-Arcane-

pacify — sevika.

summary: is it possible to miss a stranger, or does one thing negate the other? maybe you miss sevika because she isn't a stranger, because she stuck her claws far too deep in you and never let go— or just because she looks really fucking good sitting there, looking at you like she's waiting for you to say "hello again".

warnings: mild descriptions of violence, smut (mdni!), pre time jump sevika!

notes: my thesis with this one is that eating out a woman you love will revolutionize you in a way nothing else can and i'm joking but also dead serious. also dear god please me and who… okay bye i love you

・。.・゜✧・. ────

“You know, I’ve always liked this place the best.”

It’s the first thing you remember him saying, blue uniform to match his now slightly reddened eyes, vile alcohol in his breath. You’re at a different bar, not Vander's, the first actual job you ever had if you don't count what came before— the shiny rock of a stranger’s ring in your pocket, another’s gold coins in your bag, all from the quick trips to the city above with your father. “It’s not difficult to steal from a Piltovan,” he’d say, squinting at the engraving on the inside of a sparkly bracelet, a small bounty spread over the kitchen table, “they’re all show, all ego.”

Now watching the smirk on the Enforcer’s face after he downs his fourth glass without taking a breath, a laughable skill for an audience of no one, you find it hard to disagree with your father’s assessment. The well nurtured instinct to wonder what you’d get if you slipped your fingers inside the pockets of his tailored jacket grows loud and tempting in your head, but you shove it away and keep your eyes on the dusty floor you’re meant to sweep, determined to keep this job.

“The drinks are better than up there, I’ll give you that,” the drunk man continued, half empty fifth glass tipped dangerously towards the brooding barman, your only coworker tonight. There’s barely anyone left in the bar at all except a couple regulars. Tension has been brewing through the entirety of your shift, an argument in one of the booths during your first hour, a drink on someone’s face by the third, a wave of tired scoffs when the man in uniform walked in near the end of the night; the last nail on the coffin. In your head, you’ve listed all the possible exits you could use to escape enough times to memorize them.

The man takes a surprisingly controlled sip, thin lips furrowed in a grimace. “Wish it was enough to make up for that fucking stench.”

The air in Zaun is different to foreigners. You’ve never minded it the way they do. It's your air, the first to ever fill your lungs, the one you’re so used to that you can feel the way it shifts— the way it becomes a stench, as he called it, when blood is about to be spilt.

The barman does, to his credit, offer you the chance to leave. Or orders it, morelike, his sharp eyes meeting yours and then a tilt of his head towards the door. Maybe he pities you for the nerves splashed all over your face, or maybe he’d just find it a shame to lose an employee he hired barely a month ago. “You. Out.”

“Out?” the Piltovan repeats, turning his head, his voice grossly high pitched. “Why? What's gonna happen now?” he’s drunk enough that you notice the seconds that pass before his eyes properly focus. You remember the exact way his smirk faded, the deep-set wrinkles between his eyebrows when he recognized your face, a nauseating anger. “No. No, you don't move.”

Enforcers never go anywhere alone. Maybe the man had just remembered this, just now realized the true risk of his cockiness when it's not backed up by two or three of his colleagues. Maybe that's why he finds it easy to target you rather than the angry figures lurking in the tables behind him. Maybe that's why he draws his gun so fast.

“I know you, little thief—”

A woman approaches at the same time he does, and you don't know why exactly you decide to focus on her instead. A plea, maybe. You remember the dull gray of the brass knuckles on her fingers, the thick leather belt hung around her lower waist, the thump of her boots against the old floorboards. You've never noticed her before. How ridiculous it feels to think that she was there all night. How lovely that she could be the last thing you see. There's comfort in her being there, a morbid, sad thing that feels almost like company. At least you’re not alone in the room with the monster, at least there's someone to watch you die. 

Her hand falls on the Enforcer’s shoulder and she pushes him back with little effort, the quickest movement, almost without thought. The man stumbles (blame the well praised alcohol or Sevika’s strength), and the glass that had stayed in his hand shatters against the edge of the bar at the same time his gun fires a loose shot to the wall behind you.

Next comes a blur, a vague memory of hearing the Enforcer hiss in pain, a thread of red spilling down the open palm of his hand.

“You got somewhere to go?”

Her voice is the first and only thing that brings you back, the only sound louder than the heartbeat pounding in your ears. She sounds smooth, clear-headed, not like a woman who just stepped in the middle of the fastest paced violence you’ve ever encountered. Gray eyes move across your face, then the rest of you, and you quickly look down at yourself as if to check along with her that you’re actually unharmed.

Your lips feel awfully dry when your tongue brushes against them, enough air passing through to let you breathe, but not quite talk. You nod your head and remember in a rushed, distorted thought— somewhere to go, yes, home, now.

Sevika returns your nod, small praise, an odd way of saying something like good job. Less odd than the quiet satisfaction you feel for having earned it. She tilts her head towards the door, short black hair brushing her shoulder, her voice the kindest you’ve ever heard to this very day. Perhaps the thing you remember most. “Go on, love.”

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Years pass, deaths and joys and new odd jobs, and you still think about it. She sits at the back of your head like a softly worded reminder. And then one day, as things go, you find her again. Her making a deal at the back of The Last Drop, you behind the bar serving drinks.

There's a chance she doesn't remember it. What are the odds that she thought about you at all after the incident? You were just a stranger on a random night. It's not often that people fully understand the weight of what they did for someone, the trickle down of an action, of a kindness. There's a chance for you to go home, alone and unchanged. Instead (and not for the first time) you work for an hour longer, unpaid labor for a chance to serve her a drink.

Sevika doesn't come every night. You see her maybe once a week, talk to her maybe once a month. You don't expect tonight to be any different, but—

“You gonna watch me all night?” she mutters it into her glass, swallows the last sip before she looks at you. The are tiny wrinkles beginning to form on the corners of her eyes now, along each side of her lips from her smiles. Watching her is entrancing, the easiest thing you do, as natural as drawing a breath. “What are you still doing here?”

You blink downwards at the washed glass in your hand, continue to dry it like it could ever be half as interesting as being under her spell. “Working overtime.”

“Vander can't afford to pay you overtime,” Sevika scoffs, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smirk. 

You frown, maybe a little flustered. “He—”

“She's right. Why are you still here?”

The man himself stands tall to your left, glaring at this one permanently stained spot on the bar, working at it with a rag like he hasn't tried the same thing a hundred times before. There are dark shadows under his eyes, a purple hair tie on his wrist— Powder’s, if you were to guess. You’ve grown close to Vander since you met him, even closer when he hired you to work here. “‘S not a favor,” he’d said, quickly catching the suspicion on your face. “Just a gesture to him.” Turns out a lot more people knew your father than you thought; Vander isn’t old enough to have grown up with him, but they still found ways to end up at the same places. If he hadn’t been so secretive about who he was beyond the man who raised you, maybe you would’ve met Vander years ago, became friends at some bar in your teen years instead of at a diner a few days after your father’s funeral. But gaining a friend is a timeless thing, it obeys luck, not sensitivities. One day he wasn’t there, and then the next he was.

You spray some cleaning liquid over the spot on the table, roll your eyes as he leans closer to wonder at how the stain begins to slowly fade. “I’m working,” you repeat.

He looks at you from the corner of his eyes, one eyebrow raised. “I ain’t paying you.”

“I know, okay? It's fine,” you cross your arms over your chest, embarrassed to have been caught even though neither Vander nor Sevika seem to know what the real reason behind you staying late is. “It's a busy night, take it as a favor.”

“I can't afford favors.”

“Good thing they’re free, then,” you deadpan.

Sevika chuckles at the banter, forever amused at your unreserve, how simple you make things. It makes no sense to her to be that generous, that open, but it makes even less sense to think that you’d be any other way. Sevika isn’t particularly trusting, but she is loyal— the more you talk, the more watching you becomes addicting, her thing. She fixates on learning new things about you, clings to your words like a cat to its owner’s scent and wonders, over and over and over, if you remember her. From all those years ago. From last week. With you, she’d take anything.

And when she does finally see you up close, finds a good enough excuse in asking you for fire or a refill, there's little you could ask that she would say no to. It's senseless and thrilling and above all, it's true. She feels it down to her bones, painfully clear, like it's written all over her face.

“What do you do, Sevika?”

Sit and wait for you, she thinks, and instead replies, “What?”

“For work,” you clarify, your hand against the bar, leaning slightly forward. “I see you every week and I still don't know.”

You do know what she does, at least as much as anyone else does— too little to run your mouth, enough to stay away. And if you didn't know, you know her enough to be certain that she wouldn't tell you. It's a pointless question. Unless, of course, you’re as infatuated as you are.

Sevika takes another gulp of her drink, her eyes tracing over the line on your waist where the apron ties behind your back, the soft curve that the pull of it forms. She needs a smoke. “Same shit as everyone else,” she answers, and palms her pockets for a cigarette case. “What do you do? Other than this.”

“This is it,” you watch her flick open the case and shrug. You don’t sound particularly sad or frustrated, just plainly aware. “I pour drinks for people who all seem to do the same shit.”

Sevika hums, sets the case down, a click of metal against well worn wood. An unlit cigarette sits between her index and middle finger. “Be honest,” she starts, and it's the same voice that's been talking to you this whole time, but the gruffness still manages to catch you off guard. “Am I just as bad?”

You chuckle, the same addicting shimmer of genuineness in your eyes that she chases everytime you speak. “Just as bad as what?”

Her eyes follow your hands where they go to pull a lighter from the chest pocket of your apron. “The drunks that flirt with you while you do your job,” she lets the cigarette hang from her lips and leans forward.

“Hm,” you hum. The reflection of the flame sparkles in her eyes before you pull it away, orange against gray, odd and pretty. “I don't know.”

You’re not sure if she looks amused or slightly offended. It's a nice view regardless, the way her eyebrows lift and her lips curve downwards for a second before she breathes out, spilling smoke from her mouth as she talks, “You don't know.”

“I guess I didn't realize you were flirting with me.”

Sevika chuckles, a tiny half moon of a smile line on her cheek when she smirks, smugly aware of the way your eyes are looking at her. “You’re funny.”

Sevika is loyal. It would be easy to say that she doesn’t get what this feeling is, that it’s meaningless, that she doesn’t understand it— but she knows. She knows what it is even if it goes unnamed, because she’s the one deciding to keep it, stubborn and tight gripped, close to her heart. It’s in her dreams, in her first thought of the morning, in the disappointment that sours her mouth when she doesn’t find you at the bar. It’s in her stomach, tugging with need, when she looks at your face and realizes that if she asks if you wanna go home with her tonight, you will say yes.

