kifuqe

[kifuqe]

(I remind you my requests are open, babes! in case you'd like me to write about something specific)

[kifuqe]

SUBLIMATE THE PAIN | SEVIKA X READER | ARCANE

Synopsis: Sevika helps you to explore yourself and subside the pain and the shame of self pleasure.

Contains: comfort, soft!sevika, unexperienced!reader, wlw, first sexual experiences, soft talk, masturbation, fingering.

A pretty personal fic, tbh, but Sevika as a character seems to be patient and loving when it comes to sex and I'm here to write about it. Enjoy!

Sevika had promised you patience and comfort, a woman with her vast sexual experience knew the unpleasant and uncomfortable details of love. She knew the burning and the pain, the disgust, the sorrow, the shame and the numbness, and for that reason she had promised to accompany you in the process with as much patience as necessary.

She kissed you again on the neck, a mirror stood before you sitting on the bed, Sevika's vast hand ran over your breasts and her grey eyes looked at you through the reflection, inviting you to stop ignoring the signs of your body. Her breasts brushed your back, her mechanical hand gently parted your legs and revealed the juiciness and softness of your core.

"How do you pretend to touch her without knowing her?" The woman asked. "You ignore many things, babe."

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment since you had your first kiss of the evening, but you promised not to let shyness win you over this time. It was the third night and the third time you tried, the last two having ended with a sudden lock-in in the bathroom or tears of shame and frustration running down your cheeks.

"I can't. I swear I can't." You cried as Sevika kissed your wet cheeks.

"Of course you can, don't be like that with yourself."

You considered that Sevika could be your mentor in this unknown field for you, the guide that would allow you to understand sex as something more than a mere routine or necessary act. "To begin with, doll, we don't intend to have a child with this. Not even if we wanted to. Second, I've seen as many pussies in my life as I've smoked cigarettes and yours is undoubtedly beautiful."

You laughed to hide your shame, but Sevika meant it. She was decades ahead of you in sexual experiences, she knew the female anatomy in depth, taking the time to explore herself first. Sevika knew that no one could teach her how to have an orgasm, and she fondly remembers the first times she tried self pleasure in the silence of her room, picturing that pretty girl at the market who used to sell her peaches at a good price. It was another Zaun, more precarious, less saturated with pornography and violence, and certainly her brain needed little to start imagining. And the softness of the girl's breasts under her blouse, her long neck and olive eyes were more than enough to awaken that visceral desire in her.

She dedicated her first orgasm to that girl and her peach scent. It was in a way tender, but the starting point of an endless journey through the unexplored region of sexuality. She soon discovered that inserting a finger was pleasant, that if she moved it in a certain way, it was even more so. She discovered that her breasts were sensitive if touched properly, that her entire skin was a map of erogenous zones and tickles, that rubbing her pussy against the pillow was delicious, and that after an orgasm she slept better. And soon, as soon as she was over five foot seven and learned to smoke without coughing, Sevika discovered that touching herself tasted better if someone she liked did it for her.

"Slow." Sevika whispered, placing a kiss on your shoulder. "Look at yourself. What do you see?"

"My pussy." You whispered, barely giving your reflection time to look back at you.

"You say it like it's a bad thing."

"It's not bad it's…"

"Strange?"

"I don't usually look at my pussy, Sev." You groaned.

"You should, it's pretty." Sevika laughed, caressing your waist with her metal fingers. "Think of all the men who have been staring at their cocks for as long as they've been conscious of them hanging between their legs, do you think they feel ashamed?"

You hesitated. "No?"

"There are two things a man always believes to be true." Sevika said, her tone lighter. "That they have the fattest cock on the block and that they can duel a bear without weapons, and win."

You laughed, your legs shaking slightly. Sevika smiled back. "If only you had the confidence they have in themselves, doll. It would be all so different."

Your expression sobered, this time giving the gap between your legs a longer look, that much neglected organ that deserved just a little more recognition in your life and in the lives of many other women.

"Look at the labia majora, the shape of it, the length of it…" Sevika whispered. "It frames the labia minora, the ones closest to the entrance."

You'd seen them in some anatomy book at the library, but recognizing them on yourself was quite different.

"I should have shaved more." You groaned in frustration.

Sevika snorted. "Are you saying that because of you or me? Cause lemme tell you, a hairy pussy doesn't grosses me out. On the contrary."

"But it does to me."

"Mine repels you?" Sevika inquired, leaving you speechless for a moment.

"No…" you whispered. "Yours… it's yours."

"I see. Now think the same about yours, sweetie." Sevika said. "Yours is what it is and that's it. Don't you dare apologize for how your body looks. Do I apologize for not having an arm?"

And you fell silent once more. Sevika sighed, kissing your neck. “You get my point.”

Sevika reveled in your body, in your flushed cheeks and focused eyes. She loved seeing you present. “You’re already wet.” She whispered. “But it can get wetter. Take two fingers.”

Sevika brought you index and middle fingers parted to the sides of your entrance, urging you to press. “Massage, slow.” She whispered, showing you the movement.

You obeyed, following the motion timidly at first, until you soon understood the purpose. That movement, however subtle, opened a pent-up dam that began to make you wetter and wetter. You moaned, feeling the urge to touch the rest but Sevika held your wrist. “Start from edges.” She said. “Don’t rush it.”

It was one of your vices, quick, silent masturbation. With your legs closed, a hand on your mouth and your eyes closed tightly, as if you were committing a crime that you wanted to finish soon. They were fleeting moments of pleasure that later turned into disconnection with yourself.

But Sevika knew you deserved better than that.

With your index finger you traced circles on your labia majora, slowly while Sevika whispered in your ear, kissed it and bit your lobe, making you shudder subtly. It was a constant and gentle movement, with no other purpose than to explore yourself.

"Come closer to the center." Sevika whispered. "Apply pressure, rub a little."

Your eyelids fluttered at that tickling between your legs, the sticky and wet murmur of your folds that made Sevika moan softly and her breathing accelerate, her breasts pressing against your back. Your hips moved unconsciously, you looked at your hand through the mirror, delicately between your legs with the elegance of an erotic painting.

"You're so pretty." Sevika gasped. "Look how your cheeks blush."

"Yours too."

Sevika smiled. "It just turns me on like you can't imagine seeing you touching yourself."

Sevika was known to be an avid spectator. More than once she would abstain from participating and sit on the couch in the brothel with a cigarette between her teeth, asking her girl to give her a show. There was something about watching such an intimate ritual that stirred every nerve fiber in her. Watching them unfold before her, rubbing themselves the way they liked, moaning genuinely, shuddering, whimpering and sighing, being able to see how their own hand is able to take them on a roller coaster of sensations. That ritual held a power that Sevika was fascinated to behold, and tonight you were her apprentice and her muse.

Sevika squeezed your breast, playing with your hardened, sensitive nipple. She already wanted to taste them, but she had to be patient. The appetizer was your self-exploration, the dessert was her mouth between your legs.

