#Mount Targon | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

milksuu · 1 year ago

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❝ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 ❞ ─── ☾⏺☽

pairing: yandere!aphelios x solari!priestess!reader (LoL)

warning: non/con, fem!reader, possessive/obsessive behavior, mentions of blood/violence, religious/fanatical behavior, unhealthy coping mechanisms, minor drug use, implied kidnapping, implied forced relationship, semi-public sex, unbalanced power dynamic, runeterra au

notes: sorry besties, he's a 10 but he's bat shit insane. (so an 11) also any mention of 'her' is the moon goddess, not alune. (we're leaving that sweet summer child out of this.) and for those who aren't aware, phel can speak when not under the influence of noctum, but unable to communicate with alune, which is uh...great in this case. (also not me wanting to write a second part like how why help?)

You never thought you’d stare into the pale visage of the Lunari man the village whispered about.

The one with a vacant face but deadly occupation. Your naïve belief in your own safe keeping was nothing more than an illusion. The sun always faded below the misted cliffs, only for the moon to take its place above the mountain’s highest peak. An endless cycle of hierarchical dominance that rinsed itself in blood and repeated in constant turmoil. Tonight would be no different.

“Don’t come any closer.”

A failed attempt to embolden your voice beyond a meek plea. You stiffened at the thunderous closing of the temple door. A clambering echo vibrated through the marble floor and pillars, past the rows of worship, up to where you stood at the crest of the ceremonial altar. The remaining resonance rattled and sang up your spine, shaking the candle light pinched between your fingertips.

The figure sauntered forward, stepping into the drapes of moonshine filtering from the glass atrium above. Before you stood a deadly beauty; a handsome face rapt with enticing secrets. With a painted crescent that mocked your own solar marking of gold. His lips were a perfect horizontal line, and it was difficult to imagine the ability they possessed beyond lethal silence. His hallowed expression screamed danger—but there was no running away—not when the black abyss of his eyes invited you to stay.

Not as a guest, but as his permanent resident.

“I’m warning you. Take one more step, and I’ll scream. The guards will come and they won’t hesitate to kill you—”

Your voice went taut inside your throat. Your breath sewn shut against your lungs. The weapon he carried listless at his side drenched itself in various hues of red. Fresh enough to steam in wisps around the sharpest point of the blade.

He stalked forward. The clack of his predetermined steps quickening the pace of your heart. When he stood at arms length, you felt the coldest touch of night. The veins layered beneath your skin pounded, flooding every inch of you with mortal dread. It was sickening to think the flush of your flesh would only make the spill of it all the better. The ‘Weapon of The Faithful’—titled by his own blasphemous people—spoke true. His name…you wished you could cleanse it from existence.

“Aphelios.” You damned the name like a plague upon all of Mount Targon. “Murderer. Blight. Heretic!”

You jabbed and swung your candlelight in a pitiful attempt to create distance. His free hand quipped against it, sending it clambering to the ground, banishing the flame to the surrounding night. Creating a hazier veil of darkness where there was only one true light—his moon.

Out of sheer disdain, you attempted to slap his face in recoil. His unarmed hand caught you by the wrist, remaining still as you struggled to free yourself from his trained grasp. With force, he pried your hand open, palm exposed. He brought the skin of it to his stiff lips. Unmoving, he lingered there. His lashes fluttered closed; taking a moment of peace, a moment of prayer.

A moment for sanctum.

His eyes then winged opened, boring into you, through you. Body, bone and soul. And all you could do was tremble within them. Sinking without escape into those black depths of…nothing.

In one swift motion, he brought the blade upwards, slicing through the thin linen of your garments. In a precise vertical line, your gown split into two equal halves. The insignificant barrier between you and him slipped to the ground, splaying like rags at your feet. Your head pounded for you to scream, but your own voice felt lost to you. Knowing it was all meaningless.

No one would hear you.

No one would save you.

Weakened by the surmounting despair of it all, if he hadn’t already had a hold on you, your legs would have given to the earth.

“No—“ you choked out, eyes brimming with tears. It must’ve looked pathetic; the way you placed your only free arm across your exposed breasts. As if any decorum of modesty would spare you. “Please—just kill me. Do nothing else but that. I beg of you.”

Your final sob for mercy reached ears that may as well have been carved of stone. He stalked closer, forcing your lower back to meet the mantled altar behind you. He’d sheathed his weapon, and took both of your hands within one tight grasp, in case you had half a mind to oppose him. You dipped your chin, heaving through a prayer with mournful hics and sniffled utterances. His advancing weight forced your trembling legs to part, and slotting himself between, created a space where your faith could never exist.

You didn’t want to look at him, or rather, you couldn’t. Tears scorched your vision and seared down the round of your cheeks. You flinched when he took your chin, raising your blurry gaze to meet his. In those darkest of pools, something gave. An insignificant speck of light gleaming into a faint existence. His lips moved, but there was no sound. Instead, you traced the words from the bow of his mouth.

‘Forgive me.’

Your heart clenched. Diluted blood spiked with fear drowned your consciousness. It left no room for thoughts to linger; whether or not you imagined even an ounce of sympathy reflected in those sedated eyes. Whether or not you imagined he said anything at all.

The entire world scattered away when he brought your face closer, and kissed away the tears staining the corners of your eyes. You fought to pull away, but he held firm, both your chin and hands locked in the cage of his fingers. From your cheeks, he skimmed his ghostly lips to your mouth. He muffled your protestive moans by filling up your mouth with all of his tongue.

He gave you the salt taste of your own tears. That, and the taste of something else. A saccharine flavor with notes of floral and bitter earth.

A reaction flourished; a slight tingle of your lips at first. It made his tongue feel hotter against yours, as parts of your upper mouth went numb. A stream of lukewarm paralysis seeped past your soft palate, filling every nook and cranny of your mindscape. Yet, the secondary symptoms didn’t stop there. An opposite wave traversed down your throat to your stomach, spilling fire throughout every layer of nerves. You clenched your lashes tight, shuddering a gasp into his open mouth.

When the pain settled into a dull simmer, you wondered briefly, had he felt it too? Had he consumed such a substance by choice? If that was a taste, what pain did he endure if he drank it like an offering of wine?

You didn’t want to imagine the terrible effects it might’ve had on his person. Not if it gave you even a single drop of sympathy. It was revolting enough his saliva was poisoning your pure sense of self. The fog of it sullying your inhibitions, stripping away your layers of moral preservation. To the absolute vitriolic parts of yourself, it made you consider…

What would it be like to be touched?

It was too sick and cruel of a thing to do to you. Since birth, you’d devoted your body and soul to your divine Goddess; The Golden Sister. You wanted to be disgusted by allowing the gift of yourself to become tainted by some awful man. No—he was worse than that. Or any word you could craft and cut the corners of your mouth with. He was, by biblical history, a Lunari man born from the cataclysmic eclipse of two moons. A day that marked the day of reckoning of the Solari faith and your people.

Your clouded senses and busied mouth made you unaware that his hand left your face to trail the mounds and curves of your body. A light touch drifting to your inner thighs. You jolted when a finger graced the sensitive hood of your exposed clit. Your thighs squirmed at his side as you attempted to jerk your knees. It did nothing and stirred nothing from him. Except bolster his conviction, tempting a finger lower, teasing your folds already glistening.

Although light-headed, you ripped your mouth away and nipped at his lip. It sprang forth droplets of blood, enough to taste his iron on your tongue. A trivial satisfaction.

“May you burn at dawn,” you condemned and spat at his lips.

Unflinching, he withdrew his hand and brushed over the blood mark you left. Sweeping it across his bottom lip, along with your saliva, he rolled the consistency between his fingers in private contemplation. Before he looked you dead in the eyes and stuck his fingers inside his mouth. Sucking and licking till his fingers dripped. Watching sent a lightning strike coiling down your spine.

He loomed his weight forward until your back met the altar mantle. With your palms pinned above your head, and legs coaxed wider. His coated hand repositioned down to your entrance, and you writhed with any strength your body could lend. His hold wrapped around your wrists squeezed, gentle in its reprimand. He leaned down to brush his face at the side of your cheek.

“Please…for your own sake.”

Your eyes widened at his frayed whispers stringing together. Breathing life into what seemed like an empty shell of a person. The frigid space between his mouth and your ear kindling with the slightest bit of warmth. It was what you feared the most. Forced to accept he was every bit human, with a horrid courtesy to use polite words and a pleasant, sickening tone. More insult to your injury. You wished he hadn’t spoken at all. Letting you believe in your mind that he was more aberration or phantom. Or anything else that carried not a single hint of a beating heart.

“I don’t want to hurt you…not anyone, really.” Again, comforting yet noxious. And it made whatever was inside you throb so terribly. As if he could sense it, he reached for it. His salivated finger split through your folds, sliding into the heat of your cunt. It elicited a drawn out whimper as you felt the sensual brush of it against a bed of tingling nerves. Gradually revealing a hidden desire you hadn’t wanted to gratify him with.

“But you…and your people…need to accept what can’t be denied any longer.” He punctuated his words with each thrust of his finger as it curved into that crescent shape you despised so much. Yet, you couldn’t deny the way it made your most feminine parts unravel at the seams. ”No matter how high your sun rises, my heavenly moon will always eclipse it. And fill the sun with Her beauty for all to see.“

A hitched whine fluttered past your lips as he easily slipped a second finger. While the heel of his palm pressed in circles, spreading your arousal and stimulating your plumping clit. Your cunt unashamedly sucked on his long fingers, encouraging him to mold and form you into what he needed you to be—a conduit for the undying affections of his faith.

“You might not see it, but the divine path has been shown to me. The one that’s led me to you. You can feel it at least, can’t you?” He flexed his digits and plunged a third finger. Deeper than the last, fuller than before. Your hips rolled forward on their own accord, craving every bit of attention from his touch.

