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satan-plundered-our-oceans · 27 days

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Jinx x f!reader and their first kiss, date, time, fight, all that couple stuff short little pieces of girlies being cute

★。／ get jinxed ＼。★

pairing: jinx x f!reader

fandom: arcane

word count: 1,612

tw: canon typical swearing/slang, some light spoiler warnings, and some suggestive/NSFW content! MDNI!

notes: this is a fic i am really excited for! Thank you again for the request anon! It was really fun to write, and i got through it pretty quickly to be perfectly honest because of that haha. Not proofread because im tired, and i have no shame :D enjoy!

! be sure to like and reblog if you enjoyed !

➼ first date with jinx

You worked under Silco delivering shimmer across Zaun. Of course, you knew you shouldn’t have been doing this, it could get you arrested without question and you’d find yourself in Stillwater. But it paid well, and working so closely with the Eye of Zaun meant you didn’t have to worry as much about danger in Zaun. People saw you as a god-send, you gave them their weekly hit, if anything, the danger made them respect you.

It was during this time that you met Jinx, while picking up your next delivery of shimmer from Silco’s warehouse. She had been there to speak with him privately about some arson issue that happened in Piltover. You had heard briefly about a lanky, blue-haired girl that would build bombs in the open space beneath the warehouse, but it was rare that anyone had ever seen her. But you managed. Somehow.

She intercepts you on your trade route, setting bombs off in the street just across from one of your clients. Jinx claims to recognise you from skulking around the warehouse. And at some point her chaotic energy and her strange inability to sit still seems to lull you into some sense of security. She’s just the perfect idea of unpredictability that you needed in your otherwise boring Zaunite lifestyle. (Though you were very lucky, all things considered.)

Your first date is a simple diner one. At first, you didn’t even know it was a date, just that she wanted to do something fun with you. She takes you in to meet her favourite bartender Chuck, who seems to almost slink beneath the counter when she drags you in. I feel like Jinx would give you a little monkey bomb as a gift for your first date - though it isn’t set, it’s pretty harmless. Other than that she bombards you with strange bursts of Jinx-aligned humour, and rambles at length about her various inventions, promising to take you down to her workshop to show you everything, while tightly gripping your fingers with chipped blue nails.

And something in those bright, blue eyes makes you think that maybe this unpredictability could be quite fun.

***

‘Don’t ya get bored frownin’ like that?’ jinx drums her nails on her glass, the clinking echoing throughout the empty bar. It was quite odd, you reckon, for it to be this quiet, but maybe its just jinx.

In her own way of trying to get a smile out of you she starts spouting some random jokes. Tries telling her own funny stories. They all mostly revolve around bombs or explosive presentations she’s organised at piltover events. Mainly the absurdity of it all gets a laugh out of you, or you just smile at the giddy, child-like happiness you see in her eyes. Something that seems so pure (ignoring the fact that she’s probably an arsonist and on several watchlists)

‘There ya go!’ she cheers, grabbing onto your hands and interlacing your fingers. You think maybe you should paint your nails too to match her, see if it makes her happy. ‘You look so much prettier with a smile, trinket’

➼ first kiss with jinx

It was after your third or fourth date that you ended up spending your free time in the warehouse. Jinx begins showing you all the new inventions she’s making, and all her designs for cartoony monkey bombs, you even help her draw out a few, including a cutesy little cat one that she isn’t as fond of, but she still makes one for you.

Most of your relationship consists of Jinx making you little trinkets, like keychains, safe bombs, little bracelets and rings, and strange, misshapen sculptures made of leftover metal pieces.

She loves you, in a very Jinx-way. She’s touchy but never very pushy. Long hugs, cuddles on a couch that she has balancing on a metal propellor in her warehouse, letting you braid her hair when she’s tired (please brush her hair, she will melt, and she needs some softness), holding hands in Zaun or dragging you to her private meetings with Silco. Whether you like it or not, you have the Eye of Zaun as an adopted father figure now. He isn’t quite sure what to think about it either.

It is one of those cuddle sessions, after she is plagued by the voices that taunt her, that you end up just holding her face into your neck and sitting with her. These are the most important to her, like she can feel safe for once.

***

‘Thank ya toots,’ she curls around you, straddling your lap and looking down on you with an innocent pout on her face. You don’t have to ask what she’s thanking you for, this has become a pretty regular occurrence.

In her moment of calmed silence, you untie one of her braids and begin to brush through her long, blue locks with your fingers. She immediately melts into your hands, leaning forward to lean into your chest, gazing up at you.

‘I feel like ya deserve somethin,’ she says absently, tapping her chin with one nail. Then a mischievous smile crosses her lips. ‘C’mere!’

She eagerly grabs your cheeks, barely giving you a second to register what’s happening before she smushes your faces together. Her lips are chapped, but her kiss is so enthusiastic that you have to take a moment before returning it. Your hand grips her hair in between tight fingers.

The rest of your cuddle sesh is spent with soft, hurried kisses.

➼ first fight with jinx

You don’t often fight with Jinx, you don’t like to yell at her or be upset, and watch her usually gleeful expression drop into that of a kicked puppy. But you were worried about her this time.

She had gone up to piltover against Silco’s wishes again, most likely to stir up trouble, so he decided to send you after her to drag her back to Zaun. When you had gotten there however, you found only the debris of her explosions, the spraypaint she loved, clouds of coloured smoke, and guards everywhere.

And no Jinx.

No sign of her or where she could be, you had no choice but to return to Zaun before you got dragged into the oncoming investigation, empty-handed. You spend the rest of the day worrying over where she might be in her workshop, sitting with your head in your hands on the couch. Is she hurt? Captured? She could be dead for all you know.

So when she shows up again, seemingly ignorant to how long she has been gone or the stress she has caused, you can’t help but raise your voice, crying about how you had expected the worst. You scream back and forth for a bit before she leaves you to burn off her energy.

***

‘Hey trinket,’ the door to her warehouse screeches open, and she stands in the entrance, looking at you as you sit on the couch, barely even looking at her. ‘Ya still mad at me?’

She sighs when she doesn’t get a response, coming close to wipe at the dried tear-stains on your cheeks, setting down her tools and her guns to favour your face between her hands. Jinx makes sure you can see only her.

‘I’m sorry i vanished, i didnt mean to scare ya, honest.’ she pulls you down to lean into her shoulder, still stroking your cheeks with her fingers. ‘Can ya forgive me, trinket? I’ll make it up to ya, i promise.’

Jinx cuddles with you on the couch for the rest of the day, showering you in kisses at your request. Safe to say, you can’t stay mad at her for very long at all.

|| ! mdni content below ! ||

➼ first time with jinx

Jinx has always loved touching you, whether it’s a hand on your knee, an arm around your shoulder, or a hug from behind. She just loves to be close to you. But when you begin talking about the idea of sex with her she immediately jumps on the idea (and probably jumps on you as soon as you bring it up, you only barely manage to drag her somewhere private)

She’s an enthusiastic lover in all things, of course. Fucking you isn’t going to be any different. But she’s gentle the first time, despite it all, she doesn’t really know what she’s doing, i don’t think Silco really prepared her for intimate relationships.

But still, having sex with Jinx is amusing, its not serious, always cracking little jokes or tickling each other and finding little ways to be comfortable with the process. You can’t really find it in you to be nervous.

She’d start slowly with you though, if you wanted, just to make you comfortable <3

***

‘God trinket, ya look s’ pretty like this for me,’ she’s already slightly breathless, skirting her hands and dragging her chipped nails over your ribs. She lays you down on the couch in her warehouse, sitting between your thighs, looking up at you with half-lidded eyes.

‘Ya feel alright?’ she checks in occasionally, just to be sure.

But she lets her hands wander at the same time, she can tell you aren’t going to say no just by the look in your eyes, urging her to continue. She lets her hands travel over your stomach and down in between your thighs, but she doesn’t hurry where you need her. No, she prefers to tease you. Just a little bit to get you squirming.

When she does finally reach your core, dipping her fingers in between your folds, does she finally let up and give you what you want.

#arcane #arcane smut #arcane headcanon #arcane fanfic #arcane x reader #arcane imagines #jinx #jinx arcane #jinx x reader #jinx league of legends #powder arcane #vi x reader #fanfic #smut fic #wholesome #headcanon #imagine

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astudyincontrasts · 6 months

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Penance IX (redux)

Priest!Silco x Fem!Reader AU (nsfw)

A/N: Its my birthday! Last year everyone in this fandom and all the friends I have made because of it made today one of the most special birthdays I have had in a long time. I felt more loved and surrounded in celebration with sweet friends then I had in years, and the cup of that happiness has not stopped running over. There are not enough ways to express my love and gratitude for everyone I've had the joy of meeting here.

So this year, I wanted to offer a gift to all of you. Everyone has been exceedingly patient about my writing struggles to continue Penance, so I'd like to give you the alternate Penance XI chapter- blood I have managed to wring from that stone of writers block. The fate of the continuation of this story may still be up in the air until inspiration comes knocking again, but at least I can share this with you today.

To all my fandom friends, and everyone who has been so supportive of this silly little smutty story. You have my heart.

This picks up after Chapter VIII

“Girl, are you listening?”

Sister Marta’s sharply scolding voice brought you back down to earth with a little jerk, blinking as you turned attention back to the tall, thin, sallow faced nun to meet the exasperated gaze of her cataract-hazed grey eyes.

“Sorry Sister.” You mumbled, casting about for a context clue of whatever it was she might have been speaking about while you’d been off daydreaming about the priest of her parish. Nothing jumped out at you in the dusty old store room of the basement where you both stood in the dim light of one naked and straining lightbulb still swinging gently upon its cord from the nun’s yank of its chain a moment before.

You hadn’t meant to drift off, but it had been four days since you’d seen Father Silco last and that painful, sweet contrition you’d done across the desk of his office was still fresh in your mind as if it had just happened. You ought to have been angry at the fact he’d left you such an unsatisfied mess, and the fact he’d spanked you like a wicked child, in spite of his promise he’d never hurt you as they had back in school.

Truly, he had not. Those sharp little slaps of his open hand were nothing compared to the cruelty of a sharp ruler across knuckles or the backs of thighs delivered by an angry, bitter nun. You smiled faintly at Sister Marta’s increasingly irritated, withered old face and privately thought perhaps she could teach the Father a few things about corporal punishment.

“The candles, girl!” Sister Marta exhorted at last, the thin limit of her patience snapping.

Unlike the ‘my child’ diminutive that the other nuns like Sister Eleanor or Sister Angelica were so fond of using with you and other parishioners, Sister Marta had no use for any such hollow faithful endearments. You hadn’t yet made up your mind if it was an honest gruffness about her you liked, or an insulting mein you did not. You had the notion it would have hardly mattered to the old woman either way.

She nudged one of the pair of low boxes with the toe of her sensible black shoe from under her long, dark habit.

“Take them to the Father to be blessed and then kindly refill the votive stands. You can remove the spent ones and toss them.” She explained, slower this time as if she was speaking to a simpleton.

You bore it with a tight little smile and bent to lift the box on top, surprised by the weight of it, staggering a bit upon rising only to catch a smugly satisfied look on the wrinkled old pucker of a face before Sister Marta reached up to pull the chain of the light and leave you to struggle out the door of the closet and back up the rickety old stairs of the basement in the dark, save for the light from the open door at the top of the steps.

Quietly you wondered if you accidentally fell and broke your neck, if the church would have their endowment free of the burden of your presence that came with it.

Cold comfort, knowing you’d crush the brittle bird-boned old woman climbing up, wheezing softly behind you, and take her with you if you did pitch backward down the steps.

The real trial wasn’t making it to the top of the stairs with the heavy box full of candles, though. No, that one still lay ahead once you’d reached the top without incident. The real trial lay in taking that armload into the rectory to face Father Silco once more and ask his blessing.

You’d thought you’d be safe if you came on a Thursday. You’d avoided the parish planning committee on Monday, as well as your usual Wednesday session with the Father. You’d hardly doubted you’d be missed at the planning meeting, and Wednesday, well. You’d chosen to skip it half in a little act of spite, half just to see what might happen. When no scolding phone call or visit had been forthcoming after shirking both of those commitments the victory felt hollow.

Turning up to make yourself useful to the nuns on Thursday seemed like a good way to cover for your failed gambit and to keep from looking as if you were avoiding the church. Foolishly, you’d thought perhaps you’d manage to skim by with just catching a glimpse of Father Silco in passing.

Unsure if it was because you wanted to see him, or wanted him to see you.

You’d been on rocky footing ever since your little transgression in the confessional, and you knew it.

The door to the rectory lay open just across from the basement door in the open nave of the large narthex, and you waited until Sister Marta crested the steps behind you and shut the basement door to hobble off heavily upon her cane, before you started the slow walk toward his office. You didn’t let yourself hesitate in the doorway, and didn’t have a free hand to knock on the open door with anyway. Instead, summoning all the calm composure you could muster, you simply walked in and paused before his desk.

He sat there, scribbling away in an open book, papers and letters and other books opened in a slightly scattered mess about his work, dark head bent and eyepatch on. He left you standing there until he’d finished what he was writing. Until your elbows and wrists had begun to ache a little from the weight of the box you held. Only then he sat back, letting his pen drop upon the desk as elbows found the armrests of his tall-backed chair and he turned the cool glint of that duplicitously calm ocean colored eye upward.

The thin, scarred cut of his mouth tugged a hint of a smile at one corner.

“Lamb.” He stated mildly, as if unsurprised in the least to see you there and only half interested as to what you might want with him.

Infuriating, how badly you liked hearing that little endearment again. How flustered it made you feel to get hooked on the edge of that smile.

The box shifted heavily in your hands as you juggled its weight and stepped forward to set it upon his desk. Damn his paperwork.

“Sister Marta asked if you’d bless these candles so I could put them in the votive holders.” Your attempt to keep your voice as even and disaffected as possible only resulted in it coming out far softer than you’d meant for it to be.

Leaning forward a touch, Silco flipped one of the flaps of the cardboard lid back to glance at the candles inside with a little hum. One by one he folded each of the other three flaps back and rose to his feet. Elegant fingers stroked absently along the edge of one packaging dividers hashed between the votives within before he plucked a single candle out and set it aside.

Letting that cool eye of his drift shut he made the sign of the cross over the open box of remaining candles before opening both hands before himself, palms cupped upward.

“Lord Jesus Christ, true light that enlightens every man who comes into this world, bestow thy blessing upon these candles, and sanctify them with the light of thy grace. As these tapers burn with visible fire and dispel the darkness of night, so may our hearts with the help of thy grace be enlightened by the invisible fire of the splendor of the Holy Ghost, and may be free from all blindness of sin.”

His eye opened and fell upon you, and suddenly you were profoundly aware of how you just stood there, staring at the tall, lean lines of him in that dark cassock, soaking in the sound of his voice and very obviously not with your hands folded in reverent prayer or eyes downcast as they ought to have been. Something entirely ungodly flickered at the edge of Father Silco’s mouth as he continued on, holding your immobilized gaze.

“Clarify the eyes of our minds that we may see what is pleasing to thee and conducive to our salvation. After the dark perils of this life let us be worthy to reach the eternal light.” His eye closed once more and again he made the sign of the cross over the box as he finished, “Through thee, Jesus Christ, Savior of the world, who in perfect Trinity livest and reignest, God, for ever and ever. Amen.”

His hands lowered, one coming to settle over the glass edge of the candle he’d set to one side, and he considered you as you crossed yourself hastily and reached forward to gather the box back up again. He stopped you lifting it with a touch of the fingertips to its lid.

“When you are through with these, perhaps you’d come back here?” Couched so carefully as a question, yet all you could hear was the quiet order in it. Come back here. Your head was nodding before he even finished speaking and the thin, dark brow not covered by his eyepatch quirked slightly.

