quartz-kilsviken

[quartz-kilsviken]

Honest, Messy, Vivid Color

Chapter 3

➸Synopsis: Brooklyn Elementary has been your second home for over a decade. When the Blip hit, 22 of your kindergartners vanished in an instant. Now, five years later, they're finally coming back and you're doing everything you can to be ready. While hauling supplies back to your classroom, you meet your new neighbor: Bucky Barnes. His photo's been on your classroom wall for years, alongside Steve Rogers', both former students of the very school you now teach in.

Or

Bucky Barnes falls for the colorful, optimistic, and slightly clumsy kindergarten teacher who lives across the hall.

TW: Brief mentions of experience of SA, but it will be kept vague. Not by Bucky, or any present characters.

➸Pairing: James ‘Bucky’ Barnes x Reader

➸Chapter Word Count: 2,120

➸Tags: Slow Burn, neighbors, friends to lovers, eventual smut, no use on Y/N, MDNI, 18+

➸Chapter Note: When I said slow burn I hope y’all know I meant it. Man, it’s crazy how much the Blip is glossed over in the MCU. Like, if that happened to me I’d go insane. On another note, Bucky, you’re really obvious buddy. (Maybe obvious to everyone but the reader) (´～｀ヾ)

➸Previous Chapter Link

It’s been a little over three months since the young teacher spoke at his support group. After that night, she never came back. Steve had tried not to worry. At the time, the school year had just ended, and she didn’t seem to be around the building much. Still, he found himself wandering the halls an hour before his meeting was supposed to start.

They were a couple weeks into the new school year now, and from what he could tell, she was busy. Her door was propped open, giving him a clear view of the room and of her hunched over a large desk, writing furiously. He stayed far enough down the hall to avoid being seen, debating whether to try and coax her into joining the group again. He knew better than to push, especially with someone he barely knew. But something had been nagging at him ever since he’d caught her peeking around the corner that night, trying to see who was staying so late in the gym.

“She’s always been like this, you know.”

He jumped. Tried not to, but failed. He’d been so lost in thought, he hadn’t heard the older woman walk up beside him.

“What—uh, what do you mean?” he asked. If she noticed the stumble in his voice, she didn’t mention it.

“Always burying herself in work. Don’t get me wrong, this job takes a lot of time especially with the younger kids, but with her it’s everything.” The woman’s eyes met his, tired but sharp. “She moved here from California a few years ago. I think she’s got family there, but they’ve never visited. Never takes time off to see them. Doesn’t have many friends either. Some of the younger teachers have tried, but she keeps everyone at arm’s length. It’s gotten worse lately.”

Steve frowned, letting that settle. “There are only three teachers left, right?”

“Some of the parents blamed us,” she said quietly. “She’d taken over the day everything went to shit. Spent the entire day getting screamed at. Parents telling her she should’ve paid better attention, like she could’ve changed anything.” She scoffed and rubbed her temple. “Next day, she was back in the building, organizing, making plans. I don’t think she’s ever stopped. Never let herself be angry or sad. Never let anyone in.” Her gaze softened just slightly. “I think it’s good what you’re doing. Giving back. Trying to help people through this. But you need to understand something, Rogers—some people don’t want to be saved.”

That wasn’t what he expected her to say.

He stayed there for a few seconds, watching as the woman shuffled away, her cane tapping gently against the hardwood. He’d heard that line before ‘Some people don’t want to be saved.’ He resented it. Maybe it was true. Maybe some people didn’t. But that didn’t mean you shouldn’t try.

Still, as he looked toward the classroom, toward her, he knew it wasn’t that simple.

He’d come back next week.

Standing in your full-length mirror, you give your outfit one more look. It’s the first day of school, and you always wear the same thing each year to welcome your students.

When you were hired to teach at Brooklyn Elementary, you were overwhelmed. It was a new city, and knowing no one in the area, the loneliness felt all-consuming. That is, until you met the woman you had been hired to replace.

Like most teachers, she had continued teaching until she physically couldn’t anymore, rather than retire. She had popped into the room, offered you her last words of wisdom, and handed you a gift. It was a denim overall dress, hand-embroidered. At the hem of the skirt and on the front pocket were classic images—cute little yellow pencils, blue scissors, and bright red apples. She said she had made it to wear every year on her first day, and she hoped you’d continue the tradition.

This will be the second time most of your students have seen the dress, and you’re trying not to get overwhelmed by the thought. Pairing it with a bright red top and a matching bow, you pull on your shoes and get ready to head out for the day.

Stopping at your door, you pause, pulling out your phone.

You haven’t seen Bucky in the past few days, which isn’t surprising. You’ve been spending most of your time in your classroom preparing, or coming home to sleep before picking the work back up again. It’s been hard keeping your thoughts from finding reasons to reach out.

You hadn’t told him you put your number in his phone. If he wanted to use it, he would. He hasn’t which, honestly, you understand. But you can’t help the way your hopes rise each time you glance at your notifications.

It’s not just that he’s good company that’s been feeding your desire to see him again.

It’s the notebook.

You had your suspicions about what had happened to Steve, but a part of you had been hoping he was just busy doing… whatever it is superheroes do.

When you had taken Bucky’s phone, your first warning bell had come from his contact list—or rather, who wasn’t in it. He only had a few names listed, and only two he had actually contacted recently. Steve was nowhere to be seen.

The second red flag was the tiny notebook he had handed you. You’d seen it before. Your writing was already on one of the pages. And you knew if Steve had passed it on to him, he likely wasn’t around anymore.

Bucky’s alone.

Bucky, according to Steve, doesn’t ask for help, content helping others around him.

You’ve decided: after school today, you’ll find an excuse to see him. If he wants to turn you down, so be it.

Finally ready, you give one last check, making sure you’re not leaving anything behind before stepping out into the hall.

“Apples suit you.”

You practically drop your keys from the way you startle. Well, looks like you won’t have to wait until after school.

“This building is a thousand years old. How do you manage to open your door and walk out here without making a single sound? You almost gave me a heart attack.” You can’t help the smile taking over as you finally turn to him.

“Well, I could always just start humming songs everywhere I go like you do.”

Surely that’s an exaggeration, right? Okay—maybe not. But the teaching songs are so catchy, it’s hard not to.

“Maybe you should. I’ll teach you some.”

Stepping into the elevator, you try to calm your nerves before continuing. “Where are you headed this fine morning?”

“There’s a coffee shop over on 4th Street. Heard they have good muffins. Figured I’d try it out.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, eyes fixed on the elevator doors. After a breath, he finally adds, “If you have time before heading in—”

“I’d love to go! Honestly, I forgot to eat this morning. I’ve been all over the place.”

You’re blessed by the appearance of his crooked smile as he leads you out of the building and onto the busy street.

Since everyone came back, it’s been hard to get used to all the people again. It can get so overwhelming at times, but being next to him makes it easier. Where you’d usually have to dodge people to avoid getting shoved, you don’t have to worry, tucked close to his side as you both move through the crowd.

Finally reaching the shop, you’re thankful for the cool air that greets you as Bucky props open the door. The inside is cute, with dark wood and brick that make it feel homey. And he was right about the muffins. You can smell them, freshly baked.

You try to bite back a laugh at the way Bucky scans the menu. He looks genuinely offended by it, brows drawn tight, and you doubt he even realizes it.

“There are a lot of coffee shops now. A lot of choices. It’s… a lot.”

“Well, stick to the classics then. You can’t go wrong with brewed coffee and a blueberry muffin. And lucky for you, almost every café has them.”

“Is that what you’re getting?”

You pretend to consider it before turning to him.

“No. I like sugar with a side of coffee, so my go-to is a vanilla latte. I will be sticking with the muffin, though.”

His face says ‘I knew it’ as he turns to the register. Without asking, he places the order and pays for yours.

You both settle at a small table near the window. You’ve done this a million times, but no matter how much you prepare, you always end up forgetting something. The kids will be excited. Some you’ve already taught, but for the others, it’s their first time being in a school.

Looking out the window, you try to push away the image of the empty rug from five years ago. They’re back now. They’re here. But what if it’s temporary? What if that alien guy comes back—and Captain America isn’t around to fix it?

“You’re nervous.”

It’s not a question.

“Is it that obvious?”

Bucky looks concerned, which makes you realize how far you’d let your thoughts spiral. That’s not something you can risk doing in front of the kids. You take a breath and try to steady yourself.

“I’m always like this. First day and all.”

He hums, but something in it tells you he’s not convinced.

When your name is called, you jump up before he has the chance to move.

“You treated me. The least I can do is go get them.”

At the counter, you take a second to collect yourself. Get it together. The world isn’t ending today, and you’re in a coffee shop with a man who has enough to deal with without you falling apart.

The group in the far corner finally leaves, and the shop quiets. You grab the cups and the bag of pastries, then turn toward the table.

He’s not there.

The seat by the window, where he’d just been, is empty. He didn’t follow you to the counter. He’s not in the bathroom either.

“Bucky?”

You try to keep your voice steady as you approach the table. Turning quickly, you scan the shop again.

“Buck—”

A firm hand lands on your shoulder. When you turn, he’s there, looking more worried than before.

“Hey, hey. What’s going on? I just went to get some sugar.”

“I thought—”

That you disappeared.

But he didn’t. No one did. The shop is the same. The couple in the back corner. The baristas at work. Nothing’s changed.

His hand shifts gently to your face, guiding your gaze back to him. He doesn’t say anything, just takes the coffee from your hands and leads you outside.

The walk is quiet. The school halls are filled only by the muffled sounds of teachers preparing for the day.

You hadn’t asked him to walk you all the way to your classroom, but he led you there anyway.

Once inside, he goes straight to the windows and props them open. Thankfully, the weather isn’t as hot today.

He always moves so naturally, confident in any space he’s in. You hadn’t noticed how tall he is—or maybe you had—but it’s more obvious now, when he’s standing next to such tiny furniture. It almost makes you laugh. This man was a soldier. He fought in World War II, was forced to do things you don’t even want to imagine, and yet here he is, surrounded by crayons, number blocks, and storybooks.

It makes you wonder what he would have done if there had never been a war. What he wants to do now.

You try to gather yourself as he walks over to where you’re propped against your desk.

For a moment, he just studies you. His eyes make it feel like he can see straight through every tiny crack in your heart.

“They’re not going anywhere.”

And the way he says it—with complete certainty—actually makes you believe it.

You grab his arm to steady yourself and try to sound more confident than you feel.

“My first year, I misspelled my last name when I wrote it on the board. And yeah, they couldn’t read yet, but every year I’m scared I’ll do it again.”

He laughs. It’s short but louder than you’ve ever heard from him and you swear your heart stops.

Before he leaves, he pauses by the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

Every nerve you woke up with melts away as he watches you, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah, Buck. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

[quartz-kilsviken]

Please send Marvel one-shot fic requests

(੭ु ›ω‹ )੭ु⁾⁾♡

Thunderbolts* violently sent me back into my Marvel phase. Currently fixated on Bucky, but I’ve been obsessed with Loki since the release of the first Avengers. I stick to x reader content and would love to write about the following characters: Loki, Bucky, Sam Wilson, Yelena, and Bob from pretty much any MCU era but willing to consider other characters if the inspiration strikes ◟(◔ั₀◔ั )◞ ༘♡

[quartz-kilsviken]

Honest, Vivid, Messy Color

Chapter 2

➸ Synopsis: Brooklyn Elementary has been your second home for over a decade. When the Blip hit, 22 of your kindergartners vanished in an instant. Now, five years later, they're finally coming back and you're doing everything you can to be ready. While hauling supplies back to your classroom, you meet your new neighbor: Bucky Barnes. His photo's been on your classroom wall for years, alongside Steve Rogers, both former students of the very school you now teach in.

Or

Bucky Barnes falls for the colorful, optimistic, and slightly clumsy kindergarten teacher who lives across the hall.

TW: Brief mentions of experience of SA, but it will be kept vague. Not by Bucky, or any present characters.

➸Pairing: James ‘Bucky’ Barnes x reader

➸Chapter word count: 2,258

➸ Tags: Slow Burn, neighbors, friends to lovers, eventual smut, no use on Y/N, MDNI, 18+

➸Chapter Note: Woohoo~ Bucky POV! We don’t like Dr Raynor in this house. To quote Bucky Barnes, “You’re a terrible shrink.” (눈_눈)

➸Previous Chapter Link

➸Next Chapter Link

“Tell me how you spend your day, now that you’re a civilian.”

Dr. Raynor manages to make even a simple question sound like an accusation. ‘You’re wasting your new life already, James?’

This is his fifth session with the psychiatrist the government requires him to see. He understands why, honestly, but that doesn’t mean he has to fully cooperate. He’ll sit here, show her he’s alive and not planning on going rogue or hurting anyone, then leave.

The office is nice enough. Nothing fancy. It has a big window, a few plants. The building is kept cold, which he wouldn’t normally enjoy, but with how hot it is in New York—

“I asked you a question, James.”

Bucky sighs and shifts his attention from the window to the woman sitting across from him.

“I wake up, go for a walk to get breakfast, and then I go home.”

“That’s it?”

What does she want him to say? He’s doing exactly what they told him to do.

He clenches his jaw a few times, trying to figure out how to appease her.

“I’m not hurting anyone.”

“You’re not living either. When’s the last time you talked to someone?”

He watches as Dr. Raynor pulls out her notebook. She clicks her pen a few times, and he tries not to cringe at the sound. Clearly, she doesn’t like his answer.

“My neighbor. Two days ago. I walked her to the school she works at.”

That seems to surprise her, which Bucky tries not to take offense to. He hadn’t planned to bring up the girl across the hall—especially not because it would lead to her classroom, which would lead to the photo. Or worse, it might lead to the fact that he’s been wanting to find a reason to talk to her again.

He’s spoken briefly to others in the building, mostly the older residents. They seem to enjoy small talk, likely because they don’t have much family in the area. That’s fine. But this had been different.

He’d seen her around the building, always a little lost in her own world. A flash of color, bright smiles lighting up the otherwise dark hallways.

Bucky had been a soldier, had done things most people couldn’t imagine. And yet, somehow, he found her intimidating.

It was easier to just keep to himself.

Two days ago, he’d been planning his usual walk to get breakfast. He paused by his door, listening for signs of the other residents.

The older man to the left of his apartment was already in the kitchen, pots clanging, curses echoing faintly through the paper-thin walls. The middle-aged woman on the right was still asleep. He didn’t have to listen hard to know; her snoring could probably be heard through the whole building.

The girl across from him, though, she seemed to be getting ready to go somewhere. Soft footsteps across the floor, boxes being dragged, closet doors opening and closing.

Peeking through the small peephole, Bucky watched as she finally stepped into the hallway but his usual view of the pretty woman was blocked by a stack of large boxes, filled to the brim with strange, colorful items.

He realized quickly what was about to happen. The building was old, untouched for years, and loose floorboards were scattered throughout. One of them sat directly where she was about to step.

Without thinking, he opened his door and stepped out, managing to grab the boxes just as she tripped.

Bucky told himself it was the polite thing to do, walking her to the school. He had been planning on trying a new diner, but that was in the opposite direction of Brooklyn Elementary, so he’d just plan on trying it another day. He knew it was obvious he had trouble keeping a conversation, it made most people uncomfortable. They’d often find ways to leave. She didn’t seem to mind, likely patience learned from having to talk to children all day. It had been going well enough, until she stopped walking. He felt his skin go cold, bracing for what was about to happen. It was rare that people recognized him. He probably shouldn’t, but part of him was thankful for the Blip, only because it meant people forgot about Hydra and the worldwide manhunt for him.

“You're on my wall!”

He—what?

She quickly seemed to realize how lost he was. “Wow, that sounded incredibly weird out loud. What I meant was, you’re Bucky Barnes, right? I have a photo up in my classroom. You and Steve Rogers.”

Right. Okay. Bucky Barnes. Sergeant Barnes. That means, though, she likely knows who he was after, and he’s fighting the part of him that wants to ask. He had planned then to place the boxes in her class and quickly make his exit, content to go back to avoiding her. But he found it hard to walk away—made harder by the conversation about the photo.

“Well, what did the two of you talk about?” Dr. Raynor’s curiosity is evident, and Bucky wants to shut it down before it gets too far.

“Not much.” Good. She deflates, finally closing her notebook.

“James, you can’t shut yourself out. I understand having a hard time talking to new people, but you should at least make some effort. Have you had any contact with Sam?”

