicker of magic, he disappeared once more, his laughter scattering into the air like the wind of an endless night.

The game was not over yet.

Ekko’s laughter still lingered in the air, playful and ethereal, as if the forest itself fed on his mischief. “Are you still looking for a way out?” his voice resonated through the mist, wrapping around you like a whisper in the dark.

The feeling of being lost became more and more tangible, as if time itself were dancing around you. You walked blindly, heart racing, mind clouded. The forest shifted with every step, every direction you took leading you somewhere new without any logical order. It was as if the world you knew was unraveling around you, a dream beyond your control.

Suddenly, the mist began to clear, revealing a glade illuminated by thousands of golden fireflies. The air was thick with the sweet, strange scent of night-blooming flowers, and in the center of the clearing, Ekko was waiting, seated with an amused smile on his face. His eyes glowed with a spark of mischief, and his presence felt like a beacon in the darkness of the enchanted forest.

“You took your time, human,” he said, his tone relaxed but with a hint of challenge. “I thought you wouldn’t be able to keep up with my games.”

You stepped closer, trying to keep your composure, but you couldn’t stop your gaze from lingering on him, trapped by a strange fascination. “I thought you only liked playing. I didn’t know you actually wanted me to win.”

Ekko stood up slowly, his luminous figure like a dancing shadow among the fireflies. He moved toward you, and for a moment, his laughter faded, leaving behind a heavy silence. “What I want isn’t always what it seems,” he said, his voice softer, more serious. “And what seems like a game can have greater consequences than you imagine.”

The air around him thickened, growing heavier with each second. Something in his expression had shifted, shedding the carefree amusement to reveal a hint of sadness. It seemed that Ekko, the mischievous fairy, carried something inside him—something darker and more sorrowful than his playful facade.

“What’s wrong, Ekko?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, realizing that all this time, he hadn’t just tested you with his magic and illusions—he had shown you a part of himself no one else had seen. “What are you hiding?”

A sigh escaped his lips, and for a moment, his expression softened. “Time isn’t just a game to me, human. It’s a cycle that never ends, a prison that drags me along without mercy. I’ve been trapped here in this forest longer than you can imagine, but in you… I see something different. Something that might change everything.”

Suddenly, everything made sense. The forest, the time, the illusions… everything was designed to keep him captive. And you, caught in his game, had become something more than just a challenge. Without knowing it, you had become the key that might free Ekko from his eternal torment.

“If I stay here, what will happen?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. Would you become just another part of his cruel curse? Or perhaps… could you be his only way out?

Ekko stared at you, his eyes filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. “If you stay, you’ll lose your way. But maybe, just maybe, you’ll find it in me.”

Seconds stretched like hours. You knew that if you took this path, everything would change. But as you looked at him—so vulnerable, yet so full of magic—you felt something inside your heart begin to waver.

“And if I accept your challenge?” you said, a hint of a smile forming. “What happens if I stay?”

“Then, you’ll be mine,” Ekko replied, his voice as soft as a spell already cast. But in his eyes, there was something more—something that spoke of hope, not just possession.

The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the feeling that time no longer mattered.

And so, in the magic of the forest and the echo of his laughter, the two of you became something more than lost souls—something fleeting, yet eternal.

silco as a demon!

A red glow began to fill the room, as if the very air was burning. You had made a mistake—one you could not take back. The summoning had been a desperate attempt, a last resort to obtain something you couldn’t get by any other means. But now, before you, stood him.

The air grew dense, heavy, as if the darkness itself was swallowing the light around you. Silco emerged from the shadows, his presence so powerful that the ground beneath your feet seemed to tremble. A demon, yes—but not just any demon. He was temptation incarnate, a master in the art of making people surrender to their darkest desires.

His voice was low, deep, like a whisper that seemed to speak directly into your mind, filling you with thoughts you weren’t sure were yours or his.

"What is it that you desire, human?" His tone was a mix of curiosity and something far more dangerous. "Because you already know—I offer nothing without expecting something in return."