With deliverance, you answered the question with a wail and arch of your back. Your whole body washed its nerves in a blinding heat. His fingers curled and flexed at your hungry walls clenching around him. It pushed a gush of sticky fluid from your twitching hole into his circling palm. Coming down from the spasms, you sobbed at the humiliating response of your body.

“So you do feel it.” There was a hidden sentiment of relief in his otherwise placid delivery. As if he’d purged the last blot of doubt that restrained him. You swallowed a mouthful of whines as his probing fingers continued undulating inside you. “Your body…it’s begging to devour me in all its warmth. And mine, yearning to take all your bright stars and bathe you by moon glow alone. Wanting us—and only us—to become one.”

Without warning, he emptied you of his fingers, a filthy squelch following with it. You sucked in a gasp at the crippling cold he left you with. But he wouldn’t abandon you for long. Shifting in the dark haze above you, he unsheathed his length from his garments and pressed himself against your sopping cunt. He dragged his fullness against your swollen and slicked folds. He wasn’t even inside you, yet you felt an agonizing cramp fisting in your stomach.

“By Her orders, by Her design…” he spoke through tight whispers, strained by his own anticipation. Pressing his full weight down, he hovered mere inches above you, panting bouts of aroused breaths against your lips. “Let us Converge.”

You squirmed and bucked underneath him. “Nn…not with you…anyone but—!”

You broke off into a high-pitched cry as he stretched you open, filling you up till he bottomed out, and pressed up to the hilt of his hips. He silenced both of your newly coupled hymns with his mouth, and each lap of his tongue matched the tempo of his generous thrusts. The sharp, intrusive pinch died as quickly as it came—the insignificant remnants of toxin dulling bits and pieces of certain pain receptive nerves. A gift, perhaps, in this instance. He had also prepped you well enough to accept all of his adoration, as intended. Another gift, as someone of his ‘giving’ nature may phrase it.

Pulling away slowly, the tip of his head rubbed graciously against every ridge of your swelling walls, before languidly pushing back, going past where you seemed to end. Beyond your farthest points you hadn’t thought existed. Pressing and rubbing all your soft spots and cervix with careful deliberation.

Then again, and again, and again.

“Can you feel it…my devotion…” he groaned into your open-mouthed kisses, continuing to work himself inside you. You weren’t even sure if he was speaking to you, or through you to his false Goddess.

His free hand found the round flesh of your breast, rolling your budded nipple delicately between the pad of his thumb and index. The other hand, squeezing at your captured wrists, but never tight enough to bruise. He had you lulling in a spellbinding rhythm underneath him, your hands fastened above your head, and hair spilling over the opposite side of the altar. When his mouth left your full lips, he possessed the nape of your neck, sucking the delicate skin above your life line. Your mewls, laced with the chasteless sounds of his base squelching at your entrance, leapt your pulse to an unreturnable pace.

“So warm,” he moaned low, staving off a growing need to revel in his own whines of ecstasy. “This pure sunlight of yours…I’m blessed to be the one who takes it. And you should be too. What an honor it is to be of service to my moon.”

You wanted to hate everything about it. The way he kissed you, the way he moved inside you—but you couldn’t. Every stiff and engorged part of him pressed almost lovingly against your most vulnerable parts; but that wasn’t the proper word for it. His affectionate caresses were zealous in origin. Not even for you. And boderlined a hedonistic doctrine you couldn’t describe. It would’ve been better if he were a man of barbaric qualities; rough and brutal. Not purposeful and diligent and—dared you admit it—tender. If he were the former, then your disgust could be justified, and your body would refuse him in its own rightful way. But it defied you, the lecherous thing. Insisting you melted beneath him and reduce to nothing but a drenched mess. Completely at the mercy of this Lunari man’s act of worship.

“Are you finally realizing it now? How generous my Goddess is compared to yours.” He abandoned the curve of your throat. Within the flush of his face, his eyes were suppled in absolute vindication at your shameless image. “How willing you are to accept me—to accept Her.”

“N-No…I’m…not…I won’t,” you pried your tongue for words.

He drawled out a quivering whine from your mouth. His body picking up to an impassioned pace, rutting into your sweltering heat. Tethering on his own abandoned pleasure. Your legs pushed themselves wider, opening yourself up more for him, drawing him deeper to pound against the tender knot growing in your belly.

Choked moans tightened in his throat. Your radiance gripped him with conviction, burning him so divinely from tip to base. Dragging him closer to your complete consummation. His fingers caught the contour of your face, tilting your head back. Your already swimming eyes rolled to follow, and watered at the sight of your Solari Goddess. Carved out from the temple wall, her sacred marbled gaze met your disgraceful expressions.

“That’s…hn…alright. You can lie to me. I’ll—we’ll always forgive you. But can you say the same for your deity? As she watches her little sunlight being pleasured by the moon’s devoted weapon. I—ha…doubt it very much.” An airy laugh cut through his thick moans intertwined with yours. He continued, inhaling and exhaling his words, raspy and down right broken. “It’s—almost our time…as reverence…your insides…with all of my…”

You couldn’t refuse the vile implication of his words. Not when his thickened, throbbing cock lapped achingly against your muddled core. Your blood boiled, draining out from your collapsing bodily veins to well up inside your stomach. Applying a pressure that made you want to burst into unmendable fractals of yourself. And you did—that tight knot broke in an instant, dilating your insides in a blaze of heat. Flooding you so wholly, you almost forgot to breathe through your delirious sobs of release.

When the smooth ridges of your walls clamped down, you heard it first as a moan of afflicted surrender on his part. Then, the cock buried inside you pulsed. A stream of white-hot fluid poured into you, shooting well past your cervix, bathing your womb with his warmth. But he didn’t stop there, continuing to indulge. He pumped and pushed the concoction of unified fluids till it poured past his base, and dripped in milky heaps from your hole. His pelvic and abdominal muscles shuddered as his hips rolled slowly but needingly, nursing himself through his over-stimulating climax.

From your tearful, half-lidded gaze, you witnessed a wet glisten in his own eyes. Whether induced by overwhelming pleasure or pained remorse, you would never know. You didn’t want to know.

It didn't matter.

They evaporated the moment he blinked again.

When the heaves and pants subsided, only the echoes of your whimpers remained. Unfastening his grasp from your wrists, his icy hands cupped your sulking face, idly running his thumbs across your soaked cheeks.

“I understand your pain. Believe me, I do. But no amount of tears will keep the celestial cycle from shifting in the moon’s favor. Like any phase, there will be a moment when you won’t hate me as you do now. You might even come to...love me.”

The way he paused made it seem he had no sense for the word. Or what the difference was between what was love and obsession. The look he possessed didn’t instill solace, either; his eyes mere slits of black against his porcelain face. Promising the moment you dared turn away from him, the back of your neck would bleed.

”I swear to you. From this night on, you’ll burn brightest by my reflection. And only my reflection. So long as there's breath and blood in this body, I’ll protect your sunlight from ever fading in the hands of anyone less deserving than mine. By cosmic fate, you’re my entire purpose, my entire existence...” he bent and kissed the solar marking painted on your forehead. “My orbit.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #league of legends #aphelios x reader #yandere aphelios x reader #yandere imagines #yandere smut #yandere league of legends #reader insert #tw noncon #mdni

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noxturnalmoth · 5 months ago

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Repentance

Summary: Repentance: n. the action of repenting, sincere regret or remorse.

Hurt, overworking and miserable, two souls find one another and fates intertwine even when they are worlds apart. How can one deal with the guilt of wanting something they cannot have? And why does going against the very principles you have imposed upon yourself feel so good?

Warnings: violence, crude language, themes of guilt, suicidal ideation, depression

Word Count: 8, 056

Masterlist: here

Chapter 3 - Dead Archaeologist Society

"Tell me, only if you wish, what are you seeking here? What do you want me to provide?" His brown hair catches the light in a way that makes him look as if he hailed from Mount Targon, the grey strands nearly looking like Lunarian silver. His patience and kindness nearly making your skin crawl and your throat burn with bile in self-disgust.

You clawed at the pews once more, your eyes trailed on your left hand where your fingernails were broken and slightly bloodied from your previous ministrations. Then your eyes returned to Father Valášek's with resignation tainting their depths, the look making the priest's eyebrows furrow in worry.

"Something worth living for. Something that can fix me. Because as it is? I'd rather die than go through another day."

And silence rang loud through the chapel.

Father Valášek looked shocked for a moment, as if a flash of pain just surged through him, burning through his flesh and eating at his nerves. His face twisted with what you could only describe as guilt before it settled back into the patient kindness.

"If you don't believe, I cannot force or coax you to. Neither do I want to. But I can suggest that you stay around, if not for Janna, for the people. Maybe you've cloistered yourself for long enough and you need a community, and you need to accept the help that is offered to you."

You considered his words, they were basic, something told again and again, something that angered you. Yet from the lips of this man…They simply sounded like the advice they are supposed to be, and his eyes tell you as much. And it was terrifying to think about. This man, a good man, was trying to help the broken mess that you were.

"Is that all?" Your eyes narrow at him, mouth snarling at the thought of being so thoroughly seen.

"That is all I can give to one I do not know without enforcing my beliefs. It would do you more harm than good, it already has." His eyes trailed to your bloody, broken nails. "Yet you stayed. Which already proves just how much you're willing to seek help, and that is a good thing."

You scoffed. "Yeah, the only reason I stayed is because I promised my friends."

"And that is more than alright. Sometimes to help oneself they have to begin by acting for others, especially when they do not have the strength to believe in themselves. It is still very much a small step in the right way in the grand scheme of things." His hand reached yours once more, and you tensed but dared not to take it away once more. "Now come, I can help you with your nails. I don't think you should let this get infected. The nail bed is a very sensitive-"

You ripped your hand away from him at that very moment, standing up so suddenly that you felt your back pain echo within you like a sound within a dark cave.

