agoodfictitle-shadowban - Tumblr blog

agoodfictitle-shadowban · 7 months ago

Text

Arcane characters finding you asleep at their workplace

The devil works hard, but I work a little harder, so I’m back to writing Arcane headcanons a month before season two comes out.

Jayce:

- Strong sense of guilt,

- The first thing that comes to his mind is that you must have waited for him for a long time to fall asleep

- He will make it up to you by trying to cook something for you, stopping to buy your favorite sweets before heading home, and giving you a shoulder massage the moment you sit down somewhere after you wake up.

- The man of the Hamlet-like dilemma: he doesn’t want to wake you, but he also doesn’t want you to be uncomfortable.

- If he has something urgent to do, he’ll try to cover your shoulders with something, even just his jacket, to keep you warm while he finishes only the essentials.

- Once he’s free, he will very gently try to lift you from the chair, apologizing when you wake up and mumble something incoherent.

Viktor:

- In the early years of university, it sometimes happened that he found you in his room asleep, slumped over on a chair or bed with your shoes still on.

- But as the years went by and the lab became his main space, that sight became a constant, repeating at least twice a week.

- He tries to make as little noise as possible, whether with his aides, the door, or the stack of books and notebooks he needs to organize.

- Before getting to work, he leaves the room again to bring you your favorite hot drink with a plastic lid pressed on top, so it doesn’t cool down.

- Then, in complete silence, he works, deciding what to leave for tomorrow and what to do now, so he can finish as soon as possible without delaying too much.

Ekko:

- It’s hard to define what exactly a workplace is for Ekko,

- But he often finds you at the Firelights' tree, in that room that’s supposed to be his, having likely sneaked in through the window to surprise him.

- There are days when he comes back fairly early but stays to tell stories to the kids, and others when things go wrong, and he returns when it’s already dark, and almost everyone is asleep

- Finding you like this always makes him feel the absence of something more stable

- But he shakes his head and quickly pushes aside doubts about his ideals, stepping out of the room again and making more noise as he enters again, so you wake up, and he can pretend to be surprised in front of your open eyes.

- By now, you know he steps out and comes back in, but it makes you smile every single time.

Vander:

- You always sit at a table in the back of the Last Drop to wait for him, trying not to bother him, doodling, doing calculations, or planning something for the next day just to keep yourself entertained.

- But by now, the sound of drunkards and the clinking of coins and glasses have become background noise that helps lull you into a catatonic state.

- Vander usually notices after about an hour that you've fallen asleep; he always keeps an eye on you, but sometimes the customers cause problems.

- He doesn’t like leaving you there, so far away, so he usually waits for a quieter moment to come over, pick you up, and bring you behind the counter, laying you down with your arms and head resting on the wooden bar.

- He knows it’s not a big improvement, but his priority is to keep you safe.

- When he finishes working, he closes the bar without doing the closing duties, sets his alarm for earlier than usual, and carries you to your room in his arms, covering your forehead with kisses.

Silco:

- The problem with Silco finding you asleep in his office is that he rarely arrives alone.

- There’s always either Sevika or at least two other henchmen following him.

- He sighs and sends them away, not without Sevika giving him a provocative look that means everything and nothing.

- He hates those situations because part of him feels a strange warmth at the thought of you sneaking into his office for whatever reason, but on the other hand, he knows it negatively affects his image to be seen as a leader who tolerates certain insubordinations.

- Because sneaking into the kingpin’s office is something that would get almost anyone else outside decapitated. But not you.

- He huffs, pacing the room to deal with both emotions, and when he finally calms down, he approaches you, shaking you slightly to wake you up.

- It’s certainly not the gentlest gesture on his part, but most of the time, it ends with you either going back to sleep in his bed while he works, or sitting on his lap while he flips through papers without paying them much attention.

Jinx:

- She can’t contain her excitement at all. When she notices your figure in her workshop, she always lets out a little happy sound that wakes you up.

- From there, she immediately starts apologizing at least a thousand times, feeling guilty for waking you up but still too happy that you came to visit her.

- She helps you up, talking nonstop about her day and anything that comes to mind as she leads you outside.

- It’s not because she doesn’t want you around, but because she assumes you must be hungry as soon as you wake up, so before you're fully awake, you’ll find yourself at the Last Drop with enough food in front of you to feed her father’s entire gang of henchmen.

- And she will absolutely feed you herself when she sees you haven’t taken a bite in too long, while stealing food here and there and continuing to talk.

Vi:

- For her, too, a "workplace" is a somewhat vague concept,

- But in return, she has her secret spot, where she hides at night and tries to survive when she’s not out on the streets looking for trouble.

- Every time she finds you there, she feels an indescribable pang in her heart.

- She always feels like she’s neglecting the person she loves and failing to make you understand how much she cares about you.

- She always hesitates before waking you up; sometimes she’ll even go change into clean clothes and wash the grime off her hands and face first.

- Then she’ll wake you by sitting next to you, giving you a kiss, calling you by a silly nickname only the two of you know, and rubbing her forehead against yours before asking, with a rhetorical smile,

- "Did you miss me?"

Caitlyn:

- Sometimes you find yourself in the inner waiting room of the precinct, with her colleagues pointing out your body slumped in the chair and raising their eyebrows, teasing her. Other times, you simply sneak into her room, which isn’t much different from the police station anyway.

- Every time, she sighs and gently wakes you, her pale eyes a little sad.

- “Why didn’t you call me?” It doesn’t matter to her that you didn’t want to disturb her, because to her, you’re never a disturbance. It’s not a problem to have you around, even in public. She just feels bad that you waited instead of telling her, so she could have come much sooner.

- She takes you away from the station without any issues, letting you continue resting against her shoulder as a Kiramman private vehicle takes you both to her home.

- If you’re already in her room, she usually changes and lies down next to you, taking the chance to nap together, wrapped in each other's arms.

Mel:

- Falling asleep inside the Senate? Impossible.

- But the keys to her office and her room are always in your pocket, and you usually bring her something to eat when you visit, though by the time you fall asleep, both the coffee and the treats are cold.

- She’s not used to displays of affection, so she stays still for a few seconds before smiling and shaking her head.

- She doesn’t wake you immediately, not because she doesn’t want to, but because if the sound of the door didn’t wake you, you probably need the rest. So she lets you sleep for at least 30 minutes before coming over, brushing your hair behind your ears to wake you, laughing when you lift your head with your eyes still closed.

Sevika:

- The first thing anyone would think is that falling asleep at the Last Drop is extremely dangerous. However, Silco’s henchmen aren’t too different from bipedal dogs by now; they know who you are, recognize your face and scent, and if they notice you’ve fallen asleep somewhere, at least three of them sit at your table to ensure your safety.

- Sevika is always tasked with the worst imaginable jobs—tedious, long, and often dangerous—so when she finally returns, it’s usually either time to open the bar to the public or time to close it.

- Even when she sees you, she can’t come to you right away, so she makes a face at whoever is watching over you, as if urging them to protect you better while she heads into the office.

- Like Silco, part of her feels subconsciously softened by the idea that someone would feel the physical need to be with her so much that they’d wait, sitting until they fell asleep.

- But on the other hand, she’s terrified that someone might see you and come after you to settle personal scores in a cowardly way.

- When she finally comes down, she pulls you into her arms without saying a word, holding you under her large cape as she carries you away.

10K notes · View notes

agoodfictitle-shadowban · 7 months ago

Text

▶[Arcane preference] reacting to you wearing their clothes [Jayce, Viktor, Ekko, Vander, Silco, Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn, Mel, Sevika, ]

If you know me, hello little deers, I'm back! If you don’t know me, welcome! Just a heads-up that I don’t use "Y/N," but rather the impersonal "you," and even though I talk about clothes, no sizes or weight are involved. Enjoy the read!

Jayce:

- It’s not that rare when you’re together; he’s a real gentleman through and through. If it’s cold, he’ll give you his jacket, his scarf, anything to keep you warm

- But when you’re the one taking his clothes, it’s different

- When he sees you walking around the room in his shirt, just after waking up, something in his brain malfunctions

- It’s how it fits you, no matter how big or long it is, it seems like it was made just for you, to give you that look

- And to him, it feels like some kind of subliminal ad, as if the universe is making you so attractive in the simplicity of that gesture just to tell him he needs to hurry up and put a ring on your finger so he can enjoy that sight every day

- It’s hard for you to get anything done in the morning when he wakes up with those thoughts

- Those are the days when you stay in bed, cuddling under the covers, with him looking at you, hand on his cheek, getting more lost in you by the second

Viktor:

- For Viktor, the idea of a “little thief stealing his clothes” is an interesting one

- He’s never been a fan of tight-fitting clothes, plus, with his physique, it’s rare for anything to fit snugly anyway

- That’s why, except for his Academy uniform, the rest of his clothes are comfortable and at least two sizes too big for him, without mentioning Jayce's oversize ones in his closet

- What Viktor didn’t expect was that, once you started liking them, you’d just take them straight out of his drawer

- The first time he knocked on your door to ask if you’d seen his shirt —the very one you were wearing— he first stopped, confused, wondering how it had ended up on you

- And then, though he didn’t show it, he paused to notice with satisfaction how well it wrapped around your body

- Sometimes he pretends to forget his clothes at your place, just to see them on you, and to get them back with your scent on them

- For the nights when he feels lonelier

Ekko:

- Communism

- There’s not really a strong sense of what belongs to whom at the Tree, although some clothes (jackets in particular) eventually get so personalized that no one dares to take them anymore

- The first time you grabbed Ekko’s jacket, it was simply because you were freezing, it was really cold, and he was resting, so he didn’t need it

- But when he saw you wearing it, his pupils dilated so much you could notice it despite his very dark eyes

- Ever since then, it’s him who gives it to you and insists that you wear it, because he likes it: there’s something extremely intimate and deeply personal about walking around with you in his jacket

- It’s like marking you as his, but really, also reminding himself of it

- And Ekko may be proud, but one thing you quickly and painfully learn in the alleys is to say ‘I love you’ before it’s too late, and that small possessive gesture makes him feel fulfilled because it’s like he’s telling everyone that he couldn’t live without you

Vander:

- Vander’s clothes have this super-secret ability to change depending on who’s wearing them. For example, what are shirts on him turn into dresses on you

- When you put them on, even just for the sake of convenience, you find yourself laughing in front of every mirror you pass by

- And if he notices, he can’t help but hug you from behind, leaning down to rub his nose against your neck, smiling against your skin

- “You know,” he says every single time, “it looks better on you than it does on me,” and no matter how false it might be, in his eyes, it’s truer than almost anything else

- After seeing you a few times in his grown-up man's clothes, he decided to dig through an old box to find the clothes from when he was younger and mend them before leaving them folded on your side of the bed, like a little gift

Silco:

- Silco’s strangest habit was the connection he had with his clothes: they looked like Piltover garments, except for the boots and the shirt under the velvet vest, yet they were torn, poorly mended, and worn out in several places

- Despite being the richest man in the undercity, he never changed them

- The only newer piece in his wardrobe that he used to wear was his coat, which was in perfect condition, scented with cologne, and lined with soft velvet that followed the direction of your fingers when you touched it

- Sure, there were ceremonial outfits, pajamas, and something comfortable yet always elegant, but he had worn them so little that they almost didn’t seem like his

- That’s why one day you simply decided you were bored, and while he was in a meeting, you could take the opportunity to try on the ones that fit you

- But that little fashion show from his wardrobe to the mirror probably took longer than expected, and definitely you were too focused, because you didn’t notice the tall figure watching you, leaning against the doorframe

- “Don’t take that off, I’ve got an idea or two,” his voice broke the silence, making you jump

Jinx:

- Her clothes are more like a flea market than a wardrobe: there are men’s clothes, women’s clothes, from Piltover and Zaun, intact, held together by metal staples, clean, splattered with paint, torn from explosions, some so small you wonder who they could even fit, and some so large that you and at least four of her father’s henchmen could comfortably fit in them with room to spare

- She’s the one who tells you to grab something from the pile the first time you ask to help her with her calculations and experiments, and in the end, you choose something comfortable rather than something intact or clean

- It took her a good half hour to notice, and then another hour to stop talking about it

- It was something she hadn’t done since she had a family, sharing clothes with someone else, and suddenly she realized just how much she missed it