The brick phone the government issued him sits heavy in his jacket pocket. He knows how to use plenty of advanced tech, touch screens aren’t a problem, and yet he can’t figure out how to send a text with this thing.

“I call him.” Which isn’t a lie. What he’s keeping to himself, however, is that Sam almost never answers. Instead, he receives a text along the lines of ‘Can’t call right now. Send a text like a normal person.’

“That’s good.” Dr. Raynor glances at the clock, realizing their session is over. “I want you to continue to work on that this week. Keep in contact with Sam, and try to talk to others around you, even if it’s brief.”

As Bucky rides the elevator up to his apartment floor and steps out into the hall, he pauses. One of the first things he noticed about the girl across the hall is that she almost always has music playing softly. Not loud enough to bother anyone, he certainly doesn’t mind. Usually, it’s something he doesn’t recognize, but every so often it’s a song or singer he’s familiar with.

He thinks again about his phone. He could’ve asked Dr. Raynor to show him how to use it, but he would rather ask literally anyone else on the planet. He could call Sam and ask, but that would mean Sam would need to pick up, which is why he’s in this situation to begin with. His other neighbors are likely just as clueless as he is. Except one.

Rocking on his heels, he flips the phone around in his pocket, glancing down the hall. She wouldn’t question why he needed help. She already knows who he is. But that’s exactly why he hesitates. Sure, she didn’t seem scared of him at the school, but in her own home it might be a whole other story. He would stay in the hall, she could quickly show him, and then he could disappear into his apartment, leaving her to whatever it is she’s doing.

Bucky hesitates before knocking on her door, stepping back to leave a generous amount of space between himself and the frame. She answers quickly, and he tries to hide how relieved he is when a smile overtakes her face.

“No way, I was just thinking about you!”

He’s starting to realize it’s impossible to predict what she’s going to say.

“I mean, I was thinking about ways to properly thank you for the other day. I landed on baking cookies—they should be done now.”

He watches her disappear into her apartment, stunned. Is he supposed to follow? This wasn’t the plan. He was supposed to just get help and leave. His question is answered when she pops around the corner, gesturing for him to come inside before disappearing again.

It’s a mirror layout to his own apartment, but it couldn’t be more different. It’s warm, lived in, and bright. Everything is kept neat and organized, which is good considering the amount of things she has. Making his way to the kitchen, he watches as she removes a baking sheet from the oven, then turns the heat off.

“They need a few minutes to cool.” She catches herself, like something dawns on her. “I didn’t even ask why you’re here.”

“I was hoping you could help me with something.” He pulls the phone from his pocket. “I can’t figure out how to send a text on this thing.”

She takes the phone from his hand, making her way over to the dining table and pulling out a chair for him. Taking a seat, he watches as she flips it open, a soft hum escaping as she presses a few buttons.

“Government-issued, isn’t it? They gave you the most impractical phone ever invented.” Scooting closer, she angles the screen so he can see. “It’s simple once you get the hang of it, just tedious. Each number correlates to three letters. You have to rotate through each before getting to the one you need. See, let’s say you want to spell out the word ‘hi.’ You’ll need to press the number 4 two times, then the number 4 three times.”

Bucky made the right decision. There’s no judgment, no questions he doesn’t want to answer, just a simple explanation. Relaxing, he leans in a bit more to see it better.

“You’re right, that is tedious.”

Her soft laugh fills the space. “A whole language was created for these phones, you know. Abbreviations of words, so you don’t take an hour sending a single message.”

He watches as she suddenly pops out of her chair. “I’ll write you a guide. But I will warn you—you’ll sound like a mid-2000s teenager in your texts.”

He can’t help but laugh, even if he doesn’t entirely know what that means. If Sam makes fun of him, he doesn’t care. He should be thankful he’s getting a message in the first place.

As she rummages around for a pen, Bucky pulls the small notebook he has tucked into his back pocket. “You can write it in here.”

She pauses at that before gently taking the book. He’s not sure what caused the shift, maybe she just wasn’t expecting him to have one. Bucky himself isn’t even really sure why he’s been carrying it around. Steve had given it to him, said he used to write down things people recommended: music, movies, things he missed while in the ice. But he hasn’t really looked through it. Hasn’t wanted to learn about the years he missed. He’s not going back, anyway.

She sits down again, beginning to write in the book. He can tell she’s hesitant to ask something, which is strange, given how she tends to just say whatever pops into her head. It doesn’t last long though, her soft voice breaks through the scribbling sound of the pen.

“You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, but… can I ask what happened to Steve?”

Oh.

Taking a deep breath, he tries to figure out how to answer that. It’s not exactly simple, and not something they’re sharing with others. She’d mentioned wanting to update the photo on the wall, add where he and Steve are in life currently. He could lie. But honestly, he really doesn’t want to lie to her.

“He passed away. After he won the fight and brought everyone back.”

She seems to have expected that answer. She finally looks up from her writing. “I’m sorry, Bucky.”

He doesn’t like seeing her sad, it feels like he just committed a crime, making someone so kind and gentle feel anything other than happy. She slides the book over to him as she stands, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. Another thing he’s noticed she does. Which, for some reason, he doesn’t mind.

He watches as she uses the counter to push herself up, barely reaching a container kept on the top shelf of the cabinet. She piles the cookies inside, then turns back to him—and he notices her pause. He’s smiling way more than he probably should be, and she definitely noticed.

“They’re chocolate chip. I like to keep things classic. Mostly because I’m not the best baker in the world. If you ever want a mean lasagna, though, I’m your girl.”

He can’t help the sound of amusement that escapes.

“Thanks for the cookies and for helping an old man navigate modern technology,” he says with a smile. Her soft laughter trails after him as they walk toward the front door. God, that laugh. He wishes he were funnier, just to hear it one more time.

“I wouldn’t call that modern. I’m happy to help, as long as it means I can get you to carry more things for me.”

He would. But instead of saying that, he flashes one more smile before bidding her goodnight.

Back in his apartment, he pauses, listening to the music coming from hers again. His space feels so empty. Cold.

Sighing, he sinks onto the couch, pulling out the notebook and phone, deciding to try sending a text to Sam. As he scrolls through his contacts, something catches his eye. He smiles, noticing her name.

[quartz-kilsviken]

Honest, Messy, Vivid Color

Chapter 1

➸ Synopsis: Brooklyn Elementary has been your second home for over a decade. When the Blip hit, 22 of your kindergartners vanished in an instant. Now, five years later, they’re finally coming back and you’re doing everything you can to be ready. While hauling supplies back to your classroom, you meet your new neighbor: Bucky Barnes. His photo’s been on your classroom wall for years, alongside Steve Rogers’, both former students of the very school you now teach in.

Or

Bucky Barnes falls for the colorful, optimistic, and slightly clumsy kindergarten teacher who lives across the hall.

TW: Brief mentions of experience of SA, but it will be kept vague. Not by Bucky, or any present characters.

➸ Pairing: James ‘Bucky’ Barnes x Reader

➸ Chapter Word Count: 3,316

➸Tags: Slow Burn, neighbors, friends to lovers, eventual smut, no use on Y/N, MDNI, 18+

➸Notes: This story takes place after Endgame but before The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. I’m starting college in a few weeks to become a teacher, so this is purely self-indulgent. I also just love the idea of Bucky falling in love with someone who dresses like Ms. Frizzle. It’s a slow burn—Bucky’s just left Wakanda and needs time to defrost as he adjusts to civilian life. I won’t be sticking to any strict MCU timelines, but we’ll get to TFATWS eventually. Mostly because I love Sam Wilson. ♡ ～('▽^人)

➸ Next Chapter Link

“I’m afraid to leave my apartment now. Like, what if she comes back and I’m not there? I find myself just sitting on the kitchen floor, waiting, until I realize it’s been an entire day.”

The room fills with sympathetic hums as the man across from you speaks. He’s new to the group, middle-aged and sharing his experience from the day half the world disappeared, almost a year ago. Everyone has a similar story, feelings of guilt for surviving, not wanting to move on. Others fall apart or just try to disappear with the ones they lost.

“But you came here today. That’s a good start.”

Steve Rogers’ voice is calming, his eyebrows knitted in understanding. It’s strange, seeing the man in person. Brooklyn Elementary is filled with plaques and photos of Captain America, proud to boast their superhero alumnus. It was what stood out to you the most on your first day teaching here. Most of the plaques are gathering dust now, even as you sit in the school’s gym with the man himself.

“This tragedy is a tie. It connects us all. A blanket of grief no one is free from,” Steve continues. “It can feel easy to get lost in others’ experiences, to minimize your own. It creates a quiet cage that becomes difficult to escape. It’s important to talk about it, to share what you’ve been through so you can create community. That’s why I’m proud of each of you for taking the step to come here today.”

He always speaks with an air of authority, even though you can see how the grief is eating away at him too. This is your tenth week attending his support group. Every Friday, a small group of around six people gathers in the gymnasium of the school.

You had stayed late one night, losing track of time while preparing a lesson plan for the following week. With only three teachers left, including you, the students had to be combined. Your normal group of kindergartners had expanded to include students from kindergarten through third grade. You had to juggle vastly different stages of learning. Still, not every seat in your class is filled. Only a small group of kids remains from each age group.

On your way out that night, you saw the gym light still on and wandered over to peek inside. You quickly realized it was the support group you had seen advertised on flyers all over the city. You tried to sneak away, but of course Rogers caught you and invited you to join. So you did. You sat quietly, listening to his words of wisdom and humming along as others spoke. You never spoke yourself. No one ever pushed, which you appreciated.

“Would anyone else like to share?” Steve glances expectantly around the small group.

You straighten in your seat, taking a breath to gather yourself. You hadn’t planned to speak today. You were determined to continue as a silent supporter. However, today is the last day of school before summer vacation. It should have been the last day with all of your kids, their excitement filling your classroom as they prepared to move on to first grade.

Steve notices immediately, trying and failing not to show how excited he is that you are finally planning to speak.

“I’ve been a teacher here for almost seven years now,” you begin. “Anytime people hear I teach kindergartners, I always get the same response. ‘You have more patience than I do,’ or ‘I could never be around that many five-year-olds at once.’”

Small laughs echo around the gym as you continue.

“But there’s something so special about them. Their young minds are excited to learn, constantly growing. The way they see the world is so bright. It’s infectious. It’s the reason my closet looks like a crayon box.”

You take a shaky breath, trying to push the visions from your mind. You can’t fall apart. Not when they’re all counting on you.

“Rebecca, Liam, Joey, Maria J., and Caleb. I had 27 kids, and they’re the only ones left. They had just come back from recess. You’d think they’d be tired, but honestly, they were practically bouncing off the walls. Cassie and Dina were arguing about not wanting to be friends anymore. Every argument, every problem they have may seem small to us, but to them it’s everything. It’s the hardest thing they’ve had to deal with in their little lives. So, I decided to pivot from my regular plans and read instead. It’s funny. The book I picked was called ‘Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day’. They were chiming in with their own experiences with bad luck, laughing with each other. I turned away for one second to turn the page, and all of a sudden my class was completely silent.”

You keep your eyes down. You know that if you look at anyone, you’ll see the tears forming. If you see that, you won’t be able to finish.

“Honestly, most of the day is a blur now. I tried to find all of the kids. Some were hiding because they were scared. A lot of the teachers were gone too. The worst part was when the parents showed up, and I had to tell them their kids were gone. I still hear it. The crying. The desperate wailing from losing their child. Today would have, should have, been their last day with me. I still get up every morning, pick out something bright to wear, and practice my smile because I can’t fall apart. I won’t do that to my kids. They’ve already lost everything. It’s my job to help these kids grow in a world that feels like it’s ended.”

You don’t really remember how anyone responded. Steve had a speech about allowing yourself to feel the loss or something equally profound. You didn’t go to any more meetings after that day.

Now, four years later, you look around your brightly decorated apartment, checking for any last supplies to bring to the classroom. The school year begins in just two weeks, and this time, it will be filled with the 22 students who never got to finish story time.

You grab a stack of cardstock paper from the storage closet and pack it into one of the large totes. New York is hot and sticky, and without a car, walking a few blocks to the school already feels like enough of a challenge. The goal is simple: make only one trip. Carrying three large storage totes and two rolled-up posters shouldn't be too hard.

Okay, maybe it will be. But confidence is key.

With the posters tucked under one arm, you bend to lift the boxes. The first obstacle appears as soon as you reach the door: trying to hold it open with your foot while balancing everything in one hand. Things might have gone smoothly if you hadn’t forgotten about the loose floorboard just outside, perfectly positioned to catch your foot.

You picture crayons, paper, and blocks spilling across the hallway as you brace for impact. But it never happens. A pair of gloved hands steps in, taking the boxes from your arms with steady ease.

Peeking around the stack, you finally get a good look at your unexpected savior.

"I figured I’d at least make it out of the building before covering the floor in paint and glitter." You try to keep the embarrassment out of your voice, but it slips through anyway.

He isn’t a familiar face, though that’s hardly surprising. With half the population returning to the land of the living, new neighbors show up constantly. Still, this one stands out—absurdly handsome, with an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

"I’m curious, what was your plan for locking the door?" he asks, shifting to effortlessly balance the large boxes with one arm.

You fish your keys out of your pocket and step back to your door, clicking the lock into place.

"My plan was to make a fool of myself and hope a gracious neighbor would take pity and save me." You sidestep the loose board this time on your way back. "So, thank you for saving me, uh…"

“Bucky.”

You give your name in return and start straightening your satchel, adjusting the posters still tucked under your arms as you prepare to reclaim the boxes. Something about him tugs at your memory. Maybe you have seen him around before.

Taking a closer look, you study his features. Deep blue eyes, neatly trimmed hair, and a tall, alert stance. His eyebrows lift, nearly hitting his hairline. He definitely asked something you didn’t hear.

He lets out a soft huff, the crooked smile threatening to distract you again.

"Where are you headed with all of this?" he repeats, clearly entertained.

"Oh! I’m walking to Brooklyn Elementary. The school year starts soon, and I need to set up my classroom."

Before you can try to take the boxes back, he turns and walks a few steps to the door directly across from yours. You try not to feel jealous of how effortlessly he pulls his keys from his pocket and locks the door before turning back to you.

“I’ll walk you. I’m heading that way anyway.”

“You really don’t have to do that,” you start, but he’s already walking toward the elevator at the end of the hall.

“Well, the city’s covered in enough graffiti. I don’t want to add to it by letting you create a rainbow mural on the ground.” You can’t help but laugh at the seriousness in his tone as you both step into the elevator. If your neighbor wants to be, well, neighborly, who are you to stop him?

Out on the bustling street, you fall in step just behind Bucky. He clearly knows his way around, his stride confident and purposeful. It’s funny, he’s polite and clearly kind, but his expression is all hard edges, moving like he’s on a mission. Every so often, he glances back to check on you, probably making sure you’re not about to faceplant again.

“So, you grew up in Brooklyn?” You ask, now walking beside him.

“Yeah, I did. How do you know that?” He gives you a puzzled look that makes you laugh under your breath.

“Well, you’re taking a shortcut to the school that took me years to figure out. You seem pretty familiar with the area.” He relaxes slightly, jaw shifting like he’s deciding how to answer. It’s the same look your kids get when they’re trying to figure out a tough question, debating whether to risk saying the wrong thing or just go with the safe answer: I don’t know. So you do what you always do with them. You wait and give him the space to decide.

“I actually went to Brooklyn Elementary. But that was a long time ago. My friend and I always took this shortcut, left early so we could mess around before school started.” His eyes crinkle a little as he remembers, a small laugh escaping, but you don’t think he realizes it. “We always ended up being late.”

It’s the smile. That’s what does it. It just seems so familiar.

“Have we met before? I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere.” The words slip out before you can stop them, and you immediately regret it. His soft smile fades into something more neutral, brows drawing together into a crease.

“Uh, maybe. I moved in a few weeks ago.” He’s looking ahead again, adjusting the boxes in his grip like he’s trying to stay busy. His soldier posture. That smile. Him saying ‘That was a long time ago.’

You stop dead in your tracks as it clicks.

He turns toward you, posture somehow even stiffer than before.

You can’t help the grin spreading across your face. “You’re on my wall!”

Okay, well. That was the single creepiest thing you could have said.