She takes the leap. Parts her lips, names herself yours. “You wanna get out of here?”

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

You rarely pour your own drinks anymore. It’s a funny thing— Sevika doesn’t ask about your preference, which liquor is your favorite, if you’d like for her to do it for you. She figures it out like she does most things, making a study out of it, watching you enough. Maybe a little extra, too. The cork slides up with a pop!, her fingers around the neck of the bottle. The warmth of her still lingers on your thighs, your own fingers sitting restless over your lap now that her hair is not close enough to play with.

It’s been months since the first night she came home with you. You wouldn’t yet say that the newness is gone, or that you’re as quick of a student as she is, but there are things you know about Sevika already. Vivid truths, bright like the visions of her in the sunlight that you dream about sometimes. Reassurance is one of the first languages you learn from each other.

For Sevika, it's almost always about touch— you notice it immediately at the core of most of her silences, the way closeness makes her demeanor shift to something calmer, more true to herself. Slide closer to her on the couch and her arm will find itself around your shoulders immediately. Pat the empty spot next to you on the bed and she’ll let out a heavy sigh of relief, join you in sleep instead of torturing herself about tomorrow’s line of business. Part your lips when she's kissing you late at night with no goal other than to kiss you and she’ll let out a sound that vibrates through you and changes her mind on what was once an innocent gesture; she’ll tug your shirt off instead. Brush your hand over her shoulder when she's resting her head on your lap and she’ll guide it to her face instead, a lazy hold on your wrist while your thumb brushes her cheek. Coming to love her is the warmest science. But it’s not always exact.

You watch her pour you a drink at the bar table that sits in front of your bed— watch the dark hair that sits against the nape of her neck, messy and loose, watch the waistline of her pants sitting low on her waist, watch the bareness of her back. If there’s a reason why you decide to say it now, you don’t yet realize it. The words just spill out of you before you have a chance to stop them. “I remember you, you know."

Sevika’s hand hovers over the whiskey glass before she hums, resuming the movement and bringing it to her lips. "You didn't say."

“You didn’t ask,” you rest your back against the bed frame, watch her carefully.

The air sits still and you see her shoulders lift, muscles shifting as she shrugs, a big gulp of golden liquor sliding down her throat. Her voice comes in a mutter, low and almost shy, "Thought I might scare you off.”

The idea is so ridiculous that it's almost laughable. A startled chuckle dies in your chest and leaves room for aching sadness, your back leaving the frame as you lean forward and pray for her to turn around. "He was going to shoot me. Nobody moved a finger but you, Sev," you shake your head, try to manage your expression from saying too much, from confessing to something that’s been inside of you for years. At the tip of your tongue sits a raw desperation for this exact unraveling, for her. "How could you scare me?"

Another moment passes before Sevika turns to face you, lower back against the edge of the table, holding her drink down by her side. She won't look at your eyes— can't, maybe. You wonder if she's considering leaving, if she's already decided that she will, as soon as this is over. A part of you, small but dramatic and loudly pessimistic, is surprised that she’s entertained you this long. Even more surprised when she asks, "Is that what this is?" a turn of her head and the gray in her eyes finds you in a second, mechanical and unforgiving, the snap of a bear trap. You don't think you could look away if you tried. "Are you here because you think you owe me something?"

Your reaction is something close to a flinch, your frown deepening, feet firm on the floor instantly. "You can't seriously think that."

Sevika feels the regret come instantly. It splatters on her face, the pads of her fingers rough when they're brushed over her cheek to wipe herself clean of it like she does blood, gunpowder, fear. She watches out of the corner of her eye the way you part your pretty lips and can hear it in her head, imagine it so clearly, you asking her to leave. 

She's already reaching for her coat to make quick work of obeying your wishes when, instead of that, you ask, "You wanna know why I’m here?"

Sevika lowers her hand and the glass hits the table with a thud. Her head tilts to make the slightest nod— and that's as much of an answer as you'll get, you think.

“Look at me,” your finger sits under her chin, a touch barely there, the rise of her head more her choice than your doing. “You’re good, Sevika,” she grimaces, feels like she's swimming in gross viscous shame older than herself and barely surviving it. You press your thumb into her cheek, firm but kind, and keep her from being swept away by it. If she used to find your openness sweet, right now she finds it fucking miraculous. How can you call her good and mean it, how can someone else know so deeply that she could be, that she will be, when most days she doesn’t even know it herself? How can she look you in the eyes and deny you that truth? Her face relaxes, grimace replaced by an aching need as she listens to you. “I see it better than most, but they all catch up eventually. Whatever you put your mind to, you’re fucking good at it,” you pause, try to read her expression and find yourself unsure, but calm. How lovely to think that there's still so much to learn. “You don't owe me and I’m not trying to change you… you don't need—”

Sevika rests her hand over your cheek, a warm hum from her throat to acknowledge what you're saying, a desperate shake of her head to say but I do. “I need you,” her forehead falls against your own, in her brain a chant of please.

You look at her through your lashes, nod your head and feel warm, warm, warm. Her hand guides your face closer, a needy pull of her fingers where they press against the back of your neck, your whisper of “me too” spilled into her mouth. Sevika kisses like there's nothing in the whole fucking world she’d rather be doing, nothing that could possibly distract her. She has kissed you in nightclub bathrooms even with someone's knocks shaking the flimsy door, in alleys with her knuckles still bloody from a fight, dangerously close to opening hours with your back against the very bar where she rests her drinks every night. She's hungry, insatiable, and every time you can't wait to part your lips and let her in.

It takes godlike strength to hold on for as long as you do, but there's power in making her wait too, a satisfaction that feels drunk and just as divine as it makes its way down your spine. A few more chaste kisses take seconds or a century, and Sevika indulges them for as long as she can before she breaks, falls to her knees at your altar and breathes, “Please.”

There's nothing you like more than hearing her beg, except maybe what happens after you give in— the relief, the sigh against your mouth, the wet warmth of her tongue and the desperation in the way she pushes her body against you like she hadn't til then realized just how famished she’d been. Her hands wrap around your waist meanly, pressing indents, and you're too busy soothing your own hunger on her lips to realize that she's switched your positions.

You feel the harshness of the table against your back and pull away to look down, catch up, your daze maybe a little too obvious judging by the curl of her mouth. She's panting as much as you are, though, tongue peeking out barely to brush over her lips, tingly and wet from your kisses. “Up,” she says with a tilt of her head, more a warning than a command, her hands already down on your hips to get you sitting over the wood.

Sevika is a sight, pretty and inviting and overwhelming— you reach for her waist and pull, entranced by the way she follows, the way your legs interlock. A thin layer of sweat glimmers over her chest and you've never found so much beauty in the undercity’s humidity, never felt yourself get wet as easily as she makes it, never been so desperate to find some relief from the aching between your legs. Your thighs squeeze into Sevika’s and looking up to meet her eyes feels like a punch, like the sweetest blood, a sea of glazed-over gray barely visible against the black of her pupils. A mirror of your wanting; how the hunger grows when it meets reciprocation this delicious. You lean forward to taste it from her lips and she meets you halfway, a hand traveling up your spine and ending at your neck.

You don't know when you started grinding against her, but you know you want more. And you know Sevika’s holding back, savoring the same power you’d tried before, a smirk against your lips when she feels you speed up, hears you moan from somewhere deep in your throat. It suits her, the way she holds control. Sevika likes to wonder if she’d ever hold on longer, make you really wait. Sometimes she thinks she might, and then (like now) your voice fills her ears and clouds every thought that says anything other than please, god, fuck, let me make you feel good. “Don’t be mean,” you say this time, breathy and achingly sweet. “Please, Sevika.”

The first grind of her thigh against your pussy makes you end a kiss with your teeth biting into the meat of her lower lip, rougher than you intended. “Fuck, Sev—” you say, cut yourself off with a gasp when she does it again. Sevika figures out the angle unsurprisingly quickly, a hand on your hip and another on your ass to guide you back and forth at a rhythm that matches the movement of her own hips, enough fervency behind it that you know she needed this as much as you did. Maybe more, judging by the groans she spills on your neck every time you press up into her.

Full lips kiss at your pulse, open mouthed, her breath cool against your skin when it meets the wetness she left there. Your nails rake over her shoulder, over her scalp where your fingers are buried in between strands of dark hair— and when Sevika groans it sounds raw, a broken noise, her hips moving desperately faster. You can feel her warmth on your thigh and you've never wanted so badly to have her undressed, laid out, rubbing her pussy against you, leaving a mess on skin rather than the fabric of your pants. She's getting carried away, you know it, chasing her high and barely giving you a chance to catch up. You've never wanted anything more than to let her use you.

“You feel so fucking good,” she grunts, wrecked with need for you to pacify when she lifts her head from your neck, her eyebrows furrowed. You watch her get lost on your lips and you can imagine what they look like, how plump she left them, how the pride of that must simmer in her lower abdomen. Her thumb brushes over them once, then again, and you barely register that she's asking for permission before your mouth moves on its own accord to let her index and middle finger inside. It's filling, just what you needed; how beautifully unsurprising that she knew it more than you did, or that she needed it just the same.

You're fully caged in now, your back pressed against the wall, Sevika’s free hand on your waist still steering you back and forth on her thigh. “Too— hm, fuck,” her fingers slide out of your mouth and press wet indents into your cheek as she holds your jaw, traps you in her eyes. She’s far too gone to warn you but she doesn't have to, it's so painfully clear. Her eyes two dark pits to swallow you whole, lips parted, the grinding brutal and so fucking good— she says it until she can't form the words anymore, her head tilted back, thighs stuttering and tightening around your leg as she comes.

Your tongue tastes the skin of her bared neck and you feel yourself get closer and closer, fed by the feeling of her nipple under the pad of your thumb, by the shaking moans she spills into your ears as you keep grinding against her. Sevika must feel it too, in the same way you did, notice the change in your breath or the speed of your hips— because she pulls away and knows to soothe the needy desperation on your face with a messy kiss before she gets down on her knees.

“Shh,” her shushing comes soft and agonizingly kind, your whines barely contained as she presses kisses to the inside of your thighs. “What happened to my patient girl?” she asks, a tilt of her head and a smirk, the meanest angel.

Your palms press onto the table to lift yourself up enough to let her slide your pants and underwear off in one motion. “Spoiled me too much,” you answer, your mind foggy, drunk on the sight of her kneeling in front of you.

