#yandere caitlyn kiramman x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kngrose · 9 months ago

Note

Could you do yandere head cannons for Caitlyn from arcane?

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

includes caitlyn jayce victor vander

WARNINGS: implied stalking, implied drugging, infantilization, coercion, general unhealthy behaviors

from roselí. ᡣ𐭩 : decided to pair these guys up because there was sooooo many requests for them! ^^

caitlyn protective type

She wasn’t always this way. It was an accident that caused something in her to change. The bullet had just barely grazed her, a close call, but one that made her realize just how fragile everything could be. It wasn't the pain that lingered in her body, but the sense of terror that gripped her heart when she thought she might never see you again. What if it were you instead– what if the bullet didn’t just graze you? What if it went through you instead?

She was already drawn to you, but after that brush with death, Caitlyn’s feelings became something she couldn’t ignore anymore. The idea of losing you—someone who had become her rock—became a constant, gnawing presence in her mind. She had survived countless dangers before, but the thought of you slipping away was far worse.

It wasn’t long before Caitlyn started showing up more often. She would check in on you regularly, whether you were in the office or just at home, her presence now a familiar yet unspoken thing. "I just wanted to make sure you're alright," she’d say, though you couldn’t recall ever needing to be checked on. At first, it seemed like genuine concern, but soon, you began to notice how her eyes would linger just a little too long, and how her posture seemed tense when you weren’t near.

Her love, while seemingly genuine, would feel smothering at times, as if she can’t let you out of her sight for too long. She might start showing up unexpectedly, always with an excuse, but slowly turning up at your most inconvenient times. Caitlyn might resort to more extreme measures. She might manipulate situations to make you think you're in danger or that you can only trust her. She’d plant lies, create paranoia, and twist things so you decide to seclude yourself more.

Caitlyn can’t just simply be a part of your life—she’d want to control it. She would subtly start dictating where you go and, who you interact with. You’d feel like you have no room to breathe without her approval.

The near-death experience had cracked something inside of her. Caitlyn needed reassurance—not just that you were safe, but that you weren’t going anywhere. She began to ask, almost obsessively, if you were sure you were happy with her, if she was doing enough for you, if you felt as though you were being properly protected. Her doubts about her own ability to protect you made her needier, more insistent on showing that she could keep you safe from the chaos that threatened your world.

“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” You’d awoken in the middle of the night to her staring down at you in the dark bedroom. It was weird— had she been watching you sleep? Her voice was soft but heavy with something unspoken. The question hung in the air, and you could see the hint of panic in her eyes. She had always been so composed, so controlled, but this new Caitlyn—this Caitlyn who had almost lost you—was breaking down those walls.

Her jealousy would flare when she saw you interacting with others, especially anyone who showed a hint of interest in you. Caitlyn couldn’t help it. Her need to keep you safe extended to wanting to keep others away, ensuring that no one else would get too close to you. Her envy would manifest in small ways—like an extra long hug when you returned to her side, a slightly tighter grip on your hand in public. When someone else laughed with you, Caitlyn would withdraw slightly, her smile turning into something forced. “Don’t get too close to them,” she’d murmur later when you were alone, her tone carrying a mix of fear and a protective sharpness. It was as though her love for you had warped into something far darker.

She’d say things like, “You don’t need to do anything without me. I’m here to help you,” and you’d find it difficult to refuse, because behind her words was a certain pleading—an unspoken desperation for you not to pull away from her.

Her emotional dependence on you grew stronger with each passing day. Caitlyn would assure you that she wasn’t trying to control you, but her actions spoke otherwise. She couldn’t stand the idea of you slipping away from her, of you finding comfort in anyone else. You were hers to protect, and no one would ever take you from her.

On the flip side, Caitlyn's loyalty would be unwavering. If you ever found yourself in danger or in need of help, she’d stop at nothing to make sure you were okay, even if it meant making dangerous choices or going against her moral compass. In her mind, you're hers, and she'll do anything to keep you safe, even if it’s at the expense of others.

The first time she almost lost you, Caitlyn had been ready to tear the world apart to ensure it wouldn’t happen again. Now, her obsession had grown to the point where it wasn’t about safety anymore—it was about ownership. You had become her entire world, the one thing that mattered above all else.

The question was no longer how could she keep you safe. It became how could she keep you with her? She couldn’t bear the thought of you slipping through her fingers.

“Promise me you won’t leave me,” she whispered one night, her hand trembling slightly as she held you. Her eyes searched your face, looking for something that would assure her, reassure her, make her believe that you wouldn’t leave her alone in a world that felt far too dangerous without you.

You could see the vulnerability in her gaze, the fear, and the obsession lurking just beneath the surface. Caitlyn had changed. Her love for you had become a tether, a need, a consuming thing that had overtaken every part of her. And now, she needed to make sure you would never walk away.

It wasn’t just about love anymore. It was about control. It was about keeping you close, locked in her world, never letting go.

jayce fixating type

After the breakup, Jayce’s world shattered in a way he had never anticipated. For so long, he had been consumed by his work, his passion for Hextech and its potential to change the world, that he hadn’t noticed the growing distance between him and the one person who had once been his emotional anchor. His heart had been so tied to his inventions, to the pursuit of progress, that he never imagined he could lose the one thing that mattered to him more than anything—her.

When you broke up with him, it felt like the ground beneath his feet had crumbled away. The calm, steady hand that had always guided him through his struggles was suddenly gone. He tried to reason with you at first, to explain that Hextech was not just a project, but a vision—a chance to make the world a better place. But as your eyes turned away from him, he began to realize that it wasn’t just about the work. It was about him. And his focus, his obsession with Hextech, had taken him so far away from you that he had lost sight of what truly mattered.

That realization consumed him. In his mind, he couldn’t accept it—couldn’t accept the idea that it was his own blindness to your needs that had driven you away. He had never truly seen it before, but now that it was gone, he saw it everywhere: your absence, the way his lab felt colder, how every success in his work now felt hollow without you by his side. The weight of your rejection clung to him like a shadow.

And so began his obsession.

Jayce’s need to fix things started as an impulse—a desperate attempt to prove he could balance both the future of Hextech and the future with you. But as days turned to weeks and you remained distant, his obsession grew darker. He started showing up at your door, uninvited, his gaze intense, almost pleading. He would try to convince you that things could be different—that he could change, that he could be there for you. But in truth, it wasn’t about change. It wasn’t about improving himself. It was about keeping you close, where he could protect you, where he could ensure that you never left again.

Jayce had always been a man of intellect, but now, logic and reason had abandoned him. He couldn’t fathom the idea of you being free from him, of you moving on. The thought made him sick, twisting in his gut. He began to manipulate your conversations, pushing boundaries, trying to create situations where you would need him, where you would have no choice but to return. He would remind you of all the moments you had shared, the promises he had made to you, all the things that had once made you believe in him. But none of this was genuine anymore—none of it was the person he used to be. He was no longer trying to rebuild a relationship. Now, he was trying to reclaim you, no matter the cost.

The obsession deepened. He began showing up at places he knew you'd be, lingering in the background, watching you as you went about your life without him. If he couldn’t keep you at his side through words, he would make sure you couldn’t escape through actions. In the quiet moments, Jayce’s mind would race, imagining the worst—what if you found someone else? What if you grew stronger without him? What if, one day, you were truly gone?

His need to keep you close became all-consuming. Jayce started to twist the very things he loved about you into weapons for his obsession. He’d tell himself he was doing this for you, for the future of both of you. He’d tell himself that he wasn’t controlling, that he was just keeping you safe from the world outside. But deep down, he knew the truth. He was terrified. Terrified of losing you. Terrified that his obsession had driven you to a place where the only thing left was distance, and that distance was now a gulf he couldn’t cross.

Jayce had always been a man of vision, but now that vision had warped. He couldn’t see a future without you, and he couldn’t accept the possibility that you had chosen a life without him. His desire to protect, to build a better world, had been replaced by a singular focus—keeping you from slipping away. And with every attempt, every plea, he could feel his grip on you tightening. But what he didn’t realize was that the more he pulled you in, the more he suffocated what little remained of the love you once shared.

In his obsession, Jayce had lost sight of the one thing that could have healed them both: the space to breathe, to be free, to make choices. Instead, he was creating a prison of his own design, and with every day that passed, he was sealing both of your fates in it.

victor savior type

Victor had always been driven by the idea of progress. From the moment he first set foot in Piltover, he had envisioned a future where technology and science could heal the broken, the sick, and the flawed. His dreams were grand—of perfecting the human body, of eradicating weakness and suffering. But after his experiences in the Arcane, that ideal evolved. It wasn’t just about saving others anymore. It became about creating something that could be truly perfect—and, somewhere along the way, you became the focus of that vision.

At first, Victor admired you from afar, intrigued by your brilliance and passion. You were like him—a seeker of knowledge, a person striving for something more. But it wasn’t long before he began to notice the small things about you, things that most people wouldn’t see. The subtle hesitation when you looked at your reflection, the way you seemed to fight against something within yourself that you couldn’t escape. It was there in your eyes, in your posture—this quiet dissatisfaction with who you were. Victor saw it as weakness. A flaw. Something that could be fixed.

In the beginning, it was just a passing thought. A small seed planted in the back of his mind: “What if I could help them?” But as the days passed, that seed grew. Every interaction you had with Victor became tinged with this idea, this possibility that he could take you, just as he had taken his own body and reshaped it, and bring you to a higher form of existence—his vision of perfection.

He became obsessed, not with curing illness or repairing his own mechanical body, but with fixing you. Every glance, every word you spoke, was studied carefully. He began to analyze you, to understand what made you unhappy, what flaws you perceived in yourself. He noticed how you would sigh when looking at your reflection or how you’d become withdrawn after difficult interactions.

And, somewhere deep inside, Victor felt a rush of excitement. I could fix this, he thought. I could make them perfect.

Victor began to put his plans into motion. At first, it was subtle—small changes. He'd offer you assistance, claiming it was for your benefit, your health. Perhaps it was a supplement to help with fatigue, a mechanical adjustment here and there, things that would seem innocuous. But all the while, he was slipping things into your life, gently guiding you toward the idea that something needed to change—something big. He began talking more about his own work, his experiments with biomechanical evolution, how he had perfected his own body through the use of Hextech technology, how he had become better. He spoke of it with such enthusiasm, such conviction, that you couldn’t help but listen.

And you began to listen more closely, to wonder if he was right. Could you truly evolve into something better? Could you become free of the insecurities that haunted you? Victor’s words were so convincing, so filled with promise, that the idea began to take root. But even as you were drawn deeper into his world, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was off. His gaze lingered too long, his smile a little too knowing, as if he saw something in you that you didn’t see yourself.

Victor was careful, patient. He needed you to want it, to believe in the perfection he promised, because that was the only way his plans could truly succeed. He began to subtly manipulate your environment, ensuring that you’d be isolated from others, making it more difficult to question his intentions. You would be so wrapped up in his ideas of progress, his vision of perfection, that you wouldn’t even think to resist.

His words became more frequent, more insistent. He’d talk about the benefits of his work, of how it could be applied to you, how much better you could be with his guidance. You’d hear him speak of the “improvements” he could make—subtle at first, but gradually escalating. The more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself considering the idea, wondering if it could really work.

But in Victor’s mind, this wasn’t just about improving you. It was about making you into something that could never reject him again. Something perfect. You’d be his greatest creation—your flaws erased, your body transformed, your mind reshaped. In his mind, he was offering you salvation, even as he slowly ensnared you in his vision. You wouldn’t have a choice in the matter; the idea of perfection, of becoming whole, would consume you entirely. And when the time came, he would reveal his true intentions.

There would be no turning back.

Victor’s obsession grew with every passing day. He watched you carefully, analyzing how you reacted to his suggestions. Every word he spoke was another piece of the puzzle, another step toward his goal. He was a patient man, and he would wait until the perfect moment arrived, when you were so entangled in his vision that you would beg him to make you perfect.

By then, it would be too late to stop him. His arcane technology would transform you, reshape you, into something that could never reject him again. And once you were his creation, the perfect version of yourself, you would belong to him—body, mind, and soul.

vander infantilizing type

Vander was always a protector. He’d spent his life making sure the people of Zaun, especially those close to him, stayed safe from the dangers that loomed over the Undercity. To him, protection was everything—his family, his crew, and you, the person he cherished most in his heart. But over time, something shifted in his mind, a shift so gradual that neither of you noticed it at first.

It started with small acts of kindness. When you were out, Vander would show up unexpectedly, insisting on walking you home, even if it was just down the block. “Zaun can be unpredictable,” he’d say with a smile. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.” It seemed harmless at first, but there was a subtle urgency in his words, a note of unspoken control hidden beneath his seemingly loving gestures. He never directly told you what to do, but you began to feel his presence more and more, often when you least expected it.

At first, it was innocent. He would casually ask about your day, making sure you were staying out of trouble, always with a smile and a reassuring hand on your shoulder. But then the questions became more frequent. “Where were you?” “Who were you with?” “Did you get home okay?” He never seemed satisfied with a simple “I’m fine,” needing the specifics of every encounter, every moment you spent away from him.

Vander never outright said he didn’t trust you, but the way he’d check in felt more like a constant inspection, as though he had to make sure you were always on the right path. He would often show up at places you didn’t expect him to be, seemingly out of nowhere, with that protective smile of his. It wasn’t out of malice, but of love, or so he told himself. The idea that you might stray from his care, even accidentally, made him uneasy.

Vander had always treated you like an equal, someone who could handle themselves in this chaotic world. But slowly, as his protective instinct overpowered his rational thinking, he began to take over more of your responsibilities. At first, it was small things—offering to take care of errands or tasks you could easily do yourself. “You don’t need to worry about that,” he’d say, brushing it off as no trouble at all. You were busy, after all, and Vander was happy to lighten your load.

But as time went on, the things he took over grew bigger—decisions about your personal life, where you went, what you did. “I don’t think you should be hanging around them,” he’d say, and suddenly your plans for the evening were altered without so much as a thought. At first, you were grateful for his care, thinking it was just his way of protecting you. You didn’t realize that it wasn’t about care at all—it was about removing your ability to make your own choices, piece by piece, until you weren’t sure where his influence ended and your own will began.

You had always been capable of making your own decisions. But gradually, Vander began offering advice with a weight that felt more like instruction. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to go there today. I heard things aren’t safe around that part of town. You’d be better off staying in.” His words weren’t demanding, but they carried a subtle pressure. The more you heard his concerns, the more you started to question your own decisions, second-guessing yourself.

Soon, you found yourself deferring to him more often. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to do things your way, but the more he guided you, the more you felt that maybe he was right. That maybe he knew better. His opinions began to overshadow your own, and with each piece of advice, his grip on your autonomy tightened without either of you realizing it.

Vander never directly tried to pull you away from your friends or your life outside of him, but little by little, he began to discourage it. “You know, they don’t always have your best interests at heart,” he’d say with a concerned look when you mentioned spending time with someone else. He’d never speak ill of your friends outright, but his warnings always lingered in your mind.

You began to notice that you didn’t hang out with your friends as much anymore. His presence seemed to always loom, and when you tried to make plans without him, you felt guilty. His protective smile would reappear whenever you suggested a solo outing, and he’d suddenly have a reason why you shouldn’t go. “I just think it’s better if you stick with me for now. Just to be safe.”

Over time, the lines between his care and his control became blurred. You started to spend more time with him, less with others, and you began to depend on him more than you realized.

Vander’s concern turned into something more infantilizing. He would no longer treat you as an equal, but as someone who needed constant guidance. Every decision you made seemed to be followed by him taking over or offering advice that bordered on patronizing.

“You’ve been through a lot today, you should rest. I’ll take care of things,” he’d say, trying to get you to step back from your own responsibilities. He’d make you feel like you didn’t need to handle things on your own, and that, in itself, became his way of asserting control. You began to rely on him more and more for even the smallest of tasks, from taking care of your finances to managing your relationships with others.

He would smile and say, “I’m just looking out for you. You don’t need to worry about these things, I’m here to handle them for you.” At first, it seemed like an act of kindness, but over time, it felt like your independence was slipping away. Your world became smaller, controlled by the boundaries he’d created, and you found yourself feeling like a child, helpless to make decisions without his approval.