You rush to recover, but the look on his face says you’ve already lost him to confusion. “Wow, that sounded incredibly weird out loud. What I meant was, you’re Bucky Barnes, right? I have a photo up in my classroom. You and Steve Rogers.”

His brows raise as you both continue your walk, and you see him shifting through his responses again. Your first year teaching, you had done your research about the area. One section of your wall was decorated with bubble letters spelling out the words "Local Heroes." It took a lot of time to complete, filling it with photos of both historical and current important community members. Firefighters, nurses, etc. and of course, Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers. Below each photo, there's a short overview of their lives and accomplishments. The kids love it, especially when they have a family member who makes it onto the wall.

Whatever Bucky was going to say, he’s decided to keep it to himself. You've finally made it to the school, walking up the steps and heading in through the front entrance. It’s funny, the way he’s looking around, the surprise evident on his face.

"Oh wow, this place looks almost exactly the same," he says, voice soft in the quiet halls.

You can’t help but sigh at that. "You know what, I’m going to the district and telling them you said that. Maybe then they’ll actually give us the money to renovate this place."

This actually gets a quiet laugh from him, and you can’t help but be proud. As you walk to unlock your classroom, you notice he has stopped in front of the glass display in the hall. One of the many dedicated to Captain America.

"This kid gave so much trouble to all of the teachers here. I swear he gave them heart problems from the number of fights he got in. I was the one who always saved him from getting a black eye, and somehow I was the one always getting detention." He’s talking so softly, you’d think he was only talking to himself until he turns to you. "And now he’s plastered all over this place."

"Well maybe we need to get you a plaque too. 'The one who saved Steve Rogers from getting pummeled.'" You push open the door, hitting the light switch, waiting for them to flicker to life. Bucky strides in, making his way to your desk, effortlessly dodging the tiny desks and chairs.

"You know, my average class size is around 25, but this year I’ll have 28 kids." You sigh, tossing the posters onto one of the counters, circling to take in the state of the room. "I honestly don’t know how they expect me to fit them all in here. I mean, yeah, I know they’re tiny, but you’d be surprised how much room they all take up."

His hands are tucked into his leather jacket as he takes a glance around too. "I’m surprised they have you guys starting again so soon."

The room is hot, and even though propping open the windows won’t help, it’ll at least let out some of the stale air. You sigh, trying to ignore the sticky feeling from the heat.

"Kids need stability, especially after the world pretty much ended. We couldn’t stop when half the population disappeared, and we definitely can’t stop now that they’re back." You watch as he walks around the perimeter of the room, looking at all of the things you already have up. "Besides, most of my kids this year are former students. I’ll get to see them move on from my class after five years. That makes it worth it."

You get a sympathetic hum from him, similar to the ones you got from your support group. He stops, as if he found what he was searching for. Cautiously, you make your way over to him, stopping in front of the photo-covered wall. In the very short time you’ve known Bucky, you’ve already learned he’s incredibly hard to read. His face seems fixed in the same neutral expression, and if you blink, you’ll miss the brief moment you’re blessed with a shift. A soft smile and sly smirk. It makes you want to stare at him all day, trying to coax more from him.

Now, it’s all furrowed brows and the corners of his lips turned down as he reads the words under his photo. There’s not a lot publicly available about him. Steve has a ton, but Bucky's past and, honestly, current story is more or less a mystery. Sure, you have the big events available. But the small in-between moments seem to not exist. The short summary you chose has changed quite a bit since your first year here. First, he was Sergeant Barnes, Captain America’s best friend. One of the fallen heroes from WWII. Now, he’s Sergeant Barnes, Captain America’s best friend, survivor of WWII and Hydra, and one of the fallen heroes who fought trying to save the world from the man who made half the population disappear.

"I need to update it again." You seem to startle him out of his thoughts, though he doesn’t shift. "Add on that you succeeded in bringing everyone back."

"It wasn’t me. There were hundreds of people there who fought." His stare is fixed on you again. Another thing you noticed about Bucky, his intense staring.

"Yes, but out of the hundreds who fought, only two were from Brooklyn, and this is about local heroes."

His gaze is steady as he works his jaw. "Are you sure this is really appropriate for kids? I mean, 'survivor of Hydra' it’s not exactly a secret what that really means. It’s not something they should look up to."

He’s right, it isn’t a secret. You take a breath before turning to lean on the desk close to the wall.

"Do you know my favorite part about working with kids?"

He’s thrown off by the question, turning to you as you continue.

"Adults see the world in black and white. Good or bad. Right or wrong. Their opinions get shaped by their experiences, their fears, and whatever they think matters in the big picture. But kids? They see in color. Honest, messy, vivid color. They’ll notice every flaw, and they won’t hesitate to point it out. But they also see the good — sometimes more clearly than we ever can. They’re not measuring people by what they’ve done or who they’re supposed to be. They see who’s in front of them. Who’s trying. When they look at this wall, they don’t see how someone got there. They see who they are now. And for them, that’s enough to call someone a hero."

You push off the desk, examining the photo once more. "I need a new photo. This one’s a little outdated."

He gives a small sound of amusement as he takes one more look at the black and white photo in front of him. You decide to pivot the topic away from his past, giving his shoulder a soft pat before making your way to the large boxes.

"Thank you again for saving me today. The citizens of New York thank you for sparing them from me stumbling around the streets."

You’re blessed with one last quick smile from him as he starts to make his exit.

"Anytime you need help, you know where to find me. It was nice seeing this place again actually."

You try not to beam at his offer, but the idea of seeing him again makes you way happier than it probably should. You call out as he’s leaving.

"Careful, I might actually take you up on that. Being a public school teacher is very humbling. I have no shame asking for help."

His soft laugh fills the room before the door closes behind him. You catch yourself just staring at the door with the goofiest smile on your face.

[quartz-kilsviken]

There’s a monster inside all of us.

[quartz-kilsviken]

Thinking about starting a Silco x reader tomorrow since I have the day off.

On a separate note, I drove through the LA fire wreckage the other day. I didn’t lose anything, but I have friends who did. It’s been a rough month, I really appreciate those who have been leaving me kind words. Writing has been a wonderful outlet to escape the horrors lmao

[quartz-kilsviken]

Written in the Runes

Chapter 6

➸ Synopsis: Ekko, your mischievous yet endearing local troublemaker, trails a wealthy academy student from the topside. When you end up with the student's satchel, you find a notebook filled with intriguing magical research. Unable to resist, you embark on a quest to uncover the secrets of this mysterious scholar.

➸Pairing: JayVik x reader

➸Chapter Word Count: 2,917

➸Tags: Slow Burn, yearning, eventual smut, not

canon compliant

➸Notes: Your Honor, Viktor is a brat. The first few weeks at the Academy, I loved writing this chapter. I just wanna give Jayce a smooch on the cheek, he’s so sweet. ♡ॢ₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎"

➸ Previous Chapter: Pt. 5

“It’s a complete waste of the technology,” Viktor grumbles, tapping his fingers on the desk. “The only ones who’ll benefit are the Councilors padding their pockets with trade deals.”

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind—setting up the lab, scrambling to get everything organized, and, naturally, arguing. This same debate keeps coming up. While the three of you are developing Hextech, the Council’s already decided what it’s going to be used for. Viktor’s furious. They want to build a massive teleportation system, similar to the energy from the night in Heimerdinger’s lab, but on a much larger scale. They say they want it to transport people and cargo across Runeterra. Your problem isn’t with the idea, it’s the scale—hundreds of crystals, each needing its own rune combination. Just thinking about it makes your head throb.

“They’re not exactly giving us a choice,” Jayce says, his voice calm but his posture a dead giveaway that he’s frustrated. His feet are propped up on the desk, balancing on the back two legs of his chair. He’s trying to stay composed, but you can tell it’s wearing on him. Viktor, on the other hand, looks like he’s a hair’s breadth away from snapping.

Viktor’s bent over his desk, flipping through Jayce’s notes with a frown that could melt metal. You’d rather not dive into this right now, but seeing both of them so stressed gets to you. “You’re both right,” you say, pushing your chair back and crossing your arms. “We don’t have much of a choice, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make sure it’s used for something good. I mean, right now, the only way to get to Piltover is by ship, and it’s miserable.” You shudder at the memory—seasick, your mom holding you over the railing to throw up because you couldn’t even reach it. You didn’t have time to warn her the first time and Khal had to clean up after you. He still brings it up. “At least this way, travel won’t suck as much.”

Viktor looks like he’s chewing that over, his face softening a little. Jayce, however, seems to latch onto something else. “You’ve traveled?”

Damn. Not the direction you want this conversation to go. But it’s hard to lie to Jayce when he looks at you like that. “Uh, yeah. My family moved here when I was younger, but I don’t remember much of it,” you say quickly, glancing back at your sketches in an attempt to shift focus.

Jayce doesn’t push, but Viktor raises an eyebrow. “Where did you live before?”

Viktor, as you’ve learned, is relentless when something catches his interest. The more you try to avoid it, the harder he’s going to dig. So, you switch gears before this goes any further.

You pick up one of your rough HexGate designs and hold it out to them with an exaggeratedly serious expression. “What do you think of this? I think it’s the best one I’ve come up with so far.”

Viktor’s face immediately turns from curious to horrified, and you can’t help but stifle a laugh. Jayce steps closer, squinting at the design. “It’s... impressive? But I’m not sure the Council would approve. It’s, uh, a little... much?”

Viktor looks at him, then back at the sketch, deadpan. “It’s... terrifying.” Jayce looks at Viktor, clearly trying to silently say, ‘don’t be mean’. You’re practically bubbling with amusement, and Viktor’s giving you exactly the reaction you wanted.

“No, no, you just don’t get the vision.” You gesture dramatically to the design as if it’s the most brilliant idea ever.

Viktor stares at it, his eyebrows knit together in distaste. The sketch is a monstrosity, but you’re selling it hard. It’s a massive statue-like structure of both his and Jayce’s faces, towering over the city. The jaws of the faces are designed to unhinge, releasing a beam of energy that powers the teleportation. It’s completely absurd. “Oh, we see the vision. It’s just... I’m not sure I’m prepared for our faces to loom over Piltover. It’s a bit... ominous, don’t you think?”

Jayce looks between you and Viktor, his expression full of confusion and concern. “But why are we the ones on it? Shouldn’t you be, too?”

You grin, shrugging casually. “Nah. You two are way more photogenic than I am.” You glance at Viktor, who’s trying not to smile. “Besides, I don’t need a giant statue of me towering over the city. That sounds a little... egotistical.”

Viktor snickers. “I’ll approve the design... but only on one condition.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“We simplify it,” Viktor says, looking at you with a smirk. “Only Jayce on the statue.”

Jayce’s face falls in mock betrayal, and you immediately spring up from your chair, shaking Viktor’s hand with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Deal. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Wait, what?” Jayce protests, his eyes wide.

You cross your arms, a triumphant grin spreading across your face.“Two against one, Jayce. Looks like you’re the face of Hextech now.”

Seeing them less upset—even if just for a moment—makes your heart lighter. You’d draw a million silly diagrams just to keep seeing them smile. But the moment fades as soon as you remember your studies start today. It’s been easier to get lost in Hextech, especially with Jayce and Viktor around. But now… you won’t be able to hide away in the lab much longer.

You start packing up your things reluctantly, and the two of them catch on. Jayce looks up and offers, “Want us to walk you? It’s not far.”

You’d appreciate it, but you know they have more important things to do. You can’t ask them to waste their time.

“Nah, I’m used to navigating this maze by now. I’ll be fine. Thanks, though.”

Viktor gives you a knowing look, his gaze sharp as ever. He catches the tension in your voice without missing a beat. Before he can protest, you can make your way out of the lab.

You had a million different ideas of how your first lecture would go, but somehow it ended up worse than you imagined. First, you got completely lost. Jayce said it wasn’t far, but somehow it took you thirty minutes to find the place. Then, when you finally made it in, the only seat left was right in the middle. You spent the whole time feeling like you were on display, barely able to focus. You didn’t catch a word the professor said.

The rest of the day was a blur—moving from class to class, barely keeping track of the time, let alone the content. By the time your last lecture ended, you were drained, desperate to escape, but the crowd at the door made that impossible. You almost considered climbing out of a window just to get away from it all.

Then you see him. His eyes scan the room until they land on you, and his face lights up with that wide, gap-toothed grin. For a moment, everything else fades.

You make your way toward him, and when his hand rests on your back, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. It’s just a casual touch, but somehow it makes everything feel a little easier.

“Let me guess. Viktor sent you to make sure I actually made it here?” you say, raising an eyebrow with a teasing grin.

Jayce laughs, guiding you through the crowd with a casual ease.

Once you’re in a quieter hall, he looks over at you, still smiling.

“So, how was it?”

His optimism is blinding, and you can’t bring yourself to admit how overwhelmed you are. Instead, you just shrug and smile back. “It was fine.”

You realize, even though you’re away from the crowd, his hand is still resting on your back. You hope he sees your nervousness as a result of the overwhelming day, not because of him. Jayce has this effortless warmth, the kind that draws people in without even trying. He’s like that with Viktor, too—his gaze lingers on him sometimes, full of quiet affection. It’s just how he is, you think. The three of you might share a connection, but in truth, you don’t know much about each other. Maybe that’s for the best. Instead of getting in your head about it, you focus on the comfort of the palm on your back, guiding you home.

As you open your door and turn to say goodnight, you catch him hesitating, like he wants to say something. His eyes flick past you, scanning your room.

“What, does my interior decorating offend you?”

“No—” he chews over his words. “There’s no interior decorating to be offended by.”

Right. The space is big—bigger than anything you’ve had—and honestly, kind of unsettling. The academy provided a bed and a desk, but the rest is empty. “I guess I just haven’t had time,” you lie, forcing an easy shrug.

Oh, he needs to stop looking at you like that—like he sees right through you. His voice is gentler when he says, “I don’t know if Heimerdinger told you, but this isn’t regular student housing. It’s permanent.”

Permanent. He definitely failed to mention that.

“This place is yours,” Jayce continues. “It might help you feel more comfortable if you got a few things. Viktor and I can help, you know.”

You know. And that’s exactly why you hesitate.

“If I present my HexGate design to the council, they might just kick me out, you know.” You flash a grin, but the joke is thinly veiled. The ridiculous, fake design you’d sketched earlier had been for fun—but what if your real ideas get the same reaction? What if you pour everything into this, only to watch it fall apart?

Jayce doesn’t call you on it, just watches you for a moment before saying simply, “Think about it.”

“Good night, Jayce.”

The rest of your week went smoothly, the routine settling your nerves. Even the HexGate project had taken a turn for the better—frustration giving way to excitement as plans started coming together. You’d gotten so caught up in your work that you even started pulling out your designs during lectures, ignoring the side glances from other students. Things had been going so well, in fact, that you’d completely forgotten about your conversation with Jayce.

Jayce, however, had not.

You had been looking forward to a full day of working on Hextech—only to walk into the lab and realize Jayce had other plans. He insisted you all go out to get things for your room, and to your dismay, Viktor had immediately agreed.

Now, you curse Jayce’s insistent kindness as your arms strain under the weight of a couch.

"Left, Jayce—my left, not yours. You’re a very intelligent man, but apparently, using your muscles and your brain at the same time is a challenge." Viktor watches from a safe distance, fingers tapping absently on his cane, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips.

“I’d like to see you try it,” Jayce grunts back, his voice strained.

From over the couch, you catch Viktor’s amused look as his eyes glint with mock disapproval. “Oh, you would, would you? That is cruel—wishing to see a man with a hurt leg carry a couch.”

“You’re mean,” you huff, adjusting your grip. “Mean and distracting, and I need him focused so I don’t get crushed under this thing.”

As you reach your door, Viktor steps in to help, and you decide it’s time to wipe that smug expression off his face. You smile, letting the teasing tone slip in.

“Here, grab my keys so I don’t have to set this down.”

Viktor’s eyes flick over you, and for just a moment, his expression tightens when his gaze lands on your back pocket. You see the brief hesitation, that almost imperceptible pause before he catches himself and steps forward.

“What, Viktor? Scared to touch my ass?”

He furrows his brows at you, but there’s a spark of something in his eyes—playful, but just a little caught off guard. He reaches into your pocket, fingers slow, deliberate, not quite brushing against you, but you feel it anyway. The space between you both seems to close just a little too easily.

When he pulls the keys out, you glance at Jayce, your grin widening.