“Yes, Father.” Your correction of yourself came nearly automatically.

Another little humming assent and with a slow blink he removed the touch that had stopped you lifting the box, resuming his seat. You hoped he’d resume his work as well, but instead he sat there, watching you go, fingertips drumming thoughtfully upon the little glass votive.

You took your time with the candles, mostly because your hands were shaking and the very last thing you wanted to do was drop one of the blessed things and have it shatter across the church floor. But also, to give you time to scrape yourself together, collect calm and poise. It was no good, heart hammering anticipation equal parts nervousness and excitement. The part of yourself that had wanted so badly to keep up this little charade of wishing to avoid him had succumbed without so much as a whimper.

Again thoughts drifted back to Sunday. To the stinging warmth of skin under his hand, to how he’d teased you to a sodden mess without once slipping fingers beneath the barrier of cotton that had separated you. To how he’d left you wanting and writhing and nearly in tears. A perfect act of contrition, indeed.

It was a struggle not to let yourself wonder what next punishment he could possibly have in store for you.

Spent votives replaced with fresh ones, and the box filled with the clatter of the empty candleholders, you made your way back to his office. Dropping the detritus of other people’s prayers off in the dumpster out back could wait. You had your own worship to attend to.

Father Silco’s desk was far less littered with papers when you returned, open books stacked neatly to one side now and everything else put away save for the book he was still writing in. And that little candle he’d taken. His dark head didn’t even lift as you set the softly clattering box down upon the settee against the wall.

“Office hours are over.” He intoned flatly as you wiped palms nervously over the skirt of the dress covering your thighs.

It froze you, cold like ice water suddenly filling the pit of your belly. Had he just dismissed you after ordering you to return?

“...Father?” It came out a strangled little question and you almost hated how needy the note of your voice made that singular word.

He glanced up and you realized with a start that he’d removed that eyepatch, the hellish orange-red fire of his darkened eye a constant little shock every single time. Ruined eye and teal flicked from you to the door and back again as if in blatant explanation.

“Lock the door.” He elaborated.

It should not have been a matter of pride that you managed to turn and do his bidding without falling all over yourself or scrambling in an embarrassing rush of eagerness, and yet. Far more collected than you felt within, you managed to push the door shut soundlessly and throw the latch, pausing for a moment with your back to him, safely sheltered in the little alcove of the doorway, to breathe through the easing of that sudden cold panic that had surfaced at your earlier misunderstanding.

When you returned to him he’d shut his notebook and set it aside atop the others, and reached to slide that pilfered votive candle before himself as he watched you sidle up to his desk. Watched you stop, smooth the skirt of your dress only to fist it again in fitful hands, watched the tight little press of thighs as he drew out the silence.

“Do you know what these are called?” He asked, nudging the little candle forward with the press of one elegant fingertip before rising from his seat.

“Devotionaries.” You answered, and watched him cross to the wall to the right of you, to a tall coat stand that stood near the door to his quarters.

“Very good.”

A child could have answered that question, but it did not stop the little smile of pleasure that tugged at the corners of your mouth. His praise as euphoric as a drug and twice as addictive, even for the smallest of successes.

Your mouth went dry however, as he turned profile to you, tugged a button or two open upon the throat of his cassock, and then turned his back to undo the rest before shrugging out of the long, dark cloth to hang it upon the coat stand. The black fabric fell in a long and shapeless mass without him, hem puddling ever so slightly on the floor.

It put you in mind of Peter Pan hanging up his shadow, or it would have done, had you not been so preoccupied with the shape of him divested of the dark habit. Of that petulant posture and taut lovely lines, proud set of shoulders and careless, dangerous beauty in how he moved. It was patently unfair that a man sporting licks of sliver at his temples and etched crows feet at the outset edges of his eye should have the lithe shape of youth the way he did.

Devoid of the cassock, he was left instead in the black roman-collared linen shirt and dark, sharply pleated trousers he wore beneath.

He turned back to you and came wandering back toward the desk, unbuttoning the cuffs at his wrists.

“Do you have a lighter?” The question was so casual it caught you off guard and you had to shake your head, tugging at the pocketless skirt of your dress on either side of thighs by way of explanation.

His mouth twisted the merest fraction of a smile as he tucked the cuff of one of his sleeves back, began rolling it neatly toward his elbow. Lean hips turned a fraction as he stepped closer.

“Left pocket.” He instructed, helpfully.

Hesitation grasped you but a moment before you inched forward, stepped into his space and paused. Glancing upward, you found his attention fixed upon meticulously still folding his sleeves back, crisp turn by turn. The focus of those mismatched eyes not even flickering to you, to how every fine hair upon your bare arms stood on end like they were aching toward him, toward that magnetic draw of snapping static thrumming in the air between you both.

Easing half behind him, you reached for the little gap of the pocket and slowly slid fingers into the warmth of its silken confines. Over the bone of his hip and down, wrist deep until you hit the bottom of the pocket and touched the smooth, rectangular shape of the lighter within. Metal heated to body temperature from where it nestled.

Fingers curled around it before you stopped. Let it go, and moved just a little closer, pressed fingers flat to that join between hip and thigh his pocket lay against. Pushed the delve of that pocket just a little deeper and felt his stomach tense beneath your fingertips as your cheek brushed the outside of his upper arm.

“The lighter, lamb. If you please.” His tone was darkly amused at least, though if you kept pushing your luck it would be at your own cost. That much was clear.

You scooped up the lighter once more, but withdrew your hand slow, knuckles grazing softly along the cut of muscle you could feel running from his hip inward and down. Air felt unwelcomely cold against your skin once you pulled your hand free, and before you could step back, he moved away for you. Walked away to resume his seat behind the desk as he finished doing up his other cuff to just below his right elbow.

A small push of his foot made space between the seat and the desk, and you only needed the flick of his eyes from you to the room he’d made to set you in motion to come and stand before him, his lighter clenched tight in your closed fist, unwilling to relinquish the little bit of his heat you held in your palm.

Gazing up at you, his attention licked over the details of your dress, your posture, your hesitant composure, as he tugged at the give of trousers a little at the bend of thigh and hip and settled himself more comfortably.

“You weren’t here yesterday.” He observed as he relaxed back against the tall chair, a flicker of a blink over that oceanic eye. You held your tongue and his gaze fell to the candle upon the desk just beside where you stood, and you wondered if your absence had made him angry, filled him with regret, or perhaps just left him lonesome. You wished there was a way to tell, any little crack in that stoic mask of scarred features and sharpness to let the truth of what he was thinking seep out. Nothing there though but that calculating, penetrating gaze and a subtle shrug of broad, lean shoulders, “I suppose we might make up for lost time, then. Contrition may be an important facet of faith, but so is devotion.”

He reached forward to scoop into fingers the loose end of the bow that tied the wrap of your dress shut beside your waist. His good eye narrowed, the fine lines of crowsfoot deepening. He’d seen that dress before, yes– the same one you’d worn to catch him by surprise in the confessional.

You allowed yourself the most innocent little smile you could manage when those mismatched eyes flicked sharply to your face, and willed breath to stay even, slow, no matter how skin had begun to sing his name in soft coursing waves of prickling goosebumps.

“I don’t suppose you have your rosary?” He asked archly, letting the ribbon of the bow drop from his open hand as he sat back once more.

He’d every right to ask it of you so dryly, given your lack of pockets. And you had every right to feel as smug as you did when you lifted a hand, reached into the low, criss-crossed neckline of your dress and drew out the strand of little purple beads from the nestle of your bra.

The war between shock, dark delight, the struggle to keep his poker face, and perhaps even a hint of righteous outrage that overtook the sharply handsome ruin of his features was nothing short of spectacular. You’d replay it, over and over again at night. Reveling in how well you toppled the high and mighty cold ivory pillar he so often perched upon.

Out and out you drew the beads until the little cross popped free and the rosary hung, swinging, upon your forefinger.

His hand, resting upon his knee, tightened, fingers twitching slightly, before it stilled, then lifted, palm open in demand.

You dropped that little holy object into his hand and watched his fist close around it, knowing full well he now held a little piece of your heat as surely as you held his within your other hand. There was a slight softening to the creases where thin brows met over that sharp nose that told you he felt it, too.

“Good girl.” He murmured, and the flush that crept up to warm your ears was nearly as delicious as the thrill that both chased up your spine and tugged at the backs of your knees to fold, to kneel. You rested the heel of your palm upon the desk behind you and let it take your weight so that you did not cave.

By the time he turned his face back up to you he’d mastered his expression once more, beatific calm singed at its hard edges.

“Turn around,” He instructed, making the simple order sound heavy, dangerous. Bringing thighs together from their slight sprawl, he patted the top of one, “Have a seat.”

Heart thudded hard in your ears as you did as you were bade, turning to sink onto his lap carefully, perched upon his knees. He sucked chipped teeth softly at it.

“Have a seat,” That grit velvet voice scolded gently from behind you as both his hands curled about your waist and urged you backward, until you sat comfortably fully upon him, back fitted to his front.

A hand upon your hip skimmed over stomach and waist, back to the bow of your dress.

“Why do we say devotions?” He asked, and you could feel the question purring through his chest against your back as he claimed the thick ribbon of the bow and tugged. The knot gave with no resistance, and the part of it he held served nicely to pull the cross of your dress open, just enough to part the skirt of it and leave you bare from stomach to thighs.

The shudder that overtook you was sweet and slow, wringing from core to limbs, leaving a little shivering tingle rising over scalp and curling toes, that familiar little throbbing ache back with a hot and hungry vengeance. Hips shifted in your seat as his fingertips ghosted skin to part fabric and push it aside, leaving your lower half bare save for the dark, smooth satin of underwear in the same shade of inky black as his habit.

“To remember the dead?” You chanced, feeling halfway there yourself, pulse racing erratically.

“Sometimes,” He agreed, and you swore you felt the whisper of scarred lips at your neck. Certainly felt the wash of warm breath plume over skin, “More generally devotions are an act of prayer or private worship. Remembrance is one act, as are service, reflection, beseeching, prostration… your rosary, for example, is considered a devotion.”

His hands slid along your arms, touch warm, bringing your hands together to press in prayer before he began to wind the beaded strings around your wrists again to bind them together.

“I thought that was a penance.” You exhaled in a shuddering little rasp.

“It can be, but not today.” The tip of his sharp nose drew a long, slow line against the rise of your spine, above the neckline of your dress between shoulder blades and to the base of your skull, “although that can be a devotion too.”

The heel of his foot caught the floor and pulled the seat with you both in it forward towards his desk, so that he could reach around you and lift the candle from where it sat before pushing you both back again. He held the votive before you.

“Light it,” he asked, free arm curling about you, fingers trailing the soft of your stomach from navel on down, “I owe you a devotion, lamb.”

Fingers bound in prayer fumbled with the thick golden rectangle of the lighter as you struggled not to simply sink back against him with a little shiver and beg that he stroke that little path across vulnerable skin once more. A flick of your thumb sent the hinged lid open and the circular little flint struck on the second attempt, hot flame bursting to life. Silco turned the candle so that you could light it and then pulled it away as you flicked the lighter shut and slipped it back between folded hands.

“Do you know the devotional prayer?” He asked, hand holding the candle coming to settle upon an armrest as his lap shifted beneath you, lean legs pressing together beneath your own and lifting before spreading wide, the hook of his knees beneath your thighs opening them in an indecent slow splay.

It set you writhing; the kissing chill of the air of the room contrasting sharply with the heat of him beneath you, so very bare, bound in his lap, spread open like an invitation. The door was locked, yes, you’d made sure of it but what if you were wrong? What if someone had a key? There’d be no explanation for the position you found yourself in, no way to hide.

The thrill of that little licking fear warred with the light caress of his free hand as it curled over the top of one thigh and smoothed toward your knee, only to hook it better in its drape over his own before it began the slow teasing, lazy circles that drew it back toward the little throbbing want hidden beneath the black satin gusset of thin panties.

“Bare legs.” He murmured, and you gave another little squirm, folded hands pressing together tighter. You’d not worn what you were coming to suspect was his favorite item of your clothing because you’d not expected to see him, and also to spite him if you did. The move seemed to have backfired spectacularly. When you had no excuse or answer, Father Silco simply carried on, a note of pleased amusement in his tone, “The prayer?”

“N-no. That is, no I don’t know it.”

“Hmn.” His little hum of disapproval at the gaps still existing in your liturgical knowledge colored your cheeks, and you could only hope that from his position he could not see the frustration that joined the embarrassment upon your face.

You watched him lift the candle slowly from where he’d held it at your side, bring it to hover over your open lap. His hand upon your thigh stilled its toying little strokes and instead closed in a taut grip of your leg, soft skin denting tenderly beneath his fingers.

“That’s alright,” he reassured you quietly, and you could hear the dark little smile in it, “This is my devotion anyhow.”

The flickering little candle he held hovering before you began to tilt, turn, and the inward gasp of breath caught in your throat as the clear melted wax welled at the lip of the red glass before spilling over, heat spattering in a little drip against the sensitive skin of your knee.

He paused, and you could feel him shift under your restless hips, feel the little roll of his own and the way his breath strained ever so slightly for just a moment.

“Does that hurt?” Low and velvet that voice mumbled up against the skin behind the fold of your ear and again he tipped a little burning drop of wax onto waiting skin.

Your knee jumped the barest fraction, reflexive little jerk at the soft scalding that faded quickly into gentle warmth, and you nodded, folded hands pressing the knuckles of forefingers tight to your lips.

“A little.” You breathed, raggedly.

“Enough to stop?” He pressed, and the soft moan of a sigh that broke from you when the warmth of his mouth touched to the hard thrum of your pulse answered well enough for you before your shattered little ‘no’ eked out.

His fingers had strayed far up the leg they’d been casually toying across, toward the heat that he had to feel absolutely radiating from the apex of thighs. One long forefinger drew a tracing line around the triangle of slippery black satin, up both edges and across your lower stomach slowly.

Air seized in your throat as his fingertips plucked at the smooth waistband.

“Lord, may this candle which I light illuminate all my difficulties and decisions.” Silco began, waiting to feel the tension stringing through you begin to ease before he spilled another dollop of wax, and then a second and third a bit further up each time. The soft sting of it had you writhing, the little shock of burning heat fading to a warm tickle as the wax rolled down in heavy drips, cooling against your skin.

Behind you, Silco’s breath caught in a little huff once more, a soft whistle between clenched chipped teeth on the inhale.

“May this candle be a fire,” He continued after a beat, spreading the warm little shocks and sudden pinching stings to the tender inner thigh of your other leg, “that burns away all my pride, selfishness…”

Writhing and shifting, you struggled in his lap, not wanting to escape yet fighting the way every fibre of you recoiled from the spattering searing sting of the wax in a reflexive, uncontrollable urge. Several of these squirming jerks of your hips and the hand teasing at the edge of your panties caught suddenly in a taut cup between your legs as you felt Silco’s own hips give a hard little shove upward.

Stilling breathlessly, he kept you waiting a long moment while he seemed to struggle to master himself, the fingers cupping you picking up an almost absent little up and down stroke over the satin covering the shape of your sex, unerringly finding the cleft between lips.

Cooling wax flexed and tugged at skin as you tried to spread a bit further for him, to press into his touch, scared if you were to beg for more with words that it might stop the tease entirely, as it had the last time he’d had his hand between your thighs. God, how he’d tormented you, brought you so terribly close… Hips rolled hard and slow against him in retaliation as you relived your humiliation.

As if reading your mind, his touch skimmed higher, and fingertips tucked themselves beneath the satin confines of the upper edge of panties, teasing little strokes at skin that tensed and trembled beneath his touch before they began to slip lower, “and all my other sins.”