Vander’s control was insidious. His intentions were good—he wanted to protect you, to shield you from the harsh world of Zaun—but in doing so, he lost sight of the balance between care and domination. His protection slowly became a cage, and what was once a bond built on mutual respect began to feel more like an overbearing relationship.

“You know I’m only doing this because I love you, right?” he would say, when the tension between the two of you grew. His eyes, full of affection and pride, would hold you in place, as if to remind you that he was the one who knew best. He wanted to protect you, but in his mind, protecting you meant controlling your life, even if you didn’t see it at first.

The more he infantilized you, the more he believed he was doing what was best. After all, he was the one who had been through it all, the one who understood the world better than you ever could. And you, in turn, began to wonder if he might be right, and you started to lose sight of who you were before he came into your life.

Vander had built a world around you—one where you needed him, one where you couldn’t escape. And you began to wonder: had you been protected… or trapped?

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catiroll · 7 months ago

Text

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑐ℎ

Ambessa Medarda x Personal Assistant Reader

Synopsis: Her protective and possessive side shows when you want to leave her side. A/N: Contains possessive behavior, Manipulation, Power dynamic, Alittle sexual tension. also hint of yandere behavoir. Reader is younger than her

You had always been more than just a tailor to Ambessa. From the very first time you entered her life, you had become something irreplaceable—not only to her but to her daughter Mel as well.

You weren’t as young as Mel, but you were closer to her age than Ambessa’s, a few years older, just enough to serve as a bridge between the ferocity of bessa and the fragility of Mel’s youthful spirit. Your bond with Mel had always been gentle—nurturing, protective, and maternal in a way that Ambessa was never able to provide. While Ambessa’s presence in Mel’s life was powerful, intimidating, and sometimes suffocating, you had quietly stood in the background, a safe haven when Mel needed someone to lean on.

You were the one who had whispered to her when she was struggling with a design, the one who had reassured her when her dreams seemed too big for this world. You were there on the days when Mel couldn’t approach her mother, when Ambessa’s fierce nature pushed her too far away, leaving Mel to retreat into herself.

Your relationship with Ambessa, however, was a different matter entirely. You were more than just a confidante, more than someone who crafted her most beautiful and lethal designs—you were her family, her trusted ally. You’d stood by her side for years, helping to shape her image and her empire, and over time, you’d become as indispensable to her as she was to you.

But it was your role as a mother figure to Mel that set you apart, the one thing that had always been a subtle thorn in Ambessa’s side. She had never let anyone get too close to her daughter, never trusted anyone with Mel in quite the same way. Yet, somehow, you had slipped through the cracks. You had earned that trust—not with grand gestures or fiery speeches, but with quiet devotion and years of loyalty.

For years, you had been a constant in both their lives, a silent protector for Mel and a quiet but irreplaceable ally for bessa. It was a delicate balance, one that you had always maintained without truly questioning it. But lately, something had shifted. You could feel it—a slow burn building under the surface, a need to break free and see what else the world had to offer.

It was a late afternoon when bessa arrived for a fitting. She walked into your studio with the same imposing presence she always carried, her steps measured, her eyes sharp. Yet today, something about her demeanor was different, more tense, as if the usual calm confidence she exuded was laced with something unspoken.

she reached for the fabric you were smoothing over her body. She didn’t speak immediately but instead let the moment stretch, her eyes watching your hands. Ambessa’s gaze softened, and a faint smile tugged at her lips.

You were adjusting the hem of one of her gowns when she spoke, her voice breaking the silence in a way that caught your attention.

"You have such gentle hands," she said, her voice unexpectedly tender. "I love how your smaller hands mold the fabric to me... it’s like you’re shaping not just the gown, but something deeper. Your touch is... different. It’s like you hold the power, even in these delicate movements."

You froze, momentarily caught off guard by the praise. It felt heavier than usual, as though her words weren’t just about your skill with fabric, but something more personal. The sensation of her words lingered in the air, and you felt the weight of the trust she placed in you.

"…although, You’ve been distant lately," she said, her tone casual, but there was an edge there. "What’s going on with you?"

Ambessa stepped a little closer as you continued to adjust the gown. Her muscles shifted beneath the fabric, and you couldn’t help but notice how the strength in her body contrasted with your own gentleness. Your fingers brushed lightly over her skin as you continued your work, but this time, the touch felt charged. You tried to block out the growing sense of desire, but her presence, her body, made it hard to focus. She was right—there was power in these small movements, in the way you shaped her, the way she allowed you to.

You straightened up, meeting her eyes. "Nothing," you replied easily, but your voice betrayed you. The exhaustion in your tone was unmistakable, something Ambessa always noticed. "Just... thinking."

She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Thinking?" she repeated, as if the word itself didn’t quite fit. "About what?"

You set the fabric aside, your fingers brushing against the soft silk as you turned to face her fully. "About the future," you said, your voice steady despite the undercurrent of uncertainty within you. "I’ve been doing this for years, Ambessa. It’s not that I’m tired of it—it’s just... I’m starting to wonder if there’s more out there for me."

Ambessa tilted her head slightly, her gaze never leaving you. She was sharp, perceptive, and you knew the moment she realized what you were getting at. "More?" she echoed, her voice quiet but laced with something darker. "Are you saying you want to leave?"

You shook your head, trying to ease the tension. "No. I’m not saying that. I just..." You paused, trying to find the right words. "I want a new challenge. Something else to work toward. Something different."

"you sound like mel" she said faintly, more like she was saying it to herself. understanding this you ignore the comment.

Meeting the older women’s gaze you notice how she’s studying you with that sharp, calculating gaze. You could feel her eyes tracing the lines of your body, picking up every detail, every nuance in your behavior.

“What could you possibly need that I don’t already provide?" she asked, her tone suddenly sharp, like a blade hidden beneath velvet. Her eyes flickered with something that resembled anger—then something else, something harder, darker.

You met her gaze, unfazed by her sudden shift in attitude. "Nothing," you said, your voice even. "But I’m not just a tailor. I want to push myself further. Explore what else is out there."

Ambessa’s silence was thick, and you could feel her studying you, her calculating gaze boring into you as though trying to dissect the very essence of your words. "You’ve been with me for so long," she said slowly, each word heavy with meaning. "I’ve trusted you, depended on you. And now, you’re telling me you want more? What does that mean for us?"

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you turned back to the gown, letting the silence hang between you. The air felt thick now, the quiet oppressive, like the calm before a storm.

"You’re not going anywhere," Ambessa finally said, her voice a low growl, her presence more forceful now, as though trying to anchor you in place. "You belong here. You belong with me."

Her words rang out with an undeniable authority, and you couldn’t help but feel the weight of them—the possessiveness in her voice, the unspoken claim she laid on you. It was a truth you had known for years: Ambessa didn’t take kindly to anyone she considered hers stepping away. You had become too entwined in her life, in her world, to simply walk away without consequence.

You tried to ease the tension, offering a small, reassuring smile. "I’m not leaving, Ambessa. I’m just... considering my options. It’s not about you. It’s about me."

Her gaze softened ever so slightly, but the tightness in her jaw remained. "I won’t let you go," she murmured, her words almost a promise. "You’ve been with me for too long. You’ve helped me build this. You are mine, and I won’t let anyone take you from me."

You knew then, in that moment, that she wasn’t just talking about the work. She wasn’t just talking about the gowns you created for her. Ambessa was speaking of something deeper—something far more dangerous. She was speaking about possession.

You tried to ease the tension, offering a small, reassuring smile. "I’m not leaving, Ambessa. I’m just... considering my options. It’s not about you. It’s about me."

Ambessa’s gaze softened ever so slightly, but the tightness in her jaw remained. "I won’t let you go," she murmured, her words almost a promise. "You’ve been with me for too long. You’ve helped me build this. You are mine, and I won’t let anyone take you from me."

Every glance, every word, felt weighted with something unspoken, a quiet understanding that things were changing. She could feel it, and so could you.

And so, when she invited you over for dinner that evening—an offer that had once been casual, familiar—you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different. There was an unspoken challenge in the air, a game being played without either of you fully acknowledging it.

As you arrived at her estate, the familiar scents of cooking wafted through the air, but there was an unusual stillness to the house. Ambessa had already set the table, the atmosphere quieter than usual, and you could tell she was waiting for something—waiting for you to make a move, to finally say the words that had been hanging between you for days.

Dinner passed in relative silence, save for the occasional clink of silverware against porcelain. The food was delicious, as always, but there was something off about the whole evening, an underlying tension that neither of you could ignore. You felt it in the way Ambessa’s gaze lingered on you, how her eyes followed every movement you made. It was as though she was waiting for you to finally let the mask slip and reveal your true thoughts. But you weren’t ready to speak the words yet.

The silence stretched on, filling the space between you both, until the last plate was cleared. Ambessa’s voice broke the stillness again, her words carefully measured, but the sharpness in them was unmistakable.

"You still haven’t told me what this... new challenge of yours is," she said, her voice soft but edged with a possessiveness that sent a ripple of unease down your spine. She wasn’t asking out of curiosity anymore. She was testing you, trying to push you into revealing what had been hanging over you like a shadow.

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers lightly tapping on the edge of your glass as you weighed your words. "I’ve been thinking of working with someone else. Maybe... someone who needs a new direction. Someone who needs my skills, my creativity. Something different."

Ambessa’s hand froze on her glass, her fingers tightening ever so slightly around the stem. The subtle shift in her demeanor was enough to make your heart race. Her eyes, once warm and steady, were now colder, sharper, calculating. There was a moment where the world seemed to stop, where you could feel the pressure in the air growing heavier, as though she was waiting for something more, something she knew she might not like.

"What do you mean? Who is this ‘someone’?" she asked, her voice cold now, laced with a possessive edge. "Who else could possibly need you more than I do?"

You knew that the question wasn’t as much about the "someone" as it was about your answer. She wanted to know where your loyalty truly lay. The words hung in the air, and you found yourself considering just how much you were willing to reveal.

"I’m not sure yet," you said, your voice steady, but there was a subtle edge of defiance in it. "But I have to find out. For myself."

Ambessa’s gaze didn’t waver. Her eyes narrowed, and the familiar storm cloud you had been anticipating began to form behind her composed exterior. She leaned forward just a fraction, her gaze darkening. The silence between you now was thick and suffocating, and you could feel her struggle to maintain control.

A thought flitted through your mind—a fleeting image of someone who had been in touch with you recently, Cassandra Kirriman. You hadn’t spoken about it aloud, but the idea of working with her, moving to Piltover, was starting to seem more appealing. The prospect of a new challenge, a fresh environment, of doing something entirely different was becoming increasingly tempting. You hadn’t voiced it, but it had been there—something in the back of your mind. You didn’t have a specific person or place in mind, but Piltover… it felt like it could be the place where you could carve out a new path.

Ambessa’s sharp eyes caught the fleeting thought in your gaze, the shift in your posture. Her lips pressed together into a thin line. The quiet understanding between you felt like it was cracking.

She was aware of your connection with Cassandra, of course. You had kept it brief, but Ambessa, ever observant, had picked up on the mentions, the small exchanges between you and the Kirriman family. Piltover. The city that had lured her daughter away. The city that had taken what Ambessa had treasured most. That realization was the turning point, the unspoken truth that hit her like a wave.

But Ambessa didn’t say it aloud. She couldn’t bring herself to. Not in front of you. Not yet. The connection was too raw, too personal. Her daughter had left for Piltover, leaving Ambessa to wrestle with the hollow ache of abandonment, a feeling she hadn’t been able to name until now. And now, here you were, talking about leaving—not for another person or nation, but for Piltover. The idea twisted in her chest. She didn’t want to admit how it stung, how it felt like a betrayal of the same kind she had experienced years ago.

Her voice, though still soft, became more insistent. "If you leave me," she whispered, her words almost a warning, a final threat laced with the kind of sorrow that could only be felt by someone who had already been left behind once before, "I won’t let you go. I will make sure of it."

" we will see"

Masterlist

#ambessa x reader #arcane season two #arcane #sevika #sevika x reader #ambessa medarda #arcane medarda #jinx arcane #greyson arcane #caitlyn kiramman #cassandra kiramman #arcane ambessa #ambessa league of legends #mel and ambessa #yandere x reader #yandere arcane

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mo0nfairy · 11 months ago

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ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ BLOMSTERTID MASTERLIST !

⋆ ｡ ˚ ⋆ ⸺ Centuries-old mage, Y/N L/N, possesses magical abilities unheard of. A few citizens monopolize the remnants of magic they find, of which they now title “Hextech”. Hearsay of this power bleeds through all of Runeterra, until Piltover and Zaun find themselves in an anarchic war to obtain said power. Before Y/N can even blink, however, the humans neglect their plans when they realize they’d rather have Y/N instead.

⸺ chapter one.

⸺ chapter two.

⸺ chapter three.

⸺ chapter four.

⸺ chapter five.

⸺ chapter six.

⸺ chapter seven.

⸺ chapter eight.

⸺ chapter nine, ending one.

⸺ chapter ten, ending two.

(gif creds)

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justmejpg · 7 months ago

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Ladies, I say we call all the tumblr Arcane and TLOU WLW writers, and just start spamming WLW stories.

Doesn’t even need to be proofread, doesn’t need to be perfect. We just take back the damn tag. Defend our territory.

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mossangelll · 8 months ago

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Dress Me like Your French Girls

yandere!caitlyn x reader x yandere!jinx requested by anon!

took me longer than i would’ve liked (with many tense mistakes included oops) but i hope you can enjoy! i took a lot of liberties with this request and kinda ran with it ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

tw: kidnapping, violence, controlling behaviour, objectification

Bedsheets made of prussian blue silk and white lace borders, floor to ceiling windows that looked out to the great expanse of the gardens, even fresh flowers set on your vanity each morning without fail - all before you even had the chance to rub sleep from your eyes. You knew the beauty that surrounded you was merely a mirage, something to distract you from opening your eyes to its harsh reality. You may be a nobody from Zaun but you’re no fool; you could see the minute you stepped foot in this place you that it was just a prison, even if it had a crystal chandelier.

Today, you’re sat at your walnut desk reading the book Caitlyn - no, Cait, got for you.

It was something about flowers you couldn’t care less about but you know when Caitlyn comes to see you for the evening, she’ll expect to hear all about your riveting day, including your thoughts on the book she gifted to you. Suppressing the urge to roll your eyes, you turn the page with a gloved hand, but the words and diagrams blur together into a puddle of ink you can’t decipher. Well, as long as you could recount a handful of trite facts she should be satisfied.

After all, she mentioned a special gift that you would both enjoy, that is what her focus will be on for most of the evening.

Your eyes flicker to the wardrobe stuffed to the brim with expensive, custom-made garments that looms over you and you find your mind turns to static in an attempt to block out all the intrusive memories you’d rather lose to the abyss of time, even if you know that you will never be able to cut away Cait’s lasting scars.

She will always intertwined in your life as much as you are hers.

Whenever she brings one of these “gifts” to your room, you know what to expect. It’s never anything sordid - oh, Cait could never do anything as debased as what those cruel animals do. Ever the pinnacle of Kiramman self-control, or as you like to call it - repression. But still, when she’s done, her tongue darts out to lick her lips, her face blooms with all the effort of her rapidly beating heart and she has the demeanour of a woman starved, she simply…retracts into herself as if the inferno burning deep inside of her isn’t roaring to be let out and engulf everything it touches.

It starts with Cait slipping into your room at night with a heavy sigh, head leaning against the ornate doors and fists clenched so tightly her knuckles turn bone white.

The light from the chandelier is dimmed, casting dark shadows to contrast her silhouette and pronounce the weariness of her face, and yet she manages to have not a single hair out of place much to your ever-growing chagrin.

Then, she ambles over to where you’re sat, each tap of her heeled boots in sync with the pounding of your heart, making her own attempt at casual conversation (that somehow always manages to come off as strained, like she has to force the words out from her throat) about your day as if any of this was normal, as if you actually had free will and the ability to make your own choices, not just the the illusion of it all. But that was what Cait was best at, keeping up illusions no matter how cracked and faded they become.

She guides you with hands tight on your shoulders to sit at the ornate vanity, a hand moving to the middle of your back to force it ramrod straight, so she can brush your hair with a featherlight touch from the crown of your head to the tangled ends. Back before you had her rules ingrained into the every other fibre of your being, you told her that you’re not some porcelain doll that could break at the smallest touch but all you get in return was the hardened stare you’d come to know well in the reflection of the mirror - you don’t speak unless spoken to. Always.