"You know… when there's too much business to attend to." Sevika said, her grey eyes watching you. "I can't visit the girls, so I lay back on my bed with a cigarette between my lips…" she murmured. "And I squeeze my breasts. Over and over, I touch them… massage them… while thinking of old encounters, of sounds… smells. You know how I love smells."

"All of them." You whimpered.

"Yes… from the armpits to the neck, between a couple of breasts and a wet pussy." Sevika sucked in between her teeth. "All of them."

You remember how Sevika had taken to sniffing you the first time she had you. She inhaled the scent of your neck and the crook of your elbows, behind your knees and your armpits. It was a scent loaded with codes, codes that communicated intentions. The pheromones were the best card to attract the most finicky organ of the human body; the nose.

"Sev." You whimpered. "Can you…?"

"That would be the shortcut, so no. I won't touch you yet."

You groaned, tilting your head back as Sevika placed a kiss on the top of your head. "Patience." Sevika drew your hand to the shy hood at the top of your pussy. "Pamper her, that's what it's for."

You traced circles around it, letting out a gasp. Sevika kept her hand on your wrist, indicating the methodical and steady pace, drawing sweet moans from you. "I'm wet just by looking at you." She whispered.

You bit your lip, the urge to grind harder and harder. An orgasm was building inside you, steady and certain, as Sevika kissed your neck and motioned for you to quicken your pace. "Ah, fuck…"

"Moan better." Sevika said. "You can be as loud as you want here."

You whimpered, your hips seeking more contact as you moved and you rubbed against your hand. Sevika pressed her fingers against you, urging you on. "Keep going… don't rush." ​​

"Ah, Sev."

"You like it? It's better when you don' try to cum in two minutes."

You hurried your hand, but Sevika held you back. This wasn't a race and you were certainly getting ahead of yourself. "Old habits die hard."

Her metal hand held your legs apart, her other hand ascending to your chin to make you look at yourself in the mirror again. “We’ll try again, okay?”

This part was the one you liked the least. It wasn’t just the pain, it was the accumulated frustration from past sessions with no results. Sevika told you it was all in your head, that you were just as deserving of this pleasure as others. But you still felt skeptical.

“Middle finger.” She whispered, bringing it to your entrance. “Just press, darling. Soften your entrance.”

You pressed your lips together, obeying her command even though you preferred to rub. You eased the tip of your finger, gently moving it in circles. “It already burns.” You whined.

“I know. We talked about sublimating pain, remember?” You nodded. “Your body is already relaxed, you’re wet. You need to focus on breathing.”

It seemed that when it came to penetration, your body locked up. It was an overwhelming burn, a wall of fire if you will, closing in around your fingers and keeping you from entering. Sevika had tried this in the past, drawing whimpers from you that would never stop causing her guilt. This time, however, it was about allowing yourself to do it.

"I don't like it, Sev."

"You don't like it because you're predisposed to suffer." she insisted. "I know you can, babygirl."

You looked at Sevika through the mirror, her grey eyes soothing you. "Breathe, deep. One… two…" you inhaled, your hand between your legs, the wall of fire present. "Three. Exhale…"

You dared to venture deeper, your walls coupling to your finger as the burn quickened your breathing. "Shh." Sevika kissed your neck. "Breathe again."

One… two… three…

Exhale.

“Ah…” you moaned, inserting the last bit of your finger and feeling the latent but less painful tension. “Mhm.”

“Good girl, look at yourself.”

You opened your eyes, looking at yourself in the mirror. The palm of your hand rested against your clit, your finger inserted all the way in, like a new but unrejected intrusion. “Sev.”

“I told you you could, you're taking it whole.” Sevika smiled. "Can you move it?"

You barely curled your finger, but you recognized the rugous wall inside you. "Yes…" you moaned.

"Breath for me." continued Sevika, gently taking your wrist as she motioned you to curl your fingers once more. "One... two..."

"Mhm, Sev." you moaned, your eyes closing. "Fuck."

"Does it hurt?"

"The pressure." you managed to explain.

"You're tensing, baby. Relax..." Sevika let out a pant, kissing the side of your neck. "You're doing so good."

You endured and took a deep breath, curling your finger against the inner wall Sevika talked you about. You felt a tickle, barely diminishing due to an increasingly timid pain.

And Sevika seemed pleased. "You did good, baby. Rest."

You pulled your finger back when the pressure forced it, only for Sevika to cup your chin in her fingers and pull you in for a long kiss. "Well done." She said between kisses. "Fuck, you looked so beautiful."

Sevika showered you in kisses, from your mouth to your navel, repeating how proud she was of you. "You've crossed the threshold, gorgeous. You just need to practice."

You smiled, feeling the hint of a happy cry build up in your throat. But Sevika cheered you up with another kiss. "We'll try again tomorrow. Sooner than later I'll have you cumming in my fingers over and over again."

You chuckled, watching Sevika kiss your inner thigh. "It's rude to look at the food without eating it, y'know?" you teased her.

"How rude of me." she purred, her kisses coming closer to your wet and now dilated pussy. "You better moan properly, doll."

"All you want."

[kifuqe]

What type of coffee/Latte do you think Grayson would like as well as like a pastry

I honestly think Grayson has a sweet tooth and loves the sweetest types of coffee, like a mocha, flat white, and sometimes a double espresso that she loves to eat with a sweet italian cream filled cannocinni, éclairs, or a sweet cake.

[kifuqe]

thinking about kissing sevika’s beautiful, asymmetrical lips on this lovely saturday 🙂‍↕️🩷🥺

[kifuqe]

[kifuqe]

I was thinking about making another finger measurement but with another character

Any other suggestions? Please tell me, i’ll be reading y’all. 💗

[kifuqe]

Cowboy Sevika/Sheriff Grayson

[kifuqe]

BABY FEVER

sevika x fem!reader | 5k words

SUMMARY: Sevika uses the wonderful magic from a hexstrap to get you pregnant. Janna bless technology.

TAGS: 18+ only! canon divergence (hextech exists post-s2), pregnancy/breeding kink, strap-ons, strap sucking, porn with a LOT of feelings, dirty talk, wet and messy, wives in love

NOTES: this got so away from me it’s insane. also i spent way too long considering the logistics of a magical strap someone stop me

-> READ ON AO3 | SEVIKA MASTERLIST

You want a baby.

Wait, no. Big correction: you want a child.

It's a thought that you've sat on for a while. Weighed the pros and cons, philosophized about the future, carefully dissected Sevika's reactions when you teased the topic. You aren't getting any younger, and your heart craves at the sight of children playing in the street, and mothers soothing their babies, and toddlers waddling around in their cute little clothes.

At the beginning of your relationship, both of you decided that, given the current political climate (and the danger of the Undercity, and Sevika's volatile job), having kids was impossible. Frankly, neither of you were ready to be parents. But somewhere along the way, things changed. Whether it was the official creation of Zaun, or Sevika’s new position as Councilor, or your new home in the safest part of town, something just… clicked. You woke up one day, and everywhere you looked, a baby sat. Chubby cheeks and gummy smiles and wind chime laughter occupied your mind.