"I think I'll be okay by myself, Father" Is the curt response you granted him with before storming away, sliding your hands in your pockets and wincing in pain at the feeling of fabric rubbing the raw flesh. "Sorry for wasting your time. Have a good fucking day."

"And then I just came back home. So yeah, went great."

The two women before you share a knowing look before regarding you.

You continue nonchalantly wiping at the counter as you ignore their gazes, your bandaged fingers hurting beyond belief yet you disregard them just like you currently disregard the pang of bitter guilt eating away at your heart for being so curt at the kind priest.

"I know, I fucked it all up again." Is what you sigh out, turning away to dry the last of the glasses in the sink.

"Girl, it's gonna take time you know? We don't fault you for running after you talked about yourself, I mean this is much more than you woulda usually said." Sevika reassures, her prosthetic arm making noise on the wooden bar top as she leans on it.

"And, you actually went there! Like that's a step in the right direction! Plus you did say you had fun talking to the priest. Maybe it's worth giving it another try, you know? And that Huck guy, he seemed really nice too. You already got a lot done, you just have to push farther!" Vi says excitedly, you can feel her waving her arms behind you without even seeing.

You shrug, trying to remain calm through the heaviness settling in your bones.

"I only went there for you."

"And do you feel better?" At Sevika's question you pause.

"At the moment? I feel like garbage for leaving another person that wanted to help me. So…No."

"But when you talked to him, did you feel better?"

You think back to the banter you shared with Father Valášek. The way you had, for a moment, just laughed like you hadn't been in church. How the man simply had made you feel better, even if it wasn't for long. And how it did in fact help with your hatred of the space you were in, as if he wasn't a priest at all. As if you just met a random stranger at the bar, or at the library during your shift and hit it off.

"I suppose?"

"Then that's good enough of a reason to go back there next Sunday! Even if it's just to talk to the guy, the Father's chill, I promise you won't have any bad blood from leaving like that. He'll understand."

"You need to go more than once to see if it works. And hey, even if it doesn't, you can ask the priest if he wants to talk outside of church."

You think for a moment, hands braced against the sink after you set the last glass down.

"I mean I ain't gonna bother the guy. I'm just a fucking…I don't know, depressed nobody on the verge of a breakdown. He's got a crap ton of responsibilities, I can't just give him one more."

You hear a displeased noise from behind you before you're picked up and sat on the counter. Vi pouting at you with her "puppy dog look" as Caitlyn calls it, one that makes it easy to see that her godfather is Vander, the Hound of Zaun.

"Nu-huh, I ain't letting you talk about yourself like this, girlie. Don't begin with assumptions, you're gonna kill yourself with those one day. I swear to Janna."

You roll your eyes as Sevika picks up your rag to clean the shelves, your protest cut short by her own pointed stare as you slump over yourself in defeat. Bested once more by your two friends, you take a deep breath, its exhale sighed and heavy with despair and the flurry of feelings eating away at you. Guilt mainly, then fear. Whether it's from being seen so thoroughly by a stranger or from being so hopeless and losing yourself to your own pain, you don't know.

"You gotta let people help you, the only reason why you even listen to us is because we kinda force you into things, whether we use words or not. And we know it's hard, but you gotta stop being so adamant into being independent. You may not want help but you need it. You know you do, we know you do, and if this man in a dress can do that for you, then so be it. He did mention not letting his religion tint his judgment and advice for you, so you can see where it leads."

"Maybe you just need someone unbiased to hear you out. Maybe you'll get a friend out of this, and gods know you deserve a bigger support system that can be here more often for you."

And you know they're right. You're awful at getting help, not only because you refuse to ask for it, but also because you refuse accepting it. You feel inadequate, a burden that should be well left alone lest you corrupt and hurt all of those who involve themselves with you directly or indirectly. You feel like you're not worth the time and resources to be helped, that they'd be better for anyone but you.

Having lived most of your life fending for yourself, by yourself, you have grown over independent to compensate with your lack of support system. And even now that you have Violet and Sevika you can't accept their help because of those same reasons. So accepting it from a man whom you've met only once seems impossible, even if you broke down and revealed more to him in one meeting that you usually do after months or even years of knowing someone.

You just chalk it up to being so close to breaking down for good.

That night when you come back home you have a lot to think about, as usual. And of course, as usual, your brain doesn't shut off until the late hours, or early depending on one's point of view. It's at the bare minimum of three hours you usually get that you wake up for work, the library being close enough to, thankfully, get a coffee before you clock in.

Your back is beyond strained from sitting at the pews on Sunday at mass, work at the bar not at all helping the pain yet quite necessary. Not only for you to be able to pay your bills, which are horrible in their own right, but also to see your friends. Your social lives being so different that you can barely see one another out of The Last Drop. Vi has Cait and Powder as well as Ekko, Vander and Silco while Sevika has your bosses and her girlfriend. But you…Really only have them and spend the little time you're home rotting in your bed.

It's lonely, but you only have yourself to blame for that.

People are terrifying, their intentions are never sure even when it seems like they are. People are not honest. People hurt and manipulate and take until they have all they want and leave you to rot on your own. People turn their gazes away when you need help yet always come to you if they need it. People leave out of the blue, they make a nest in their heart and rip it away when they finished wringing you dry. People use you for their own benefit. People are cruel.

People are not good.

So you just decide to not let them in. No matter how much you hurt yourself, no one can hurt you if you're alone. Violet and Sevika all but blitzed their way into your life and stayed against all odds, which you appreciate greatly and never take for granted although you feel ungrateful everyday that you live for being so…You.

They're full of life. They're kind, animated, they hold so much determination and hope. And they, of all people, decided that you deserve their attention, their care, their love. Even if you feel more than undeserving of it.

You take your coffee to go from the local cafe, the baristas there already knowing your order by heart. One that is for all intents and purposes more like gasoline than coffee. Too many shots of espresso, too much sugar, a combination that is the only one able to keep you up on your feet for the rest of the morning until you switch to energy drinks for the rest of the day.

No rest for the wicked as they say.

And by all that there is, you are the most vile thing you can possibly think of. At the top of your list, before even Piltover and Gods.

The library opening is easy enough to manage on your own, your coworkers soon joining and taking their respective places within the building.

All you can manage to do after setting yourself at your desk is stare into the abyss of your coffee. Your reflection dark and distorted yet somehow feeling much more like you than the girl you find on the other side of the reflection on the mirror each time you go to your bathroom or see yourself on glass in the streets. It's more akin to how you feel, discolored, monotonous, empty, a pale and mocking copy of what a human should be.

Time flies by slowly as you lose yourself to your thoughts, the idle task of registering books for clients not pulling you away from the spiral you currently descend. The spiral that you walk deeper into with each day that passes.

It's built with self-hatred, growing with the years. With rage, at the world for being such an unforgiving cesspool of constant cruelty and at yourself for your own pathetic hopelessness. It's cold with loneliness and the constant echoes and visions of the past making themselves known pull you both deeper and away from the depth you are walking towards.

Up is down, down is up. There is no way to escape, no silver lining, no guiding light, no help. Just demons rising from the depths of the fissures to haunt you with their siren song, bringing you down with them so you can rest in eternal agony. With flames singeing your flesh and claws ripping apart meat from bone again and again like Prometheus and the vultures.

It's that downward spiral that murmurs to you that you should simply die. But it'd be too easy wouldn't it? A respite from the punishment that is your existence. Hekarim, your mother, your father; you know they'd be in heaven if it even exists. But you'd go down to hell to suffer even more, something you both crave and rebuke, welcome and push away.

But, wouldn't the sweet embrace of death be worth the eternal damnation even if it lasts but a second?

There are so many ways one could die. Easy, complex, painful, peaceful. The choice is large enough that you can wander through the aisles at of your suicidal mind for days to peruse its selections and still find nothing suitable for yourself.

Pain pangs in your heart at the thought of leaving your friends, they'd suffer because of you, as they always do. The martyrs to the punishment that your existence brings, flayed and sanctified for their patience and virtue. They deserve to be, because they are saints for being able to keep up with you, for being able to simply stay around you and not grow bored, weary, wrathful, or even disgusted at you. Yet sometimes you still doubt that. But that doubt is quickly erased when their honesty shines through the dark cloudy veil of your own self deprecation and keeps you within their warm embrace, as undeserving as you are of it.

Maybe they'd be better of.

No more worrying about your well being and daily texts to check up on you under the pretense of a quick chat. No more picking up the pieces of you that crack and fall to the floor as you crumble like an ancient artifact finally being frayed by time.

Maybe then you would get your peace as they get theirs.

Away from life, away from them, ashes spread in the mine your parents died in. Or perhaps you'd commit somewhere nobody will find you, you rotting away to nurture life and finally do something good for once in your life as the sun rises and sets on the world. As seasons pass and nothing is left but flowers where your corpse once stood.

Bluebells would be nice.

Yes.

They'd be nice.

"Hello?" A familiar accented voice chimes, low yet light.

Your head snaps up from your computer where your fingers had been absentmindedly filling up required forms and adding needed data. There, besides your desk, you see him.

Father Valášek.

Now sporting a dark forest green roman collared shirt with its white window peeking through, dark dress trousers adorning his seemingly endless legs and a warm Zaunite green coat covering his svelte body. His cane, all copper and dark wood, supports his weight and his hair is pulled up, two oak strands framing his face as the withered maple of his graying streaks tickle his neck, unruly from their length compared to the rest of his longer hair. What surprises you is not the lack of cassock, even priests have lives after all, or so you hope; but the brace on his right leg that makes the dark fabric of his pants bunch up slightly around where it wraps around his thigh, at his knee and around his calf.

It had been hidden under his priestly garb when you met him.