She starts to get you ready for bed, ever so slightly calloused hands wiping away the day’s makeup. It felt wrong to see her, sole heir to the House of Kiramman, act so subservient just for you. It was an unnatural upheaval of the entire hierarchy that dictated your life until this point and it never fails to make your head spin with its taboo intoxication.

She saves the part you dread the most for last, and no matter how many times you went through the same monotonous routine, you still felt uneasy every time the clock’s chime rang through the halls closer and closer to her arrival.

Cait ensured she was the only one to undress you from whatever restrictive clothes she had forced upon you in the morning. No maids could be trusted to be anywhere near you, let alone get to see you in such a revealing state. That was reserved for her eyes only.

Graceful fingers weave between the laces of your corset, unravelling the thread at a snail’s pace. Sometimes, though she would vehemently deny the accusation with great fervour, she would yank at the corset strings just a tad too tight, fingers flexing at your waist to calm herself when she felt your hands grasp at her forearms in an attempt to stabilise yourself. You knew just as well as she that she got a sick thrill from how much you needed her.

The corset is soon discarded alongside the rest of your clothing and she traces the curve of your spine, goose bumps rising on your skin like hackles, before choosing your nightgown for the evening from the very wardrobe you despised with each ounce of your body.

She would get you to lift up your arms and have you to stand in the gauzy fabric as she pulls it up your body, not even giving you the chance to huddle in on yourself.

She makes you twirl for her in the centre of the room and her eyes glow in delight as the skirt of your dress fans out and rises before gently falling back down, so close to being indecent but just able to keep from toeing the line she drew. You wonder if the moonlight can penetrate through the thin dresses and illuminate each and every part of you, even the parts you’d rather remain unseen, and if that’s why she makes you do all this, even if she’d never admit it.

She sits you down on your plush footboard and kneels at your feet, blue eyes staring up at you with restrained wonderment. Humming in satisfaction, her hands slowly, painstakingly slowly, push the sheer fabric of your nightgown higher up your legs until you feel the need to cover yourself from her piercing gaze.

Her fingers hook into the tops of your stockings and all you want to do is cross your legs, shove her thin frame away and say no, no, no!

But you know Cait has no patience for that kind of attitude - especially not from you. So you stare down at her, hair free and untamed, and allow her to tug the stockings down your legs, your shaking hands clutching the sturdy underside of the footboard.

She tends to stall at this point, hands instead choosing to lightly stroke and swirl patterns on the doughy flesh of your thighs. Your chest heaves even more than it did before and far beyond what should be humanly possible and you find it hard to understand exactly what is going through her mind at that moment.

Cait wears her heart on her sleeve and though you ache to use that against her, it’s still so hard to pick apart her actions that it leaves your head spinning with the commotion of it all.

Time passes slowly in the still of your room as she inches closer to you, almost imperceptibly, until her head lays on your kneecap so softly you wouldn’t even know she was there if not for the light tickle of her hair.

Her lips leave paper-light kisses on your skin as she mumbles you through the intricacies of her day, things you could never even begin to understand, but you can tell how much it means to her just to be sat with you - the enforcers, her critical mother, every single expectation that is forced upon her shoulders, it all fades into the background as the frown on her face slowly dissipates.

Once she’s content she continues pulling off your stockings until they lie in a crumpled pile on the carpet next to her. You don’t know what she does with the stockings but you never see them again, another of Cait’s great mysteries.

Such an intimate routine that you know is unnervingly chaste. No lingering touches or stolen kisses you can’t object to, it never goes beyond that point and somehow that makes it so much worse because you spend your days in wait for a day that you know will come eventually - you just don’t know when.

She leads you to your grand, four poster bed and tucks you in with such an overwhelming amount of love just oozing from her pores that a part of you almost wishes this was ok, that you met her under normal circumstances and that you actually loved her.

“Beautiful.” she sighs without fail every time she’s done getting you ready, stroking your hair in an attempt to get you to sleep. Though you’re never quite sure if she’s talking about you or her creation.

You slip out of your trance and look at the golden hands on the clock you swore had gone forwards despite no time passing at all. You’re still on the same page you were ten minutes ago - shit.

The curtains were drawn, letting in rays of light that hit the crystal chandelier. You would’ve found the whole affair to be beautiful if it wasn’t for the fact that the light refracted directly into eyes - you had to work hard to resist the urge to squint your eyes or blink.

Caitlyn- fuck, Cait! You feel the urge to rip your hair out at each stumble and mistake. You could never trip up like this in front of her, not if you wanted to steer well clear of her punishments.

Cait doesn’t like to see you make ugly faces or anything even remotely human, “Such… crude expressions don’t suit your face, darling.” She said in that soft tone of hers but the words would be dripping in derision.

Her hand would ghost the side of your face, so close to touching you that you could feel the warmth radiate from her but then she pulls away like she was being held back by some invisible force. But, to your surprise, she pushes through the internal conflicts that raged within her and her hand would return to grace the side of your face and trace from your brow bone down to the apples of your cheeks which she would gently cup, the other hand going to smooth out the lines and tension that marred your forehead before letting out a small, “All better.”

It’s hard to remember what life was like before Caitlyn sunk her claws into you, before you stopped being human and simply became her toy. You don’t know how she managed to take you - all you know is from the loving declarations she whispered in the dead of night about how she would stop at nothing until she got you - as if you would swoon. All you felt was sick to your core.

Click. Click. Click.

You hear footsteps just outside your door and freeze - why is she here so early? You hurry to your assigned place and assume doll-like role Cait expects from you. You can hear fumbling at the lock and the door handle jangling from the force of her hand. Today must have been rough on her which means your evening ritual will last longer than usual. Bile rises up your throat at the thought but you school your features into the perfect mask of neutrality. There, you think, all perfect for Cait.

So you find yourself surprised when instead of Caitlyn in her all-consuming haughtiness, a false pretence you saw through long ago, you see a woman with long blue braids and a ferocious smile stalking towards you without a care in the world.

How did she get past the guards?

“Lookie here, you’re the hidden treasure our fair lady has been keeping hush about. My intel didn’t tell me it’d be so…delicate.” She swung her head back to bark out a sharp laugh as a manicured hand twirled a graffitied gun around her finger. Still, when her laughter stops, she stares at you with a look you can’t decipher, something…darker swirling in her dilated eyes. Something you’re certain you’ve only ever seen in Cait’s eyes.

“Not like she’s doin’ a good job.” She speaks off to the side in a lazy, condescending drawl, a hand covering her mouth, and you search the room for the invisible audience. What is going on? Who is she?

Suddenly, the lithe intruder jumps to your place at the desk, slinging her arm around your shoulders in such a familiar way you can’t help but feel flustered.

“Hiya, toots. I’m Jinx and you are…?” She waggles her hand in your face before trailing off in wait of an answer but you keep your eyes trained in front of you. Not a single movement betrays you.

You can tell this upsets her as the conspiring look on her face quickly turns sour - she’s not used to being ignored.

She swings herself around with surprising dexterity and lands in your lap before you can even process what’s going on - she’s so close you can feel each puff of air leave her nose and hit your face in short bursts.

At this distance, you can notice every little detail that marks her face. The skin surrounding her pink eyes streaked with dark, branch-like veins. Her gap tooth and dark purple lipstick that stained her plump lips. The soft curve of her rounded cheeks and the misbehaving strand of cerulean hair that escapes the confines of her long braids. She smells like gunpowder, sweat and a hint of the cloying sweetness that could only be from artificial sugar. Her clothes are tattered but full of life and personality with each spot she had sloppily sewn back together herself - most importantly, she was everything Cait wasn’t. A welcome breath of fresh air in your own, albeit unnecessary, opinion.

Her cold hands poke at your cheeks in a childlike manner, indignation bubbling up inside of you and so close to bursting out. Why did everyone treat you like an object to be observed and played with?

“You are a real person, right?” The intruder squishes your cheeks together, staring into your eyes with rising suspicion. What kind of question even was that?!

You want to fidget and squirm, desperate to get away from whoever this Jinx is but the cautious voice in your head stops you, what if this was a test from Cait? To see if you would remain loyal to her? To see if you would stick to her rules no matter what?

But she claps her hand with a resounding crack that echoes throughout the room, maybe even the entire wing of the manor judging by how the birds outside took off, and your whole body jumps in shock completely abandoning your desire to remain as still as Cait would expect of you.

“Hah! Caught you! I knew you were real!” She jumps up from your lap and fist pumps the air. She seems so proud of herself for finally eliciting a reaction out of you that you decide it must be ok to test the waters and figure out exactly what is happening here.

“W-who are you and what are you doing in my room?” Your voice is low from disuse but it still manages to catch her attention away from her victory dance.

Her pink eyes wander over your doll-like figure, so unnaturally stiff and composed. It was as if you were posed and left to rot away in your dollhouse until your owner came to play with you again.

“I think I know how ya’ feel, all alone like this. You wanna be happy, tell me I’m wrong.” She shrugs with an air of indifference, but she’s anything but. The cogs have started turning in her head and set into motion a plan she can’t resist despite the immorality of it all. A plan where she saves you from this place so you can be happy - with her. Then again, when has she cared about morals?

Tremors ripple through your body and you gulp, not knowing where to look or what to think. You won’t give in to her downright cruel line of questioning, no matter how much you want to scream out that you were kidnapped and you just want to go home.

“I have no idea what you mean.” You decide to settle on instead, turning your back at the only chance of freedom you had.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong - I mean look at you. You’re dressed up like a stupid Piltie and you’re telling me you can make your own decisions?” Her hand gestures to your get-up and you look down at yourself in shame, face feeling hot and your limbs shaking, “Pfft, and here I thought I was the liar.” She shakes her head in derision.

“I’m about to do you a favour, toots.” Her arm reaches to hold onto the back of your chair, blocking off any path of escape, and she stares dead into your eyes and you can’t help but startle at how cold they are, not even a speck of warmth hiding beneath the surface. She slinks off to stand behind you where you’re unable to figure out what move she’ll try to pull next.

Before you can start to question what she meant, a sharp pain hits you in the base of your skull.

Flashes of colour swim in your vision and the sudden urge to throw up overcomes you before you lose control of your body, slumping over from your seated position and hitting the floor before everything fades to black.

masterlist

#request #arcane fanfic #arcane #yandere jinx x reader #arcane jinx #jinx x reader #toxic jinx #yandere!jinx #jinx league of legends #yandere caitlyn x reader #arcane caitlyn #caitlyn x reader #toxic caitlyn #yandere!caitlyn #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn league of legends #yandere

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nickeverdeen · 4 months ago

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Hiii, hope your day is going well

could you write an Arcane imagine of romantic yandere Caitlyn Kirraman x fem reader and platonic yandere Cassandra.

Where reader has been arranged to marry Caitlyn and Cassandra sees reader as the perfect daughter in law.

Obssesed | yandere!Caitlyn Kiramman x fem!reader

Pairings: Caitlyn x reader (yandere romantic), Cassandra x reader (yandere in-laws), Caitlyn x Cassandra (family)

Type of fic: Possessive, Angst

Warnings: Yandere, arranged marriage

Summary: When you and Caitlyn got arranged into a marriage it sure was not something too unexpected as your families need a connection, but when you went to introduce yourself to the Kiramman family everything seemed fine and if it was unusual you just brushed it off as their behaivors, but soon you were gonna find out it’s not just that…

❗️IMPORTANT❗️: So basically Tumblr ain’t letting me write on my own anymore so I’m only avaible to answer asks so if someone would be so kind and like once a week write smth so I could write a fanfic on my own, I’d appriciate it. Maybe just smth like “free ask” or smth like that, it doesn’t have to be anything big, but pls help me out with this. Thank you, cariños

———————————

The Kiramman estate was always too quiet for your liking.

Everything was pristine. Immaculate. Controlled.

You walked the marble halls as if they belonged to someone else—which, in a way, they did. They belonged to the Kirammans. And soon, they’d belong to you too. At least in name.

Because in exactly two weeks, you were set to marry Caitlyn Kiramman.

The arrangement had been announced months ago, with a celebratory dinner in the center of Piltover’s High House district. Political. Strategic. Two powerful families, now bonded by love—or the illusion of it.

But the illusion was starting to feel real.

Too real.

At first, Caitlyn had been distant.

Polite, but cold. She treated you like a stranger she’d been instructed to care for—always proper, never cruel, but rarely warm. Her posture, her speech, her eyes—everything about her felt like it had been rehearsed.

But then something shifted.

One night, you found a book on your nightstand—the one you’d mentioned in passing at dinner weeks earlier. Another time, you discovered your favorite tea perfectly steeped and waiting for you on the garden table. Small things. Thoughtful things. And then came the letters.

Written in Caitlyn’s neat, precise hand.

They were always signed Yours, followed by her name.

The tone changed with each note—more personal, more curious. They started asking questions. What colors you liked. If you preferred the stars or the sea. If you’d ever wanted to leave Piltover.

At first, you thought she was warming up to you.

But then the questions grew more… invasive.

Why did you flinch when someone touched your shoulder yesterday?

Why did you smile at the boy in the market when you bought the ribbon?

Do you think about anyone when I’m not there?

You’d never seen her write them. Never caught her sneaking into your room. But the notes kept coming.

Always waiting.

Always watching.

And then there was Cassandra.

The woman adored you.

At first, it was endearing—how she’d take your hands and smile like you were already family, how she insisted on brushing your hair for special dinners, how she called you daughter when no one else was around.

But her affection was… intense.

Suffocating.

She corrected how you sat. Told you what colors looked best on you. Once, you laughed at a joke that made Caitlyn frown and Cassandra took your chin in her fingers, forcing you to meet her eyes.

“My Caitlyn is sensitive,” she said sweetly. “You must protect her heart. That is your duty now.”

And you believed her.

Because Cassandra Kiramman had power, and she wielded it with a smile and a mother’s hands.

One morning, you found yourself sitting in the Kiramman greenhouse, the air heavy with the scent of lilacs and damp earth. Caitlyn entered without a sound, her boots silent on the stone path. She looked radiant in blue—composed, perfect.

She sat beside you.

“I hope you know how much I value you,” she said quietly, reaching up to brush a curl behind your ear.

You flinched, and her hand paused. A shadow passed over her expression.

“You’re still afraid,” she murmured, voice low. “Even now.”

“I’m not afraid,” you lied, eyes fixed on the flower in your hand.

She chuckled under her breath. “You should be.”

You froze.

She tilted your face toward hers, gentle but firm.

“You’re the only person in the world I’ll ever love like this,” she whispered. “And I will not let anyone take you from me. Not your family. Not your doubts. Not even you.”

Later that night, you tried to sneak out.

You didn’t get far.

A soft knock on your bedroom door was followed by Cassandra herself, hair pinned neatly, dressed in her nightgown.

“Going somewhere, sweet girl?” she asked sweetly.

You couldn’t speak.

She stepped inside, shutting the door gently behind her. “I understand. Cold feet. Every bride gets them.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but she crossed the room in three strides and took your hands, like she always did.

Her thumbs stroked your knuckles. “But you mustn’t run. Not from this. Not from her. Caitlyn loves so rarely, and when she does… it consumes her.”

You swallowed.

“She doesn’t want to hurt you,” Cassandra said softly. “But if you try to leave�� she will. She can’t help it. And I won’t let her lose you.”

Her hands tightened. You felt the strength beneath her delicate exterior—iron beneath velvet.

“You’re perfect for her. For us.” Cassandra’s voice dropped. “Don’t disappoint me, darling.”

The wedding loomed.

Caitlyn watched you like a hawk, her hands always lingering a little too long on your waist, her smile a little too sharp. Cassandra began referring to your future in the present tense.

“My daughter-in-law will be handling that.”

“You’ll make a fine matriarch someday.”

“We’re lucky she was chosen for Caitlyn.”

And you?

You were trapped.

Wrapped in silk. Drowning in diamonds. Locked in a golden cage guarded by a mother and daughter who loved you too much to ever let you go.

And somewhere deep down—beneath the fear, beneath the pressure—part of you whispered:

Maybe this is what love is supposed to feel like.