Your biology plays a part, yes, but this want is also a means to solidify your relationship. Specifically, the love you have for your wife. A few months ago, you began to dream about a toddler following Sevika around your home, sharing the grey of her eyes and the curve of her lips and the grumpy furrow of her brow. Many times, you woke up with tears in your eyes and an ache in your heart. A longing that refuses to leave.

So yes, you want a child.

Getting her to agree is your mountain to climb. She’s shared the past troubles with her parents, bared her heart about her fear of such a lifelong responsibility. You would never pressure her into it, but your heart might shatter if she says no.

Which is how you find yourself here, once again gazing at a woman across the street, rocking a baby in her arms. Your sweetbread and tea have long since gone cold as the two of you share a date at some uppity cafe in Piltover. Sevika spends her days at work fighting off the judgments of the city’s finest, but she thankfully spends her weekends with you making up for such long absences.

“What are you looking at?”

The sound of her voice snaps you out of your staring, and you look over at her with a heavy blink. “Uh, nothing?”

“Sure doesn’t seem like nothing.” She nods to the woman, with her big smile and crinkled eyes, and the laughing baby held in her arms. “Why them?”

You look at the wrapped sweetbread in your hands and begin pulling pieces off to squish between your fingers. Your fidgeting results in one big pile of mush that you shove into your mouth. “No particular reason.”

She glares at you—the same scathing look every time she knows that you’re lying. A tangible weight that grabs you by the back of the neck. “Is that right?”

You wash down your bread with a hearty gulp of tea and wince at the bitter, cold taste. “Yep.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“Didn’t say you were, honey.”

“You implied it by lying.”

“I’m not lying, I just—“ with a heaving sigh, you sag against the table, “I don’t wanna force you into anything.”

“I’m a big girl. If I don’t like something, I’ll say no.”

You ready yourself with a long inhale, forearms braced atop the table. “Okay then. What are your thoughts, now that everything is… better, about having a kid? With me?”

“Who else would I have one with?”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head. “This is serious.”

“So you want me to be honest?”

“Always.”

She adjusts her weight in the chair, brows tugging together. “It still scares the shit out of me, but not as much as it used to.”

You nod, reaching for her hand across the table to lay your fingers over the scarred hills of her knuckles. “Can you at least just… think about it? That’s all I’m asking.”

After a breath-holding moment, she meets your gaze, lips twitching at the corners. “Yeah. I’ll think about it.”

Over the next few weeks, you give her the space to think. To weigh the pros and cons, to philosophize about the future, to dissect the feelings and issues and traumas that might influence her decision. But you notice a gradual change in her, too. Her eyes linger a bit too long on pregnant bellies, and her lips quirk at the sound of wind chime laughter, and she pauses in the street to watch the children play.

And then that change hones in on you. More often than not, her hands find the curve of your lower belly, when you’re washing dishes or cuddling in bed or simply standing around. She plays with your tits more often during sex, weighs them in her palms when you straddle her hips, traces her thumbs around your nipples. Fucks you rougher than usual, as if she might actually get you pregnant if she tries hard enough.

Her way of considering. Thinking about the future using the circumstances of your current reality. Picturing the slow swell of your belly, the full weight of your tits, coming inside you until it takes.

The idea further evolves into a mutual fantasy during sex. Tangible proof of her intrigue.

It begins after she comes home one evening a bit more prickly than normal. You chalk her frustration up to a worse-than-usual meeting, or the chill of the weather grating old injuries. You expect the palm she smooths over your belly, and the kiss she presses to the pulse of your neck, but you don’t expect her to drag you away from chopping vegetables in the kitchen to the bedroom.

She fucks you with a frantic kind of passion. Shoves your face into the bed and hikes up your hips and grinds her fake cock into you until your eyes blur with tears. She’s never been particularly vocal during sex, but that night, she talks. Babbles in that breathless voice that drives you insane.

Gonna knock you up. That’s what you want, isn’t it?

I’ll fuck this pussy every day ‘til it takes.

You’ll be such a good mama.

We’ll get you a baby, I swear. I’m gonna make it happen.

Her enthusiasm opens up a locked box that collected dust long ago. One filled with secrets, fantasies you repressed during this whole ordeal because you never thought she would reciprocate. You give as good you get. Beg her to cum inside you, ramble about how cute you'd look with your belly swelling with her baby, whine again and again about what a good parent she’ll be.

The best sex you’ve ever had as a couple. No doubt about it.

You have a very long talk after that about the blurred line between fantasy and reality, and she finally admits that the idea of a child has grown on her. Enough that she thinks about it over paperwork, and during meetings, and on the walk home. It haunts her the same way it does you.

“Only ever want a kid with you, though,” she says, with her cheek on your chest and your hand in her hair.

“I feel the same way.”

“Good to know.” A kiss pressed to the valley between your tits.

This dynamic continues for the next few months, and your longing only grows. Your pre-sleep ritual stretches to fit shared whispers of the future: the kind of parents you’ll be, wishes for your child as they grow up, the fears that still stick at the back of your brain. Sevika is terrified of becoming her father, of instilling his individualistic, paranoid ideals into your kid. You're terrified of being too lenient, of projecting the wants of your own inner child onto them.

But you talk about it, and ensure that you'll keep each other in check. That no, you won't traumatize your kid beyond saving, and yes, you've learned from your parents’ mistakes. You're in this together after all.

Finally, everything culminates into one big climax.

She strolls into the bedroom one evening—after being gone a worrying length of time past her usual hour—with a package wrapped in paper, and tosses it onto the bed with a smug grin. “Found a solution to our problem.”

You shoot up off the pillow with a start, immediately pawing for the box. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I'm serious.”

You rip off the paper and toss it aside, and there it is. The box doesn't reveal much. A collection of numbers at the corner, PROTOTYPE in big letters—

DNA delivery apparatus designed for female anatomy written across the center.

She did it. She actually fucking did it.

“Where the hell did you get this?” you ask, awe weaving into the words as you grasp the box between your hands.

“An inventor.”

“How did you get this?”

Her weight sags the mattress as she sits down behind you, hooking her chin over your shoulder, hand curling around your belly. “Councilor privileges.”

Your chin dimples with a wave of incoming tears, and you sniffle, fingers tracing each letter on the box. “This is amazing.”

“It better be. I had to buy a hextech commission.”

You cough out a surprised laugh, wiping at your wet eyes. “Oh, don't be a baby. You'll live.”

She grumbles under her breath, presses a wet kiss to your bare shoulder. A silent I love you tattooed in the lingering warmth of her lips.

The toy is different than you’re used to. Separated into two parts: a thick plug for her, covered with strange sigils, and the fake cock for you, a shimmery blue pearl slotted at the base (the same color as the scars on her face, you realize). You find a hollow tube at the head that travels the entire length of it.

