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tyla-smokes · 7 months ago

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miffysrkv · 19 days ago

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"Just a Taste"

Warnings: Smoking, Weed equivalent (glimmerleaf), suggestive content

A/N: Shotgunning with Arcane Women! enjoy c:

Vi 🥊

Vi and Caitlyn stepped through the flickering neon haze of the Undercity, following Babette’s directions to a place whispered about in the quieter shadows—a sanctuary of velvet and smoke, where secrets traded hands like currency. The air thickened with the scent of incense and something greener, deeper.

The curtains opened to reveal (y/n), lounging like a queen on a throne of cushions and draped silks, smoke curling from a blunt held lazily between long fingers. Her clothes were a mesmerizing blend of opulence and edge—silks that caught the dim light with a faint shimmer, embroidered with arcane sigils that pulsed faintly beneath the surface. Eyes sharp and alive, flicking up to Vi with a knowing smile.

"Vi," (y/n) breathed, voice smoky and low, "It’s been too long."

Caitlyn lingered near the doorway, quiet and wary, but (y/n)’s gaze barely registered her presence. She knew Vi and Jinx—those two were family, blood and bone—but the name Caitlyn meant nothing here.

Hands already glowing faintly with eldritch runes, (y/n) tapped the blunt against a low brass table, releasing a swirl of violet smoke that twisted upward, weaving itself into shifting images suspended in the air.

“Let’s see what your sister’s been up to,” she murmured, shotgunning the magic.

The smoke coalesced into sharp, flickering visions: Powder’s blue eyes wild, her fingers crackling with unstable energy; flashes of explosions echoing through the cavernous tunnels beneath Piltover; a silhouette darting between steel beams, hunted but unbowed.

“She’s been chasing ghosts,” (y/n) said, voice threading with arcane power, “and some are starting to bite back.”

Vi leaned forward, eyes narrowing as the images swirled around them—ghostly whispers of Powder’s last known steps, tangled alliances, and enemies cloaked in shadow.

“You’ll need more than luck to catch her now,” (y/n) warned, exhaling a plume of magical smoke that shimmered like liquid light. “But I’ll keep an eye. This city’s veins run deeper than you think.”

Caitlyn finally spoke, voice tentative, “Who are you?”

(Y/n) glanced up, the elegance never leaving her smirk. “Someone who knows the family’s secrets better than most. And right now, your best shot at finding Powder.”

Sevika 🥃

The Last Drop was louder these days. Under Silco’s rule, it had a new kind of pulse — steadier, more dangerous. The bar lights flickered like they always had, casting dull glows on metal limbs and sharp eyes. Smoke curled through the air, mingling with the bitter scent of spilt liquor and the metallic tang of Shimmer.

In the far corner booth, Sevika sat like a throne had been built just for her. One mechanical arm resting heavy on the back of the cracked leather seat, the other wrapped around a glass half-full of something dark and burning.

Then there was you — (Y/N), hovering near her table with that grin she hated to admit she liked. Not quite friends. Not quite enemies. You pushed her buttons. She pushed back harder. But somehow, when smoke was involved, the edge between you blurred.

"You just gonna stand there lookin’ pretty, or you planning to share?" Sevika muttered, voice low and unimpressed, though the subtle twitch of her lip betrayed her amusement.

You slid into the booth without hesitation. No point asking permission — she’d only respect you more for not bothering. Pulling the half-joint from behind your ear, you lit it with practiced ease, the ember flaring between your fingers before you took a slow drag. You held it in, letting your head tilt back, eyes closed for a beat.

Then you turned toward her, still close. Closer now. “Open up,” you said, voice smooth with mischief.

Sevika raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical, but parted her lips anyway.

The shotgun was deliberate. You leaned in, exhaling the smoke between her lips, the distance between your mouths barely more than a whisper. Her eyes narrowed slightly, not in irritation — no, this was something else. Something more alert. Curious, even.

You sat on her lap, slow and easy like it was just another seat in the bar. Sevika didn’t stop you.

“What’s this then?” she asked, her breath smoky, voice rougher now.

“Just sharing,” you murmured, letting your fingers trace the edge of her collar with innocent intention. “Figured you might like a taste of something a little less... synthetic.”

Her laugh was low and dry. “And what are you supposed to be, then? Organic trouble?”

You smirked, offering her another pull, this time with your hand gently tilting her chin toward you. “Something like that.”