- Every now and then, she’d give you oversized shirts on purpose, just to disappear under the fabric and snuggle up to you, where she felt sheltered enough to feel less vulnerable

Vi:

- Vi’s mentality was interesting because, by accident, if she noticed you were eyeing someone’s clothes with interest, somehow the next day those clothes would end up on your bed

- Vi would do anything for you; if it were up to her, you’d be dressed in pearls and gold, but neither the place nor her situation allowed it

- That’s why she never offered you her clothes: the older ones were tattered, barely definable as rags, which she stubbornly patched up every month

- The new ones were stolen, spoils from street fights, but they always came in looking battered and worn, or worse, stained with blood or strange substances, so they weren’t good for you

- When she saw you wearing a sweater from her wardrobe, stained and burned in spots, the first thing she felt was guilt

- She hated not being able to treat you the way she wanted to

- But from that day on, she made sure to at least wash her clothes before putting them away, and slowly she learned to love the clothes you stole a little more than the others

- That sweater, for example, she would defend it with her life

Caitlyn:

- Whenever you stayed over at her place, she always made sure to provide everything for you: slippers, socks, pajamas, anything you might need

- And it was always the highest quality you had ever seen

- So seeing you in her clothes wasn’t new, although she sometimes liked to have you try on things she didn’t wear anymore, partly because she couldn’t due to her important name, and partly because she spent half her time in uniform

- Those little fashion shows almost always ended with her on top of you, while you are very busy figuring out how to stay quiet so none of the servants, or worse, her parents, would catch you

- It didn’t matter if the clothes didn’t suit you, being able to see you in so many different lights made her fall even more in love with everything about you

- The final blow? One day she decided to look through the enforcers’ uniforms to find one that would fit you, and for the first time, she saw you in clothes that matched hers

- There was something about it that made her hope that uniform would change the chemistry of your brain too and make you join the force, just so she could spend more time with you, just so she could see you like that more often

Mel:

- For Mel, it wasn’t an event: she was used to everything, mastering her emotions, and seeing you wearing something of hers had only left her confused for a second, from which she quickly recovered, smiling at you

- “It looks really good on you, you know?” she had asked

- It didn’t bother her. Objectively, you seemed stupid borrowing those elegant clothes tailored exactly to her body

- It almost felt like heresy to wear the clothes of a goddess-like figure. But the goddess had sensed something, and she began buying and commissioning outfits for both you and her, matching, so you wouldn’t feel like you were missing something

- But there was one moment, a specific one, where seeing you in one of her dresses had left her speechless

- When you told her that the sweater was so beautiful it was almost a shame knowing she couldn’t wear it on the day you’d marry her

- And Mel Medarda came from a land of war, where it was hard to get attached to people, let alone objects

- Yet from that day, that piece of clothing became a constant for her, even if it meant layering or pulling it down to keep her shoulders bare

- Because it no longer just warmed her skin; it began to warm something deeper, something she hadn’t even realized she had

Sevika:

- Her clothes reflected her line of work: dirty, unpleasant, dangerous

- But despite that, she would drape them over you herself, no matter how worn they were: if she thought you might be cold, without a word, you’d find a sweater or hoodie on your shoulders

- And even though she’d glance at you from the corner of her eye, she wouldn’t stop watching you for a single moment when you wore something of hers

- It was a matter of homeland—there was no ownership in Zaun, not even last names, as even the family you belonged to was irrelevant compared to what you could do

- And the gangs, thugs, and troublemakers wouldn’t hesitate to steal what was yours

- But you were hers, and you couldn’t be stolen. And that shirt was hers, but she didn’t feel mutilated, like she normally would, when you wore it

- In fact, she loved it, opening her arms to invite you to snuggle up, holding you carefully so the prosthetic wouldn’t bother you, adjusting the clothing on you ten, a hundred times, almost unconsciously

- And when you wore her clothes, it felt like for a little while, you could wear her skin too, to understand her better, and she suddenly seemed more vulnerable

12K notes · View notes

agoodfictitle-shadowban · 7 months ago

Note

Heya!! Read your rules and saw your request slots were still open. And I saw you wanted Arcane women specifically. So can I request some Mel Medarda x NB reader who reunites with the after her disappearance due to the Black Rose? Comfort and fluff where reader was worried fucking sick and is surprised she’s alive (I’m pretty sure the time jump was a year or close to a year so-). But yeah, just a lot of fluff and happy stuff. Please and thank you!! ^^

of course! thank you for requesting <3

one out of three finals knocked out, pray i survive the other two guys 😛

summary: mel and nb reader reuniting after mel’s run-in with the black rose.

characters included: mel

tags/warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, crying, mentions of death, s2 spoilers.

men dni.

chewing on needles. salt in the back of your throat. hair-pulling. constant screeching. nausea. lifting a searing iron. explosions.

that is how life feels without the presence of mel medarda.

without the knowledge of where she is, what she’s doing, or if she’s even alive.

things seemed to be going okay- although mel was wrecking herself about what to do with her mother in charge, harping on her and picking apart her every move, things were okay. things were good. you were mel’s rock, the anchor keeping her stable throughout all of the chaos that was piltover’s current political climate.

and then mel just… disappeared. seemingly vanishing into thin air. you searched every single spot the woman could be: her home, of course. gala halls. shops she frequented. the council room. academy properties. you’d even tried to ask soldiers stationed outside of ambessa’s quarters where mel was, but none of them could provide an answer. none of them would provide an answer.

to say you were worried sick was an understatement. you couldn’t sleep. your appetite was at an all-time low. all you could think about was mel. mel, mel, mel. you laid in bed during the early mornings, the space next to you uncomfortably empty. no shift of weight on the mattress like usual when mel got her early start. no mess of limbs as you woke up in her embrace. just you, staring at the gold-trimmed ceiling, with an indescribable pit in your stomach.

above all, you worried for mel’s safety. while a respected woman in piltover, being a council member did come with its risks. maybe someone had snapped, and taken their anger out on her, and she was gone this entire time. but you couldn’t think like that. you couldn’t, you couldn’t.

mel had been taken away from you. your darling, your dearest love. you couldn’t let anything take hope away from you, too.

your head hung uncharacteristically low as you made your way through the streets of piltover. the air hung heavy, and every little thing seemed less… appealing since mel’s disappearance. your heart ached inside of your chest as you recalled going into luxury shops with mel on the way to run actually necessary errands, as well as buying various collectibles from street vendors when they popped up.

it just wasn’t the same. being without mel for such a long time… how long had it been now? six months? you couldn’t tell. the days had begun to blur together around the two week mark. you tried desperately to search for a purpose without mel in your life, but how could you? it seemed so unfair to the woman. but you had to keep pushing. giving up would be even more unfair to mel.

another month passed. and another. still, radio silence from mel. no words from the other council members, anyone else in piltover, or even mel’s own mother.

your tear ducts had dried up long ago, and it wasn’t that you didn’t want to cry. you wanted to scream from the rooftops and wail and break down so fucking badly- but you didn’t have it in you anymore. you had cried yourself hoarse. your tears had been used months ago. day and night, night and day, until you physically couldn’t. there was a lot that you just physically couldn’t.

looking out the fogged window, hoping that you’ll see the familiar, tall, elegant silhouette of the woman you loved. but you never did.

until the day you finally did.

mel cowered in one of piltover’s squares, her hands in her hair and her eyes squeezed shut. her breath increasingly shallow. but despite her curling into herself, you immediately recognized it was her. you had to get to her.

you nearly tripped over yourself running down the marble stairs. out the door. running on pure adrenaline to get to mel.

“mel! mel! mel? can you hear me? oh my god, mel…”

you panted, taking a pause to catch your breath. hunching over with your hands on your thighs, standing up and trying to maintain your balance. you saw her. in the distance- so close yet so fucking far. too far.

for the first time in close to a year, your eyes filled with tears. a dam threatening to break at any second. you have to keep moving, you have to get to mel.

mel looks back over her shoulder, and the second her eyes settle on you, she’s sprinting to see you. both of you running record-speed towards each other, without a care in the world who or what was watching.

when mel finally reaches you, her arms close around your shaking form. her eyes look directly into yours, and her hands are roaming all over you. your shoulders, your cheeks, your waist, the small of your back. grasping at you any way she can.

“are you… real?”

mel mutters. her voice is soft and she sounds so defeated.

“yes, mel, i’m real.”

you whisper, tears finally falling. once they start falling, they don’t stop- the dam broke, but it’s okay. mel is in front of you, in your arms. finally.

the woman then lunges forward to capture your lips with hers. her lips are chapped, a stark contrast to the usual softness, but you can’t help pressing into her. your arms coming to drape around her neck. even after breaking apart for air, peppering little kisses all over her face. her cheeks, her chin, her temples, her forehead. she’s here. mel is here.

mel’s appearance is a far cry from the usual curated perfection she presents to piltover.

her eyes are blown wide and tired, bloodshot. her skin is littered with bruises and blemishes. her nails are cracked and worn down, her clothes tattered. but you swear, she’s never looked more beautiful. maybe it’s the grief talking. maybe you just love her.

mel’s now-calloused hands come to cup both of your cheeks, gazing into your eyes. she swallows, her voice wavering and unsure.

“i didn’t mean to leave. i was… captured, by the black rose. i couldn’t find my way out for so long, and… i saw my brother.”

your eyes widen, and you gasp. kino? hadn’t he died years prior?

“but it wasn’t him. it was a trap. that place was filled to the brim with traps, keeping me in its grasp…”

mel trails off, her eyes still looking into yours. you were her security at this moment. she was yours.

you could only move your arms to wrap around her waist, squeezing. nestling your head into the crook of her neck and gently pressing your lips to the skin.

“i was worried sick.”

you state, voice barely above a whisper.

“i know.”

she replies, cradling the back of your head with one hand.

“i was so scared. the black rose preyed on everything i had left. every weakness, every pain in my life. i even thought i saw you at one point, but no.” she trembles. “it was another trick.”

you mutter small ‘shh’s into mel’s neck. humming, dry tears on your cheeks, assuring her that you’re there. mel is safe now. she’s okay.

“you’re here now, my love. that’s what matters..”

through tears, wiping her own with the pads of your thumbs.

“i’m real. this isn’t a trick. whatever happened back there, it doesn’t matter.”

you accentuate your words by connecting your lips to hers, again, with delicate care. as if the woman is a piece of glass that could break if handled too harshly.

mel pulls back after a moment with a somber smile, mouthing, ‘i love you.’

“i love you more.” you whisper. “we have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we?”

139 notes · View notes

agoodfictitle-shadowban · 7 months ago

Text

Dance with me

Pairing: Mel Medarda x Winged! Reader

Summary: a part 3 of A wolf, a witch, a lover; after months hiding, Mel surprises you in the morning with an dangerous proposal

Part 1, Part 2

Warnings: there's a bit of tension and drama in this one, slightly violent, end is cute though

Mentions: i'm honestly writing this for you guys @jinxjinxjinx12 @superbscissorsdeanexpert @maq34 @justyourwritter69 @powderbomb-jinxed

Your nights together carried the weight of unspoken words and the release of hours of restraint. In her arms, you felt a vulnerability that no battlefield had ever exposed in you. Her touch was deliberate, soft yet commanding, like everything else about her. It reminded you of why she was both a ruler and a temptation—a paradox you couldn’t resist. Every day you'd bowe before her, obedient and willingly as her general; every night, you'd hold her like a lover, and cherish her as long as the night allowed. You'd lose and gain each other every day, every night — and you loved it every single time. A second by her side made you forever grateful, even if it eventually came to an end.

Tonight was no different.

The dawn came too soon, as it usually did, its golden light filtering through the grand windows of her chamber. Mel lay curled against you, her breath steady, her features softened in sleep. For a fleeting moment, she wasn’t the Empress of Noxus but simply a woman who had let down her guard. The world outside the room seemed like a distant memory, but reality wouldn’t wait forever.

Your nights started to be like this: with love and companion, a warm embrace after the hardship of duty. However, the morning always came, and so have your time: you had to leave her side.

You stirred, careful not to wake her, though your movements caused her to shift slightly. Her voice, still thick with sleep, broke the silence.

“Leaving already, General?”

You froze, caught halfway between duty and desire.

“I thought it best to avoid prying eyes,” you replied, your voice hushed. “The palace wakes early, and whispers spread faster than the wind.”