“See how easy that was? You could tell Viktor he can’t fly, and he’d probably jump off a building just to prove you wrong.”

You barely hear Viktor muttering under his breath, his voice quieter than usual. “Don’t do what I’m asked, and I’m insulted. Do what I’m asked, and—still—I am insulted.”

He holds open the door, his usual confidence returning. “Left—no—my left.” He huffs a laugh as the couch bangs into the door frame.

“Don’t listen to him, Jayce. You’re doing really well.” You grunt, adjusting your grip.

You don’t notice how Jayce seems to soften at the praise, a slight glow warming his face, but Viktor does. The teasing edges of his smile fade as he watches, and instead of continuing his playful jab, he tucks the observation away in his mind.

As soon as the couch is set down, Jayce flops across it with a deep, exasperated grunt. He’s tall, sprawling across the entire length of it. You smack his shoe, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Budge.”

He doesn’t lift his head, but you can hear the exhaustion in his voice as he sighs. “I don’t think I can move.”

You’re tired too, and without thinking, you shift his legs off just enough to make room for yourself. As you settle back into the couch, his legs fall naturally across your lap. The weight of them is surprisingly comforting. You let your head fall back against the cushions, savoring the softness.

You feel his muscles tense beneath you, a subtle shift in the air. When you open your eyes just a bit, you catch him staring. The intensity in his gaze catches you off guard, and your stomach flutters before you can look away. He clears his throat, quickly turning his attention to Viktor, who’s unpacking the rest of the items.

“We should get one of these for the lab.”

You laugh, trying to shake off the unexpected warmth spreading through you. “Oh yeah? Well, you can carry it yourself. I’m never lifting another couch.”

Viktor pulls his gaze from the two of you, placing a new lamp on your desk, but his attention shifts, lingering over the paintings scattered across the space. Some old, some new, but one in particular catches his attention. The blue glow from the scene reflects over both his and Jayce’s faces as they float in Heimerdinger’s lab. He stops, staring at it, the soft light catching his features.

‘Is this really how she see’s us?’ he thinks, something shifting in his chest. ‘It’s beautiful.’

The only thing missing from the piece, he realizes, is you. But before his thoughts can wander further, he shifts his focus back to the lamp. As he reaches down to plug it in, another painting catches his eye. He pulls a canvas from the bag in the corner, completely captivated.

It’s a scene of a mother and daughter, gathered by a fire. Their closeness is palpable, the warmth of the moment so real you almost feel you’re there. The mother is showing the daughter some kind of magic. Viktor’s eyes drift to the bottom corner, and before he can stop himself, he asks softly,

“Did you paint this?”

You don’t respond right away. Instead, moving out from under Jayce and striding across the room, your expression suddenly distant. Viktor’s heart gives a small, unexpected lurch as he watches you, realizing too late that his question has caught you off guard.

“No.”

You move swiftly to take the painting back, but before you can grab it, Viktor holds it just out of your reach, his hand lingering there a little longer than necessary. He can’t help himself, his voice softer this time.

“That’s your name in the corner, is it not?”

You freeze, your hand still outstretched. When you meet his gaze, your eyes lock for a moment that feels too long. There’s an unexpected shift, a warmth that pulls you both closer, though neither of you dares to acknowledge it. You shift just a little, your body instinctively drawing nearer. Viktor’s gaze flickers, and for a brief second, he looks almost... uncertain.

Before the moment can stretch any longer, you use his distraction to quickly snatch the canvas from his hand.“It’s my grandmother’s name. I don’t sign my art.”

You shove the painting back into the bag, zipping it shut a little too quickly.

Jayce’s soft voice draws your attention, “Art like that is meant to be shared, not locked away. We’re already here, we can help you hang them.”

You realize they’re both well-meaning, but you still feel a soft pang in your chest, something you can’t quite place.

Hesitant, you open the bag again, pulling out two paintings—both by your mother, one of a flower, the other of the sea. You hand them to Viktor, the gesture light, almost fleeting, but something lingers in the air.

Without a word, you turn toward the kitchen, the quiet task of making dinner a welcome distraction. It’s easier to focus on that than whatever their kindness is stirring in you. After everything they’ve done for you today, helping you settle in and furnish the place, it’s the least you can do.

[quartz-kilsviken]

Written in the Runes

Chapter 5

➸ Synopsis: Ekko, your mischievous yet endearing local troublemaker, trails a wealthy academy student from the topside. When you end up with the student’s satchel, you find a notebook filled with intriguing magical research. Unable to resist, you embark on a quest to uncover the secrets of this mysterious scholar.

➸Pairing: JayVik x Reader

➸Chapter Word Count: 1,907

➸Tags: slow burn, yearning, eventual smut, non canon compliant, future angst

➸Notes: Just one more short chapter, and then the real adventure at the Academy begins. Oh, my beloved Ekko and Benzo—how I hope nothing bad happens to them. ╭(๑¯д¯๑)╮

➸Previous Chapter: Pt.4

➸ Next Chapter: Pt.6

So much has changed in a single night that part of you has forgotten the world is still turning. Jayce and Viktor left after the presentation with Heimerdinger to search for an available lab space at the academy. Kahl is probably down at the docks, tinkering with his ship, grumbling about whatever’s got him worked up today. The enforcers are busy harassing Undercity civilians, and those civilians—well, two of them are currently squabbling in front of Benzo’s shop. From the rooftop of the neighboring building, you can’t make out what they’re fighting about, but one of them definitely has a broken nose now. You could slip by, but what if one of them turns on you, pulling you into their mess? No, that’s not why you’re stalling. The real reason is that, once you step inside, you’ll be interrogated, and you can’t think of a single thing to say that won’t make you sound insane. ‘Sorry I disappeared, Benzo. I ran off with a couple of scientists, broke into the academy, and used illegal tech to harness magic.’ Or maybe it’s not that you’re afraid he won’t believe you—it’s that you’re terrified he will. And then, inevitably, you’d have to tell him you’re leaving.

On the walk over, your mind ran through every possible outcome—anger, disappointment, dread. But the one that really haunts you is the fear of him being proud. You picture yourself coming back five months from now, admitting you’ve failed. That you weren’t good enough. That you’re nothing like your mother. That you’ll never be as certain or fearless as she was.

Your first day with Benzo is a blur. The tears in your eyes had clouded everything. He hadn’t been angry with you for crying, or for lashing out at him and the rest of the world. He just let you cry until you’d worn yourself out, until all you could do was stare blankly at the wall. Would he let you do that again?

"Where have you been?" The voice startles you, and you almost lose your balance, nearly falling over the edge. You want to be angry at the close call, but as soon as you spin around, you see Ekko. Hands on his hips, foot tapping, like a parent scolding a misbehaving child. You bite your lip to keep from laughing—it’ll only make him more frustrated. His eyebrows shoot up, silently telling you to answer, and fast.

"Visited your friend's crime scene." You grip his head and make him turn around. "Come on, let’s get inside, and I’ll tell you the whole story. Promise it’s a good one." He perks up at that, hopping down the building, into the shop.

You follow him, and as he bursts through the door, he yells, "I found her!"

Okay, so your guess was right—Benzo looks furious. You fight the impulse to bolt, but Ekko steps in front of you, blocking the door. With a resigned sigh, you trudge toward the counter and jump to sit on top.

He’s still silent, eyes narrowed. You know you’ll have to start talking first. "It’s a great story," you offer, trying to ease the tension.

It doesn’t work. "I don’t care if you were out saving the world, we thought you were dead. Or rotting away in Stillwater."

"It’s..." Yeah, you can’t argue with that. "I wanted to come back sooner, but the council wouldn’t let us leave."

Okay, so we’ve skipped disappointment and gone straight into dread. You’d better wrap this up before he drops dead from shock. "Nothing bad happened, I swear," you rush out, trying to calm him. You dig through your bag, pull out Jayce’s notebook, and hand it to Benzo. Ekko jumps onto the counter beside you, leaning in to get a look. The moment he sees the notebook, his eyes narrow at you as if saying, ‘You swore you wouldn’t tell him.’ You gently squeeze Ekko’s shoulder, silently begging him to calm down.

Benzo flips through the notebook, brow furrowed. You see him processing, so you help him along. "The academy guy left this behind. It’s his research."

"What does some topside boy have to do with you disappearing all night?" Benzo’s voice is sharper than you expected.

You scramble for the right words. "I… uh, went to find him. Thought he should get his research back."

"Mhm." Benzo raises an eyebrow. "You thought he should get it back… covered in your writing?"

"Yeah, I thought... well, I thought I could help. And I was right! Me, him, and another scientist from the academy figured out how to use it." The image of the two of them floating flashes in your mind, and you can feel your cheeks heating up without meaning to. You quickly push forward, desperate to move on—the last thing you want is for them to ask more about the pair. If Ekko notices your obvious interest, he’d never stop teasing you. Snatching the notebook back, you flip to the page you want and angle it so both Ekko and Benzo can see. "Look! He figured out how to harness magic with these crystals. They built a machine to stabilize them."

You can't help yourself; you're practically narrating your adventure. "So, after all that, we figured it out, but the kids blew up the lab, and all of his equipment was stuck at the academy. So Viktor—uh, the dean’s assistant—well, not really an assistant anymore��" Benzo gives you a look that silently says, get to the point. "Anyway, he had the keys to Heimerdinger’s lab, so we..." You trail off, realizing what you're about to say. The silence fills the gap.

"YOU BROKE INTO THE ACADEMY?" Ekko explodes, eyes wide with excitement, practically vibrating in place.

"Well… technically, yes, but—Counselor Medarda caught us before we could even get inside and kinda gave us permission. Sort of." Benzo opens his mouth to protest, but you keep going. "And it worked! They kept us there all night and had us present to the council. That’s why I couldn’t come home. But—they’re letting us develop the tech now."

Benzo stares at the notebook, processing everything. You give him a moment to digest, but the silence feels heavy, like you’re about to lose your nerve. You reach into your pocket and slowly place the key on the table.

Benzo’s fingers touch the cool metal, and finally, he meets your eyes. And there it is: pride. The part you were most afraid of, but right now, in this moment, it fills you with a warmth so strong that it overshadows everything else.

You hop off the counter and slowly peel off your cloak, revealing your uniform. “Uh, they want me to take a few classes.”

Ekko eyes your outfit, doing a quick 180 before stopping in front of you. “Want me… to adjust your uniform? It’s so... white.”

You laugh, surprised that of all things, this is what caught his attention. The academy would never approve of an ‘Ekko version’ but you can’t bring yourself to refuse him.

“Go wild,” you say, tossing your stolen satchel at him. Without missing a beat, he dashes off into his room, leaving you alone with Benzo. For some reason, you believe Jayce won’t mind if you hold on to this piece of your beginning together.

The silence between you and Benzo feels heavy, and his unreadable expression makes it worse. “Guess Ekko’s going to be stuck with dock runs now, huh?”

You absentmindedly pick at something on the counter, avoiding his gaze. “They want us to start immediately.” You study the key in your hand like it holds some hidden significance. “I’ve got a room at the academy now, but… I don’t know.” You can’t help but glance toward the back door, your chest tight with the sense that you’re betraying them.

“None of that,” Benzo interrupts, his voice cutting through the tension. “Look at me.”

You do, though the moment your eyes meet his, you feel a tightness in your throat, fighting the urge to look away.

“He’ll be fine,” Benzo says quietly, his voice calm, like he already knows it’s true. He stands and starts rummaging behind the counter, trying to keep busy. “And you,” he adds, not looking up, “you’ll be fine, too. Actually, you’re going to be great. It’s everything she wanted for you. And knowing how stubborn your mom was, I’m betting she figured out a way to make sure it happened—even from the other side.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, the tightness in your chest easing just a little.

“Well, don’t get too comfortable. You’re not rid of me completely. I’ll still come back and check in on that little troublemaker of yours.”

Benzo snorts and drops a heavy bag of coins in front of you.

“Benzo…”

“I owe you for your last run,” he says, matter-of-fact, as if it’s nothing.

You eye the bag, raising an eyebrow.

“This is enough for five runs.”

He gives a half grin. “Told ya—you’re robbing me blind, little lady.” Then his smile softens, and his voice shifts, like he’s giving you something important. “But seriously, take it. Use it for you. Don’t save it for some disaster or send it back to Ekko. It’s yours.”

You stare at the bag for a beat, the weight of his words sinking in. It’s not just the money—it’s his way of telling you to take care of yourself for once.

With a sigh, you swing your legs off the counter and pull him into a hug. He doesn’t stiffen for once, just wraps his arms around you, strong and warm. You hold on a little longer before pulling away. “Thanks, Benzo.”

Packing is quick. You don’t have much, but the paintings? Those are harder. You handle each one like it’s a piece of your past you can’t leave behind. You could leave them here—Benzo would keep them safe—but the thought of leaving them behind feels wrong. One by one, you tuck them into your bag, feeling their weight in your hands, like you’re holding onto pieces of yourself.

Just as you finish, the door creaks open.

Ekko steps inside, his grin already wide. You don’t even need to ask—he’s holding something behind his back.

He places the satchel in your hands and pulls out two bottles of paint. Your eyes flick over the splatters of color, his art is covering most of the brown leather, except for one spot. Without hesitation, he sits cross-legged on the floor, like he’s been waiting for this moment all along.

You watch him as he carefully dips the brush into the paint and applies it to your hand. The strokes are deliberate, each one marking the moment.

“I’m leaving my address with Benzo. I expect letters—don’t care if it’s just scribbles from you and Powder. And don’t get into more trouble. The old man’s already grey enough.” You laugh, but it catches in your throat, and you swallow it down.

“You worry too much. You’re the one turning grey, you know.” Ekko chuckles softly, but his focus stays on the brush, each stroke slow and thoughtful. He finishes painting his own hand and then places both of your hands over the satchel, pressing your palms onto the leather.

The feel of the paint on your skin is warm, grounding, like you’re both leaving something behind—a mark, a memory, something that will stay with you no matter what happens next.

[quartz-kilsviken]

I've been loving Written in the Runes! And then I saw your req. for one shot requests :3

How about JayVik/Baker!Reader and how they ask her to date them? I just feel in my bones it would be great.

Word of Mouth

➸Summary: Every day in your bakery is the same—cozy, filled with the comfort of sweet pastries and familiar faces—until Mrs. Talis, a regular, introduces you to her son, Jayce. What begins as harmless matchmaking soon becomes more complicated as you find yourself drawn to both Jayce and his partner, Viktor.

➸A/N: I work as a baker in a french pâtisserie so this being my first request is insane, I had a ton of fun writing this. Thank you for the idea I hope you like it!! (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

➸Pairing: JayVik/Reader

➸Word Count: 2,148

➸Tags: Oneshot, Romace, Fluff, Jayce is so sweet he give me cavities

➸ Slow burn JayVik x reader series: Written in the Runes Link

Word of mouth is the heartbeat of your little shop. Each new customer feels like a gift, walking through the door because someone couldn’t stop talking about your cakes or how your shop feels like stepping into a warm memory. It always makes your heart swell, knowing that something you created meant enough for someone to share it. That’s exactly how your favorite regular had found her way to you months ago. Her presence had quickly become a welcome part of your days—kind, warm, and endlessly sweet, much like the cake you’re carefully packing for her now.

But today’s visit feels different. Her usual chatter has shifted into something... more pointed.

“He works at the academy,” she begins, her voice carrying a little too much enthusiasm. “Very responsible, incredibly smart, and—oh—such a gentleman.”

You pause, tilting your head at her with a knowing look. “I see what you’re doing, Mrs. Talis. Trying to marry me into your family for a discount, huh?”

She lets out a laugh, the kind that makes her eyes crinkle at the corners. “Handsome too,” she adds, digging into her purse, “though I admit I’m probably a little biased.”

Just as you’re reaching for the coins she’s pulled out, a photograph suddenly appears on the counter.

You pick it up, your fingers lingering on the edges as you squint at the image. The boy in the photo is all ears and a wide, toothy grin—he looks like he’s about to burst into laughter at any moment. You chew on your words before finally giving her a pointed stare.

“This is a child,” you say flatly.

“It’s a little old, I’ll admit,” she says, her smile unwavering. “But just picture him grown up.”

You try, but the playful face in the photograph refuses to transform into the image of a distinguished adult in your mind. It’s almost endearing how determined she is. With a soft laugh, you slide the photo back to her and scoop up just a few coins, pushing the rest toward her with a gentle nudge.