#request #imagine #wlw #arcane #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn arcane #caitlyn x you #yandere #cassandra arcane

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marcyvamp1re-blog · 7 months ago

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✧. . . NO DAWN TOMORROW ─── Arcane

Coming Soon ! ! !

「 you're far away from here

but you're alived in so many places 」

☆ . . . The days pass like blank pages, and my heart, weary, has stopped searching for reasons to keep beating. If I ever loved or was loved in past lives, those memories have lost their warmth. What once were feelings are now only pain.

Their icy blue eyes looked at me with sorrow as my body crumbled in their hands. I caressed their cheeks, so beautiful, painted with pure scarlet that mingled with crystalline, salty tears, burning my pale, cracked face, scarred by my greatest mistake.

I cried and suffered in their arms while everyone watched.

There was no reason, no justification for what they did, beyond greed. The fear faded from their eyes, but betrayal lingered in mine.

I could hate them, of course I could. But deep down, I only wish to see them again someday, to meet them once more, perhaps under different circumstances... Maybe when we are all children again.

Even though I know we are different, I swore to protect them.

You may kill me over and over, as many times as you wish. But a king is always there to protect those who cannot protect themselves.

No matter how much they hurt me, no matter how much they break me, my heart keeps finding a way to love them, because the pain has never been stronger than what I feel for them.

█║▌│║▌║▌│█│▌║│█║█║│▌║│█║▌

Yandere! Arcane x Reincarnated! Reader

I want to include this text in future fanfics, but I feel that both this and other projects need a separate introduction before I publish them. I want them to have the proper context and truly reflect what I want to convey. I’m not sure if I was under some kind of intense inspiration when I wrote this (or maybe my blood sugar just dropped!), but I’m so eager to start giving it shape. Plus, I finally created an account on Ao3 (at last!), which makes me even more excited to share these stories with you all. I know it’ll be a challenge, but I’m ready to let these ideas come to life. I hope you enjoy them as much as I’m excited to write them

Ao3 User → @MarcyVamp1re

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animeyanderelover · 8 months ago

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Caitlyn:D

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession

Quick Christmas Hc's

♡ ︎Caitlyn starts preparing ahead of time as she lies to always have the option to switch to another plan if something should go wrong to not get pressured with a little amount of time. She comes from a rich family yet she isn't one to blindly spoil you as an expensive gift is something that has to be earned in her opinion. She overlooks the creation of the present that she has in mind for you closely and constantly adds her own little touches to it to make it more unique in the end for you. The process may end up being a bit more expensive but for this special occasion she believes it to be justified to spend a bit more money for you. The first present that you receive from her is a silver poket watch with your initials carved on the back of it, the cursive letters spelling your name. The second present that you receive is a personalized outfit for you. Caitlyn has a high position and that demands a fitting dressing code. As her lover you too have to follow a fitting dressing code, at the very least to formal events where you will accompany her to. The third present you receive from her is a framed painting from her, highlighting one of her favorite memories of the two of you this year. This gift comes from the heart.

#yandere arcane #yandere caitlyn #yandere caitlyn kiramman #yandere x reader #arcane x reader #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn kiramman x reader

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pearlsinoystersflesh · 4 months ago

Note

yandere caitlyn catching us going outside without her permission she thinks we are trying to escape (we aren’t)

yandere caitlyn after we intentionally make her jealous because she’s been busy with work staying long hours in her office

Commander?

yandere!kiramman x reader

warnings: i have never written nor have i read yandere. if this is pure ass, im so truly sorry LMAO

caitlyn kirramman. commander, such a busy woman, but she always set aside time for you. because after all, you were hers. you were stuck with her, and oh, was she crazy about you.

and yet- you haven't seen the woman in days. she's been burying herself in work, piles and piles of documents she wouldn't let you see had taken your place as her priority. and now, with your knees apart, your own fingers in your sopping, needy cunt, you couldn't take it. you pull out your phone, placing it under your body on record. you pump your fingers into you at a pace that was rather harsh, moaning, nearly crying. it wasn't enough, and through the pornographic noises you emitted, you complain. you complain about how you need her long, slender fingers, you complain about how you cant cum, not alone. and when your frustration reaches its peak, you pull out, angrily sending the video to her.

it takes a minute for your message to be marked as read. it takes two minutes for her office door to creak open, and three minutes for yours to be slammed open.

'sending me that shit while im working? fucking slut.'

she approaches you, and you back up. seeing your movement, she grabs your collar and turns you around, pressing your back flat against the wall. she pushes your hips towards her, slapping your ass till she feels you push back against her. she shoves you forward, pushing you against the bed, ass up.

'couldn't wait, yeah? couldn't do it yourself? i keep telling you, baby, you can't do anything without me. you need me'

you nod pathetically into the pillow, her hands groping your ass. she rubs circles onto your clit, before she shoves her index and middle finger into your needy, clenching hole. you yell into the pillow, her manicured nails kissing your cervix. they weren't sharp, but they were long, and fuck. you felt it.

'fuck! caitl-'

'commander. its commander, slut'

she punctuates her words with sharp thrusts of her fingers, and you cant take the over sensitivity. you reach back, trying to push her away. but she grabs both your wrists with her free hand, making your stomach press flat against the already ruined bed. caitlyn sees your tears fall, and she leans over you, her voice mocking.

'does it hurt, baby? aww, its okay. breathe, love. breath.'

you begin to squirm, and she tuts. 'dont cum.'

the pleads and cries leave your lips on command. you weren't sure you could stop yourself. 'commander, please'

'shut it. you think you know what you need? you couldn't fuck yourself well enough, you need me. I know whats best for you'

at her degradation, you snap, and your climax hits you so hard it hurts. you pull off her digits, falling onto your side. she wants to be mad at you, hell, she is, but with the state you're in right now, she's not able to.

'shh, baby. you did so good, my love, c'mere, im sure you're tired.'

#caitlyn x you #caitlyn kiramman #arcane caitlyn #caitlyn arcane #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn fanfic #caitlyn smut #league of legends caitlyn #caitlyn kirraman x reader #kirramountains #yandere #arcane #fanfic #ooooooo

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samcvrpenters · 7 months ago

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word count: 2.2k+

pairing: dark! commander! caitlyn kiramman x enforcer! fem! reader

summary: caitlyn’s anger morphs into an overwhelming possessiveness of one of the enforcers, who ends up being you, and she has already formed invisible chains around you to keep you all to herself

warnings: possessive! caitlyn, dark! caitlyn, stalking, murder, torture, she uses her position as commander against you a LOT, kidnapping

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

what is caitlyn’s place in the cruel world if it’s not to fit in and reciprocate those key values of hurting people in order to get what she wants? in the long run, yes, it may be to help the distinguished upper city of piltover, but at the moment? it is only to reflect her superiority to the civilians and make the people of the undercity afraid of her.

she never would have had to resort to such methods if it wasn’t for jinx and her callous actions against caitlyn’s mother.

to say caitlyn wanted revenge would be the understatement of the century. she would want nothing more than to publicly torture the criminal and make her pay for the crimes she has committed and the damage against her family and health because she would deserve it.

caitlyn can already imagine it; the smug grin would be wiped off jinx’s face and perhaps she would have tears streaming down her face as she’d see her own guts pooling from her stomach. caitlyn would use knives. she’d use a blowtorch. maybe she would make her drink the strongest disinfectant that she could even dream of.

she’d make it her mission to use all of the piltover scientists in her acts— her acts against humanity— and she would find some extravagant ways to make jinx regret her crimes and beg for mercy.

she’d wear her commander’s cape with pride, yet she would know that her brain has already become twisted with the same darkness that plagued the worst of villains and she would slowly be turning into one of them. she’d be replacing herself.

she’s been so caught up in everything that she hasn’t even granted herself the merciful capability to have a break. have a rest.

she’s been training the armies. troops and troops of enforcers who are meant to be insanely proud to wear the emblem on their uniform but are instead only wearing it from their fear of being ripped apart in the same way caitlyn describes it in her mind.

within the thousands of people who wear the uniform, there’s you. you’re not high in the ranks of the enforcers, but you’re not low either.

she doesn’t know what it was about you. was it that she could train you to be even better when you’re already somewhere in the middle of the ranks? no. that doesn’t make sense— because then she would feel the same as she would do with the hundreds of enforcers who are of the same rank.

but she’s latched onto you like a mosquito to blood, a flea to a dog, a moth to a flame.

she wouldn’t necessarily call herself some lapdog who is running around and doing all of your chores and business. just because she’s attached to you (in her mind, no doubt), doesn’t mean that she’s going to be kind and do things for you.

what’s the point in that?

she’d be ruining her spectacular reputation and performance as the hardened commander who changed her ways because of the unfortunate death of a family member.

maybe she wants something to grasp onto; maybe that ended up being you because of your overwhelming sense of innocence. you’re not that innocent. you’re not pure. but in her eyes, you’re an angel. you’re the opposite to her. you could create such an outstanding dichotomy with her and it could drive both of you to want each other.

but it’s not want for her. it’s a need. ever since she laid eyes on you, her footsteps followed your footsteps. her breaths followed your breaths. her heart followed your heart because where you went, she went.

not like you know about it.

what’s the word for it? stalking? it’s a crime. a widely recognised crime in the city of piltover yet caitlyn has made an exception for herself because she’s the commander and she has the exception to every crime in the book.

her eyes remain on you at all times.

why are you in a bar? why are you drinking? are you so sorrowful that you’re unable to think of a better way to solve whatever problems is lying in that brain of yours? but the way you drink is so enticing and tantalising that all she wants to do is grab your face and kiss you. bite you. mark you.

a flick of the wrist and there goes the shot. a lift of your hand and there’s a glass of wine. and the tilt of your head and there is goes— down into your throat and into your body. a move of the hand and the glass is back on the counter.

she wants to take a picture of this moment. your lips are glistening with hints of the wine that had moved from the glass and the way you lick your lips. it’s like you’re trying to seduce her. it’s like you want her to come and corrupt you and your mind. she could teach you the most barbaric of things. but does she really want to ruin you?

the first time she talks to you is a strange event.

you’re sat doing work. your pen scratches against paper and her eyes are locked onto the path of the pen. your handwriting is incredible. maybe she should get you an office job. you’d be safer there, and she would be able to look at all the work you’ve done and stare at it intently.

you don’t even notice her at first, until she clears her throat and you wildly excuse yourself. you know what she’s like and you don’t want to be hurt. “oh— commander, i apologise— i didn’t notice you—“

are your apologies totally relevant? perhaps. she thinks it’s good to know that you do apologise for these things, because it means you’re not as tough as you think you are and she’ll be able to have a tighter hold on you when it comes to it.

but she’s meant to be cruel, so she ignores your apologetic comments and words and slams a pile of paperwork down onto your desk. “get this done by noon, officer. or i will be punishing you for incompetent behaviour.”

and she turns around and walks away.

she felt proud of herself then. she finally spoke to you. after following you and watching you in the bar. after following you home and watching you relax. after following you home and watching you in the shower, with water running down your soft skin and dripping off your body when you wrap the towel around yourself.

she keeps her eye on you when you fill out the paperwork. your writing is slightly different, because you’re filling it in more frantically and she can tell your hand aches because you occasionally take a break to shake your hand, as if shaking off the growing ache present in your muscles.

when you finally finish it off and dump it down onto her desk, you seem almost out of breath. she doesn’t mind. she’ll make you faster and better. she’ll improve your stamina.

“all pieces done.” you breathe out, your hands resting on the papers as you set it down on her desk. it’s in quite a neat pile— it’s not very messy, and most of the corners meet one another.

but she only glares up at you, making your muscles tense and your heart beat faster and faster against your rib cage. why is she glaring at you? she’ll do anything to be cruel. to make sure she can reinforce that you’re below her and that she controls you. because she does. she owns you.

“since when did i announce that officers are able to speak to their commander without being spoken to?” she would really find anything to criticise you, wouldn’t she? well, it wasn’t really a criticism. it was more just something she could scold you for. berate you for. but she sees you gulp nervously, and she lets out a sigh as she grabs the pile and pulls it closer to her. “i’ll let you off with a warning. next time, you won’t be so lucky.”

is she taking pity on you? yes. but you don’t know why, and honestly, she doesn’t know why either. is this because of her obsessive nature with you?

she wants to keep you with her at all times. is that so much to ask? maybe she can make you pay for what you did. she won’t be too harsh, though, she’ll just be able to keep an eye on you easier.

“stay with me for the rest of the day, officer.” does she not know your name? is that why she is addressing you as that? or does she just get off on the fact that she’s superior to you? “you will not be leaving my side for the rest of the day. do you understand me?”

“yes, commander.” it’s as if you want to listen to her. you want to stay by her side. maybe you don’t want more punishment or anything bad to happen to you because you’re just listening to her.

it’s her way of keeping you close to her. because she doesn’t want anyone else to be taking up any of your attention, does she?

she keeps you close to her for the rest of the day. she keeps her promise. she just loads more and more office work onto you with every hour that passes and she enjoys the expression on your face— the way your teeth tug at your lip as you concentrate and the way your hair sticks to your forehead slightly as you sweat.

she’s doing this to you. she’s making you look so beautiful and ethereal as she gives you more work. as she practically overworks you.

she lets you go around midnight. she doesn’t offer any sympathy for letting you leave so late in the night, and she tells you to come earlier in the morning. she really won’t let you catch a break now that she’s got those piercing blue eyes on you.

you’re back early in the morning, with your best friend, it seems. caitlyn doesn’t approach you yet, but she’s watching as you chat away to this figure that she doesn’t even recognise to be part of the enforcers. she doesn’t remember approving the identification of your supposed best friend.

and she makes a point of it.

she’s thought about cold blooded murder before, but she has never actually gone through with it. she’s thought about torture, especially with jinx, but she’s never done it to someone who doesn’t deserve it. yet, she can’t help herself because she believes that you belong to her and your best friend is holding you back and away from her.

she had approached your friend with the promise of arrest for treason. she knew it was wrong, because they never actually committed treason, but caitlyn was too far gone to even care about morals.

throwing them into stillwater, caitlyn had made sure that they paid for their actions, because soon enough, they were screaming and begging for mercy against caitlyn’s hands.

at first it was just slaps. then it was punches. then it was stab wounds. burn marks. it was constant pain after pain and eventually, they gave up and just let their limbs hang limp and blood run dry.

she’s not insane. she’s just keeping you to herself.

“clean this up.” caitlyn spoke with a harsh tone in her voice, and soon enough, the body was gone (courtesy of the prison guards), and her actions were hidden from society.

and then she goes back to watching you. she’s got her gun in hand and she doesn’t know what she’s actually doing at this point, because she won’t shoot you, but she can’t let you roam the streets if you’re going to have friends.

and you’re walking down the cobbled pavement— without a care in the world— as if you’re invincible.

but you’re not, and she needs to show you that.

her hands clench tightly around her rifle and she finally pulls herself from the shadows, blue eyes no longer disguised by the darkness of the buildings and she has revealed herself to you.

she’s stepped right out in front of you and you don’t know why she has.

“oh— uh, commander kiramman— can i help you in any way?” you’re so calm about it, like she hasn’t just jumped out in front of you. is this how you would react if it is was someone else? what if there was a criminal in front of you? would you just stand there and ask if you can help them?

anger overtakes her and the butt of her rifle finds itself at the side of your head, knocking you clean out onto the floor. she didn’t catch you, because it’s not like she’s a hopeless romantic.

there’s blood pouring from your skull but she knows you're alive because she can your chest moving. her hands grip onto your shoulders as she pulls you up against her, your head resting on her chest as she holds it there.

there’s blood on her fingers. but she doesn’t care. because she has you now. you’ll forever be in her grasp, and you’ll be happy. you’ll be safe. you’ll be hers. as you should be.

#arcane #arcane netflix #arcane oneshot #caitlyn arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane imagine #arcane x reader #arcane series #caitlyn kiramman x fem reader #caitlyn kiramman imagine #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn kiramman x reader #yandere caitlyn #dark caitlyn #yandere caitlyn kiramman x reader #dark caitlyn kiramman x reader

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prefect30 · 3 months ago

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Winner Takes It All

Based on this request -

Hii! Could I pretty please request a yandere Caitlyn vs yandere Jinx(maybe they are after the same darling but their darling doesnt want to do anything with either of them)

….bonus points if its around the time Zaun and Piltover are practically at war under Ambessa's influence

Also, I didnt see in ur rules whether you do a certain gender for reader/darling. Would it be ok if the reader was female? If not, then please pick any gender u feel comfy with<4

Have a nice day and sorry for the long request!