Mel’s lips curved into a faint smile, her eyes still closed. “Let them whisper. I tire of hiding.”

Her words surprised you. For months, you had both maintained this facade, a calculated distance to preserve her authority. Yet now, as the sunlight illuminated her face, she seemed to suggest something different.

“Your position—your vision for Noxus—it could be jeopardized,” you warned, though your voice lacked conviction.

Mel finally opened her eyes, fixing you with that piercing golden gaze. “If they cannot respect an Empress who loves, then they are not fit to serve this nation.”

The weight of her words settled in your chest, but before you could respond, a sharp knock at the door shattered the moment.

“Empress Medarda,” a servant’s voice called from the other side. “Your council awaits your presence in the Great Hall.”

Mel sighed, the spell of intimacy breaking as she rose from the bed. Her golden tattoos caught the morning light, a reminder of her unyielding strength. She glanced back at you, her expression a mixture of fondness and resolve.

“Duty calls,” she said softly, echoing your words from some nights before.

You nodded, adjusting your uniform. “As it always does.”

She stepped closer, her fingers brushing your arm. “But don’t think for a moment that this ends our conversation.”

Her touch lingered for a heartbeat before she pulled away, leaving you alone in the room to process the weight of her promise.

The day passed in a blur of meetings and preparations. Reports from the shadow unit demanded your immediate attention, and though your thoughts often drifted back to her, you forced yourself to focus.

By evening, you found yourself summoned again—not to the battlefield, but to her private study.

“General,” she greeted as you entered, her tone formal yet warm. She sat at her desk, surrounded by maps and papers, the burden of leadership evident in her posture.

“You requested me, Empress?”

Mel gestured for you to approach, her expression unreadable.

"I have a question for you," she began, pausing before continuing. "How were alliances celebrated in Karyndor?" Her tone was as steady as her gaze, which was fixed on your face. "I’d like to learn more about your homeland."

“We didn’t usually celebrate military or political alliances with the people,” you replied briefly. “The king was keen to keep civil life separate from diplomatic conflicts.”

A subtle smile lifted the corners of Mel’s lips. “No, I meant civilian alliances.”

“Oh.” That was all you managed to say, which only caused Mel’s smile to widen.

“So, how were they celebrated?” she repeated, giving you little time to regain your composure. You could feel your cheeks flush under her watchful gaze.

“It involved a great festival, a ritual that brought together thousands of people.” You spoke slowly, your words drifting into the quiet of the study as you began to pace. “Sometimes several unions were celebrated at once; sometimes, just one. The interested parties would perform a unique dance—a reflection of each individual Karyndorian’s spirit. If the proposal was accepted, their beloved would join in the dance. An alliance was formed in this way.”

Your wings fluttered gently behind you, as if remembering the songs and movements of the rituals. “The wings of the participants were adorned with ornaments, serving as a vital part of the performance. Through them, they displayed their strength and beauty; they symbolized who they were.” A quiet laugh escaped your lips. “If the proposal was rejected, the dancer was required to take flight and keep going until they collapsed from exhaustion. Their honor was preserved only if their effort pushed them to the very edge.”

“What a unique celebration!” Mel exclaimed, her voice brimming with genuine excitement. “Your people must have been artistic and deeply passionate.”

Her sentence was followed by a long, steadfast silence. You said nothing as the realization of her intent started to fall upon you.

After some time, your feet stopped in place, your wings dropped in a cessation of every movement. Her steady gaze on yours, the stirring meaning behind her question, they had paralyzed you.

“Why do you wish to hear about the covenants of my former people, Empress?”

“I told you our conversation wasn’t finished,” she began, but her sentence was abruptly interrupted by a loud knock at the study door.

Her smiling, calm countenance hardened, and her voice carried weight as she turned toward the entrance: “A meeting is in progress.”

Despite the Empress’s commanding tone, the door opened.

“Forgive me, Empress.” One of your soldiers stepped inside, his body trembling. He bowed to the Empress before turning to you. “It’s urgent.”

Mel cast you a worried glance, which you answered with an assuring nod. A threat existed in the city, you were aware, but your shadow unit monitored the situation closely. No surprises would befall the nation.

“Excuse me, ma'am. I must go.” You bade farewell with a respectful nod and left the room with the nervous soldier by your side.

“The guardians are requesting reinforcements for the harvest parade,” the soldier’s voice barely rose above a whisper, lost in the vast corridors of the palace. His tone carried the weight of fear, as though he dreaded being overheard. “They’ve received threats from insurgents—an attack planned during the empress’s speech.”

Your jaw clenched instinctively, and your hand tightened around the hilt of your sword.

“How do they know it’s the insurgents?”

“They signed it, sir. The Red Stain.” The soldier halted abruptly, hesitating. With a trembling hand, he reached into his iron vest and withdrew a crumpled piece of paper. “Here.”

The note passed into your hands, its scarlet letters glowing ominously against the dark parchment. The message bristled with malice, vowing vengeance against the empress who had "ruined the warrior nation." Along the edges of the paper were the same cryptic symbols and markings that had appeared in alleys and at crime scenes for months, unmistakably linking it to the rebellious occult group.

“They claim they’ll take back the nation of Noxus—once and for all,” the soldier repeated as you scanned the words. “The parade route is the perfect place, general. There are too many civilians for us to act freely. Our hands will be tied, and a tragedy will happen if we don’t cancel the event.”

“Is that what the guardians intend to do?” Your voice remained steady, though his panic grated on you. His demeanor was uncharacteristic of your army—it sounded more like the fearful prattle of civil guardians. He shook his head. “That's what the Stain wants, soldier. To terrorize the people, to show itself to be stronger than us. Its words cannot have such power.”

The soldier's eyes widened.

“What do you mean?” he asked in a sharp grunt.

“Tell the guardians to be ready, but our soldiers won't get involved. There's no need to alarm the people in such a way.”

“But sir---”

“Go!”

The soldier hesitated briefly before retreating, his hurried footsteps fading down the corridor.

There were only a few hours until the parade, a short period of time to mobilize your battalions and organize a proper security perimeter for the celebration. A rushed response would create chaos—the very commotion you suspected the insurgents desired. It was a ploy, you were certain, to keep all eyes fixed on the parade while the rest of the city was left vulnerable.

Even so, you couldn’t gamble with the lives of your citizens on mere intuition. You ordered a few reinforcements for the parade but insisted they remain as shadows—officers blending seamlessly into the crowd, discreet yet ready to strike if the need arise.

But the question gnawed at you relentlessly: Where would they want me not to look during Mel’s speech?

The empress changed the colors of the nation, as well as its brutal attitude. From a country stained with blood, always dressed in dark and red colors, prepared for battle, to the streets of the Noxinian cities reflecting light and golden beams. The peaceful purity of the color white, the golden diplomacy of a flexible nation - the colors of Mel - had dressed Noxus perfectly. The population accepted the changes, even its soldiers changed their uniforms with a hopeful disposition. The future had arrived: the nation state of Noxus was bright and peaceful, with no bloodstains. However, not all Noxians were happy. The red stain was a small but insistent group of citizens attached to the old, violent regime. Because of this, they began to attack former servants, freed prisoners of war, immigrants - anyone who was considered a threat to the deceased Ambessa was also a threat and target for them.

The attacks, however, were small and quickly contained by the local guard. There was no significant threat, not until now. The letter really was frightening, and would have scared most of the military officers you knew. After all, the new military officers of Noxus were still inexperienced, and any threat to their people was enough to agitate them. It was understandable, but it couldn't be allowed.

With your experience in Karyndor, you knew that there would always be dissenters against the government. Violent opposition would exist, it was almost natural on the continent. Even Mel couldn't please everyone, so you waited. You noticed the bluff and withdrew your army from the parade. As you had hoped, nothing happened. The people celebrated happily, the empress's speech was greeted with nothing but applause and the festivities lasted until nightfall. The guardians held their positions without any problems, and your shadows remained silent. It was a good night, from what you heard from the castle servants. Festive, pleasant and comforting. A new tradition that brightened the lives of the citizens.

You were happy to hear how the evening had unfolded. After a few more reports and messages from the guard, your services were no longer required and you made your way down to the most secluded part of the palace. Mel had already returned and was resting in her quarters, and you planned to join her without delay.

Your room was empty and tidy, as usual. A servant opened the door for you and greeted you with a nod, but avoided your gaze. His eyes, for some reason, ran away from your figure. The door was closed behind you and then you heard it: hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor outside.

Something was wrong.

A deafening rumble echoed from the far side of the building, shaking the palace’s floors and walls. The table Mel was leaning on quivered violently, scattering her documents and belongings onto the ground. She sprang to her feet, the golden markings on her body shimmering brilliantly in the face of the unexpected danger. Outside, the night’s calm gave way to chaos—a cacophony of despairing cries and commanding shouts tore through the air.

“What’s happened?” Mel demanded, grabbing the first servant who crossed her path. She stopped him mid-escape, desperate for answers. The man’s face was pale with terror, his lips quivering as he failed to form a response. “Speak to me! What are you—”

“Empress, come with us.” Two uniformed officers appeared, their movements urgent. “There’s been an attack in the western sector. We’re evacuating the palace.”

The western sector. The words struck Mel like an arrow, stealing her breath. It was your sector, the area where your room was—the very reason you hadn’t been by her side tonight.

“Take me there. I’ll fight alongside my army.” Her voice was resolute, her authority unshaken, but her command was met only with hesitant glances exchanged between the officers.

“Protect the subjects,” she continued, her tone sharpening. “Surround the perimeter and search for suspects. We must find out who’s behind this.”

Without waiting for their acknowledgment or actions, Mel charged in the opposite direction of the evacuation route, weaving through a panicked crowd of crying and frantic servants. Only one of the officers dared follow her.

“We’re already taking care of that, ma’am. Please come with us and stay safe.” The officer reached out, his hand gripping the determined ruler’s arm. “Those are the general’s orders.”

Mel twisted free with a sharp, fluid motion, her golden markings glinting as she turned to face the insistent man.

“And where are they?” she demanded, her voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. She didn’t wait for an answer, turning on her heel and running toward the source of the explosion. She refused to let herself acknowledge the fear in the officer’s eyes or the haunting possibility that awaited her— she couldn't see the wail of death imminently, not when it came to you.

It felt like the longest path she had ever walked. Every step seemed heavier, every corridor an endless expanse. Obstacles littered the way—fallen debris, frightened servants, soldiers trying to guide her to safety. Yet, the empress pushed forward with unyielding determination, even as her body trembled beneath the weight of dread.

Her subjects caught glimpses of her as she passed, their tense faces softening with relief. To them, she was a beacon of strength and composure. But inside, her resolve wavered, her composure fragile. Her eyes remained dry, her focus unwavering only for now.

She had to find you.

Your room was utterly destroyed. The walls were streaked with dirty red, a grotesque smear of what could have been paint—or blood. Shattered furniture lay in disarray, splinters scattered like shrapnel. Pieces of weapons and scraps of your clothing were strewn everywhere. The floor was littered with burnt feathers, a haunting reminder of what had transpired.

Mel stepped forward, her breath caught in her throat, but the officer blocked her path again.

“Let us handle our work, ma’am. Stay safe, with your people,” he insisted, his voice firmer now. “Please.”

“Your work?” Her voice rose, sharp and thunderous, cutting through the air like lightning splitting the sky. “Your work to prevent attacks like this?”

The officer faltered, his words catching in his throat as he struggled for a response. His gaze darted away, unable to meet the fire in the empress’s eyes. Mel seized the opportunity, taking a step forward, but he quickly moved to block her path again.

“We weren’t caught off guard, ma’am,” he said, though his tone wavered with guilt. “Please go.”

Before she could retort, a new sound shattered the tense air of the evacuated palace. It came first as a faint echo, then grew louder—a chilling chorus of howls and exultant cheers from outside. The sharp contrast to the earlier screams of despair sent an icy shiver through her body.

Without hesitation, Mel turned and ran toward the source of the noise. Her heart thudded violently in her chest with each step, her mind consumed by fear. Her tears had already begun to fall, trailing streaks down her face as she pushed through the chaos. She came to an abrupt stop when the scene unfolded before her.

There, in front of the palace entrance, hovering above the garden and the evacuated crowd, was you.