It takes Sevika a moment to reply, the pads of her finger pressing into your thighs. Her eyes meet yours and she wants to tell you, how could I not? You’re not trying to change her, you’d said, but you do. These days, she doesn't think about anything else like she used to— I love you prefaces everything. I love you, so I’m winning this stupid fight and making some money. I love you, so I gotta get home alive. I love you, so I think we could change this city. I love you, you should have every-fucking-thing. But Sevika's not really a woman of many words, especially not when you're looking at her like this, especially not when she's this hungry, so she shrugs her shoulders and says (like it explains everything, and maybe it does), "Look at you.”

The intensity of her makes your legs squeeze together, but you barely make it an inch before she’s pulling them apart and hooking them over her shoulders exactly how she likes.

Your face feels like it's burning, heat crawling up your neck, your grip on the table tight. “Please.”

Sevika barely manages to pry her eyes away from where you're open and glimmering, soaking her fingers after just one brush of them against your lips. Her voice comes out strained, drowned in hunger. “Please what?” 

You must sound worse, but the thought barely registers, hardly matters. “Please, Sevika, make me come.”

And she does— pretty nose bumping perfectly against your clit whenever her tongue is too busy inside you, her lips shiny and wet and relentless. Like everything else, she's fucking good at it.

Steel and sunshine

sevika x ditz! reader / short drabble

no warnings just you being annoying and sevika putting up with you

requested by @gravegoer <3

Zauns sprawling streets were filled with the hum of industry, the hiss of steam, and the faint green glow of shimmer pouring from narrow alleyways. The air hung heavy with a metallic tang, and the rattle of machinery from the Undercity’s workshops created a chaotic symphony. It was chaotic, grimy, and dangerous. A place that seemed to churn out desperation as naturally as it did smog. In the heart of it all, Sevika sat at her usual corner of The Last Drop, nursing a glass of something strong enough to peel paint.

Her steel arm rested on the table, catching the flicker of neon lights overhead. She was a picture of quiet intensity: sharp eyes scanning the bar, her jaw set in irritation at the chaos around her. She could handle a fight breaking out or someone trying to swindle her. What she couldn’t handle, though, was the sound of your voice cutting through the din like sunshine piercing a storm cloud. “Sevika!”

She groaned quietly, closing her eyes for a moment as she prepared herself for the whirlwind that was you. When she opened them, there you were, skipping toward her with all the oblivious cheer of someone who didn’t belong in a place like this. “What now?” she muttered, her tone already laced with exasperation.

You plopped down into the chair across from her, beaming as if you hadn’t just walked through Zaun’s most dangerous streets without a care in the world. “You’ll never guess what I found today!”

“Let me guess,” Sevika said, her voice flat. “Something useless?”

You gasped, clutching your chest like she’d just shot you. “How dare you? It’s not useless!” You rummaged through your bag, your fingers brushing past who-knows-what before triumphantly pulling out a small, rusted music box. Its paint was chipped, and the mechanism looked like it hadn’t worked in years. “Look! Isn’t it cute?”

Sevika raised an eyebrow, her patience already teetering on the edge. “You’re risking your life out there for this?”

“Of course!” you said, completely unfazed. “I thought you’d like it.”

“I don’t like junk,” she said flatly, though her gaze lingered on the object longer than she’d admit.

You leaned forward, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re lying. I can tell you secretly think it’s cool.”

Sevika groaned, her metal fingers tapping against the table in frustration. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Keep me around forever?” you said with a grin, propping your chin on your hand.

“You’re exhausting,” she muttered, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward in a reluctant smile.

Not long after, Sevika found herself walking alongside you through the crowded streets of Zaun, her broad frame serving as a shield against the jostling crowd. She wasn’t sure how she’d ended up in this situation again, but you had a way of dragging her along. Your sheer persistence overpowering her better judgment.

“Did you eat today?” she asked abruptly, her sharp tone betraying the faintest hint of concern.

“Oh! I had some bread earlier,” you said brightly. “And maybe a candy bar?”

Sevika stopped dead in her tracks, her glare making you shrink slightly. “That’s not food. Come on.”

You blinked, confused. “Where are we going?”

“To get you something real before you pass out,” she grumbled, taking your arm and steering you toward a food stall. The smell of sizzling dumplings filled the air as Sevika ordered for you, her tone curt but efficient. She handed the vendor a few coins before shoving the steaming plate into your hands.

“Sit,” she ordered, pointing to a nearby bench.

You obeyed, settling onto the seat and swinging your legs like a child as you dug in. The first bite was heavenly, and you made a small noise of appreciation that made Sevika smirk despite herself.

“You’re amazing, Sev,” you said between mouthfuls, your words slightly muffled.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she scolded, sitting beside you.

You swallowed quickly, flashing her a wide grin. “Sorry. You’re just so good at taking care of me.”

“Someone has to,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“You’re like a big, grumpy teddy bear,” you teased, nudging her side.

She gave you a flat look. “A teddy bear?”

“Yeah! You act all tough, but deep down, you’re just a big softie.”

“Keep talking like that, and I’ll leave you here,” she warned, though the faintest trace of amusement lingered in her voice.

Later, back at Sevika’s apartment, the quiet hum of Zaun’s nightlife served as background noise. The space was sparse and functional, just like her. But tucked into corners and sitting on shelves were small reminders of your influence. There was a cracked vase you’d insisted on saving, a tiny ceramic dog you swore looked just like her, and now the rusted music box, which you’d proudly placed on the shelf next to the others.

“Look at it,” you said, stepping back to admire your handiwork. “It’s perfect.”

“It’s junk,” Sevika replied, though her tone lacked the usual bite.

“Sentimental junk,” you corrected, turning to grin at her.

She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You’re lucky I put up with you.”

“You’re lucky I’m so charming,” you shot back, sticking out your tongue.

Sevika shook her head, unable to keep the smirk off her face. “Ridiculous.”

You plopped onto her worn-out couch, kicking off your shoes and making yourself comfortable. “So, what do we do now?”

“I work. You stay out of the way,” she said, already moving toward her workbench.

“Boring,” you replied, flipping through a magazine you’d found on the coffee table. The two of you fell into a companionable silence, Sevika tinkering with her mechanical arm while you lazily read. But after a while, your thoughts drifted, and the question that had been nagging at you all day finally slipped out.

“Sevika?” You said softly as your eyes still on the maganize that you were reading.

“What?” she replied as she continued to tinker her metal arm, completely immersed in what she was doing. “Do you think I’m annoying?”

The question caught her off guard, and she turned to look at you. Putting the tool that was on her hand on the desk. “Where the hell is this coming from?”

You shrugged, suddenly finding the magazine very interesting. “I dunno. I just… sometimes I feel like I get on your nerves.”

Sevika sighed, setting down her tools and walking over to sit beside you. “You do,” she said bluntly, making you gape at her. Before you could protest, she added, “But I don’t mind.”

“Really?” you asked, your voice small.

“Really,” she said, her tone softer now. “You keep things… interesting.”

A slow smile spread across your face. “You’re such a softie.”

“Don’t push it,” she warned, though there was no malice in her words.

You leaned your head against her shoulder, letting the cool metal of her arm press against your cheek. “Thanks, Sev.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, reaching up to ruffle your hair. “Just don’t get used to it.”

But you both knew it was already too late.

banner: @anitalenia

taglist: @cewl-casper @hutaotown @lunatakashi18 @shinyshayminflower @pipirka827363829 @dragonfly41777 @themostlesbianever @abbyssgf @kissyslut @ayedomino0 @amenazaaaa @usedmilkdud @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @marinayadayada @chx-rrryc0la @komoriiis @beewwebb @pitstopsapphic @kylorey25 @cestlaprincesa @xxblairslairxx @m00nd0v3 @arevik2345 @thesevi0lentdelights

After seen arcane I always had the question of Sevika knows that the person who killed Silco was Jinx….

Sevika x Fem!Bar Owner! Reader

𖢅 ------ 𖢅

𖢅 ------ 𖢅

You were new to Zaun. No one had seen you coming, nor your success as soon as you'd laid roots down. Most people who came here for opportunity and enterprise were mad inventors from Topside, or business sharks in the Chemtech and Shimmer industry.

But you? You just ran a bar.

…You were burying your past life as a smuggler in Bilgewater by moving to Zaun, but that was neither here nor there. People had come across wealth in more morally abhorrent ways.

You learned the ways of the Undercity quickly. It'd tried to teach you a swift lesson your very first week open, when a few crooks walked in and tried to threaten you into giving up what was in your cash till. Your trusty shotgun and a few thrown glasses had been an effective solution.

You were not gonna get scammed out a livelihood down here. You swore it to yourself. You were gonna make a space that was all your own, some place people could relax and be together since The Last Drop evidently wasn't that anymore.

Then she comes around.

You knew her face. You'd seen her walking around the Lanes while you were hunting for dishware and cutlery for cheap. You'd thought "smash", and then kept it moving.

You could tell she was important even then, with the way she stalked through a parting crowd. It was no different when she entered your bar for the first time.

"What's Silco's bloodhound doing here?" "God, Sevika? C'mon, let's get a corner booth in case shit goes to hell." "Uh oh, bar lady's in trouble with the higher up's." Your patrons were not helpful.

She sat at the bar, trying to talk you up. Trying to gain information, you realized. Yeah, you weren't new to this.

Sevika was intrigued, at the very least.

Silco had sent her to scope you out. Your business had been doing too well, too fast. If you had savvy, he wanted to know about it.

And you definitely did. She'd never admit it, but she was… charmed. As much as someone like her could be, at least.

You radiated quiet control behind the bar, a rag thrown over one shoulder and another hooked on your waist while you juggled multiple shouted drink orders effortlessly. All the while making banter with her.

She was still debating whether or not to report back truthfully to Silco when the bustle of a few kids walking in cut through her train of thoughts.

You talked them down from their hyperness in a swift moment, jutting your thumb to the kitchen in the back where, apparently, there was some sandwiches waiting for them.

You shrugged off the scrutinizing look she was giving you.

"Somebody's gotta feed them," is all you said. She sees somebody else's old fire, somebody she used to know, in your eyes for a moment.

"Owner's an airhead. Nothing to worry about. Definitely just a lucky break," she tells Silco later that night.

She lets you know subliminally that your bar is off limits. Some of her men patrol around your business's property, for your property. No one comes in demanding your profits anymore.

You don't need her protection, but you still appreciate it.

You start keeping cigarillos behind the bar for whenever she comes in. She's a little suspicious the first time you offer her one and a light.

