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narislvr · 6 months ago

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FEED ME!

EPILOGUE: BABY FOOD ↬ sevika x pregnant!reader | 3.3k words

SUMMARY: Snippets from a less lonely life.

TAGS: mentions of postpartum depression, PTSD recovery, hurt/comfort, domestic sevika, a LOT of fluff

NOTES: my knowledge of children boils down to babysitting my niece her whole life so blame her if i got anything wrong. also thank yall SO MUCH for the love on this story it's been absolutely insane and i still cannot believe it :'3

-> READ ON AO3 | SERIES MASTERLIST

I. THREE MONTHS

Parenting is hard work.

A fact of life that just about everyone knows, but it’s different actually living it. Days are long and nights are even longer, and Sevika can’t remember the last time she’s gotten a proper sleep. But you have it worse. As soon as she closes her eyes for the night, the kid starts crying, and you sit up with a tired groan to turn on the bedside lamp. Every three hours like clockwork, the same routine: remove Stella from her crib (that Sevika commissioned from a local wood worker) beside the bed, sit a pillow in your lap, pull up your shirt, and feed her.

Sevika tries to stay up with you, to keep you company, but you tell her over and over again that there’s no sense in both of you being useless come tomorrow. You have a good point.

But she does her part in other ways. Changes cloth diapers like a professional, spends more time cleaning up water messes around the tub than actually bathing the kid, rocks her to sleep then puts her in the crib.

It’s all routine now, in the strangest change of fate. Being in love, receiving love, waking up in an actual home and a soft bed—not alone anymore. She has two people now that she would go to the end of the world and back for, and she still can’t believe that the circumstances are real.

Stella always smiles at the sight of her, and Sevika always smiles back.

Weird. Terrifying. Perfect.

“We're going to Lyra’s tomorrow,” you say, adjusting Stella’s weight in your arms as she feeds, tiny hand curled against your chest. “Don’t forget that.”

Sevika cracks open an eye, head lolling on your outstretched leg to look up at you. Naked beneath your red robe, all dips and curves from the pregnancy weight you gained, fresh marks stretching over your belly and hips and inner thighs. Motherhood is a good look you.

But that’s her hindbrain talking. The part of her that would still love you no matter what form you took (but she likes this one a lot).

“The check-up, right?” she asks, turning away from Stella’s kicking foot that connects instead with her temple. “Ow.”

You bite back a laugh, smooth a hand over her hair, then tuck the baby’s legs under your arm. “Yeah. She just wants to make sure everything’s okay.”

“That’s good.”

Tomorrow comes and Stella is less than thrilled about being handled by a stranger. Lyra’s gentle with her exam, but the kid still fusses and wriggles around on the blanket-covered table. When Lyra turns her over onto her stomach, she wails, and you take a step forward before Sevika curls an arm over your chest, gently coaxing you back.

“She's fine, Mama.”

Your head thumps against her shoulder, hand curling over her wrist for comfort. Voice wavering and watery as you mutter, “I know, but I can’t stand to hear her cry.”

Lyra turns to you with a soft smile, cradling a babbling Stella in her arms. “It’s part of your new instincts, dear. But baby’s alright.” A soft pat to said baby's back. “Just fussy.”

With a sigh, you step over to the pair. “She probably needs fed.”

A quick exchange, and Stella’s back to her old self, cooing and smiling in her mama’s arms. Over your shoulder, Sevika catches her eye. Twists up her face in a way that always makes her giggle, and this time’s no different.

She still can’t believe that this is her life now. Too used to inciting fear in the heart of the Undercity, and now a three month old baby looks at her like she’s her world. A big part of her doesn’t believe she deserves it after all the bad she’s done—the people she’s killed, the strife she helped sew throughout the city.

But the kid in your arms doesn’t know that part of her, can’t comprehend it even if she did. Maybe that’s a good thing. At least you saw something inside her worth investing in. Sticking around for.

Still can’t believe it.

When you arrive home, though, the air thickens in a way that leaves her hackles raising. You set Stella's bag on the floor beside the couch and flee to the bedroom, the girl gasping and gurgling in preparation for a crying spell.

“I know, my love. You've had such a long day, huh?” you coo, voice muffled by the wall separating you.

Sevika waits on the couch as you put her down for a nap (she’s always been difficult to get to sleep, her growing brain just too active to shut down). You sneak back into the living room a while later, shutting off the overhead light as you pass, and she scoots over to give you room to sit. You exhale a breath, head thumping against the cushion at your back.

For a long moment, the two of you sit in silence. You need to decompress, and she waits for you to tell her what's wrong.

“Why are you doing all this?” you whisper, gaze trained on the ceiling.

There it is. The reason behind the sudden chill to the room, a tangible shift in your mindset.

“What do you mean?” She doesn't touch you no matter how badly her fingers itch to cradle your hand in hers. Wants to give you space to process whatever it is you're feeling.

“Nothing's keeping you here. Stella isn't even yours, and you still–” you scoff, tears pooling in the corner of your eye, “you take care of her like she is.”

“I don't understand, honey.”

With a quiet groan, you scrub at your face. “Fuck, I—I'm so sorry for involving you in this. We're not your problem, and I just… gods, it's not fair to you.”

“Isn't that for me to decide?”

“But you're already dealing with too much.” The tears fall when you squeeze your eyes shut, disappearing into your hairline. “I feel like such a burden, and I feel even worse for telling you about it.”