Your wings, bruised and outstretched, bore the weight of your body in the air. The full moon’s glow framed your figure, casting a ghostly light over the scene. Crimson streaked your form, glinting in the pale illumination—blood or paint, she couldn’t tell. But the sight of you, battered and defiant, stole the breath from her lungs. Mel stood frozen, her trembling hands clenched at her sides as her heart screamed what her lips could not: You’re alive.

In your hands, however, was an unconscious man. Your landing in the palace garden was uncharacteristically clumsy, each movement more crude and careless than usual. With little ceremony, you released the man from your grasp, letting him drop to the ground.

“Is anyone hurt?” Those were the first words she heard you say, your voice carrying over the distance between you. Despite everything, the sound of it filled her with a rush of relief. Like Mel, the servants and soldiers were overjoyed to see you, quickly forming a circle around you. “He was fleeing just before the explosion,” you continued, your tone brisk and authoritative as you gestured toward the unconscious man. “He’s one of the suspects. The officers will bring in more once they finish securing the perimeter. Send them all to the cells—investigation only comes after ensuring everyone’s safety.” Command after command fell from your lips as you directed the soldiers with unrelenting precision.

But before you could say more, the crowd parted, and Mel burst through with a speed that drew every eye.

Without a moment’s hesitation, the Empress flung herself into your arms, wrapping them tightly around your neck. Her grip trembled, a desperate hold that spoke of fear, relief, and a hundred emotions in between.

You froze, caught off guard, your body stiffening as the weight of her embrace pressed against you. Everyone was watching—the soldiers, the servants, the officers—but Mel didn’t seem to care. Her head buried in your shoulder, she held on as though she might lose you again.

For a moment, it felt as if the world had paused, leaving only the two of you in its stillness.

“Empress?” you whispered, your voice faltering as you tried—and failed—to return to formality.

“Y/N, are you hurt?” Mel stepped back just enough to scan your body, her gaze sharp and searching. The wet paint staining your skin had transferred to her once-immaculate clothing, vivid streaks of blood-red marring the pristine fabric. But she didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she didn’t care.

Your armor was cracked from the explosion, and beneath it, cuts and bruises mapped your skin. The red marks covering your body weren’t just paint.

“There’s a fortress to the north of the palace,” Mel continued, her voice steady despite the tremor in her eyes. “We’ll be safe there.”

“You heard her, soldiers,” you commanded, turning to the gathered crowd. “Guide the people. Call the local guard and cordon off the area. Keep your eyes open.”

You avoided looking at her, your focus fixed on the soldiers and servants around you. Anything to avoid meeting her gaze. You feared that if you did, if you saw the pain in her eyes, the emotions you kept buried would surface, and everyone would know. They’d see the feelings you had for each other.

“You need medical attention.” Her voice was barely a whisper, soft and filled with concern, as her hand reached out to touch the crack in your armor. You flinched, recoiling from her gentle fingers—not because of the pain, but because of the others watching. Her touch was too intimate, too exposing. “Come with me,” she urged, her voice firm but laced with vulnerability.

Finally, you looked at her. The moonlight bathed her face, illuminating the fear in her watery eyes. It was a look you had never seen before, not in her. It was unbearable, impossible to resist. You sighed, the weight of her gaze breaking through your defenses. The command was quickly delegated to a trusted officer, and you surrendered to her request.

At the fortress, a small room was prepared for the two of you as you waited for the doctor’s arrival.

The tension between you hung heavy in the air, unspoken words filling the silence as the night stretched on.

"Are you certain you are unharmed?" It was the third time she had posed that question. Mel ceased her restless pacing before you, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her expression stern and authoritative. "Do not lie to me."

"I am fine. I managed to move away in time." Yet, despite your words, your hand remained pressed against the crack in your armor, staunching the wound to prevent further bleeding. "The furniture endured greater damage than I did."

"Your officer mentioned it wasn’t a surprise. You were aware of the attack." It was not the first time she broached this subject.

"We had suspicions, yes. The mistake was mine—I underestimated them." A sharp pain coursed through your ribs, momentarily robbing you of breath. "I did not imagine they would be bold enough to assault the palace."

"I would call it reckless. They will be apprehended before dawn." Mel’s voice carried an edge, an uncharacteristic sharpness coloring her tone. She was correct, but her rising agitation risked drawing unnecessary attention from the servants in the adjacent room. Their murmurs were already audible, weaving conjectures about your relationship with the empress.

"Mel." Her name escaped your lips in a quiet whisper, heavy with weariness and pain. It was the only way to get her attention. "Come here, please."

You extended your hand, urging her closer. She took it, her grasp firm, intense, and unyielding—holding onto you as though your life depended on it, as though you were slipping away.

Gently, you guided her to sit beside you, and at last, she fell silent.

"Everything is under control," you assured her, though her grip on your hand remained unrelenting. "The attack failed. No one was harmed."

"You were!" she countered, her voice breaking. "They hurted you. They could have..." Her words faltered, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I thought—"

You longed to embrace her, to pull her into your arms and quiet her fears. Every fiber of your battered body ached with the desire to hold her, to protect her from the terror she had endured. But the blood soaking through your side held you back. You could not bear the thought of staining her with your pain, of making her carry the burden of your failure.

Instead, you leaned forward carefully, wincing at the effort, and placed a brief, gentle kiss on her lips.

"I am here," you murmured. The words seemed to reach her at last. Her tension melted away, and for the first time that night, her expression softened into peace and relief.

But as you pulled back, her eyes opened, and they immediately found yours. Her gaze was unwavering, filled with regret, resolve, and something more profound.

"I want you to dance with me," she said, her voice steady, though her vulnerability was evident. "As you told me about this morning, as we discussed."

"No, Mel. It is unnecessary." You attempted to pull away, but the movement ignited another sharp pang in your side, leaving you paralyzed for a moment. You closed your eyes tightly, swallowing back a groan. "I am content. I am happy. You need not do anything." The words emerged faintly, but they carried a profound truth. You required nothing more. Mel was enough—her presence in the quiet of night, her strength at dawn. She brought you solace.

"I want this, Y/N," she insisted, her voice deep with conviction. "I want you to be more than mine in the shadows. I want us to be more than a secret concealed within the palace."

Her words struck you like a blow, and your body recoiled instinctively. You shifted back, ignoring the agony of the movement.

"This has been a difficult night. Emotions are heightened, and everyone is on edge. Let us simply..." You paused, gasping as the air seemed to abandon your lungs, another wave of pain overtaking you. "Let us wait for the night to pass. Decisions of this magnitude shouldn't be made now."

"Where is that cursed doctor?" Mel exclaimed, springing to her feet and marching toward the door in frustration. Finding no one approaching, her distress grew palpable.

Her gaze returned to you, fierce and resolute.

"I made my decision months ago. Tonight has only served to reaffirm how much—" Her words were abruptly cut off by the arrival of the doctor. You saw the unspoken curse she suppressed before she turned to explain the situation to him.

You didn't need to say anything; the doctor’s sharp eyes quickly assessed the severity of your injury and began the necessary treatment. As a precaution, he requested that the empress leave the room—whether out of suspicion or to spare her from witnessing the extent of the injury, you could not discern.

Reluctantly, Mel complied.

You did not see her for the rest of the night.

After a few stitches, sutures, and painkillers, you managed to rest.

The exact moment of sleep eluded your memory; you only recalled the adrenaline coursing through your veins eventually subsiding, leaving exhaustion to claim you. When you next opened your eyes, the imposing walls of Medarda Palace surrounded you. The room wasn’t your own—it could not have been repaired so quickly—but it exuded a familiar sense of hospitality.

Curious, you attempted to rise and observe your surroundings, only to be forced back onto the bed by a sharp pang of pain.

"Damnation!" The anger escaped your lips, followed by a stubborn resolve that helped you sit upright. Once seated, you noticed a small figure at a distance.

"Oh!" The young servant exclaimed as your eyes met his. Then, without another word, he bolted from the room.

Now alone, you began inspecting the chamber. Massive paintings adorned the towering walls, while a large window bathed the space in light. Tables and shelves filled the corners, crowded with letters and books.

The realization struck harder than the bruises marking your body: you were in Mel’s room. And now, every servant in the palace knew it. Soon, the entire nation would know you shared a bed with the empress.

Desperate and somewhat disoriented, you leaped from the bed with a strength fueled by fear. You had to leave, had to avoid the inevitable fallout—but you weren’t fast enough.

You hadn’t even made it halfway to the door when it abruptly swung open, revealing the empress herself.

"Empress Medarda." You straightened your posture, lifting your chin as you greeted her with composure. The cost of the movement was paid immediately: something along your side tore.

"Your stitches have broken." Her voice was cold, though her eyes revealed an tremor of concern. She turned to the guard at the door. "Call the physician."

Without hesitation, her orders were followed, leaving you alone with her once more.

"The suspects did not resist long." She began, her tone formal and composed as she approached you. "Within hours of interrogation, your officers extracted the names and locations of the Red Stain. The leaders have been arrested, and the minor members exiled. The nation is already aware: Noxus does not tolerate terrorism."

A warmth, unpleasant and oppressive, spread through your chest, forcing you to lean back as the empress advanced. By the time she had finished her update, you were seated on the edge of the bed, once again drained.

"I can relocate in a few days. It is the most prudent course of action, considering I could be a target again." Your tone carried the weight of both a general and her lover. Neither role could bear the thought of Mel being endangered because of you.

"The palace is the safest place in the nation. I have ensured that after tonight." Her firm voice left no room for argument.

You should have obeyed your empress. You should have accepted her proposal. You wanted to. A year had passed since you met, and your relationship had deepened, growing strong enough to withstand the wind of rumors. No Noxian tongue could poison what you shared.

Yet, yesterday had proven otherwise. The bomb planted in your quarters was the ultimate symbol of your deepest fear.

The nation hated you. At least a part of it—the faction still devoted to Ambessa. To them, you were an enemy, a traitor, a stranger. In their eyes, you would always remain a winged threat, a rat with feathers, not a citizen. Not a military leader. Not a worthy companion for the empress.

If your role as general was enough to provoke a violent movement like the Red Stain—if your work alone could motivate an attack on the heart of the capital—what could the exposure of your union with Mel incite?

What would their next move be? An uprising? Civil war? The assassination of the empress?

Each possibility that filled your mind was worse than the last, every thought flooding your chest with despair and dread.

"If this commitment frightens you—" Mel’s words cracked like a whip, cutting through the whirlwind of your thoughts. Her tone was careful, serene, yet the meaning sent a violent shudder through your body.

"What?" you interrupted, clearly confused and in pain. "How could you—What are you—" Your lips pressed into a tight line as you struggled to find the right words. "If a commitment to you frightened me, I would never have knocked on your door in the first place." Your voice was aggressive, laden with emotion despite your efforts to remain composed.

How could she even think such a thing?

"Then what is stopping you?" Her question was dry and precise, as if you were engaged in some impersonal debate.

For some reason, that made you snap.

"Because they hate everything I represent, Medarda!" Your body trembled with the force of your shout. "Forgiveness, mercy, new beginnings. To them, I am an invader, an unwelcome stranger to this nation."

Tears streamed down your flushed cheeks. Blood seeped through the bandages on your chest. Pain poured through your words, spilling from your lips with unbearable weight.

"If you cannot understand why this shakes me, then think like a politician. They will hate me—and they will hate you."

Your gaze fell as Mel moved; you lacked the strength to face her eyes.

"Your renewed nation will be lost because of our alliance. I cannot... I cannot allow that to happen."

Tears blurred your vision for what felt like an eternity. Drowning in pain, time seemed to freeze as anguish filled your chest and exhaustion took control of your body. You were exposed: your wounds lay open, as did your heart. The empress could do whatever she wanted with that — you had no strength left. All you could do was cry silently, blind to your surroundings.

Amidst a sea of salty tears, however, a dark figure came into view. In front of you, Mel’s face appeared; her scent quickly filled your lungs, and a wave of calmness helped you catch your breath again. Gently, her hands cradled your face, guiding it and patiently waiting until you met her gaze once more.

"I can’t either, Y/N." Her words warmed your face like a soft sigh. "And I won’t let this happen. But I want... I want..." In her brief hesitation, you noticed tears streaming down her face too. "I want you by my side. Not just at night, not as a secret. I want you as part of me, as part of my Empire." Her touch on your face grew slightly firmer, more vulnerable and uncertain. What left her lips was not an order but a plea: "Be my spouse."