“How about this? I’ll just give you the discount, Miss Matchmaker,” you say, your voice light with amusement.

Her grin grows, the sparkle in her eyes showing just how much she’s enjoying herself. Despite the absurdity of it all, you can’t help but feel a certain fondness for her persistence.

It’s been about a month since her last visit, and now, with the coolness of autumn settling in, a breeze drifts through the shop every time the door opens. You feel it—the light rush of air—just before the soft chime of the bell rings through the quiet space. You hesitate, not wanting to break the flow of icing a cake, but when you look up, you pause.

A tall man stands just inside the door, slightly hunched, his eyes scanning the display case with an intensity, like he’s looking for something specific but isn’t quite sure what.

You take a breath and move toward him, offering your usual greeting, but the words falter the moment he smiles.

It hits you—this is what those big ears and that endearing gap-toothed smile look like on a grown man. Mrs. Talis hadn’t been the least bit biased—he’s striking, the kind of handsome that makes your heart skip a beat without warning.

“You’re Jayce!” you say, your excitement bubbling through before you can stop it. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and you take the chance to start packing his usual pastry, already knowing what he’ll want. Mrs. Talis never changes his order and besides, you’ve learned to pick out the perfect match for everyone’s tastes. His—a delicate fruit tart—suits him perfectly.

Jayce snaps out of his daze, his voice uncertain. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

You raise an eyebrow, the corners of your lips curving up into a playful smile. “No, but your mother’s mentioned you... once or twice.”

He rubs his hand over his face, the faintest trace of embarrassment creeping into his expression. “Only good things, I hope?”

“Great things actually,” you say with a grin. “How you’re a genius inventor, incredibly successful, a true gentleman... and, of course, ridiculously handsome.” The words come easily, but the sincerity behind them surprises you. His cheeks flush a little, and you can’t help but smile a little wider.

“I knew it,” he mutters, shaking his head lightly. “She’s been talking up a lot of people lately…”

You lean in a little closer, the teasing smile lingering. “So, I’ve got competition, huh? Tell me, where do I rank?”

“Well... I’d say you’re already pretty high, considering you can put up with my mom’s antics. But each pastry you give me might move you up a little more.” His smile is soft, and when his eyes meet yours, you feel something shift inside you—like the warmth of his gaze lingers a little longer than it should, making it hard to look away.

You slide the wrapped pastry toward him, watching the way his face brightens. You can’t deny the little flutter of something in your chest. He didn’t need to tell you what he wanted, and that small moment of connection fills your heart in a way you didn’t expect. But then he adds, “Actually, I was hoping you could help me with something else. I’m trying to figure out what to get my partner, but I honestly have no idea what he’d like.” He walks back over to the display case, continuing his search.

You watch him for a beat, feeling a small tug of curiosity. Partner. Interesting. “Tell me about this partner of yours,” you ask, your tone a little softer than before.

With each visit, Jayce shifted from just another regular customer to someone you genuinely looked forward to seeing. His stories about work, especially when he spoke passionately about his research, never failed to bring a smile to your face. Of course to keep climbing the ranks, you’d often offer him new cakes to try, many of them experimental recipes. He’d give detailed feedback, always thoughtful and constructive which you thoroughly appreciated. There was something warm about him, a presence that seemed to fill the shop, much like the comforting heat of your ovens. And then, there was Viktor. You’d heard enough about him to feel intrigued—the way Jayce’s face softened whenever he spoke his name, the quiet affection in his voice. The more you listened, the clearer it became: they were the perfect pair, a balance of intellect and heart.

On rainy days, when the shop was quiet and the soft pattering of rain against the window filled the space, you’d often lose track of time, swaying slightly to gentle music you play in the background. It was on one of those days that you didn’t notice the door open, too caught up in your own rhythm.

When your gaze finally lifted, you startled, lost your footing, and ended up flat on the floor, a bowl of flour spilling everywhere.

The man standing just inside the door waited patiently. Though he made a point to look at the wall, his small amused smile betrays his attempt to act as though he hadn’t noticed you.

You huff, scrambling to your feet and brushing flour off yourself as you stumble toward him. But when your eyes meet his, you have to stop yourself from tripping again.

Amber. There’s something in his gaze, a dancing light that draws you in. He doesn’t rush you, just waits quietly as you collect yourself.

You realize you’ve been staring and clear your throat, trying to regain some dignity. “Welcome in! How can I help you?”

He smiles softly, his eyes taking in the shop. “I can see why my partner likes to spend time here. It’s a lovely place.”

It’s the word partner that finally clicks, and you realize who he must be. “Did Jayce send you in here just so he could stay out of the rain?” you tease, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “If that’s the case, I’ll give you two cakes for making the journey—and none for him.”

He chuckles, the sound low and genuine. “I’m not sure any weather could keep him away. He seems quite fond of your pastries—” He hesitates, choosing his words carefully, “—and of you.”

His words hang in the air a little longer than you expect, and you feel a faint warmth spread across your face. But before you can come up with a response, he continues.

“I actually had a question for you.” You watch as his finger taps gently on the handle of his cane, the steady rhythm oddly mesmerizing. You realize, too late, that you’re staring—your thoughts briefly scattered, and you quickly try to pull yourself together. You really need to stop doing that before he notices.

You straighten, leaning a little closer to the counter, giving him your full attention. “What’s up?” Your voice comes out softer than you expected, but you can’t quite bring yourself to care.

And yes, Viktor definitely notices—the way you’re looking at him, your flour-dusted cheek giving you an effortlessly charming air. He can’t help but smile, disarmed by how easily you catch his attention. Quickly clearing his throat, he tries to stay focused. “Do you do delivery?”

You pause for a moment, eyes scanning the room as if deep in thought. “Possibly, but only for my favorite customer.”

“And would Jayce be considered your favorite?” Viktor asks, a little smile playing at the corners of his lip.

“Well, he was…” you say with a teasing glint. “But seeing as you didn’t comment on the fact that I fell on my face earlier, I’d say you’re starting to steal his title.”

—————————————————————

Viktors writing is neat, the directions written clearly show where you need to go but the halls of the Academy seem to be a labyrinth. The multiple boxes of pastry making the journey harder, almost missing the door to their lab.

Balancing the boxes, you knock softly on the door, hearing shuffling from inside. Moments later, it opens to reveal a familiar face, clearly surprised to see you. You can’t help but think you should deliver more often if it means seeing him again, bathed in the soft light of the academy. The lab’s warm hues highlight his features beautifully, and you’re grateful for the stack of boxes that hides your definitely-flushed cheeks. Your name slips out before a distant voice calls, “Don’t be rude, Jayce—let her in.”

Jayce thankfully unloads a few boxes, giving you a chance to take in the two men. Their attire is oddly formal for a night spent working in the lab. “What are you doing here? I mean— not that you’re not welcome. I actually planned on inviting you to our lab, but—” Viktor cuts him off with a gentle pat on Jayce's arm.

“I asked her, I thought it would be nice to indulge in a few pastries before the party. She kindly delivered for me, seeing as I am now her favorite customer.” You have to fight back laughing at the exchange, but especially how Jayce seems to be silently yelling at Viktor with his eyes.

“These are a lot of two people, especially since we’re supposed to leave in 10 minutes.” Viktor is practically glowing, his playful eyes meeting yours.

With a shake of his head, he skillfully morphs his expression into one of disappointment, “Ah— you’re right Jayce, how foolish of me, I supposed I should’ve planned this surprise better.” He locks eyes with you “Though, maybe it can be remedied… would you like to join us? We are just attending a fundraising party, I’m sure bringing your lovely pastries would be welcomed.”

You see exactly what he’s doing now, you can’t help but bite back a smart response “My pastries being there don’t require my attendance as well, Viktor, I don’t want to intrude.”

Jayce finally softens at that, with a shy smile “You wouldn’t be intruding, you’re always welcome.”

Viktor continues “Besides, it would be a great opportunity to get eyes on your business. We would certainly like some of the attention to be on someone else for a night.”

Between Jayce’s soft, hopeful eyes and Viktor’s playful gaze, you can’t help but accept. As Jayce steps out to retrieve something, you glance sideways at Viktor and murmur, “You’re worse than his mother.” A smirk tugs at the corner of your lips.

Viktor’s smile shifts into something knowing. “Ah, yes. She and I do have quite a bit in common.” You laugh, and when you glance up, you notice that his usual confidence has softened, just slightly. As he steps closer, there’s a brief hesitation in his eyes before he speaks, his tone light but carrying an edge. “While her intentions were all about him, I’ll admit at some point mine might’ve turned a bit more self-serving.”

[quartz-kilsviken]

Please send me Arcane one shot fix requests <('o'<)

Since I have a few new followers, I thought I’d put it out there that I would love to take one-shot fic requests! I definitely prefer writing xReader content, and I'm currently fixated on Jayce and Viktor from Arcane. Other characters I love from the show include: Mel, Sevika and Silco. I’m willing to write pretty much anything, though!

[quartz-kilsviken]

Written in the Runes

Chapter 4

➸ Synopsis: Ekko, your mischievous yet endearing local troublemaker, trails a wealthy academy student from the topside. When you end up with the student’s satchel, you find a notebook filled with intriguing magical research. Unable to resist, you embark on a quest to uncover the secrets of this mysterious scholar.

➸Pairing: Jayvikxreader

➸Chapter word count: 2,009

➸Tags: Slow Burn, yearning, eventual smut, not

canon compliant

➸Notes: One more short chapter for today, because I had the day off and needed to continue getting my thoughts out. ∧( ‘Θ’ )∧ Oh, Heimerdinger, how I love your whimsy.

➸ Previous Chapter: Pt.3

➸ Next Chapter: Pt.5

The sunrise tells you it’s been hours since the three of you were told to stay in Heimerdinger’s lab. The noise of students starting their day in the courtyard is a small comfort, familiar in its chaos. Has Benzo noticed you’re missing yet? The thought tightens your chest. You used to slip away all the time, always returning just in time for one of his lectures. Back then, you thought his anger was just routine, but now you understand it was more than that. After your mother’s death, you didn’t believe anyone could be bothered by your absence. In the Undercity, that kind of concern is rare, and it took a long time to see how much it hurt him when you disappeared. The idea of causing him more trouble, of making Ekko worry too, weighs on you.

You can’t leave, though. The councilors made sure of that.

A loud snore breaks your thoughts. You glance over at Jayce, slumped against the wall, his face relaxed in deep sleep. Despite being in an unfamiliar place with two strangers, he’s completely at ease, his breathing steady and untroubled.

Viktor, who had paused his writing, watches Jayce with a faint smile. But when his eyes meet yours, something shifts. “He’s had an—” Viktor hesitates, then finishes, “…eventful few days.” His words are light, but there’s a quiet weight to them, a flicker of sadness that fades before you can fully place it.

You hum in response, imagining what happened between his visit to Benzo’s and your arrival the next night. You had seen the pieces of his devastation—the frustration in his research being taken from him. It’s a loss you understand too well. Your own connection to magic was ripped away, taken from you in ways that still sting, an emptiness that lingers. But you hope that, like you, the events of last night will help fill that void for both of you.

The click of the door snaps you from your thoughts as Counselor Medarda steps into the room. You quickly move to wake Jayce, his face still soft with sleep. She watches with quiet amusement as he jolts awake, clearly embarrassed, and straightens to attention clasping his hands behind his back. Viktor stays seated, unshaken, waiting for her to speak.

Her presence fills the room, calm and commanding despite the small group. “The three of you will present before the council today, in one hour.”

Her words hang in the air, and a tight knot forms in your stomach. Viktor’s voice breaks the silence, sharp with concern. “That’s not nearly enough time. What do you expect us to present, Counselor?”

Medarda’s gaze is unflinching as she smooths out the tension. “It will be an informal presentation—no need for preparation. Simply share your recent developments, and we’ll discuss further research. It will also be an opportunity for you,” she fixes her eyes on Jayce, “Mr. Talis, to have the incident involving your explosion retracted.”

Jayce exhales deeply, visibly relaxing, but you exchange a worried glance with Viktor. Neither of you feels ready to stand before the council—especially under these rushed conditions. Medarda adds, almost as an afterthought, “I’ll handle most of it. You’re expected outside the council chamber by 10 AM.”

You exhale a quiet sigh of relief as the door begins to close behind her, but the moment is shattered when Counselor Heimerdinger enters in a whirlwind. Before anyone can speak, he hurries straight up to you with a gleam in his eye. “Come with me, dear,” he says, his voice light and almost musical. “No time to dawdle!”

You hesitate, frozen in place. He stops, turns back, and gives you a knowing look as if he can read your discomfort. “You’re not in trouble, my dear, not in the slightest,” he adds, as though that should make everything better. But you wait for an explanation, and of course, there isn’t one. He simply smiles, waits, and then motions for you to follow.

Reluctantly, you move. To your surprise, Viktor and Jayce both follow. Heimerdinger notices and his eyes twinkle mischievously. “Ah, no need for a crowd!” he says, waving his tiny hands dismissively. “Only her. Don’t worry, boys. She’ll be back in no time!”

Viktor quickly moves to hand one of Jayce’s notebooks to him. “Professor—” he starts, his voice tight with concern.

With a dramatic flourish, Heimerdinger grabs the notebook and nods at Viktor before hustling down the hall. You follow, a little dazed. Students pass by, their eyes lingering, but Heimerdinger moves with such speed you barely register their gaze.

He leads you into a smaller office—thankfully empty—and you immediately notice how much more intimate this space feels compared to the Lab. He takes a seat behind the desk, dropping the open notebook in front of him with a dramatic flair. That’s when you realize, with a sinking feeling, it’s the same notebook you’d written in.

Heimerdinger flips through the pages, humming absently, unaware of the dread rising in your chest. “Where, pray tell, did you learn to transcribe Runes?” he asks, his tone light and casual, as if discussing the weather.

You swallow hard, trying to steady your nerves. You give the answer you’ve been giving everyone else: “I just have an interest in it.”

Heimerdinger pauses, peering over the top of the notebook with a raised brow. “Ah, interest—yes, of course,” he muses, clearly unconvinced. “But I do wonder—what else do you have an interest in? Sciences? Mathematics? History? Language?” He leaps from his chair with a sudden burst of energy, gesturing widely, as though he's narrating some grand spectacle. “Tell me, what do you excel in, hmm?”

The questions whirl around you, and you struggle to make sense of them. “I… I suppose I’m average?” you offer, unsure.

Heimerdinger’s eyes widen with exaggerated interest. “Average!” he exclaims, his hands flinging into the air. “Now that’s a word that means a thousand things, doesn’t it? What does it mean for you?”

You hesitate, trying to gather your thoughts. “I have a basic understanding, I wouldn’t say I ‘excel’ at any” you say, the words coming out slower. “But… History and Language have always been my strengths.”

Heimerdinger nods, clearly delighted by your answer before disappearing into a small closet. “Aha! History and Language! Excellent! But tell me, my dear, do you prefer trousers or a skirt?” His voice rings out from the closet, muffled by the door.

Your head snaps up, confused. What? Before you can process, Heimerdinger reappears from the closet with an enormous grin on his face. “Well, come now! What’s it going to be?”

“Uh—skirt?” you stammer, unsure where this is going.

Heimerdinger nods in delight, his voice suddenly taking on a dramatic tone. “Perfect! Perfect!” He strides over to the desk and places a stack of clothes in front of you, then skips over to a safe, unlocking it with exaggerated care before pulling out a gleaming key. “Now, you must be ready. The new semester begins soon. And you, my dear, will begin your studies in just a few weeks. The council will want you to start working on Hextech right away, no doubt. So!” He claps his hands together, startling you. “You’ll have early access to housing.”

“Housing?” you repeat, your voice strained with confusion.

He simply waves off your concern. “Oh, don’t worry! The room number is on the key. I’m sure the boys will show you the way once the council meeting completes.”

The confusion only deepens. “No, sir, I haven’t applied to the academy,” you say, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

He stops, blinking up at you. “Ah, well, last night was quite a remarkable application, wasn’t it?” His eyes gleam with mischievous delight.