Your crying brings her back to that night, to the aftermath when you sat in a chair in the back of Silco's club, covered head-to-toe in blood, sobbing into your hands. She felt helpless then, and she feels helpless now. Doesn’t know how to make the pain go away.

So she does the only thing she can think of to help ease the ache. Wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into her side. Rests her cheek on the top of your head as your chest racks with quiet sobs. She lets you cry until your eyes dry up with an empty ache to her chest.

“If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be,” she whispers, squeezing at your arm. “I can make my own decisions, alright?”

“But you said we're your responsibility—”

“I also said I didn't mean it that way. You're a lot more than that. Both of you.”

If only she had the words to tell you, to explain how much the two of you mean to her. The love that swells her chest to the point of bloating, so overwhelming she chokes on it at times.

You sniff, wipe your nose on your shirt. “You promise?”

“I swear.”

You look up at her, puffy-eyed and pitiful, lips twitching into a weak smile. “I'm choosing to believe you.”

She presses a wet kiss to your cheek. And another, and another, and another. Doesn't stop until you're giggling and fidgeting and turning your face away.

II. SIX MONTHS

Sevika might go insane.

The kid finally learned to crawl a week ago, and she hasn't stopped moving since. Wakes the both of you up late into the night by climbing over your heads to attempt an escape off the mattress. Crawls after you as you walk to and from the kitchen, shouting and gurgling for attention. Pulls herself up onto shaky legs as Sevika sits on the couch, little fingers fisting the fabric of her pants to steady herself. So active and curious that the two of you run yourselves to death just trying to keep up with her.

Sevika would never tell anybody this, but the first time she had to raise her voice at her to keep away from the heavy cabinets, she hid in the closet nearby and cried as Stella napped in her crib. You had come home from the market, seen her puffy eyes, and pulled her into a reassuring hug.

She just doesn't want to be her father's daughter. The parent her parents were. It's a fine line to walk. Terrifying at times.

Over the last few months, Sevika's pulled away a bit from the danger of the Lanes, and in turn, Silco. A shift in priorities tends to alter the brain, and her little family is now at the top of the list. Always at the back of her mind. When she leaves on jobs that she can’t put off on some grunt, she always brings gifts home. Your favorite food, a new onesie, little figurines that remind her of either of you (always the poorly-made ones that make you laugh yourself to tears, but the one she bought featuring a very smashed-up mother and baby cat proudly sits on the table in the entryway).

You’ve got a good part-time job going, cleaning houses for the elderly either too sick or too feeble to do it themselves. It pays in cogs, but you’ve found purpose again. Lyra insisted at your last check-up that you consider activities outside of being a mother. A new hobby, giving back to the community, meeting new people.

Well, you don't really have time for new hobbies and you're still wary of people after the whole Joker thing, so the logical next step was looking for a job. A way to build up a bit of money so you aren’t relying on Sevika all the time—at least, that’s what you told her.

But today, both of you are free to explore the Undercity with Stella in tow. It's the first time you've expressed interest in visiting your favorite bakery since that night with Joker.

A big, important step for you. Your hands shake the whole way as you follow the familiar path of the street, Stella swaddled against your chest. Sevika offered to carry her, but you probably need the comfort. Her point proven when you rub your nose against the wispy hairs on her tiny head as the shop comes into view.

Behind the counter, Tayla gasps when you step inside, squealing at the sight of the baby cradled to your chest. “Oh, I missed you so much!” She strolls up to you then grasps your hands with a beaming smile. “I was so worried after you left that day and I hadn't seen you around. Gods, how are you?”

Ever curious, Stella turns her head at the sound of a new voice then cries out in frustration when she can't see Tayla’s face. The woman in question steps up to your side and takes the baby's hand.

“Hi, baby. It's nice to meet you.” Then she turns to you. “What's her name?”

“Stella,” you say, voice dripping with pride. “Sevika picked it out.”

“What a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

Sevika stands off to the side to let the two of you catch up, meandering along the displays of bread and cakes and cookies. The whole shop smells amazing, fresh and sweet, and the handmade furniture and soft lighting give off a coziness uncommon to the Undercity. No wonder you spent so much time here.

When she turns around, Stella is balanced on your hip, grabbing the bits of fresh bread you offer from your palm with thumb and forefinger. Tayla celebrates after each bite with words of praise and a soft clap, and Stella beams. Sevika doesn't want to interrupt the sweet scene, too afraid that her presence would break whatever blissful bubble surrounds your little group. She has nothing to say to Tayla, and this is a big moment for you. One of reunion and reclamation.

Where does she fit in?

You answer her question when you turn around, eyes searching for a split second, and panic gives way to warmth when you spot her. You invite her over with a coaxing nod of your head, lips stretching into a smile.

“She loves the bread,” you say upon her approach, and the baby reaches for her with a scrunched nose and a big smile—her two bottom teeth an adorable contrast against her gums that leaves Sevika's lips twitching upward.

(She remembers when the kid first started teething. A lot of sleepless nights and tears and chewing on wet washcloths. Fingers indented with marks, pricked with blood. You cried more than Stella did, utterly helpless against curing your baby's pain.)

She holds the baby in the crook of her metal arm and wipes the crumbs from her mouth. “Mama's made a mess of you, hasn't she?”

You giggle, squeezing Stella's chubby leg as she babbles away. “She eats like somebody else I know.”

Sevika chooses to ignore the very pointed glare aimed her away.

III. ONE YEAR

Her bubble of happiness shatters shortly after Stella's first birthday, when the gates are knocked down between the Undercity and Piltover, and war is declared. A fight for the world and the two people she loves most in it.