Your wings immediately fluttered in response: they tried to take flight, a clear revelation of your first instinct. Yes, yes, yes! you wanted to shout. You wanted to hold Mel, wrap her in your arms, and take her to the skies. You wanted to dance with her, to celebrate your union — you wanted to be hers.

But fear still caused a tremor in your voice.

"I don’t want you to get hurt because of me."

"Hiding you from everyone is my greatest suffering, Y/N." Her reply made your eyes widen. "I’m done with these games; I need you out of these webs of interests and lies, I—"

"Yes." Your voice, finally firm, cut through her passionate speech. As much as you wanted to hear more, as much as you wanted to know, you couldn’t hold it in any longer. "Yes, yes! I will dance with you."

A laugh, carrying equal parts relief and joy, echoed through the empress’s chamber. She laughed with vulnerability, like when you spoke late at night, when your wild tales stole smiles from her until the first rays of sunlight appeared. But this time, her laughter resounded, powerful, meant to be heard by everyone.

Now, you no longer had to hide.

226 notes · View notes

agoodfictitle-shadowban · 7 months ago

Text

A wolf, a witch, a lover

Pairing: Mel Medarda x Winged! Reader

Warnings: mentions of violence; i got carried away with this one; seriously, I made a whole plot for this; i can make fluff headcanons later if you guys like it

Summary: As the new wolf of Noxus, Mel had to face her mother's past mistakes. You were one of them.

Part 2, Part 3

Mel Medarda had a big role to fill. After the battle was won, not only was Piltover left to be rebuilt, but Noxus had also lost its leader. Queens had fallen, and Mel was the princess next in line. With her new abilities, she had a loyal army to guide and an entire country to reign over.

Piltover was no longer her home — perhaps it never truly had been.

It didn’t take long for her to leave the continent. Jayce was gone, Caitlyn had formed a new Council, and, despite all the bloodshed, the top side and bottom side were finally united as one. Mel no longer had a purpose there; she wasn’t Piltover’s leader. Now, she had inherited her name like never before, ready to replace her mother.

However, there were more secrets than she could have imagined—not only about her birth and father but also the hidden, dirty truths lurking in every corner of Noxus. The colonies, the wars, the cruelties committed by her mother—each new revelation showed Mel how little of the truth she truly knew.

While investigating one of her mother’s secrets, she found you—imprisoned, trapped in a cage like an animal, brutally tied up. You could barely move inside the dark, metal cell. "War prisoners," Mel had been told. Ambessa had killed some of her enemies' leaders, but others she had kept here—for information, leverage, and interrogation. Even though your war was long over, you remained in this dark, cold prison.

Mel didn’t know how long you had been there, but one thing stood out: while the other prisoners were fed and minimally cared for—still caged, of course—you were different. You were cuffed, beaten, and chained far more cruelly than the rest. You were repressed, scared, and treated as if you were more dangerous. That’s why Mel decided to free you herself.

The moment you heard someone approaching, you began to fight. You couldn’t move much—your hands, feet, and chest were bound—but you wouldn’t surrender. You hadn’t before, and you wouldn’t now. You screamed at the silhouette nearing your cell, guttural groans escaping your muzzle. You felt less than human—a cornered prey fighting for its life.

— I came to free you, — a deep, soft voice reached your ears. — Do not fight. Our war is over.

Two guards grabbed your chains and released your feet. You jumped immediately, ignoring the pain, in a desperate attempt to fly. The chains around your chest had smashed your wings for nights beyond counting, and the agony was unbearable.

When they removed the muzzle from your face, you screamed at the shadow by the cell door:

— Our war is not over! It will never be!

The guards recoiled at your outburst, preparing to silence you again.

— That’s why you killed my people. All of them! But I won’t stop fighting!

— Mrs. Medarda, we should— — one of the guards began, stepping toward you with a chain in hand.

— No! — Mel’s voice was firm and commanding. — I’m tired of this senseless violence. Let them go.

You continued to fight, ignoring her words—empty words, you thought. You’d been fooled before, when you believed Ambessa’s promise of peace between your nations. You wouldn’t be fooled twice.

As soon as you were fully unbound, your wings spread abruptly, pushing the Noxian guards back. You screamed with pain and rage, leaping toward the shadow at the entrance—the Medarda woman who had freed you.

— I won’t be fooled again! — you shouted, raising your fists to strike her. But before you could land a blow, a golden energy enveloped her like a shield, stopping you in your tracks.

Blinded by fury, you lunged again, only for the guards to seize your wings and pull you back. Feathers tore, and your fragile bones stretched painfully under the strain.

— Stop! Let them go! — Mel’s voice rang louder than your screams. — I am not my mother! They won’t be hurt anymore!

The guards obeyed, releasing you. You fell to your knees before her—the new wolf of Noxus.

— Many mistakes have been made, — Mel said softly, stepping closer, now within reach of your wings. You could attack her if you wished, but you had no strength left. — I’m here to fix them.

You looked up at her, her hand hovering gracefully in front of you. Perhaps it was the pain. Perhaps it was another fevered dream. No Medarda would offer you their hand—it couldn’t be real.

Everything went dark.

You passed out.

Your body had been overwhelmed, or so you’d been told. You were too weak to move, let alone fly. The doctor had said you shouldn’t use your wings until you were strong enough to stand unaided. For now, you needed to rest.

When you first opened your eyes, the brightness of the room blinded you. After so much time in the dark, even this gentle light felt unbearable. The doctor’s voice reached you faintly as he spoke, but you paid little attention, instead focusing on your surroundings.

The room was large, elegant—too grand for someone like you. A palace, you guessed, judging by the ornate paintings and intricate furnishings. Outside the door, you could hear the steady march of guards, their voices low and firm as they gave commands. This wasn’t the darkness of your cell, but it wasn’t freedom either.

The doctor mentioned medicine before disappearing, leaving you alone. That was your chance.

You pushed yourself to your feet despite the pain, every movement a reminder of how broken you were. Your wings trembled behind you, fragile and aching, but you refused to stay. You’d been caged for too long.

A large window on the far side of the room caught your attention. It framed the city’s skyline—a sprawling capital of stone and steel, alive with motion. But it wasn’t the view that drew you. It was the sunlight.

You froze in place, paralyzed by the warmth. You hadn’t seen the sun in years, hadn’t felt its light on your skin since Ambessa’s betrayal.

Closing your eyes, you let the heat wash over you. Even through your closed lids, the orange glow of daylight filled your vision, and for the first time in so long, you smiled. The movement hurt—your face unused to such gestures—but you smiled anyway.

— I see you recover quickly. — The voice startled you. Deep, calm, and familiar.

You turned sharply, your wings flaring in a defensive posture, ready to fight.

Mel stood in the doorway, her expression unreadable.

— I only came to— she paused, her gaze shifting upward, catching on your wings. Her eyes widened, and for a brief moment, she froze. — I didn’t realize how badly you’d been hurt.

— What do you want? — you growled, stepping forward. Your wings shifted with you, their tattered state doing little to hide your intent.

Mel didn’t flinch. Her gaze returned to your face.

— I’m Mel Medarda. The new wolf of Noxus.

You studied her, your eyes narrowing. Her clothing was regal, refined—nothing like the armor of a warrior.

— You’re a witch, — you spat, your voice laced with venom.

— And what about you? — she asked, taking a slow step closer. — What... are you?

You hesitated, your glare hardening.

— I see the wolf has done her work well, erasing us from history.

— Us?

— Karyndor. My people. You exterminated us.

Mel frowned, her voice quieter this time.

— I’ve never heard of you. My mother never—

— She never told you how she enslaved and slaughtered my people? — you shouted, your voice trembling with rage. — How is that a surprise, princess?

— It’s not. — Her response was firm, catching you off guard. — I’m not here to be attacked. I’m here to gather the truth. I can only help you if you let me.

You snorted, disbelief twisting your features.

— I’ve heard this before.

Mel’s expression didn’t waver.

— Where do your people live? Why did your war with Noxus begin?

— It’s impossible, princess. Our land no longer exists. Your mother made sure of it.

— Why?

— Because we never gave up our freedom, — you said bitterly. Your wings shivered behind you, as though echoing your words. — We never let them cut our wings, one might say. Noxus couldn’t accept that.

Silence filled the room. Mel’s gaze dropped to the floor, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

— Will you kill me too? — you asked, your voice softer now, almost a plea.

Her eyes lifted to meet yours.

— I am the only one left, — you continued. — You should finish your mother’s work.

— I wonder why she didn’t do it herself, — Mel murmured under her breath.

Her words unsettled you, though you weren’t sure why.

— Why would she keep you alive? — she asked, more to herself than to you.

You clenched your fists, your voice breaking as memories surfaced.

— I was her trophy. The Karyndorian general, tamed and defenseless. She kept me in that cell, showed me off to soldiers. Sometimes... sometimes she would even... — You couldn’t finish. The scars on your body spoke for you.

— Will you kill me, princess? — you whispered. — It would be a mercy I never had.

Mel’s gaze softened.

— What’s your name?

You hesitated before answering.

— Y/N.

— I will not kill you, Y/N. You are free.

And with that, she turned and left.

The truth was, you didn’t know what to do. Dying felt easier than living; it was the end you had hoped for. Without your people, without your army, you were no one. All you had left were scars, weak wings, and your enemy’s palace to wander around. Among all the wolf’s surprises, this might be the greatest: her words meant something. She had changed Noxus — the guards and the servants looked at you, even spoke to you occasionally. While you recovered, the doctor visited you daily, and the staff brought you anything you requested. You even decided to test this by asking for wine. Deep down, you hoped it would be poisoned, but it tasted excellent.

From time to time, you could hear Mel’s footsteps echoing through the hallways. Always moving, always working — that woman never stopped.

She didn’t visit you again. Perhaps she hadn’t expected you to stay at her palace for so long. Honestly, neither had you. You could have flown away, but you never did. You were fascinated by her actions: you had seen prisoners walking around the palace as freely as you did, seen slaves being set free. You had seen families reunited after years, seen mercy — all because of her.

It seemed... impossible. Almost foolish. No enemy of Noxus would ever be as merciful as she was.

— May I speak to her? — you asked one of the staff as they brought your breakfast. They were startled at first but quickly nodded and left. A few minutes later, you were brought to her.

— Thank you, — you said as the servant announced your arrival, studying the immense hall you had walked into. It was vast, with maps, tables, and chairs scattered about. A meeting room for her councils, you supposed, but she stood there alone.

— Mrs. Medarda, — you greeted her. — I must say, you surprise me.

— Y/N, — her gaze locked onto yours. — I suppose I could say the same. I’m honored to see you again.

You smiled at her words. Always charming, a true politician.

— I’ve never seen a wolf with a heart, princess. — You carefully approached the table she stood beside. — You’re either that or a fox. This nation is full of them.

— I intend to change the nation you hate so much, general. Feel free to see it for yourself, if you must.

— I’m afraid I will. — You moved closer, your wings folding tightly against your back, unable to relax as her scent reached you. You glanced down at the papers she was studying — details about battles, casualties, and old enemies.

— This empire has been built on blood, — she said, and only then did you notice how her eyes traced your scars. — Too much blood. I want to rebuild it, to create a kingdom founded on choice and alliances.

— Alliances are volatile, princess. They shift with the wind; they can always turn against you.

— I prefer politeness over rigidity. I believe safety can exist without cruelty.

— I agree with you. I would rather make peace than war. — You saw the spark in her eyes as you spoke, but you knew it wouldn’t last long. — Because of that, we sought an alliance with monsters. It got my people killed.

— It shouldn’t have, — she argued firmly, her eyes locked on yours.

— I know, I know... — you whispered, looking down at the papers again. So much death reduced to mere numbers. — Just don’t mistake mercy for naivety. — With a broken voice, your wings shrank as you confessed: — That was my mistake.

You stepped away from Mel, uncertain where you were headed. A general without an army, a soldier without a cause to fight for.

— Perhaps you could help me avoid that... — her soft proposal froze you in place. — I need generals, not murderers, to train my army.

— Princess, I’ve lost everything. I failed as a soldier, I failed to protect my people. How could you trust me with your nation?

— I don’t, — she admitted, her gaze unwavering in the face of your doubts. — But I’m willing to give you a chance, if you’re willing to take it. It’s the least I can do after what my mother did to you.