Your heart sinks, and the ground beneath you feels like it’s giving way. You never wanted any of this. The academy? You’ve always known it would be safer with Benzo in the shop, keeping things predictable. But now—now everything is changing, and you feel like the universe is forcing it upon you. No longer a soft whisper leading you, but rather a hard shove. “I can’t afford tuition,” you stammer. “Even if I keep working while researching Hextech…”

Heimerdinger stops, considering you for a moment. Then, with a soft sigh, he closes the notebook and pushes it toward you gently. “No need to worry about that,” he says, his voice far kinder now. “Counselor Medarda has offered to sponsor your tuition. It’s clear you have a brilliant mind, one that deserves to be nurtured.”

Your chest tightens. You can’t believe what he’s saying. The world feels like it’s tilting, and the weight of everything presses on your shoulders.

Heimerdinger’s voice cuts through the spiraling thoughts, calm and reassuring. “The choice is yours, but I urge you to think about what you could become.”

The words hang in the air like an invitation, and despite the panic rising within you, you find yourself nodding. “Yeah,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him. “Yeah, sure. I’ll do it.”

Heimerdinger’s grin is back, wide and beaming. “Brilliant!” he says, practically bouncing with excitement. He scoops up the clothes, key, and notebook, shoving them into your hands with practiced flair before hurrying out the door.

You walk back toward the lab, the weight of your decision heavy on your chest. Heimerdinger suddenly stops in front of you, causing you to nearly run into him. He gestures toward a door. “Restroom’s here,” he says breezily “I suggest you change before meeting the council.”

Before you can respond, he twirls around you with a flurry of motion. “Not that your outfit isn’t lovely, mind you, but the uniform might be a tad more fitting for the occasion!”

With that, he dashes off, leaving you standing in stunned silence as students pass by, their gazes lingering.

Back in the lab, Jayce paces nervously. “Maybe we should check on her—”

Viktor leans back, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Heimerdinger won’t do anything rash, Jayce. You shouldn’t worry.”

Jayce stops mid-step, his brows furrowing. “You worked for him, so you’re biased. I almost got banished by him.”

Viktor’s lips twitch, his own worry creeping into his expression.

Jayce continues, “We’re the ones who convinced her to come here anyways, so doesn’t that mean we’re like— responsible for her?”

Viktor grimaces. “Eh— maybe we should find them, just to be safe.”

But before they can leave, you barge in the door with a huff. “I thought the Undercity was a maze, but this place was designed by a drunken architect.”

After changing into the uniform and throwing your cloak over it in an attempt to hide the blinding color, you stepped out of the restroom—only to realize the professor had really left you to figure your own way back to the lab.

“Jayce, Can I borrow your bag again?”

Without waiting for a response, you start shoving your clothes into it. The action paused as the silence in the room makes you glance over your shoulder.

It looks like the two of them are deep in a silent argument. Jayce finally breaks away and steps in front of you, clearing his throat before speaking. “So, uh, you’re wearing a uniform now?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s called a cloak, Jayce,” Viktor says, his voice laced with a knowing tone.

Jayce turns back to him, seemingly picking up where their silent exchange left off, but his tone is more curious than annoyed. “Oh, is it? Then what would you call the clothes under the cloak?”

Viktor’s lips curl at one side, moving to gather items for the presentation. “Perhaps an attempt at blending in for the council?” He pauses, eyes glancing toward you, waiting for a response.

“It’s not blending in if I’m already, uh, in,” you reply, unsure of how they’ll react. You hope they won’t be too shocked—after everything that’s happened today, you can’t take any more surprises.

They both share a final, quick glance. Jayce smiles softly. “Well, alright then.” Viktor gives a subtle nod, clearly pleased.

[quartz-kilsviken]

Written in the Runes

Chapter 3

➸ Synopsis: Ekko, your mischievous yet endearing local troublemaker, trails a wealthy academy student from the topside. When you end up with the student's satchel, you find a notebook filled with intriguing magical research. Unable to resist, you embark on a quest to uncover the secrets of this mysterious scholar.

➸ Pairing: Jayvik/reader

➸ Chapter Word Count: 2,795

➸ Tags: romance, slow burn, yearning, eventual smut, non canon compliant

➸Notes: Thanks for all the love, y’all! I’m still very new to writing, and your words are so kind. After this chapter, there won’t be a time skip. Things will also differ a bit to what you see in the show, again, I’m just making shit up. Also, we love Mel in this house. Man, when are these dorks going to stop committing crimes?

➸ Previous Chapter Link- pt.2

You’ve never spent much time in Piltover. Your grandmother never allowed it, knowing that the city’s blinding light would expose you and your mother in ways the shadows of the Undercity never could. Piltover is too bright, too open—its light strips away every ounce of protection. The silence here presses in, unnervingly thick, as if the air itself is watching, waiting. You feel as though people could hear your thoughts if they tried.

The three of you move through the academy hall, its vastness stretching endlessly before you. The shadows here are shallow, offering no real cover. Even clinging to the walls, you feel too exposed. Viktor’s cane clicks softly against the floor, a sound that cuts through the stillness, guiding you and Jayce toward Heimdinger’s lab. You glance around the corner, your pulse quickening, but there’s no sign of security. A breath of relief washes over you—Piltover’s arrogance is working in your favor tonight. Their focus is on the Undercity, not their precious academy.

“This way,” Viktor’s voice echoes, low but steady, the sound lingering in the air. You crouch by the door, the small light in your hand trembling, its beam shaking slightly. Viktor fumbles with the keys, his fingers quick but steady.

Jayce crouches beside you, his breath quick and shallow, his body tight with nervous energy. “We need to hurry,” he whispers, his voice tight with barely contained panic.

Viktor mutters, “I’d hurry if I wasn’t being crowded,” a strained smile flickering across his face. His hands are quick as he slots the first key into the lock, and with a soft click, it turns. “So far, so good,” he murmurs, though the words don’t carry the relief you’d expect.

Your attention shifts back to the hallway, the stillness thickening. Then it comes, a faint hum, barely perceptible at first. It pulls at you, a crackling sensation that makes the air feel alive, sparking across your skin. Your hand lowers involuntarily, the light dipping. It’s like something invisible is pushing against you, crawling beneath your skin, urging you forward.

Suddenly, the quiet is shattered by a flash of blinding light.

“Hm. Willing to risk exile for your endeavor? That’s quite the conviction.”

You flinch, eyes struggling to adjust to the blinding brightness. As your vision struggles to clear, something else cuts through—an overwhelming wave of energy. It rushes in, igniting your senses, filling the space around you with a crackling force. It’s golden, electric, like a thousand sparks flying through the air, threading through every nerve. You can feel it, pulling you toward the confrontation, an intensity that makes your chest tighten.

And then Jayce moves. Without hesitation, he shifts in front of you, crouching low still, positioning himself between you and the source of the light. His body is rigid, protective, instinctively shielding you from view. Viktor, still in front of both of you, tenses, his breath hitching slightly in response to the light.

“Wait a minute—this isn’t my bedroom. How could I have—?” Viktor stammers, his voice thin, scrambling for an excuse as his words trip over each other. Jayce follows, almost in unison, “Counselor! What a surprise to see you—uh…” He trails off, realizing with resignation that you’ve all been caught.

Jayce straightens, quickly adopting a more reasoned tone. “Please, we can prove that it works.” As you stand behind him, you subtly adjust your position to get a better look at the woman. Her presence is as commanding as her appearance—graceful, authoritative, poised. She reminds you of a painting, vivid brushstrokes capturing a beauty so striking it almost seems unreal. Her gaze is fixed on Jayce as he speaks, analyzing him intently, as though she could unravel him with a mere glance.

Her eyes flicker toward you for a brief moment, the sudden contact causing you to retreat behind Jayce again. Her voice is laced with serious amusement. “You couldn’t do so earlier today. How is tonight any different?”

You feel the urge to speak up, but the knowledge that she’s a counselor keeps you silent. This is not how you imagined your night would unfold. Your mind briefly flashes to Benzo—how disappointed he’d be if you ended up locked up.

Viktor’s voice cuts through your anxious thoughts. You shift your gaze to watch as he stands. “We figured out how to stabilize it.” He sounds slightly annoyed, as if he expects she won’t understand.

She shifts the light from Jayce to you, then to Viktor, taking a moment to assess your odd little group.

Her eyebrow quirks. “The professor’s assistant and… a stray.” Apparently, that’s what she’s concluded after a quick assessment.

You can feel Jayce stiffen, his voice far firmer than before. “No. They’re my new partners.”

She redirects her gaze to focus on Jayce’s face. Her voice is smooth. “Even if you manage to prove your theory, the council would destroy it.”

Viktor speaks again, his annoyance now extremely evident, and she shifts the light to focus on him. “Heimerdinger will recognize the potential.”

“He already does.” She doesn’t waver, her eyes meeting yours again. You fight the instinct to hide, forcing yourself to stand your ground and hoping she can’t see the fear in your eyes. She softens slightly. “It scares him. It scares them all.”

You should stay quiet—you have no place speaking to a council member, especially since she’s already made it clear what she thinks of you. The “stray” comment is still burning in your chest. But before you can stop yourself, your curiosity wins out over your better judgment. “What about you?”

She pauses, the shock of you speaking quickly masked by her practiced indifference. Her eyes seem to hold either challenge or intrigue. You ignore the two men’s clear panic at your intervention, choosing instead to focus on staying calm.

“I recognize that any worthwhile venture involves risk.”

A whistling tune shifts all attention away from you. The energy in the room becomes immediately panicked—you realize it’s the sound of a security guard. She listens for a moment, clearly amused by the way the three of you react.

Jayce starts pleading. “Counselor, this technology is real, and no matter what happens here, it’s going to change our world. We should be the ones to lead it. Piltover, the land of progress, equality, innovation. I know it sounds impossible, but when have we ever let that stop us? Please, just give us a chance.”

You and Viktor share a glance, the hope between you both palpable. You both hold your breath.

She finally cuts through the suffocating silence, her focus shifting across the three of you. “You have one night.” You all exhale, relieved. “Impress me, or I suggest you pack your bags.”

And just like that, you’re once again left in the darkness, listening as she leads the guard away. None of you dare move for another minute, until Viktor takes your hand, reigniting the small light for you. You’re caught off guard by the sudden contact, a new anxiety filling your chest as he gives you a tight smile before crouching once more. You resume your positions, unlocking the door again—this time uninterrupted.

As you step into the room, you attempt to break the tension. Quirking an eyebrow at Viktor as Jayce rushes to his equipment, you tease, “This isn’t my bedroom?”

His eyes widen for a moment before he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “I suppose I’m not great under pressure.”

The two of you surround Jayce, who’s fully focused on his task. Your eyes scan the table. You expected a lot, but this… this is far more than you could have imagined.

It’s beautiful. Every inch is covered not just in pieces of his research, but in countless magical artifacts. You have to fight the urge to inspect each one.

Jayce’s soft voice pulls you out of your thoughts. You look up to realize both men are watching you. You’d expected annoyance at your clear distraction, but instead, their gazes are soft. “We won’t have time to modify the stabilizer. We’ll need to input the right rune combination manually. Can you write them down?”

“Oh, yes, I can, but I’ll need a few minutes.” Nerves settle slightly—it’s a familiar task, but one you haven’t practiced in a while.

Viktor hands you paper and a pen. “Take your time. We’ll need to adjust the oscillation.”

You head to the other side of the room, away from the boys, who are now bent over the machine. The soft clicking of metal and their murmured collaboration fills the room. You take in your surroundings, tuning your senses to the unfamiliar space. Without thinking, you close your eyes. The sounds, the scent of dusty parchment, the temperature, and the hum of unique energy surround you. You carefully guide the symbols on the paper, confident in your work. By the time you head back, Jayce is adding the crystal to the machine with a soft click.

You hand the paper to Viktor, who takes it with his free hand, the other snapping closed the book he holds. You can feel his excited confidence, and see the playful glint in his eyes again. “Time to crank it.”

Jayce is much less confident, his voice wavering as he looks over at Viktor. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Viktor’s only response is a tight grimace and a shake of his head. You can’t help but snort at the exchange. The three of you gather closer, as if the stone is drawing you in. After a moment of hesitation, Viktor reaches his hand past you, softly clicking the button.

The hum of the crystal intensifies as the machine starts to spiral. Blue light crackles in front of your eyes. Wind picks up as the machine gains power, and you feel Jayce’s panic spike beside you.

“I don’t think it’s gonna hold! Look at the buildup!” Jayce practically yells.

You’re mesmerized by the energy, fighting the urge to reach out. Viktor’s voice is steady and confident. “The resonance will stabilize it. Trust me.” And, as if the stone was listening, it does stabilize. You can practically feel Viktor’s pride.

He finally looks over at Jayce. “I told you it would work.” Anticipation builds. “All yours.”

Jayce is lost in the sight before him, his eyes sparkling with the blue light. Breathless, he murmurs, “Wow, it’s never done that before.” He glances at you with a tight nod, then looks at the runes you wrote. “Alright… here we go.”

Jayce begins to input the rune combination, using the dial. You hold your breath, hoping you got it right. It’s working, and then… he hesitates. The moment disrupts the flow, and the crystal emits a harsh energy. Jayce panics and stops turning the dial altogether. The crystal destabilizes, and you mindlessly grip Viktor’s arm to stay upright. The energy is violent and chaotic.

You shout over the deafening ringing, “You have to continue or it’ll combust!”

Viktor steps closer to you, hand discarding his cane to grip the table. In all the tense moments tonight, this is the first time you see him panic. “Disengage!”

Jayce seems to realize it too, trying to reach for the dial but failing.

A booming sound erupts, and for a moment, time seems to slow. The energy releases away from you. Your eyes fling to the window, the glass shattering and slowly moving outward, until suddenly, the energy pulls back violently, dragging the shards of glass with it. Before any of you can react, the glass slices against your arm. Somehow, Jayce manages to hit the dial, stopping the machine.

The room plunges into darkness, the silence so thick that all you can hear are the frantic beats of your own heart. “Incredible.” You can’t help but smile in the dark, even as your mind races. Of course Viktor finds wonder in it, even though it’s obvious things have gone wrong.

Jayce fumbles to light a lamp and as your eyes adjust, you realize you’re still gripping Viktor’s arm. You release it, and with the movement, it feels like you finally exhale a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Jayce looks between the two of you before stepping back to inspect the machine. Stopping to retrieve his fallen cane, Viktor moves to join him. He hisses, his finger brushing a cut on Jayce’s cheek. Even in the low light, you swear you see Jayce’s ears flush red.

The open window lets outside noise filter in, and shouts from below pull your attention.

“Oh, shit.” The curse slips out before you can stop it as you see enforcers flooding into the academy. There’s no way they missed the explosion—or the light. The realization hits you immediately, and a tight knot forms in your stomach.

The three of you spring into action, but it feels too slow. Jayce works frantically at the machine, and you rush to the door. You lock it just as someone starts pounding on it.

“Open this door immediately!” a voice demands from the other side. Panic spikes in your chest as you hear the unmistakable sound of the door’s lock starting to be undone. You glance back at the boys, both working with urgency.

Just as you look up, Viktor tosses his cane at you. You catch it, surprised, and he raises his eyebrows, his gaze flicking to the door, wordlessly telling you to reinforce it. You slot the cane into place without hesitation, securing the door.

Turning back, you see Jayce place a stone into place with a soft click, quickly resuming his work.

“They’re almost in!” you say, your voice sharp with urgency. The door is being hammered by several people on the other side, the cane barely holding them back.

You try to steady yourself and give Jayce’s arm a quick squeeze, a silent reminder to stay calm. He glances back, giving a tight nod. This time, he closes his eyes as he inputs the runes, his movements as fluid as when you’d deciphered them earlier. You and Viktor lean in, the sound of the shouts from outside fading as the hum of the machine grows louder. And then, suddenly—

A surge of energy pulls back, holding the world suspended in quiet anticipation before it bursts outward again. This time, the energy floods the room, wrapping everything in its glow before it stills, weightless. You’ve never known the world in this way—seeing everything from so high, as if you’re no longer bound to Runeterra. The light doesn’t intimidate you. Instead, it fills you with a profound sense of awe, a wonder so deep it almost hurts. It should feel wrong, an unnatural defiance of gravity’s pull, but instead, it feels as if you’re exactly where you were always meant to be.

Your senses soften as you drift, spinning slowly in the stillness, mesmerized by the way your hair floats and dances around your face. A soft laugh breaks through your reverie. You turn to find Jayce, his hands deftly flicking a cog through the energy, vanishing and reappearing before Viktor in a blur of motion. And oh, it’s beautiful—they’re beautiful. Their smiles are like twin stars, bright enough to rival the very light that surrounds you. You laugh with them as Viktor passes the cog to you, your fingers brushing against its cool surface, flipping it in the air to watch it glide, weightless, past you.