Wax was flowing freely, dripping to punctuate each word, taking his sweet time as you wriggled and bucked in his lap, swallowing little gasps and hisses as your skin sang.

At least one shift of your hips must have caught him just right because for a moment you could hear him choke on his words, feel him tense beneath you again. Determined to give as good as you got you did it again and felt the rush of his breath fan against your neck.

His free hand tensed where it lay, fingertips so tremulously close to the cleft of lips, and delved to catch a second taut grip over the shape of your bare sex. The sudden hard grasp of naked contact had you spiraling, arching hard back against him. He was hard beneath you, you could feel it, and caught between his hand and that hint of hardness digging into the soft of your bottom you rocked slowly, only to be rewarded with a long pour of hot wax up your thigh that turned the gentle motion of hips to a wild little ride.

“May this candle be a flame,” He continued, and the broken rasp of his voice was nearly, nearly as sweet as the single slow caress of his finger that found the slick part of your folds and pressed between slippery skin to drag upward. Unerringly found the proud, eager little swell of your clit and sent your lower back into a hard strung arch with one little nudge, “that warms my heart and incites me to love.” He concluded, raggedly, and you swore you felt the graze of chipped teeth scrape over your shoulder.

Riding the light touch of his fingertip and behind you, the hard press of his cock through his pants and your open dress, you sprawled redolently back against him, let your neck find a home in a comfortable arch over his shoulder before turning your head, nestling forehead in the hollow of his throat before shifting to tuck a begging little kiss to the sharp of his jaw.

“Amen.” You finished for him, and felt the sting of wax hit your hip and then your stomach that made you hiss and buck hips once more. Your reward a groan of breath from him and another lingering stroke of his fingertips through soaked folds to flick caressingly at the sweet throbbing ache of your clit.

How long, how many bitter nights now had you wished for this, how many feverish and filthy dreams had you endured, just longing to feel his bare touch? It had become so much worse after your last meeting, all that sharp longing redoubled after his heartless punishing teasing.

No more, no more thin cotton or sheer lace or anything at all between his touch and you. The heat of his hand was nothing to the splashes of searing wax you’d endured, yet it was so much sweeter. That little flicking touch came ghosting over the sensitive little nub of your clit and you writhed unashamedly, trying every which way to force his touch more, closer, deeper.

The prayer was far too short for your liking. What good were hollow words meant to convey something as strong and fervent an ideal as devotion if they were over in mere minutes? Grumbling a little whinging protest you pushed back against him with a hard roll of hips.

“Father…” You objected, voice cracked with pleading.

“Who?” The grit dark velvet of his voice asked at your ear, delighted and tormented as the devil himself.

“Daddy.” The word was out before you could even think it, like it teetered perpetually on the edge of your teeth ever since the first time he prised it out of you, “P-please, please, daddy…”

The sharp blade of his nose shoved hard behind your ear, his ragged breathing a hushed tickling whuffle from narrow nostrils, and any further pleading you were on the verge of was stifled with a squealed little gasp as he spread the sodden petals of your pussy with the splay of three fingers, and the center one of those long, elegant digits found its way down between slicking folds, delving deep into the welcoming clenching grip of your want… only to withdraw his entire hand in a long, slow drag, tracing a line of accusatory wet all the way up to the dip of your navel.

It left you sobbing tearlessly, gasping and gulping and lifting hips in a wordless eagerness that only earned you another splattering of scalding wax across the strain of thighs.

Father Silco ignored your plight as steadfastly as any man of the cloth could ignore temptation, and began a new prayer.

“Earnestly I seek you;

I thirst for you,

my whole being longs for you,

in a dry and parched land

where there is no water.”

The psalm he recited washed over you like a slow caress while you squirmed fitfully on his lap and watched his hand lift, middle finger glossed to its base with your wet. Vanishing in your periphery, the sound of him sucking that long digit thoughtfully clean acted perfect punctuation to the sacrilege of his misappropriated prayer.

Guilt spiced the edge of half-denied pleasure and soft pain. As his hand slid back down your skin and toward the clenching, shivering yearning of your core, you’d never felt so debased, so deeply wicked and wrong. Burning wax hit your thigh once more in heavy, rolling drops and you arched, straining, hissing between clenched teeth; become more serpent in the garden of Eden than Eve.

“I have seen you in the sanctuary

and beheld your power and your glory.

Because your love is better than life,

my lips will glorify you.”

He teased the upper edge of soaked panties once more, tracing the pucker of their hem, slipping fingertips just beneath them, savoring the softness of skin and the way the taut of your stomach quivered beneath his touch. Desire welled like a dark stone filling your throat, heart coated in the sticky sap of filthy blasphemous sin as his scarred mouth tickled at the hook of your jaw and tender line of your throat. This was wrong, so wrong, so deliciously perfectly throbbingly wrong.

Heat flooded your face as you crushed the press of prayer folded hands to your forehead, eyes shut tight against the rushing high of mortifying lust. Forbidden, taboo, illicit; whatever you wanted to call that gut-deep and undisputed knowledge that this was unforgivably wrong, it excited you in a way nothing else ever had.

He could see it in you, you knew he could. He saw how horrible your deepest darkest thoughts could be and he just kept dragging them out into the light, smiling as he let you dirty yourself with the honesty of your predilections.

The line of his arm tightened against your side as he reached to slip fingers back into your heat, another lazy circling tease to against clit that left you wrung out and breathless before he delved back inside of you and let you ride the slow pumping slide of one long finger.

“I will praise you as long as I live,

and in your name I will lift up my hands.

I will be fully satisfied as with the richest of foods;

with singing lips my mouth will praise you.”

Your head rocked as he butted his forehead gently to your temple, words a warm, seeping whisper at your cheek, that stern, gravel worn seduction of his voice undoing you, taking you apart at the seams until you felt sure you’d fall open there in his lap like a ragdoll with the sin-like sawdust spilled out.

Inside of you, he was inside of you- and just that knowledge, just the wretchedly wonderful wrongness of it made the whole of you jerk in a taut little shiver of surrender. That slender artful finger kept up its torment like he had no notion of your mortal struggle; curling, thrusting, buried deep. It had you in a tailspin, hips working devoid of conscious thought, all sensation dialed down to the hard, hot, fluttering building to a crescendo within. Greed, gluttony, lust… were they called deadly sins because you felt fit to die if you did not satisfy each one right this moment?

The stinging pain of the wax he kept dripping in erratic little patterns jerked you from the sinking, seeping pit of ecstatic bliss over and over again, a cruel and wonderful see-saw that kept you gripping white-knuckled on the sharp edge of insensible pleasure.

“On my bed I remember you;

I think of you through the watches of the night.

Because you are my help,

I sing in the shadow of your wings.

I cling to you;

your right hand upholds me.”

His right hand was all that stood between you and heaven; the grinding press of the heel of his palm to the throb of your clit, the smooth slow fucking his single finger was giving you, all of it an overwhelming agony of delight but just shy of what you needed to crest the rising wave of tense bliss he was intent on drowning you with.

Head tossed back, you groaned that little, broken, sordid version of his holy title once more, hands bound at the wrists with your rosary clenched in fervent prayer to your chest that he’d let you come, please God just let you come...

And with that one word, beneath you Father Silco went suddenly still and rigid, something like a strangled gasp caught in his throat as hips pinned under your writhing ones jerked their own stilted thrust upward… and held for a long and breathless moment before you felt him sag with a rushing, panting release. His hand cupped to you had gone quite still, and you could feel the ragged rise and fall of his chest against your back.

Had he… had he just…? You shifted hips experimentally and heard him hiss a wordless scolding as his hand gripped the shape of your pussy hard. Stilling obediently, you had to struggle not to smile sinful bliss.

Just a little touch of you combined with the friction of your hips working in his lap and he’d cum those dark, well tailored pants of his.

In spite of being robbed of your own relief, for the moment you felt nothing but powerful, smug and heady with the evidence of how your infatuation was not one-sided, just as you had in the confessional, and it made you foolishly proud.

Proud, right up to the point when he withdrew his finger from within you and in the space of a half second, just before your mouth could open in complaint, caught a little pinch of your clit between thumb and middle finger only to assault that overstimulated cluster of slick nerves with his forefinger in such lashing that you pitched clean into the waiting arms of your release.

It was hard and fast, unmerciful, the lovely strain nearly ruined by how long he’d kept you waiting and how hard he’d teased you up to it.

“Amen.” He was purring in your ear, voice near drowned out by the hard thrumming pound of blood rushing in your brain. Thighs shivered in their hook over top of his own, gone weak as every ounce of tension bled out of you, leaving you lolling, warmly pliant and sighing devoutness far more fervent than any stale saint could have possibly understood.

There was a little click of glass as he set the remains of the candle back upon his desk and turned your face toward himself where your head lay back upon his shoulder. Fingers traced the curve of your cheek, and when he licked at the open part of your lips the faint taste of yourself mingled with him lingered. Bless me father, for I have sinned.

Profane and perfect, you felt his smile stretch against your mouth.

“Do you doubt my devotion, lamb?” He asked quietly, hands smoothing away the cooled and peeling wax in long strokes that left gently welted and red splotched skin stinging sweetly.

Your head shook infinitesimally, not wanting to break the scant contact of his mouth to your own.

“Do you pray for me, Father?” The urge to know felt crushing, the weight of guilt creeping in to gnaw at the edges of sordid bliss.

“Oh lamb. You’re the only thing I pray for anymore.”

#penance #silco #father silco #priest silco #silco au #arcane au #silco x reader #silco arcane x reader #no y/n #more penance at last! rejoice!#my birthday gift to you

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galactic-magick · 2 months

Text

Silco x Reader Drabble: Your husband brings home a little blue-haired girl.

Author's Note: I'm obsessed with Dad!Silco so I wrote something for him :)

You hate when Silco does this, insisting you stay home whenever he does anything dangerous, which tends to be literally every time he goes out. You know it’s out of love, out of a strong desire to keep you safe, but he knows how tough you are. You’ve been fighting this fight with him for a long time, and you married him so you could do it the rest of your life.

But what makes you especially angry is the nature of what he’s doing right now. Testing an unpredictable drug, capturing old friends, working with people you know want to turn on him. He could easily be dead right now, or seriously injured. He doesn’t seem to fully comprehend how many targets he has on his back, and it infuriates you every time he leaves.

Yet all that angry melts away when you see him walk through the door.

He’s carrying a young blue-haired girl in his arms, and she’s sobbing into his chest and clinging onto him for dear life.

It breaks your heart seeing her so distraught, but you can’t help but smile at the sweet sight of your husband being so tender with her.

“Darling…” Silco approaches you, still holding the girl tightly. “She needs a place to say. Everyone she called family is either dead or left her.”

“Of course,” you nod, stroking her hair softly. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll take care of you. What’s your name?”

The girl looks up at you slowly, wiping the tears from her face, “P-Powder…”

“Well, Powder, we can be your family now, okay? Whatever happened is in the past, those people can’t hurt you anymore.”

She nods, her tears stopping temporarily. Silco brings her over to the couch and gently lies her down, tucking her in with blankets and pillows. She’s hesitant to let him go, but she gets comfortable soon enough and her breathing becomes more regular.

“Get some rest, child,” Silco says.

You both stay with her until she falls asleep, and move into another room once she does so your voices don’t wake her.

“What happened?” you ask.

“She’s one of the kids Vander took in. They all came to try to free him from me, but it got messy and most of them died, and her sister betrayed her and left her,” he sighs. “I couldn’t just leave her.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” you smile, bringing a hand up to his face and kissing him. “We were thinking of having kids eventually anyway, why can’t she be our first?”

“I know nothing of being a father,” he looks into your affectionate eyes.

“You don’t have to. All we have to do is love and protect her.”

He wraps his arms around you and pulls you into him, kissing your head.

He’s thankful he doesn’t have to do this alone.

#silco x reader #silco #arcane silco #arcane #arcane x reader

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orphicrose · 2 months

Text

Masterlist

Request

Want to do

Hazbin & Helluva

One-shots

- Old man vs Iphone (Alastor x Reader)

- Tiny spider (Alastor x Reader)

Series

- The co-host (Alastor x Overlord!Reader) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10]

Headcannons

- Stolas

Arcane

one shots

- The sunset between us (MyloxFem!Reader)

- In fire and anguish (VanderxFem!Reader)

- Legend of the horse (MyloxFem!Reader)

- Arcane Augmentation (ViktorxInventor!Fem!Reader)

Series

- Buttercup (Caitlyn x Zaun!Fem!Reader) [1] [2] [3]

Headcannons

- Close friends - Modern Au - Being taken in by silco

Detroit

Headcannons

- Connor&Hank

Rick and Morty

One-shots

- The only one (Rick x Fem!reader)

Red Dead Redemption 2

Series

- Fish out of water (Arthur x OcPirate!Fem!Reader) [0] [1]

One shots

- Stray (Mentor!Hosea x Child!Reader) - Colter (Hosea x Male!Reader) - Brothers in arms (Sean x Male!Reader) - Had it coming (Camp x Reader

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beanlot · 2 years

Text

ONLY HER

sevika x f!reader

silco’s mechanically-modified brute likes to belittle you, but doesn’t take too kindly when others do too.

word count: 2.5k

genre: angst + fluff

warnings: derogatory language, mention of being assaulted, small description of injury, hurt/comfort

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you didn’t fit in with the scars and carnage of zaun.

considered the laughing stock of this oppressed underground, of idiocy in your elation and analysed inadequacy in your smile - what would be appraised as refreshing elsewhere in the world was a mockery in this city. you were lunch.

your euphoria was your weakness.

but silco had seen something in you otherwise, an ‘it’ factor that needed it’s blunt edges sharpened; that’s where your association with sevika developed.

for you, your relationship with sevika was dynamic - it was nosediving into elysian gates of heaven when she looked your way, watching the clockworks operate in her arm and feeling nanoscopic under her degrading words.

but for sevika, your relationship was an episode of what the fuck now - it was admiring the contagion of cloud nine that you spread on the low, it was ignoring you whenever you greeted her in public to avoid feeling embarrassed. and it was getting used to the intensity of your training sessions.

scorching knuckles that were aflame with scintillations of sweat on your forehead, with every deck you implemented against a target only seemed to beat your spine hollow. “you’re doing good..” you hear her mutter, your body levitating under sevika’s praise - or perhaps the delusion of dehydration.

you can hear her behind you, potent to strike; your eyes laden whenever your lids blink, the throbbing in your skull intensifying when you forcefully contort your ribs to pummel her with a desperate fist. but she’s too calculated, your knuckles enshrouded by copper fingers spontaneously. “but not good enough.” she whispers maliciously, and you’re on your knees before the adrenaline can comprehend the cramping agony in your stomach; the stitch in your throat that makes it torturous to breathe.

she’d hammered you in the gut, and by the time you’d recovered enough to look through the pixels of heliotrope in your vision, she’d left the room - you were child’s play to tyrannise, and it was a piece of piss for her to dominate you.

but even with the denigration that was sevika, you couldn’t bleach the unduly attachment you had for her.

you were silco’s upcoming weapon, and she had to make you heavy duty - but no matter how gruelling sevika was, nothing worked. you were superfluous in this individuality of benevolence and divinity, a gracefulness that would serve the perfect holy grail to be dead meat in combat.