"What, are you picky about the brand?" She almost laughs at that, and takes the offering.

One of your customers calls out asking how much for a cig. "Sorry my friend, they're exclusive for the pretty lady."

Sevika feels a pang of… something. What pretty lady are you talking about? She thought the cigarillos were for her- ohhhhh…

She starts smoking less. If only to make it a whole treat for herself to stop by your establishment every week, and let you hold open a lighter while she leans forward to light her smoke and talk with you for a bit.

Your establishment becomes for her what it's already become for everybody else in the city. A safe space. A comfort.

Your warmth was undeniable. And it reflected in your place of work too, polished and furnished with a care that Sevika remembers The Last Drop used to have.

This wasn't the first time she's lied to Silco, making the executive decision herself when she didn't trust his. She hoped it wouldn't come down on you.

[ ts main list ]

MAIN MASTERLIST

** ALL stories are written with a Fem!Reader! **

Want to be tagged? Message me and let me know!

All works are my own - I do not give consent to the reposting of them in any form.

-> Imagines Masterlist Part 1

-> Imagines Masterlist Part 2

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-> Blurbs Masterlist

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-> Headcanons Masterlist

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-> Plot Points Masterlist

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-> Multi-Chapter Fics:

To Be Alone - Tommy Shelby x OC

MASTERLIST

Status: COMPLETE - 31 parts published

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Birmingham - Tommy Shelby x Reader

MASTERLIST

Status: COMPLETE - 20 parts published

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Divider by @/firefly-graphics

✮🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺✮

striking a deal

contains: sevika being a jackass (what's new tho I still love her), gambling, reader sort of being a hater against gambling due to the negative impacts its had on their friend, enemies-with-a-bit-of-desire sort of vibe going on, reader is called a "girlfriend," very sfw, not much explicit romance and just a bit of flirting + attraction

a/n: hiii pookies so this is my first fic for miss sevika!! I hope it's accurate to her character and you all enjoy <33 would love to hear what y'all think hehe

art: four gentlemen of high rank playing primero

✮🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺✮

"hey, do you know where I can find sevika?" you tentatively ask the bartender. he's some nervous looking kid who's probably going to quit after two weeks of witnessing the shit show that is the last drop since vander was killed.

not that you can blame him. you rarely frequent this part of the undercity, avoiding it for both the sake of safety and your own sense of sanity. you couldn't stand half the crap that went down here -- all the drunken fights, the sloshing of alcohol spilling and soaking through nearly every visitor's clothes, the lewd public displays that sent your face burning and ducking down -- and, of course, the gambling.

the damn gambling you had been imploring your friend, zafar, to put aside for almost half a year now. ever since he had lost his younger sister to an "intervention" enforcers had made at a party a year ago, every bad habit of his that had once been a small spring in the ground, roots shallow, had blossomed into a rotten, ugly plant that had spread faster than the blink of an eye could capture. you tried to be there for him, you did, but you also had your own family to take care of, and with his new friends being nothing but a bunch of enablers, he had now landed himself into a world of debt.

why, you ask? he had made the stupid decision to play with one of silco's little henchmen, sevika, whose reputation at cards is so notorious that even you've heard of it from your dinky little corner, far away from this place. you had heard rumours of her, some admiring, others downright terrifying. her help in smuggling shimmer, the ass-whooping she did for silco, how she was a constant presence when it came to the drug lord. that was enough to drain you of any admiration you could've beheld for such a strong woman. you had seen what shimmer did, the power it had in crumbling people's bodies, mental states, and their ability to keep living. you don't approve of anyone who's involved in the horrors of it.

the only reason you're here now is because zafar came to you sobbing this morning, grief heavy in his eyes over the money he had lost. he claimed sevika cheated it out of him, and while you still aren't sure as to how true that is, you'd at least try to set the record straight with her. you want to do something, anything, for standing around and watching zafar self-destruct no longer feels like a valid option. you promised him you'd try to see if you could convince her to return his money, under the condition of him avoiding gambling as best as he could and beginning to work part-time at the shop where you worked so he could have a more reliable source of income.

you can only hope this shitty plan will be in your favour. already, your stomach is tightening with anxiety, the knot circling and circling to bulge against your gut and make you slightly nauseated. but, you try to, at least physically, keep your cool, schooling your features to be calm, levelled and devoid of any jitters or twitches.

the bartender cocks his head to a dark corner near the jukebox. "right there. why, you've got business with her?"

a spring of irritation flickers through you at his prodding. the less he knows, the better. "in a way." you nod your thanks, then make your way to her.

you had seen flashes of sevika before. rallies, protests, gang fights. a blur of dark hair, a murky red cape and swinging fists. that's all she ever was to you. so, now, to behold her in her full state, feels... intimidating, to say the least. she carries herself as though the rickety wooden boards and worn out hinges of this place are her prized palace and she's the hailing king, rightfully seated on her throne. her dark lips are twisted into a leering smirk, haughtily bringing her cigar to them and taking a prideful puff from it. you swallow hard. you're definitely out of your league.

you linger nearby, watching through the crowd and awaiting an opportunity to approach her. when the men around her slam their palms down on the shared table, groaning and shutting their eyes in clear loss, her arm tossing towards them cockily, you stiffen up. you have an opening.

as the losers begin to file away, shoulders slumped in defeat, you can't help but feel a twinge of pity for them. everyone in this city struggles, one way or another. to have those struggles tied off with a loss in poker is a downright cursed fate. you try not to meet their eyes, sliding through the sweaty bodies until you reach her table.

you pause in front of her, hands twiddling as she collects the coins. you wait for her to look up, and when a few seconds pass and no such thing happens, you clear your throat.

eyes still casted onto the table, she speaks. her voice is like sand that's fallen through the surface of the ocean, rough and textured, impossibly deep and smooth. "you waited your turn long enough. what do you want?"

you flinch. "waited my turn?"

she tilts her head in the direction you came from. "you were lurking there. just watching, or is there something you need?"

jesus, and here you had thought you were at least a bit subtle. "oh, I--"

"didn't think I'd notice you?" she scoffs, scooping up the coins and pouring them into a small sack. "you almost fell head-first when bunny-face bumped into you."

your eye nearly twitches. "okay, well, good observation, I guess." honestly, it's impressive. you had expected her to be all brawn, no brain. "I'm here to talk to you about something."

her eyes finally meet yours. they're nearly silver, a dark grey that flashes under the colourful lights. her gaze is piercing, punctuated all the more by her dark eyebrows that are drawn in curiosity. "make it quick."

that's all you need. "okay, well, my friend, zafar, gambled with you last night."

"okay."

"well, you won, and took a bunch of his money." you wobble on your feet, hesitation seizing at you due to the accusation you're about to lay out. she could probably snap your neck in less than a millisecond. you've heard of her ability to totally crush any enemy designated to her by silco. definitely not a person whose bad side you want to get on. hopefully, nothing of the sort will happen if you express yourself in enough of a civilized way. "he, I don't know if it's true, but he says you cheated." you avert your eyes, the hand in your pocket gripping tightly onto the handle of your dagger. you haven't had to use it, not yet, at least, but in the undercity, it's better to be safe than sorry. and, frankly, you're expecting the worse from her.

which is why you nearly flinch when the corner of her lip twists up, and she says, "a common scapegoat for losers."

protectiveness immediately kicks in, searing through your body and urging you through your fear. you know it's hypocritical, considering you, too, don't fully believe him. but, still, you at least know his character, whereas she's just riding off her assumptions. "he could just as well be telling the truth."

"oh, yeah? is that why he sent his little girlfriend to save his ass?"

gross. the insinuation feels nearly as offensive as her insults towards him. "I'm not his girlfriend. and I volunteered to come here myself."

her eyes flicker up to you, and you rear back when they linger on your face, skimming over your features before settling back down to the table. "and while that's nice, and well, pretty stupid of you, I didn't do any cheating. anything he lost was because he couldn't play his hand well."

you grit your teeth together. "I'm not stupid. I just came here for a friend."

"a friend who clearly is a sloppy poker player and likely to lose to anyone who has the playing ability of a child." she snickers, and you catch sight of the split between her two front teeth, a little gap protruding. you force yourself to meet her eyes. the last thing you'd want is for her to catch you staring at her mouth.

what's worse is that you can't even argue back with her on this. for all you know, zafar very well may be a shit player. probably is, in all honesty. it wouldn't surprise you -- he always was impulsive as hell, and you wouldn't bat an eye to discover that challenging sevika had been an in-the-moment decision of his. but, you know what he's been through. you know how down in the dumps he is financially, and just how desperate he's gotten. his mourning has only made it worse.

"okay, well," you trail off, not really knowing where to continue. you didn't really lay a plan for yourself, and now that she's swiftly shut you down in a manner which you have no rebuttals for, you're not sure how to proceed.

"was that all?"

"no." you force your shoulders to straighten, hoping you sound somewhat firm, maybe even dignified. "is there any way you can return his money? he's been through a lot this year, and--"

she cuts you off with a bark of laughter, the raspy noise of it harsh and grating to your ears. the anger it's stirring in you probably isn't helping either. "okay. listen, friend of...?"

deadpan, you respond, "zafar."

she nods. "yeah, whatever his name is. this game comes with risks, and one of them is losing all your shit if you play with no tact."

you suck in a sharp breath at the condescension in her tone. "I'm well aware of that. but, listen, he's had a hard time of it lately, and--"

"and what? we've all had a hard time of it lately. if he chose to put his life's worth on the table, that isn't my problem."

"I'm not saying it is, but c'mon, can't you have a little empathy now and return his money?" you stick an incredulous finger at the table. "you have enough as is! no need to drain every zaunite of their hard-earned money before you're satisfied."

her eyes flutter in what seems to be exasperation, but you firmly planted, both on your feet and in your stance. physically, you can't do shit against this mass of muscle. but, maybe, just maybe, you can verbally get somewhere.

she stares up at you, elbows propped on her knees. "if it's so hard-earned, why did your friend gamble it away? are you asking me to return someone's money because they were an idiot?"

frustration begins to gnaw at your stomach, a burning sensation swarming through your insides and making you tense up. "I'm telling you, he's not in his right mind right now. things have happened in his family lately, and it's been hard for him."

"are you forgetting where you live? things happen in every family here. being smart is how you survive. if your friend can't do that..." she shrugs, continuing to sweep the coins into the opening of the sack. "then, that's not my problem."