"I'm sorry for bothering, I was looking for book recommendations. Although it is your job to do so for me, I could ask one of your colleagues." His teasing tone slices through your observation and your lashes flutter as you regain control over your thoughts and body.

"You wish, priest." You sigh, running a hand through your hair to compose yourself. "What can I help you with?"

"Well, I'd like to see your selections on mythology, ancient rites and the like. I found myself rather intrigued and in need for some reading at home to help with my understanding of my faith."

Your eyebrows furrow and your mouth purses before you nod, slowly getting up to not awaken more of the burning back pain currently ebbing away at the last of your patience.

"Come this way, then. What exactly are you looking for, Father?" You hear the soft thunking of his cane on the carpeted floors before it gets louder as the wooden boards beneath your feet are revealed.

"I'd like some books on ancient Shuriman, old Jan'ahremite rites and perhaps a book about Zaunite faith and its changes from the fall of Shurima til modern times."

You nod, arriving to the History section of the library, your legs immediately direct you to the shelf harboring the needed tomes, a list already made in your mind from the small amount of information you've been given. So, quickly enough you begin to pick out what Father Valášek needed.

"I'd advise The Great Universal Va'Shurima Encyclopedia by Kaban for language, it's very thorough in its explanations of any and every term presented. Showing great detail and coverage as well as fully translated texts side by side with their originals."

You show him the heavy leather book of tan etched in gold engravings and place it on the cart residing within the alley, unwilling to make the man carry such a heavy tome with his bare hands.

"For rites there is no better book than Iron and Glass: Practices of the ancient and new Zaunite faiths by Sambara of Noxus. This is the second book, and whereas the first one is more based on history, this one is about any and all practices of faith within the Shuriman community or otherwise. Once more, extremely thorough."

This book, as thick as the last, joins its brethren on the wooden tray. Your hand hovering over the shelf before you turn to the man behind you.

"I'd like the first tome too then." Your eyebrows raise at the soft lilt of his voice yet you nod and reach for what is asked, adding Golden Disks and Burning Sands: The Rise and Fall of the great Shuriman Empire to the ever growing pile.

"That's gonna be a lot to read, Father. You're sure you got the time for it?"

The man chuckles behind you, his steps bringing him to your side so you can see him in your peripheral. "Well, I was due to take more breaks anyways. I'd like something to occupy the silence with, and what better for that than knowledge about my people?" Is what he adds with a soft smile, the same soft smile he gave back at the church, devoid of all judgment or disgust.

"Your funeral."

"Please do not say that, I'd hate to have to officiate my own sending off. Death is supposed to bring you to rest, not to be overtime."

You try to hold off the laugh bubbling in your throat, the result being a muffled snort as you turn away from the man. Damn him, or well…not truly possible considering what he is, but damn him still. How can he manage to pull you out of your own mind and bring you to laughter so easily? It's as infuriating and confusing as it is nice, the joy feeling foreign to you after so long.

"I'd recommend another tome, but I remember someone taking it home barely a handful of days ago." You lean against the bookshelf, your arms crossed as you finally face Father Valášek who seems strangely content, at peace.

As if a terrifying storm had passed and left nothing but calm silence in its wake.

He nods, using both of his hands to hold onto the pommel of his cane.

"What is this book about, if you do not mind me asking?" Pools of gold regard you with gentle patience.

"It's an ancient Shuriman manuscript that has been edited into modern form, originally written by the one and only Xerath and translated by the Prodigal Explorer himself, Professor Ezreal Wynn. It is fully in Shuriman, but keeps the many intricacies that cannot be translated into Valorian, Va'Nox or any other Runeterran language."

He looks relaxed as he listens, his eyes drifting over the many books adorning the alley. Your mind goes back to the specific book you want him to have, it may be gone from the shelves but you do remember keeping your copy at your desk.

"It would be impossible for me to read it then, wouldn't it?" His head tilts, wonder lighting his gaze.

"With the Encyclopedia and enough guts you can understand more than you'd think at first. Plus said Encyclopedia contains many excerpts from this book, each word exactly the same as in the murals, tablets and manuscripts translated for the sake of learning from a classic text. Just like one may learn Demacian by reading Albert Camus."

The man nods, a soft hum strumming his vocal chords as you inhale the warm, paper and leather scented air around you. The smell enough to ease your remaining nerves at the prospect of talking to the man you have so roughly turned down merely two days ago.

He seems deep in thought, looking to where your hand had been searching for the mentionned tome with a certain longing, his soft face setting somewhat with disappointment. And for some reason, that makes you rush to find a solution to his problem, as if the thought of leaving the priest unsatisfied is one that you cannot bear.

It's simply an apology for last time. You owe it to him after he has lent you an ear and you turned him down.

"I…Could lend you my copy? It's signed, so it's very important to me, but I believe you'd take great care of it." You trail off nervously, hands squeezing at your biceps to stop yourself from overthinking, the twinge of pain keeping you in the moment instead of drifting back down your mental spiral.

His head snaps your way, eyes widening. "No, you don't have to if it's so dear to you. I can wait."

You sigh, taking the cart with you as you make your way back to your desk in order to register Father Valášek's books, his steps close behind.

"It's-" You take a moment to mull over your words, trying not to choke up in shame, trying not to sound weak like after mass. "Consider it an apology for how…unsavory I have been last time."

The man makes a surprised sound before his hand finds one of your arms, stopping you in your tracks and gently spinning you to face him. His eyes are like the sun, bathing you in their warmth and compassion, eradicating the dark demons of your mind in one simple sweep over your guilty expression. He graces you with yet another soft curl of his lips, kind and knowing, as if he holds the wisdom of the world in the palm of his hands but chooses to waste it on reassuring you.

"I do not fault you for leaving abruptly, or for snapping at me. You revealed much about yourself to me, and I can surmise that you never do that, even less with a stranger. Especially one of my profession."

You nod, eyes looking down to escape his radiance. He is right, and you hate that you are an open book for him as much as you appreciate not having to talk any more than you should.

"Still. You gave me your time, your advice and I just- I've been ungrateful to you, Father. No matter who you are and what you do, you should not have to deal with picking up pieces of me or dealing with me lashing out. I feel guilty enough for doing it to my friends, I don't think I can bear doing it to someone else just as kind as they are." Your voice diminishes as you talk as shame overtakes you once more.

He is still kind, despite how mean you've been. You don't deserve this. Not with the blood on your hands, not with the rage in your heart, not with the sorrow eating away at the last of your rotting being.

I am to be left in despair.

As much as you want to fight back and get your life, wringing it away from the demons plaguing you…Wouldn't it just be better for everyone and easier on you for you to just give up?

"You are doing it again. Shutting yourself away from help. I did not mind listening to you, nor did I mind helping you. I did not mind you leaving or talking back because I know how hard asking for help can be when you've had to be on your own. I don't mind helping you because from what I've learned last time, you're a good person. And you deserve to have some good for yourself instead of giving it all away to others."

The way your name sounds on his lips is unlike anything you've heard before. It's nearly reverent, begging for you to listen and not simply hear.

It's painful as much as it is soothing.

Your eyes trail back up to him, fearful of the gentleness they'll find once they reach their target. And once they do, it nearly blinds you.

"You are not a burden, to your friends nor to me. I am glad you came, and I do hope to see you again. Even if you hate the church, even if you despise the gods. You can come to me any time you need. Because if I can provide the help you deserve, the help you need, even if you do not become devout, then I'll have done my job."

All you can do is nod at the velvety tone in which he proclaims his care, fitting for a man of the cloth. And the attention is too much, leaving you breathless. You try to calm yourself, feeling all too naked under his patient gaze, a panic attack brewing in your chest like a storm at the overwhelming support. So you simply decide to do what you do best, deflecting.

"So…Are we just gonna stand there? Not that I mind but I wonder if your third leg's gonna be of much use if the other two fail you, Father." You deflect, trying to return to the easy banter you remember having with the man.

The gold bathing you in its glow is knowing, an eyebrow arched in the rhetoric question of "Really?" that you can nearly hear in his voice from the inside of your mind.

"Third leg? That's quite the image you got there, miss. Although from what I remember from my youth, it is not used to describe a cane." The curl of his lips sharpens into something mischievous, entering your dance to bring you back into comfort instead of the rawness of the previous moment.

That rat bastard.

"I'm not talking about your dick, dude. Get your mind out of the gutter and stay holy, pure and virginal or whatever."

"I'm celibate, not virginal, lady." That has you freezing in his hold, his hands tightening as he tries to hold his laugh back, his face nonchalant yet betrayed by his pursed trembling lips as he holds your gaze.

"Bruh." Your eyes flutter and you bite the inside of your cheek to avoid chuckling, your eyebrows lifting in a secret challenge. If you're gonna deflect, you want to get the satisfaction of pulling a laugh out of him to feel better about yourself at the very list.

"Let me assure you though, this is a part of me that works perfectly contrary to my leg."

"I'd wager that it'd work a little too well considering you haven't cranked it or gotten laid since the beginning of time, you fossil."

Silence befalls you both, faces in a hard set to stop yourselves from cracking. Then came the rapid fire.

"I'd surmise you don't get laid much either. Who's virginal now?"

"Better virginal than a hoe."

"Means I got around more than you did. I was very prized amongst peers, you know?"

"And you haven't been touched in years and are left in a constant state of blue balls. Your point?"

"Have you, though?" Your lip hurts from biting at his comment. He doesn't relent, and neither will you.

"At least I won't cream my pants the second I get my dick wet. Fucking premature ejacupastor."

You see his nose scrunch as he tries to remain impassible but fails, a long wheeze escaping his lungs. Whistling and harsh as he coughs out the rest of his cackling, trying to remain as silent as possible and leaning his forehead on your shoulder to take his breath back as he stumbles from his usual straightened posture, his cane failing him in his bout of laughter.