“she’s impossible to train.” sevika hisses through the sage murk of the office, virescent incandesce in her accustomed globes when she inspects the back of silco’s chair. “you hit her, and she gets all smiley like you didn’t.”

it’s inanimate, dust pods hovering in the tenebrosity; the scent of firewood erupting through the brume, cigar smoke levitating along the floor. “then turn her weakness into strength.” silco would mutter, equanimity in his tone between the imbroglio of books he’d been studying.

chagrin brews in her stomach, as much as sevika was one for personal responsibility, this was a damp squib of silco’s decisions. “you don’t think i’ve tried?” her eyebrows dip in discontent, lashes that fan with hostility against her umber cheeks. “she’s too soft for this place, she’s gonna get killed.”

chartreuse gleam flickers momentarily in the room when silco’s chair sluggishly rotates, eyes of disillusionment stare back at her. an inky sclera that flickers with disbelief, bevel ring that dilates under the disappointment that maybe you were just a false belief of his, one that he tried prophesying. “i expected better..”

it’s not that you lacked intelligence, you were just a concealed supernova confined by debacles. you were equivalent when speaking to people, only favouring sevika because you knew her; although the experiences you had with her weren’t so pleasant,

“i think it’s really cool you’re gonna be teaching me..

can you teach me that move where you like, do that thing with your arm..”

“shut it or i’m gonna beat the shit out of you.”

you couldn’t help but feel so sheltered in her occupancy, a contradictory and one-sided occupancy. you knew sevika was bitter, having gotten used to the winding twinges in your shoulder when she’d nudged past and the godly structure of her back when she’d continue walking.

at the bar. “hey sev!” nudge.

in the street. “fancy seeing y-“ nudge.

but today, you were 10 minutes later to your diurnal annoy sevika stratagem; not that it hadn’t flourished her some relief, but by the ailing in her stomach, she knew this was a foreign feeling - one of tenterhooks and holy fuck was she stewing on it?

the bar full to overflowing with haze, glasses that were an intricacy of absinthe, everclear and rum chiming together with every movement; the scent of sandalwood and spilled martinis oozing into the ether. a glow of eau de nil against the oak tables, the anarchy and turmoiled chatter wasn’t enough to dilute sevika - she’d lost 2 games so far, something that was unorthodox due to the unease she was trying to make peace with.

but eventually, she sees you amongst the crowd. a seraphic face perceptible from the others surrounding it, it was difficult not to distinguish you from the havoc; mellow twirls of sanctitude that you emit, a cavernous contrast to the hellish grounds around you.

you give her that docile smile of yours when you see familiar swarthy skin, revenant eyes eclipsed with insipidity that narrow coldly at you when you amble towards her.

she had a sofa for herself, others having to pinch stools to encircle a table buried with liquor and cards. and sevika’s stare became another stare, and another, and another until you were beside her - eyes of bloodshed surveying you.

“hey..” you whisper, an extraterrestrial tone of blithe that invited more curious stares. you were simply deviant to the atmosphere around you, and not in the impressive way, the way these people wanted. “can i sit here?” you whisper to each spectred face, and you found the whole bar was silencing - something that seemed preposterous to fulfil.

it remains stagnant, eyes of resentment that scream get lost; some of which were perverted phantasms that ogled at your figure, and sevika caught this. this was the last place she wanted you to be, because you were the silver lining on display, and she knew someone was going to take advantage of it.

“sure! come, come. sit with me, i’ve got a lovely space.” sadistic chortles emerge from the masses when one of them pats his lap, an apparition of laughter that echoes in your head. “how much do you cost, love?”

but it hushes when sevika looks up - gunmetal grey optics that melee through every body, the finest eyes of massacre, withering the place to cadavers instantaneously.

you’re addled when you look around, eyes of ridicule that deprecate you; you were a hunted rabbit in a labyrinth of foxes, even the bartender looking at you like he wanted to pulp your intestines into a cocktail.

you’re moving towards the exit. callous glares confining you as you try to advance through this mercilessness, patronising wolf whistles. “what a sweet little bunny.”

you’d gotten used to maelstrom in the next few hours - you’d be wandering around the streets, to which slowly became monotonous, and every sign looked the same. in the midst of it, you’d find yourself intoxicated, head feeing ignited despite the wintry breeze against your skin. and although you were building castles in the air over how delirious life was right now, you often found yourself questioning

why things were the way they were.

you’re not sure where you are,

how you got ended up in these streets.

but you’re aware of the buildings fluctuating, your head feeling so weightless but so burdensome as you moved, you were stupefied - thoughts blitzed with uncertainty of where to go, where you even lived, but your legs mechanical to guiding you to the mahogany before you.

the door to sevika’s dwelling - because you couldn’t think of any other haven that had the same defence that was sevika. her windows illuminated by ocherous lanterns that flutter, and your hands shake more intensely than you’d registered when you feebly knock. but it felt like minutes you’d stood out here alone, and you’re about to knock again when you think she hadn’t heard - but the door creaks open,

and sevika couldn’t fucking believe what she saw.

because you had no idea how fucked up you looked right now.

your eyebrow warped with cinnabar to which dried blood glossed the side of your face, celestial skin that was coated by slaughter; one eye that tinged bloodshot more than the other, blemished by mulberry and bruises of mauve, and by the way you’re swaying, sevika’s sure you’re out of it. “it’s cold out here..” you whisper, what was a tone that tickled pink was extirpated to one of desolation.

and it punctured sevika new scars, more than any battle she’d been through.

because as shameful as it was for her to admit, she found herself under a repressed attachment of her own to how easily you ruffled her feathers, made her foam at the mouth from how fucking tiresome you were to deal with; something that she had lacked today when she’d left the bar, gotten so used to your punchable voice and easily destructible body standing outside waiting for her so you could walk home.

and although the street was an orchestra of furore, tearing at the seams with drunkards and bestial amusement, it was lustreless without you beside her yapping on.

“imagine if ants started to evolve and take over everything.”

ugh.

“like a human-sized ant.”

ugh.

“do you think ants have some politics or somet-“

uggghhhhhhhhhhh.

but she needed to resist missing these infernal conversations with you, and you watch as the door shuts, the scent of elm and tobacco extinguishing after a few seconds of glacial zephyr. “okay..” you mumble, clearing your throat; the sight of her door shutting decimated you more than being so cold you couldn’t move your fingers, and so you turn, sitting on one of the steps to regulate these new emotions you were under. “sleep well.”

but sevika would be on the other side, forehead against the timber - although she wanted to make excuses for being worried, she knew you were the light at the end of a cataclysmic tunnel, and someone was going to dim that light eventually.

fuck.

you hadn’t heard the door open again, and it’s the first time sevika’s seen you so huddled and despondent, it’s unearthly - your wooden eyes pierced onto the concrete and body lifeless to the stimuli around you, something so bizarre that was so uncanny to look at.

but you feel satin against your shoulders, a hasten gust on your skin and the smell of cigarettes with patchouli amplifying; when you turn around to see sevika, door wide open, you notice she’s thrown her cloak your way.

you feel as though you’re hallucinating, but when you see her gesture for you to come in, you’re quick to stand.

she’s inspecting how you stumble to her door, and although you were materially uncoordinated regardless, this was something else - something she’d find as perfect bait to demean you over on the standard day, but she can’t over the current circumstance of seeing your face marred with blood.

taupe walls that flickered under the adornment of lanterns, tables that supported a disarray of books and older hardware that she’d used for her arm, bedsheets that were sanctification under your fingers when you’d sat down - it screamed sevika.

“let me see you..” she whispers, her tone so disparate to the traditional insensitivity it had; your glassy eyes becoming pellucid when you see her kneel infront of you, fingers stroking the side of your face, her touch so diaphanous each skin cell felt decontaminated. “you remember anything from tonight?”

you were void, a shell that managed to transport itself around the streets without any evocation. and sevika can tell, nails feathery against your cheeks and tickling tender patterns into your skin. “any faces?” her eyebrows dip, and you decipher within the ashen halos of her eyes a fury so inflamed, you were tempted to believe they were hues of oxblood.

so you shake your head. “no, just hurts.” and sevika’s eyes squint closed from trying to conquer the pique boiling in her limbs, the desire to annihilate with every drop of shimmer. she hated the way you were; how someone had corrupted your rhapsody and skewered it in fragments, how you were just sat here accepting being made mincemeat of, how you were under the acknowledgement you were going to walk out tomorrow and smile at people like there was nothing wrong in the dandy fine world of yours.

she sighs, because as much as she’d love to put the screws on you to butcher whoever responsible, she could tell by the deadpan abyss in your eyes that this night had been enough already.

“c’mere.” her palms at your waist, a gargantuan touch that plants you within her bedsheets; that sensation of glee anchoring at your stomach enough when you feel the warmth of her mattress on your palms, that familiar feeling augmenting when the bed dips - sevika cushioning the space between you.

“i’m surprised you have a bed.” you whisper, fingers brushing against the pillows. she’s situated upon the sheets, whereas you seemed to be burrowed under them; observing the eccentric stare she gives you when she wants you to elaborate. “you don’t strike me as someone who sleeps.”

you expect her to glower at you, with those habitual indignant eyes and an affronted scowl on her lips - but the corners of her lips turn upwards subtly, irises molten with altruism toward you. “no?” she whispers, tone harboured with jest and doting.

but you don’t answer, a vacant expression pasted to the ceiling, and it’s excruciating to look at. sevika’s trying to search the backlogs of things that could possibly alleviate the atmosphere between you, only seeing a cerebral scrunch of paper that said you’re bad at this, and it’s amelioration when she thinks she’s finally found it.

“about the thing you asked the other day..” she bulwarks against you, and you feel the frost of her cybernetic, the capricious warmth of her chest against your back. you weren’t a stranger to sevika’s touch, or smites to the stomach more so, but this was extramundane - a brawny arm slithering itself over your hip, and you can tell she’s trying not to relax, because she’d crush your body unwittingly. “i think that human-sized ants would definitely take over.”

she knows that she needs to nurse your physical wounds, but she focused on rehabilitating the internal aperture that made you.. not you. and she feels herself ease when you start to smile faintly through the claret stains on your cheek, her breath against your neck as she tugs you in closer. and she knows she’s gonna have a hell of a day tomorrow,

finding out who has to pay the price.

#sevika x reader #sevika #arcane #sevika arcane #arcane x reader #sevika fluff

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hotxcheeto · 10 months

Note

My request is for arcane ( vi x female reader) were she knows the crew since they were kids but she disappeared one day after anders death jinx finds her in Silcos base because she works with him and she is jinx protector. ( she thinks vi is dead and she first meets her at the dinner scene because she wanted to look for jinx and then jinx shoot silco)

━ 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐀𝐒 𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) - Vi x Fem!Reader

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 - Cursing, angst, a lot of angst, not a super happy ending but open ended, make your own ending, happy or sad :)

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ? - Yeah but I miss things /Nope

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 - WARNINGS BABE

PLEASE REBLOG I WORK HARD & ITS APPRECIATED!!

It was gone.

That little blue glass sphere you'd practically murdered a tiny sized town that was shaped as an enforcer army for, was gone. The thing you'd worked so hard to track down, the thing that could save so many, had disappeared.

And you had an idea of who took it.

Your boots could be heard echoing along the tall walls, pounding against the floor as you searched for a door that would lead to her least favorite room. You should've known she'd be rash. That she wasn't in control since her old memories began to rise. It was Echo's fault, he should've stayed in the darkness. But the darkness is never truly darkness when there's not an absence of light.

He was just too bright to die out.

A part of that made you proud.

Your hand reached the doorknob, swinging it open without a second thought only to be met by a chair. Facing away, but there was a rope tied around it. A person.

Your footsteps had grown quieter, stepping around to see Silco there, in the chair. He was out cold, gagged, you were nearly taken off guard, but you should've seen it coming. Part of her hated him, Powder hated him.

"Powder, leave her out of this!" Powder. You hadn't heard that name in a long, long time. Looking over to your turquoise haired friend, her braids cascading down her back. There was a dark blue haired girl in front of her, tied to another chair. You almost felt bad for her, if it wasn't for her enforcer uniform.

But there was still a twinge of guilt.

"Jinx. What is this?" You questioned, tone calm and face showing nearly no emotion.

Her mind liked to trick emotion, happiness to accusation, love to trickery. You chose none. Staring at her, almost blank, that way the voices couldn't make up their minds. They couldn't tell her, because she didn't know.

"We're having a tea party!" She said, voice on the brink of anger, frustration, almost like a child's. "Right, sister?" She turned, making you turn, both of your eyes now on Violet. Oh Violet.

She'd grown. Her structure mature. No longer that baby faced fool that would watch the stars with you. She was small then, and muscular now. She was shy then, and an idiot now.

"Y/n?" She whispered, the girl with dark blue hair looking up at you. "Oh yeah! Y/n! Look who she's in love with now!" Jinx laughed maniacally, gesturing to the girl. "Total step down if you ask me."

You hummed, never taking your eyes from Vi.

"I thought you were dead?" For a moment, tears pricked your eyes, like a barrier between the light and the dark. Your eyes showed nothing though. "You've been hiding all this time?" Your voice cracked, tilting your head, though you weren't sad anymore.

"No- no, Y/n. I couldn't come. Not until-"

"Until she made her new friend." Jinx interrupted, staring dead at her sister. A tear falling from her cheek. "She doesn't love us anymore. Because we're not the same."

You looked at Vi, then at the enforcer, your hand moving to the metal guard in front of her mouth. You held it, the girl crying as you did so. You could see the pleading look in her eye. She wasn't part of this. She wasn't like the rest. That was obvious enough.

"Let her go, Jinx." The teen looked at you, frowning, opening her mouth to speak but you continued. "She's innocent." You let go of her face, letting it fall. "Vi can make her choice then."

Vi watched you, shaking her head.

"No- no I'm not gonna choose." You hummed, turning to her, pulling your knife from your belt. "You're gonna have to, Violet. As Jinx said, we're not the same." "Jinx? So you're a part of that?"

You raised your eyebrow, staring at her in pure confusion. And she noticed it, she noticed the way you tilted your head, paused, and just stared.

"A part of what?" You asked, as if you were a child once again. Looking at your best friend for some sort of guidance. Some sort of answer that wouldn't follow.

Vander might've known. He always knew everything. You wish you could ask. But that was your fault too.

"Vi... Powder is dead. The innocence we had, is dead. It died with him. You said it yourself. She is a jinx... so what's so wrong in owning it?"

You were angry.

Jinx was hiding behind you, looking at the ground, she was trying to be brave. She was trying to be strong for you, she knew you hated when she cried. It reminded you of that night.

"What's so wrong with growing up?" You said, your voice strong now, knife faltering. "It's what you wanted right? For us to stop being clumsy idiot kids? The kids that got him killed?"

Vi was beginning to cry now.

Because it wasn't her fault either.

"No, no I never wanted that. I was just..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

"A stupid, clumsy, idiot kid." You finished, smiling slightly.

Silco was awake, he was watching. But you didn't care. You'd never liked him in the first place. No, he was a monster. Using you both as a puppet, but he didn't know you could use him too. The strings had to connect to something. But who was dancing?

"You can go. Take your girlfriend with you-" "She's not. She isn't."

You both stared at each other for another moment.

"Doesn't matter." You whispered.

"But it does."

You nodded, moving behind her chair to cut the rope. Looking at the dark blue haired girl before, walking around the table to her.

"Come with me. Both you and Powder." Vi said, standing. Frozen, holding the rope, you shrugged. "You still don't get it do you?"

She closed her eyes, as if she wanted it to be a dream. Opening them back up to face you. But your nightmarish face still stared back.

"You're not the only one that changed that night, Violet." She bit her lip, choking back sentences that wanted to form. "I know." "Then why do you keep calling her that name?"

"Because she isn't just Jinx! She's my sister!" When you both looked at her though, she looked like a child watching her parents fight. One right and one wrong. One wrong and one right. But neither of them were, not this time.

"You're right. She isn't just Jinx, and she isn't just Powder."