“So. How does this thing work?”

“You use it to have sex.”

You turn to glare at her, scooting closer to the middle of the bed. “Obviously, smartass. I meant the magic.”

Her only response is a half-hearted shrug, hand reaching for the hem of your sleep shorts. You help her slip both them and your underwear down your legs.

Your question is quickly forgotten when she dives between your thighs, tongue hot and slick as she trails a languid lick between your labia to spread you open. Her forearm next to your hip balances her weight atop the mattress as she pulls her knees under her. She's an expert at working around the limitations of only having one arm, but sometimes sex can get a bit difficult, especially when she's too tired to hold herself up for long. It doesn’t help that she’s stubborn, and refrains from asking for help unless no other option presents itself.

(She's fallen asleep with her mouth on your pussy more times than she'd ever admit because she loves eating you out and hates confessing to her exhaustion.)

Which is why you adjust your thigh for her to lean her shoulder against, combing a hand through the silk of her hair. “Baby time?”

Her lips detach from your clit with a slick pop and a twitch of your hips, and she turns her head to nip at your inner thigh. “Baby time.”

Warmth blooms in your chest when her gaze meets yours, lips pressing to the curve of your lower belly. It's excitement and anxiety and joy and fear rolled all into one. You're going to have a child with the love of your life. Your wife. The person you cherish most in the world.

Her cheek squishes against the fat of your thigh as you blink back tears, overwhelm tightening up your throat, and you couldn't explain your headspace to her if you tried. Everything lined up perfectly to get to this moment, even down to the correct stage of your cycle.

“Why are you crying?” she asks, voice tender with concern.

“I’m just happy.” You wipe your eyes with each palm, giving a big sniff as you attempt to compose yourself. “Sorry. I feel like I'm ruining the mood.”

She hums, a wavering tone that mimics laughter. “Maybe a little.”

“Oh, fuck o—” Your voice dies out in your throat when she laves her tongue over your clit, adjusting herself once again to slide a long, thick finger into your pussy.

Sevika's good at this. Distraction. Leading you by the leash-libido away from whatever topic she'd rather you not linger on. Your brain has a habit of lingering.

She forgoes her usual teasing for the night to make quick work of your first orgasm—a record, you think. Loves building you up to a shuddering, begging mess, thighs tense against her ears and hips seeking stimulation, but her current state of anticipation holds a tangible weight. Sparks electricity on the back of your tongue.

You collapse against the bed once the aftershocks end, eyes closed, chest heaving for breath. The drawer on the nightstand slides open then shuts a moment later, her weight shifting atop the mattress. Already, you’ve been wrung like a wet cloth, slick between the thighs, limbs heavy, satiation soaking down to your marrow.

Your skin prickles at her proximity, and you open your eyes to find her now-naked form reaching for the toy��apparatus, as the inventor called it. She drops it on your stomach then picks up a bottle of half-empty lube. Holds it out for you to take.

“Here. You do the honors.”

But that can wait. You have to check something first.

With a wide grin, you slide two fingers between her legs to meet soft, plush heat, hole clenching around the pad of your middle finger, and you exhale a giddy laugh when they come away dripping. “Shit. I'm flattered, Sev.”

“I can’t help it. You’re too pretty.”

An echo of golden light from the bedside lamp displays the sheen on her lips and chin, the sweat that sticks strands of dark hair to her temples, the glass of cloud-grey eyes. Half of her bathed in shadow, a chiaroscuro of soft curves and taut muscle. She belongs on a canvas in some extravagant throne room, a museum, above your bed.

Maybe you should try your hand at painting.

You grab the toy and sit up, fingers once again finding the slick of her cunt, and she steadies herself with her hand on your shoulder, forehead tacky against the curve of your neck. Her chest rumbles with a bitten-out groan when you sink two fingers into her, arm curling around your back to tug you close. She's warm against you, smells of floral smoke from the candle that constantly burns in her office. Scorching hot between the legs, silk-smooth, so wet your fingers produce a squelch on each knuckle-deep thrust.

And then her hand grabs at your wrist, mouth rough against yours. A collision of teeth, each kiss wet and noisy, bruising in its intensity. She’s always made you feel wanted, worshipped—special. Her perfect woman since the night you two met, when she stumbled up to the bar and said some shitty one-liner that branded her name on your heart.

Falling for her was as easy as breathing, and as painful as yanking teeth.

She pulls away with a shuddering sigh, palm clammy as it follows the path of your spine. “You ready?”

You nod, slipping your fingers out of her to pop them in your mouth, sucking the salt-musk taste of her off your skin. “I've been ready.”

Once you lube up the plug side of the toy, she takes it from you and feeds it into her pussy. Shudders in time with the sudden gleam of the blue pearl, and your mouth waters at the sight of her—clit puffy and slicked-up, the coarse curls that frame her labia wet and sticky, the fake cock that hangs between her legs.

You must have been a fucking saint in your past life. Only reason for you to be so blessed in this one.

She sighs through her nose, lowers her head to look at the toy. “That's… weird.”

“Good weird or bad weird?”

With a furrowed brow, she takes a moment to consider, shifting from knee to knee. “Neither.”

“Well, it doesn't hurt or anything, right?”

She shakes her head. “Feels… prickly. Not painful, though.”

You brush a finger up its length, eyes brightening when the blue light of the pearl flickers. She sucks a breath through her teeth, hand jerking toward your wrist, but stops short of grabbing it.

“I felt that.”

Your lips curl into a smile as a wicked idea takes root, and she raises a brow at the look on your face. You fist a hand around the base of the fake cock to keep it steady, your other resting on her thick thigh, then you lean down to wrap your lips around the head. Her fingers squeeze at your shoulder, neither pushing you away nor pulling you close, as a moan bubbles up in her chest.

Yeah, you're absolutely using this thing again.

Her hand curls over the back of your head just before her hips rock forward, sinking the toy further into the wet heat of your mouth. She's got you trapped in place, right where she wants you as she fucks your face with increasing intensity. Her thrusts start out smooth and slow as she adjusts to the new sensation of pleasure, but she's always been quick to adapt, and before you know it the head of her cock teases at the back of your throat and you drool a wet spot into the sheets. She rewards you with her sighs and groans, with a tremble to her thighs when you hollow your cheeks.

The first spurt of something hot and thick on the back of your tongue makes you jolt like you've been electrocuted, and her fingers dig into the back of her head as her hips stutter and her breathing heavies and her shoulders curl toward her knees.

Inside your mouth, the toy heats, begins to almost vibrate as more of the liquid spills sticky over your tongue. She—

Oh. She's coming. One look at her pain-pleasure expression, the uptilt of her brows and twist of her mouth, clicks the pieces into place.

And then she heaves a sigh, releases your head to smooth an apologetic palm over your shoulder, huffing like she sprinted the entirety of the Lanes. You sit up and work your mouth, unsure of what to do with the… substance inside.