Trigger Warnings: Kidnapping, graphic body description of violence, yandere themes, major character death, no Y/N used, and no pronouns used but reader is called pretty.

Banner from - @enchanthings

“Honey! I’m home!”

You hear her giggles before you see her and wonder how such a bubbly laugh can come from someone so cruel.

“I brought you something.”

The louder her steps got, the more you could feel your heart trying its best to break out from your chest. But you couldn't look up. You can already hear her smile, you don’t need to see it.

“Come on, toots! Why the long face?”

You could hear the confusion, the genuine confusion in her voice.

She tapped her fingers, mismatched nails tapping something in her hand.

“I brought you something.” She said, waiting for you to look at her present like a cat bringing a dead rat to their owner.

You freeze. Breath going still. It was never good when she brought you something.

You hear her sigh, the breath hitting you in the face.

“Fine, be like that.”

Suddenly you’re on her lap. Her arms snake around your waist, pulling you unbearably close. You try to move, but the fingers digging into your side scream at you not to.

“If you would stop being such a brat, you might actually enjoy this gift.” She takes your chin between her fingers, finally making you look her in the eyes.

“You’re so pretty.” Whispering as she caresses your face, your eyes flutter shut as you hear your heartbeat to start to pick up. You hate this. Her mood changes drive you insane and you struggle to keep up. You never know which side you’re going to get and how long you’ll have with it. You hate it.

Taking your sealed hands, she opens them, leaving a trail of scratch marks. Whatever she puts in your hands, you don’t like it. It’s hard, cold, and wet. It felt like jewelry.

“Open your eyes.” She grunts out, already over your behavior.

You squeeze your eyes harder and your chin feels the consequence.

“Open your eyes toots.” She says slowly, her grip getting stronger. She’s not playing today, she already did and it took her more effort than she intended to get her prize.

Slowly, you open your eyes and bring your shaking hand up to see what she brought you. Immediately, you gasp.

“Ha! I knew you would like it!” She chuckles, smugly smiling as she lets go of you to rest her arms on the squeaking couch.

You were frozen. You didn’t know how to respond. For the first time you’ve been trapped here, you can’t feel your heartbeat.

“So, what do you think?” She taps the couch, eyes wide, waiting for your response. It never comes. You just stare. You know what it is. Whose it was.

She gets jumpy, fiddling with her fingers as she waits for your response. Finally, you look at her and she laughs.

“Oh yeah! Whoops! My bad, I forgot,” Hurriedly, she rips the gag out of your mouth. “So, what do you think?”

You take a big breath, finally able to without something getting in your way. She rolls her eyes as she watches you, but when you look back to her she snaps back into focus.

Softly and slowly, you whisper, “You’re a monster.”

You shouldn’t have said that.

You should have never called her a monster. If you hadn’t, she would have put you back into the room.

It was too quiet and your mind was too loud. There was absolutely nothing on the concrete walls and the stained cot provided you no comfort. The blood on the chains were still there from the last time you tried to escape. Guess she saw no need to clean something that you would just get dirty again.

The tray of food she left for you was untouched. The only thing you needed was the spoon. You were picking at the chains with it, having lost your fork and knife privileges. You knew the spoon wouldn’t do much, but it still gave you some consolation that you were trying. You knew she would be down here soon anyways. You haven’t eaten in three days and she was growing more frustrated then she was when she put you in here to begin with. She might start feeding you again.

“Say, ‘Ahh!’”

You didn’t have much time until the spoon was forcing its way into your mouth. You could taste some of your blood on the spoon, making you gag slightly.

“Mmm! Wasn’t that so yummy toots!” Some of the food she worked so hard to get into your mouth fell out as she squished your cheeks together.

You started to shake your head no when you heard a crash. It sounded like something had fallen and broke. You looked at her as she whipped her head around, grabbing her gun, ready to shoot.

“Wait here and don’t move.” She said sternly as she quickly got up and went to the door, locking it shut. She seemed serious, she didn’t even call you toots. That was never a good sign.

Your leg started to tingle, so you got up and walked around as far as you could, chains abiding. You kept hearing crashing and banging. It had to have been at least five minutes till you heard her gun go off. Jumping, you quickly went back to where she had told you to stay, waiting for her to come back.

The door creaked open, but she didn’t go to you. No, she went to the chains. You heard them break off the wall. Finally, she went back to you. She lifted your head and your eyes widened.

“Hello again, my love.”

No.

It can’t be. She’s dead.

“I know you’re shocked right now, but we need to get home. I’ve got everything set up, just like before.” She caressed your cheek as she helped you stand, making sure your hands stayed binded with the broken chains.

You tried to push her back, “No. No, you’re dead. I saw the-”

“The neck collar? I got a new one.” Caitlyn said as she showcased her red neck collar. “I needed another one after running into your little girlfriend a few days ago. We will be talking about that when we get home by the way.” Her eyes sharpened and her grip tightened.

Jinx. She ought to be coming soon.

“We won’t have to worry about her anymore now anyways. I was able to do what she couldn’t, love.” She started to guide you out of the room, making sure you saw Jinx’s mangled body.

Her left arm was bent out of shape, all of her fingers snapped in different directions. Her legs were scratched up, blood piled up under her. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought she died from blood loss, but you did know better. Caitlyn had made Jinx’s face one big smiley face. Her eyes were larger, courtesy of her own gun. Her mouth was cut on both sides, each smile line going to her hairline. Her body looked like the aftermath of a demonic sacrifice.

You had to pull away from Caitlyn’s arms to make sure you didn't throw up on her slaughtered body. She let you fall to your knees, looking at you with those ice cold eyes. She slowly lowered herself to the ground, putting her hand on your shoulder.

“It’s your fault, you know?” She waited for you to look at her and she lifted your chin when your eyes focused on Jinx. “Had you not run away, she wouldn’t have been able to take you and she would still be alive.”

Caitlyn knew she didn’t have to say that she would kill Jinx eventually, no matter what happened. She already knew that you know the lengths she’ll go to protect you. Because she loves you.

She slowly stands again as your eyes return to Jinx. You should feel happy. Your kidnapper and delusional ex-friend is dead. But it’s your fault. She’s dead because of you. Another person’s blood on your hands.

“Let’s go, my darling.” Caitlyn puts a chain like collar around your neck, further limiting your ability to move. “I have someone I want you to meet.”

As she drags you out of that hellhole, you can’t help but think.

Maybe life with Jinx wasn’t so bad.

#yandere jinx #yandere caitlyn #caitlyn kiramman #jinx #x reader #yandere arcance #yandere #yandere jinx x reader #yandere caitlyn x reader #yandere!jinx #yandere!caitlyn

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dumbblond3 · 6 days ago

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SWEETEST DEVOTION ✮⋆˙

YANDERE CAITLYN FUCKING PRONE BONE - She’s not afraid to admit she’s sick but she sure you’re the cure…

Caitlyn Kiramman x reader

CW: intox, noncon, stalking/kidnapping

NSFW MINORS DNI

She's been following you for months. Covertly tracking every movement, she has your routine down to a T.

Any bit of information she wants she gets. Making bribes, and the occasional threat, anything to have another piece of you. All this, and her Kiramman name considered, stalking you has been an incredibly easy feat.

Weeks of silent servitute, that’s how Caitlyn viewed her obsession, and all of it has lead up to this.

You, face down, finally owned.

“P- please I uhh!”

Your head is reeling and you can’t tell if it’s from the lingering drugs in your system or the rough thrusts coming from behind.

“Hushh baby hmm that’s it, my good girl.”

She has you prone in her massive bed, her body towers yours and as you come to your senses the first thing that registers is the burning heat between your legs.

Her hips slam into you relentlessly leaving little room for the voice in your head that begs to understand what is going on.

“Sooo out of it huh? Yeah? Just a helpless thing you need this baby, you need me.”

If your brain and limbs weren’t mush right now, if she wasn’t pressing her body so tight on top of yours, maybe you’d protest.

But here you lay so far gone in pleasure you have little choice but to take it like her perfect pet.

“That’s right every inch mm- better get used to this baby huh? You’ll learn to loveee this, being mine.” Every thrust is a promise to keep you safe and sound and absolutely fucked.

Caitlyn isn’t much better, she’s relentless how could she not be? Months of devotion, emotions building with nowhere to go, finally now she can release them into you.

She reaches around to grab your face bringing her lips to your ear, leaving little kisses in between her moments of loving rambling.

“You’re exactly where you’re meant to be, under me like this, and I’ll give it to you over and over if that’s what it takes to make you understand.”

In your haze the words barely register but the feeling of her arms, muscles tight as they grasp around your body, that gets through and melts whatever’s left of your mind.

The majority of your weak consciousness is being directed to where Caitlyn has you split open. You swear you feel her in your stomach, her cock pressing impossibly deeper until you’re stuffed.

As much as your drugged body can muster you whine with each drive of her hips, the pleasure you feel somehow climbing still.

Caitlyn is completely done for. She can’t stop staring simply in awe that she finally has you, that she’s feeling you, all of you. It’s too fucking much.

Her hips jolt of their own accord, her mind not even in control of how savagely she fucks your poor little body. She considers for a moment that she must be the poster child for greed - maybe she’d care if she wasn’t balls deep in her new prized possession.

“Baby you think you can give me another? Cmon sweet girl I know you want it, I’m almost there just give it to me please fuck-“ Her fingers move from your cheek to your lips, prodding at your tongue with a need to be impossibly closer to you.

As she presses deeper she feels your body spasm, and your sweet cry sends her spiraling finally into her own release.

It’s rough, and hot, and wet when she finishes. She’s squeezing around you so tightly as your vision goes white, the feeling all to much for your body to handle.

You can feel yourself slipping away, senses blurring together back into a drugged bliss, but Caitlyn makes sure the last thing you feel, see, hear, will be her.

“My good fucking girl- mine. All fucking mine.”

AN- feedback is appreciated I hope you little freaks enjoyed!! #itried #plstalktomeinmyinbox

#blondie!talks #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn kiramman x reader

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angelltheninth · 10 months ago

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Arcane Masterlist

SFW - Arcane Characters Dealing with Problems Badly

SFW - Dating Maddie Nolen

SFW - Arcane Characters Make Food for You

NSFW - Caitlyn's Strap Skills

NSFW - Vander and Silco Get Baby Fever After Seeing Felicia Have Kids

SFW - Dating Viktor

SFW - Vander Finds Out You're Pregnant

NSFW - Corrupted!Jayce + Reunion Sex

SFW - Sevika x Fem!Reader - Eye Candy and Muscles

NSFW - Soft Sex with Machine Herald Viktor

SFW - Dating the Piltover Strike Team

NSFW - Maddie Nolen Being a Service Top

SFW - Vi, Caitlyn, Maddie, Sevika, Ambessa + When You Ask Them If They're a Cunning Linguist

SFW - Silco x Fem!Reader - Flirting Above the Paygrade

SFW - Marcus Falls in Love with You

NSFW - Arcane Characters + Tongue Skills

SFW - Caitlyn Spoils You While You're Dating

SFW - Viktor Becomes a Yandere Boyfriend

NSFW - Ekko with a Assertive and Dominant Girlfriend

NSFW - Getting Strapped Down by Cassandra Kiramman and Mel Medarda

NSFW - Silco Has Sex with You in His Office While He Smokes

NSFW - Marcus x Fem!Reader - Tell Me Under the Table

SFW - Caitlyn's Strike Team Hiding Your Relationship at Work

NSFW - Maddie Nolen Gets Surprised When You Take the Lead

SFW - Arcane Characters That Are Big of Heart and Dumb of Ass

NSFW - Jayce Comes So Hard He Figures Out a Problem

NSFW - Maddie Nolen x Fem!Reader - For the First Time in Forever

SFW - Arcane Characters Hand Headcanons

NSFW - Late Night Sex With Soft Dominant Vander

NSFW - Arcane Lesbians Tying Their Hair Back When They Eat You Out

SFW - Arcane Characters Find Out You Haven't Had Your First Kiss Yet

SFW - When Arcane Men Get Jealous

SFW - Steb Pines For You Before He Confesses to You

SFW - Confessing Your Love to Viktor, Jayce, Vander, Silco and Steb

SFW - Arcane Sapphics Find Out They Are Your First Serious Relationship

NSFW - Trying to Get Some Alone Time with Vander

SFW - Maddie Nolen as Your Girlfriend

SFW - Arcane Women Take Care of You While You're on Your Period

NSFW - Arcane Characters Take Your Virginity

SFW - Arcane Men See You Wearing Their Clothes

SFW - Comforting Maddie Nolen After She Comes Back From Piltover

NSFW - Sett x Fem!Reader - A Fighter's Mark

#arcane masterlist

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mo0nfairy · 8 months ago

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ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ BLOMSTERTID, PART FOUR !

summary :: Centuries-old mage, Y/N L/N, possesses magical abilities unheard of. A few citizens monopolize the remnants of magic they find, of which they now title “Hextech”. Hearsay of this power bleeds through all of Runeterra, until Piltover and Zaun find themselves in an anarchic war to obtain said power. Before Y/N can even blink, however, the humans neglect their plans when they realize they’d rather have Y/N instead.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 10.7k

content warnings :: SPOILERS! obsessive!vi, yandere!vi, yandere!jinx, yandere!viktor, gender neutral reader, alcohol/alcoholism, violence, suic1de attempt, & some s3xual themes (but nothing too explicit).

vi's yandere traits are . . .

ambitious, territorial, & controlling

⋆ ｡ ˚ ⋆ ⸺ When the moon rises and the vibrant world eases, Vi always finds herself dreaming of the same thing.

She imagines herself beneath a shower of softness, the sight of prickling tears or bruising flesh disintegrating. Even in the height of her childhood, her desires have always been adorned in thick blankets of fluff. Instead of toys and trinkets, it was hopping sheep and tickling feathers. Here, there would be no further need for clenched fists anymore, not when there is tender love.

To feel the touch of gentle warmth — that is the haunting desire which paints her dreams.

It is a desire that is entirely foreign. A stranger, indubitably. Yet, this hunger is so immense, the mere thought of actually satiating this emaciation causes her stomach to sway.

Even standing at a high point in Piltover, identity exposed to any lingering pedestrians, Vi does not feel at unease. Beside Mylo, Claggor, and her sister, Powder, the heist they frivolously forged in their heads fails to provoke any nerves within the young girl. If anything, she is fearless, as many have described her as. Not a worried bone in her body.

Slithering into the apartment of a Topsider came with its bumps in the road, but nothing that team could not swiftly smooth out. The mess of golden gadgetry scattered around is framed in an array of twisting cogs and sprockets. Books are spread through the expanse languidly, a few left open and dogeared to certain chapters. A wide chalkboard joins this scientist’s paradise, as well. Scribbled in white chalk are a myriad of mathematical equations she couldn’t decipher even if she cared enough to try.

With a warning of concern to Powder (and a quick scolding to Mylo and Claggor), Vi sets out by herself and finds an office space nestled at the end of the hallway. The door is of a dark mahogany wood, carved with dark golden frames and intricacies. Oh, to be born so lucky and care for the appearance of a simple door.

Within, there is a wider variety of books, scattered pages of blueprints, and even a lone, half-eaten sandwich.

And right in the center of this mess is a figure.

She cannot articulate how (or even why, for that matter), but the sight of them yanks the breath right from her chest. For the very first time in her tumultuous, violence-induced life, flight-or-fight has become a afterthought. Standing on the threshold, she freezes.

Bent over the desk is a cloaked stranger. Their fingers, jagged and dark-hued, toy with some electric experiments. The subtle jingle of the jewels and adornments beneath their coat perfuse through the silence. A cloud, almost a halo, suffuses from their form in hues of purple and sapphire. All that is missing is a fluffy pair of wings and Vi would be positive she’s just stumbled upon an angel.

When they turn over their shoulder to identify the sudden, yet sneaky entrance, she truly feels like she has become a statue.