You then mumbled, cutting the ropes of the girl in front of you.

"One is dead, and one is a false desire." You took the metal mouth cover off the girl, petting her hair back. "She is herself, and if you can't... accept that... then..." You grip on her hair tightened for a split moment before you backed up.

"It's time for you to leave Vi..." She only peered at the ground, shaky breaths leaving her mouth. But then she spoke, this time, sure of herself,

"But I'm not ready to go."

#vi imagine #vi #vi x yn #arcane vi x reader #vi x y/n #vi x reader #vi x caitlyn #arcane vi #vi x reader arcane #arcane x reader #nevy writes

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am-i-interrupting · 11 months

Note

Hear me out Caitlyn and Jinx x pregnant reader

Caitlyn

She is so happy.

Absolutely giddy when you tell her.

She goes to every doctor appointment.

She is storing all the baby pictures away.

She will be buying so many cute baby clothes.

She will absolutely take on your work for you if you can’t do it.

Constantly reminding you to eat and drink and don’t pick up heavy things.

A researcher at heart, she is looking up every single sign and what it means and how to parent and what to expect with a newborn.

If there’s a baby shower she is telling people not to just get toys but you need diapers and clothes past newborn sizes and you don’t just need bottles but baby formula and a lot of it because some kids just won’t take to certain types.

Gives you feet massages.

Will constantly tell you that you get gorgeous.

When the baby comes she is so happy and excited.

Holds it like it’s an Angel.

You’ve never seen her glow up as much as you did when you woke up and saw her holding the little baby, bouncing it as she told it a story.

Jinx

She is so fascinated that there is a human inside that stomach.

She will feel your stomach as often as you’ll let her.

She also gets you so many clothes that are just meant to bring attention to the baby bump. It’s her favorite thing ever.

She will spew out information you kind of wish she hadn’t and say things that aren’t wrong but Jinx, why would you say that?

��Babies are a type of parasite when you think about it. I mean, they’re making you sick and taking away vital nutrients from you but instead of just getting some blood disease you get a little person at the end of it! Isn’t that so weird?”

When the baby starts kicking she will like it back.

If it is on your ribs or your bladder she will rub your stomach while telling it off.

It is very responsive when she sings.

She is painting and fixing the baby room.

Jinx is very strong, especially for her size but if there’s something that needs to be moved to the baby room that she can’t pick up Sevika is doing it whether she likes it or not.

“My beloved partner is carrying a baby, Sevika. You can carry a fucking box.”

She will buy and make it toys.

Absolutely gets the cutest baby clothes. Topside expect some robberies for baby clothes because your baby deserves the best.

When the baby comes she is so much more nervous than she thought she’d be.

She is absolutely terrified that she’d drop them.

If you’re asleep while she tries to figure it out, she’ll turn to Silco for help but he’s just as clueless as she is about how to hold a baby. A child, maybe but a baby, no. He hasn’t had to do that.

A nurse will have to show her and reassure her that she’s holding them correctly.

When you wake up, she is holding them so delicately, so carefully, so very obviously terrified but she coos at them nonetheless.

#caitlyn kiramman x reader #caitlyn kiramman x you #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn x you #jinx x reader #jinx arcane x reader #jinx x you #jinx arcane x you

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insane-arcane · 1 year

Text

Silco's Enforcer Child

...

Chapter One

Swirling your brush in a cup the clinking sound echoes in the open space, reminding you of the click of a gun. The once red color in the cup turned a murky violet. A dark dusk of sorts. Your head spun as you tried not to focus on the color, fire filling your vision before it disappeared as you pulled your paintbrush back and dipped it in a soothing blue, some light green tipped on the now wet brush end.

Staring at a picture of a blurry silhouette with sharp clothes you hum wondering what color eyes they had. As you stir new shades and tints on your pallet you imagine what the person's nose shape was like. If their mouth was big or small. Where they belonged in the jumble that was your brain and the locked past it held. The fish swimming around the person's head was a stylistic choice but as you mixed the blue and green you wondered if there was more to it. If the person enjoyed the aquatic creatures or perhaps lived near the river edge?

"(Y/N)." Not looking up from your latest artwork as Caitlyn walked in you frowned, taking a step back to try and piece it all together. The last light of the day leaked through the giant studio windows giving your work a golden halo, putting it in a new perspective. Studying the edges and the details you'd painted they became blurry with the sunlight. Clutching your pallet knife you tilt your head, this piece had less detail on the person than your other ones. However, the colors were bolder and more defined with sharper lines. The background was the emphasis but for once you felt like you actually knew what this person looked like. You just weren't able to paint it yet, not fully committed to the details.

How strange that you remembered this outfit so clearly, having drawn it a million times but not the features of the person who wore it. Mixing a different color on your pallet without looking down you purse your lips trying to concentrate as you add something else to the background. You could faintly remember sea blue. Maybe a soft gray or green. A lighthouse or the ocean perhaps? Is that why you added the fish?

Whoever he was, he was important as this wasn't the first portrait you'd done of him. He was a lanky man in a red and black suit with a white dress shirt. The background was a blur of grays and greens with purple brush strokes that looked like fish but maybe smoke if you squinted. The whole picture was odd. Staring at it too long made your head hurt because it felt strangely familiar. He was important to you. Whoever he was. Just another piece of the puzzle that was your past.

"You know usually I'm the one obsessing." She states referring to her yellow tape and red thread board back home. "Come now you can't wear your smock to the art show tonight." Caitlyn scolds as she places a nice outfit down on the cleared part of your glass art desk. You shook your head in response tsking softly.

That was a risky move given the fact paint somehow always got on your clothes no matter what you did in this room. Briefly glancing at the ensemble you wonder if she was trying to ruin the clothes to make an excuse to skip the event, whatever it was tonight.

As the natural light began to fade the painting no longer glowing, you signed placing your brushes and pallet down. The blank face of the man you were trying to paint wasn't going to get any more detail any time soon. Though you guessed that's just how it worked. Reaching out wishing you could pull the man out of the painting, ask him all your burning questions, you paused not wanting to touch the wet paint.

He wouldn't be able to answer you anyways. Bits and pieces, never the whole picture. Always searching and wanting for more. Insatiable…

"(Y/N)." Caitlyn states again as she tries to gain your attention but your focus was elsewhere, lost in this room and your work. Taking a deep breath to try and gather yourself for whatever she was going to say next, you could feel a headache coming on and you didn't like it. Rubbing at your temples you hum indicating you want her to continue but she remains quiet waiting for you to speak.

Rolling your eyes before staring at your painting as your hands touch the glass of your art desk behind you, you try and ground yourself. To bring yourself back to a safe space. Instead you think of your endless collages, or the box of failed faces. As one hand came to press against your forehead pushing your hair back and giving you some clarity you spared a glance at said box which you'd pushed into the corner out of frustration. Another recently failed project. You'd tried placing different details from different paintings and projects together, overlapping them over one another to try and get a full person. They always came out looking horrid. Like some kind of twisted nightmare rather than a real person from a memory. Very occasionally you'd get a full face but mostly you had slightly warped portraits or very blurred places. Nothing solid if it was anything before you came to Piltover.

As your fingers touched the box observing the torn pieces of canvas and failed attempts you realized you'd crossed the room without noticing. Humming you paused, wandering if you should worry about that. About to sass Caitlyn, your words suddenly die on your tongue as your eye catches something. One of your shredded pieces that had bright pink and blue. Your hand shook as your thumb grazed the ungesssoed canvas and faintly you heard distant laughter. Echoing in an alley.

"Art… Art show?" You finally question Caitlyn, composing yourself as you let your hands fall to your sides so you could steady them and let her untie your messy smock. As you let go of the canvas and stepped back from the box slowly your mind was getting out of painting mode. You began to relax as you focused on your friend and what she was saying rather than your lost memories. The woman in question groans in exasperation before pinching her nose as she steps back letting you shrug off the apron. Noticing she's in her enforcer uniform and not a dress for what you assume is a galle event you smile and shake your head as she takes the apron from you hanging it up on its hook with the others. Stepping towards your curtains as she does that, you close them before the room's timer goes off and gas powered light fills the space with an artificial glow.

Only gone a minute and you already missed the sunlight.

"Honestly I thought I was the obsessed one. Your dad rented out the gallery again," She informs you like a mother scolding a child who forgot something important. Needing to do something not able to sit still as you come out of your trance state she begins walking around the room cleaning up things in the messy space as she tries to get you ready to go. Scraping paint off pallets and dumping them into soapy water to soak you watch with an amused smile as she places your brushes on the counter to be cleaned later. She paces nervously fidgeting with one of your brushes before turning towards you looking worried. Her Violet eyes seeming unsure.."... Don't you remember? He's showing your work tonight. He's been talking about it all week." Caitlyn states before she pushes off whatever emotions she was feeling as she crossed her arms. You briefly remember that conversation but was that really tonight? The week had been a blur of research and projects and events, flashing cameras and reporters all over the campus as you tried to study and work. There was barely a moment's rest to yourself until you locked the door to your art studio for some peace and quiet. Groaning as you pinch your nose and clench your eyes you wish one of your maids had reminded you but with how distracted you'd been lately maybe they had.

Swallowing you looked towards a vase in the room. Flowers your father had dropped off while you were deep in thought and surrounded by your artwork. Thinking back you couldn't remember the conversation but logically it was likely about the gallery. Pulling at your hair out of habit you hummed, you really were a mess as of late. With the anniversary of you being found soon you guessed that made sense. Your thoughts and feelings all being in disarray, your "spells" being worse than usual.

Staring at the water cup with the swirling purple you see the smoke again, you taste the gun powder. Thinking back that was one of your more clear memories, the first you were sure was true. Blinking you were back on that bridge again. The smoke making you choke before the rush of clear air as your dad's heavy enforcer mask settled over your face. You could feel yourself being small, feel his uniform as he pressed you into his shoulder and took you home. The question had been deeply ingrained in you for so long but you still didn't know the answer; What were you doing on that bridge?

Closing your eyes not wanting to think of that right now you took another deep breath to steady yourself. You didn't want to spiral.

"That's tonight?" You ask not sure how you forgot as you begin to take off your shirt to change. Caitlyn's face goes red and she turns away from you before tapping her foot angrily. The sound bounces around in your head and something about this feels familiar in a way you can't quite explain.

Sharp blue eyes on a stern face and crossed arms come to mind as a black boot taps impatiently away but the flash is gone as soon as it comes. Touching your desk feeling cool glass under your fingertips you swallowed. Did you take your meds today, your headaches were worse than usual, these flashes more frequent… your therapist warned the incoming anniversary of you being found could trigger some repressed memories but this felt excessive. You'd been doing so well.

"Yes, now hurry up and get dressed! I'm your escort and bodyguard tonight. Marcus tried to put me outside but I didn't want to miss anything. Just..." She hesitates and you smile softly as you put on the white shirt with the looped gold collar. The golden hoop of the white dress shirt hung heavy around your neck as it looped and clicked behind your shoulders but sliding the black slacks on you admit Caitlyn chose well, never one for fashion didn't mean she didn't have a good eye. You'd be lost without her in more ways than one. Slipping on a dress jacket that was your favorite color you hum glancing at the wall of mirrors in your studio. Doing a little spin watching seven you's spin back in response you nod to yourself.

"Just in case." You finish her thought for her as you smooth out the shirt and jacket with a blank face. Seeing your reflection she sighs and you hum smiling as you keep adjusting your clothes to look presentable. Your headaches had been at an all time low before today and despite your forgetfulness and the dreaded upcoming date you felt confident. I mean your skull was pounding and the flashes were more frequent but you knew you could handle the gala tonight, you had done it before with way worse pain and you didn't want anyone to think something was wrong.

You were fine, everything was fine…

"Just please tell me you didn't forget! I couldn't get off duty tonight to attend as a guest. To schedule myself at your gala as a guard I had to take a double shift at work and to be your personal escort and guard that was a whole nother mountain of paperwork and personal favors. A lot of enforcers like your work ya know, and all the new guards want to meet you. I mean you are your father's child. Everyone wants to show their support. Or get… favors." She states matter of factly with slight distaste making you chuckle. The both of you were no stranger to your families status and the luxuries that came with your last names.

"Right, my hero." You hum a teasing smile on your lips as you watch your friend rant getting out her emotions about these type of events and what people really wanted from them. They were meant to help people and yet help was often the last thing on people's minds unless it was them getting it. You had to admit as she lectured the wall she was cute. Her overprotectiveness always made you feel special and even as her new job as an Enforcer you were always on her mind. Maybe not in the same way as before but you could accept that. As you adjust your jacket, sticking your hands into the pocket, you send her a playful smirk.. "Oh and you do know escort has a double meaning, correct Caitlyn darling?" You ask in a sultry voice wanting to tease her hoping it'll loosen her up a bit. She turns and staring at her, her violet eyes scan your form. Puffing out her cheeks embarrassed as she understands what you mean you walk out of the studio with her following close behind.