At your slap to her thigh, she blinks at you, the perfect picture of debauchery—low-lidded eyes and shiny cheeks and a heaving chest. You open your mouth and point inside, and her brows raise clear to her hairline. She swipes a finger over your tongue to collect the liquid, then pulls back and smears it with her thumb. Actual cum, a blue shimmer to it that resembles an oil slick. Unnatural. Magical.

You swallow it down with a wince (more about the texture than the taste), and then she's shoving her finger between your teeth, telling you to suck with a toothy, teasing grin. Then her thumb once you've cleaned the other off.

“Can't waste it, can we, honey?” she mutters, ghosts her lips over your tacky forehead, plucks at a pert nipple.

Fuck.

The pulse between your legs hammers to a heavy thump, belly tingling with the magic you just swallowed—a very odd realization, that. She just came (a mindfuck in and of itself) magic. The air sizzles with it, makes the hair on your arms stand on end.

You urge her onto her back with a hand between her tits, and she goes down without a fight. Exhales a relieved sigh when she sinks into the sheets.

“C'mere,” she says, holds out her hand for you to take. Ever-thoughtful as you straddle her hips then grab the toy to keep it still.

A set of gasps fill the room when you sink down on its length, cunt tight and slick as you clench around it—her, you suppose. Her brows tug together, jaw loose as she pants and peers down to the place your bodies meet. You've taken all of her in one glide, skin-to-skin, the curls on her mound tickling your clit.

She grits her teeth when you roll your hips, bracing your palms on her thighs. “Shit, that's—”

“Good?” you ask, grinning at the lewd noise of your cunt as you bottom out again, grinding your clit against her.

Such a drastic change in power dynamic fogs up your thoughts, activates your hindbrain until the only need that plays on repeat is making a mess of her. Wonder how many times she can fill you up before she starts shooting blanks—and if there’s a limit, you hope to find it tonight. She's always the one going mad with power, but the introduction of your new toy leaves her pliant beneath you. Too overwhelmed by the fluttering silk of your pussy to focus on anything else, eyes glassy and glittering as they gaze up at you.

Your hips melt into a steady rhythm, a smooth rise and a rough downstroke, over and over again as heat starts its slow coil in the pit of your belly. The air thickens, heavy, almost humid on each inhale as the toy inside you buzzes to life once again.

“How's my pussy feel, Sev?”

“Fuck, don't—” she pants out a moan, hand pawing at your hip as her chin tilts back to expose the line of her neck, “gonna cum.”

“That good, huh?” You roughen up your thrusts until your ass slaps against her thighs, each movement of your hips accompanied by a loud squelch. “God, ‘m so wet. Needed this so bad.”

She whines, fingers tightening around your waist. “Shit, slow down.”

“Cum inside me. Please.”

Her grip disappears from your waist, choosing instead to fist the sheets so tight her knuckles creak, and you lean forward, steady yourself upright with a hand on each of your shoulders. Effective in pressing her down, keeping her still.

Not her hips, though. They meet you thrust-for-thrust, jarring you atop her, each stroke forcing the breath from your lungs.

“Gonna give me a baby?” you ask, voice weak and wavering as your rhythm grows sloppy.

Your thighs burn, and you’ll no doubt wake up sore as hell tomorrow, but the anticipation of her looming orgasm pushes you through the pain. She's back to her old self now, expression a scowl of concentration, one-track mind overriding her pleasure to focus on—

“I'll give you as many as you want. Gonna keep you filled up ‘til it takes.” Your hand shoots down to your clit as she babbles on about the fantasies you discussed months prior. You’re only slightly frustrated about how even her voice sounds compared to yours. “Might sneak you into my office, fuck you on my desk. I know you’d like that.”

You nod, fingers circling over your clit in a frantic blur as the coil in your belly threatens to snap, arms and legs twitching in preparation for something soul-rending. “Please, Sev, I'm so close. Please—”

She hits her peak first at the sound of your pleading, a rough hand on your hip pinning you down, fully seating you on her cock. Pants and groans beneath you as wave after wave of thick cum fills you up. Your brain whites out somewhere between the beginning and end of her orgasm as you crash into your own, almost folding in half from its intensity, insides clenching just shy of pain around the toy as your body instinctively tries to milk it.

In the aftermath, you collapse atop her, face seeking out the curve of her neck for post-sex comfort. A ritual of yours, something about her smell that slows your heartbeat and calms your breathing.

“That was…” you begin, adjusting your hips as the prickly feeling she mentioned earlier settles in the pit of your stomach, “wow.”

She sighs, fingers trailing down the center of your back. “Yeah.”

Correction: this was the best sex you've ever had as a couple. Baby-making aside, the new sensations and fantasies and forms of pleasure introduced a level of excitement you didn't even know intrigued you. Almost overwhelming in its unpredictability, but isn't that half the fun? Experimenting?

Yeah, you learned a lot of new things about yourself tonight.

The comfort of your cuddling is interrupted by the sticky spill of her cum around the toy, leaking out of you in slow rivulets. With a huff, you rise onto your knees, the fake cock bobbing between her legs. The tinged-blue liquid drips onto her stomach, and you reach down to plug yourself with two fingers.

“You're making a mess,” she mutters, eyes closed as if floating through a light doze. “And you're wasting it.”

You lean in close to her face, until you can count each individual lash that brushes over her cheek. “Are you falling asleep?”

“Resting my eyes.”

So, falling asleep. Got it.

“No, we gotta shower. Get up.”

She grunts, mouth curling into a pout when you yank at her arm.

Eventually, she gets up, and you waddle over to the bathroom with her trailing behind. The night ends with a lazy shower and a quick change of the bed sheets. By the time Sevika collapses onto the mattress, she's half-dead, barely able to pull the covers over herself before she's snoring into the pillow.

Well. There's always next time.

She stays true to her word, though. Fucks you every single day like clockwork, and passes out shortly after the first round every single time—an obvious effect of the magic on her body that burns your whole shooting blanks idea to ash. But oh, she milks that round for all it's worth. Makes you cum on her fingers and tongue until you're begging for her cock. Your new favorite position leaves you biting the sheets with your ass in the air, her hand heavy on your back to preserve the arch of your spine.

Instinct. Primal. Pure brain-stem urges.

Sometimes she makes you stay there after you're finished while she lights up a cigarette and feeds her cum back into your pussy.

I work hard making this stuff. Can't let it go to waste.

You might go crazy. Start salivating at the color blue after a month of nightly sessions. Can barely stroll through the streets of neon-light Zaun now without getting wet. It's ridiculous, but you're ruined. The lockbox has been opened and the contents spilled out and there's no forcing them back in.

But above all: you want your child already. More than the fun, kinky sex and the magic toys. You want another human running around your empty house, with their own thoughts and opinions and interests. Who would they act like, look like, think like most? You just hope they get Sevika's eyes.

“It'll happen,” she says, cuddling you in bed with her arm tight around your shoulders. “We have to give it time.”