"Eja-" He breathes in. "Ejacupa- Ejacupastor!" His hand tightens on your arm.

You tense at the contact, your body suddenly rigid as the priest struggles between taking his breath back and whispering your words back to himself to spur another round of giggles. His breath too close to your neck for comfort yet not triggering your age old panic responses.

It takes only a few more seconds before he remembers himself and clears his throat, leaning back up to brace both hands on his cane.

"I- I am so sorry. I seem to have forgotten myself." He pants, lungs heavy with the last of his wheezes and begging for fresh air.

Your eyes take in his face, joy mixed with concern. And you feel like the latter should just disappear, no matter if your discomfort was just triggered. It feels…good, to make someone happy. To make someone laugh so much they forget themselves.

It's nice to make someone feel the joy you can't seem to muster within yourself.

Even with the guilt you feel at wishing that you had pushed him away. And the one you had for wishing he'd stayed. Or even the same voice in your mind chastising you for taking too much of his time once more.

"No, it's alright. Don't worry about it. Just don't die on me, you're already old enough, those bouts of laughter got to bring you closer to coffin time. People need you round here, so unfortunately, no dying on my watch." Is what you manage to say, ignoring the maelstrom rising once more within you.

His eyebrows raise in question. Once more Father Valášek proves his patience with your games, his kindness seemingly as endless as the gold swirling in his eyes, currently looking like amber resin in the golden light filtered through the library's windows.

"Okay let's get your books checked out so you can get the hell out of here." You give him a small smile.

"Wow, eager to get rid of me, aren't you?"

"Always."

His snort resounds from behind you as you huff out your own laugh, the reception coming into view and soon enough you find yourself sitting once more at your desk.

"Now that isn't very customer service of you." His accent drawls as you register each book.

"Don't care." You huff while a small snort leaves him. "Do you have your library card?"

He grins and fishes his wallet from his pocket, a pristine green plastic rectangle handed to you that you simply pass through the reader. You quickly dip behind your desk to open a cupboard, looking through it for a moment before you find what you're looking for.

The manuscript is large, leather bound and the pages are dog eared and worn on the edges.

"And there you go, as promised."

"You imposed it on me, rather." The man quips back and you look into his eyes, deadpanned, to which he answers with his lips curling further upwards and a shrug.

"Do you want it or not? Cause if you annoy me I have no problems in throwing that book at you and assaulting both a senior citizen and a cripple at once. Two birds with one stone..or book in this case." You give him your own shit eating grin as he pockets his wallet, the library card back in its initial spot within it.

"You are so violent. No wonder you..eh…get no bitches."

That makes you cackle, a series of snorts escaping you as you slam your tome next to the ones he picked.

"You don't get no bitches either Father, don't fuck with me."

"Touché."

A beat of comfortable silence passes before your mind snaps back to the time, an hour has already passed. Too much of his time taken by the likes of you.

Kha anas xera.

I hate it.

You have to expedite this and send him on his way so he can actually spend a good and productive day.

"So, this is the Almakhtutata Aleazima by Xerath and translated by Ezreal Wynn. Be careful with it it's one of the rare first edition, signed copies." You mumble as you slide the book to the man before you.

His lithe hands caress the dark tan leather, each embossed letter and design passing under the pads of his fingers with an unhurried elegance you will now forever link to Father Valášek.

"It looks…" He opens the book with the same gentleness he has proven to be carried in each of his movements, his eyes considering the slightly yellowed pages, each crinkle, each note you placed on small post-its. "Well loved."

His lips soften into what nearly seems an angelic smile, the priest much more godly than the lords above themselves in his way of simply..being.

"It is. I could recite it by heart." Is what you mumble, breathy words wrapping the both of you further into that strange intimacy you seem to always find yourself into even though this is barely the second time you welcome this man in your life.

"Favorite book?"

You nod, taking notice of his lack of bag for the heavy tomes you are preparing for him. So, dipping back down, you open a drawer to fish a tote bag in order to pack his order.

"You don't have an amount of time to read it. Take your time, let yourself read and re-read passages, take notes on paper on the side…It's really a book that should be savored more than simply read, I believe. A beautiful insight into our ancestors' lives and culture from someone who has seen the good and the bad."

His head tilts as you take the manuscript back and put it with the other three in the bag.

"Both sides?"

"Xerath was born a slave with no name in Nerimazeth, but he befriended the youngest son of the Emperor, Azir, who later on succeeded him. He has lived through the ruin of the colony and the beauty of being the second in command and best friend to the young prince and future heir. So he has a great amount of insight on the whole of the Shuriman culture."

You feel yourself relax once more as you explain the contents and context of the book, leaning forward on the table with your elbows. Your hands move animatedly with each word escaping your bitten lips, raw from your unconscious habit.

"You truly are passionate about archaeology." His eyes crinkle at the sides as he regards you with interest and some sort of deeply heartwarming wish to be involved in the crevices of your mind, willing to dive into you like an explorer does with ancient tombs.

You nod slowly. "I am."

"Wouldn't you want to study it then?" His question is genuine, involved in your interests in a way that Sevika and Vi cannot be as they are not much into reading.

Yes they'll listen to you rant if it comes out but their interest only goes as far as hearing you out, which is still very appreciated. But the pleasure you feel at someone being as passionate as you about something so scholarly is nearly overwhelming. A rush of an unknown warmth shaking you from your head to your toe, the feeling only increasing as you meet Father Valášek's gaze.

You shrug, your stomach dropping at the simple question while the rest of you is in this strange floaty state of appreciation. "Don't have the money for it, don't have the time to study either to pass the Academy's entrance exam. Plus, I'm well enough around here, I suppose. I got a life going on."

"Do you, though?" Once more, the priest manages to find you out. "You told me things that would suggest otherwise."

Once more, your shoulders rise and fall in tired nonchalance, a practiced facade that seems to leave the father unbelieving still.

"I got too much to worry about to think about what ifs." Is all you manage to mumble before handing him the bag, his eyebrows softening at the edges as he regards you.

"Well, you are always welcome to the church in any case. You are coming on Sunday, yes?" His question is a silent reassurance that you didn't in fact offend him or that your deflection isn't something that makes his patience run thin.

If anything, he looks even more interested in seeing you around.

And that's as terrifying as it is heartwarming, the two feelings mixing in a bitter feeling you know all too well. The same despair and guilt tainting every atom composing your being.

"It probably is the last time I'll come if…"

"If you don't like it?"

"Yeah." You look down, cutting your gaze away from his. His soft sigh nearly breaks your heart until his hand finds yours, encapsulating the bandaged fingers in comforting heat.

"You do know that if you need to come to me, you can still come to church even if you do not attend mass, right?"

The sentence is enough to stop your breathing for a moment.

"Don't say that, please."

"As long as you promise to hear me out on it. It's hard to accept, but people do care and as cruel as the world can be you don't have to shoulder your burdens alone. You will always have a home within the church, even if divine guidance isn't what you seek."

The sigh you let out is exhausted, resigned. You know of your flaws, you know how much you extrapolate them. Yet there is something keeping you from accepting it, and from accepting the help granted by the open arms of your friends and now Father Valášek.

Yet when you think about it, he seems to have a way to pull the truth from you without prying, with nothing but gentle patience and kind involvement. He somehow, in two meetings, can make demands of you that you cannot refuse. Make you consider help that you spend your days running away from. He clears away the constant fog eating away at your heart for the small increments of time you spend with him, oxygen rushing to your lungs, clarity returning to your mind, laughter escaping your lips in an easy way that is far from being what you're used to.

Perhaps that's why Vi and Sevika brought you to him in the first place. Because although he works for the will of a god that looks down upon her people with disdain and mockery, he enacts what he preaches. Love, compassion, patience and the everlasting gentleness of a guide that simply wishes to let you reach the life you wish for yourself.

The thought of returning into the house of Janna is sickening, makes your stomach churn. Yet with the prospect of spending but a moment with him softens the bile climbing in your throat. Simply for the peace he brings upon you.

A terrifying peace within the constant raging storm you have been stuck in for years upon years.

It makes you want to run from him as much as it makes you run to him. Your desperation to disappear at war with your need to be saved from yourself. Your craving for help clashing against your fear of burdening anyone else with your existence within theirs.

When your eyes return to his, the ancient amber of his eyes shines in the light, encasing wisdom and understanding, no expectation tainting their depths. The look disarming you as his thumb brushes over the raw, bandaged nails of your calloused hands.

"Let me rephrase it. You need help, and you will come because you need it. I won't take no for an answer." He demands, voice unwavering, confident yet holding the same loving care he gives to all of those he looks after, all of those he meets.

"And why's that, Father Valášek?"

You snap, the hurt climbing within you as fast as a freight train. Fear tinting every inch of your soul at being found, at being seen, at feeling light warming its shriveling self after over a decade of complete darkness. Only illuminated by the bright red glare of the demons clawing at your flesh.

"Because this is not the end of you. Not until I have tried all I can."

He doesn't give you time to answer before he leaves, a slow wave and smile bathing you in their warmth before he walks away. You are left in the silence of the library to ponder your second meeting with the priest.

The man as stubborn as you, able to navigate the highs and lows of you as if he has mapped your soul from the moment he met you with those pools of Targonian gold, worthy of being described as belonging to the Solaris themselves.

As bitter as the feelings rising within you are, you find yourself looking back to the person rousing them with appreciation. His presence disarming even the sarcophagus of your heart, deeply sealed, concealing a dead soul. One you wish for no one to see, for its ugliness and all the destruction it can bring.

Father Valášek wants to know.

Does he see you as a project? Another person to bring within the cult of Jan'ahrem? Does he see you as a puzzle to crack? A simple game to take on until he's pored again and jumps ship?

Or are you once more self-sabotaging and he truly only wants the best for you?

Kha anas xera.