You catch her smile in the corner of your eye but say nothing simply walking outside into the hallway and through the large manor to the awaiting carriage outside.

~~~

The ride had been quiet the last few minutes. You'd joked about opening a bottle of champagne to celebrate but Caitlyn gently informed you she couldn't drink tonight and you didn't want to be sipping alone. A rock had formed in your throat and as you fidgeted with your hands every jolt of the carriage put you on edge. What had started as a fun ride was slowly turning into your worst nightmare as the Galla got closer.

Caitlyn these last couple months had gone from your closest friend to your body guard, one of her most frequent Enforcer jobs being to watch you. As work and friendship crossed you were unsure where your new relationship stood. If you were just overthinking and if it had changed at all.

As the carriage stops suddenly you hum feeling your stomach doing flips. Adjusting your accessories and clothes nervously, you close your eyes feeling the pulsing behind your eyes worsen. The thought that you could claw your temples open to feel some relief crosses your mind but you stay silent not voicing that thought. Caitlyn frowns noticing your unsteady state before she takes your hands into her own.

Eyes snapping to look at hers at the surprise contact her thumb brushes the back of your palm. "You're not looking very well. If you're not up for it we can turn around. Say you got sick…" She suggests softly before looking towards the curtain separating you from the driver. Staying quiet not wanting to be teased, one of her hands goes to your cheek and leaning into her hold you close your eyes taking a deep breath. What a nice thought…

"I'm just tired. I'll be fine after some wine." You joke before sighing deeply as she just stares at you waiting for the truth. You shift in the plush seats and just breathe. These events could be fun or cumbersome, tonight seemed to be the later. Shifting the curtains when you no longer feel bumps you realize you'd arrived. As you watch cameras flash, high society people get their pictures taken before entering the galla. You were no stranger to being in the spotlight and yet you felt you never quite belonged there. Your art told a story, your story. And you weren't sure if you wanted to share it. Especially since you barely knew your story yourself. You don't remember how the Gallas started, only that once your first piece was put up it hadn't stopped since.

A prodigy some called you. An imposter you told yourself.

"I-" She starts but your hand is already on the carriage handle before you lose the nerve. Twisting and pushing it open light floods your eyes as your regular driver waits outside for you. Voices surround you and you feel woozy as you're transported to a different place with different sounds. Your driver bows, snapping you back before holding out his hand. Feeling disorientated you reach out, your touch going from cold metal to warm leather. As he grips your hand firmly your eyes widen. Stepping down from the carriage into his hold you get a memory of someone holding your hand as you hop down from a curb. A man in a red and black suit…

As people chatter away excited to get a glimpse of you, reporters ask questions as cameras flash. The drivers grip remains and each step down the carriage steps contains a different image but right as your about to get the whole picture, the flashes are over in an instant. Just like the camera shutters around you.

As you stand there eyes wide in surprise, Caitlyn puts her hand to your back shocking you. You snap out of it, grounded by her touch and knowing smile before you begin to walk forwards at her silent instruction. Waving at reporters from famous newspapers you act normal. Enforcers nod keeping the crowd contained but the familiar faces do nothing to soothe your feelings.

Standing tall you walk forward with practiced elegance, reminding yourself you only need to make it to the entrance. As journalists fire off their usual questions about your outfit, your art, and if you've had any recent episodes you smile and wave not answering any of them. Caitlyn stands close as she follows you, her hand pressed firmly against your back and soon you stand in front of two polished doors. The enforcers on either side glare at Caitlyn before smiling at you as they bow and let you both inside. You don't miss Caitlyn's frown but it's gone as quick as it comes, similar to your flashes.

Unable to dwell on it, you walk through the open entrance and into the large art gallery. As you hear the familiar click of the heavy doors behind you, the light changes as you go from outside to inside. Your familiar work hangs from every wall in the space and you know every guest in this room.

Breathing heavily Caitlyn opens her mouth to say something but decides against it. You're grateful, only needing a minute from her. Leaning down and closing your eyes you hum, taking a deep breath before you nod and compose yourself.

Observing the space you took comfort in seeing your work. Some of the pieces are projected as holograms lighting up the room, while others are sculptures scattered about, and elsewhere are large oil paintings and mixed medium collages. Letting out a deep breath you didn't know you were holding you let yourself relax. While the night isn't over it feels safer surrounded by things you understand. With Caitlyn's hand moving from your back to more comfortably settle on your shoulder you nod at her feeling the episode pass.

A real smile begins to overtake your face as you take in all your old work. Your father was good at asking before picking some of your pieces to sell and getting his friend who owned the gallery to hang and price them. While some were harder to give up then others you always said yes putting all the money you made towards the Undercity and the relief effort you'd started there. The orphanage and jail always appreciating your efforts. It wasn't much compared to what else you could be doing but your father liked to organize these for you to give you some peace of mind about the UnderCity and its limited resources. You know he'd much prefer you'd paint full time and let him handle the charity affairs. He didn't want you going into any dangerous job options like Caitlyn and him had.

"A full house tonight. You never cease to impress." Caitlyn states as she bumps your shoulder. Nodding as you come out of your haze, seeing a lot of familiar faces and some new ones in the corner of your eye you watch as people mingle and talk about your art. Trays stacked high with hor de vours and various selections of alcohol pass making the guests smile and laugh as they took their fill.

Searching the room you get a wide smile on your face as you see Jayce and Victor standing off to the side. They're looking at one your father insisted on displaying so he could buy it and support your cause. Running towards them you hug Viktor before he can respond. He stumbles back leg nearly buckling but hugs you back with the same enthusiasm you do him. His laugh lightens your mood as Jayce helps support his fellow inventor and you hum as he squeezes you tight. Jayce joins the hug with his own laugh before he takes you from Viktor and picks you up spinning you around.

"Show off." Viktor teases as he taps his cane against Jayces leg. Jayce simply snorts and puts you down much to the amusement of onlooking guests. He ruffles your hair before doing the same to Viktor with that same hearty smile. Caitlyn, while seeming unamused, has the tinest smile on her lips at your childish behavior.

"Look at you. You're a regular Divinchi." Jayce compliments before he wraps an arm around your shoulder and gestures to your work. Feeling your cheeks darken you lean against him happy he could make it with his busy schedule. He chuckles at your flustered expression and tucks some stray hair behind your ear as you smile up at him.

"Often insanity and creativity walk hand in hand I admit. Though Divinchi is a high title to live up to." You respond making him shake his head. His chocolate eyes shine as he squeezes you close.

"And a poet too. Viktor look at our little idealist, they're all grown up now." Viktor rolls his eyes at Jayces antics before he stares at you. Shifting his cane to be center he leans slightly forward and nods agreeing.

"You my dear have many talents. I envy them all." He says genuinely tilting his head towards the piece they'd been looking at. Staring at it you smile, the portrait of you and your father making you happy. You'd wanted to gift it to him but he wanted to support you, so here it hung with his bid already placed. A man who's actions spoke louder than any words he'd ever said.

"Oh." You state eyes widening as you notice a large canvas with the school painted on it next to your family portrait. "Is Heimerdinger here?" You question, suddenly curious about your teacher and the oldest council member. You had no idea why they came to these things but the council members always stopped by to show their support, ever since your first galla. It was only kind of you to return the gesture by thanking them for coming and catching up. Even if you didn't always want to.

"You know Heimerdinger he's… everywhere." Caitlyn lets out a snort at Jayces unhelpful comment and Jayce flicks her hats feather in response. As they begin to argue you turn to nod your head at Viktor before you slip off into the crowd to find the council members and maybe your father.

Grabbing a glass of champagne as it passes the waiter nods his head at you before he goes to service other guests. Smiling as you sip at the bubbly liquid your eyes scan the space looking for various people to say hi too.

Catching a glint of metal from across the room you pause turning your head to get a better look. Spotting Marcus you smile before waving at him, holding up your champagne to toast. His associates all have wine glasses but his hands are suspiciously empty. As he nods his head at you politely holding up his hand to give a small wave you chuckle gesturing for him to come over. He shakes his head no and waves his hand away gesturing for you to go back to your friends. Humming you take a step closer noticing he's with an odd crowd. One you haven't seen at your galas before.

Beginning to walk towards them to see what they're all looking at you pause before pushing that feeling of suspicion away. As you stop shoes no longer clicking against the tile you swallow. Caitlyn told you to have fun and the night was young, you couldn't be focusing on your delusions now. Blowing him a little kiss he shakes his head and taps his chest on the opposite side of his badge, gesturing to you that he received the kiss and was keeping it safe. An old and bit odd inside joke. But one you refused to let go of regardless. You wave before turning to disappear into the crowd. Taking another sip of champagne you do your best not to feel anxious as Marcus's strange friends stare a hole into your back.

As a hand grabs your shoulder you quickly turn eyes wide as you get ready for a fight. "You can't just wander off!" Staring at Caitlyn your body unstiffens and you once again relax as you almost finish off your champagne. Just a few hours anyone could do this for a few hours.

"Sorry, just saying hello." You hum much to her displeasure.. Smiling softly as she relaxes you once again sip at your drink trying to soothe your rattled nerves. Nothing was wrong, you needed to calm down. You could do this.

Wandering around with Caitlyn looking for various people you pause as you reach a quieter part of the galla. Someplace more in the back. Tilting your head in front of a painting with a blue haired girl your eyes trace her face. Caitlyn was usually pretty stiff during her job but she puts her arm on your shoulder leaning on you in a rare moment of loosening up. With no one around to witness this you feel more open then you had in awhile. Short blue hair that frizzed at the end and had odd knick knacks woven and tied into it.

"She's pretty." She says softly and you nod wrist shifting to bubble your second glass of champagne. The liquid swirls as you do the repetitive motion and Caitlyn frowns concerned as she studies your action and face.

"I've been calling her Sapphire." You say suddenly, your eyes flicking up to stare at the faceless girl with blue hair.

"Cause of her hair?" Caitlyn questions and for a second you get a flash of sapphire eyes staring up at you as you braid choppy hair. Laughter ringing lightly in your ears as a girl with pink hair sits close by. She's smiling as you giggle tying trinkets into messy blue locks, giving the girl little braids. Three boys sit in the room observing but not interrupting as they do their own things. A smaller one occasionally handing you little knick knacks that'll sparkle in her hair.

"Yeah something like that." Taking a sip of your drink you frown as it goes down rough and not smooth like the other sips. "Hey you saw Marcus with those people right?" You suddenly question feeling like you knew them from somewhere despite not recognizing their faces. The woman in purple especially catching your attention.

"Marcus is here? He wasn't supposed to come tonight. I guess he made time for you." Caitlyn hummed surprised before she turned towards you. "I know my boss can be suspicious but tonight is about you. Your father wants you to be happy and unlike my parents he really tries. Let's just get through tonight since we already committed before we're back to the red string and endless questions." She suggests and you nod slowly but that feeling in your gut doesn't disappear. As much as you tried to dispel it, it kept creeping in the back of your mind.

As Caitlyn goes to lead you away you pause as a familiar face greets you.

"Your art has come so far. I marvel at your talent and envy all your fans." Mel teases. Caitlyn bows her head in respect and you nod at her. The girl swallows but nods pointing to where she'll be waiting as you chat privately with Mel.

Smiling at the Council woman looking at the work she's observing you hum seeing a large canvas you'd done of her and the Council at a meeting your father had asked you to attend. It was one people had flocked too all night you observed from the bidding stickers but it was just you and Mel looking at it now.

"Mel it's been awhile. We should schedule a painting session together. I miss those." You respond smiling warmly as you settle next to her.

"Yes, well life has been busy as I'm sure your father's told you." Swirling your glass of champagne faster you hum frowning softly. Staring at your reflection in the golden liquid you look back up at the painting. He hadn't. Not lately.

He wanted you away from his work. From him. You and Caitlyn knew something was wrong but as two high Noble society children your concerns were often brushed off and not taken seriously. You were close to something big and yet…

"Dads been quiet about work. You know after all I've worked for and all he's prepared me for he wants me to switch careers. Caitlyn and I may have passed the physical and mental exams with flying colors but he... worries." You murmur quietly as you fidget with your glass. "Caitlin's dad supports her but my dad... he'd prefer I chose to continue my law studies. Or change my schooling altogether and focus on something else." You state solemnly. As much as you loved your father you felt it was unfair. Like there was something bigger that he and everyone else was hiding from you.

"Hextech?" She asks surprised bringing you out of your sprailing thoughts. Smiling at the name Jayce gave his invention, that explosion that kick started everything felt like it happened yesterday. It felt like you were found on the bridge yesterday.

"More medical field I believe but I think he'll take anything other than Enforcer at this point. Even regular old painter." You remark as you observe the details of the meeting you'd chosen to paint.

"And that bothers you?" Mel asks. Tilting your head you squint at the details of the picture in front of you. Such a different piece than your other ones which were blurry and indistinct. And yet everyone kept hovering to this one. Easier to understand and more straight forward you supposed. Something from your new life and not your old. They always seemed to prefer that.

"... Mel is something going on I should be worried about? Some kind of civil unrest? The undercity. I've heard rumors and my dads making excuses for me not to go to any of the prisons or my charity anymore. I have friends there. People I'm trying to help. I need to know the truth. You need to tell me the truth." You state.

The woman remains quiet for a moment. Her brown eyes seem to search for the right words as she sips at her drink slowly. A red wine that seemed too much like blood to you. "Perhaps focusing on work outside your father's would be good. He worries about you. We all do. With your..." She hesitates before waving her hand dismissively trying to change the subject.

"My spells?" You demand and her brows furrow as she glances at you. The silence is all you need for confirmation. Sighing you look away from the Council Meeting and towards a different picture. A silhouette of a man with a halo around his head. You see that blue green color again. You can hear a chuckle. Mel's touch brings you back as she squeezes your shoulder.

"... I've said too much. Please be kind to him. Your father loves you much more than you know. You're very lucky to have him. You know," Mel hesitates, something you've rarely seen her do. As she looks at your painting and you stare into your glass a wistful look crosses her face. "My past is tricky when it comes to family and relationships." She admits in a rare moment of sincerity, no politics, no deals. Just the truth.

Or perhaps it's manipulation. You can never tell with Mel, you do your best not to dwell. You like to think your relationship and mentorship with her is genuine, but in a place like Piltover… you never know.

Nodding you look away from your least favorite piece onto other things. Your eyes stop on a more symbolic painting, an older one. It was crudely done as you hadn't cleaned the edges or made the details fine. Fangs and claws and fur. Oh to be the fox and wolf as Mel often told you.

"... Mingle?" You question and her eyes light up like the fox in your painting sensing your planning something.

"You don't usually enjoy networking." She observes watching you carefully and you shrug before finishing your flute of Champagne in one final swig.

"Feels like a night to try something new." You state waving down a waiter to take your glass so you could grab another.

…

With Mel by your side you'd avaded Caitlyn and most of the Enforcers walking around the party. While you loved having her around having her around as an Enforcer was much harder than having her around as your friend. While you'd tried to stay calm the whole night and not make it into a conspiracy your suspicion grew every time you saw Marcus from the corner of your eye with that group of people. As you inched your way closer throughout the night you glanced around. No one was watching you…

Slipping away from Mel while she was distracted with a council member you kept your head high as you walked with purpose. As you get closer to the odd group, your focus goes to one of the people Marcus is talking to. Your eyes catching on her arm and how it's covered by a pretty velvet cape.

"No you can't talk to them-" Marcus insists, not yet noticing you as you got closer. The lights on this side of the room were dimmer as there were less art pieces. It made your curiosity burn brighter as you wondered what Marcus and this strange clinte were talking about. If they were clinte at all.