Admittedly, you're being a bit dramatic, blubbering and crying against her. But the fear began to set in a few days ago after two months of trying with zero results.

“What if it doesn't work?”

“It will.”

If your sore tits and emotional instability and fatigue mean anything, then your period should start soon—another month wasted.

Except it doesn't.

By your own calculations, you're now four days out from its start and not a single speck of blood. You've developed nausea, though. Threw up after your last weekend date to the cafe you love so much.

Your body feels… off. The best way to describe it. An ill-fitting skin suit, maybe. Wrong and weird. At first, you chalk it up to wishful thinking, a placebo effect borne from your longing.

But Sevika notices. Of course she does.

Some of her new privileges pass onto you as a Councilor's wife, one of those being actual medical care. Doctors, hospital rooms, actual treatments aside from the wait it out mentality so common in Zaun.

So here you sit, in the exam room of some doctor's office Sevika dragged you to, jiggling your leg as you wait for the pregnancy test to come back. Her hand curls around yours, thumb soothing over the swell of your knuckles. A calming presence you desperately need right now.

The receptionist out front only gave you three scowling glares as you signed in, and the nurse that took your vitals was only a little rough as she removed the medical equipment from your arm. All in all, a less volatile experience than you expected, though you think the tall, muscular woman standing guard over your shoulder helped tamper bad attitudes. No need for these pompous people to add to your sky-high stress level.

You find it funny how differently the world sees Sevika. To you, she's composed of starry eyes and teasing smiles and soft touches. She smells like home, holds your heart in her hand and has yet to squash it in her fist. So different to the way everyone eyes her warily, scampers out of her path, whispers about her behind her back. Wherever she goes, the room holds it breath.

But she’s your wife, your love, your honey. The other mother to your future child.

For the love of Janna, please be pregnant.

The door opens with a faint click, and the doctor steps in with a small smile. Your fingers grip tight around Sevika's palm, spine straightening in your seat. A wave of nausea brews in your stomach, ribs a cage around the thumping rhythm of your heart.

You’re terrified. Told her this was a bad idea, that a test from the markets would be just as reliable, but she insisted.

Please. Please give us this.

The doctor takes a seat behind her desk then sets down your chart in front of her. “Congratulations, dear. You’re having a baby.”

And the whole world shifts.

[kifuqe]

Fuck it, everybody get naked lets see whos pussy is the best

[kifuqe]

Sevika's finger measurements using a method with not much math

Hello everyone! Welcome, y’all can call me Kifuqe, I am a bit passionate about math and mathematical reasoning problems, I used that for something I hope you like, Sevika’s finger measurements.

So here’s the Timelapse, below the video I will make a brief explanation

The method I used isn’t mine, i saw it on tiktok a long ago and i wanted to use it with Sevika.

There is nothing very complicated, just 'reason and proportion' followed by basic divisions. I use the best full body sevika photo i found, that’s why i use the ‘≈’

So here are what you want.

The measurements

Index finger:

13cm (5.2 inches)

Middle finger:

14cm (5.5 inches)

Ring finger:

13.5cm (5.3 inches)

Both Index and middle finger width:

5.5cm (2.2 inches)

You can see the measurements changed right? And why? Because in the photo Sevika looks slightly bent, and some results were rounded to an integer because I had originally given a decimal number.

So that’s all, i hope you like it, I would really appreciate it if you repost, like or comment something, thank you so much. 💗

[kifuqe]

when u write sevika as a super mean dom keep in mind this is who ur writing

[kifuqe]

NSFW Favorite positions:

♥ From Behind: Not only does this let her take the lead, but she gets to fully appreciate your body in front of her. She’s all about running her hands along your sides and hips, occasionally teasing with a sharp slap. “Damn, you look good from here,” she’ll murmur.

♥ On Her Lap: Whether she’s sitting back in her chair or on the edge of her bed, Sevika loves pulling you into her lap. She’s all about letting her hands roam while her lips find your neck, murmuring praises in that deep voice of hers.

♥ Against the Wall: Sevika is all about control, and what’s better than pinning you against a surface? She loves holding you up with her strength, one arm braced as she leans in close. “You’re not going anywhere,” she smirks, voice low and raspy.

♥ Face-to-Face Dominance: Sevika prefers positions where she can stay in control while still watching your every reaction. Something like you on your back, her leaning over you, strong arms pinning you down as her weight presses into you. She loves the power dynamic and the intimacy of locking eyes. “I want to see every damn expression you make,” she growls.

♥ Leg Over Shoulder: Sevika loves this one because it lets her stay close while also showcasing her strength and control. She’ll smirk, teasing, “I told you I’d take care of everything.”

[kifuqe]

Sevika's first day as a counselor

My baby standing up to the snobs that treated her people horribly for years <3333

[kifuqe]

(and me in the middle !!!)

[kifuqe]

GRAYSON TWITTER LINKS

warnings: twitter porn links, fingering, tribbing, facefucking, face sitting, lap humping, usage of strap, strap riding, public sex, breasts fondling

a/n: sorry if these aren't really accurate, it's hard to find videos of muscular milfs 😞

requested

♡┃fucking you in the middle of the kitchen

♡┃making you ride her fingers

♡┃you can take it, right?

♡┃she loves your breasts

♡┃fucking you with her strap

♡┃riding her strap

♡┃she can't keep her hands to herself

♡┃sitting on her face

♡┃tribbing

♡┃using your face

♡┃making you feel good

[kifuqe]

Can you do grayson with thief/criminal reader

LOVING A THEIF

Grayson x f!reader

Synopsis: You were a well known criminal, the thief or Piltover. But you were also Grayson’s partner, captain of Piltover’s enforcers. All of this caused your relationship to be complicated, but it became even worse when you were caught by Marcus, and sent to life in Stillwater.

Request: Anon 🤍

A/N: At the top of each divider, I had to add a time skip so it made sense, so just note that.

The rain was a curtain of silver needles, sharp and relentless, drumming against the stone streets of Piltover. The glow of the hextech lamps cast long, wavering shadows, and somewhere in the maze of alleys, you ran. The cold air bit at your lungs, every breath sharp like broken glass, but the thrill of it—oh, the thrill—kept you going.

A satchel slapped against your hip, full of trinkets that would sell for a fortune topside but feed a dozen orphans in the Lanes. Every step you took echoed with the soft clinking of stolen wealth, and for a moment, you allowed yourself a grin. You were good at this. Too good, some might say.

Until tonight.

“Stop! By order of the Enforcers, stop!” Someone yelled, and the single statement made you cringe. But You knew that voice. Low, rough, and full of a desperate kind of righteousness.

Marcus.

The dog that barked far too loud and bit too deep.

You whipped around a corner, feet splashing in a puddle, heart thundering. It wasn’t just Marcus chasing you—there were more, at least three other enforcers judging by the heavy footfalls. You couldn’t see them, but you heard them. Closer now.