I hate it.

The simple conflict within you makes your chest rumble with an impending panic attack, stronger from how you have suppressed it earlier. Once more you are overwhelmed with guilt at snapping at him, like you are every time you break down in front of Violet and Sevika.

"Because this is not the end of you. Not until I have tried all I can."

"If not for yourself, do it for us."

You sigh, your hands running through your hair before you set them on your face, the heels of your palms digging into your eyes and your elbows propped up on the desk.

So many demands.

Ones that you cannot refuse or ignore.

Not because they are good for you, the right choice. But because they are just that. Demands. Obligations that you have to follow. No thought to be had about obeying them or not, no need to overthink what choice you have to make. Because like the little soldier you are you will follow through due to your intrinsic need for the release of control. Your control over your own life and self being the reason for the pit you sink more and more into everyday, your free will failing you.

Tears of frustration, despair and bitter grief well up in your arms and roll down your arms like rain down the gutters in the night, glittering with the neons of Zaunite night life.

You'll go back to church, if only to appologize for your behavior to Father Valášek. Perhaps to seek more of that easiness you feel by his side, the one that brings forth as much good as it makes the vipers in your mind his and spew their venom, stronger after he leaves yet softer when he's near. You'll do it to make Violet and Sevika proud, to show them that you really are trying. You'll do it for the priest who seems so keen on helping you, even if he cannot proselytize

You'll do it because as sickening as losing control is, you can't bear much of holding onto it either.

Perhaps it could do you some good.

That night, in your bed and staring at your ceiling after your shift at the bar, you realize that maybe you could start looking forwards to Father Valášek's presence. That maybe your friends were right.

Kha anas xera.

I hate it.

Human is resistant to change, especially if it's brought after years of remaining in the same ways. But..it can change. If Piltover has changed, no matter how much you hate how it suddenly pretends that all has always been fine, then so can you.

"Sometimes to help oneself they have to begin by acting for others, especially when they do not have the strength to believe in themselves."

I have to try.

"Because this is not the end of you. Not until I have tried all I can."

I may be pathetic but I just need this one last chance to stop disappointing them. To stop being a burden. Death would be too kind, too easy. And thus I must continue. I must try.

I have to.

But I don't know for how long I'll be able to hold and hope until my waning grip gives out sends me to the deep end.

The last realization you come to when you fall asleep is how Father Valášek didn't speak of his god. The one whom he owes everything to. He has kept the conversation personal, ripped the roman collar away from himself metaphorically and remained a man. A simple man, not a priest, not a believer. Just…someone.

Just to keep you comfortable.

Just like he has played your deflection game. Enjoyed it even, as if knowing more of you is prize enough and a consolation from your avoidance of the intimate rawness of the previous conversations.

You don't know whether to fear, hate or love the priest. The flurry of conflicting feelings of wanting help yet refusing it, of wanting to be saved yet not feeling worth the effort, of wanting to feel joy and peace yet feeling guilt the very moment it washes over you confusing your mind, your body your soul in what to feel.

But nonetheless, you are somewhat intrigued. Wishing for Sunday to come sooner for the simple reason that you'll see him. Violet and Sevika already celebrating within the corners of your mind.

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#arcane #arcane x reader #arcane x female reader #league of legends #fluff #smut #viktor x reader #viktor smut #viktor arcane #viktor league of legends #viktor x you #viktor x y/n #viktor fluff #priest kink #priest x reader #priest au #modern au #arcane modern au

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luklucik · 4 months ago

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Finally, I'm happy to present you 6 illustrations of my "AU", yahoo

I'm cringe but I'm free

I just made this AU for myself because I love my OC/canon

The events take place in that one "happy" AU

Maria and Viktor go to Mount Targon to find a "lilac skinned medic who would purify weary lungs from the ravages of the alchemical Gray"

Maria studied Targon for a long time, looking for information from travelers, bought the diary of a traveler who died on Targon, was looking for those who were going to go to Targon to join them, even met a vastaya who knows a lot about Targon

First they went on a ship with the travelers, then they started to "climb the mountain", fortunately they didn't have to go too high, they just had to get to the Astral Grove. They split up with the travelers.

Despite the fact that they set out on the journey in the summer so that it wouldn’t be so cold, it was still cold and it seemed there was no more hope, but they succeeded

She was waiting for them, Soraka, she could heal anything, as long as the person wanted it.

She managed to heal Viktor's lungs and everything that was damaged by the gray in his body.

And yet, not everything worked out

Viktor's leg remained the same

Still, he was glad that his lungs were no longer rotting and that was enough.

Now he can make life better for the people of Zaun and has enough time to do it

That's all!!

Refs are still in process 🥳🥳🥳

Please isolate me from the internet

#luklucik #art #artists on tumblr #artwork #original character #oc x canon #arcane oc #arcaneoc #viktor arcane #arcane viktor #arcane #yumeship #viktor x oc #arcane oc x canon

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aurelion-solar · 2 years ago

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Targon - Champion Illustration Summoner Icons

#leona #diana #soraka #aurelion sol #pantheon #taric #aphelios #zoe #league of legends #league of legends champion #league of legends summoner icon #summoner icon #mount targon #targon #official #champion illustration summoner icon

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skvaderarts · 2 months ago

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Bottom Jayce Week Day 1: At the Edge of the Night

Summary: Word Count 8.7K! AO3 Link

(Cockwarming + Edging) After taking sanctuary in a Rakkor settlement in the foothills of Mount Targon, Jayce laments the frigid, unforgiving cold that never seems to leave him as of late. To his dismay, Viktor suddenly finds himself awake in the middle of the night, and his ever-helpful partner offers to help rectify an ongoing issue. TLDR: Jayce learns an important lesson about the virtues of NEVER interrupting someone's sleep.

I apologize if any of these stories are kinda meh or if I need to add more tags (please tell me if you think of a tag it needs, I don't intend to jumpscare anyone by improperly tagging anything). I'm not very experienced with smut, but I think I did pretty okay! I hope you liked it! Let me know what you think! Hearing your feedback encourages me!

My Bottom Jayce Week Lineup can be found HERE!

So if you want to check out all the other fics for the other days, go for it! I hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading!

—

Mount Targon was the very image of everything the myths and legends invoked.

To attempt to properly describe its scale and magnitude was a fool's errand. What was visible to the naked eye below the crest of the heavens above was only a minuscule, insignificant fragment of what lingered far above them; that much was clear without much thought given to it. And yet, it was nearly impossible to attempt to fully comprehend, so grand was its magnitude.

The Hexgates had been the tallest thing that either of them had ever fathomed they’d see in their finite lifespans. Now they realized they’d never truly comprehended the concept of height at all.

The base of the mountain was all that could be seen for miles upon miles in almost any given direction, all but for the gradually sloping grassy plains that melded into distant Shurima. Beyond that, nothing else could be perceived. They were truly at the ends of the known world.

The night that the Acceleration Rune deemed fit to spit them out atop Mount Targon had been frigid and merciless, battering them with all the primal, unwarranted ferocity of the tides sinking a ship as they did battle against the elements in utter futility. They’d stumbled down from a great height, snow blind, disheartened, and sorely undressed for the weather. But now, everything was quiet. Serene, even. Silent but for the breeze that couldn’t quite be called wind in good faith, but was still strong all the same.

In the weeks that melded into months that followed, they’d taken refuge in a Solari settlement and then the lodgings that they now occupied. They were at the base of the mountain, but that somehow meant very little in the grand scheme of things. They’d simply migrated to another settlement at the edge of the plains, rolling hills gradually flattening into gentle plateaus for as far as the eye could see. At times, the world still felt as though it lingered far beneath them from their place against the base of the mountain, nothing more than a distant memory. And yet, not a somber, mournful one. It was difficult to quantify what either of them truly felt about their place in the grand scheme of things now, but that was partially because they largely refused to, opting instead to take things one day at a time and give themselves over to the monumental effort that recuperating so often proved to be.

Convalescing indoors as often as they could had proven to be an optimal use of their mental and physical energy the vast majority of the time. Anything that spared them the vague disquietment that so often assailed them in random intervals if they dared attempt to comprehend everything that had happened was a worthwhile endeavor. But as time passed, the pain dulled slightly, and with it came a simple truth. The past was set in stone. The future, much less so. They could shape their own destinies now. Fate no longer had designs for them. They had a future.

Or they would if Viktor didn’t cause them to freeze to death first.

He’d been on the second-story private loggia that connected their lodgings to the outside world for the better part of thirty minutes now, arms resting over the railing as he looked off into the distance. Content to feel the cold air trail across his face as it rustled his hair and clothing. He wasn’t underdressed per se, but what scant heat the room contained seemed to vacate the longer Jayce beheld him through the small window that separated Viktor from his place in their shared bed.

With a soft sigh, Jayce rose to stoke the embers of the small fire that smoldered a few meters from their place of slumber. He shuddered, a chill shooting up his body as his bare feet made contact with the stone floor below. The building was chiseled out of the mountain itself just as the majority of the structures in the village were, so the soft woven rug that covered the floor below in the hopes of providing some semblance of warmth did little more than prove to be a product of wishful thinking.

With his singular objective now complete, Jayce turned his attention elsewhere. He had a task in mind. He grasped the wooden double doors that led outside, going rigid as he was met with the unmistakable chill of the outside world. He barely crossed the threshold, unwilling to sacrifice any more of the precious heat that they’d cultivated to the whims of the mountain. Unlike Viktor, he was underdressed for the weather.

But that was only because Viktor had stolen his coat, of course.

“It was my understanding that you hated the cold,” Came a familiar voice in dry jest. Viktor didn’t turn to regard him, but he didn’t need to. It was just the two of them, after all. Who else could his mystery visitor be?