You cry the entire way to the trolley, holding two packed suitcases and the remnants of a broken heart. Stella wriggles in the bend of Sevika's arm—old enough to pick up on the doom in the air, but too young to understand why.

You round on her when you finally reach the door of the car. “I swear to Janna, if you die, I'll track down a mage and revive you so I can kill you myself.”

She holds you close, presses a goodbye kiss to your forehead. “I don't plan on dying.”

“That's what my dad said, and look what happened to him.”

“Good thing I'm not him.”

Your frown deepens as she passes Stella to you, gaze locked onto the cloak hiding her missing arm. “You aren't even able to fight.”

She exhales a breath through her teeth. “You underestimate me.”

“I worry about you. Is that so awful?”

Yes. It's irrational, and the image of your wet cheeks—tear tracks caused by her—sits wrong in her gut. A kind of guilt she's never really experienced. But before you, she never had something important to lose, nobody sitting at home waiting for her to come back safe. Now she has two.

Which is why she has to do this.

"I'll be fine."

You resort to begging, arms wound tight around the baby. Please don't go. I'll do anything. I can't lose you. Please. Please.

She can't let the heartbreak in your voice affect her, not when everything is at stake, no matter how badly she wants to cradle you both in her arms and take you home and damn the world to its fate.

It's the first time she says I love you. A phrase that burns acidic on her tongue, that rushes out in a whisper as you accept one final hug before climbing into the car.

IV. TWO YEARS

The kid's a damn menace. Two years old now, yanking the leash of the world in her chubby little fist. Can barely talk yet (you understand her better than Sevika does), but she always has something to say. Always running around the house.

Like now.

Sevika steps out of the kitchen and intercepts the girl with her lone arm. Pulls her to her chest as she squeals and laughs and kicks her feet.

She can’t help but smile. Says, “I don’t think so, kiddo. You have to put your clothes on.”

You walk from the bedroom with a shake of your head, a pair of matching pajamas in hand, eyes sunken from the long day finally behind you. “I have no idea where she’s gotten this energy from. You, apparently.”

“…Me.”

“I've known you three years and I've never seen you sit still.”

She doesn't know how to tell you that she's not, in fact, the dad (no matter how much she wishes to be), and has no bearing on the kid's genes. So she just nods along and agrees.

Watching this girl grow into herself—become a person with interests, likes and dislikes, a personality that gets stronger with each passing day—has been nothing short of amazing. Already, she's grown an attitude. Talks with the cadence of someone who's dealt with a lifetime of bullshit (Sevika's influence, no doubt). Morphs her face into a direct mirror of your scowls and glares and grins (she looks so much like you sometimes that it's almost uncanny).

The three of you had spent the entire day at a ceremony celebrating Sevika's seat on Piltover's council. Nothing more than a shallow show of solidarity and hospitality that she would rather not subject you to, but you had insisted. I won’t let you do this alone. It’s a sweet sentiment, but she doesn’t expect anything to come of her new status—as if she’d actually take them up on their offer to move her family out of the Undercity.

She’s just putting up with this shit for the confidential information anyway.

You had been excited, more optimistic about the future than her. A chance for change, for progress, to give Stella a better world to grow up in. But the kid will reach the stars one day, with or without her influence. She can feel it.

Sevika sits down on the couch with Stella in her lap, keeping her still so you can finally dress the kid after her bath. But she can't blame her. Who the hell actually likes wearing clothes?

"You can go on to bed," you say, sidestepping the giggling toddler when she runs past. "I'm gonna get her a quick snack."

When the two of you return from the kitchen, Stella that Sevika reads her a story. Climbs into bed with the same pop-up book you've read so many times the pages started cracking, and plants it on her lap.

Sevika shakes her head, mouth twitching into a frown. “I'm not good at telling stories. Not like Mama is.”

Really, she just… can't. A sacred line she hasn't yet dared to cross. She thinks of her mom flipping through those picture books, how animated and enthralling she made each story, and knows she could never do it justice.

(Shit, she's forgotten the sound of her mom's voice.)

You stroll in a moment later, feet dragging along the ground, before collapsing into bed with a relieved groan. "What are you two talking about?"

Sevika sighs, thumbing the edge of the worn book. "She wants me to read to her."

"Mommy, book," Stella says again, patting the cover to get her attention.

The look you give her is one of understanding, reassurance. "I think it would be nice."

"I can't do it like you." Like her mom used to.

"You don't have to."

With a huffing breath, she opens the first page, and Stella curls up against her side, tiny arm slung over her chest. Sevika reads along in a low, calm voice, adjusting her tone for different characters and asking questions about each picture. Halfway through the book, she gets no response, and when she looks over, both you and Stella are fast asleep, curled up beneath the sheets.

She sets the book on the nightstand, turns off the lamp, and shifts Stella around to carve out a spot for herself on the bed. Smiles soft and sleepy when your hand finds hers in the darkness.

#this entire fic is so near and dear to me #this is the best possible ending we could get #thank you so much for writing this #youre absolutely amazing #<3 #sevika x reader #nari's recs 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

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narislvr · 6 months ago

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college caitvi matching layout 🧁🥊

based on this tweet !! :D

some easter eggs : they both have k/da posters and cait has a seraphine one too (they’re both roomates), airship model because airship is cait’s special interest !! on vi’s corner of the room : isha’s drawing of their family, zaun band poster, jinx’ drawing, warwick plushie !!!