You tried to keep your composure, though your heart was racing. Every instinct within you screamed to run, to forget this and leave. But an inexplicable force kept you rooted to the spot, trapped by the way his eyes—dark as the night itself—bored into you, piercing through every layer of your being. His gaze was intense, relentless, as if he could see straight into your soul.

"I offer you what you crave the most," he said, stepping toward you with slow, deliberate movements, like a predator closing in on its prey. "The opportunity for more power, more wealth, more… everything you could ever imagine. But—there is a price. There is always a price."

The temptation in his words was undeniable, and you knew you were about to make a choice that would change everything. Silco—the demon who trades in souls—was offering you something only he could grant. The promise of everything you desired, but at what cost? Your soul? Your freedom? Or something far more sinister?

"What I want…" your words were barely a whisper, trembling beneath the weight of his gaze. "What I want is… time."

A slow, wicked smile curled on his lips—one devoid of kindness. "Time… A very rare gift. And one that I can give you." He took another step forward, and at once, you felt the heat radiating from him. "But like any gift, it comes at a price."

He was too close now, and your breath hitched. The temperature in the room had risen noticeably, the air around you burning with an almost tangible intensity. Silco was a man of few words, but the ones he spoke were like spells—deeply seductive, impossible to ignore.

His face was inches from yours now, his breath warm against your skin, his presence wrapping around you like a shadow from which there was no escape.

"Accept my offer, and you shall have what you desire. But I know you won’t do so without hesitation, without doubt…"

The tension between you was palpable, electric, and something inside you was beginning to waver. Part of you wanted to flee, to escape whatever was happening—but another, much stronger part, wanted to know just how far this dangerous seduction could go. The power, the risk, the thrill—it was a game, one you were already ensnared in.

Silco, as if reading your thoughts, smirked again. His face drew even closer, his eyes gleaming with a dark promise.

"All I require, dear one, is that you surrender to me. Not now, not all at once—but little by little, with every encounter. And when the time comes, there will be no turning back."

The pulse in your veins pounded wildly, and a realization dawned upon you—whether you said no or not, you were already caught in his web. Every word, every glance, every movement was designed to erode your resistance. You had been invaded, ensnared by something far greater than yourself, and you knew that nothing would be the same after this moment.

"And if I refuse to surrender so easily?" you asked, challenging the imminent danger looming over you. But his low, dangerous laughter was answer enough.

"You’ll know when the time comes, human. There is no resisting what I offer. Because I am not just a demon… I am the only one who can give you everything you desire."

The pressure in your chest became unbearable, the air itself suffocating. The seduction in his words was too strong to ignore. You could feel the desire, the temptation surrounding you, wrapping you in an inescapable darkness.

Silco leaned in, his face mere inches from yours, his breath ghosting over your lips. His voice was a whisper in your ear.

"I am giving you an opportunity, human. A chance to claim what you want most. But be warned…"

"Because you won’t always know when you’ll give in. You won’t always know when you’ll be mine."

And in that precise moment, you knew—the fate awaiting you was inevitable. Dark, consuming, and utterly irresistible.

mel as a mermaid!

The storm had lashed the sea with fury, leaving in its wake a chaos of raging waves and skies riddled with lightning. The shipwreck had been inevitable, and when the waters finally calmed, the darkness that preceded the stillness seemed denser, deeper. The last thing you remembered was the sensation of sinking, the water filling your lungs, and then… nothingness.

You awoke, enveloped in a gentle current, but instead of the roaring sea and the deadly cold of the waters, the temperature was warm, embracing. Opening your eyes, you found yourself underwater, floating like a specter in an expanse of blues and greens. It was not the darkness you knew, but a golden light that seemed to come from everywhere. At first, you thought you were trapped in a dream, or perhaps death had taken you beyond, but the air, the softness of the current… no, it was not a dream.

The sight before you was like a mirage—an underwater palace, its columns and ceilings carved from iridescent coral, surrounded by floating gardens of plants you had never seen before, vibrant in color, moving as if they were alive. But what truly captured your attention was the figure approaching with impossible grace.