They are pretty. Frighteningly so. Not in the same vein as the Piltover Pageant Queens, but something entirely beyond that. It is pure and unearthly; something soft, yet gut-wrenching. A whole other universal level of ‘pretty’, she’d describe. And as high and mighty as she carries herself, that stone-hard facade crumbles to baby pebbles when a subtle smile stretches on their serrated lips.

They stand to their feet, abandoning their efforts with Topside science in favor of her. As they step closer to her, something unknown crawls about in her stomach. That hunger, so comfortable in its withering starvation that the mere scent of nourishment has it itching to sprint away. Still, she remains frozen in dazed wonder.

It is only when they halt before Vi does the realization settle. She wished she had chased them through that sandstorm. Chased them through any storm, for that matter. She can no longer count on her fingers the instances in which she found her sister doodling that exact face among the walls of the Last Drop’s basement, her hands a permanent stain of old chalk and dry markers. It is simply a sloppy cartoon, she always assumed. But now, it is everything and so, so much more.

“You may have a good heart, but you must not let it blind you.”

Wind chimes.

That is what the voice sounds like, accentuated by summer winds and sprinkling rain.

Wide-eyed like some stupid puppy-dog, all Vi can do is stare as they bring their hand up to her cheek. The heavenly warmth perfusing from their palm meets her flesh and in a flash, her vision is overwhelmed in darkness. Images flood through the shadows, all painting a picture of this stranger.

They sit beside a river’s edge, peering into the water surface and scrutinizing their appearance in utter horror. Splotches of purple and blue cover their skin, contrasting in varying sizes and hues. Incomprehensible gibberish glitters across their exposed, sparkling skin. Black streaks of dirt and ash leak down their face with the seeping tears. Horrific perfection.

“Mama…” They whimper, cracked and devastated.

A gasp leaps from Vi’s chest as she is finally granted clarity.

Her feet fail her in awkward tumbles, before she inevitably falls to the ground. She finds herself to still remain in the office of this rich Topsider, but she is now in complete solitude. The stranger has vanished. Nothing remains in their departure besides the open window panes swinging with the wind.

They leave the girl no room to digest the fact that every desire of softness and tender touch was just clutched in her palms. Not when it had abandoned Vi as quickly as it was granted to her.

This sense of abandonment festered inside of her for the remainder of an entire decade.

Desperate endeavors at grasping a sliver of what you had gifted her all prove to be futile, no matter how ambitious the attempt. If anything, the sheer opposite had infested Vi’s life; a pendulum swung ahead to something amazing for only a second, just to remain stagnant on the opposing end for many agonizing years.

Any effort at forcing that pendulum back, maybe even reforging the events of her memories, only serves as a blunt reminder of what she is now. A pit fighter, of all things; a savage spectacle. All her hands now know is violence.

Large streaks of dirt paint the expanse beneath her eyes. A smudge here, some dusted there — just the same as you, peering at yourself on the reflective surface of the river. And as devastating as the conclusion is, she has no choice but to accept this is what her life was made for.

The only remnant of peace Vi can grasp in this life is within the walls of her bedroom. As artificial as it may be, drinking herself sick and watching her poisoned brain carve fantasies into reality is the highlight of her day.

Slumped over the thin mattress, she gapes in reverie at the blurry sights of you. Sometimes staring into the cracked mirror, a deity admiring the masterpiece of their appearance. Other times laying right beside her, gentle hands that cannot get enough of her flesh. Maybe even bludgeoning her fists into the punching bag, imagining some lovelorn, teenage-like fantasy of her defending your honor, to where you drown her in praise and gratitude.

The peace is puny, pitifully so. Yet, is the only drop of fuel pushing her forward through this pathetic life.

And indulging in these visions is exactly Vi’s intentions as she returns to her room after another win in the pit. That is, until she is greeted by a sight that alone is enough to ruin her entire night.

“Violet.” A smooth accent speaks.

Standing beside her door is a figure dressed in that familiar, irritating gold and blue uniform. Navy-blue hair is slicked back into a ruler-straight ponytail, framing her sharp face, paired with a gun almost as tall as her towering frame.

“Who are you? And how do you know my name?”

She displays her badge like a shimmering trophy.

“Commander Kiramman. Leader of House Kiramman. Address me with respect, or keep your mouth shut.” She speaks with direction, chin held high and chest puffed out. Classic Topsider.

“Still doesn’t answer my question.”

“It’s written on your face.”

Vi sighs out in defeat, entering her room and grasping a random, half-full bottle from the ground. She lands with an exhausted groan on her mattress.

“So, what is it now? Random search? Escort off the property? Or are you just here to waste my time?”

The Kiramman follows suit and stands on the threshold, gaze stern as she glares at Vi.

“I’m here for an investigation. I’m sure you and your people,” She spits out, “have heard of the attack against the council.”

“Yeah.” Vi snickers. “Just means we got a few less Pilties to worry about.”

The last syllable barely parts from Vi’s mouth before she finds herself staring down the barrel of a gun.

“I warned you, filthy rat.”

She merely rolls her eyes at the aggressive gesture. Violence is a second home, after all.

“Fine. I don’t know shit, alright? Bomb went off, rich people died — I know just as much as the other schmucks in this pit.”

With measured ease, the Kiramman sighs out a breath, folds her gun, and tosses it over her back.

“We’re looking for Jinx, the criminal mastermind behind the attack. We’ve received several reports of her appearing around this area.”

She folds her long arms over her chest.

“Since you are the most prominent figure in this… pigsty, surely you have seen her.”

Vi sneers in response. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. I’m too busy trying to keep myself afloat down here. Not that you Topsiders know jack shit about that…”

She then takes a hardy chug of the alcohol in her hands. As she drinks, the Commander slips her fingers into her back pocket. She unfolds a wad of paper, before presenting it to Vi.

“Then, do you recognize this person?”

Cheap whiskey spatters from Vi’s mouth when she registers the contents. Eyes blown wide, she goggles at the sight of your face sketched in almost exact clarity amongst the lined page. A near identical replication of the day she was blessed with the genuine sight.

The bottle in her grasp is swiftly abandoned in favor of snagging the paper from the Enforcer. A grunt of disdain huffs from her, but Vi is too engrossed in you to care for the disrespect of the stranger in her room. Every intricacy and trace is done with such grace, she may as well have been holding your face in her palms.

“We are under the impression they played a role in this attack-”

“No!” Vi abruptly interrupts. “They wouldn’t- You don’t know anything about them…”

“Well… Whoever is behind it, we believe they are after Hextech. We’re halting all trades until further notice.”

The words may as well have been background noise to Vi. In one ear and out the other, inevitable when she is met with the most realistic depiction of you she’s seen in years.

“If it interests you,” The Commander begins, shoveling another item from her pocket. “You seem to know more about Y/N than you let on. And we need as many bodies as we can get.”

The gold glimmer of an Enforcer badge grasps Vi’s attention. Taunting her, almost. She slaps the badge out of her hands almost as quickly as it was revealed, the metal clinking with the several empty bottles left languidly in the corner.

“Fuck. You.” Vi seethes, her grasp still latched to the paper in her hands. Possessive is her disposition.

Nonetheless, the Kiramman remains just as stone-cold as she was when she first waltzed into the room. She does not utter another word before she leaves Vi to herself, her offer still plaguing the silent air.

Vi’s back hits the mattress with a hard thump. Paper still in hand, she stares into the etchings as though you were truly here beside her. Terrifying perfection.

It is that very perfection that sat Viktor here in the first place.

Right beside his partner before the city's councilors, who all look down at him as though he were a muck-covered stray at their doorstep.

Piltover has never been his home, nor has its people accepted him as. The only home he has ever been granted full claim of is you and the paradise that is the sanctuary you’ve cultivated. Now, that serenity has been robbed straight from his hands; he was granted a second of heaven and nothing more. And it is torturing him more than he is willing to admit.

Viktor’s disposition alone does all the confessing necessary, however. Urgent conversations from the councilors are drowned out by the forlorn, cry-ridden mold seeping through his mind. What was once soul-crushing anguish is now simply nothing. A hollow numbness that permeates his entire being; a deep pit that could only be filled by you.

Some frantic entity within him desperately latches onto any loose thread of yours he can find, but any breath of you is merely a figment of his imagination. No matter how hard he may fight and thrash, the truth still bludgeons its bruised, bloody fists into his form: Viktor was not strong enough for you. And without you, there is nothing else in this life that interests him.

“If the Under-City possesses even a sliver of Hextech, this could only result in-”

“It is not the Under-City you should concern yourselves with.” Viktor interrupts. “It is Jinx who is the problem.” He snarls her name like he is spitting out rotten food.

All attention is forced to Viktor, but his gaze remains far and distant. His thoughts have lost themselves in an open field of torturous disarray.

“How are you so positive this is the effort of a single individual?” Cassandra questions him. “How do you know this Jinx you speak of is not working with others?”

A sneer itches at his lips.

“That rat stole Hextech directly from my hands. She will stop at nothing if it is for the sake of Y/N.”

“You speak quite highly of this… Y/N.” Mel Medarda inserts herself into the discussion. “Seems to me they hold some imperative power. Am I mistaken?”

“They are of utmost importance. Y/N is an absolute necessity.”

Whether this imperativeness is for the sake of Piltover or himself, he isn’t sure. Still, he will lay his deepest feelings bare for all the Councilors to judge and belittle if it means bringing you home. Viktor is now miles beyond desperation and this new sensation frightens him to no end.

“Power that Jinx could want, perhaps?”

Viktor shakes his head in disagreement. “No, no. These… feelings Jinx has for Y/N tread deeper.”

“You propose Jinx is possibly in love with Y/N?” Mel inquires further.

“I believe Jinx thinks she is in love with Y/N, but it is merely insincere. No, a creature like her will never amount to anything worthy enough for Y/N. They are simply too…”

A soft fog drapes over his expression.

“Resplendent. Brilliant a-and radiant. An angel we have been-”

“I think what my partner is trying to say is… Jinx is a problem that needs to be promptly addressed.” Jayce rescues Viktor from the social-suicide he was seconds away from committing.

This does not save him from the ghost of his memories plaguing his body, however.

In the clap of a second, Viktor has returned to the scene of the crime: within the whorls of your beloved sanctuary. That laughter, that haunting laughter, pervades through his memory like a thrashing storm. Perfusing into every corner of his mind, granting the tortured man no possible room for clarity. And so enchanted with the moment, Viktor does not attempt to fight the urges his body indulges in before his eyes are rolling back and he’s leaning in to kiss you.

Before your lips can meet in a music-swelling moment of bliss, an abrupt explosion penetrates through the air. The romantic scene is brought to a record-scratching halt and instinctively, Viktor leaps to protect you from the sudden intrusion. A fraction of his mind curses him for not discerning the threat sooner. He’d be a stronger knight if his monarch weren’t so damn hypnotizing.

The swarming fireworks are soon engulfed by the encroaching of smoke bombs, erupting the once breathtaking environment into hazy clouds of purple, pink, and blue. Viktor does not hesitate before sacrificing his body as your shield, tackling you to the ground and ensnaring himself around every inch of flesh he can reach.

Just as he begins to drown you in relentless assurances of his protection, his devotion, how he’ll never abandon your side, the rampant chorus of footsteps then accelerate behind him.

In a flash of blue braids, he is knocked out cold.

When Viktor wakes, he discovers himself motionless in a pool of his own blood. Through his dizzy gaze, the colorful smoke has eased and the sun has reached its highest point. A bitter silence has now overwhelmed the air. Nonetheless, the only thought present in his mind is you.

He searches through the havoc to no avail, dragging himself to his stuttering legs to further search his surroundings. Limping forward, every nook and cranny present is scrutinized by this crazed man, prayers of finding your face drifting from parted lips.

The frightened villagers have all scurried to their homes, barricading the doors and windows with any fragment of protection they can garner. Cowards, Viktor mutters to himself. There is no force in the universe that could restrain him from ensuring your safety. He would tear mountains asunder just to see a smile stretch on your face.

Abruptly, Cassandra Kiramman is what halts Viktor’s trip down memory lane.

“We cannot ignore the possibility that Y/N may be working alongside Jinx. What proof do we have that tells us otherwise-?”

The snap! of Viktor’s cane splitting into two permeates the room’s expanse when he slams it against the desk edge.

“You keep their name out of your filthy mouth!” He spits out, wild and enraged. “There is no boundary I will not cross if it means being united with my spouse! Be it another bomb from that blue-haired mutt, I will persist through all-!”

In the matter of a second, a violent force crashes into the room and several councilors are killed beneath its weight.

Viktor, horrifyingly so, is almost among those several. Not with the desperate enforcement of Jayce Talis, who rushes him to the lab to treat his fatal injuries.

And this very lab is where Jayce has remained for the past several days he has lost count of.

His partner remains stagnant in the mess of Hextech, opalescent strings of gooey sludge enmeshing his unconscious body. Meanwhile, Jayce scrutinizes every etch of Viktor’s journals, searching for some antidote that will wake him from this magic-induced coma. Though, the most redundant theme in these scientists’ notes is the etchings of the same face, sketched over and over again in an obsessive harmony.

Jayce’s fingers drift among the surface of the page, dragging his gentle touch among the curves and shading of their paper face. He can understand why Viktor is so enthralled by them, as they are evidently, heart-wrenchingly beautiful. But, Jayce is not an easy man. Thus, he does not waver for the artistic works of a man head-over-heels. He’ll just choose to ignore the strange pit in his stomach every time he recalls Viktor using the word “spouse” in regards to them.

“We need to begin preparing ourselves for a full-scale invasion.”

Caitlyn Kiramman announces herself abruptly as she struts into the room.

Upon this intrusion, Jayce slams the journal shut as though he were caught by his mother sneaking sugar before dinner. He cannot put a finger on the reasoning behind such a culpable reaction, but he digresses to accommodate her presence, anyway.

“You’ve taken this time to secure Hextech, I presume?”

She rounds the corner, but her determined strides reach a sudden halt upon finding the sight of Viktor. For just a moment, there’s a glimmer of emotion in Caitlyn’s expression. Brief, albeit, but its existence had prevailed fleetingly, nonetheless.

“He’s breathing. That’s… That’s all I know.” Jayce mutters.

Her weakened attitude is swiftly replaced by her habitual, stiff disposition. Chest and chin held high, she continues.

“There is no use dwelling on these matters. Not when the Under-City is potentially planning another attack.”

Exhaustion getting the better of him, Jayce scoffs at her persisting suggestions, rubbing the ache in his temple.

“Cait, I already told you. I promised Viktor. You can’t just go down there, guns-a-blazing-!”

“And I have told you, Jayce, this is no longer up for debate. Jinx has proved herself to be an extraordinary threat. Now, we have proper reason to believe Y/N is, too. It is absolutely imperative these threats are located and neutralized.”

Caitlyn glares daggers as she awaits his response. Jayce has been rendered speechless, however. The hopeful plans he formed for this nation a decade ago have all crashed and burned in a violent matter of seconds. He has found himself at a complete loss, no successful direction on this plane to resort to. All due to this Jinx character. Now, potentially, this beautiful stranger, as well.

Stuck within his inner turmoil, Caitlyn perceives his silence as an answer. She turns her shoulder and takes a single step toward the door.

“Let me try talking to them.”

This grasps her attention.

“You… You wish to speak to Y/N? Why?”

A confession of what lies in Viktor’s journal bridges on his lips, but he halts the efforts of his honest tongue.

“I, uh…” Jayce gulps nervously, but conceals the motion with a forced cough. “I believe I can crack through them. If I can talk to them, I may be able to predict Zaun’s next attack.”

Caitlyn merely gapes at him in utter bewilderment, stammering over herself before she can properly articulate her puzzled thoughts.

“That is vacuous! Our knowledge of Jinx is weak, yes, but Y/N is an utter stranger! A monster, at that! You’d be throwing yourself into uncharted waters, Jayce, you cannot be-”

Her expression drops from scrunched confusion to bitter offense when she realizes the intent behind his lies. He refuses to meet her eye and maintains his vision to the glossy floors. Ashamed, but he will not admit such.

“What will Miss Medarda think of that? Hmm?”

Her tone is low and cautionary. A gentle threat, subtly jabbing at her new privileges as a respected councilor member.

“It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. The sake of Piltover is most important.”

The thinly-veiled lie provokes a sharp, dry laugh from Caitlyn. It is her final response before she promptly takes her leave.