"being a decent person helps in surviving in this place, too. being there for each other and our community. don't you care about that?"

her movements halt for a second, eyes flicking between you and the table. you nearly crack a grin and do a little rejoicing dance. bingo.

you add a sticky sweet tone to your voice, pleading and coaxing. you've heard she frequents babette's brothel, and if that's any indication about where her romantic interests lie, maybe you'll be able to woe her into complacency. "c'mon, I promise, he'll never gamble with you again, and if he does, take anything and keep it. but, please, just this one time, help him out, hm? do it for him, do it for your people."

her face, which was stoic only moments ago, shatters into a loud round of laughter, her palm smacking against her knee. "I gotta hand it to you, the 'for your people' thing was a nice touch." she stands up, and you try not to blink too hard at the sight of her towering over you. jesus, she's gigantic. no wonder people are scared shitless of her. no wonder you were scared shitless of her. "now, be honest. was the money yours? boyfriend left you and stole from the cookie jar? told you you had to come and get it back yourself?"

the more she talks, the more you get the sense that to her, this conversation is simply something to toy with, and just engage with as a playful little pastime. it only causes more anger to ooze within you, fiery and hot within your guts, like lava. this isn't a game. this is about people's lives, people's financial sustenance. she must earn a decent amount of time for her work for silco, and yet here she is, milking the people of zaun who don't know any better or who are too entrenched in their habits to put a stop to their gambling.

you want to make a jab at her that's as harsh as the blow to your ego was. it might risk you a limb, but you're praying the surprising amount of calm she's shown so far is a sign that your safety is secure. "you know what? I was stupid for coming here in the first place. to think one of silco's little servants would actually have a moral compass."

unfortunately, her irritatingly cool collection not only keeps your physical wellbeing in check, but does the complete opposite to your pride. for all she does is stare down at you, the long, blue scar seeping through her cheek curling as she chuckles, the noise husky and rough, like crushed velvet. "ouch. good one. anyone else might've gotten offended by that." her stormy eyes skip to your lips for a split second. "quite the mouth you have on you."

what the fuck is that supposed to mean? is that a pass or a genuine comment on your temper, which is very much flaring up? either way, you're determined to try harder to goad her. "yeah, well, I'm sure it has no impact on you, right? after all, you spend your days contributing to half the shit going down in this fucked up city."

her jaw suddenly clenches, mouth pressing together. you would've thought someone in this business would be a bit more discreet with the physical manifestations of their moods. but, sevika is like an open book, grey eyes wide, and eyebrows sunk down, her newfound disdain clear as day. "what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"the shimmer," you answer, squinting at her, praying the expression conveys how stupid you think she is. "your little boss has just tossed it to this city and watches the damages of it unfold without doing shit. wasn't his glorious plan to make this city a better place, not fuck us over even more?"

"the shimmer is helping," she retorts, her voice harder than before, lined with a firm pressure that had been absent in her prior teasing and casual dismissal. "we have something that topside could only wish for, something that gives us an advantage."

"an advantage?" you laugh bitterly. the injustice of it all, the agony you see your people in everyday -- it all floods your insides, wracking you from within. "it's been years since it's come about, and nothing has changed. piltover is still on top, and in addition to that, they have hextech." you make sure your eyes pointedly lock onto hers, hoping she feels every single fibre of your rage. "just admit it. you guys haven't done shit."

"and what exactly are you doing?" her voice is lowered to a heavy whisper, and you feel the noises surrounding you two melt away into a light, background buzz. the iciness of her voice feels almost worst than any other stupid tone she's taken since you started interacting.

"something you and your boss don't seem to be helping at all with." you give her a tight-lipped smile, your gums aching with how hard your teeth press in together, the disjointed shapes of them uncomfortable and crooked as they mash at the edges. "trying to survive."

her nostrils flare, her burning glare pulsing through the barrier of your skin and making your insides turn from the onslaught of anxiety that enters. god, will she unleash some goons on you now or something?

"sevika!"

you jerk at the sudden sound, whereas sevika simply blinks down at you, gaze unrelenting. "what?" she calls out.

uncomfortable at having her eyes still pointed at you, you turn to the voice, seeing a man with small, rectangular glasses hanging off his nose looking awfully mopey.

"you promised us another round," the guy wails, tossing his hands in the air.

you swallow hard at the silence that ensues, still feeling her stormy eyes hooked onto you. after a moment, she says, "maybe later."

the man's shoulders sag as he heaves a dramatic sigh, turning to who seems to be his friend, whimpering, "she's too busy with her date."

you grimace at the mistake, though the disgust you feel at it is fused with an irritation directed at the way your stomach spins at the word 'date.' you're not stupid -- sevika is, objectively, pretty attractive. hot, some people might say. but, jesus, she's a bitch too. and working with silco, which makes for a very unappealing combination.

"come on," she drawls out. you turn back to her, the anger from before now replaced with a wide smirk, one sharp eyebrow lifted up inquisitively. "I can't be all that bad, can I?"

you roll your eyes. this conversation has strayed too much as is, and you're not about to let it tiptoe off into flirtatious territory. "are you going to give my friend back his money or not?"

"hm," she ponders, and lifting a hand to stroke her cheek. you can immediately catch a whiff of the falsehood in the gesture, and tap your foot, waiting for her to just solidify your assumption. "no, I won't. but, do give him my regards."

you grunt, shaking your head. despite your expectancy of it, you can't help but feel a stone of disappointment sink through the waters of your body, falling to the bottom with more impact than you'd like. you shouldn't expect anything of her, there's no reason for you to feel disappointment. your expectations shouldn't have gotten this high in the first place. "of course. have a good day."

as you whirl around to leave, she grabs your forearm, callouses brushing against your skin. "hey, I just turned down a poker game for you."

"uh, yeah, and as a reward, you get a departure from me that doesn't include a kick to the shin." you snatch your arm from her grasp, trying to direct your thoughts to her shitty words as a desperate attempt to ignore the warmth in your stomach. "you're welcome."

with her snarky laugh ringing in your ears, you practically dash to the door, wanting to get out as soon as possible.

it's awful, but at the opening, something in you whispers for you to look back once more. it's okay -- it's reasonable, right? you barely frequent this place, anyone would want to catch one last glance at such a notorious woman in your city, no matter how degenerate and callous she is.

the only con to this is as soon as you find sight of her through your tentative search of the crowd, she's already staring back at you. at being caught, you internally cringe, the feeling only intensified by a tenfold when she tips her head at you with a grin.

ugh. never again.

two weeks later, you find a crisp envelope laying out on the mat outside your front door. in neat, cursive writing, it reads:

A thank you gift for the free business consultation. Do with it what you will. Whether you or someone else needs it. - S

I’ll continue this comic when season 2 fully releases, cuz I’m still scared she’s gonna die

straight to the point

summary: sevika wants a new piercing and wanders (has researched thoroughly before coming) into your shop

a/n: google search how to get another tattoo without disappointing my grandma

tags: piercer!reader, needles, flirting, kinda ooc sevika (?), a little sweet awkwardness

ao3 version

as far as cleanliness standards go in zaun, your shop was heads above the back alley piercers and tattoo shops. for one, you never reused the same needles and you had an autoclave that you used to sanitize the jewelry you offered, as well as the questionable jewelry that your clients brought in.

safe to say that most of your clients were high end criminals who could spare the coin to get the best experience possible in the undercity.

in your tiny corner shop, you were the main piecer and you cycled in various tattoo artists. a lot of them started by tattooing on the streets and developed their own styles, giving them the proper equipment helped them make masterpieces that you’re sure even the prissy piltover citizens would be impressed by. the building itself was pretty small with the shop downstairs and your apartment upstairs. you had a display desk up front with a dinky antique register sitting against the wall that didn’t open half the time. there were two main salon-type chairs in the room facing toward each other, with a small room in the back for more intimate placements of tattoos/piercings. the leather on the chairs were originally a neon pink that faded into more of a peach with patches over scratches on the chairs and ink stains. the walls were covered in graffiti, you invited in local kids to paint around and express themselves; which basically meant that your walls were covered in jinx propaganda right now. you wouldn’t believe the amount of people who came in for new ear piercings and cloud tattoos who also had blue hair.

today was a bit quieter than usual, you had no appointments and your tattoo artist got done early today so you were busy giving over your books while leaning on the counter on your elbows. the bells of your door jingled and you looked up, locking eyes with the most gorgeous woman you’d ever seen. she had a very short haircut above her ears, a mechanical arm that had a green… head? attached to it, piercing grey eyes, and a very strong build. swallowing thickly, you smiled warmly at the tall woman, “hey there, how can i help you?”

she trudged up to the counter as though she was unsure if she actually wanted to do this, her eyes glued down into the display case, “i’d uh, like a piercing please.”

you nodded along and tilted your head, trying to follow her eye line as to which piece she was looking at, “well you’re definitely in the right place for that, what are you looking to get?”

she met your eyes again, god it was like looking up at the sky during a storm, a nervous sigh leaving her lips, “what would you get?”

the question startled you a little, people usually come in and know exactly what they want. you hummed and studied her face, wondering what would look good with her proportions.

“hmm well for you, i would get either a medusa piercing or a labret,” you suggested and pointed to the middle of your cupid’s bow and underneath your bottom lip.

she attentively watched your finger like a cat following a laser and subconsciously licked her lips. her eyes lingered on your lips long enough that it brought a blush to your cheeks, how the hell were you going to get through this appointment in one piece? she shook her head and snapped out of it, glancing down at the case once again, “could i see what it would look like?”

“of course,” you nodded and pulled out a case that had an array of studs with different ends, base colors, and backs. she ended up picking out a silver disk stud and you couldn’t help but notice how her ears turned a little red when you praised her, “good choice.”

picking up the middle of the piercing with a clamp, you held it up to her and turned the desk mirror towards her. she softly took the clamp from you, brushing her rough hands against yours, the small touch making your heart flutter like a pair of butterfly wings. she inspected the stud in the mirror and curiously held the silvery jewlery above her lips and below. you couldn’t help but watch as the stud passed over her full lips, lips with a dark gloss shining off of them that you’d love to mix with your current lipstick-

fuck stop that, remain professional.

you took a deep breath to refocus and plastered on your least horny smile, “either one calling your name?”

she clicked her tongue and stood back up to her full height, her brows knitted together in concern, “i can’t decide which one to get.”

“you’d look good with either one, plus you can always get one now and the other later,” you mused, kicking yourself to bring your mind back to down to the ground.

she hummed and looked down at you, her eyes trailing from one eye to the other, down to your lips, and back up, making a triangle.

you were so fucked.