A mermaid.

Her tail was a golden gleam, reflecting the light from the ocean floor with a brilliance that dazzled, and every movement was a seamless dance, as if the water was her natural element, her home, her domain. The upper half of her body was slender and harmonious, her skin smooth as pearl, with a sun-kissed hue that seemed to glow with its own inner light, as if the ocean’s sun touched her eternally. She had the face of a goddess, a beauty so perfect that it made everything else around her seem dull. Her hair cascaded in soft waves down to the middle of her back, a golden tone that merged with the sea as if it were a reflection of the ocean itself.

Her gaze was intense, profound, and when her eyes met yours, you felt yourself drowning in them. They were a striking green, like the purest ocean water, and within them was a gleam that you could only describe as… ancient. She knew things you could never comprehend. She knew secrets the sea had kept for millennia.

The mermaid approached slowly, her movements as fluid as the waves. She observed you with a mix of curiosity and something more—something you couldn’t define.

“Well, what do we have here?” Her voice was like music, soft and enchanting, a melody that made your heart race, as if each word was woven with magic. “A lost sailor, come from the surface.”

Before you could respond, she smiled. The smile of a creature who knew her power and understood there was no escape. With a single movement of her hand, the water around you seemed to freeze, to halt, as if it obeyed her will.

“Why should I let you go when the sea has already claimed you?” Her voice was a whisper, and at the same time, a command. “What sense is there in resisting when everything here, in the depths, is more beautiful and more eternal than anything you’ve ever known on the surface?”

Her presence was overwhelming, her closeness making everything more intense. Your body trembled, not from fear, but from an irresistible fascination. You could feel her power in the water surrounding you, as if she were the sea itself, and you were just a small vessel about to be dragged by the current.

“Why not stay with me?” Her voice grew even softer, sweeter, as if she were whispering directly into your soul. “There’s so much I can show you… so much the sea has kept hidden for centuries. Everything you desire, everything you could ever become… I can give it to you. You only have to trust me.”

You felt trapped, but not in the way you had expected. There was something so intoxicating about her, about her presence, that it was difficult to think clearly. There was something dangerous in the way her words caressed your skin, something that drew you in, that seduced you, something that made you want to stay—even though you knew you couldn’t.

And then, her gaze turned more playful, a spark of mischief crossing her eyes.

“But it’s never that easy, is it?” she mused. “The surface calls to you, doesn’t it? Humans are always so stubborn. They think they can escape… but the sea always claims what is hers.”

You felt yourself lose balance, and before you could think of anything else, her golden tail moved with a speed you could barely follow, trapping you in a swirling vortex of water that surrounded you like a liquid prison. She was close—too close—her face now near enough that you could feel her breath, warm and damp.

“Come now, don’t resist…” she murmured, her voice a lullaby, a spell. “Let me show you the world I’ve kept just for you.”

Her words were more than an invitation; they were an enchantment, a promise that made you shiver, that overflowed your thoughts and your will.

You felt lost—but in a strange way, as if by losing yourself in her, you could finally find yourself.

But you knew that the surface, the life you had left behind, was still calling to you. Could you resist the beauty of the ocean, the seduction of Mel, the princess of the depths? Or would you become just another soul ensnared by her spell, trapped in her world, with no hope of return?

The question echoed in your mind, but you already knew that, no matter your decision, you would not be the same person when you emerged from the depths of her kingdom.

sevika as a gargoyle!

The forgotten city seemed like a whisper from another time, a relic that had survived the erosion of the centuries. Among its ruins stood an ancient temple, its stones carved with symbols that no one remembered anymore, its columns covered in moss, and its structure corroded by the passage of wind and rain. It was a place that people had stopped visiting long ago, yet here you were, as if fate had guided you to its heart. No one came to this site anymore, but in your search for ancient secrets, you had gone too far.