(border credit here)

MATCHING ICONS IF YOU WANT !! (reblog and credit if you use pls <3)

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narislvr · 6 months ago

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BOOMHAHAHAHAHAH

artist - @caitviolence on twt

#BOTH #AT THE SAME TIME ONE AT A TIME #ALL DAY EVERYDAY #vi arcane #abby the last of us #nari core 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

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narislvr · 6 months ago

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trying to make your ex jealous by using ellie as a prop in your ig story hahahaha

she's been in front of your mirror for, like, ten minutes as you direct her on how to stand, how to put her arms around you. you laugh as you cycle through the pictures you'd gotten, ellie looking over your shoulder.

"ellie, these suck. you look so fucking awkward." none of them actually look like you're with a romantic prospect; it's painfully obvious it's set up, ellie craning her neck to hide her face and looking like she's petrified to touch you. you swipe onto a particular picture, zooming in on her hand. "also, in that one you can literally see your tattoo, you gotta pull your sleeve down more."

she automatically tugs at the sleeve of her hoodie, covering the ink swirling down from her wrist. "damn... yes ma'am. didn't realize it was that serious."

"well, otherwise she's gonna know it's you. and that'd be so fucking embarrassing."

she scoffs lightly. "kind of embarrassing faking photos to try and make someone jealous, anyway."

"oh, please. shut up," you retort, rolling your eyes. she'd seemed to be a little grumpy about the whole thing as soon as you asked her to do it:

"this is stupid."

"why does it have to be me? get dina to do it, she'd love this shit."

"you're so cringe."

you get back into position, gesturing at ellie. "m'kay, come back."

she shuffles closer again, hesitantly going to place her hands on your waist.

"this is why they look stupid, your hand placement's wrong." you gently grasp at her wrist, manually moving her right hand upwards and to the side, wrapping her arm further around you and allowing her fingers to rest just below your left breast. "like, you don't look like you wanna fuck me, you're just... standing there like you're at gunpoint."

"yeah, i am," she murmurs, looking down and gingerly pressing herself flush against your back. you ignore the comment, taking the back of her head and pulling it so that her chin's resting on your shoulder.

"don't worry if your face is in it, i'm probably just gonna crop it anyway," you comment as you snap another few photos, placing your hand over hers. she tries not to pay any mind to the way you subconsciously swipe your thumb across the back of her hand, the way it makes her stomach flutter.

you pivot your phone so she can see it whilst you flip through the new photos you'd taken. you're still running your fingertips over her hand, and she doesn't think you even realize you're doing it. "see, these ones are way better. they look way more realistic."

you go to take some more, and ellie hesitantly leans further in, nuzzling at your neck.

"wait, that's good," you begin. "pull your hood up, so i don't have to crop it."

blowing air out of her nose, she does as you say before returning her hand to its original position. she feels a little emboldened, borderline forgetting the whole thing is pretend as she presses a couple of tiny kisses to your neck; stopping when she feels you tense.

you pause before laughing shakily, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "method acting. nice."

ellie awkwardly laughs along, kicking herself mentally. she doesn't even know why she did it, where she mustered the balls. it was automatic.

you take a final couple, then pull away and sit cross-legged on your bed. she tugs her hood down, running a hand through her hair as she sits next to you, peering down at your phone while you flick through all of the photos.

"i think that one," you say when you stop on a particular image, pressing your thumb to the screen in emphasis. "it's hot, and you can't really tell it's you."

ellie pulls a face as she nods. "go for it."

your brow furrows as you notice her expression. "... what's with you?"

she shrugs, mouth downturning. "i don't know, i just think it's kinda stupid. why do you even want her back? she was, like... a dick to you."

"i don't want her back," you reply. "i just want her to see it and be like... 'oh, shit'."

"but, like, still... why are you even thinking about her?"

you sigh lightly, looking down at your phone. "i don't know... she fucked me over a lot, and now she's trying to act like she's doing all great and everything. just wanna give her something to feel... y'know, a little shitty over."

"fair enough," she replies half-heartedly. "i just don't even think you should care. you can do better."

you scoff. "well, it's not exactly happening for me."

she doesn't say anything back, just looks at you and shrugs, toying with her sleeve. there's a slightly uncomfortable feeling in the room as you meet her gaze, one you don't understand.

"so can i post it, or no?"

ellie's hands turn upwards in gesture. "sure."

"right," you respond, opening instagram and getting the picture up to put on your story, flicking through songs and deciding which one to add to it. she moves closer, watching as you do so.

"gotta be clairo," she remarks, to which you chuckle.

you post the photo, and resist the urge to check if your ex has viewed it every five minutes. ellie puts a silly movie on, and you actually manage to forget about it as you make commentary between yourselves, laughing along.

until your phone buzzes; dina's reacted '😂' to your story, and sent you a reply:

"that's ellie 😭😭😭😭😭 you fucking idiot"

you sit up as you open the messages, covering your mouth and scoffing. turning your phone so that ellie can see, you watch her eyes glimmer in amusement as she lets out a laugh.

"i'm taking it down," you say firmly, between giggles.

ellie raises her eyebrows, training her eyes back on the TV. "told you."

#nari's recs 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

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narislvr · 6 months ago

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If sevika stabbed me I’d lean more into the knife to be closer to her

#nari core 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ #sevika #lesbian #I LOVE YOU SEVIKA #NEED THAT SO BAD

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narislvr · 6 months ago

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need cowgirl vi so bad it’s insane

cowgirl vi headcannons (slightly suggestive!)