“i’ll get the labret sweetheart,” she said definitively and handed the clamp back to you, the pet name rolling off her tongue so naturally it made your knees weak.

you mindlessly nodded and took the clamp from her, sliding over a clipboard with your liability paperwork on it with a sparkly pen.

she raised an eyebrow at the pen, but picked it up anyway, vaguely scanning over the words as she signed and dated her name at the bottom. you quickly busied yourself with sanitizing the stud she picked out in the machine and setting up your station with all the proper tools. you could feel her eyes watching you, a surge of confidence flowing through you at the nickname she called you, so you made an extra effort to swing your hips side to side as you moved around your station, bending down to pick up a plastic bag that you “dropped”. you heard her suck in a sharp inhale, a grin tugging on your lips as you straightened back up. walked back over to the counter, you glanced over the paperwork.

“sevika, that’s a pretty name,” you practically purred out, fluttering your lashes at her.

“yeah? you got a name to go along with your pretty face?” she quipped, a half smirk on her black lips.

“i guess you should know the person who’s about to shove a needle through your face, i’m y/n,” you smiled and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

“a lovely name for a lovely lady,” she complimented and raked her eyes across your body.

you giggled shyly and shook your head, tilting your head towards the chair behind you, “c’mon back pretty girl, let’s get you pierced.”

she followed you back to your station and sat back in the chair, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. after snapping on a pair of your favorite colored gloves, you prepped the back of the piercing to go into the hollow needle once it was through and grabbed a marker.

standing directly in front of her, practically standing between her thighs, you had to force yourself to look back into those piercing grey eyes.

“i’m going to make a small mark where the piercing will go and then you can check the placement, is it okay if i touch your face?" you asked softly, a shy blush tinting your cheeks.

sevika gulped and quietly nodded, this time averting her eyes from you. you softly pinched her chin between your fingers and turned her head to face you directly. you leaned forward and mapped out her bottom lip to find a true middle and pressed a small dot onto the skin beneath her full lips, feeling her hot breath fan out on the back of your hand. quickly pulling back to stop yourself from kissing her, you practically shoved the hand mirror into her hands and barely squeaked out, “if you want to move it, it’s no problem!”

you took a step back and looked to the side of the room to give her some decision time, trying to ignore how beautiful her lips were and how desperately you wanted to kiss them. she carefully admired the mark in the mirror and hummed, nodding in approval, "looks good to me."

"perfect," you chirped and took the mirror from her, explaining the process of the piercing very briefly as she nodded along, brushing her short hair out of her face when a few strands got stuck to her eyelashes. god, you wish you were the one pushing her hair back.

you cleared your throat and picked up the piercing clamp, turning to her with a smile, "go ahead and open your mouth for me."

she did as you asked and looked up towards the ceiling as you placed the clamp in position over her bottom lip with the dot you made on her skin earlier. you gently positioned your hand holding the clamp vertically and grabbed the hollow needle from your station, lining it up with the dot.

"go ahead and take a deep breath in for me dear," you said calmly, getting into the zone as you focused in on doing the piercing correctly despite the handsome woman in front of you.

she inhaled deeply through her nose and once you were sure that she had taken a deep enough breath, you directed her, "and go ahead and breathe out."

as soon as she started to let the air out of her mouth, you pushed the needle through her skin and pulled the clamp down, holding her bottom lip open towards you.

"good job, worst parts over," you praised, earning an amused huff from sevika.

you let go of the needle and put the back of the piercing into the hole, pulling the needle back through the way it came with the jewelry sticking out in its place. you screwed the top disk onto the piercing and removed the clamp, admiring the slight puffiness of her bottom lip. holding up the mirror to her again, you smiled brightly as a sense of pride flowing through you, ''whatddya think?"

sevika held the mirror up and admired the new piercing from every angle, a satisfied smirk gracing her lips, "i love it."

you giggled and cleaned up your station, disposing of the needle and putting the clamp in the sanitizer machine. sauntering over to one of your cabinets and pulling out a small blue bag, you put together a goody bag with saline solution, aftercare instructions, and piercing floss for later on.

walking back over to her and holding out the bag, you couldn't help the smile on your lips as her fingers brushed against hers, "for it to heal properly, no smoking, drinking, kissing, or uh oral sex for at least 3 weeks."

one of her eyebrow cocked at the last rule before a decisive smile came to her lips. she followed you back up to the counter and paid for the service, leaving a hefty tip.

“so, could i take you on a date in 3 weeks?”

you blinked at her owlishly, processing what she just asked you. quickly regaining your composure, you asked nonchalantly, “is that for a kiss or for oral sex?”

“both if you’re lucky.”

the two of you laughed and you agreed, scribbling your number down on a stray piece of paper. when she held out her hand to take it from you, you held up a finger and folded the paper in half, sealing it with a kiss that left a mark from your lipstick.

she blinked in surprise as you pressed it into her hand with a wink, “a preview for 3 weeks from now.”

sevika chuckled and shook her head, pocketing the paper, “you little minx.”

you giggled and waved as she left, checking out her ass as she walked out of your shop.

this was going to be the longest 3 weeks of your life.

a/n: writing fan fiction is crazy like why am i watching multiple labret piercing videos to describe the process right

part 2 with the date if there's interest in it (((:

taglist: @maneskinwh0re @archangeldyke-all

- 𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐄 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ 𝐒𝐇𝐄/𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋

.ೃ࿐

𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀t personal fav

request: open

~~

— important!¡

English is not my first language, if I make I mistake please correct me but always with respect 💗

themes that I’m familiar with;

• arcane (my favorite)

• the umbrella academy

• house of the dragon

request are open!! (but I don’t make them very quick)

read before you do a request!!!

- I usually write about everything but there are some things that I rather not to

- English is not my first language so if I make I mistake with your order o you can give as much as detail as you can it makes my writing easier

- I’m not fast at doing request (I have to study)

- smut (not good at it)

- I don’t feel comfortable writing boyxboy (but I can do a reader without pronouns) , just because I’m not very used to it, neither butch4butch (same thing) and things like asking me to make the reader have autism or some specific stuff, I don’t now about many of this subjects and I rather not to write about them so I don’t make anybody uncomfortable (hope everybody understands this)

- sex no consensual, r4pe, ped0, discrimination, incest etc.. immediately banned

ੈ✩Street Rat p3✩ੈ

word count: 5.4k

A/N: OKAY HEADS UP- THIS PART FOCUSES PURELY ON STREET RAT, THERE IS ONLY MENTION OF SEVIKA AT THE END MY APOLOGIES!! ANYWAYS- This series is actually becoming one of my biggest pieces of work, I never expected the amount of love this series had started to accumulate, with that being said- I am so grateful for all of the support and encouragement I have been receiving to continue writing and working on this series. thank you everyone for continuing to support me and my writing, I plan to continue to work on this series for as long as the creative juices keep flowing!

warnings: character death, mentions of alcoholism, child abuse, implications of PTSD

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

The scent of fresh bread and the faint hum of laughter filled the small but cozy home in Piltover. Your mother was at the kitchen table, rolling out dough with practiced hands while your two sisters—Nia, the youngest, and Sera, the middle child—sat nearby, squabbling over some silly game they’d made up. You sat at the edge of the table, carving tiny figures out of leftover wood scraps, the little knife in your hand wobbling slightly as you focused.

"Careful with that, sweetheart," your mother warned, her voice soft but firm. She glanced up from her dough, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “Last thing we need is you losing a finger before supper.”

You rolled your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “I’ve got it, Mama. Besides, look!” You held up the crudely shaped figurine of a bird, the wings lopsided but unmistakable.

Sera gasped, her eyes lighting up as she leaned over the table. “It’s a crow! Can I have it?”

“No way,” Nia cut in with a smirk, grabbing it first. “She made it for me. Didn’t you?”

“I didn’t make it for either of you!” you huffed, trying to snatch it back, but Nia was quicker.

“Girls,” your mother said, her voice calm but with a warning note that made all of you freeze. She shook her head with a small laugh, brushing flour from her hands. “Honestly, it’s like having three tornadoes in the house.”

You settled back into your chair, muttering something under your breath about Nia being a thief. She shot you a wink, and Sera stuck her tongue out at both of you, her childish laughter filling the room.

For a moment, everything felt perfect.

But perfection never lasted long.

The door creaked open, and the warm, lively air in the room seemed to cool instantly. Your father's heavy boots echoed against the floorboards, a sharp contrast to the light laughter that had just filled the space. His face was flushed, the smell of liquor faint but unmistakable as he stood in the doorway. His eyes, clouded by whatever weighed on him, flicked to each of you before landing on your mother.

She stiffened, the rolling pin in her hands faltering for just a moment before she straightened her posture and forced a smile. “You’re home early,” she said, her voice even but lacking its usual warmth.

Your father grunted, stepping further into the room. “Work ended early,” he said curtly, though his tone carried no satisfaction. His gaze landed on the table, and his brow furrowed at the scattered wood shavings and half-carved scraps. “What’s this mess?”

You flinched slightly but didn’t reply. Nia, ever the bold one, sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “She’s making things, that’s all. It’s not hurting anyone.”

His eyes snapped to her, sharp as a blade. “Did I ask you to speak, Nia?” The tension in the room thickened, and even Sera, usually oblivious to such moods, shrank back in her seat.

“Leave her alone,” your mother interjected softly, stepping between him and the table. Her hands rested on her hips, flour smudged across her apron. “The girls aren’t doing anything wrong.”

Your father’s jaw clenched, his hand twitching at his side as though grappling with some invisible force. He looked at you then, his expression unreadable. “And you,” he muttered, “sitting there wasting time on nonsense. You think those little carvings are going to put food on this table?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but no words came out. Your throat felt tight, your hands gripping the small knife and wooden bird as though they were your only anchor.

“Mama likes them,” Sera’s small voice piped up, breaking the silence. She sounded hesitant but defiant, her wide eyes darting between the two of you.

“Enough!” he barked, and she flinched, her little hands clutching the edge of the table. 

Your mother stepped closer to him, her voice lowering but steady. “That’s enough, Richard. You don’t talk to them like that.”

For a moment, the two of them locked eyes, a silent battle playing out in the space between them. Then, with a growl of frustration, he turned away, stomping toward the small sitting room without another word.

The silence he left behind was deafening. 

Your mother let out a slow breath, smoothing her apron as she turned back to the table. “Girls,” she said softly, her voice strained but kind. “Why don’t you take your things and go play in the other room?”

Sera slid out of her chair immediately, clutching her little game pieces. Nia hesitated, her defiant gaze lingering on the doorway where your father had disappeared. Then she grabbed your arm, pulling you up. “Come on,” she whispered, her voice a mix of annoyance and protectiveness.