"Why are they painting him? Who are they? He's mad Marcus! He wants some serious answers." The woman snaps back angrily. Coming closer and getting more questions than answers the woman notices you staring and shifts to better cover her arm. Her friends stiffen at your presence and adjust their suits and dresses which you notice are more worn than anyone else in the room.

"They're nobody. It's a side hobby, just a thing they sometimes do-" Marcus states and you tilt your head unsure if you should be insulted or not. Was he protecting you from something? From someone?

"Marcus?" You question finally catching his attention as you take in his new friends. He immediately goes pale hearing you call his name and turns to face you. As the woman smirked you could see him getting stressed like you weren't supposed to be here. Squinting you hum as you observe the chief, what was he up to?

"(Y/N)! Why aren't you with Caitlyn?" Marcus demands and you step back at the tone of his voice. The intensity of his question. As the group continues to stare you begin to piece together that they're from the Undercity or at least a lower class section of Piltover.

"She's talking to Jayce. Marcus I need-" You start but he ignores you. Unlike his playful disposition earlier he was being much colder now. As you swallowed something about this whole situation didn't settle right with you. This clearly had nothing to do with your galla.

"I'm sorry this is a private discussion I need you to-" Marcus starts in a much kinder tone trying to direct you away but the woman ignores him. Stepping in front of him to get to you Marcus glares, his fists balling at his sides. She tilts her head observing you before she smirks. Maroon lipstick catching the limited light.

"(Y/N) Right?" The woman was tall, elegant, and walked with authority. Several scars of different sizes littered her face and shoulders. Taking in her physique she seemed like she'd had a harder life. A laborer perhaps?

Her purple slit dress with the black velvet coat stood out amongst the other dresses tonight and you found yourself intrigued. Almost pulled in by her. As you studied each other you could see Marcus gritting his teeth. Knowing you'd walked into a possibly dangerous situation you smiled feigning ignorance.

"Yes, that's my name. I guess you could say this is my Galla." Acting shy at the attention you reach up to fiddle with your jewelry and hair. Something about this woman seemed familiar. Maybe it was her voice or maybe it was her face but you had this odd itch in the back of your brain. Like when you were painting right after a flash.

"I'm Sevika." She introduces before holding out her left hand. Confused, you peaked under her cloak to look at her right only for her to take a step back hiding her arm behind herself. Shaking the left trying not to be bothered by it or ask any questions that could get you in trouble you smiled at her.

"Are you interested in this one?" You hum tilting your head towards the canvas as you try to subtly change the conversation. "I don't know if you know this because I haven't seen you at any of my shows before but my paintings are all for charity." You explain with a smile. "All funds go back to the community. As someone so fortunate I try to give back to those more in need then myself." Sevika paused for a moment before her hand wrapped tightly around yours, her grip firm but not crushing like you'd first expected.

"... I'll keep that in mind." She hums softly. "My boss, he's interested in this one." She explains before letting go and gesturing to the painting they'd been talking In Front of for the past few hours.

"Oh your boss? What do you do?" You ask curiously. It was always the same faces at these Gallas, Sevika didn't seem like an average socialite. She screamed adventure but also safety. You feel like you knew her and that wasn't something you felt often when it came to new faces. While there was a danger with interacting with her that you could sense, she knew more than she let on.

"We work in…" Glancing at Marcus amused she focused back on you, eyes seeming to study your every move. It reminded you of an Enforcer or someone running from one. "Exports." She explains and you nod slowly, not sure if you believe her or not. Looking at the painting when she does you suddenly freeze, familiar blue eyes greeting you.

"My dad wasn't supposed to grab this one." You murmur as you step forward. It was one of your favorites hidden behind a sheet so he wouldn't see, one of the only full faces from your past you'd ever been able to complete. You were working on some fine detailing and had moved it from the safety of your room to the studio. It was a bit fuzzy on the edges still and some of the detailing was blurry because you couldn't seem to decide on things like sharp or round features, smooth or bumpy skin but it was an important piece to you.

"Oh?" Sevika questions and you frown looking at the bid at the bottom. "My boss, he'll pay a small fortune for it. Guaranteed." Sevika swears and you turn towards her.

"They said it wasn't for sale. Can we continue-" Marcus tries to regain control of the conversation but Sevika seemed more interested in you than him. The people also focused on you suddenly ignoring Marcus' presence. She stepped closer leaning in to observe your face. As their eyes focused on yours, really taking you in you noticed the sudden way she stiffened. Like she was seeing a ghost.

"Think of all the people in the UnderCity it could help, that is what you're doing isn't it? Your charity?" Quirking a brow at her surprised, you turn your head suddenly. The intensity of her stare suddenly making you uncomfortable.

"I don't like to announce it because I get less sales which means I can help less but yes… That's true." You admit quietly. Did Marcus tell them that? How did they figure it out? The longer you stayed in this corner the more questions you had.

"So a small fortune to help others is surely worth this painting?" Pausing you think of the deal, of what you would be giving away. Reaching your hand out you tap the bottom of the canvas, tracing the intricate picture frame. Was this some sort of psychological test from your father? Did this even have anything to do with you or were you misinterpreting the entire situation?

Focusing on the painting to remain calm, the ravenette man with blue eyes and sharp features made you feel at ease. Swallowing you hum. You wanted to know more about this woman, about the group with her, and her relationship with Marcus.

"And this bosses name? I'd love to meet the man giving so much to my charity." You offer watching Sevikas' body language closely.

"He doesn't do names." She responds quickly and you nod.

"A picture then?" You question. "It's customary for all customers to take a picture with the piece they're buying." Before she can say no like you assume she will, you grab her hand in another firm handshake and smile wide as a flash fills the dark space. As Sevika blinks in surprise and her friends slink into the shadows you take your chance to leave back to the main party. As the photographer walks away you do the same disappearing into the crowd with stolen film in your hand.

While you had a lot of questions you're sure they could wait until that photo was printed. You think you just found another piece of the puzzle.

...

Taglist: @pinkninja200 @shadow-pancake9 @athenapspspsps @mercenarystrike @strawbebe-dk @joscelyn02 @wanna-plan-world-domination @meep-moop-mystic @ebony-wolf @shadow-pancake9 @zeros-rot @beasalmeh @ihatemylifeuwu @domoron @ackermanbitch @ihatemyselfmorethanmydepression

#silcos enforcer child series #silcos enforcer child #enforcer child #arcane lol marcus #arcane marcus #platonic marcus #platonic sevika #chief of police father #father silco #arcane x reader #arcane x y/n #arcane lol x reader #lol arcane x reader #lol x reader #platonic arcane #silco x reader

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the-dumpster-fire-of-life · 1 year

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can you do a jinx X sister reader where sis makes a mistake on a job and has a full blown panic attack when they realize it, desperately begging jinx not to have silco disown them for it to silco and jinx' surprise

(yo! Sure I can, it sucks tho but I was on lots of melatonin and sleepy as shit. So, here ya go! Enjoy!)

A Mishap

You never meant to do it.

It just happened before you could get a hold of yourself.

But here you stood, in front of the rubble after you accidently set off a bomb during a stealth mission for shimmer.

The worst part?

It was your first mistake you had ever made on a mission.

You had one fucking job. Don't. Be. Spotted.

But you did just that, so much so that the entire mission went into flames and everyone had to come out to defend each other.

Once it was over, and you stared at the chaos, it was hard to breathe.

You felt like everything was spinning, panicked so hard that you felt like your lungs couldn't get any air.

Jinx walked over to you, not noticing as she giggled at the mess.

She made mistakes too, but that came with being a Jinx.

She actually almost thanked you for it, the mission was boring anyway.

You added to the wow factor now.

But once Jinx looked at you, she felt herself freeze.

She saw you struggle to breath, shaking so bad you stumbled into her only to flinch away but froze when you realized it was just her.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" you kept on going, tears almost falling as you panicked and freaked out while thinking she would be angry.

Jinx tilted her head, shaking her head slightly before reaching out to you.

She saw you help her in these moments, she recognized them, so why not help you.

"It's okay, come on, it's okay." Jinx tried, shrugging her shoulders while smiling uneasily but it seemed to not help.

You continued, your knees buckling as Jinx quickly caught you but fell to the floor alongside you.

Jinx didn't know what to do, she had always been in your position, while you were hers.

She wasn't the best at this, the best she could offer was rocking you and holding you.

"Please, I'm sorry. Don't leave me." Jinx almost cried herself to that.

Realizing you were more alike than she had realized, and she didn't want anyone to be like her.

Nobody deserves to be like her in her mind.

So, she did the only thing she could do.

She went to Silco.

Jinx hurried, you had come down from your panicked state but still were shaking.

You still thought you would be abandoned like you once were before.

And Jinx taking you to the man you were scared of doing the same thing, did not help.

You didn't fear Silco. That was a fact. You were just scared of being left behind.

Or disappointing him.

Jinx didn't even knock, kicking open the door slightly and walking in.

She walked to the desk, you reaching out to her but it was useless as she already sat on it.

You could tell Silco was there, staring out the window before he turned around at the sound of Jinx's boots on his desk.

He stared at you simply, you almost shrinking at his gaze as you fiddled with your hands.

Something you had picked up along the way.

"(Name)." Silco finally spoke, Jinx watching but not in fear, she knew nothing bad was going to happen.

You didn't answer for a moment, almost crying again as you breathed heavily and sniffled.

"...I'm sorry. I won't do it again. Please…don't leave me. I'm sorry." You finally spoke, your voice cracking.

Silco didn't react, but in his mind you reminded him of himself when younger, and Jinx herself when she made her first appearance in his life.

It wasn't normal to see you like this.

You were strong, confident and just…you, in every possible way you could be.

But the one in front of him wasn't you now, but a scarred child afraid of being abandoned once again.

"...Come." Silco finally spoke, watching as you softly nodded before walking behind his desk.

You sat on the armrest of his chair, not looking at him but your gaze on your boots instead.

"I won't abandon you." Silco finally started, your head turning to him so fast it almost got whiplash.

"But, I messed up the-" you tried, your panicked voice cut off as he lifted his hand to stop you with a sigh.

You did just that, curling your legs into your chest as you sat quietly, Jinx joining on the other arm rest.

"There are always mishaps in battle. You will learn from it." Silco said, looking at you as you tried to remain calm, nodding silently.

"I depend on you and Jinx." Silco continued, you finally looking up from your boots to him.

He didn't look angry, but seemed to be pitiful of you.

You'd never seen that look before in Silco, it was small, almost unnoticeable, but there.

"I will never forsake you, (Name). It was a mistake, a big one, but one you can improve from." Silco finished, you nodded once again.

Without another word, Silco took your hand and placed his eye needle in it.

You examined it in your hand before carefully turning to Silco, adjusting it to his eye.

You steadied it before quickly injecting it, watching as Silco jolted, shuddered for a moment before steadying himself.

He leaned back into his chair, everyone quiet now.

Jinx smiled, happy that she had gotten you to Silco and that he helped.

Jinx leaned into the back of the chair, resting her shoulder against Silcos with her head on top of his.

You watched her for a moment before you carefully and slowly did the same.

You could almost smile, but opted to wipe your tears.

They weren't sad now, but happy and relieved.

Silco let you inject his eye, which means he trusted you.

And that was the best form of reassurance anyone could ever give you.

#arcane x reader #arcane #jinx arcane #arcane jinx #jinx x reader #silco arcane #arcane silco #arcane jinx x reader #jinx arcane x reader

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angelltheninth · 2 years

Text

NSFW Masterlist Part 3

MCU

Tony Stark x Fem!Reader - Only a Touch

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader - Interrogation and Reward

Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader - Silver Tongued Devil

Pietro Maximoff x Fem!Reader - Empty on the Inside

Namor Eating You Out

Namor with a Breeding Kink

MCU Characters + Boobs or Ass

Peter Maximoff with a Flexible Reader

DC COMICS

Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader - Restraining Vengeance

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader - Shopping Has Many Benefits

Catching Bruce Masturbating

Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader - Warm Showers Always Help

Bruce Wayne with a Virgin Reader

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader - Remind Me to Hate You

ARCANE

Finn x Fem!Reader x Sevika - Sharing is Caring or Something Like It

Sevika x Fem!Reader - Beauty in the Eye of the Beholder

Marcus x Fem!Reader - Tell Me Under the Table

Vander Getting Cockblocked

Giving Arcane Characters Oral While They Work

Dominant Vander Headcanons

Arcane Women + Mutual Masturbation

Friends with Benefits with Vi

Silco x Fem!Reader - Quaking with Lust

Resolved Sexual Tension with Vi

Arcane Men + Morning Wood

Vander Being Too Big For You

Arcane Men + How Long Do They Last

GENSHIN IMPACT

Genshin Impact Men + Sex Pollen

Scaramouche x Fem!Reader - Unpleasant Yet Greedy

Zhongli x Fem!Reader - Instincts of a Calm Mind

Cyno + Sir Kink

Dainsleif x Fem!Reader - More Than You Can Take

Dottore x Fem!Reader - Knife Treatment

Tighnari Spends Your Heat with You

Zhongli x Fem!Bunny!Reader

Childe With A Pregnant Reader

Genshin Men with a Succubus Girlfriend

Genshin Men + Boobs, Ass or Thighs

Incubus Kaveh and Al-Haitham

Yandere Itto Headcanons

Genshin Men Having a Baby Fever

Itto and Gorou when You Ask Them to Breed You

Ayato, Cyno, Al-Haitham and Kaveh Take Your Virginity

Enemies to Lovers with Itto

Abyss Lumine Dominates You

Friends with Benefits with Genshin Men

Wedding Night with Gentle!Dom!Pantalone

Teasing Genshin Men Under the Table

Pantalone, Ayato and Zhongli During a Striptease

Giving Childe a Blowjob After a Shower

Genshin Men Reacting to Cock Worship

Professor Zhongli Headcanons

Genshin Men with a S/O Who's Shy During Sex

Scaramouche with A Wolf!Hybrid!Reader in Heat

Kaeya x Fem!Reader - Helping Hand

BLUE LOCK

Letting Ryosuke Use You for Stress Relief

Making Out with Bachira

Cockwarming Sae

Being Baro's Reward

Bachira Fucks You in His Sleep

Bachira Eating You Out

Kunigami Rensuke + Dry Humping

TWISTED WONDERLAND

Jamil Viper x Fem!Reader - Poison Just as Sweet

Rook Hunt x Fem!Reader - Ride You Don't Want to End

Virginity Loss with Jamil Viper

Trey Clover x Fem!Reader - Man of Many Talents

Azul Ashengrotto x Fem!Reader - I Was Meant to Be Yours

VALORANT

Rivals to Lovers with Yoru

Harbor x Fem!Reader - Absence Makes the Horny Grow Stronger

Viper x Fem!Reader - Snake Eyes

Reyna x Fem!Reader - A Little Death Before the Gala

Fade x Fem!Reader - Who Will You Be When You're Afraid

Chamber x Fem!Reader - Buying What You're Selling Them

JUJUTSU KAISEN

Sukuna x Fem!Reader - The Hating Game

Haruta Being Overstimulated

Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader - Way of the Househusband Nanami Kento

Sukuna x Fem!Reader - One Hell of a Time

Pussydrunk Geto Suguru Headcanons

YUUKOKU NO MORIARTY

Albert James Moriarty x Fem!Reader - Mind Over Lust

Sherlock Holmes Gets Needy in Your Office

William James Moriarty x Fem!Reader - Know Your Place

CHAINSAW MAN

Aki Hayakawa x Fem!Reader - Win Your Prize

Makima x Fem!Reader - Pretty Little Pet

Aki Hayakawa x Fem!Reader - Pass Me Your Last Cigarette

Car Sex with Aki Hayakawa

First Time with Aki Hayakawa, Kishibe and Angel Devil

THE ARCANA

Portia x Fem!Reader - Little Slice of Heaven

Asra x Fem!Reader - Sell Me a Dream

Bondage and Brat Taming with Julian Devorak

A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE

Pregnant Sex with Daemon

Daemon x Fem!Reader - Piece Offering to the Cruel Prince

Aemond + Dirty Talk

Gossip and Dumbification with Dom!Daddy Larys Strong

Post Injury Recovery Sex with Daemon

STAR WARS

The Bad Batch + Stamina

Cassian Andor x Fem!Reader - It's Called a Cockpit for a Reason

Darth Maul x Fem!Reader - Cold, Hard Touch

Star Wars Men Threesomes

Cassian Andor Thanks You in A Special Way

The Bad Batch NSFW Headcanons

#masterlist #genshin impact x reader #jjk x reader #mcu x reader #dc comics x reader #chainsaw man x reader #arcane x reader #blue lock x reader #asoif x reader #yuumori x reader #valorant x reader

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abitohoney · 5 months

Text

Insatiable

CH2 - Once Bitten AO3 link

CH1 || CH2 || CH3 || CH4 || CH5 || CH6 || CH7

Vampire Sevika x female reader

Rating: Explicit, MDNI, NSFW

Story Tags: Vampire Sevika, Soft Sevika, liaison reader, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Grinding, Sexual Tension, Biting, Drinking, Smut, Clothed Sex, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Assault, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Minor Character Death, Vampire Silco, vampire Ran, definitely took some creative liberties on vampire lore here, Menstrual Sex, Menstruation Kink, Strap-Ons, Overstimulation

Word Count: 3.5k

Story Summary: As the new liaison between Piltover and the Undercity, you've been guided by the enigmatic escort Ran to meet with their boss- and fearsome criminal kingpin- Silco, as well as his alluring right-hand woman Sevika. You're well aware that plenty of shady things take place in the depths below, but there's something particularly mysterious about these three that you can't quite put your finger on.

AN: This is already in process over on AO3.

To your surprise, Silco had sent for you to come again the following week. You assumed that Sevika had lied to him about your last visit, covering up your sudden disappearance. But would she be there this time?