Too close.

You knew this part of Piltover too well, knew that if you kept running, you’d hit a dead end. But doubling back was suicide. You needed a way out. A way up.

Your eyes darted around, landing on a crate leaning against the wall. Too low.

The balcony above it? Too high.

But there, a pipe running alongside the wall. Rusted, but it would hold. It had to.

You sprinted for it, tossed your bag up first, then leapt. Your fingers curled around the pipe just as a bolt of pain lanced through your shoulder, a clawing, burning ache. You hissed, fingers tightening as you glanced down.

Marcus, his baton still raised, sneering up at you. “Gotcha, rat.”

You heaved yourself up with one arm, ignoring the throb in your shoulder. Every movement felt like fire, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

“Persistent little thing,” Marcus muttered, signaling to the others. “Circle ‘round! She’s bleeding, meaning she won’t get far.”

He was right. The wet warmth trickling down your arm was proof enough.

But they underestimated you.

They always did.

(Grayson’s Apartment—Hours Later)

Blood stained the fabric of Grayson’s shirt as she pressed it against your shoulder, her jaw set tight with a quiet, simmering rage. You sat on the kitchen counter, legs swinging off the edge like a child getting scolded, biting down a hiss with every press of the cloth.

“You know,” she said, her tone sharper than any knife, “I can only cover for you so many times before it’s not just your neck on the line.” Her silver hair clung damp to her forehead, still glistening from the rain outside. “Marcus is sniffing around harder than usual. He’s not stupid, love.”

You tilted your head, grinning up at her despite the sting in your arm. “I’d argue that point.”

Her eyes darted up to meet yours, unamused but still soft in that way only she had. The kind of softness reserved for things you love but shouldn’t.

“I’m serious,” she said, gripping your chin with firm fingers. Her callouses brushed against your skin, grounding you. “You think I like playing both sides of this war? If Marcus catches you again, he won’t drag you to me. He’ll drag you straight to the Council. And I can’t help you then.”

Her voice dropped, and with it, her gaze. She released your chin and looked away, her hand braced on the counter beside you. “I hate this,” she muttered. “I hate this game we’re playing.”

Your grin faltered.

“I know,” you murmured, glancing at the door as if expecting someone to kick it down. “But you knew what I was when we started this, Gray. You knew I wasn’t ever gonna be… clean.”

“Don’t.” Her voice was quiet but firm, sharp as broken glass. “Don’t act like you’re dirt underfoot. What you do for the kids in Zaun — I know why you do it. I know. But knowing doesn’t make it any safer.”

Her hand settled on your thigh, fingers curling lightly, and you leaned into her touch. There wasn’t much softness in your life. But this? This was yours.

“I’ll be careful,” you said, and for once, you meant it. “I’ll lay low for a while.”

Her fingers squeezed your leg.

“Promise me.”

You hesitated, and lying to Grayson was like cutting your own heart out.

“I promise.”

And for a time, you both believed it, but Grayson also knew you could be a bit stubborn with your words.

(Stillwater Prison—A Few Days Later)

You didn’t hear them coming. You’d been too focused on the metal lock in front of you, working it with a thief’s patience. The distant sounds of footsteps didn’t register until it was too late.

A sharp whistle behind you.

“Breakin’ into Stillwater, huh? Gutsy.”

You froze, lockpick still in hand. Slowly, you turned your head. Marcus. Standing there with a squad of enforcers behind him, smug as ever. His baton spun lazily in his hand.

“Y’know, I thought you’d be smarter,” he said, stepping closer, his boots heavy against the stone floor. “Grayson ain’t here to save you now, sweetheart.”

You braced yourself to run, but Marcus shook his head, letting out a little ‘tch’. “Uh-uh. Not this time.”

Two enforcers moved faster than you could react, hands gripping your arms, wrenching them back. You thrashed, teeth bared like a cornered animal.

“Get off me!” you snarled, feet kicking, head swinging. “You think this’ll end well for you, Marcus? You think Grayson won’t—”

“Grayson ain’t calling the shots anymore,” Marcus sneered, stepping forward, his face so close you could smell the rain on his coat. “You think she’s untouchable, but guess what? Council’s takin’ a closer look at her, too.”

That made you pause, heart sinking into your stomach.

“What are you talking about?”

Marcus grinned, baring his teeth. “Her leash just got shorter. They’re watchin’ her now. Which means you?” He laughed, low and mean. “You’re fair game.”

The crack of his baton against your temple was the last thing you felt before darkness took you.

(Grayson’s Office—The Next Day)

“You should’ve told me sooner,” Grayson said quietly, her back turned to Marcus, hands braced on her desk. Her knuckles were white from how hard she gripped it. “I would’ve handled it.”

Marcus shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. “Handled it how, Captain? Council said you’re too close to her. Said someone else’d be deciding what happens to her.”

Grayson’s head turned just enough for him to see the sharp cut of her glare.

“She’s mine,” she said, low and dangerous.

“Not anymore,” Marcus replied, too smug for his own good. “She’s Council property now. Best you stay out of it, Captain. Wouldn’t want them thinkin’ you’re compromised.”

He left her there, fists trembling against the desk.

(The Cell—Later That Night)

The cold stone of the cell pressed against your back, the chains on your wrists rattling every time you moved. You’d lost track of time. Hours? Days? Didn’t matter. You’d been in worse places. But it was the silence that ate at you, gnawed at you like a hungry rat.

She’d come for you. She always did.

But when the cell door opened, it wasn’t her.

Two enforcers stepped in, faces blank, eyes dull. Not Marcus. Not Grayson. Strangers.

“On your feet,” one of them barked.

Your heart pounded harder, faster. “Where are you taking me?”

The other enforcer grinned, pulling you to your feet with a yank.

“Council’s got plans for you, thief.”

Panic set in, wild and sharp. Grayson wasn’t here. No one was.

You fought like hell.

(The Courtroom—In the Morning)

The courtroom smelled of old parchment, sweat, and something faintly metallic — like blood that had dried on stone. Sunlight streamed in from high, arched windows, slanting across the cold marble floors in sharp golden beams. It might have been beautiful if you weren’t chained to a chair, beaten and bruised, with half of Piltover staring down at you like a caged animal on display.

Your head hung low, a mat of tangled hair falling over your face. The left side of your face was swollen, your eye barely open. Your ribs ached with every breath, thanks to Marcus’s baton. Dried blood clung to your lips and the corner of your mouth. But you sat upright. Pride wouldn’t let you do otherwise.

You weren’t going to give them the satisfaction.

“Thief. Subverter of Piltover’s justice. A known criminal with a history of jailbreaks, sabotage, and theft,” the council elder’s voice echoed through the chamber, his words hitting harder than Marcus’s baton ever could. His gaze was cold, unwavering. “Today, the council convenes to pass judgment on one who has stolen not only from Piltover’s coffers but from its dignity.”

He looked down at you like you were already buried six feet under. “Have you anything to say before sentencing is passed?”