But then, like a shadow crossing the sun, your gaze lands on the doorway. The joy you feel remains untouched by the figures standing there—several enforcers, all with stunned expressions. The Yordle pushes past them, his posture tight with frustration. He’s speaking, but all you catch is a faint, exasperated, “Will you please stop hovering?”

Viktor’s voice rings out through the muffled energy, its sharp edge almost playful: “I’m not sure how to do that, sir!” Even if he could, you imagine he wouldn’t want to.

The Yordle’s voice cracks with desperation, and there’s a weariness to it that strikes you. “This is not what Piltover's future looks like, my dears.” It’s as if he knows—deep down—that there’s no undoing what has been set in motion.

The warm, golden glow pulses once more, wrapping around the soft blue energy, swirling together like the very fabric of the universe. It’s the sensation of space itself—endless, infinite—and the stars shimmer so close you could reach out and touch them. “That is for the Council to decide,” a soft, melodic voice rises, and it carries with it the weight of something momentous. “Perhaps it’s time for the era of magic.”

“Uh—Hextech,” Jayce interrupts, his tone laced with a quiet but resolute certainty. He looks down at the woman, his gaze steady. “For the era of Hextech.”

[quartz-kilsviken]

Written in the Runes

Chapter 2

➸ Synopsis: Ekko, your mischievous yet endearing local troublemaker, trails a wealthy academy student from the topside. When you end up with the student’s satchel, you find a notebook filled with intriguing magical research. Unable to resist, you embark on a quest to uncover the secrets of this mysterious scholar.

➸ Pairing: Jayvik x reader

➸ Chapter Word count: 2,591

➸ Tags: slow burn, yearning, eventual smut, non canon compliant

➸ Notes: What a bunch of nerds committing crimes. First meeting, and omg, Jayce touched your shoulder—how scandalous! Hope y’all enjoy! Please leave comments or message me, I’m lonely.

➸ Next Chapter Link- pt. 3

➸ Previous Chapter Link- pt. 1

You flip mid-air to soften your landing, hitting the floor of the destroyed room with a quiet thump. You freeze, ears straining for any sound that might betray the presence of the two men. The silence is oppressive, stark difference from the lively streets in the Undercity. It's hard to make out much in the dim room, but it seems mostly empty—save for scattered furniture and the odd pieces of stationery half-buried beneath rubble. If you had to guess, the crystals were responsible for the gaping hole in the building. The notes mentioned they emit a soft blue glow—an irresistible prize for a group of kids looking for something valuable, blissfully unaware of how unstable they are.

You step closer to the chalkboard. The messy scrawl you recognize from your late-night reading, but the neat, precise script catches your attention. Whatever they’re doing here, it’s clear they’ve only just begun. Most of the information echoes the well-established theories, but the neat writing introduces something new—new ideas, new angles. A few equations have been revised, a diagram of a stabilization machine has been subtly altered, its erased lines barely visible beneath the new ones. But the runes… the runes remain untouched. The focus here isn’t on how to wield the energy; it’s on how to harness it.

A loud crack—broken ceramic—jerks your attention away from the board. Panic floods through you as you whirl around. The men are back.

“Who the hell are you?” The larger man’s voice shakes with the same panic you feel, his chest rising and falling with quick, uneven breaths. You recognize him from the photo, though he’s taller than you expected. Your gaze flickers to the man beside him. His lean frame has stiffened, his hand tight around what looks like a coffee pot.

“I’m, uh, a fan of your work?” You wince internally at your own words. The response feels clumsy, awkward, and you can see it in their faces—your answer doesn’t help. It only seems to confuse them more.

As your eyes adjust, the man with the cane comes into clearer focus. There’s something magnetic about him. His gaze is sharp, intent—not cold, but calculating. It’s the kind of look you get when someone is sizing you up, not just as a person, but as a puzzle to be solved. You can’t help but wonder what he's seeing in you, how he's piecing together this strange encounter. His features are striking—high cheekbones, a jawline that suggests quiet strength—but it’s his amber eyes that truly draw you in. They shimmer in the dim light, molten gold, flickering with an intensity that makes you feel like he’s peeling you apart piece by piece, analyzing you, trying to figure out what makes you tick.

Then your gaze shifts to the man beside him—Jayce, you assume. You notice the tension in his posture, his eyes wide with uncertainty. He’s clearly unsettled by your presence, a stranger in his space. You can feel it in the way he holds himself—on edge, defensive—but there’s something more beneath it. A warmth, a flicker of sincerity that contrasts with the nervous energy surrounding him. His features are still, but his eyes betray something else—curiosity. He’s studying you, trying to read you, but it’s clear he’s unsure how to interpret what he sees.

“Are you here to rob me?” Jayce’s voice cuts through the silence again, strained as though he's forcing himself to address you.

You take your time scanning the room, then meet his gaze again. “Well, if I am, I suppose I’m a bit late to the party.”

A soft chuckle escapes the man beside him, quickly muffled by a sharp cough. Less rattled than his companion, he finally speaks up. “Then what are you doing here? Surely, you're aware this building is part of an active investigation?”

His accent catches you off guard—his words crisp, each consonant distinct and deliberate. You’ve heard it in certain areas of the Undercity, you realize. Rather than responding verbally, you decide it’s simpler to show them. As you reach for the satchel at your side, you notice both men stiffen. You exhale quietly and pull out the notebook. “Relax, it’s a book, not a weapon.”

Jayce’s eyes flicker with recognition as he takes in the notebook, his brows knitting together as you hold it out to him. He snatches it from your hand, stepping back to assume his previous position a few paces away. “Where did you get this?” His tone is sharp, likely because he already knows the answer.

“Would you believe me if I said I just found it?” You sidestep the question, avoiding Ekko’s involvement. Jayce narrows his eyes, clearly unconvinced. The other man takes the notebook from Jayce and begins leafing through it.

“I’d believe you, if you’d admit you found it on my doorstep.” His gaze shifts to the bulge under your cloak. “Is that my bag?” His whisper is tight with anger.

“Jayce.” The other man’s voice is a quiet intervention, holding the notebook up for Jayce to examine. As Jayce takes the book from his hands, he begins reading, his eyes scanning the pages with near frantic intensity. Amber eyes meet yours, his brows furrowed in frustration. “I’ll ask you one more time: Why are you here?”

You pause for a moment before placing the satchel down carefully and turn to face the chalkboard. “This research… it’s revolutionary. I thought it would be a crime not to return it.” You hesitate, searching for the right words. “I also had a few thoughts about it.”

Jayce steps closer, his eyes still on the notebook. “A few thoughts? You’ve practically rewritten my entire research with your notes.”

You glance at the other man, who’s now leaning in to examine the notebook too. “You seem to know a lot about this.”

You shift slightly, voice a little rushed. “I wouldn’t say that. I’ve always been interested in this sort of thing, but I’m no expert.”

Their close proximity is starting to make you uneasy, so you step back to the satchel. Digging through it, you pull out the grimoire, a pencil, and a crumpled grocery list. Sitting on the floor, you smooth out the paper, flip it to the blank side, and begin to draw. You can feel their eyes on you, but you focus on the task at hand.

“This book is useful,” you say, gesturing to the grimoire, “but it’s not exactly a manual. Runes might look like a language, but they’re closer to a song.” A small smile tugs at your lips as you repeat your mother’s words. “Each rune is like a note. Combining them creates a melody—different tunes each time.”

You hand the rough diagram to the two men who now loom over you.

Jayce speaks first. “This one—it’s the rune for transportation.”

You get to your feet and point at the diagram. “Yes, but look here—” Their focus sharpens, giving you more confidence. “You’re using just one combination, but magic doesn’t work like that. It’s unpredictable. It shifts based on its surroundings.”

You see the moment realization dawns on both of them. The smaller man turns and walks back to the chalkboard, the soft tap of his cane echoing in the quiet room. Jayce watches as he revises the work.

“We need to adjust it,” he murmurs, “to make it adaptable.”

You take advantage of their distraction to survey the room. The objects Ekko sold him are gone—perhaps in another room, but something about the pieces scattered across the space makes it feel like they belong here. The work on the board looks frantic, almost as if time is slipping away from them. Then it hits you: magic has been banned in Piltover for centuries. There’s no way the explosion didn’t reveal his research… they shouldn’t be here.

“They won’t let you continue, will they?” you murmur, before you can stop yourself.

This catches their attention. You spot a flicker of something—grief? Regret?—in Jayce’s eyes. The other man notices it too, and breaks the silence.

“This work is, as you said, revolutionary. The council thinks it’s too dangerous. But just as you risked showing up here tonight, we’re willing to risk showing them they’re wrong.” The room hums now, almost like it’s alive. Something is drawing you in, pulling you toward whatever comes next. Jayce steps forward, the chalk in his hand almost glowing under the dim light.

“So, what do you say?” His voice drops, almost a dare. “Want to take one more risk tonight?” You accept the chalk, fingers brushing his, anxiety crawling up your spine.

“I stole from you,” you state, matter-of-factly, watching them both closely.

“I know,” he says, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And we’re breaking and entering to keep illegal research going. We’re practically a criminal enterprise at this point.”

You tilt your head, eyes narrowing. “How do I know you’re not dangerous?”

The man behind Jayce laughs, low and dark. “Ah, that’s the fun of it, isn’t it? You won’t. You find that out as you go.” His smile is sly, tilting up at one corner.

You give him a wry smile back, the air between you thick with uncertainty.

“Mind telling me your names at least?” you ask, a teasing glint in your eye.

A few hours slip by unnoticed as the three of you work together, the intensity of the task drawing you closer in unexpected ways. What started as tentative collaboration has evolved into something more—a shared sense of purpose and excitement. The room, once cold and quiet, is now alive with the energy of discovery.

The three of you are practically vibrating from all the coffee you’ve consumed. Jayce is sitting in a chair while you’re on the ground beside him, trying to keep your energy from spilling over. “This whole time, I thought I needed to dampen the oscillations.”

Your gaze follows Viktor as he drags chalk across the board, carefully revising the final piece of the stabilizer before speaking. Your understanding of engineering and mathematics barely scratches the surface compared to theirs, but they’ve quickly realized that and patiently explain as they work through the last details.

“The crystals will only stabilize at high frequencies. You have to—”

“Crank it!” Jayce blurts out, his sudden interruption startling both you and Viktor. Viktor’s face lights up, his expression shifting as the idea clicks.

“Yes!” he exclaims, the excitement rushing in. “Yes, you have to... crank it!”

“It works!” you shout before you can stop yourself, your heart lifting as you look up to see Jayce’s grin, a mirror of your own exhilaration.

But the high doesn’t last long. As you both turn back to Viktor, his face is clouded with doubt. “On paper...” he murmurs.

The energy in the room shifts, and the weight of uncertainty settles over you like a cold fog. You rise, giving Jayce a quick pat on the shoulder before stepping closer to the board, the familiar sense of dread creeping in.

“We could test it, if we had access to my equipment,” Jayce suggests, his voice tinged with weariness as he rubs his face in frustration, clearly drained by more than just the lack of sleep.

You and Viktor stand together, your eyes scanning the research. It all seems so close, so achievable—yet still so far out of reach. Viktor mumbles, “Which is being destroyed tomorrow…”

Jayce leaps from his seat, his eyes wide with horror, mirroring your own disbelief. How could they destroy not just this research, but centuries of history? You know the treasures Benzo kept in that display—things too precious to lose—and you can only imagine what Jayce has gathered over the years. The thought churns in your stomach. The fear of magic, of knowledge being erased for safety’s sake.

Viktor interrupts your spiraling thoughts, turning to Jayce with an apologetic look, his voice soft and hesitant. “Oh, uh... y-yeah, I meant to tell you.”

“That research is everything! My—my whole life!” Jayce’s voice cracks, the weight of those words sinking deep into your chest. He looks ready to crumble. It’s strange, standing next to someone who’s lived a life so different from yours, yet you both share this one, burning connection to magic.

“Maybe if we show them the equations...” Jayce’s eyes are frantic, seeking a way out, a solution. Suddenly, the lock onto you. “You could speak to them about the runes. Show them what we’ve discovered.”

A cold chill runs through you at the suggestion. Speak to the council? The council. The very idea makes your stomach turn. You’d rather swim through the polluted river all the way back home than face them.

Before you can voice your refusal, Viktor speaks, his tone harder than before. “We need more than promises. We need proof.”

Jayce sinks back into his chair, his shoulders slumping in defeat. But your eyes don’t leave Viktor. He won’t meet your gaze, but you can see the familiar gleam in his eyes—the same gleam you’ve seen many times before in a certain white-haired troublemaker back home. That look always ended with you hiding him from the Enforcers.

Jayce runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “Not without the crystals. The Enforcers took them all. They’re gone.”

“Locked away in Heimerdinger’s lab.” Viktor pulls a set of keys from his pocket. You can feel the weight of them even from here, the sense of what he’s suggesting. You glance to the hole in the wall, wondering if you should just jump down escaping this madness. You’re not cut out for this.

“No. No. No. You heard the council. If we’re wrong—” Jayce’s voice trembles as he pleads, his fear palpable. His desperation is enough to make your chest tighten, but you can’t back out now.

Forcing yourself to speak, you cut in, your words coming out more resolute than you feel. “But what if you’re right?” The finality in your voice is sharp, and suddenly, there’s no room for debate.

Jayce glances between the two of you, his frantic expression softening, though the fear remains. “Why? Why would you risk this?”

Viktor’s voice drops low, filled with quiet determination. “Do you think it was my life’s ambition to be an assistant? Scientists live for discovery—for the chance to change the world. This Hextech dream of yours... it has the power to do that.” His words settle between you and Jayce like a spark, igniting something inside both of you. His conviction is contagious.

You flinch, feeling a warm hand on your shoulder, and realize Jayce is now standing between you and Viktor. His presence is comforting, grounding. You glance up, and for a fleeting moment, your heart skips a beat at the sight of his eyes—they shimmer with something you can’t quite place, even in the dim light of the room. You hope the shadows conceal the flush spreading across your face.

“Our Hextech dream.” The words echo in your mind, and suddenly, you know there’s no turning back. The three of you—strangers in so many ways—are bound together by something bigger than yourselves. Fear lingers, but excitement quickly replaces it.

You want to pull out your sketchbook, not just to capture the moment, but to preserve its beauty—its significance. It’s as if you can feel history unfolding around you, a moment that will change everything. This isn’t just a turning point for you; it’s something that will echo through time, shaping the world. And you’re here, right in the middle of it.

[quartz-kilsviken]

Written in the Runes

Chapter 1

➸ Synopsis: Ekko, your mischievous yet endearing local troublemaker, trails a wealthy academy student from the topside. When you end up with the student’s satchel, you find a notebook filled with intriguing magical research. Unable to resist, you embark on a quest to uncover the secrets of this mysterious scholar.

➸ pairing: jayvik x reader

➸ word count: 3,649

➸ tags: Slow Burn, yearning, eventual smut, not canon compliant

➸ notes: This is going to be an eventual Jayce/Viktor/Reader romance. I want a boyfriend and I want my boyfriend to have a boyfriend. The goal is for this to be an incredibly slow burn. Timeline might differ slightly to the show, and I’m making shit up as I go. I don’t understand LOL lore or magic, nor do I want to. You can also find me on AO3 Quarts_Kilsviken :)

➸ Next Chapter Link- Pt.2

For centuries, art has served as a means to capture moments otherwise lost to time. It functions as a time capsule, preserving not only events but the emotions felt by the artist. Families fleeing war, yet pausing long enough to capture the image of a single flower—the delicate curve of its petals, the vivid color stark against an ash-covered ground. A mother, imparting forgotten magic beneath the soft glow of firelight, a pale blue shimmer in the child’s wide eyes. Runes etched into the dirt, knowing they can be erased in an instant. These fragments call to you, urging you to remember moments you’ve never known. Moments your mother never had the chance to share with you.

As your pencil glides across the thin paper, you wonder if, one day, someone will look back at your captured moments. Will they find meaning in the images of waves crashing against the dock and sense the longing that fills them? You doubt it. The flimsy paper will likely disintegrate into dust within a few years. Still, you continue—perched atop a warehouse roof, waiting for the familiar ship to arrive. These moments are yours, the sunrise painting colors across your pages unseen in your home.