The lift ride and subsequent walk to the Last Drop was unnerving. You wanted desperately to ask Ran if Sevika would be there, but feared it would sound suspicious, especially when Ran knew you’d hightailed it out of there so quickly last time. So instead, you worried at the inside of your cheek, damn near chewing it raw.

When Ran swung the door open to Silco’s office you were greeted with an empty room. No Silco. No Sevika.

“Sit,” Ran instructed, nodding to the settee.

Flashbacks of the last time you’d been on that seat played behind your mind’s eyes. The way Sevika looked at you with such lust. The way her hand and mouth had moved across your skin in an almost possessive nature. The deep, hungry groans and growls that rumbled from her chest.

“Will Sevika be joining?” you asked without thinking as you took a seat. You realized your mistake too late, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I- I mean will Silco be here soon?” you quickly attempted to cover your slip.

Unfortunately for you, it didn’t go unnoticed. Ran lifted a brow, their black lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Both will be here tonight,” they replied before heading to a small bar cart on the opposite side of the room. “Drink?”

“Oh. Sure. Whatever you suggest.” You could certainly use a drink with how fried your nerves were.

Hands fidgeting where they rested in your lap, you tried to distract yourself, observing the room's contents. You’d been in there over half a dozen times at least, but never really had time to take in your surroundings. You were usually too caught up in the mysterious and powerful aura both Sevika and Silco seemed to exude. Or more recently, just simply enthralled by Sevika in all aspects, many of which were unprofessional in nature.

On a small table just to the left of the settee sat a lovely gramophone. It looked surprisingly clean, as if it had been recently used. The thought of Silco or Sevika enjoying music brought a smile to your face. You honestly couldn’t imagine what either of them would fancy.

Silco’s large wooden desk was surprisingly ornate given the conditions of the Undercity. His tall, leatherback chair was just as regal. On one corner of his desk sat a pile of books, which from your position you couldn’t quite make out the titles. The opposite corner housed a lovely antique lamp and an ashtray covered in child-like neon-colored drawings, which you assumed his adoptive daughter had drawn. You’d yet to meet the young girl, but Sevika had mentioned her several times. Clearly those two did not favor each other.

Your observations were cut short when Ran showed up before you, metal hand extended to hand you a drink.

You took it with a quiet, “Thank you.”

Ran simply grinned in return, then headed for the door.

Were they really going to leave you in Silco’s office alone?

As if hearing your question, Ran turned to you before stepping out. “Sevika will be here soon.” They shot you one more impish grin before disappearing behind the door.

Something about the way they spoke- the way they looked at you- made you think they knew more than they should.

With a long sigh, you turned your attention to your drink. It was a dark amber color. You brought the glass to your nose and inhaled. Whiskey of some sort. A sip confirmed it, and burned your throat. Several coughs broke free despite your effort to hold them back, and as luck would have it, Sevika chose that moment to step in.

A single dark brow arched at your sputtering and watering eyes.

“Sorry,” you managed to get out between coughs, “Just not used to anything this strong.”

Sevika strode over to the settee without a reply.

After wiping away a few errant tears from your eyes, you realized Sevika was carrying her own drink.

Maybe she's nervous too?

She took a seat in her usual spot on the center of the settee, thighs spread wide.

The seat cushions sank beneath her weight, causing you to nearly tip into her. Righting yourself, you peered up at her. Gray eyes were on you, but her expression was stoic, unreadable.

Say something.

You took another, more careful, sip of your drink to calm your nerves and distract yourself.

Sevika moved her human arm to rest along the back of the seat, her hand once again just behind your head.

It made the little hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Your skin felt electric, as if any touch from her would send sparks flying. You swallowed hard, eyes darting to her lips as she brought her drink to them. The liquid in her glass was red. Bright red. Almost like wine, but not quite. Unable to look away, you watched with blatant interest as she pressed the clear glass to those delightfully soft lips. Lips you could remember pressed to your own. Lips that had hungrily moved along your skin. Lips that you were dying to feel again.

She downed the remainder of her drink in one go. Something akin to a groan pulled from her throat as she set the glass on the coffee table in front of the settee.

You could have sworn for a moment her pupils had grown wider, but as soon as you blinked, they were normal again. With your attention fixated on her lips again, you watched a small trickle of red liquid slip from the corner of her mouth.

Without thinking, you reached out and swiped your thumb across the stray liquid, smearing it across her lips before it could slide down her chin. You licked your own lips, mimicking what you expected her to do.

Sevika froze, wide gray eyes meeting yours.

Oh no.

Your eyes went equally wide.

What did you just do?

“I’m so sorry,” you blurted, quickly pulling your hand away. “That was inappropriate.” And then the dam broke and everything came flooding out. “I’m sorry about our last meeting too. I- I should not have let anything like that happen. I shouldn’t have come onto you like that. I stepped out of line, acted unprofessionally, and-”

“Hey!”

The sudden, gruff interruption had you closing your mouth immediately. You met her eyes again, fearful you had further upset her. But you were surprised to see an expression you had never expected to see on Sevika. She was frowning, red-stained lips downturned and gray eyes glistening.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, much quieter now that she had your attention. She turned away, staring off to the other side of the room. “I can’t explain why I reacted the way I did, but it’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Her eyes met yours again. “I wanted to keep going.”

“Really?” you asked breathlessly.

“Yes.”

She wanted to keep going?

Well, so did you.

"Silco's not going to be here for a while, is he?" You asked with a small playful smile. You knew damn well by that point these early arrivals were for her personal benefit.

"No."

You took one last gulp of your liquid courage before setting it on the coffee table. “Well, we can pick up where we left off,” You said softly and placed a hand on her thigh. “If you want to.”

Sevika’s throat bobbed, then her gaze dropped to where your fingers splayed along her leg.

You could practically see the gears turning in her head, and Janna you couldn’t take the silence. Couldn’t take not knowing if she would reject or accept your advances. Maybe whatever had bothered her last time still lingered. You didn’t want to push her.

Before you could withdraw your hand, she finally met your eyes and answered with a husky, “I want to.”

Your heart leapt to your throat. Without hesitation, as if pulled to her body by some invisible force, you moved to straddle one of her thighs. You wrapped your arms around her neck and brought your mouth to hers before she could react. You traced the length of her lips, expecting something sweet, something fruity, like wine. Instead you were met with something entirely different. Almost coppery in flavor.

But before you could dwell on that any longer, you felt her hands grasp your waist and drag you further up her thigh. The friction against your clothed heat left you moaning against her mouth.

She took the opportunity of your parted lips to dip her tongue inside, swiping over yours hungrily. She lifted you up off her thigh, just enough to scoot you further back before setting you down and dragging you towards her again.

You broke the kiss to gasp, pleasure radiating from between your legs. When you felt her lift to repeat the motion, you rocked against her, further increasing that delightful friction.

She let you take the lead and set the pace, her hands helping guide your grinding. Pupils wide, she watched with fascination as your face contorted in pleasure. Greedy eyes fell to your parted lips just before she leaned forward to capture your bottom lip between her teeth and pull.

Her bite was oddly sharp, drawing a startled yelp from you. Though it quickly dissolved into a soft moan as her teeth relinquished their hold so she could suck the stinging flesh into her mouth.

Your hips stuttered, breaking the rhythm as the tension inside you quickly built.

She finally released your lip, allowing you to roll your head back as another moan spilled out. She took the opportunity to kiss down the stretched length of your neck, nipping and licking along the way. With her nose buried in the crook of your neck, she inhaled deeply, groaning as your scent filled her head.

“You- You like- my perfume?” you managed to moan out between the rocking of your hips.

She took another deep breath. “Mhmm.”

“I- wore it- just for you.”

You could feel her lips curl against your neck. “Trying to court me?” she murmured.

A breathy laugh slipped past your parted lips. “I- think- we’re long past- that point.”

Running her nose up along the column of your throat, she groaned huskily, “You smell so fucking sweet.” Then her voice lowered, so deep and quiet you almost couldn’t hear over the blood buzzing in your ears, “Bet you taste even sweeter.”

“Sevika,” you moaned, hips stuttering again as a warm wave of pleasure coursed through your body.

Janna, her deep, sensual voice was heaven sent.

Next thing you knew, she had you flipped onto your back, head atop one of the pillows. You blinked up at her, startled by the sudden move, but the moment she worked her knee between your legs, you were right back where you’d left off.

You mewled as she started grinding against you in earnest, working herself against your thigh at the same time. Never had you thought fucking with your clothes on could feel so damn good. Your head rolled back against the pillow, leaving you exposed to her, inviting her back.

And she took the invitation.

Her mouth latched onto your neck again, chest rumbling against yours as she growled hungrily. Fingers gripped harshly at your waist, preventing you from meeting her thrusts.

You were getting to that blissful precipice much quicker than you were prepared for, that coil wound tight in your belly and ready to snap at any moment. Desperate to chase that release, you whined at your inability to rock with her.

“Sevika, please,” you whimpered.

Rather than release or loosen her grip, she increased it, nails biting at your skin through your clothing. In the back of your mind you prayed she wouldn’t stop like she had last time she got this worked up.

Then her pace quickened.

Her mouth on your neck was relentless. Sucking, licking, and dragging teeth. Her breath was wild, ragged, and desperate. Her groans rumbled deep from her chest with each thrust of her hips.

The air in the room suddenly became suffocatingly dry, hot and thick. Her scent- the smell of cigarillos, smoke, and the musk of her arousal- flooded your head.

You reached your hands out blindly to bury them in her hair as you helplessly attempted to meet her thrusts.

Your head began to spin. You felt dizzy- overwhelmed by her presence. Her hands on your hips. Her mouth on your neck. Her grunts and groans. Her intoxicating smell. Her power over you.

You wanted to give yourself to her.

You would give yourself to her.

“Please Sevika,” you mewled.

Sharp teeth dragged up the side of your neck.

The coil in your belly threatened to snap. “I’m so close!”

Her human hand shot up to cover your mouth, muffling your cries of ecstasy when you finally fell off that cliff.

Bright white light flashed behind your closed eyes as pleasure crashed over your body like waves. Every muscle in your body spasmed, her name a faint moan against her hand.

But just when you thought those waves were turning into the rippling aftershocks, an unexpected sharp pain radiated from two tiny points along the side of your neck.

A cry ripped from your throat, muted by the press of Sevika’s hand over your mouth. Your eyes flew open to stare wildly at the rafters above. Your body shook helplessly beneath the weight of her body. Bright red took over your vision, like blood slowly dripping down the scene before you.

Heat seared through your veins like fire, but pleasure continued to pulse from your core. Blood roared in your ears, drowning out the ravenous groans of Sevika as she remained latched onto your neck and grinding against your thigh.

Your vision grew darker and darker. The roaring in your ears louder and louder. The pain mixed pleasure stronger and stronger until–

Darkness.

Silence,

Numbness.

Your eyes slowly fluttered open, consciousness creeping back. When your vision finally came into focus you didn’t find yourself staring up at your bedroom ceiling as you expected. Instead you were left with the familiar image of large rafters running along a tall ceiling. Bright neon doodles decorating the beams.

Silco’s office.

You jolted upright, head spinning at the sudden shift.

What the hell happened?

As you peered forward in a daze, you were met with mismatched eyes. Surprisingly bored mismatched eyes.

“I see you’ve finally decided to join the waking,” Silco drawled from his seat behind his desk.

Blinking several more times, you tried to recall what had happened. How you had ended up passed out on Silco’s settee. “I- I’m so sorry,” you whispered. “I’m- not sure what happened.”

Silco set down the paperwork he’d been holding to fully regard you. “It would appear to me that you fell asleep on my settee.”

You were no stranger to Silco’s snark and wit, but that was not the time or place you wished to be on the receiving end of it.

Sevika.

You were with Sevika.

“Where’s Sev-” before you could finish your question, a jolt of pain sprang from a point in your neck as your head swiveled to search for her. You gasped, handing shooting up to touch the side of your neck. The moment your fingers made contact, you were rattled again, but this time by a wave of pleasurable heat. A short, blurred vision appeared behind your eyes.

A woman’s face. Sevika’s face. Pupils wide and hungry.

A quiet, unexpected moan pulled from your throat.

Whatever it was, quickly faded, replacing your pain and pleasure with the horrifying realization that you had just moaned in front of Silco. Your cheeks burned red hot.

Could this night… day?... get any worse?

“I’m so sorry!” you blurted out as you sprang to your feet.

You gave Silco no time to respond, immediately booking it for the door, by which Ran stood wearing that damned knowing smirk. They opened the door for you- bless them- allowing you to bolt out without any hesitation.

“Hold up speedy,” Ran called after you.

“I don’t need to be escorted. Thank you!” you called back without looking, running down the stairway as quickly as you could. You made it no further than the last step when you felt metal fingers wrap around your wrist. You spun around to face Ran, your eyes wide.

“Can’t do that. Boss’s orders,” Ran explained with a raise of their brow, challenging you to argue.

Heart hammering in your chest, your eyes flitted to the large group of Silco’s lackeys now watching your little scene from their seats around the bar. You swallowed, then turned back to Ran’s expectant face.

Janna, you wanted nothing more than to get away from Ran. They had to have heard your inappropriate little outburst as well. How would you even explain that?

‘Sorry, I was just remembering doing terribly unprofessional, dirty things with your co-worker when I was supposed to be helping your city.’

“O-okay,” you finally gave in. You couldn’t make even more of a scene by trying to refuse their service. Especially not with the hoard of Silco’s men and women watching. Any of which could very easily force you into submission.

“Good girl,” Ran purred with a playful grin.

What?

Before you could fully process that response, you found yourself being gently guided through the exit, Ran’s metal hand resting at the small of your back.

- - - - - - - - - -

The entire way back home, you wracked your brain for what had happened. Not much time had seemed to pass since your last recollection. It was still the dead of night, the moon in the Piltover sky above not that far from where it had been when you left earlier that night. You guessed not more than a few hours could have passed.

Yet, you couldn’t seem to recall what all had happened. When you had fallen asleep. Why you had fallen asleep.

You remembered sitting on the settee with Sevika. Just the two of you. Both drinking.

The drink.

Had that been why you’d passed out? It was a particularly strong drink compared to what you were accustomed to. But could that really have knocked you out that quick and that hard?

Bits and pieces of your time with Sevika started to emerge, but not enough to make sense of the events in whole. She had admitted she wanted to continue where you two had left off at the prior meeting, to which you made advances. There were moments of her mouth on yours. On your neck. Her hands gripping at your hips. Your bodies grinding together. Pleasure. So much pleasure.

But then it all blurred too much.

Mind back to the present, you made your way to your bathroom. Perhaps a nice, hot shower could do you some good. Calm your nerves and clear your mind.

After turning the water as hot as you could handle, you stripped down, tossing your clothes into a nearby hamper.

Steam quickly filled the small room as you closed your eyes and scrubbed your body. Your thoughts however, couldn’t seem to stray from earlier that night.

Did you end up meeting with Silco? Or did you pass out with Sevika and she just left you there, not wanting to disturb you?

Once you finished rinsing off, you grabbed a towel and worked it over your body as you made your way to your sink. With one hand, you swiped across the foggy mirror above, revealing your very tired looking face staring right back at you.

And that’s when you saw it.

Two small marks along the side of your neck. The same place you’d touched earlier in Silco’s office. You wiped the mirror again, then craned your neck to inspect it closer. They appeared to just be tiny, circular puncture wounds, but they were mostly healed. Didn’t appear fresh.

Odd.

Hesitantly, you brought your fingers to the marks, remembering what had happened when you touched them the first time. Just a brush against the marks and your legs nearly gave way. Pleasure hit you like a shockwave and another memory replayed in your head.

Red. Dark red. You were gazing up at the rafters in Silco’s office. But everything was in shades of red. And there was a deep, rumbling groan against your neck.

Sevika.

You shook your head, knocking yourself out of the stupor. Your gaze fell to where your hands gripped the sides of the sink so hard your knuckles threatened to turn white.

What did these memories mean? Why the red? Why did Sevika sound so… feral?

Realizing you weren’t going to find the answers on your own, you decided you would pay a visit to Sevika the following day. She’d certainly be able to clear everything up.

CH3>>

#arcane #sevika #arcane sevika #sevika x reader #arcane sevika x reader #fanfic #honey writes #ran #arcane ran

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