You followed, clutching the bird tightly in your hand. As the three of you retreated to the small bedroom you shared, the faint sound of your mother’s voice could be heard again, calm and soothing as though trying to mend what had just unraveled.

Nia shut the door behind you, leaning against it with a scowl. “He’s such a—” She cut herself off, glancing at Sera, who was quietly settling on her cot. “...a grump,” she finished lamely.

You sat on your own cot, turning the wooden bird over in your hands. Its lopsided wings suddenly seemed so silly, so pointless. But then Sera crawled up beside you, her big eyes hopeful.

“Can I have it now?” she whispered. 

You hesitated, glancing at Nia, who shrugged with a small smile. “Go on,” she said. “Let her have it.”

With a sigh, you handed the bird to Sera. Her face lit up, and for a moment, the weight in your chest lifted. 

Outside, the muffled sound of raised voices carried through the thin walls, but here, in this tiny shared space, the three of you held onto each other and the fragile threads of something better.

“Why doesn't Mama do anything about Dad?” Nia asks, your stomach churning at the thought.

“Because dad is a big pile a shi-”

“Sera!-” you hiss softly, Sera throwing her hands up in defiance, “What?! it's true!”

She- wasn't wrong…

suddenly a loud crash out what sounded like a glass bottle being broken, and your father’s unmistakable booming slurred voice…

The sound of shattering glass tore through the thin walls like a gunshot, making all three of you jump. Sera scrambled closer to you, clutching the wooden bird like it was a talisman. Nia's face darkened, her jaw clenching as she moved instinctively toward the door, though you reached out to grab her arm.

"Don't," you whispered, your voice shaking. "Just stay here."

But it was too late. Your father's voice followed the crash, loud and venomous, each word landing like a blow.

"This house is a goddamn disaster!" he roared. "I work all day—all day—and this is what I come home to? Mess everywhere, screaming kids—" His words slurred slightly, the alcohol in his system making him stagger as he continued his tirade.

"Richard, lower your voice," your mother said sharply, her calm tone replaced by steel. It wasn’t a request; it was a warning.

"Oh, don’t start with me, Marie," he snapped back. "Don’t you dare. I told you, I never wanted this! Never wanted—" His words faltered as his frustration boiled over into a bitter laugh. "Three kids crawling underfoot, a house that looks like a pigsty, and you just standing there!"

There was a pause, and then your mother’s voice, quieter now but firm. "I’m doing the best I can, Richard. We all are."

"The best you can?" he mocked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The best you can is a filthy house and three brats who don’t know how to stay out of the way?"

Nia moved to the door again, her fists balled at her sides. "I’m not just gonna sit here and—"

You pulled her back, your stomach twisting painfully. "Please, Nia," you begged. "He’s drunk. You can’t reason with him when he’s like this."

Nia’s lip curled, but she stayed put, though you could feel the tension radiating off her.

"Why didn’t I listen to my gut?" your father continued, his voice rising. "I told you I wasn’t cut out for this. But no, you just had to have a family, didn’t you? And now look where we are. I’m breaking my back out there, and for what? To come home to this circus?"

You heard your mother take a step forward, her voice unwavering even as the air seemed to crackle with tension. "You don’t get to speak to me like that. Or them."

"Oh, don’t play the saint, Marie," he sneered. "You wanted this life. You wanted these kids. Don’t act surprised when I remind you that I didn’t."

Your stomach turned violently, his words cutting deeper than they should have. You weren’t even in the same room, but it felt like a punch to the chest. You glanced at Sera, who was curled into a ball on your cot, silent tears slipping down her cheeks.

Nia looked like she was ready to explode. "He’s such a coward," she hissed under her breath. "Blaming everyone else for his own damn choices."

The argument outside raged on, your mother standing firm against his drunken anger. But you couldn’t hear the words anymore. It was all just noise, a storm you’d heard too many times before.

You swallowed hard and turned to your sisters, your voice shaky but as steady as you could manage. "We just…we wait it out. Mama’s got this. She always does."

Though, even the hope that your thoughts were true always seemed to be smushed out by the your father as another glass bottle shattered downstairs followed by incoherent yelling.

You couldn't take it anymore, “Sera, Nia, I swear to the gods, stay here…” you commanded before slipping out of the room. What could a 7 year old do? Kick at your father's legs until he finally stopped?

As you carefully made your way down the stairs there you saw it- your mother's nose bleeding, fear , unmistakable in her eyes. Your father, his movements sluggish and messy as he leaned down close to her face, whispering something into her ear that you worried about as your mother's eyes widened.

“Dad, stop it!” You finally squeak out, stepping out near him as your body shakes slightly from the anxiety facing him caused.

Your father's head snapped toward you, his bloodshot eyes narrowing in disbelief at your audacity. His towering frame cast an imposing shadow across the dimly lit room as he stumbled toward you, the jagged neck of a broken bottle clutched in his hand.

"And what the hell do you think you're doing, huh?" he slurred, his voice booming as he waved the bottle in your direction. His steps were unsteady, but his anger burned clear as day. "Think you can just come down here and tell me what to do, little girl?"

You flinched as the sharp edges of the bottle caught the light, but you held your ground, even as your knees trembled and your breath came in shallow gasps. “Leave her alone!” you cried, your voice cracking but defiant. “Y-you’re scaring her! You’re scaring all of us!”

Your words seemed to strike a nerve. He sneered, his lips curling into something cruel and mocking. “Oh, so now I’m the bad guy, huh? That’s rich. Big man comes home to this wreck of a house, and I’m the one who’s scaring people?” He stepped closer, pointing the jagged bottle at you with every word, his anger unfocused but dangerous.

You instinctively backed up, your heart pounding so hard it drowned out the sound of your mother’s shallow breathing behind him. But you forced yourself to keep his attention on you. "It’s not her fault!" you blurted out, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “She’s doing everything, and you’re— you’re just making it worse!”

His expression darkened, and for a terrifying moment, you thought he might strike you. His grip on the bottle tightened, his knuckles white, and his face contorted into something almost inhuman.

"Don’t you dare talk to me like that," he snarled, his voice low and dangerous now. "You don’t know a damn thing about what I do for this family. You think it’s easy, huh? Keeping a roof over your ungrateful little heads? You don’t get to judge me, you—"

He took a wild step toward you, and you stumbled back, your hands outstretched as if that alone could keep him at bay. “I’m not judging you!” you yelled, your voice breaking. “I just— I just want you to stop! Please, Dad, just stop!”

For a split second, his expression faltered, a crack in the armor of his rage. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that all-consuming fury. He raised the bottle slightly, and your breath caught in your throat.

“Richard!” your mother’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding despite the tremble in her tone. She had risen to her knees, blood still dripping from her nose, her eyes blazing with defiance. “If you take one more step toward her, so help me, I’ll—”

Her threat was cut out by the sound of your cry- your father hitting your face with the already broken glass, ripping open your lip…

Your breath was shallow, hands dabbing at your lip, feeling if the blood was real- it was, warm, fresh blood…

The room seemed to hold its breath, and then, with a guttural growl, he turned and hurled the broken bottle against the far wall. The shattering sound was deafening, and you flinched again, your hands flying up to shield your already bleeding face.

“Worthless,” he spat, stumbling toward the door. “All of you. Worthless.”

And then he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him. The silence he left in his wake was suffocating.

Your mother was on her feet in an instant, rushing to your side and pulling you into a trembling embrace. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” she whispered, her hands frantically checking you for injuries.

You shook your head covering your lip with your hand, shielding what he did to you from your poor mother, though your tears betrayed you. “Mama, your nose…”

She wiped at the blood with the back of her hand, shaking her head. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.” Her voice wavered, but her arms around you tightened, as though she could shield you from the world with her embrace alone.

Nia appeared at the top of the stairs, her face pale and full of worry, with Sera peeking out from behind her. None of you said a word, but the unspoken understanding between you all was clear: this wasn’t the last storm you’d weather, but at least, for tonight, you had survived.

–

Your father had never come back after that, good riddance you had told yourself time after time you and your family were better off with him gone forever, but- it always made a strange sting shoot up your chest anytime you thought of your father.

You hated it.

Today was like any other day, Nia and Sera sleeping in per usual, they had always poked fun at you for waking up so early even on weekends but you enjoyed the quietness of Piltover when most of the city was still asleep, dreaming of great inventions, it was a sweet thought.

“Mouse, darling,” your mother called from the kitchen, making you perk up from your post on the couch, where you had been tinkering with a broken watch your father had. He never wore it, a present from you when you still saw him as a good man, when he was sane.

“Yes, Mama?” you called back, setting down the watch and walking into the kitchen where she was making breakfast for you and your sisters, “Could you run to Mrs.Namitte’s shop and grab me a fresh cut of sweetbread? You know how much your sisters love it.”

You nodded softly, grabbing her pouch of money and running out the house and down the street.

 The air of early morning in Piltover was crisp and cool, carrying the faint metallic tang that always seemed to linger in the city. The streets were still quiet, most of the noise coming from the distant hum of steam-powered machinery and the occasional clatter of hooves against cobblestone as a carriage rolled by. The sky above was a pale gray, the sun just beginning to peek over the horizon, casting soft golden light across the sprawling cityscape.

Your neighborhood was tucked in one of Piltover’s less glamorous corners, a place where the buildings leaned together like old friends whispering secrets. The houses were a mix of brick and wood, patched up with whatever materials people could find, giving them a mismatched charm. Laundry lines crisscrossed above the narrow streets, sagging slightly under the weight of damp clothes left to dry.

Despite the modest surroundings, there was a warmth to the area. You passed the Grelle family’s house, their windowsills overflowing with flowerpots that brought splashes of color to the otherwise muted street. Mrs. Grelle herself waved at you from her stoop, her ever-present knitting needles clicking away even this early in the day.

“Morning, Mouse!” she called, using the nickname everyone seemed to have adopted from your mother.

“Morning, Mrs. Grelle!” you replied, offering a quick wave as you hurried past.

As you moved closer to the heart of the district, the streets widened slightly, the humble homes giving way to small shops and stands. This part of Piltover always smelled like fresh bread and coal smoke, the two scents mingling oddly but not unpleasantly. The cobblestones here were worn smooth by countless footsteps, their surfaces gleaming faintly with morning dew.

You passed a blacksmith’s forge where the faint glow of embers illuminated a young apprentice already hard at work, his hammer ringing against hot metal. Across from him, a tinker’s shop displayed delicate clockwork creations in the window, the tiny gears inside the contraptions turning with almost hypnotic precision.