With a long stretch, you stuff your sketchbook into your bag and begin the familiar descent down the side of the building. The cool breeze from the water seeps deeper into your jacket as you approach the ship. After a minute of waiting, the cold settles into your bones and you decide it’s far too frigid to remain outside any longer. Avoiding the eyes of the workers, you slip up the ship's ramp, hurrying down into the cabin.

“Got anything good today, Khal?” you call out, trying to suppress a wince as you hear the loud thump and the string of curses that follow. The yordle emerges from behind a stack of crates, rubbing the top of his head.

“Ah, damn it, I told you to stop coming in here. Couldn’t you wait another five minutes?” Khal mutters, continuing to gather various items from the crates, placing them carefully into a large black bag.

“I’m doing you a favor, really. Now you won’t have to make the trip outside. It’s windy today, Khal—you might get blown away,” you tease. He glares up at you, unamused by your joke as you stand over the bag. Realizing he has what you want, you try to smooth things over with your most innocent smile. “Seriously, you don’t have to thank me for going the extra mile. But if you do—”

“Sorry, kid, no magic stuff today.” He shakes his head, zipping the bag shut with a snap. “They’ve been cracking down at the borders. Rumors of a new drug shipment coming to the docks are making it impossible to get anything in.” Khal sighs, sensing your disappointment, though it’s clear he’s frustrated with the situation as well. “Look, I managed to get some paint from Noxus for you and the kid. I know it’s not what you were hoping for, but—”

You cut him off with a tight hug, leaning down to wrap your arms around the furry little man. Though he doesn’t return it, when you pull away, you spot the faintest tug at the corner of his mouth, trying to suppress a smile. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Now get out of here before the enforcers start their rounds.” You grab the bag, tossing it over your shoulder. With a quick farewell, you make your way away from the water.

As you enter the Lanes, the cool breeze morphs into warm, acrid smog. Your feet instinctively know the route home, staying in the shadows so no one catches sight of the bag hanging from your back. You push through the door of the familiar shop, relieved to unload the weight of the bag. Benzo looks up at you from behind the counter as you make your way over. With a grunt, you hoist the bag onto the table,

“You know, Benzo, I should get hazard pay for this. My back’s gonna be shot by the time I’m thirty, I swear. Should start saving for an early retirement,” you joke.

“You’re already robbing me blind with what I pay you, little lady. Anyone give you trouble on your way back?” Benzo peers at you over the rim of his glasses.

“Nah, not today,” you say, hopping over the counter and tossing a few items onto the shelves. “With all these new trade precautions, I bet most people don’t think it’s worth the hassle anymore.” You wrinkle your nose at a rusty pocket watch, trying to decide if it’s even worth trying to sell. Benzo sighs and settles back in his chair, apparently leaving the rest to you. You continue sorting through the shelves, but something’s off. No, scratch that—a lot is off. You stop mid-motion, eyes darting to the now-empty display. “Were we robbed?”

It takes him a second to figure out where you’re looking, and when he does, he chuckles, clearly unbothered. “Nah, some academy kid cleared out the display a couple hours ago. Ekko made a killing off him.” You knew you’d never have enough to buy even one of the items, but it still stings to know they’re gone.

“What would an academy kid even want with magic artifacts?” You bite the words out, too sharp, too bitter. You immediately try to reel it back. “He probably doesn’t even know what he’s got—just hoarding them to show off to his rich friends.”

Benzo shrugs like he’s heard it all before. “You know the drill. We don’t question customers.” He takes a beat, then adds, “But if it helps, the kid seemed pretty knowledgeable.” That makes you feel a little better, though not enough to erase the empty, hollow feeling in your chest. The case sits vacant, mocking you.

Suddenly, the door slams open with a crash, followed by a flash of white hair as the little whirlwind zips across the room. Before you can even react, the kid darts through the back door like he’s on a mission.

You can’t help it—you burst out laughing at the sight of Benzo, stone-faced, staring after the boy. With a quick swipe of your hand, you snatch the paint from the now empty bag, slip through the door, and head after him. Listening carefully, you figure he’s made it down the stairs to his room. You knock softly before poking your head inside. Ekko’s in the process of shoving something under his bed, looking incredibly guilty. When he sees you, his face lights up with a giant smile. The kid’s clever, but not great at hiding things.

“I’ve got something for you, little man,” you say, leaning against the bed. You wave the paint palette in front of his face, teasing him, but snatch it away before he can grab it. “If you want it, you’re gonna have to tell me what’s under there.”

Ekko starts pacing, looking like he’s weighing his options, then stops, squints at you, and says, “You have to promise you won’t tell Benzo.”

You put on a mock-serious face, tapping your chin. “Depends. Did you kidnap someone? ‘Cause I’m not sure I wanna be an accomplice to kidnapping.”

“No,” Ekko says, a little too quickly, his eyes darting nervously under the bed.

“Fraud?”

“No.”

“Murder?”

“No.”

You chuckle and shake your head, finally giving in. “Fine. I won’t tell Benzo.”

Ekko resumes his pacing, looking oddly pleased with himself. “Okay, so this guy comes in earlier today. Buys a bunch of fancy stuff—the kind we usually keep behind glass. He’s got a ton of money, I’m talking a lot.” He pauses, grinning. “Obviously, I charged him double.” He snickers to himself, then continues. “Anyway, I was curious, so I followed him.”

You shouldn’t have been surprised, but somehow, you still are. You stare at him, rubbing your forehead. “Ekko, really? Benzo said he’s an academy student. You followed him all the way topside?”

Ekko avoids your eyes, and you already know the answer. “Ekko.”

“No one saw me, I swear!” He glances back at the bed, stalling. After a deep breath, he adds, “Okay, so the guy put his bag down to grab his keys, then went inside—probably too distracted with the rest of his stuff to remember he left it behind.”

You gasp. Without thinking, you dive under the bed and, sure enough, pull out a satchel. You immediately regret your earlier promise. “Ekko, what if there’s something valuable in here? If he gets enforcers involved and this is going to be the first place they look.”

Ekko waves a hand dismissively. “Come on. Think about it. He came in for a bunch of illegal stuff. He’s not going to risk it. Plus, he’s loaded. Whatever’s in that bag, he can buy it again.”

You look at the satchel again, hesitating for a moment. Then, curiosity wins out. You pat the floor next to you, and Ekko eagerly plops down beside you. You pop open the bag and dump its contents onto the floor in one smooth motion. Ekko dives into the mess with excitement, while you start inspecting the items. It’s a mess—books, pens, random junk. Exactly what you’d expect from an academy student.

Ekko picks up a wallet and flips through it before remembering that he already cleaned out the guy’s coin. Losing interest, he starts to toss it aside, but you snatch it up before he can. It’s plain, brown leather with neat stitching—nothing special, but maybe it’s worth a little something. As you dig inside, your fingers catch on a student ID card. It’s scratched up but still in decent condition. You flip it over, and a pair of big eyes stare back at you. The blurry picture shows a young man, maybe in his early twenties, with a wide, gap-toothed grin. Handsome, you think, not at all who I imagined. You slide the card back into place and shove the wallet into your jacket pocket.

Ekko’s rummaging through the rest of the bag, clearly unimpressed by the contents. You laugh at the face he’s making and, still grinning, grab the paint you’d dropped earlier. “Khal said these are from Noxus. Definitely worth a lot. So, don’t let Mylo use them to paint middle fingers on Jericho’s stall.”

Ekko snickers, jumping up to stow the paint away, tossing the pens he grabbed from the bag into a drawer with a careless flick. He starts cramming the rest of the bag’s contents back in, and you look over at him, an eyebrow raised. “Do you mind if I, uh, borrow your stolen bag?”

Without missing a beat, Ekko flashes you a sly grin. “Sure, but just so you know, that officially makes you an accomplice now.”

You can’t help but laugh as you leave Ekko’s room and wander down the hall. By the time you collapse on your bed, the exhaustion hits you like a wave. Dock runs only happen once a month, but they require staying up all night—leaving right after sunset and staying until the ship docks at sunrise. It used to be so much easier—endless nights that never seemed to take a toll. But now, as your joints creak and protest, you feel like a 23-year-old who’s already past their prime. You glance down at the satchel, chewing the inside of your cheek. You’ve already gone through it—hell, you dumped its contents all over Ekko’s floor. So why the sudden wave of guilt?

You decide to be more careful this time, taking things out slowly. The first item is a crumpled piece of paper, which turns out to be a grocery list. You set it aside with a sigh and reach for the next thing: a hardcover book, dark blue canvas, its corners fraying with age. The moment you touch it, you can tell it’s old—the scent of it, the brown tint of the pages. The text is foreign, some language you can’t quite place. Maybe it’s from overseas? Curiosity gnaws at you, but you set the book aside and move to the next.

This one catches your attention immediately. The cover’s worn, but it’s the script inside that makes your heart beat a little faster. You flip through the pages and realize it’s a grimoire. Runes cover every inch, some familiar, others completely alien. How did he get his hands on this? Sure, he’s rich, but something so detailed, so rare? There’s no way it would’ve come from Piltover. The heat of anger burns through you, a deep, familiar ache that’s almost like grief. He’s carrying around a book that details the same magic your family nearly died for. But is it really just anger? No, it’s something else. The pages seem to hum, drawing you in, much like your mother’s paintings once did—pulling you toward something. Your past? No… not this time. It’s something else entirely.

Finally, you pull out the last book from the satchel. It feels heavier, like it’s carrying something more than just weight. You run your fingers over the hammer etched into the cover, studying its details before opening it. Inside, it’s filled with messy notes and diagrams, all jumbled but with a clear purpose. This is it—this is what he’s been working on. He’s trying to harness magic.

Though your body is screaming for rest, you can’t bring yourself to put the book down. When you finally glance at the clock, it’s already 5 AM, but you’re still lost in the pages. You’re hooked—caught in the madness of it all. It’s brilliant. Insane. Revolutionary. And completely, utterly terrifying. His scrawl is all over every page, his signature tucked into the corner of each one. Even though this is clearly just one of many notebooks—a fraction of his larger body of work—it all makes perfect sense. Harnessing arcane energy through crystals. Capturing raw, chaotic magic and transforming it into a usable, practical source.

It’s clear he knows what he’s doing, but there’s something missing in his understanding of the arcane itself. His notes drip with frustration, especially where he’s tried to decode the runes—almost every page filled with scribbles, crossed-out lines, and half-baked theories. It’s as if he’s so close, yet there’s a final piece that eludes him.

And then it hits you. You might be that missing piece.

You’re no scholar, and you certainly aren’t a genius, but you know more than most when it comes to the arcane. You’ve lived it, felt it, and you can see the gaps in his research—things that could be the key to unlocking it all. Maybe you could help him. You feel the weight of the possibility, the urgency of his discovery. It’s world-changing. The visions he’s drawn out on each page show the immense potential for how this technology could revolutionize not just Piltover, but the Undercity, too. His research could bridge the gap between the two worlds, completely reshaping everything in its wake.

But as the minutes slip by and your eyelids grow heavier, you realize your body can no longer keep up with your racing thoughts. The words on the page blur into one long stream, and before you know it, your head tilts to the side. Your hand slips from the notebook as sleep finally pulls you under, the weight of your thoughts fading into the quiet dark.

You’re stirred awake by a quiet knock on your door. “You dead in there?” Benzo’s voice filters through, soft but insistent. As your mind clears, you realize your bed is strewn with the contents of the stolen satchel. Panic flickers for a moment before you shove the books back into the bag, tossing it under the bed just as he softly cracks the door open. Benzo stands in the doorway, glancing over you with a raised brow.

“You look like death,” he says with a tired chuckle. “How long you been sleeping?”

“Uh...” You glance at the clock. It’s already 6 PM. You wince. “About thirteen hours.”

He rubs his temples, sighing. “Get cleaned up, then come watch the shop for a while. I’ve gotta head out with Vander.” The fatigue is clear in his face, the lines around his eyes deepening.

“What happened? Is he okay?” You start picking out clothes, your movements automatic as the weight of the situation begins to settle in.

He exhales sharply, dropping down onto your bed with a heavy sigh. “Vander’s fine. But the kids... well, they’ve stirred up some serious trouble. You missed all the fun. Yesterday there was an explosion and a chase topside. And today? Enforcers barging in here looking for four kids. They tried to rob a rich academy topsider, but things went sideways. I heard the whole side of the building got blasted off, and now the Enforcers are crawling all over the Undercity.”

Your stomach drops. “Was anyone hurt?”

He glances at you, his expression softening. “No, thank the gods. But the building—turns out it was the Kirammans’ place. What was in there? I don’t even want to think about it.” His gaze sharpens. “The kids will be fine. Vander and I will handle it. But they need to lay low for a while. Knowing them, though, that’ll be a battle.”

You nod quietly, though the weight in your chest only grows heavier as he exits your room. After a quick shower, you find yourself behind the shop counter, brown cloak draped loosely around you, trying to mask the weight on your shoulder. The place is eerily still, save for the hum of your own racing thoughts. Your eyes stay fixed on the door as you wait, the uneasy silence pressing in.

When the door finally opens, it’s Ekko who walks in, looking surprised to see you behind the counter instead of Benzo. His usual brash energy is subdued, and he leans against the counter, avoiding your eyes.

“Bet you already heard what happened,” he mutters, picking at some invisible spot on the counter. “Vander’s really upset with us.”

The weight of his words hits harder than you expect. For all the bravado Ekko tries to show, you know how deeply he feels. You reach over, ruffling his hair, offering what little comfort you can. “Hey, little man, it’s gonna be okay. Everyone makes mistakes. I get why you did it. Vander and Benzo, they’ve made their own share of screw-ups, so they have plenty of experience fixing them.” Ekko gives a small, grateful smile at that. “Go get some sleep, alright? Things’ll cool down by tomorrow.”

Just as you finish speaking, the bell rings, and Benzo reappears, starting to lower the shutters. Before he locks the door, you move to slip out. “Get some rest, you two. I’m heading out for the night.”

Ekko gives you a tired wave as he heads for the back. Benzo, however, doesn’t take his eyes off you.

“You know,” he says, arms crossed, voice low, “I can’t stop you, but I’m still gonna tell you—it’s a bad idea. Enforcers are everywhere. There’s fighting on every corner.”

You both hold eye contact for a long beat, but he lets out a resigned sigh. “No arguing with you, is there? Go on, get out of here.” He opens the door for you, and you catch him off guard with a quick hug before slipping out into the night. His grumble follows you as the door clicks shut behind you.

The streets are a war zone. Enforcers litter every corner, and the air is thick with tension. You move through the Undercity carefully, staying in the shadows as much as you can, until you reach Piltover. There, it’s quieter, and for a moment, you feel a strange kind of relief.

There’s no sign of enforcers from atop the large buildings, but as you crouch to catch your breath, the sight in front of you makes your chest tighten. From this angle, calling it an explosion doesn’t even come close. The place looks like it’s been torn apart. A sinking feeling settles in your gut.

It makes sense the building looks abandoned now—who would stick around in a wreck like this? But then you realize it: you came here without a plan. What was your angle? Strut in, say you’ve got stolen research, and hope for the best? Ridiculous. Still, you’ve come this far. You suppose it wouldn’t hurt to get a bit closer.

With a deep breath, you sprint across the gap to the next rooftop, landing lightly and pausing to steady yourself. And there they are. Two figures, barely visible in the wreckage, illuminated only by the faint glow of a lamp. One is scribbling on a chalkboard, broad shoulders following the movements of his writing. The other holding a book in one hand and gripping a cane in the other, standing a step behind him. You squint, trying to make out the messy writing, but the shadows blur everything.

Just then, they turn—though you know they can’t possibly see you. Still, a chill runs down your spine, and you freeze, watching them move through a door, disappearing deeper into the building.

That’s when it hits you—the pull. The whispers, soft in the breeze. The tug in your chest. Every moment, every choice, has led to this. The memories flood back: your mother’s hands glowing with magic, her soft voice teaching you. Benzo, taking your hand as he led you from the ruins of your home, offering you a new place where you could rebuild, and with it, the hope that you could be more.

And now you’re here.

You feel the wind, the pull drawing you forward. Without thinking, you leap.

[quartz-kilsviken]

Can you feel the light inside? Can you feel that fire? Nina Zenik my beloved.

[quartz-kilsviken]

I never finish anything