The air was heavy, dense, as if the city itself were guarding a secret, waiting to be discovered. You moved cautiously, the echoes of your steps resonating against the shadow-covered walls. The darkness inside the temple was complete, except for the faint light filtering through the cracks in the ceiling, creating dancing shadows on the gargoyle statues that adorned the columns. They were imposing figures, carved with an unsettling perfection, their wings spread and their faces fixed in an eternal watch.

You approached one of them, drawn by its magnetic presence. The sculpture was larger than the others, a female figure, her body carved with strong, angular lines, as if the sculpture itself were the manifestation of an ancient war. Her eyes, though empty and lifeless, seemed to watch you. On her face reflected a contained fury, and something in her gave you the feeling that she was not just a statue.

An irresistible impulse led you to come closer and extend your hand, touching the cold surface of the stone. The sensation of the texture under your fingers was rough, as if centuries of dust and time had accumulated on it. And it was at that moment when everything changed. A shiver ran through your body, a vibration of energy that seemed to come directly from the very bowels of the earth. Suddenly, a deep sound, a cracking like stone crumbling, made you recoil. The wings of the gargoyle, once rigid, fluttered slightly, and the temple resonated with a low, almost ancestral echo.

Before you could process it, the figure began to move. The gargoyle that had once been a statue woke up. Its form rose, and the tremor of the stone gave way to a body in motion, an imposing figure that looked at you with an intensity that made you feel minuscule in its presence. A growl, low and guttural, emanated from its throat, a mixture of contained anger and desperation.

And then, it saw how you had frozen in fear.

The gargoyle said nothing. It stepped forward with heavy steps, its stone claws scraping the floor as its golden eyes, as bright as fire, locked onto yours. Its figure was massive, almost indomitable, and while it still retained the form of the statue, it now moved with a dark grace that belied its weight. Every movement was filled with controlled violence, and the fury of its presence filled the air, crushing you mercilessly.

But when its eyes met yours, something changed. A glimmer of something more human shone in its gaze, a fraction of doubt, as if, in some forgotten corner of its soul, there still existed a spark of humanity.

"What have you done... human?" Its voice was deep, full of a resonance that seemed to come from the very depths of the earth, a voice so profound it made the ground tremble.

You tried to step back, but you had become trapped in a corner, with no way out. The gargoyle, or what had been a gargoyle, moved closer, its presence enveloping you. There was something hypnotic about the way it looked at you, something that told you that you were not the first to be ensnared by its gaze.

"You are nothing more than an intruder in a place you do not understand," it said, its voice softening slightly, as if evaluating you. "You have awakened something that should not have been awakened. Now, you belong to me."

Fear ran through you, but there was something else too. A strange fascination. Something in the way it moved, in the brutality it seemed to embody, awakened a primal response in you. And even though you told yourself you needed to escape, you couldn't stop watching the figure in front of you, its sculpted body, its latent power.

For a moment, you couldn’t say anything. Fear, though strong, faded away, and what remained was an unusual desire to understand it, to comprehend who this creature really was, trapped between two worlds. In its eyes was something more than fury, something more than hate. It seemed that beneath the rock, under the weight of the stone, a heart still beat.

"Who are you?" Finally, you managed to ask, your voice trembling, but determined. "Why are you here?"

The gargoyle stopped in front of you, looking at you for what seemed like an eternity. The hardness of its stone face softened, if only slightly. "I... was not always stone," it confessed, its voice now less harsh, but filled with palpable pain. "I was not always what you see now. A long time ago, I was human like you."

Its words surprised you, and in that moment, something inside you changed. The idea of the gargoyle as a mere statue, an impassive being, began to crumble. Maybe there was something deeper inside her, something more than a prisoner of stone.

"Why have they turned you into this?" you asked, taking a step toward her, intrigue replacing your fear.

Silence.

"Because time does not forgive," she said finally, her tone much softer, almost sad. "And the price for protecting these temples... is much more than you can imagine."

Your heart beat faster as you looked at the gargoyle, not as a threat, but as a living tragedy. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way to break the curse that kept her trapped in her stone form.

And as she watched you, the fate of both seemed to hang by a thread as fragile as the touch of your hands on the cold stone.