-general headcannons

℧ Sports a pair of Lucchese boots and off-brand boot-cut jeans that are snug around her thighs. Of course she wears a belt with an impressive buckle sat snug on the center of her body. MANY worn-looking flannel button-ups, especially when it’s too chilly to just wear a tank top and she needs to layer up.

℧ Her back looks sculpted from hard labor, but her thighs? They're firm with muscle, littered with some stretch marks from growth during her teen years.

℧ Has freckles on her tanned shoulders, which are usually faded during the summer when breaks in horses for extra cash in her white wife-pleaser.

℧ Very extensive vocabulary! Her most used word is "y'all" and "hell", but it's pronounced more like "hail."

℧ Very well-read. Favorite novel that you'd find a typical cowboy reading is Lonesome Dove. She loves The Outsiders, even if it's on the mainstream side of literature. Secretly loves herself some Shakespeare. Much like me, spends hours awake at night trying to find the hidden meanings behind the playwright's words.

"She oinked poison in your ears, and you just ate it!" hamlet reference?

℧ Has a farmdog! A border collie she named Roxie. She spend a few weeks building a nice doghouse beside her own farmhouse for the pup, but is too soft-hearted to make Roxie sleep outside half the time.

℧ More of a southern cowboy than a western. You may wonder the difference, but the accent she has is mostly a cushy drawl than something smooth and slurring.

℧ Has a taste for old black and white shows, like The Twilight Zone and Gunsmoke. You find it boring, but there is a strange comfort in watching your favorite cowgirl doze off in her recliner, boots still adorned with the usual western accent audible in the background, much like white noise in the womb.

℧ Was a horse girl in middle school. Not the type that pretended to be a horse and neigh (though she had a small phase, much to her denial), but rather begged Vander to buy her a horse so she could learn to ride.

"Vi, horses are expensive. Plus, if I let you have a horse, then Powder's gonna want a pony." Vander reminds her for the thousandth time, the conversation a day-to-day routine at this point.

"I know, I know! But I just want one. I don't want a whole ranch, just one." She pleads, already prepared to drop to her knees and beg or do a marathon of chores if Vander so asks.

He sighs, and she holds her breath. Is that a sign of relent...? "Fine. One horse."

And so, Vi was given her very first horse at 11. Vi named her Butterscotch. It took a while to get used to riding, and she even fell off once.

℧ Ended up owning at ranch and her own farmhouse at the age of 23 with the help of funding from her town. Farms do good in southern economies. She was rather well-known around the area for her help with training horses and ponies, as well as being a bullrider at the local rodeos.

℧ Got into plenty of barfights, most she won. Most honorable mention is the time she knocked a 6’5” man out for accusing her of cheating at the bull-riding competitions.

-cowgirl vi x fem! reader headcannons

℧ Really domestic. Loves the idea of having you live with her at her farmhouse, folding laundry together, and stealing kisses from you while you work.

℧ Favorite types of physical touch are having you on her lap and playing with your hair. She'll laugh at the way you call it impractical, but she needs you sitting on her thighs any chance she gets. You can't seriously oppose, though. Not when it feels nice to put on a pair of shorts and feel her bare, warm thighs on the backs of yours. She loves to comb through your hair also, kissing the top of your head as she coos words in that thick accent of hers.

"Had a long day, baby?" She asks, voice thick and dripping like honey. Not seductive or sensual (unless she's in that particular mood), but rather low with the moon in the sky.

You nod, letting out a yawn as you rest your head on her shoulder. The domesticity always feels nice.

℧ Watching her move on a mechanic bull is the worst and best thing that could ever happen to you. You can only watch, very much impressed, as her hips jump to keep up with the movements. Her hair is all messy, stray reddish-pink strands nearly sticking upward. Some of her hair hangs down her tattooed back, and you have to stop yourself from simply screaming at the sight. When she eventually falls off, she comes rushing back to you with a smile that reminds you of a golden retriever's. Like a dog bringing you a bone, it's adorable.

"Did ya see that? A whole two minutes!" She exclaims, laughing nearly hysterically. She abruptly pulls you in for a kiss which you eagerly open up for. This is the best part, when your cowgirl riles herself up on the bull and has what seems to be unlimited energy. And trust me, she gets affectionate with energy.

℧ Taught you how to play pool before you started dating, during that weird limbo of flirting but not official.. Her hand resting on your arm, guiding you. Her voice very audible, as her mouth stays close to your ear.

"Not too fast, just hit it with the stick. Pay attention to where the ball goes." She guides. Your hands are shaking with nerves, and you miss the pocket. She doesn't laugh, though. Instead, she gives your waist a squeeze with her free hand, planting a kiss on your cheek. "That's okay. You still did good for your first time."

℧ Big hickey enthusiast. She loves leaving little love-bites on you, and sucks a few marks on your stomach and thighs.

℧ Uses her winnings from the rodeos to spoil you. She tries to be the gentlemen type, so often she will take you on dates to the diner in town or even drive a few towns over into the city to see a movie in a theater.

℧ Likes when you wear her cowboy hat to go out, it makes her feel oddly possessive. Anytime you need to run an errand, she’ll take off her hat and basically crown you with it. It’s like she’s giving you her hoodie or a t-shirt of hers to wear, except it’s her expensive hat that had a feather on the side of it.

#ugh i love her #vi arcane #nari's recs 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

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narislvr · 6 months ago

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[♡] ── 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐒 : vi x reader

SERIES MASTERLIST.