You widened your eyes — once again, this was a constant effect she had on you.

You accepted.

Trust was a difficult thing for you at first. After everything you had been through, reservations and even cynicism were normal for people in your positions. There were traitors and rebels in every corner, appearing with every debt forgiven and battle ended by the princess. Empress: you remembered this title more and more every day. Until you had fully recovered, you decided to get to know the nation you had so wished to destroy. The target of your revenge was still undoubtedly a people: there were children playing in the streets and a prosperous future ahead. Untouched by the war, the civilians didn't even seem to know about their leader's atrocities. Perhaps if they did, you wouldn't be treated so cordially.

Over time, you let the children touch your scarred wings. It took a while before you had the courage to show them around town, you feared that they were still a target, but you were only targeted by curious children. Some parents were terrified when you started flying them around in your arms, but their laughter relieved any tension.

You missed it: a home, a people. It was strange that they were becoming that for you. It felt like betrayal, despite the kindness they had shown you. It felt like betrayal against the nation that raised you.

The guilt increased when you returned to your room in the palace, and lasted until the next morning when you met up with Mel. It was easy to hide at first, but the new wolf had an eye for detail. She noticed the improvement in your wings and the worsening of your eyes even with all your attempts to hide them.

--- I've heard good stories about you, general. You've already conquered the Noxus youth. --- she said casually.

--- I've played with children, empress, nothing more than that. They are the only innocents in our history.

--- They represent the future I intend to build… It's good that they trust you.

You frowned at Mel, uneasy about the next words that would come out of her mouth.

--- A legion of young people have enlisted. They're excited about Noxus' new beginning.

You flinched as her words aimed at you, your wings beginning to flutter with anticipation.

--- I want you to train them. --- Medarda stated.

The days that followed felt like walking through a battlefield, only this time the enemy was within you. Every step you took, every command you gave, was a reminder of the life you lost and the people who depended on you—and whom you failed.

Mel had given you a position, a purpose, but it felt more like a cruel jest than an honor. Training soldiers in the palace courtyard, watching them grow stronger, reminded you of the Karyndorian army you once led. Your soldiers had been fierce and proud, willing to follow you to the ends of the earth. These recruits, however, were hesitant, cautious, and unsure whether to trust their new general.

But Mel’s vision was different from her mother’s brutality. She wanted warriors, not butchers, and that meant you had to teach them discipline, not cruelty. You barked orders with the same conviction you once had, though your voice carried an edge of bitterness that was impossible to mask.

The recruits respected you, but they also feared you—your scars, your wings, your haunted eyes. And you couldn’t blame them. You feared yourself too.

Mel, as always, remained a constant presence. She watched from the balconies, observing your methods and the progress of her troops. From time to time, she would approach you after a session, offering quiet feedback or asking questions about tactics and strategy.

— You’re improving them, — she said one afternoon as you stood together overlooking the courtyard.

You didn’t respond immediately, your gaze fixed on the recruits sparring below.

— They’re young, — you muttered. — Too young for what they’ll face.

— I don’t want them to fight unless they have to, — Mel replied, her voice calm but firm.

You glanced at her, your expression skeptical.

--- You surprise me, empress. You're too good, despite it all.

She looked at you with suspicion.

--- I see you've heard stories about me too.

--- The kids talk a lot. --- You tried to soften her expression with a smile. --- I'm sorry for what your mother did to you and your brother.

Her gaze lingered on you for a long time: her eyes analyzed you cautiously, looking for something hidden in your gaze. But there was nothing hidden: you meant every word. You were sorry for her.

--- I appreciate it. --- she said at last. --- For all of it, in fact. You acted beyond all my expectations.

You laughed, relaxed, leaning over the counter while the soldiers below remained training. You could hear them shouting, celebrating and laughing.

--- I assume they weren't very high.

--- No. --- her soft tone made you turn to her. She smiled faintly, a flicker of warmth in her otherwise composed demeanor. --- Nevertheless, here you are. I can't help but wonder what made you stay. --- Her gaze wandered for a few moments, analyzing your wings behind the iron armor that covered your chest. --- You could fly to any destination, you could fight for any country. What could have made you choose the very nation that took everything away from you?

You felt your wings stir as your chest quivered. The answer came so quickly to your mind, and left your lips just as readily:

--- You did. --- you whispered in a low voice. --- I believe in you, Mrs. Medarda.

Her eyes lit up at your words, and your wings began to flutter as the rushing blood warmed your body. Sometimes it was hard for you to stay like that, so close, so focused on her. Your eyes began to analyze every detail of her face, your mind was taken by her elegant grace, you were bewitched by her: by her compassion, by her strength, by her power.

Like the breaking of a spell, you forced yourself to look away and swallow the heat that rose to your neck. You were at your limit, one second away from losing control, and so you pulled away. The last thing you wanted was to disrespect her - she was your emperor, you were her suitor. You were satisfied with that, it was enough after so many years suffering alone. With her by your side, you felt strength, warmth --- something close to hope, something close to purpose.

However, the empress pulled you close, holding your arm covered in scars and stopping you from leaving. She stared at them for a moment, her gaze hesitating before rising to your face.

She said nothing. Her hands moved slowly, cautiously and carefully, like everything Mel did.

--- I won't break, Empress. --- you whispered, the warmth now covering your face and making you smile as you felt her touch on your chest.

--- Your empress...--- Her whisper sounded like a question, yet there was a glint of doubt in her avoidant gaze. Her eyes didn't stop on yours until you said it:

--- My empress.

With that, you two finally gave in and kissed on the balcony of the Medarda palace. You became her general, she became your empress --- you would fight for each other like wolves, like warriors, like lovers.

388 notes · View notes

agoodfictitle-shadowban · 7 months ago

Text

NOTHING MATTERS

PAIRING: Act. 3 Caitlyn x reader

SUMMARY: You take care of caitlyn after her betrayal to Ambessa.

CW: SFW. Mentions of injuries, angsty and just one sad kiss at the end.

TAGLIST: @Kaimythically @lewd-alien @greysontheidiot @jolyne @sapphic-ovaries @tlouloser @prwttiestbunny @visobsession @kiki5gigi @thesevi0lentdelights @lvlymicha @stickycherritart @rob1nbuckl3ys @femininologies @dinakisser @viajeros--sin--destino @GodessAgrona @patronagrona @halle5s @abvisionss

AN: this is too short and weird cs I'm trying to write again like, actually write and don't jump into heavy smut. Hope this doesn't floppppp cs... would make me so sad to see people are just here for the strap sucking fics (no judgment just, gimme time until I get back to THAT type or writing pls and thanks)

this is also for @champagne-problems-ate ily <3

At the Kiramman’s own request—an expectation you had grown all too accustomed to by now—it was you who attended to the injuries she sustained in the aftermath of recent, turbulent events. The details of what had occurred remained shrouded in vagueness. Some kind of major upheaval had unfolded, the kind that left even seasoned soldiers and seasoned minds faltering in its wake.

What little information you gleaned came through the fragmented gossip of others, particularly from Maddie’s not-so-hushed commentary, for she couldn’t keep her tongue still in the Kiramman estate—there was something about the return of major authorities.

Where they had gone, and why, was a mystery to all.

And then there was Ambessa- the looming figure who had always straddled the line between ally and enemy.

She had never been trustworthy in your eyes, though Caitlyn, however, had once trusted her—or had pretended to, for the sake of her little army of loyal soldiers, the ones who worshipped at her feet. Like Maddie, ever eager to linger in the Kiramman household under the thin guise of concern for her superior.

She could hardly mask her longing—the way her eyes lingered, the way her voice softened when speaking of Caitlyn, the woman she so desperately wished would return her gaze with something more than polite dismissal.

It was a convoluted mess, a knot of politics and personal betrayals you couldn’t hope to unravel. Not because you didn’t care for the intrigue, but because your heart was too heavy with worry— for Piltover, and for yourself. For your family. Though the threads of your connection to Caitlyn had frayed over time, you still trusted her, still hoped, prayed even, that she would find a way to right the course of things. She had always carried that spark of possibility, a rare ember in a city obsessed with cold, mechanical precision.

Your own beginnings were humble, born to a family that clawed its way out of the undercity when they learned of your impending arrival.

A pregnancy was a miracle, a joy—but only if one could afford the privileges that made life bearable: clean air, decent food, warm clothes, a bath that didn’t leave the water darker than the dirt it was meant to wash away. They had fought for you, fought tooth and nail to give you a life worth living.

Perhaps that was your greatest flaw: you came from a family that believed others were always worth fighting for, even when you barely had the strength to fight for yourselves.

Caitlyn was no exception. For all the differences in your upbringings, she had a way of making you believe that Piltover could be something better.

She changed you, softened the shame you felt about your origins, even as she remained blind to the privileges she had been born into. She ensured that your family had what they needed—food, clothing, medicine—under the guise of friendship, of course.

Her mother had disapproved of you from the start, but the young Kiramman had a stubborn streak, a determination that, unlike most Piltovians, she wielded it not for greed or power, but for something she believed was nobler.

Caitlyn had a resolve that could have been dangerous in another life but, in her hands, became something noble, if imperfect. She sought to prove that power could be wielded for good, though her idealism often stumbled in execution.

Which lead to betrayal. So sutble yet so painful that made you question whether you had ever truly known her at all.

You understood the reasons, even respected them, though it didn’t make it hurt any less. After all, who were you to argue?

Sometimes, it felt like you were little more than a puppet on invisible strings, there to serve her needs and ease her conscience.

And so here you were, once again immersed in the gilded opulence of the Kiramman estate, a world you had only ever pretended to belong to. Her room, specifically.

The air was thick with the scent of polished wood and fresh flowers, a stark contrast to the grime of the Undercity that still lingered in your memories. You couldn’t tell if you felt out of place or too comfortably numb to care anymore. All you knew was that Caitlyn needed you, and for better or worse, you couldn’t seem to let her go.

The walls of the Kiramman estate had always carried a natural chill, but since her mother’s passing, they seemed colder still, imbued with a grief that seeped into every stone and every breath. The family was shattered, even yours, though you had only been granted fleeting glimpses of the late Kiramman matriarch’s rare tenderness.

She had never welcomed you into her family, never truly accepted your presence near Caitlyn. Yet, in her own quiet, calculating manner, she had permitted the offerings Caitlyn made on their family’s name. And when you proved, time and again, that you were worth the fight, she had acknowledged you in her own way. Subtle. Reserved. A nod from a distance, but one that showed approval.

Caitlyn, however, hadn’t spoken a word to you about her mother or about the weight she carried. She hadn’t needed to. You could see it in the silence that lingered between you.

There was more than just grief in that silence.

There was guilt, a festering wound she carried, knowing the harm she had wrought in her quest for justice—or something like it. She had wronged more than just you. She had hurt countless innocents, people you had reminded her time and again were just that: innocent.

Her assumption, likely, was that you resented her. That the wounds she had inflicted on your trust, on your view of her, had severed whatever fragile thread of loyalty remained. Perhaps she wasn’t entirely wrong. But here you were, seated beside her, flashlight in hand, performing the same familiar routine you had done countless times before.

“Please... follow my finger,” you said softly, your voice measured and calm, just loud enough to fill the space between you without unsettling it. She straightened her posture, obediently following the movements of your finger as you moved the light in measured arcs. Her pupils contracted under the beam’s sharp glow, tracking the path you set. You checked each eye, one after the other, before letting out a quiet exhale.

“Up—now, left,” you instructed, the light shifting accordingly. You watched her carefully, her reactions automatic, devoid of resistance. There were no major injuries to note, at least nothing to suggest lasting harm. You had already completed the rest of the examination, methodical as always: her neck, her mobility, her blood pressure, her vitals—all the fundamentals you’d committed to memory after countless similar checks.

Chaos had become a routine under Ambessa’s looming presence. The injuries she left in her wake had kept you busier than ever, patching up the aftermath of her schemes while Caitlyn’s own injuries seemed to evade your care—until now.

Switching off the flashlight, you placed it neatly back among your tools, each item returning to its designated place with a precision born of necessity.

She said nothing. Instead, she sat motionless, her gaze cast downward, fixed on her lap. Her hands rested limply at her sides, short, uneven nails catching at the edges of the bed sheets, fidgeting without thought. A small bruise marked her right cheek, its once-violent hue fading into the softer tones of her skin. Her eyes, red and swollen, bore the traces of tears shed out of frustration, anger, and despair—tears she had likely shed on her way back.