Jayce smiled softly, coming to a stop just behind him. The sight of Viktor in his coat, his lithe frame dwarfed by its large proportions so that it hung off of him like a loose bathrobe more than a fitted winter garment, had an effect on Jayce that he didn’t fully comprehend. His mouth went dry instantly. He longed to grasp him and carry him back to the bed. To swaddle him in his warmth and steal the cold from his bones. To hold him so close that he complained about the heat of him before eventually admitting defeat and surrendering, going slack in his arms.

He wanted to…

Jayce didn’t even bother to acknowledge where his mind had wandered, the way his body had just betrayed him, or the effect seeing the scantest hint of Viktor’s exposed back, neck, and shoulder had on him. He was more surprised that his body had even managed to do that, given the current temperature. That had been… fast.

“The bed is cold without you in it, anyway,” Jayce responded nonchalantly as he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around his partner, grasping him around the lower chest and stomach as he pressed his chest against his back. It did nothing to make either of them warmer. In fact, it made Jayce colder to have his arms away from the center mass of his own body and against the cold fabric of Viktor’s clothing. But he insisted. He just wanted to touch him. To feel him beneath his grasp. His heartbeat against his skin and his breath in his ear. Against his body. It anchored him despite everything. Or more accurately, because of everything.

Viktor let out a contented hum and let his head fall against Jayce’s right shoulder, raising his left hand to absent-mindedly stroke Jayce’s forearm. The gesture had become second nature to him as of late, his inhibitions slowly dissolving in the face of their newfound mutual understanding. Slowly. Deliberately. Much the same as his caresses and other acts of affirmation. He settled against the crook of his armpit against his chest, his breathing slowing in increments as he half closed his eyes. Fulfilled.

They had grown close in the past handful of months. It had been slow going at first, but once the walls that they had both insulated themselves within slowly began to crumble away, the floodgates had been unleashed.

Jayce had discovered rather quickly that while the two of them enjoyed and craved intimacy, their preferences were divergent. His desires for their trysts were more frequent; sporadic in nature, but never fleeting. And then there was Viktor. His desire was an infrequent thing, seemingly tempered by factors unknown to Jayce. Viktor was not reluctant to express his affections by any means. He did so without regard or hesitation. He was simply less inclined for them to branch out into more intimate avenues, instead preferring to bask in his company and enjoy the comfort of his embrace. The brushing of his lips against his own and the warmth of his smile. To be held and cherished much as he was now. Jayce’s presence alone was more than enough the majority of the time. It soothed him like a balm against irritated skin.

But should the rare occasion present itself well… that was another matter entirely.

“Just this morning you said my feet were colder than the ice on the slopes, Jayce,” Viktor said with a disbelieving scoff, playfully rolling his eyes at the statement. Two contradicting truths could coexist. They were living evidence of that immutable fact. But it was still fun to tease him from time to time. It kept things lively. Unpredictable.

“I did, didn’t I?” Jayce chuckled softly, resting his chin against the top of Viktor’s head. He adored him, but it was the truth. No matter what they did, his extremities remained ice cold, almost as though they had been chiseled from the very ice the caverns above them were built upon. There was no escape. He would simply spend the rest of his life being accidentally awoken in the night by the brush of his toes against his leg. Why fight it?

Viktor scoffed again, falling silent as he shifted his head back a bit, looking up. Jayce didn’t need to ask what Viktor was doing out on the balcony at this hour. The stars overhead were awe-inspiring, a nebula of glittering stardust that trickled across the cosmos like an abstract smattering of paint across a dark canvas. What a sight to behold. Why would one ever choose to miss this? And yet, the sight before him was more enticing all the same. The stars could stay where they were for now. Jayce had intentions.

He squeezed him just that little bit tighter, leaning in and allowing his garments to press against the small of his back. Pulling him between his parted legs as he slid his chin from the top of his head to the crux of his neck. Jayce settled there and did not dare speak a word. Regardless of what Viktor’s response to his silent inquiry was, he was not incapable of receiving a hint. Of feeling the way he protruded against his back.

They lingered in silence together for several minutes, taking in the majesty of the night until Viktor finally deemed fit to humor him with a response.

“... Jayce Tais, you are insatiable.” He was correct. And yet despite the way he sighed in mock defeat, it was not a judgment or a statement of dissatisfaction. It was one of his best qualities by Viktor’s personal estimations. He was almost impressed in a way. Where had Jayce’s mind wandered off to that allowed him to even manage to become aroused at such abominable temperatures? It was frankly inhuman. Fascinating…

“And you like that about me, don’t you?” He whispered into his neck, smiling against his skin. Another false inquiry. It wasn’t up for debate.

Despite his efforts to feign displeasure, Viktor simply couldn’t help the fond look that made its way onto his face, softening his handsome features. He closed his eyes, slumping into his embrace as Jayce pressed a lingering kiss against his wind-chilled skin. He’d been stronger once. “Indeed.”

Without another word shared between them, Viktor went slack and unfolded his arms. It was an invitation. One that Jayce would be a fool to ignore. Without so much as a word, Jayce slipped his arms into a more secure position around him and hoisted him up into his grasp, ignoring the way his back protested. The bed wasn’t far. He could manage that long.

For Viktor’s part, he was fully willing to humor him so long as he didn’t have to feel the cold bite of early spring against his bare flesh. Nothing was going to get him to disrobe. Not in this weather.

—

It had been a fun diversion, if not brief and laced with the omnipresent reality of bone-deep fatigue.

The moment their chilled bodies had settled under the warm blankets that covered their bed, the will to do anything at all had rapidly abandoned them. It was as if the mattress itself had leeched the very essence of arousal from their bodies as soon as they’d touched it. They made a decent attempt at doing something meaningful, but failed utterly within minutes. And they were fine with that. Or at least they had been as they’d drifted off into blissful slumber, wrapped in one another's embrace.

As if summoned from his restful slumber by some entity unseen, Jayce stirred. He blinked away the dregs of sleep from his eyes, trapped in a hazy state of semi-sleep that did him no favors. When his vision returned to him, the first thing his eyes fell upon was the smouldering remnants of the fire that made their room habitable. Little had changed. He’d only been asleep for a few short hours at most, and the specialized fuel contained within was designed to last for far longer than that.

The night stretched on. Morning would be upon them in a few hours' time, but not yet. They could still rest.

Exhaling deeply as he lay face down against the covers, Jayce noticed the presence at his back for the first time since he’d awoken. The pleasant sound of deep, meaningful breath being drawn and released as warm air stirred the hair at the base of the back of his neck. Just enough weight against him to anchor him in place, but not enough to restrict his movements. The gentle warmth was as familiar as it was welcome. A product of his lovers' embrace. They’d gone to sleep facing the loggia to the far side of their small quarters, but at some point during the night, Viktor had settled against the middle of his back, his thin arms wrapping around Jayce’s waist and his face buried in the space between his broad shoulders. Sound asleep.

Jayce resisted the urge to chuckle to himself. He wished he had eyes in the back of his head. He imagined that the sight was rather endearing.

He closed his eyes and settled back into the blankets, burrowing his arms into the covers. The room was pleasantly warm now. There was still a chill to the air, but that was something he’d grown used to as a fact of life here. There had to be ventilation for the smoke, and ventilation required an exit. There wasn’t a draft, but where there was a gap, there was air. With a soft sigh, he shifted slightly, careful not to move much. But despite his efforts, Viktor moved against his back. And when he did, Jayce’s head perked up.

The garments they wore were deceptively thin for how well they held heat, a product of ingenuity, necessity, and generations of fiber weaving techniques designed to make them softer, easier to move in, and reduce overall bulk. But an unintended byproduct of these efforts was the undeniable fact that they had a tendency to conform to the skin and muscles beneath them rather fittingly. Especially at times like this.

The logical part of Jayce’s mind told him that it was a product of friction and shared warmth. The considerate part of him insisted that if he was still asleep, then it wasn’t worth disturbing him over. But the instant Viktor shifted against him a second time in an attempt to chase his fleeting warmth and he felt that, the small lustful, inconsiderate part of his brain that he didn’t like to acknowledge the power of halted any further thought.

They could sleep in. They had nothing but time.

In one smooth motion, Jayce turned over and gently pulled Viktor up against his chest, holding him as he pressed him against his chest. His lips brushed against his ear as he leaned in to whisper into his ear, hoping to rouse him gently. He slipped a hand under the wrap-like garment that clothed him, rubbing his hand soothingly along the length of his back. Tracing the length of his spine where his brace had once been secured with screws and locking mechanisms. The design had since been altered to accommodate his current needs, and the transformations that his body had endured had displaced them, but he remembered well where they had once been. Jayce beckoned him to awaken, and he wordlessly obliged.

Viktor’s eyes fluttered open, filled with fatigue and then intrigue. Intrigue that was quickly replaced with confusion. He looked at Jayce blankly, his eyes taking the better part of a minute to focus. But once they finally managed the task, he instantly registered the unspoken intent in Jayce’s gaze, his eyes lingering on his face as the taller of the two brushed a stray lock of hair out of his lover’s face.

“... Would you like some help with that?” He seemed almost too amused by the turn of events unfolding before him. He was under no illusions that this was the first time that this had occurred during the night, but it was the first time that he’d noticed. And if the look of tired confusion on Viktor’s face was anything to go by, he hadn’t registered it in its entirety just yet.

Viktor’s eyes traveled downward, a quizzical expression appearing on his face. The sleep-addled gears in his head gradually began to turn, permitting him to form something akin to intelligent thought. For a moment, he didn’t speak, looking up at Jayce with an almost accusatory look on his face as though he suspected that this might be partially his doing before he visibly disavowed the notion. His face flushed and he wordlessly pulled away, turning over to face the door in the opposite direction. It was a gentle, almost passive act, but one laced with a perceptible tinge of irascibility that Jayce almost dared snicker at, but for the halfhearted kick in the shin that it would no doubt earn him. It seemed Jayce wasn’t the only one who was becoming habituated to the frigid air.