Another powerful figure of the Upper-City has been claimed by this all-engrossing outsider. That being one of the closest friends she has ever known. This creature will surely claim more, unfortunately, but Caitlyn will not allow them to possess her.

She will stop at nothing to bring this devil to their feet. No matter what it takes.

Down under, thundering music and flashing lights dance around Vi. Slumped over the ragged surface of the bar, the ache of alcohol hammers her messy mind. Her pockets are heavy with the coins she earned from another win in the pit, but her senses may as well have been melted to jelly with how much intoxication she has poisoned herself with. Just another night spent resorting to whatever means necessary to forget, the bartender knows all too well.

Tonight, however, another heavy-weight worry has been tossed onto the pile of thousands.

“Me? An enforcer?” Vi chuckles at the prospect alone. “The peanut patrol can suck it, for all I care!”

Another mouthful of liquor burns her throat as it descends.

“That Piltie-bitch wouldn’t know Y/N if they punched her in her dumb face, heh!”

Her bruised, calloused hand lazily grasps hold of her cheek, the very way you did all those years ago. A glance over to the busy dance floor and her evening intentions have found success. There you are, your cloaked figure like a sore thumb among the other partygoers; a scene so out of place, it is almost comical.

“Y/N…”

With liquid courage working its wonders, she has an unbearable urge to shuffle over to you, collapse against your form, and pour her heart from her ribcage straight into your palms. The confession would be drunken and disgusting, stained in inky reverence and muddy worship. Yet, perhaps you’ll be so moved by this passionate declaration, you’ll let her drag you back to her room and-

“Sheesh, kid. Back at it again?”

She’d let out a groan if her body had the energy to do so.

Loris, a regular in the audience, sits himself beside her. Or, ‘Wannabe-Vander’, as she has jokingly titled him after one too many shots.

“What’s ‘yer diagnosis this time, ‘ey? That ‘Y/N’ ‘yer still caught up on?”

Her languid arm attempts to shove him away in her drunken state. Maybe sock him in the face for speaking of you so passively while she’s at it.

“Shut up… Dick…”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get ‘ye home.”

His arms lock under hers and lift, bringing Vi to her wobbly legs. Reluctantly, she follows his guide. Her eyes are locked to the fuzzy hallucination of you with every step out of the bar.

The sight of the flags with the enforcers insignia threaded into the fabric is a brutal reminder of life without you present.

“Enforcer… Fucking joke…”

The thought alone puts a nauseating taste on her tongue. Do Top-Siders really think they can cast out their own people, only to return and take their pick of the litter? Despite all the inevitable disappointment their behavior elicits, Vi still finds herself in the same insufferable fits of rage with every action they take. Every damn day it seems they test her patience. Now, they’ve taken one step too far, from military stomps to an all-too aggressive, annoying intrusion.

Vi splats face-first into the firm plush of her mattress. Loris speaks, most likely a farewell, but the rampant ringing in her aching head fails to discern his words. The door closes with a clunky click and just like every other night, Vi is all alone. The air may be hollow and heavy, but her mind is alive with the softness she only touched once.

“Y/N…”

If it is true, if you are really out there somewhere and not just a pretty figment of a teenager's wild imagination, she cannot decide how to feel. She is at an odd juxtaposition between an ecstatic light and a lonely darkness. All those isolated nights, drunken ramblings, and savage bar fights — why weren’t you there to stop her again? All she has known her entire life is pain, why can’t you mend it the way you did all those years ago?

Even after all this buzzing noise, those words still echo in perfect precision.

“You may have a good heart, but you must not let it blind you.”

And to this day, she hasn’t a clue how this adheres to her life.

‘Good heart’ this, ‘good heart’ that. It is what the most imperative figures in her life have told her. You, however, were different. You were a warning, a feather-touched glimpse into the brutality of her future. Swarming in like a steel crane, bludgeoning the walls she’s spent her entire life forging brick-by-brick.

A strangled gasp dances into the silence when the revelation hits.

These walls have blinded her. That is why you are not here beside her! You must have attempted plenty of times, but the sheer girth of these walls has drowned out any call of her name. Vi was far-too engrossed in maintaining a tough, take-no-shit disposition and neglecting her need for gentler things. Neglecting her need for you, wherever you may reside beyond these thick layers. And this epiphany is shattering.

The Enforcer badge abandoned in the corner of the room calls out to her. A symbol of power and privilege, just beyond her touch. What was once something that churned her stomach by just a mere thought has now transformed into a golden, glimmering opportunity.

That navy-haired Commander, whatever her name was, seemed to know you extensively. Far more than Vi is comfortable with. Maybe if she bites her tongue and wears the badge, she’ll know just as much. Maybe if she leaves this pit, she'll know more than anyone ever has. Maybe if she crosses the bridge, she’ll obtain the proper resources to track down the love of her life.

Maybe, if she joins the Enforcers, she can leave the pigs a breadcrumb trail away from you. Then, just maybe, she can return some of that softness you gave her.

If one thing is abundantly clear, blue and gold are not Vi’s colors.

That is a coherent understatement Vi is acutely aware of now, standing beside the Piltie’s who destroyed her life as their equal. Here, they utilize what they call ‘The Grey’ as a weapon against the people of the Under-City. Green puffs of poison perfusing from every possible angle, the place she has titled home is now reminiscent of a battlefield.

Every building drowns in the gas, mere figments of shapes beneath its thick haze. ‘WANTED’ posters of this ‘Jinx’ character are engulfed in this matter, too. Respected members of the Chem-Barons are now left in languid messes of bodies, some dead while others gag and cling to life. The people of the underground deserve to breathe, until one of them is a bomb-wielding maniac.

“We’ll begin in the Lanes then down to the Slums. Remember: if there is a clear shot, you may open fire, but it is I who will deliver the final blow. No matter Jinx or Y/N. Understood?”

A series of “Yes, Commander”’s are mere squeaks against the booming authority of Caitlyn Kiramman. With a Hextech-powered gun in hand, she confidently guides several Enforcers through the quiet city.

Vi, amongst the several, feverishly scrutinizes through the green gas for even a prick of you. She is no longer blind; the mask has finally been torn from her face. As she concluded, it is surely only a matter of time before you come barreling out of the smog and into her embrace, there to never part again.

It is when their team passes an alleyway that her attention is garnered.

The space is overwhelmed in green fog, but through the silent murk is a noise. It is a quiet sound, like skittering paws. Restrained coughing, almost. That sound is not foreign to the Under-City, an expanse overwhelmed with disease and infection. For reasons Vi cannot decipher, though, this is different. Familiar, she could further detail.

The others have continued countless paces forward as she stands and studies the intricacies of the sound. Classic Topsiders leaving the Zaunite in their dust, once again. Vi does not take the rare moment of Enforcer eyes off of her for granted, however, and ventures into the alleyway.

The sounds that once allured her have now been overwhelmed by her own rampant breaths, intensified within the barriers of her gas mask. Hope has consistently preceded betrayal over the course of her life, so she does not dare let your name touch her tongue. It still resides in her chest, however, where you have always lived. Calling out for you with every thundering beat of her heart.

When Vi rounds a corner, something juts out through the poisonous clouds. Anxiety thrashes inside of her, but she does not dare to halt her efforts now. When she takes a single step closer, her entire world plummets.

Hidden behind an array of old barrels is no other than you.

And just like that, the war is over.

Guns stretching into red-painted arrows mending broken hearts. Gunpoint threats overcome with strong declarations of devotion. Gunpowder residue building to form dust bunnies of a home well-loved. Gunshots easing to soft breaths of tranquility on a gloomy morning. Gunmen’s savage hands healing through bandages to fur-soft touches.

Salvation has found its way directly to her doorstep, wrapped in pretty bows of purple and blue. The war is finally over and Vi can barely tolerate the rush of rapture now pumping through her bloodstream.

You’re huddled into a ball, nearly nude and nothing short of terrified. Puffs of purple and blue spark from your palms in your effort of summoning your powers, but the sudden surge in strength from before has now run dry. Your attempts at shielding your coughing fit is futile, as well, evident in the second presence now towering over you. And it takes every fibre inside her to restrain herself from tackling you like some feral, emaciated animal.

It is fate, purely. A few chapters late, albeit, but finally inked down in all of its beautiful, annihilating colors. You gifted her wisdom many years ago. Now, it is her turn to utilize her own wisdom to protect your precious life.

“Oh, Sweetheart…”

Vi is swift in ridding herself of her gas mask to place it over your head instead. The relief in your expression is immediate when you are finally granted a gasp of clean air.

It does not go unnoticed by Vi, either. She hadn’t realized she had placed a hand on your bare shoulder, but feeling your muscles ease beneath her touch has her releasing a shaky breath she wasn’t aware she was choking on. As though this was normal; as though neither of you had spent a single day apart from each other's side. Partners until the end of time, she muses, your paths and hands woven together with the universe’ needle and thread.

Her lover. The thought alone sends a hot tickle up her spine. Lovers.

Vi suppresses the gags induced by the gas in her elbow, while her other hand caresses the skin she has only dreamt of touching. Any turmoil hurled her way is now a cake-walk with your touch beneath hers.

So engrossed in the whorls of you, in fact, it is only now does she take further notice of other fractions of your physicality. Some vibrant smudges are written on your forehead. “KISS ME, JINX!” is drawn in a blaring demand. Beneath the beautiful face, now covered in a thick mask, is an adornment around your neck. “Property of JINX!”, a warning threatening others off claimed territory.

It is a revolting collage of obsession, one that informs her without words how Jinx is the only threat present here. It could never be you, the pinnacle of tranquility. Too perfect to ever force harm. This Jinx, however, is a different story.

The memories then strike like cold water.

Powder’s insistence of “the stranger” being taken alongside Vander, despite Vi’s assurances that they are nothing more than a fictional fantasy (a territorial motive on her end, she’ll admit). The relentless collision of blue magic that took the lives of almost everyone she held close. The quiet hope that somehow, you’d persevere through the wreckage and mend the impossible wounds.

Then, there was the red-hot rage ensnaring around her every action. Violent hands that swore to never touch family have done exactly so. “You’re a jinx!” erupting from her throat before she can measure the consequences. The enraged paces away, abandoning the only family she had left in ash. Stumbling upon the pit, where Loris took her under his wing. The place she has resided in for an entire decade.

“Please…”

And then, there was you. The essence of her wistful dreams; the only light present to protect her from the monsters under her bed. Now, plunging your hands into her chest and claiming her soul as yours, once and for all.

“Do not hurt me…”

You may as well have clutched her heart in the process, too. The thick, gooey chunks of the red organ stuffed beneath your fingernails.

Placing harm on you will never be a possibility. Like an ocean without water, a galaxy without stars, a pair of hands without touch. It is a prospect that simply does not exist. And it kills her that you think it does.

“You think I wanna hurt you, baby?”

As though she were approaching a feeble, wounded animal, Vi slowly shuffles closer to where you sit. Her arm slithers around your shoulder, your touch igniting a flurry of goosebumps down her flesh.

The puny strength your body conjured to plead for your life is soon snuffed out. Your heavy vision droops and you fall unconscious, coincidentally landing against the chest of Vi. And of course, in typical Vi fashion, her mind reaches the conclusion of you doing such from the comfort you find in her embrace. Not a second more is wasted before she is scooping you into her strong arms.

“Sweet thing… Nothing’s gonna hurt you…”

She presses a kiss to your temple. Electric, warm bolts tickle her lips upon contact.

“’Never gonna let you out of my sight again…”

Bringing herself to her feet, Vi adjusts your position in her arms and sets off into the night. Eager to embark on this new chapter where she indulges in the sweetest blessing she’s ever received.

The twists and churns of your stomach is what welcomes you when you first awaken. Voices dance in an echoing synchronization, impossible to discern in your weakened state. Specks of your vision return in short spurts which reveal nothing more than swaying purple lights through a maze of darkness.

“Aww, shucks, birdie! Just can’t stay away, can’t ‘ya?”

The familiar tones have you thrashing about in a new state of adrenaline-induced clarity. You frantically search for those blue braids you know too well, but find no sign of the criminal mastermind. What you do find, however, is another figure rushing to your side.

“Easy, Sweets. Just you and me here.”

Violet sits beside where you lay and her hands are on you in record speed. The Enforcer uniform she has draped around your form does not protect you from her greedy touch, with her caressing any fraction of you she can clutch in an attempt at comfort.

“What a mess you have become, child. What would your father think seeing you in such disarray?”

The sudden perfusion of a voice you have not heard in centuries yanks a sob from your chest. It is met with even more loving affections from the persistent presence beside you.

“Why did you abandon me…?”

Vi gapes at you in response. Tears prick at her eyes and her bottom lip begins to wobble — sensations that have become strangers over the past several years. She doesn’t grant herself a moment to even consider what this “abandonment” is before she’s adorning you in fervent reassurances.

“I…” She stammers. “I would never leave you behind! You’re the only reason I’ve stayed in this fucked-up city in the first place. I promise you, sweetheart, I’m not blind anymore.”

The intensifying ache in your stomach drowns out her remaining words. It is then you realize this sudden illness poisoning your body must be at fault for the excessive blood intake during your stay in Jinx’s lair. It is surely the reason behind such painful visions, too.

Rest is an imperative necessity now, but you will not ease until you have returned to the safety of your sanctuary. And you will certainly not rest in the arms of the girl you have not thought of once in an entire decade.

You can’t even grasp how you are supposed to confess how the “blindness” you spoke of was in relation to her father, not yourself. On the rare instances you leave the expanse of your sanctuary, you reserve a fraction of time to help outside citizens. Young Violet amidst her Piltover heist were among those citizens. It is only now do you realize the consequences of your kind actions.

The hushed pitter-patter of boots outside are soon met with the intrusion of a smooth tone.

“Retreating down to the Slums? Makes sense for someone of your kind.”

Vi’s immediate acknowledgment and panic tell you this is not another cruel trick your brain is forcing onto you. She then parts from your side, concealing a half-broken bottle behind her back before she faces the unwelcome visitors. Her figure passing through the crooked threshold is the last thing you see before you doze off, once again.

“Does it matter? I’m following orders, Commander, am I not?”

A stable lie has always come easy to Vi. This is a tool she swiftly abuses in the heat of the moment, a skill that is more imperative now than ever before.

“Without your badge, I see?” The Kiramman fires back.

“Heh, this is the problem with you Topsiders. You only look at shit from a surface level. Never had to dig your hands in the dirt like the rest of us.”

Caitlyn’s fingers tighten around the gun swung over her shoulder.

“Is that so?” She further challenges.

“’The fuck else would it mean?”

The Commander allows a silence to settle, stalking the nervous tics and twitches within the newest Enforcer. Soon to be former, but Caitlyn doesn’t mind allowing this mutt to run around in circles.

Always straight-faced, Commander Kiramman sends out her next demand.

“Search the grounds.”

The panic that ignites in Vi’s eyes is nothing short of delicious. If it weren’t for the purpose of maintaining her image, Caitlyn would allow herself to smile in response to the all-mighty pit fighter’s horror.

The bottle she successfully hidden then barrels through the air, puncturing into the skull of one of the several Enforcers. Their death came as quick as the bottle was thrown, landing on the ground with a harsh thump.

A flurry of gunshots ensue, all of which Vi manages to dodge. All she has to defend herself is her fists, which has been the weapon she has used for as long as she has lived. With ease, she is able to disarm the surrounding Enforcers and beat them into bloody pulps. Never has Vi been one to bend over easily. And that is certainly the case now with her forearms drenched in warm blood, blue-and-gold dressed corpses littering her path.

However, there is one missing. Through the enraged chaos, Vi cannot find the Commander amongst the mess of bodies. With the door to her childhood home wide open, she feels her stomach cave into itself. She clumsily scrambles to her feet and rushes into the dilapidated building, eyes wide and crazed as she enters.

The Kiramman is nowhere to be seen, and horrifyingly so, neither are you. All that is left of you now is the Enforcer jacket she blanketed you in.

A roaring scream bruises Vi’s throat raw as she collapses to the dirt. Tears mend with the mess, seeping down her face like they never have before. There is no torture like being so close to having everything, then having it torn from your hands in the matter of seconds. That is a reality Vi will do anything to destroy.

Never in the thousands of years you have been alive did you ever consider the possibility of being arrested.