Hello, I love ALL of your work, so if it's not too much of a hassle, I'd like to make a request. Arcane women x reader who is a very dangerous (and well-known) criminal and murderer in Zaun and Piltover, with a sadistic and manic personality. But when they meet her, they realize that the reader is quite kind and affectionate, maybe even a little shy. That's all, I hope you like my idea. Have a good day!

⋆ ☆Arcane Women x criminal!reader Headcannons

Characters: Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn, Sevika, Mel, Ambessa.

Genre: fluff

Warnings ⚠️: Arcane Women x reader, Fem!reader, Criminal!Reader, mentions of murder, fluff, violence implied.

-Jinx

●Jinx is OBSESSED with you the moment she meets you. She expected someone as crazy as her, and while you definitely have your moments of sadistic mania, she's delighted to find out you're actually kinda cute.

●"Wait, wait, wait-so you're tellin' me you are the one that gutted those Piltie officers like a fish? You? Awww, cupcake, you look so precious when you blush.

●She teases you constantly about how different you are from your reputation. She finds it hilarious when you get flustered, but she loves seeing that dark, twisted side of you come out when necessary. It makes her giddy.

●Jink probably tries to provoke you just to see that manic glint in your eyes because damn, it's hot when you're in killer mode.

-Vi

●Vi is wary at first. She knows your reputation, and even if she's not exactly law- abiding herself, she has to keep an eye on you. But then... she sees you being soft?

●"You, uh... you sure you're the same person everyone's scared of?" Vi watches as you carefully, wrap a strat cat in a blanket, looking all concerned.

●Once she realized you're not as unhinged as the rumor says, she finds your duality intriguing. The idea that you could be a ruthless killer yet still get nervous when she flirts with you? Oh, she loves it.

●"Damn, sweetheart. You just slit a guy's throat, and now you're all shy 'cause I called you pretty? That's adorable."

-Caitlyn

●Caitlyn has to meet you under a professional circumstances first. As an enforcer, she knows exactly who you are and what you've done. She expects a remorseless, sadistic monster, not... whatever this is.

●She watches in shock as you nervously avoid eye contact, mumbling out something polite. She expects a challenge, but instead, she gets someone who stammers when complimented?

●Caitlyn doesn't trust you at first, but once she sees you softer side, she starts questioning everything.

●"You- you're a murder. A criminal. And yet you just helped that old woman cross the street?"

●The contradictory of your personality fascinates her. She might even hesitated to arrest you.

-Sevika

●Sevika knows what kind of person you are. She heard the rumors, seen the aftermath of your work, and yet... she never expected you to be so polite.

●She initially thinks it's an act, a manipulation tactic, but the more time she spends with you, the more she realizes it's genuine.

●"So let me get this straight... you've got half of Zaun scared shitless of you, and yet you can't even look me in the eye when I call you cute?" She smirks. "That's just pathetic, doll."

●Sevika is the type to test you, pushing your buttons just to see if the rumors hold weight. When you finally snap and go full psycho mode? She grins.

●"There's my girl."

-Mel

●Mel is intrigued by you the moment she hears your name. She’s dealt with powerful people before, but someone with your reputation? That’s a different kind of influence.

●“A killer with a soft heart…" how very unusual.” She studies you like a puzzle, fascinated by the way you switch between cold-blooded and sweet.

●Mel finds your duality entertaining. She’ll say something flirtatious just to watch your confident demeanor crack.

●“For someone so feared, you do crumble quite easily under my gaze. How adorable.”

●But she’s also deeply respectful of your strength. She knows better than to underestimate you, no matter how affectionate you are.

-Ambessa

●Ambessa isn’t easily impressed, but the moment she hears about you, she’s intrigued. A dangerous, high-profile criminal? She likes power, and you have plenty of it.

●When she meets you and sees how shy you are despite your reputation, she can’t help but chuckle.

●"I expected a monster. Instead, I find a kitten.”

●She enjoys the contrast. She also enjoys watching you switch from soft to brutal in an instant. It proves you’re not weak—just selective about who sees your true self.