▄︻デ══━一 SYNOPSIS: after vi and caitlyn split up and vi returns to zaun, she becomes entangled with you, a loner from the underground that only wanted to reclaim her after her 'fall' and nothing else — until she inevitably, unknowingly stole your heart. vi is heartbroken, pent up with grief and rage, and she finds a (temporary?) home in your arms. and you're torn between two options — pretending you don't give a damn till vi gets a grip on reality (or goes back to wherever she came from), or give her a taste of what real love feels like.

series content warnings: NS₣W 18+ content. fem reader, pit fighter!vi, fwb dynamic. not very plot heavy, but it's there. strangers to lovers to enemies to lovers, slow burn + second chance trope, hate-love relationship. angst. some descriptions of violence here and there, it's arcane yk. semi toxic yuri :P p.s. this isn't going to be a long series, just 4 / 5 parts max because i don't like writing series that are too long.

-ˋˏ✄ PT 1: HOME TIME.

-ˋˏ✄ PT 2: DANCEFLOOR.

-ˋˏ✄ PT 3: TBA

-ˋˏ✄ PT 4: TBA

-ˋˏ✄ PT 5: TBA

send me an ask to be tagged in new chapters! shoutout to my girlfriend @4rlekino for proof reading and for insisting upon the series title ! 🌷

#nari's recs 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

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narislvr · 6 months ago

Note

what if i say vi arcane college smau what then (please)

.ᐟ left unchecked

vi smau

being her dorm RA isn’t for the weak.

a/n: let’s all give a round of applause for @saturnzlv with the idea thank you satty baby

m.list

#nari's recs 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

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narislvr · 6 months ago

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Stupid little rant because I cannot STAND when people mischaracterize my favorite characters.

I hate how a lot of the Arcane fandom displays Vi as a illiterate dumbass who needs Caitlyn to help her with almost everything when she has proven to be extremely smart and could have had insane potential if she had the proper education in Zaun.

No Vi is not dumb, No she is not illiterate and yes, she can cook for herself, she wouldn’t need Caitlyn to constantly cook for her or help her read; if anything I believe Caitlyn would be the one to suck at cooking since she would probably never have had to cook for herself.

Anyways.. that’s all for my little rant, buh bye

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narislvr · 6 months ago

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Can I have this dance?<3

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨୧

♡ ◞ includes: caitlyn, vander, jayce, jinx, mel, viktor, vi, ekko

☆ ◞ summary: sometimes music and you partner is all you need to forget about reality

△ ◞ warnings: gn! reader. Just tooth rotting fluff and also not proofread as usual.

Mel Medarda.

The grand estate you shared with Mel was eerily quiet. It was rare for her to find a moment away from the politics of Piltover, but tonight, the moonlight filtered in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a soft glow over the room. She sat on the couch, a wine glass in her hand, lost in thought.

You approached her quietly, placing a hand on her shoulder. She looked up, her golden eyes meeting yours, and for the first time that day, the tension in her expression softened.

“Everything okay?” you asked gently.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, setting her glass down. “Sometimes I wonder if all the sacrifices are worth it.”

Without a word, you reached for the music player and turned the dial, filling the room with a soft, mellow tune. Mel raised an eyebrow as you held out your hand to her.

“What are you doing?” she asked, though the corners of her lips twitched in amusement.

“Distracting you,” you replied, your voice warm. “Dance with me.”

She hesitated for a moment, her calculating mind likely weighing the practicality of such a frivolous act. But when she slid her hand into yours, the tension melted away.

You pulled her to her feet, guiding her into the open space of the living room. The music wrapped around you both as you placed one hand on her waist and held her hand with the other. She followed your lead, her movements elegant and fluid.

“You know I’m not used to letting someone else take charge,” she teased, a faint smirk playing on her lips.

“Then trust me,” you said softly, twirling her gently.

Her laughter, rare and unguarded, filled the room. For those precious moments, the weight of her responsibilities faded, and she allowed herself to simply be.

---------------------------------------------------

Jayce Talis.

The lab was silent except for the faint hum of Hextech cores. Jayce sat at his desk, his head buried in his hands, the weight of the Council’s expectations pressing down on him. He’d spent the entire day navigating political minefields, attempting to convince Piltover’s elites that his inventions weren’t just weapons of war.

You entered quietly, carrying two mugs of tea. He didn’t even look up as you set one down in front of him.

“You’re going to burn out if you keep pushing like this,” you said softly, sitting on the edge of the desk.

“I can’t stop,” Jayce muttered. “If I do, it all falls apart. The Hexgates, the city’s future… everything.”

You placed a hand on his, squeezing gently. “You’re not in this alone, you know.”

He finally looked up, his tired eyes meeting yours. “I know. I just… sometimes it feels like I have to carry it all.”

You nodded, standing up and walking over to the phonograph in the corner of the room. “Then let me carry you for a little while.”

A soft, melodic tune began to play, filling the lab with warmth. Jayce blinked, a small smile tugging at his lips despite his exhaustion.

“Dancing? Now?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Why not?” you replied, holding out your hand. “You need a break, and I need an excuse to be close to you.”

He chuckled, setting his work aside and taking your hand. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

As you pulled him into the open space of the lab, his movements were hesitant at first, the stress of the day still clinging to him. But as you swayed together, his body began to relax, the tension melting away.

“This is nice,” he admitted, his voice low.

“Told you,” you teased, resting your head against his chest.

Jayce’s arms tightened around you, and for a moment, the world outside the lab ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, the music, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

---------------------------------------------------

Viktor.