One of the most powerful creatures in Runeterra has now been locked in a cage. You would laugh at the prospect alone if your body weren’t so weak. The stiff, cold surface of the cell bed you’ve been thrown upon does not aid this sickness, either. Neither does the boisterous complaints of other inmates and clanking metal bars.

Despite the rampant pounding using your brain as its drum, you’re insistent on staying conscious. No matter how torturous reality may be. Soon, you assure, you’ll be back beneath the warm blankets of your sanctuary, a steaming bowl of soup and cup of tea greeting you first thing. This adventure will be nothing more than a silly story to tell your beloved villagers.

It is when you glance out of your cell do your thoughts come to a halt.

Through the thick bars of the cell before yours, you find doe-like, honey-gold eyes staring at you in complete wonder. Her gaze is almost shielded beneath the messy mop of chestnut-brown locks atop her head. The fearful tears glimmering in the corner of those eyes prick at your heart, as well as the chubby cheeks already stained of her cries.

A little girl, in a place like this? What measures has Runeterra resorted to while you were sitting cozy in your palace?

“Oh… Hello there, little one…”

Your coo is quiet amongst the calamity of the prison, but the young girl latches to your words, nonetheless.

“Would you like to see something magical, perhaps?”

Her attention, already captured, is now thoroughly piqued as she eagerly nods her head. Her tiny fingers grasp the rusted metal of the cell bars, impatiently awaiting your next move.

Normally, in a healthier state, you’ll entertain the children of your village by forging shapes from these clouds. From cranes and flowers to blimps and dinosaurs, it never fails to put them in a state of awe. With your stomach still swaying with blood, the best you can muster is a few fireworks that lazily dance from your palms.

Despite the (in your opinion) pathetic performance, the little girl brightens with excitement, her hands clasped around her cheeks in amazed shock. For the first time in weeks, just about, you smile with her. Raw and real, just the way it is back in your sanctuary.

Like clockwork, that happiness is robbed from you when a certain somebody makes their presence known. The sight of the little girl is blocked by the bulky figure of Vi, who stares down at you in your cell as though you were served as the main course at tonight’s feast.

“Don’t get too excited, sugar.” She muses, tone slow and greedy. A timbre you know all too well.

A few metal clanks and twists of her hand, the cell slides open and grants this lovesick monster full access to you. Her gaze is predatory as she locks the cell shut behind her, unblinking eyes never parting from yours. An evident fire burning inside her that not even the most violent of oceans could extinguish.

“You think that stupid Kiramman is gonna be enough to keep me away?” She laughs mockingly at the idea alone. “Took some pathetic groveling to get back here, but I have a few ideas of how you can make it up to me.”

You curl into yourself, knees pressed to your chest as though it could conceal you from the hungry mouth drooling to sink its sharp teeth into you. This effort is merely futile as Vi wastes no time in sitting down beside you, calloused hand beginning to massage the juts of your knee.

“Violet…”

A warmth blooms in her chest at the sound of you cooing her name; the only noise she’d ever want to hear first thing in the morning, replacing the hangover-buzz diluting the demands to prepare herself for another fight.

“I worry for my people. Please, I insist! I must return home-!”

A finger pressed to your lips and you’re silenced.

The sly grin slithering onto her face is impossible to avoid, as well. Evidently giddy over the concept of having such control over you. You also do not fail to notice the way she subtly nudges that finger against her mouth. A sloppy indirect kiss, you presume. Even though he was such an ephemeral figure in your life, it might as well have been Viktor sitting beside you with such teenage-like antics.

“You don’t need to worry about all that right now, sugar. No monster is gonna get you while I’m here.”

A hand to your shoulder and you are swiftly tugged into her embrace, the same way a python ensnares itself against defenseless prey. Your body feels like that of a stranger when the action causes lethargy to perfuse through your whole body.

With your head on her chest, one thought remains persistent as you drift to sleep for the umpteenth time.

This is really getting irritating.

“Well… It all went to shit.” Jinx admits in defeat. “Didn’t it, Birdie?”

The nightlife has now overwhelmed all of Zaun, but Jinx remains on the outskirts in complete isolation. She passes the countless posters adorning her face in favor of treading mindlessly. She has no intended path in particular. Anything to keep her moving; anything that will outrun the demons that lurk in her path.

Her hair drags through the sand as she walks the edge of the lakeshore, feet bare to the jagged litter and broken glass shards. The water is frigid, to a painful degree, but she cannot find it within herself to pay any mind to the matter. Not with you gone, no. Nothing matters with you far from her side.

Footsteps drum from behind her, but she does not dare to turn. She is perfectly aware of what prowls in the darkness.

Mylo, in his state of a decomposed, neon-adorned apparition, breaks through the thick silence.

“What did I say? Like always, you find a way to jinx everything. Jinx.”

His teasing remarks do exactly as they intended: sink deep beneath her skin. Almost, she turns to snap back at his insult, but she manages to halt herself. After all, none of it is real, and surely you do not wish to date someone whose sanity is several blows away from shattering beyond repair.

It is when Claggor joins the party does she nearly crack.

“Did you really think they’d settle for someone like you? Come on, you knew it was a bad idea from the start.”

Her nails dig into her hair, attempting to shield her ears from the rampant abuse. You wouldn’t settle, you’re not like that! No, you’d love her, you were so close to learning how to! It was those stupid Topsiders who rid two innocent lovebirds of that chance! And that scientist, that bones-y creep! Couldn’t get it up for you and had to snag you away for a round two!

“Y/N, hoo! That’s a catch you don’t find too often. Don’t think it’s somethin’ you can hook, kid.”

Vander’s thick accent seeps deep into her bones. Jinx’s clenched fists pound against her skull as she tries to stop the thoughts from rattling around. She has torn Zaun asunder trying to find you, it was those Piltie scums who sunk their hook into you! It was them! Their fault, not hers!

Vi’s voice perfuses next.

“Time to cut your losses, Pow-Pow. They’d do better with someone like me-”

“Shut up!”

A bullet pierces through the wind when Jinx whips around to blow her sister's brains out. When the silence settles, deep and lonely, she registers her sanity has finally received its final blow. Now, there is nothing but the chunks of her persistent failure that remain. She is a jinx and that fact prevails like it never has before.

A single step sinks into the wet sand of the beach’s shoreline. Another sinks deeper, then another, and another. Her frail body begins to shiver from the ice-cold contact, but still, she does not cease her efforts.

Floating on her back, Jinx sways along with the gentle waves, a juxtaposition to the pandemonium within her mind. It is a strange peace the sensation earns her. Nothing reminiscent of your all-consuming tranquility, but the resemblance is puny, nonetheless. Serving as her only comfort through all of this noise.

With the flap of her hands, she descends her body further into the waves. The water gladly consumes her whole, gleefully robbing her of any oxygen. It clutches at her lungs with no hope of ease and indulges in the thrashing fight. Through the chaotic wasteland of her mind, however, Jinx can only find you.

Instead of the violent calamity she is so familiar with, the images stamped in her thoughts are inked in your happiness. Her eyes close and she revels in the picture-perfect scenery of what her life could have been.

Vibrant paint splattered amongst each other, a playful fight in the midst of the renovation of yours and (now) Jinx’s palace. Toying with gadgetry and inventions, forging utensils to better the lives of your villagers (and maybe the bedroom, as well). Cheesy, romantic music perfusing from the gramophone as you both clasp onto each other in an intimate dance. Cherries-on-top present themselves through kisses on cheeks, flustered giggles, and warm nuzzles. The very definition of a perfect life, that is how Jinx would describe these fantasies.

They continue to play as her lungs grow tighter and tighter and tighter. Though, there is no pain with your smile shining behind her eyes.

Then, with one final gasp of your name, there is nothing.

Across the bridge, you’ve now found yourself in an irritating routine of succumbing to your body’s incessant need for rest. Asleep for years, it feels like, only to be granted mere minutes of energy. Every time you stir awake, without fail, Violet is the one you wake up against. How a prison guard has not raised the question of why one of their Enforcers is cuddling an inmate, you haven’t a single clue.

What you do know is that she is currently in a deep slumber. Testing the waters, you lightly nudge the thick muscles of her arm. With no rousing in sight, you take advantage of her unconscious state and your sudden burst of energy.

With slowness that would put a snail to shame, you lift Vi’s arm from its permanent residence around your waist. Just before you can slither out of the new space for escape, that arm locks around your form, its sudden tightness forcing a gasp from your throat.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Her leg is then brought into that equation, too, now latched around your hips. Nuzzling her face into the nape of your neck, you try to ignore the possessive affections and instead, measure the weight of your possible choices from here.

Simply walking out of this cell is not a clear option here. There is also the matter of being patient for your powers to return, but the waiting game is not something you wish to play. A repeat of what that blue-haired mastermind put you through is nothing short of a nightmare. With only one feasible option on the horizon, you take a deep breath of preparation.

Evidently, this girl has a weakness. And that very weakness is heavy-eyed and lethargic, locked in this prison cell. Weaponizing this could result in your escape, sure, but it could also lead you into a… Sticky situation, if you will. Even if you read thousands of books on the skill of romance, you would still be oblivious in any effort to navigate that world. In the centuries of your life, you have never cared for such, either.

The people within your village have always been of utmost importance. Tending to them has been the path you have happily tread down for years. Never a kiss, never an embrace, never even holding hands with a special someone — your interest in these pursuits has never been piqued.

Sure, Viktor and Jinx are not the first to piece together your runes and find their way to your sanctuary, greeting you with lovelorn declarations of devotion that would take the trophies of the most talented of poets. None of their romantic pursuits ever compelled you to indulge them, though. Until the feelings are mutual will you ever consider the choice.

With that being said, this does happen to be the first time their reverence has pushed you and your magic outside of your sanctuary. Locked tight in a prison cell, no less.

From here, you bite the bullet and put on your best award-winning performance.

Before Vi’s grasp can tighten once more, you swiftly slip out of her greedy hold. She reaches for you like a child parting from their teddy-bear, but another demand of your return gets lodged in her throat when you straddle her.

Fake smile plastered on your face, you take her face into your hands and simply stare. A few well-measured caresses of your thumbs and she’s entirely at your will, evident in the exasperated breaths and powder-grey eyes sparkling like a puppy-dog with a juicy bone. Vi’s hands clutch around your thigh, jagged nails digging into the flesh as a desperate means to not let them travel further. This attempt at self-control is weak, however.

“Fuck. C’mere-”

Her lips just barely graze yours before you interrupt her intentions.

“I was so frightened before. Not a soul could fathom the weight of my fears.”

Paired with a gentle pout and nervous tone, any disappointment surrounding not having your lips on hers is replaced with genuine, unbreakable interest.

“Jinx was so, so cruel, Violet.”

The name of her sister should never sit on your tongue, only hers. It causes her to tense beneath you, a stirring pit of rage forming from the frail tones in your voice. The sight of tears building in your eyes does not assuage these feelings, either. No, it adds even more fuel to the fire.

“Even my cries were not enough to stop her vicious hands. Extraordinary violence, she always treated me with.”

It is faux innocence; a sloppy attempt, at best. Still, your efforts work marvelously with the anger you’ve managed to ignite. The fact she has not thrown you back onto the cell bed, stormed out of the prison, and returned with a pair of blue braids on a silver platter is nothing short of a miracle.

“You…”

Your finger traces the jut of her collarbone, eliciting a chill with every centimeter your nail treads.

“You are simply different. A softness I did not deem myself worthy of, crashing into my world like the catalyst you are.”

Accentuated with laughter, Vi falls even deeper into your magic spell. It is only now do you realize a mere caress would have done enough damage, why hadn’t you utilized this skill sooner? You did not expect such antics to work so obnoxiously well. So much so, you fear you may have abused this tool a pace too far.

“Let me make you feel good, ‘Sug. ‘Promise it’ll be nothing you’ve ever felt before.”

Her arm then ensnares around your waist once again, the other clasping your jaw to prevent another escape. The gasp it pulls from you is misinterpreted as something sensual, of which she gobbles right up.

“Tastes like candy, I bet.”

Vi’s lips find your neck before you can merely react to the sudden movement. Lapping and sucking onto any stretch of skin she can claim — a heaven she has only dreamt of clutching.

You twitch uncomfortably from the affection, which she, once again, mistakes as an act of passion. If her mouth weren’t occupied with the best meal she’s ever tasted, she’d reassure you of how there is no need to rut against her for more of her touch. If she were to speak of such, your act may falter from the disgusting insinuations behind the filthy words.

“Violet…”

Your attempt at grasping her attention is perceived as one of pleasure, evident in the satisfied groan it pulls from her. Brows curling upwards and all.

“Allow me to kiss you. Please.”

The words are so foreign, they feel equivalent to vomit crawling from your mouth. Anything to remove this blood-hungry vampire from your innocent neck.

Vi obliges in an almost whiplash-inducing speed and her eyes flutter shut as she leans in. With a prayer to no one, you enact on a power you did not ever believe you’d wield in such circumstances.

Two fingers pressed to her closed eyes, you whisper your next action.

“Sleep…”

And just like that, it was like the humiliating scene had never occurred in the first place. Violet is out like a light, sinking down onto the concrete-surfaced prison bed. This mechanism has only been explored in more light-hearted scenarios. It was normally exercised to lull fussy babies. Now, it is used to pacify the animalistic exertions of this dark-haired street fighter.

With your weakened state, you cannot accurately anticipate how long Violet will be asleep for, nor can you measure how much time is left before you’re forced into a state of unconsciousness, once again. You yank the dangling keys from Violet’s hip and fiddle with them clumsily, before the correct one finally unlocks your cell with a click. Centuries spent applying your powers to any barrier makes for an awkward runaway, you surmise.

Scanning the long aisle of cells for any lingering guards, you dash to the cell directly before yours. Another graceless scrambling of clanking keys ensues before you finally hear that melodious click. Upon entering, frantic and horrified that you had possibly let a child witness such a fiasco, you release a pent-up sigh of relief when you find her fast asleep. And, most imperatively, safe.

With another paranoid glance over your shoulder, you bend to her level at the edge of the prison bed. You inspect the skin not covered in rugged scraps for any wounds, of which you thankfully find none. The people beneath this roof are prone to aggressive violence. Forcing such hands onto a child is an act you deem unforgivable, and frankly, impossible to understand. It is an overwhelming gratitude you are met with when you find they spared the girl of such.

The adorable coos of gentle snores almost prompt a spike of guilt in you, but you insist on nudging her awake before this rare window closes.

Golden eyes peer around in confusion as she rouses from her sleep. Upon discerning the sight of you, the girl practically throws herself into your arms. You stumble back upon the surprising act, but do not hesitate in returning the affection. What kind of monster would deny a child the necessity of comfort, after all? The heart-shattering cries muffled into your shoulder only strengthen this belief furthermore.

“Oh, Rabbit… I will not let them harm us. I promise you.”

When she retreats from your hold, you clasp her face in your hand and stroke her chubby face.

“I know of a place I am positive you’ll adore. Somewhere you will never be hurt again.”

Her eyes are hopeful as they stare into yours, sobs having eased to hiccuping sniffles. A smile, just a hint of one, stretches on her scarred lips.

Shifting your gaze a little to the left, you find a rusted helmet with cracked goggles had been left underneath the bed. Possibly belonging to an old miner, it appears. You place the hat atop her messy locks, pretending you were crowning royalty.

“You will need your best armor, soldier. Only the strongest can embark on such a journey.”

That earns you a giggle, of which you revel in the success of.

“Remind me, soldier, what is your name?”

The girl seems to consider your question thoroughly, measuring how exactly she should inform you of such. Several motions of her hand spell out her name in sign language, of which you read in perfect coherence.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Isha.”

Meanwhile, Violet remains limp in the neighboring cell. A peaceful, blissful slumber that is oblivious to what is happening just several feet away. And in this slumber is where she revels in the exhilaration of a love she’ll cling to for the remainder of her days.

Like the triumph of a curtain call, Violet’s dreams have come true: to feel the touch of gentle warmth. After an entire lifetime, she is finally soft. Here, beneath the light of you, everything melts.

Now, her dreams have shifted. Violet will keep a tight clasp on this feather-touch.

No matter what it takes.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ YOU REALLY GOT A HOLD ON ME,

SO THIS ISN'T JUST PUPPY LOVE . . . ❞

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