The faint marks on her neck told a clearer story, faint impressions of fingers that had choked her. You could only hope her opponent had been from the Undercity and not one of Ambessa’s puppets- most likely the hope was just that.

Caitlyn’s uniform was disheveled, evidence of her half-hearted attempts to remove it as you adjusted your tools during the examination.

The thin red choker she had worn was discarded the moment she sat, and the open collar of her blouse revealed the strain beneath her careful composure.

She was dirty—dust clung stubbornly to her skin, mingling with smudges of sweat and exhaustion. Dried flecks of blood dotted her uniform, though you were relieved to confirm it wasn’t hers.

Her muscles were tight with tension and soreness, but nothing suggested she had sustained lasting damage.

She sat there, a figure fraying at the edges, fragile yet stubbornly upright, her silence speaking volumes.

You couldn’t tell whether she avoided your gaze out of shame or because the weight of everything she carried was too heavy to lift her eyes.

Either way, the Caitlyn before you was a far cry from the determined, idealistic woman you had once known.

"Ambessa..." she said, her voice tentative, a thread of sound that barely broke the heavy silence between you. Her eyes, hesitant and shadowed, darted toward your face as if searching for permission to continue.

"She's—" But of course, she wouldn’t elaborate. Detailed explanations had never been her strength, not with you. She knew you had distanced yourself from the tangled web of her life, and she had never bothered to bridge that gap, to offer you clarity.

"You were right," she finally said, the words tumbling out like a confession. "I should’ve stayed away."

Her voice carried an unfamiliar weight, a subtle tremor that felt almost apologetic, though it was wrapped in her usual restraint. It struck you as strange—Caitlyn, apologizing.

Even if it was too late, here she was, sitting before you, speaking to you instead of burying herself in the false sanctuary she had so often sought. Nights spent with women in her bed, avoiding her father and the heartbreaking sight of it, leaving you to tend to the wounds of her mistakes.

You slid closer, settling yourself back into the chair in front of her, nudging the first aid kit aside as you nodded, a quiet acknowledgment of her words. "I heard what happened… Maddie," you said, her frown tightening in response to the name, though it explained enough.

"You need to be more careful, Caitlyn," you added, your voice firm, concern coloring your tone as your brows furrowed. "This could’ve been way worse."

She looked away, her pride tangling with something deeper, something raw. You could see the apology brewing behind her eyes, the unspoken words she couldn’t bring herself to voice.

Her pride, or perhaps her fear of your rejection, kept her tethered to silence each time she tried to approach you.

"You’re still worrying about me," she said at last, her voice soft, her lips curving into a sheepish smile. It was faint, but it was there—a flicker of the Caitlyn you had once trusted without hesitation. The same Caitlyn who would roll her eyes whenever you thanked her too profusely for a kindness she had offered without expectation.

And perhaps that flicker of familiarity, that glimpse of who she once was, kept your anger at bay. Instead of confronting her, you found yourself falling, once again, into the rhythm of her unspoken intentions.

"I never stopped worrying about you," you replied evenly, your tone as steady as you could manage. "It’s my job."

"I would’ve assumed you quit by now." Her words were quiet, a deliberate gentleness in her tone, as though she understood the fragile line you walked. She didn’t push, didn’t expect you to pretend as though nothing had happened. Not you. Not after everything.

"I can’t," you answered, your voice barely louder than hers. And it was true. She paid you better than anyone else could.

Your parents depended on that money now, their lives in Piltover still fraught with the challenges of surviving on the fringes. They had escaped the Undercity, but their station hadn’t risen far enough to escape the grind of near-poverty. Their survival was tethered to your work, and your work was tethered to Caitlyn.

"I’m sorry," she began, but her voice faltered, the apology catching in her throat.

She didn’t need to explain. You had been there, had seen firsthand the blood that stained her hands— The choices she had made, or failed to make, in the shadow of Ambessa and for the revenge that had lead her to absolute nothing but loss after loss.

"Are you?" you cut in before she could finish, your tone carrying a playful edge, a teasing rebuttal to her seriousness. For the first time in what felt like months, her lips curled into a genuine smile, and her eyes rolled upward with a faint exasperation that felt achingly familiar.

"I’ve been helping," you added lightly, your voice carrying a mock seriousness. "You know, for free." You let the last word hang in the air, a quiet jab that coaxed a laugh from her.

"I don’t hate you enough to quit," you admitted, your tone softening, more earnest now.

"Thanks, I suppose," she murmured, her voice laced with a vulnerability that caught you off guard.

Before you realized it, your fingers had moved, brushing against her wrist. The warmth of her skin against yours.

Your fingers traced gently over the back of her hand, and she shifted her own to tangle them with yours.

"You’re welcome," you whispered, the words barely audible. You ignored the storm of words threatening to spill from your lips, and so did she.

Her hand slid up your arm, her fingers brushing over your elbow as she pulled you closer. Your heart stuttered, your mind warring with hesitation, but your body betrayed you. You let her guide you, let her bridge the gap.

Her eyes met yours, searching for something—permission, forgiveness, maybe even redemption. Her gaze flickered to your lips, lingering there with a silent question. You didn’t answer, not with words. Instead, you let your lips part, leaning into her, allowing her to pull you into the moment.

You found your place on her lap, your weight supported by her shoulders as her arms wrapped around you. Your breaths mingled, warm and shallow, until your lips finally met.

The kiss was soft, a hesitant yet undeniable surrender to the years of tension and longing that had tangled themselves into the growth of your relationship.

It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a quiet resolution to the unspoken devotion that had always lingered between you.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered—not the mistakes, not the betrayals, not the wounds that still ached beneath the surface.

There was only this, only her, only you.

427 notes · View notes

agoodfictitle-shadowban · 7 months ago

Text

college fuckgirl!caitlyn hcs (+ basketball star) who is totally whipped for u and doesn’t know what the hell to do about it

fuckgirl!caitlyn, hardtoget!reader, sub!caitlyn, fluff. (for once not pure jerkoff material i know right) she likessssss you.

▸ not the notches in her bedposts type; caitlyn doesn’t brag about her conquests. she’s classy like that. she does strut about the halls, exuding a casual sort of elegance that has girls falling over their feet. remembers all their names. grasping her solo cup between slim fingers like a wine glass and smiling over the rim. cryptic and beautiful and so utterly entrancing that she’ll have girls’ who were cursing her name two moments ago bent over the bathroom sink, with just a drawl of their name, followed by a “right?”, even if they know they’ll be discarded like yesterday’s trash.

▸ excellent in bed. obviously. charm isn’t everything. she also has a talented tongue and fingers and the stretch of her cock. priorities the girls’ pleasure because good manners have been beaten into her since she was born and she likes the way it feels to fuck into a pussy sopping in cum, gliding in the silky trenches of fiercely clenching folds as they scramble into the sheets and moan her name, fucking the nerves out of them.

▸ and then; you. she wants to fuck you so bad it’s driving her insane. caitlyn doesn’t brag. she doesn’t have sex for the sake of having sex. she just does—often. and she does it well—which has had her gain a teensy-tiny reputation for it. that doesn’t mean she’s a complete ass! doesn’t know why you hold it against her. she’s not some meathead jock trying to get her dick wet. she’s the star of the team, top of (most) of her classes, and shoe-in for valedictorian. plus, she’s rich. and pretty. and just—totally fuckworthy. everyone knows it!

▸ decorated basketball player. plays shooting guard like she was born for it; all lean limbs and sinew as she glides about the court like a koi fish in the water. oh, and she’s a show-off, too. avoids saying corny shit like “this is for you,” even if she really, really wants to—but when she spins on the court and hurls a three-pointer—and her eyes flick up right to you in the stands, intense and focused. that’s when she mouths. “that was for you.”

(jogs up to you afterwards, sweat dripping off her brow and down the long stretch of her neck, as she airs out her jersey with that cockily arched brow. can’t resist the grin on her face. 21 points to her name—meeting your eyes everytime. it falls at the unimpressed look on your face.

“you had to wait til’ after you made the shot?”

“well, i’m not gonna dedicate a losing shot to you. that’s lame.”

“you are lame.”

“objectively untrue.” caitlyn frowns, ball still curled under her arm as she paces after you, as you stride off the bleachers, and if there’s a little whine in her voice there isn’t. “you know, there isn’t a girl on this college who wouldn’t be dying to get under me.” she says it so matter-of-fact, in that irritatingly attractive accent of hers, and even though it’s true it doesn’t make her sound any less like an asshole.

“i wonder why.”

“darling.” whiney, whiney, whiney.

“dickhead.” and if you sound just a little smug that you have caitlyn kiramman wrapped around your finger, that’s just for you to know.)

▸ caitlyn just doesn’t get it. how can you possibly not like her? or at least find her attractive enough to at least want her a little bit. she certainly wants you. she’s at a loss. usually, a bat of her lashes, a whisper of her name is enough to get anyone’s legs splayed wide open for her. when you don’t, she has no fucking clue how to work you. starts lingering just a few desks from you at the library, to catch glimpses of you studying (and yeah? caitlyn looks a little cute like that; glasses perched on the tip of her nose as her brows furrowed in concentration, tongue poking out as she thinks about the pretty lilt of your jaw whenever you fix her with that im-so-sick-of-you look.. the way your arm muscles stretch behind your head when you yawn like a cat arching it’s back up for a scratch.. the way your voice sounds a touch raspy whenever you’ve been staying up super late studying and grant her the mercy of your husky, velvet undertones telling her to fuck right off… has to release a deep, long, wistful sigh just thinking about it)

▸ it goes on like that, for what feels like forever. caitlyn niggling her way into your day-to-day life as you begrudgingly entertain her. following you around like a lost puppy to the point where it starts rumours.

(she’s been sitting three seats away from you on the table for the past half-hour. sneaking glances every so often as she rereads the same paragraph over and over again, before she clears her throat and asks, chin held high. “so.. what’d you get in that test?”

shit. did her voice just crack?

the so-called legendary mystique of caitlyn kiramman really wears off when you realise how hopelessly awkward she can be.

you take pity on her, lips quirking as your gaze slides to meet hers, exasperated. yet, you answer her anyways. “92%.”

she hums, fingers drumming against the table. “uh—nice.” oh. now she’s blushing. you can also tell it’s taking everything in her not to let her own 100% bubble up and out of her lips, because she doesn’t want you to think she’s conceited. you know she’s totally itching to say it, though. wants you to know. it’s almost cute.

a sigh. you move the bag off the seat next to you. “c’mere.”

caitlyn’s head snaps up, and her eyes are really so very beautiful, all wide and starry in disbelief. “what?”

“hurry up, superstar. don’t make me regret it.”

caitlyn straightens, and then hurries to take the spot beside you, cheeks burning. she squirms a little in her seat, and the gleam of amusement only makes her want the ground to swallow up because god, she’s never acted like this with anyone. she’s caitlyn kiramman! cool, composed, collected; an energy that takes up the most space in the room, makes girls’ knees buckle, has boys stammering with just a smile. and yet, you have her melting in a puddle with the barest glimpse of your attention.

..fine. maybe she doesn’t just want to fuck you.

"don't piss your pants, kiramman." you say, without missing a beat, pen still scrawling away notes. "i don't bite."

caitlyn splutters for a response, and.. hey! that's her line!

oh. she’s so, so screwed).

2K notes · View notes

agoodfictitle-shadowban · 7 months ago

Text

Worth the Trouble | Caitlyn Kiramman x fem!reader

Pairings: Caitlyn x reader (romantic), Caitlyn x mrs. Kiramman (family), Caitlyn x mr. Kiramman (family), reader x mrs. Kiramman (platonic), reader x mr. Kiramman (platonic), mr. Kiramman x mrs. Kiramman (romantic)

Type of fic: Tiny angst, comfort

Warnings: Discrimination

Summary: Your secret with Caitlyn didn’t last forever and with her mother seeing you in an… interesting position in the morning it won’t be easy for her to come around.

————————

The streets of Zaun were dangerous, but sneaking out of the Undercity and into Piltover had become second nature to you. Every Saturday night, you would make your way up to meet Caitlyn. You climbed carefully over the high wall that separated the two cities and slipped past the patrolling Enforcers. Eventually, you found yourself outside the familiar window of Caitlyn’s room. You tapped lightly on the glass, and a moment later, Caitlyn was there, her smile brightening the dark room.