It wasn’t long before you reached Mrs. Namitte’s shop, a cozy bakery nestled between a fabric store and an apothecary. The front of the bakery was adorned with peeling paint and a crooked sign that read Namitte’s Sweetbreads and Pastries, but the smell wafting from the open door was enough to make anyone’s mouth water. The aroma of sugar and warm bread enveloped you as you stepped inside.

Mrs. Namitte herself was bustling around behind the counter, her gray hair tied back in a neat bun. Her round face lit up when she saw you. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite early bird!” she greeted, her voice warm and cheerful. “What can I get for you this morning, Mouse?”

You couldn’t help but smile as you handed her the pouch of coins. “Mama sent me for some sweetbread. She said to get it fresh.”

Mrs. Namitte laughed, wiping her flour-dusted hands on her apron. “Fresh is all we’ve got here, darling. One loaf coming right up.”

While she wrapped up the loaf in parchment, you glanced around the shop. The shelves were lined with all kinds of baked goods—flaky pastries, golden-brown loaves, and rows of sweet buns dusted with powdered sugar. There was something comforting about the place, from the warmth of the ovens to the faint crackle of the firewood.

“Here you go,” Mrs. Namitte said, handing you the loaf with a wink. “Tell your mother I said hello.”

“Thank you!” you said, clutching the warm package to your chest as you stepped back out onto the street.

The city was beginning to wake now, the quiet hum growing louder as more people emerged from their homes. Shopkeepers were setting up their stands, calling out to passersby to come see their wares. Somewhere in the distance, the sharp whistle of a steam engine pierced the air, a reminder of the bustling innovation that Piltover was known for.

You hurried back toward home, weaving through the growing crowd, the warmth of the bread against your hands and the thought of your family waiting for breakfast spurring your steps. Despite everything, mornings like this made Piltover feel a little less overwhelming, a little more like home.

Though on your way home, something felt- off. The air wasn't as clear as you remembered, the smell of- sulfur filling the air.

Your pace quickened naturally, worry bubbling in your stomach as you broke into a sprint when you saw smoke rolling into the air- from your neighborhood.

The smell of sulfur grew thicker with every breath you took, the weight of it pressing down on your chest. Your feet pounded against the cobblestone streets, urgency pulsing through your veins. Something was wrong—deeply wrong. The usual hum of the city was overshadowed by something darker, the sounds of distant shouting blending into the eerie quiet of the morning.

As you turned the corner and saw the familiar stretch of houses, your heart dropped into your stomach. Smoke billowed into the sky, dark and choking, swirling in a heavy cloud that turned the morning light to an unnatural, sickly shade. The distant crackle of fire mixed with the angry yells, the harsh metallic clinking of enforcer armor, and the shouts of voices you couldn’t quite make out.

The panic in your chest rose with every step, the pressure of something terrible bearing down on you. Your eyes darted from side to side as you searched for any sign of your family, of your mother and sisters.

"Mom!" you screamed, voice hoarse as you ran faster, your heart thrumming painfully against your ribcage.

You reached the end of the street, but the sight before you made your blood run cold. Flames had already devoured much of the neighborhood, crackling hungrily, the heat enough to make the air shimmer. Buildings you’d passed countless times were now nothing more than burning husks. The fire had spread so quickly—too quickly.

And then, you saw them.

Your mother, her figure smaller than you remembered, clutching Sera to her chest, while Nia was pulling at your sister’s hand, urging her to run. They were running, your family running toward you—but the fire… the fire was so close. The flames were creeping toward them, licking at the edges of the houses, curling up the sides of the wooden beams like snakes eager to strike.

"Run!" you screamed again, desperation clawing at your throat. Your voice was barely audible over the roaring fire and chaos, but they heard you. They saw you.

Your mother’s eyes locked with yours. Her face was streaked with ash and dirt, her lips parted as though she were about to call your name, but no sound came out. It was as if time itself had slowed, the world around you muffled, like you were watching from underwater. She stumbled, clutching Sera tighter, her face stricken with fear, and then—then, the ground shook beneath you.

The house—your home—collapsed in a deafening crash. The roof caved in first, the thick beams splintering like matchsticks. The explosion of debris sent dust and ash into the air, blurring your vision. The shriek of wood splintering was followed by an unbearable silence that stretched on for what felt like hours.

For a moment, you thought you might’ve imagined it. Maybe you were still dreaming, or maybe, somehow, you could still reach them. But when the dust settled, there was nothing but the rising smoke, the blackened silhouette of the house that had been your home.

Your body went numb, your feet frozen to the ground as you stared at the place where your family had stood moments ago. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding so loud it was a drumbeat in your ears. You wanted to scream, to run to them, but you couldn’t. Your legs wouldn’t move, and the world seemed to stop spinning around you.

"Nia... Mama..." The words slipped out of your mouth, barely a whisper. You felt the sting of tears at the corner of your eyes, but they refused to fall.

The crackle of fire was the only sound now, louder and more ominous than ever. The flames had consumed everything in their path.

And then, the faintest flicker of movement caught your eye—an enforcer, their armor gleaming like a dark shadow, standing at the edge of the destruction. They had their back turned, focused on the chaos unfolding around them, the violence, the fire. They hadn’t seen the wreckage they’d left behind. They didn’t even notice you standing there.

But you saw them.

The anger and helplessness surged inside you, cold as ice. The world had taken everything from you—the life you knew, the people you loved. And in that moment, as the tears you had been holding back finally streamed down your face, the burning rage started to take root deep within you.

You woke with a sharp inhale, eyes wide and fearful, looking around your makeshift home as you panted, chest heaving, anxiety rising in your chest as you tried to calm down.

Just a dream, just a dream

It had felt more real than last time, the nightmares getting stronger each time. You groaned softly as you sat up in your cocoon of blankets and rugs, rubbing your temples as you tried to ease your mind.

You grab your bag, throwing it over your shoulder haphazardly as you make your way down the fire escape and down onto the dirty streets you had come to know. 

The streets of the Undercity had a familiar hum to them, the constant murmur of distant voices, clanging metal, and the occasional shout or crash. The air was thick with the smell of burning coal, stale sweat, and something far less pleasant that you couldn’t quite name. It felt like the UnderCity’s grime had seeped into your skin and never really left. Even now, as you walked among the wreckage of your life, it was all too familiar.

You rubbed at your eyes, trying to shake the vivid nightmare from your mind, but it clung to you like the oppressive fog that hung over the slums. The tightness in your chest wouldn’t loosen, no matter how many times you breathed in deeply. They weren’t real. Your family wasn’t gone. The fire hadn’t happened. It was just a haunting memory, a shadow of something that almost was.

But it felt real. And that was the worst part of it. It had always been the worst part of the nightmares—how everything felt so tangible, so vivid. You could hear Nia’s laugh. You could smell your mother’s perfume. The way your father’s hands had felt around your throat when he was angry. The weight of the grief that pressed into your chest when you realized they were all gone. All gone—and I didn’t even get to say goodbye.

It was enough to make you want to curl up in a corner and block it all out. But you couldn’t. Not today. You didn’t have the luxury of slowing down and feeling sorry for yourself.

The undercity didn’t wait for anyone.

You adjusted your bag, the weight of the various trinkets and scraps that filled it dragging at your shoulders as you walked. Your hands fidgeted, feeling the bruises that had yet to fade, the remnants of a life spent scraping by, of fights you’d won and lost. At least I’m still here. That was the only consolation you had left. Even if everything else felt wrong. Even if you felt broken inside, even if you were more scared than you let anyone see, you were still breathing.

You wandered through the streets, passing by familiar faces, the other street rats that wandered the same alleys you did. Some ignored you. Others gave you a glance that was too sharp to be friendly. Keep your head down. Don’t make waves. Stay small.

You didn’t really know where you were going; your feet carried you through the maze of metal and trash, through forgotten corners of the UnderCity that no one cared about. Places like these held their own kind of loneliness—like a pocket of emptiness that even the brightest fire couldn’t warm.

Your stomach growled—loudly, obnoxiously. That was the problem with skipping meals, trying to scrape by on what you could find, or what you could steal. Your pride didn’t let you ask for help. 

You groaned under your breath, reaching for your pouch to see how much you had left. A couple of cogs, a piece of broken glass you’d picked up somewhere, and some scraps of fabric that you had meant to sell, but hadn’t found a buyer for yet. Not exactly what you would call a hearty meal.

And that’s when you saw him.

A figure, hunched over in the alley ahead, fiddling with something. At first, you didn’t think much of it—another one of the city’s forgotten wandering souls. But something about the way he was moving caught your eye. It was the faint glint of metal against his hands, the way he seemed to be... repairing something?

You slowed, instinctively drawn to him, curiosity beating out caution for once. Your gaze locked onto the object in his hands, a small but delicate mechanical piece, a gear. You had seen something like it before—a few times, in fact. Was this... another tinker?

You took another step closer, and that’s when he noticed you. The stranger’s eyes flashed up, meeting yours for the briefest of moments before he quickly looked back at the gears in his hands.

Something about his demeanor made you pause, an unease settling in your gut. He's watching me too closely. But you couldn't place why, or even if you should care.

The silence between you two lingered for a beat, before he spoke in a voice rough with disuse. "You need something, kid?"

You hesitated for a moment, still unsure of what to make of him, before you nodded slowly. “I could use a meal.”

The man scoffed, flicking the gear in his hands one last time before tossing it to the ground, where it clattered against the pavement. He dusted off his hands before standing up fully, revealing his thin frame beneath a worn-out coat. His hair was messy, unkempt, his face haggard with the years of life lived under these same grimy skies. "Ain't no charity here, kid. You gotta earn your keep."

You winced at his words, but something in his tone stirred a defensive response in you, but- you bit your tongue.

Keep your head down, stay out of trouble

Those were the rules.

You fucking hated those rules.

You just turn away and walk off, you don't need to get into another fight, didn't need Sevika telling you off for not being careful enough.

Speaking off Sevika, you hadn't seen her in awhile, a week or two now. Where was she?

You found yourself searching for her, not really sure why you were, why bubbles of worry formed in your stomach. You checked her usual spots, the alleys where she played cards, the food booths where you two got food from time to time, you asked a few regulars if they had seen her, to no avail.

You shouldn't care, she was only a asset to you, a small help when you were at your lowest and yet-

You felt like you had found something.

Something that felt real, or at least as real as it gets in the Undercity.

You needed to find Sevika.