The soft glow of the workshop lamp illuminated Viktor’s figure, hunched over his desk. His cane leaned against the table, and his leg brace clicked faintly as he shifted in his seat. He was lost in his work, tinkering with a delicate piece of machinery, his brow furrowed in concentration.

You approached quietly, your footsteps soft against the floor. “Viktor,” you called gently.

He didn’t look up. “Just a moment,” he murmured, his voice tight with focus.

You placed a hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention. “You’ve been at this for hours,” you said softly. “It’s time for a break.”

He sighed, setting down his tools and leaning back in his chair. “I cannot afford to stop now. There is still so much to do.”

“And none of it will matter if you run yourself into the ground,” you replied, your tone kind but firm. “Come on. Just five minutes with me.”

His golden eyes met yours, uncertainty flickering across his face. “And what do you have in mind?”

Instead of answering, you walked over to the small gramophone in the corner and selected a record. A gentle, soothing melody began to play, filling the room with warmth. You turned back to him, holding out your hand.

“Dance with me,” you said, your voice soft but inviting.

Viktor’s brow furrowed. “You know I cannot—”

“I know,” you interrupted, stepping closer. “I’m not asking for perfection. Just stand with me. Sway with me. That’s all.”

He hesitated, glancing at his cane. “I do not want to hold you back.”

“You could never hold me back,” you replied, taking his hand in yours. “Let me hold you instead.”

After a moment, Viktor rose slowly, leaning on you for support. You guided him to the open space in the room, your arm steady around his waist. His movements were hesitant, his weight carefully balanced, but you matched his pace, swaying gently to the music.

“This is… unconventional,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“So are you,” you teased, resting your forehead against his.

He chuckled softly, his hand tightening around yours. As the music played on, the tension in his posture eased, and he let himself lean into you, trusting you to guide him.

For those few moments, the world outside the workshop ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, the gentle rhythm of the music, and the quiet intimacy of being together.

When the song ended, Viktor sighed, a soft, contented sound. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice filled with emotion.

“For what?” you asked, brushing a strand of hair from his face.

“For reminding me that even with my limitations… I can still feel whole,” he replied, his gaze warm.

You smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. “You’ve always been whole to me, Viktor.”

---------------------------------------------------

Caitlyn.

The clock struck midnight as Caitlyn finally stepped through the door, her uniform slightly scuffed and her boots leaving faint marks on the floor. You had been waiting for her, the sound of your footsteps drawing her tired gaze upward.

“Another night of chaos?” you asked softly, approaching her.

She sighed, rubbing her neck. “Nothing we couldn’t handle. Just… a bit more than I expected.”

You nodded, taking her coat and setting it aside. “Then you need something to remind you of the good in the world.”

She tilted her head, curious. “And what would that be?”

You didn’t answer, instead walking over to the small speaker on the counter. The soft strum of a classical waltz filled the air, and you turned back to her, holding out a hand.

“Care to join me?”

Caitlyn chuckled, her fatigue momentarily forgotten. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” you replied, your smile widening.

With a small shake of her head, she took your hand, letting you pull her into the center of the room. Her posture was elegant, her steps precise, but there was a playfulness in her eyes that made your heart flutter.

“You’ve been planning this, haven’t you?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” you admitted. “But only because you deserve it.”

Her expression softened, and she let you lead, her body swaying effortlessly with yours. The music wrapped around you both, creating a bubble of peace in the otherwise hectic world.

---------------------------------------------------

VI.

The room was buzzing with the afterglow of triumph. Vi had just returned from what felt like an impossible mission—freeing a group of Zaunites from a shady Piltover deal. It wasn’t just a win; it was a statement. She had pulled it off without casualties, a feat she rarely allowed herself to dream of.

As she stepped into your shared space, you were already waiting, grinning like you’d just seen the sun rise for the first time.

“Didn’t expect me back so soon, huh?” Vi teased, dropping her gauntlets by the door. Her smirk was proud, but you could tell she was still riding the adrenaline.

“Not gonna lie, I was preparing for a two-day brooding session without you,” you joked, walking up to her.

Vi rolled her eyes, but her smile softened as you placed your hands on her shoulders. “Guess you’ll just have to deal with me instead.”

“Guess so,” you said, leaning in to kiss her cheek before heading toward the corner of the room. You flicked on the record player, and a jazzy, upbeat tune spilled into the air.

Vi raised an eyebrow. “Oh, we’re celebrating, huh?”

“You bet we are,” you replied, holding out your hand. “You just saved a ton of people, Vi. That’s worth a dance or two.”

She hesitated, her confidence faltering just slightly. “Dunno if I’m any good at this kind of thing…”

“Good thing I am,” you said with a wink.

Reluctantly, she took your hand, and you pulled her into the open space of the room. Her movements were a little clumsy at first, but as you swayed together, she relaxed, letting herself enjoy the moment.

“You’re not half bad,” you teased, spinning her gently.

“Don’t get used to it,” she shot back, though her grin betrayed her enjoyment.

---------------------------------------------------

Jinx.

The hideout was a mess, as usual—scraps of metal, spray cans, and half-finished gadgets littered the floor. Jinx was perched on her workbench, muttering to herself as she scribbled something incomprehensible onto the wall. She’d been like this for hours, her mind a storm of ideas, plans, and the lingering echoes of a rough day.

You leaned against the doorframe, watching her. Her hair was wild, her movements twitchy, but you could tell she was holding something back—something darker.

