#syndra x reader

And yet, it’s hard for two people regularly doing all the things you do not to grow closer to each other in the process. You have come to know the infamous assassin of Noxus, what she likes, what triggers her. So tonight you are sure something has ticked her off, judging by how fast your shirt and bra are damn near ripped off your torso.

Teeth latch on the spot underneath your jaw that never fails to make you weak. She sucks –hard– and you gasp out her name in a sound torn between begging and warning. The low chuckle that comes right by your ear makes you dig your nails into her toned biceps, the contours of which you can feel through her black, form-fitting blouse. You wish the smug bastard didn't turn you on so powerfully, alas. 

The haze of your mind hardly lets you notice when your knees hit the mattress. You only register that you are horizontal underneath her when she pulls back to look down at you, admiring her handiwork through darkened, smokey emeralds. 

A smirk as sharp as her knives curls her lips. “It really suits you, you know. Being at my mercy.”

Except she's known to show none. 

Syndra takes whatever she wants the moment she wants it. ‘No’ is a foreign word to her and certainly not one you think to say when she shows up out of nowhere, grabs you by the shoulder, then pushes you through a portal straight into her room. By the time the nausea dies down, your back is already against a wall, her succulent, dark-painted lips molded in-between yours. 

She always tastes of raw arcane. Every hungry kiss, every electric touch, every inch of her lithe body. Everything about her is limitless magic and unrestrained power, as addictive as the most potent drug. Against all common sense, you’re already hooked on her, wholly and completely. No matter how many times you have her, you can never get enough. 

If asked how this ordeal began, you have no answer to give. One moment you were stuck in a boring league event exchanging quips about Ionia with a white-haired, noble-looking woman –insufferably arrogant, but undeniably hot in her purple, slit dress. The next, she was sucking your tongue like a lollipop in an empty room. She took her pleasure on your fingers, then left you to gape after her as she opened a portal to a distinct fortress floating in the sky; the home of the Dark Sovereign. 

“Nothing smart to say now?” 

She repeats the words of your first time together against your mouth. Her hand slides up your chest to lock firmly around your neck, manicured nails biting ever-so-slightly in, guiding you down onto her queen-sized bed. She defies gravity with how gracefully she climbs on top. Two darkly-shining spheres trap your hands over your head while strong, warm, stocking-clad thighs squeeze your lower half into submission. 

“I prefer you quiet, anyway.” she smirks. “And completely at my mercy.” 

Elise likes to corner you. A lot. Whether it is in empty alcoves or the dark caverns where Black Rose meetings take place, she will block your path and slowly walk you back against the nearest wall. That is where you find yourself again, trapped between chitinous spider limbs and her forearms at either side of your head, her breath ghosting by the shell of your ear. Your heart thunders in your chest –the blood is rushing straight between your legs– and you're sure she can feel it. 

She's smiling. Enjoying this. You know she is. Elise appreciates having total control outside and inside the bedroom. She is an apex predator and you her willing victim; the fly that felt the spider's teeth scrape its skin and somehow survived, only to become addicted to the sensation. Every moment spent lost in her  is another date with danger, but that's what makes it so intoxicating. 

The inches of height she has on you bring your mouth level with the inviting crook of her neck, just at the ends of her chic crimson hair. The marble skin there calls to you like a siren. Her expensive perfume cocoons you in raw desire for her. Before you realize what you're doing you are worshiping her pulse point and she chuckles into your ear.

"Eager, are we?" she coos, long fingers winding through your hair to tilt your head back, so her mouth hovers above yours like sweet poison that's just about to drip. "I do like that."

A kiss comes; deep and sinful. One that is deceptively honeyed, if not for the bite on your upper lip as you part. Her hands push down on your shoulders and your knees touch the cold ground, but you do not much care. Not when her fingers curl under your chin and guide it on her thigh, at the gaps of her outfit. 

“Good.” she praises. “Don't you forget that is your place; on your knees between my legs, entirely at my mercy.” 

Evelynn is unpredictable on her best days. The idol could come up to you simply to link your arms as you walk through a crowd because she's feeling possessive, then ignore you for the rest of the day. Likewise, she may lean into your ear in public, whisper the kinkiest, hottest thing imaginable, then maintain her aloof poker face while you ache for her for hours. 

Tonight her hand –absent the ring-claws, thankfully– is firm on your stomach, walking you back until you are pressed against the hood of her Lamborghini. She teases her dark, glossy mouth just above yours the entire time, enticing you with what you can have as a reward if you play nice. Her creamy thigh slides between your legs like smoke, locks you against her heat and the cool metal of her car. 

Whining her name and straining to kiss her only earn you a lethal smirk. Evelynn instead traps your chin between a thumb and pointer, turns it the other way so you bare your neck to her like an offering. Plush, full lips brand your already heated skin, before pearly teeth join in to set your stomach on fire. Her expensive scent, her ministrations, her perfect body, they're almost too much to handle at once. 

Satisfied after you are sufficiently marked as hers, she guides you by the chin into the liplock you've been craving. The sensation of kissing her is otherworldly; like you're suspended on a dark cloud, in a world of promises dripping sin. The hand on your stomach pushes you more firmly, in a way that would make the edges of the car behind you hurt if pain didn't only enhance pleasure in this moment. Then her nails bite into your skin a little, drag down to the belt of your pants… 

“You're such a pretty sight like this, darling.” she grins. “I do so love to have you at my mercy.”

LeBlanc is a secret shrouded in smoke and mirrors. You never know what to expect with her, if she will act indifferent towards you as if you have never tasted the dark velvet lipstick on her lips, or find her way into your room in the dead of night to keep you up for hours. It is her name that leaves your throat hoarse the following day, but you can never know if she was ever really with you, or if it was all another illusion. 

Even now, with her cool, long fingers slithering down your bare stomach –gods, the tremors her touch leaves in its wake– another set of hands undressing you from behind, rubbing teasing circles on your shoulders while two mouths suck languorously on opposite sides of your neck, you aren’t sure which is the clone. Maybe they both are. The real her could be sitting at a darkened corner of her room, admiring the view with a glass of wine in hand. You want to banish the thought that she may not even be here.

Then again, perhaps there is no use seeking her out at all. As she has told you, there is little difference between herself and her clones. She is her duplicates and she is everywhere. Right this moment, she is everywhere around you. On you. In you. All you can smell is the subtle spice of her perfume as she tugs your hair to expose more of your neck to her. All you can see is her burning violet gaze and her sultry smirk that makes you ache for a kiss. If this is nothing but a dream, you still don’t ever want to wake up. 

Instead, you open your mouth to ask for more, yet her finger has already silenced you. LeBlanc leans close, close enough that you can feel the vibration of her voice on your lips;