“Right on time,” she whispered, opening the window to let you in. You climbed in quietly and immediately wrapped your arms around her waist, leaning in for a quick kiss.

“Always am,” you murmured back, grinning as you pulled away. You took off your coat and dropped it onto the floor. “So, what’s new?”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes as she sat down on the bed. “Oh, you know. The usual—my mum’s insufferable nagging about propriety and appearances. Honestly, it’s like she expects me to be perfect all the time.”

You flopped down beside her, an amused smirk spreading across your face. “Sounds like your mum’s got a bit too much time on her hands. Maybe she should get a hobby—like knitting… or minding her own business.”

Caitlyn shot you an exasperated look, though you could see the smile tugging at her lips. “She’s my mum, love. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t insult her that much.”

You laughed lightly. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll try not to offend the mighty Kiramman matriarch.” You leaned closer and brushed a soft kiss against her lips. “Better?”

She kissed you back, her smile fully returning. “Much better.” With that, the two of you settled into your usual rhythm—talking about everything from Caitlyn’s work as an Enforcer to the wild happenings down in Zaun. The world outside seemed to fade away when you were together, and soon enough, the exhaustion of the week started to creep up on you both.

You peeled off your shirt, tossing it on the ground. “It’s filthy,” you remarked. Caitlyn handed you one of her hoodies, and you gratefully slipped it on. The faint scent of her perfume clung to the fabric, comforting and familiar.

You curled up in her arms, resting your head on her shoulder, and soon drifted off to sleep. Caitlyn’s arms stayed wrapped securely around you, as though she never wanted to let you go.

The morning light barely began to filter through the curtains when the door to Caitlyn’s room swung open. “Caitlyn, I wanted to speak to you—” Her mother’s voice broke off as she saw you both in bed. From her angle, it looked like more than it was; Caitlyn was in a nightdress, and you lay there in Caitlyn’s hoodie with your shirt discarded on the floor.

“What is this?” she demanded, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the scene. “Who is this? I thought you knew better than to bring some stray to our household”

You jolted awake, your heart racing in your chest. You felt Caitlyn tense beside you, her arms tightening protectively around your shoulders. “Mum, don’t call her that,” she snapped, climbing out of bed and quickly pulling the covers over you. “And she’s not some stray—she’s my girlfriend.”

Her mother’s gaze shifted between you and Caitlyn, her disapproval palpable. “You know very well that I expected you to find a suitable girlfriend from Piltover. Not someone from… down there.”

Caitlyn’s cheeks flushed with anger as she stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind her to keep you from hearing, but their voices carried through the thin wood regardless.

“You’re concerned about my actions now?” Caitlyn’s voice rose slightly, fueled by irritation. “I choose who I date, not you. It doesn’t matter where she’s from.”

“It’s not about control, Caitlyn. It’s about what’s best for you. The people you surround yourself with matter,” her mother replied coolly. “And this—”

“—is none of your business,” Caitlyn interrupted. Her tone was fierce, unyielding. “I won’t let you dictate my choices, especially when it comes to who I care about.”

At that moment, Caitlyn’s father appeared, a tired expression on his face as he descended the stairs. “That’s enough, both of you,” he said firmly. “Let’s take a breath and calm down.”

Caitlyn bit back a retort, her eyes flashing with barely-contained frustration. She didn’t wait for either of her parents to say another word before storming back into her room, shutting the door behind her.

Inside, she froze at the sight of you halfway out the window, your face pale with embarrassment. “Hey—where are you going?” she asked, hurrying over and grabbing your hand before you could slip out.

“I thought I should go,” you mumbled, glancing up at her fancy ceiling. “It’s… probably for the best.”

Caitlyn tugged you back inside, pulling you into her room. “No, it’s not”

You hesitated but eventually sank back onto the bed, allowing her to guide you down. “Are you sure?” you asked quietly. “I don’t want to cause any more trouble for you.”

“Trust me,” she said, cupping your face gently. “You’re worth every bit of trouble.” She leaned in and kissed you softly, a reassurance that you weren’t going anywhere.

As the two of you settled back onto the bed, Caitlyn’s arms wrapped around you once again, holding you close. “How about we make some pancakes for breakfast?” she murmured, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your arm.

You nodded, a small smile spreading across your lips. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

And just like that, the morning’s chaos seemed to fade, leaving the two of you in your own little world once more.

368 notes · View notes

agoodfictitle-shadowban · 8 months ago

Note

Hello, will you update sweet summer?

Sweet summer is over with 3 parts :)

0 notes

agoodfictitle-shadowban · 9 months ago

Text

Natasha Romanoff Does Not Date

Summary: Natasha Romanoff does not date. It used to be because she didn’t have, well, bodily autonomy, but even after that, she never really made the time for it.

And then: sabotage.

Word Count: 1,600

Warnings: None, just tooth rotting fluff

Masterlist (coming soon)

Natasha Romanoff does not date. It used to be because she didn’t have, well, bodily autonomy, but even after that, she just never really made the time for it. She knows that Clint dated, had to hear all about it, the meetings, the honeymoon phases, the breakups. And then one day, there was no breakup, but she did have to meet Laura, and she was nice. And then after a while, when she realized that Natasha really, really did not want Clint, she was even nicer. And then Natasha had two people harassing her about dating, which was less than ideal. Once she started with the Avengers, well, Clint gave her a break.

But still, it was the same question every time she showed up at his front door:

“So, got a girlfriend yet?”

And the same answer:

“Fuck you Barton, let me in.”

(She stopped cursing when the kids came, but made sure to give him a smack when they turned around.)

And then they sabotaged her. (But she’s not really complaining.)

She knocks on the door and glances behind her, just out of habit, while she waits for someone to let her in. When she hears the approaching footsteps, ones that aren’t Clint or Laura, she immediately pulls out her gun, and she’s about to break the door down when it opens. And she has enough time to recognize that you’re not an assassin, and then Lucky is running past her, out into the field, and then you take off after him.

She stands on the porch for a minute, trying to figure out what the hell is happening, before she snaps into action. She goes after you and the dog, and between the two of you, he’s corralled back into the house in fifteen minutes. She follows your footsteps into the house, noting that you’re slightly out of breath from the impromptu run. Not an agent, then.

“Hey, you’re Natasha, right?” is the first thing out of your mouth that isn’t a curse or the dog’s name.

She just nods.

“Clint and Laura told me you might stop by,” and you’re smiling, laughing as you say the next bit, “they also warned me that you might pull a gun on me.”

She raises an eyebrow, “and you didn’t think that was odd?”

“Well, I’ve worked for–” you cut yourself off abruptly, thinking before you continue speaking, “I think he was Clint’s boss. Anyway, it’s not the weirdest thing I’ve heard.”

That gets her attention, “Fury? You worked for Fury?”

You nod and her hands itch for her gun again; “who are you?” is all she can manage, confused as hell by the bits of information you’ve given her.

“I’m a pet sitter.” you say brightly, holding in a laugh at her incredulous look.

“A pet sitter?”

“Yeah, I watched Fury’s cat, Goose. She’s really sweet once she warms up to you.”

Natasha thinks she’s having a stroke.

You’re trying not to embarrass yourself, but Natasha is looking like she’s going to kill you, and you’re trying to avoid checking her out, and so you just keep talking to fill the silence.

“But, yeah. So I’ve taken care of Goose a few times, and then when Clint got Lucky, he got my info from Fury. I’ve cared for him a couple times, but not for too long. This time though, Clint’s gone away for longer. He and Laura took the kids to disney world for a week, and so here I am.”

You slowly stop speaking, and Natasha manages to get a grip of herself.

“I see. Well, I’ll head out then.”

“No!” You shout it before you can stop, and she smirks.

“I just mean, you don't have to. Clint said you might stop by, and Laura told me that she made up both guest bedrooms just in case.”

Natasha considers the facts for a minute: she had mentioned to Clint that she’d try and stop by this week, he hadn’t said anything about a trip to Florida with the kids, and he had very suspiciously not answered her texts letting him know she was on the way. Fuck it.

“Just one night, then. It’s a long flight back. As long as you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. And I’ll stay out of your way.”

Her response is cut short by her phone ringing, and she excuses herself to another room when she sees that it’s Clint calling.

“Out of town?” is her greeting to him.

“Oops? I must’ve forgotten to mention it.” He answers, using a snarky, sarcastic tone.

“Bullshit, Barton.”

“Fury trusts her.”

“So you got Fury in on this too! Jumped on the bandwagon: let’s find Natasha a date?” And she whispers this part, checking to make sure you’re not within earshot.

“We just thought it might be easier,” he pauses, and Natasha can hear Laura and the kids saying something, her tone patient and the kids excited. “ –anyway, it might be easier with someone who’s already been introduced to everyone.”

“Clint, I– ”

“Gotta go, have fun!”

And then he hangs up, and she promises herself that she’ll mess up his arrows in retaliation, but for now she has to deal with…this.

By the time evening rolls around, she’s gotten comfortable around you; is even laughing and joking with you. And when you whisper goodnight, after the end of the movie, she catches herself staring as you head up the stairs, Lucky on your heels and then quickly moving past you.

She decides it’s time for her to go to bed as well, and she turns out the lights, does a final perimeter check, and heads to the second guest bedroom. She can hear you speaking softly to Lucky, hears the thump of his tail, and when he jumps into your bed she listens as the bed squeaks and you laugh delightedly.

Natasha very much ignores the feeling of jealousy when she thinks about how Lucky gets to spend the night cuddling you.

Natasha is awake and sipping coffee when you and Lucky stumble blearily down the stairs the next morning. Well, you stumble and Lucky runs. She looks on as you open the door and let him outside, stares as you stretch in the patch of sunlight and scrunch your nose at the chill in the air. You make your way into the kitchen and through it into the pantry, preparing Lucky’s breakfast while he’s still outside. And when you shriek finally seeing her in there, she can’t help it, she starts laughing.

“Not nice!” you say once you’ve caught your breath, though you’re holding back a smile.

“Sorry?” but it’s not sincere and she’s still smiling widely as you continue where you left off with Lucky’s food. He comes bounding in, having heard the scream, though it only takes one look at his full food bowl and then he’s distracted, eating noisily in the corner.

“Hmph. Please tell me you at least made enough for me too?” you ask, and she nods, grabbing a mug and filling the cup. She observes silently as you add milk and sugar, smiling at your look of happiness when you take the first sip.

She stays the whole day, and then lets you convince her that it’s too late to fly back, so she’ll have to stay another night.

The following day the two of you take Lucky on a hike, and later you fall asleep leaning on her as the two of you watch movies on the couch.

She stays that night, too.

The next day she takes the opportunity to teach you some archery basics, ensuring that she leaves Clint’s bows and arrows and targets in shambles as retaliation.

That night Lucky sleeps alone, and she sleeps curled around you instead.

She gives him some of her bacon the next morning, and he isn’t one to hold a grudge.

By the time Clint, Laura, and the kids come back, she’s still there, and Lucky has developed a taste for bacon in the mornings.

The two of you spend the night since the kids won’t let either of you leave, and Lucky pouts the next morning, deprived of bacon since Natasha had been deprived of cuddles. (She had rolled her eyes when you insisted on sleeping separately, but smiled into the goodnight kiss you gave her.)

The two of you board the jet the next afternoon, smiling as the family waves goodbye. Clint and Laura high five each other, and Natasha can’t wait for him to see what she’s done to his beloved equipment the next time he goes to practice.

Still, as you sit next to her, talking and staring at the clouds going past, she knows that she also owes him a new bow, and owes Laura a night of babysitting.

Maybe, she thinks as she listens to you talk about meeting the rest of the team, you’ll join her for babysitting duty.

So, to recap:

Natasha Romanoff does not date. It used to be because she didn’t have control, and then it was because she never really made the time for it, making sure she was too busy for it.

She watched as Clint did, as he found a wife and made himself a family. Listened as both of them encouraged her to date. Looked on as he retired and raised his kids and built a home. And then she got sabotaged, and decided she was very happy that she hadn’t listened to them. She had waited, worked, saved the world a few times, and avoided dating. You were her reward.

613 notes · View notes