“Jinx,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the silence.

Her head snapped toward you, her eyes narrowing for a moment before softening when she recognized you. “Oh, it’s you,” she said, her tone half-relieved, half-guarded.

“You’ve been cooped up in here all day,” you said, stepping into the room. “You need a break.”

“I don’t need anything,” she shot back, her voice sharp, though it lacked its usual bite.

You walked over to the corner where an old, beat-up radio sat. With a click, soft music crackled to life—an upbeat, swaying tune that seemed completely out of place in her chaotic workshop.

“What are you doing?” she asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

“Dancing,” you replied simply, holding out your hand.

Jinx stared at you like you’d grown a second head. “Dancing? Seriously? In here?”

“Why not?” you asked with a grin. “You’ve been running circles in your head all day. Let me spin you around instead.”

She blinked, caught off guard by your response. “You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, but there was a flicker of amusement in her voice.

“Maybe,” you said, stepping closer. “But you’re smiling now, aren’t you?”

Jinx scoffed but didn’t push you away when you gently took her hand. “Fine. But if I trip over something and fall, it’s on you.”

“Deal,” you said, guiding her into the small open space in the room.

She was awkward at first, her movements jerky and uncertain. But as the music filled the room and you began to sway together, she started to relax. A hesitant giggle escaped her lips, and it quickly turned into full-blown laughter when you spun her around, nearly knocking over a stack of spare parts.

“This is so dumb,” she said between laughs, though she didn’t pull away.

“And yet, you’re still here,” you teased, pulling her close.

Jinx grinned, her blue eyes sparkling in a way that made your heart ache. For a moment, she was just a girl lost in a carefree moment, free from the weight of her past and the chaos of her mind.

---------------------------------------------------

Ekko.

The Firelights’ hideout buzzed with energy—members coming and going, their voices blending with the faint hum of machinery. Ekko had been busy all day, bouncing between fixing gadgets, strategizing patrols, and keeping everyone safe. You hadn’t seen him stop once, even to catch his breath.

When the group finally dispersed for the night, you found him outside, perched on the edge of a broken rooftop overlooking the dimly lit streets of Zaun. His hood was pulled back, revealing the tired lines on his face, but his eyes were still sharp, scanning the city below.

“You’re going to wear yourself out,” you called gently, stepping out into the cool night air.

Ekko turned, his lips curving into a small smile when he saw you. “Can’t afford to,” he replied, though the weariness in his voice betrayed him.

“You’ve done enough for one day,” you said, walking up beside him. “The city will still be here tomorrow. You need to take a moment for yourself.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “And what would I even do with a moment to myself?”

You grinned, holding out your hand. “You’d dance with me.”

Ekko blinked, caught off guard. “Dance? Out here? On this rooftop?”

“Why not?” you asked, your tone light. “It’s quiet, the stars are out, and you need a reason to stop thinking for a bit.”

He hesitated, glancing down at your hand. “You’re serious?”

“Always,” you replied, taking a step closer. “Come on, Ekko. Humor me.”

He shook his head with a quiet laugh, standing and taking your hand. “Alright, but if I fall, you’re taking the blame.”

“You won’t fall,” you said, pulling him into the open space of the rooftop.

With no music to guide you, the two of you swayed to the rhythm of the city—the distant hum of machinery, the faint whispers of wind through the alleyways. Ekko was stiff at first, his movements uncertain, but you didn’t let go, guiding him gently.

“You’re supposed to be leading,” you teased after a moment.

“Pretty sure you’re better at this than I am,” he shot back, a smirk playing on his lips.

You laughed, spinning him anyway, the sound of your joy breaking through the heavy air of Zaun. Slowly, his body relaxed, and he began to move with more confidence, his steps matching yours.

“This is kinda nice,” he admitted after a while, his voice softer.

“Told you,” you replied, resting your forehead against his.

For a while, neither of you spoke, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Ekko’s hands were steady on your waist, his gaze fixed on yours as if you were the only thing grounding him.

“You’re good at this,” he murmured, his tone filled with quiet gratitude.

“Dancing?” you asked with a teasing smile.

“Making things feel… less heavy,” he replied, his expression soft. “Like maybe it’s okay to stop fighting for a little while.”

You leaned up, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “It’s always okay. You don’t have to carry everything alone, Ekko.”

---------------------------------------------------

Vander.

The bar was closed for the night, the chairs stacked on tables and the lights dimmed. Vander leaned against the counter, his large frame casting a shadow over the worn wood. He was nursing a glass of whiskey, his expression distant.

You approached him, placing a hand on his arm. “You’ve been quiet tonight,” you said gently.

He sighed, setting the glass down. “Just thinking. About the kids, about Zaun… about everything.”

You nodded, understanding the weight he carried. Without a word, you walked over to the old radio on the shelf and turned the dial. A soft, nostalgic tune began to play, filling the room with warmth.

Vander raised an eyebrow. “What’re you up to?”

“Dance with me,” you said simply, holding out your hand.

He chuckled, the sound low and rich. “You’re serious?”

“Completely,” you replied, your smile unwavering.

With a small shake of his head, he stood and took your hand, his calloused fingers wrapping around yours. You guided him into the center of the room, his movements surprisingly graceful for a man of his size.

“You’re not half bad at this,” you teased, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Used to dance all the time,” he admitted. “Back when things were… simpler.”

As the music played on, the two of you swayed together, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten. Vander’s arms were strong and steady around you, grounding you in a way that no one else could.

#nari's recs 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

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