Enamor - Caitlyn Kiramman x Reader (WLW)

1 - Houses Divided

Disclaimer: According to a few sources, Caitlyn would be 16 in Act 1. I'm setting this two years before Act 1, making you two 13 (You) and 14 (Caitlyn). 

You belonged to House (L/N) of Piltover—a prestigious family with a well-known reputation. Nearly everyone in your lineage became either a brilliant scientist, doctor, nurse, or psychologist. Your family was beloved by many, and House (L/N) was often associated with kindness and acts of selflessness. 

Due to your family's high social standing, House (L/N) was deeply integrated with the council. Naturally, this led to you being close with the only child of the Kiramman's: Caitlyn.

Whenever Caitlyn practiced her marksmanship, you would watch, silently admiring her skill. It was thrilling to see her shoot down any target that crossed her line of sight. Her efficiency was something you were always envious of.

Even at her worst, she was a better sharpshooter than you could ever hope to be. But where you lacked skill with a gun, Caitlyn lacked creative talent. You thrived when any kind of artistic tool rested in your grasp.

Art was your passion. You were already painting shapes and fruit at a realistic level. People...? Well, not so much—but that would come with time. And you and Caitlyn knew you both had all the time in the world. 

____________________

The fog made everything feel a little eerie, the strange natural phenomena settling over the treeline. It seemed to highlight the shadows nestled within the pillars of bark and pine.

But you didn't mind, if you were being honest. Everything was a little less scary with Caitlyn around. You two were the closest of friends, after all. It didn't matter if things belt a bit unsettling now—you were just happy knowing you were supporting her in her passions. 

You settle down on the concrete steps of the old penthouse. It had been built on the shores of Piltover ages ago, near a cemetery a few miles away, nestled within the trees. The Kirammans often held private events here.

When they weren't hosting, the woods became Caitlyn's personal shooting grounds. 

"Y/N, watch carefully."

Caitlyn's voice suddenly broke your train of thought. She sounded happy. Proud of herself. 
You give her your full attention, watching as she loads her practice rifle with the dummy rounds she'd been supplied with.

It was safer that way. It made her parents feel better about letting her practice unsupervised, and it made you feel better about her not accidentally blowing her face off. Win-Win. Not that a bodyguard—or fifteen—weren't always within a mile of either of you.

Caitlyn steadies her rifle, aiming it at a target some 500 feet away. An easy shot for her. But this time, she held her rifle at a tilt, angling it. Normally, she shoots straight on, with the gun sitting vertical.

As expected, she hits her mark. The wooden target breaks with sharp 'crack!' almost in sync with the sound of the gun firing, a 'ptting!' ringing out as the bullet compresses against the wooden boards.

She turns her head to you, searching for validation. You smile. "That was amazing!" you say, giving her a small round of applause with tiny claps. She beams, utterly glowing.

Sure, her parents were proud of her, but they didn't show it often. Her father was usually preoccupied with tending his wife's stress or the house, and her mother was always swamped with council work. You were Caitlyn's main source of approval when her father wasn't there to smother her with praise.

"Thank you! I really feel like I'm starting to improve." She mutters happily, disarming her rifle and setting it down before jogging over to sit next to you, fidgeting with the dummy rounds in her hands. Her accent always seemed to thicken a bit when she was this happy.

"I think so too," you reply, giving her an approving nod. "I've never seen you tilt the gun like that. Is that new?" You ask, briefly glancing at the rifle before looking back at Caitlyn as she settles on the concrete beside you.

"It is! I've seen a few enforcers do it. I'm not sure what purpose it serves yet but... I'm sure I'll figure it out later." She replies confidently, though there's a slight hesitance in her voice. Typical Caitlyn—always two steps ahead of where she should be, likely diving in blind, way too motivated for her own good.

"Well, whatever it does, it looks cool." You say, suppressing a small laugh at her behavior. Always jumping the gun, that one.

She gives you a playful shove, smiling, and you both burst into light laughter. It's short-lived, but sweet—like so many moments between you. It wasn't a wonder you've managed to stay such close friends for so long.

You always hear that growing up means losing your friends or fighting more often—usually over petty things. But not you two. Never you two.

Eventually, Caitlyn breaks the comfortable silence. "How's that art piece coming along?" That's right. A few weeks ago, you'd started painting in a new style—mostly sunsets and skies focused on a single color. Beautiful, intricate pieces that took a long time to create.

"Pretty alright, I suppose. Nothing special." Caitlyn gives you another gentle shove. She never liked it when you downplayed your work. You can't help but smile as she starts talking again.

"Oh, shut it, would you? I'm sure it's great, Y/N." she says, feigning offense, though only partially. Of course she would be a little bothered by her best friend speaking negatively about herself. 

"Whatever, Cait." you mutter softly, smiling. She returns your smile before standing up and offering her hand to help you.

You place your hand in hers, and she pulls you up, bringing you briefly close to her. She takes a step back, massaging the wrist of her trigger hand.

"I'm getting pretty hungry. Should we head back home?" The moment Caitlyn says the word, your stomach lets out a god-awful rumble. It's been a few hours since you had arrived, and it's your usual lunchtime. Food definitely wouldn't hurt.

As you both make your way down the narrow path through the woods, a strange anxiety starts to creep in. You can't quite place why. Caitlyn continues walking ahead as you pause, looking around. She gets a few feet away before she realizes you're no longer with her.

The fog feels thicker in your lungs, and your heart pounds in your chest. You've never felt anything like this before. The sensation alone makes you uneasy, your eyes darting between the gaps in the trees around you, sheer paranoia overwhelming your senses.

"Everything alright, Y/N?" Caitlyn mutters, turning on her heel to face you.

Before she can finish her sentence, you feel a gruff arm around your waist, and a cloth pressed against your face. It smell is foul, and your eyes sting with tears as your strength drains quickly, leaving you unable to fight back.

The last thing you saw was the look of horror on Caitlyn's face as she froze, your escorts and guards rushing through the trees. But their efforts were too late. Your vision went black, eyes heavy with sleep.

You felt yourself being carried with haste to the shoreline and thrown onto a small motorboat. It hissed with steam before it started, rocketing you out of Caitlyn's reach.

"Y/N!?"

Then everything went silent.