You tilted your head, wincing at the ache in your neck. Blood still lingered on your tongue, sharp and metallic. You scanned the room, letting your one good eye fall on Marcus, who leaned against the wall like he owned the place, arms crossed, smug grin plastered on his face.

Then your gaze found her.

Grayson.

Her silver hair gleamed in the pale light, her Enforcer’s uniform pressed sharp and crisp. She stood in the back, silent, arms folded tightly. She wasn’t looking at the council. She was looking at you.

Her face was stone, but you knew her tells. The twitch of her jaw. The hard clench of her fingers against her bicep. She hated this. Hated every second of it.

Your lips curled into a grin, sharp and bloody. “Yeah, I got something to say.” You leaned forward, chains clinking with the movement. “Your ‘justice’ is a joke.” Your voice rasped, raw from disuse, but loud enough to cut through the chamber. “You lot sit up there on your thrones while Zaun drowns. Kids starve. Families break.” You licked the blood off your lip, glaring up at them. “I steal to feed the hungry. What do you do?”

A loud bang echoed through the chamber as the elder slammed his gavel down.

“Silence!” he barked, leaning forward like he’d rip the words out of your throat himself. “This council has heard enough.” His eyes narrowed with the satisfaction of a man who’d already made his decision. “By the authority of the Council of Piltover, you are hereby sentenced to life imprisonment in Stillwater Prison, effective immediately.”

The gavel struck once more, both hard and final.

Your heart didn’t stop, but it did stutter. Stillwater. Not a month. Not a year. Life.

Chains yanked you up as guards pulled you to your feet. Your ribs screamed in protest, but you kept your face steady. No tears. No begging. You glanced up, searching the back of the room.

Grayson hadn’t moved.

Her face hadn’t changed. Her eyes stayed on you, hard, steady, and watching.

(Outside the Courtroom—Minutes Later)

The air was sharp with the crisp bite of morning mist. You stumbled forward, your feet dragging as two enforcers hauled you down the stone path toward the transport vehicle. The sun hung low in the sky, barely warm.

The vehicle loomed ahead, its iron doors wide open, a mouth ready to swallow you whole. It wasn’t your first ride to Stillwater, but it was the first ride you knew you’d never come back from.

“Pick up the pace, thief,” one of the guards growled, yanking your chain hard enough to send you to your knees.

You coughed, chest heaving, ribs burning like wildfire. But before the guards could yank you up again, you heard a familiar voice.

“Let me handle this.”

Grayson’s boots crunched on the stone as she approached, moving slow, deliberate. The guards stiffened at her arrival.

“Captain, council said—” one of them started, but she shot him a look colder than a Zaun winter.

“I know what the council said.” Her eyes stayed locked on you. “Back off. I’ll deal with it.”

The guards exchanged glances, but Marcus wasn’t here to argue on their behalf, so they let go of your arms.

You swayed but caught yourself.

“Thought you’d be happier,” you sneered, letting your head tilt to the side. “Finally got me in chains, Captain.”

Grayson’s eyes narrowed. She strode forward and grabbed the front of your shirt, jerking you close. Her face was inches from yours. To the guards, it looked like rage. But you saw it. The fakeness of her present scowl.

“Oh trust me, I’m happy about your kind being set off again.” She spat, trying not to break her angered mask from that simple statement, especially since she knew it would be taken a lot differently if she meant it.

Her fingers curled into your shirt, her hand pressing firmly against your chest. Against your heart. You grabbed her wrist and growled up at her, letting it slide down until you felt the cool press of metal slip into your palm. Her voice came low, barely a whisper, her lips barely moving.

“Don’t screw this up,” she muttered.

You blinked once. No nod. No words. Just the faintest shift of your fingers, curling around the key she’d pressed into your hand.

“Stop talking and get in line, scum,” she said louder, shoving you back hard enough that you stumbled. The guards snorted as if she’d done them a favor.

But she didn’t look at them.

She didn’t look at you either.

(The Transport Stop—En Route to Stillwater)

The armored transport swayed with every bump in the road. It was cramped inside, just you and three other prisoners. The only light filtered in through the small slits in the steel walls.

Your heart pounded like a war drum.

The key pressed into your palm felt sharper than any knife. Slowly, carefully, you shifted your hands, turning your wrists just enough to feel for the keyhole. Your fingers were slick with sweat, your breathing shallow and controlled.

Click.

The cuffs fell loose.

You didn’t breathe. Not yet.

You glanced up. The two enforcers sat at the front, laughing about something one of them had done the night before. They hadn’t noticed. Not yet.

You leaned forward.

“Hey,” you whispered to the prisoner across from you. His eyes snapped to you, wide and wary. You tossed him the key, keeping your movements slow, careful, and quiet. “Pass it.”

He nodded, hands fumbling as he worked the lock on his cuffs. The others followed suit. One by one, the chains fell away, quite enough to not draw attention.

Once everyone was done, the next bump in the road was your signal.

You lunged.

Your hands were free, your body a storm of fists, elbows, and raw fury. The first enforcer didn’t even see it coming—his head snapped back, his helmet cracking against the wall. The second guard scrambled for his baton, but you caught him by the wrist, twisting until you felt the snap. He howled in pain.

“Move!” you barked, hauling yourself toward the open door. The foggy expanse of the southern coast between Piltover and Zaun lied ahead.

You didn’t look back.

Never look back.

(The Last Drop—Hours Later)

The air inside the Last Drop was thick with warmth and the smell of stale beer. Shadows danced along the walls, lantern light flickering in the dim haze. You sat in the back corner, hoodie pulled low, one eye still swollen despite Vander coming over only minutes ago to dab some alcohol onto it.

The door creaked. You didn’t look up. Didn’t have to.

“Three hours late,” you muttered, taking a sip of water.

“Had to make it look good,” Grayson replied, sliding into the booth across from you.

She leaned back, her fingers tapping the table. Her uniform was gone, replaced with a simple jacket and scarf.

Her eyes met yours. Really met yours. No mask. No stone-faced captain. Just Grayson.

“Nice escape,” she said, lips curling into a half-smile.

“Yeah,” you leaned forward, hands still aching. “Nice key.”

Silence hung between you, heavy with things you’d never say out loud.

Grayson sighed, looking toward the door. “They’ll be looking for you.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Her eyes flicked back to yours, sharp and silver in the dim light. “Then I guess you’d better stay hidden.”

You smiled, blood still on your teeth. “Guess so.”

“Now, are you going to keep telling me stuff I already know, or are you gonna come over here and help me with all these injuries? Vander only knows how to heal baby cuts for this four little rascals, not bruised ribs.” You joked while leaning back again, just proving how tired you were.

Grayson chuckled and shook her head before walking over. She tugged a chair and took a seat in front of you, unfolding her scarf. “Alright, alright. Take your shirt off, love.”

[kifuqe]

god graysons morning voice is probably crazyyyyy🤭🤭🤭