Sevika exhaled, the smoke curling from the corners of her mouth like steam from a machine just beginning to overheat. “Don’t make a habit of this,” she warned, though her hand was already resting firm on your hip.

“Too late,” you said, smirking as the bar noise seemed to blur around the two of you.

Caitlyn Kiramman 🪻

The dim lighting of Caitlyn's bedroom flickered off the crystal chandelier, casting soft golden shadows against velvet drapes. The room, lined with fine bookshelves and plush armchairs, smelled faintly of lilac perfume and something older—oak, tradition, luxury. A fire crackled quietly in the marble hearth, painting the space with warmth.

Caitlyn sat cross-legged on her grand canopy bed, still dressed in her house robes—deep navy with silver trim. Across from her, (Y/N) lounged like she owned the place, which wasn’t far from the truth. Their families had been close since they were toddlers, always at each other's estates, trained in etiquette and politics side by side. Yet something about tonight felt... different.

(Y/N)’s (hair color)-spilled over her shoulder as she pulled a silver case from her jacket. “You mind?” she asked, voice teasing.

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you carry that around?”

(Y/N) just smirked and struck a match, lighting the blunt with slow deliberation. She took a hit, exhaled like it was nothing, and glanced sideways at Caitlyn, eyes hooded.

“I thought you were the proper one,” Caitlyn said dryly.

“I thought you were the brave one,” (Y/N) countered, scooting closer across the silk sheets.

Caitlyn didn’t back away. She didn’t even breathe.

The blunt passed between (Y/N)’s fingers like something sacred before she took another draw, held it, and leaned in—straddling Caitlyn’s lap like it was the most natural place to be. Her thigh pressed against Caitlyn’s hip, her face dangerously close. Caitlyn could feel the heat of her breath as (Y/N) tilted her head and whispered:

“Open your mouth.”

Caitlyn hesitated for a fraction of a second—then parted her lips.

(Y/N) exhaled slowly, sending the warm, smoky breath directly into Caitlyn’s mouth. The world narrowed. The scent of smoke and (Y/N)’s perfume mingled. The closeness of it, the intimacy, made Caitlyn’s pulse pound in her ears. When the smoke faded, neither moved.

Caitlyn’s voice was barely audible. “That’s illegal, you know.”

(Y/N) grinned. “So’s half the fun we have.”

Mel Medarda ⚜️

Mel’s private quarters were bathed in a warm amber glow, the scent of sandalwood lingering in the air. Plush velvet curtains were drawn, shutting out the noise of Piltover’s elite outside. On the couch, (Y/N) lounged—muscular frame stretched out like a panther in repose, a lit blunt nestled between her fingers. Her golden-brown skin glistened under the soft lighting, and the glint in her eyes was equal parts mischief and exhaustion.

Mel entered, her golden cuffs catching the light as she folded her arms and raised an unimpressed brow. “Really?” she said, voice a velvet scoff. “My mother would’ve had you in a chokehold by now.”

(Y/N) grinned, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. “Yeah, well… your mother didn’t have to deal with half the shit we do now. And neither did you—before you dragged me into your world.”

Mel hummed, stepping closer, her amusement warming into something softer. “And for that, I’m sorry.”

“No regrets,” (Y/N) murmured, patting the seat beside her.

Mel sank down with a regal kind of grace, brushing her curls back. They sat in companionable silence for a beat, the smoke coiling between them like lazy spirits.

“You want a hit?” (Y/N) asked, tilting the blunt toward her.

Mel reached out with slender fingers, but instead of handing it to her, (Y/N) tugged her gently forward—pulling her right into her lap.

Mel gasped, half-playful, half-scandalized. “Bold.”

“I trained under your mother, remember?” (Y/N) whispered near her ear, voice low and teasing. “Bold is part of the job.”

The blush that touched Mel’s cheeks was delicate, but she didn’t pull away. Her hands found purchase on (Y/N)’s broad shoulders as she steadied herself.

(Y/N) brought the blunt to her lips, inhaling deeply, eyes never leaving Mel’s. Then, leaning in close, her voice dropped to a hush. “Open up.”

Mel did.

Their lips nearly brushed as (Y/N) exhaled slowly, smoke flowing from her mouth into Mel’s, their breaths entangling, slow and deliberate. The moment stretched, tender and charged.

Mel pulled back only slightly, eyes half-lidded. “You’re a terrible influence.”

(Y/N) smirked, brushing a knuckle down the side of her jaw. “And you love it.”