Yawning as he rubbed his face with his palms, Jayce settled back down beside Viktor, pulling his back against his chest as he gently settled back into their embrace. Viktor returned the gesture, relaxing as the pair attempted to drift back into peaceful slumber.

A minute passed. Then a second. Then five. Then ten.

And then, as if suddenly possessed, Viktor sat straight up in the bed and let out a full-body sigh, his shoulders slumping. He brought his face to rest against his open palm as he acknowledged defeat in utter futility.

“I am awake now.”

Jayce couldn’t help himself as he lay next to him with his eyes closed. A small chuckle slipped past his lips, heedless of the consequences it might invoke. “Well, I sure hope so since you’re still talking to me.”

Viktor gave him an incredulous look, a glimmer of something dark in his honey colored eyes. Something desperate. Silence settled over the two of them, unbearable in its weight until Jayce could endure it no longer and opened his eyes to meet his gaze.

He could feel Viktor’s eyes on him before he even opened his own, burrowing into his very soul. There was a heat behind them that he recognized aspects of, but even with that taken into account, he knew that something was different this time. They flickered up and down the length of his body, assessing. Determining. Dismantling. The gears in his head were turning, and Jayce was suddenly as intrigued as he was wary.

Leaning over him with all the deliberateness of a great fanged predator stalking its prey, Viktor placed one arm on either side of him, looking down from above as he lowered his face until it was hovering just a few inches above Jayce’s, his eyes unavoidable. The intent behind them was clearer than ever before as he lowered his voice to little more than a whisper, his tone unambiguous and unwavering. There was a certainty to every aspect of him. It was arresting to behold, if not slightly intimidating. Jayce couldn’t deny the way his chest clenched at the display, the tightness below the blankets that they shared becoming more noticeable than ever.

“Yes… “ Viktor gingerly ran the back of his hand against the collar of Jayce’s wrap, visibly savoring the way he raised slightly to meet his touch. His eagerness was enticing, but he would not indulge. Not yet. His eyes fell lower, his face betraying how deep in thought he remained. But Jayce could only make vague guesses as to what he might have in store for him. “We should do something about that.”

Pulling his hand away slowly, Viktor watched as Jayce seemed to shudder at the loss of his touch. There was an air of mischief to him that Jayce recognized, but he’d never experienced it in this context before. And that truth only intensified his desire to peer into his beloved’s mind and catch a glimpse of the storm that was brewing there. His heart thrummed in his chest. Viktor looked far too casual for a man who had longed for sleep mere minutes ago, little more than a slight quirk of the corner of his lips to indicate his state of mind. And even that raised more questions than answers. He could glean very little about his state of mind, as things stood.

“Are you saying you’d like to reconsider my offer?” Jayce retorted lightheartedly, attempting to regain some of the footing that he’d clearly lost in this exchange. He reached up slowly to run his fingers up Viktor’s side, only to find his gesture repelled as Viktor gently brushed his hand away with his own, his eyes never leaving his own. Jayce swallowed thickly. And then Viktor leaned in close, his warm breath ghosting across his ear as he teased him with the prospect of a kiss that he would not grant.

“No.” It was all he said.

Jayce trembled. There was something about the way that those two simple letters left his mouth that made the tightness in his loins almost unbearable. Viktor was calm. So utterly calm and unknowable. His breath was even and measured in contrast to the rapidly hastening tempo of his own as he yearned for the sanctity of his touch. Viktor allowed his lips to brush against Jayce’s neck, but he did not part them. Did not press. He made no meaningful contact of any kind, his touch so scant that it was barely detectable. And then he withdrew again, hovering just above him. Just close enough to make it clear that his actions were intentional. He clearly understood the effect his stare had on Jayce as he unhurriedly dragged his eyes over every inch of his body, undressing him without so much as a single touch. There was no questioning that.

There was nothing to satiate him. Nothing to grant him sweet release from the situation he now found himself in. Nothing that could afford him the touch he so desperately longed for, save for the will of his partner. And he wasn’t getting the impression that Viktor was feeling particularly merciful at present. Instead, Viktor slowly dragged the covers back, centimeter by centimeter, inch by inch, as more of the outline of his form was revealed, exposing him to the temperature difference in the room. It was enough to draw another shudder from Jayce as he remained on his back, his companion’s eyes falling low before flickering back up to his face knowingly. Jayce gave him a tender, almost pleading look, chastising himself internally for his inability to conceal his growing desperation. But he simply could not help it. He’d longed for Viktor earlier that night. He desired him even more now. And he would devour him evermore if he were simply afforded the opportunity to indulge his passions.

He felt like a starved hound slavering over the prospect of a fresh kill. He needed him. Carnally.

Viktor slipped his fingertips into the front of Jayce’s garment, pulling the fabric away from his taunt skin just enough to ensure that his fingers did not brush against him as he traced the hem of the fabric down to where it was tied at the waist. And then he stopped, holding his hand there but doing nothing. Savoring the undeniable warmth at the base of his stomach that would not relent. It was a sentiment he understood well. He was in no better condition himself. But that reality would do nothing to save Jayce from what he had in store for him. Oh yes. He had designs.

Slipping his hand lower into the garment, Viktor stopped just shy of actually touching Jayce in the way he knew that he most wanted. It was enough to drive him utterly feral.

He watched as his lover’s breath deepened, becoming more erratic than ever at the prospect of any kind of contact. Jayce jerked upward, raising the source of his desire to seek his hand, but he found nothing. Instead, Viktor withdrew his hand and used it to press down on the side of his hip, anchoring him in place. Restraining him with little to no effort. Jayce huffed. And then Viktor met his eyes again, that same mischievous darkness that they’d held since they’d started more prominent in his golden eyes than ever. Jayce was beginning to understand now. There would be no salvation.

Viktor reached for the tie at Jayce’s waistband, slipping his fingers delicately into the loop of fabric and pulling it until it unraveled. The fabric loosened, resettling slightly as he then grasped the edges of it, tracing them back up to Jayce’s chest as he peeled back the article of clothing one side at a time, fully exposing his partner to the open air. Jayce’s breath hitched as Viktor leaned back, propping himself up on his right elbow next to his head as he ran his fingertips through the edges of Jayce’s hair. The gesture was scant, more surface-level than Jayce would have liked. He preferred to feel Viktor’s fingers against his scalp, gripping gently as he often did. But he knew better than to hope for such a thing now.

To no surprise, he withdrew his hand again, simply taking a moment to savor the sight of him. Viktor didn’t speak. He simply regarded him peacefully, the mechanisms in his head shifting at full force as he undid the waistband of his own clothing, pulling it apart just enough to entice Jayce with a glimpse of something truly tantalizing. A sample of greater treasures to come. It earned him a cautious look from his partner as he shifted onto his side, the want in his eyes unmistakable as he visibly longed to touch him. His hand trembled against the fabric of the sheets. Jayce so desperately wanted to slip his hands into the inside of the silken fabric that clung to Viktor’s body. To touch him. To take the heat of him into the welcoming warmth of his mouth. His eyes spoke volumes as they lingered in unbroken silence. “Just let me have you.” He seemed to beg wordlessly, his jaw clenching as he tried to stifle the base whimper that tried to escape his lips. Tried to suppress the ache between his thighs.

Shockingly, Viktor obliged.

He parted the garment just a bit more, shifting into a more comfortable position as Jayce wasted no mental energy considering anything. He shuffled lower, curling his fingers around Viktor’s hip as he slipped them into the underside of the fabric, leaning in close to savor the scent of his flushed, blood-darkened skin. He pressed his lips lovingly against his navel, kissing the soft skin as he trailed lower, sucking at the soft flesh at the base of his greatest source of desire. He kissed the tip of him before slipping his tongue from between his lips, tracing the vein that ran up the length of him a single time before dipping down in earnest and engulfing him in warmth.

And yet, as he continued, there was no hand at the back of his head as there normally was. No gentle caresses of his face and neck to reward him for a job well done. No barely controlled hitching of his hips as he tried in futility to resist the gentle lull of Jayce’s now thoroughly experienced mouth. There was next to no recognition of his efforts at all. Little more than his breathing changed, and even that was subtle. But as Jayce shifted his gaze upward to behold him, eager to attempt to comprehend his silence, he nearly choked on the expression on Viktor’s face.

If a gaze alone were capable of cutting diamonds, Viktor’s would have. His eyes were half lidded, pupils fully dilated in the dim light of the fireplace. The corner of his mouth opened just enough to provide a glimpse of his tongue wetting his lips before settling against the back of his teeth. Viktor slowly withdrew from him and placed his hand on his shoulder, tracing it down the length of his side until it reached his lower back, ushering Jayce towards him with a gentle if not firm tug. Beckoning him to turn over fully onto his stomach as he locked him in place with torturous eye contact.

Jayce felt his pulse deepen, his own heartbeat deepening until it was all he could hear. His skin prickled with goosebumps. Viktor had only humored him like this once before in the few months that they’d shared a bed together. It was a matter of preference, according to him. He liked the heat of Jayce against the length of the front of his body, the embrace of his arms at his back as he pressed deeper, caging him in lustful reverence. But given the shift in behavior Jayce had thus far witnessed tonight, the prospect of what he had in store for him was so tantalizing that it nearly made him twitch, his ears ringing just enough to make his head tingle.

He followed Viktor’s lead, turning over onto his stomach. The smaller of the two leaned over him, the warmth of his body ghosting over Jayce’s back as he rustled with the bedside drawer, securing something unseen before withdrawing. Jayce was willing to make a few guesses as to what, but before his mind could wander, he felt Viktor’s fingers at his hip, tugging at him in a manner that made it clear that he wanted him to lift up just a bit. His grasp was gentle yet tantalizing, applying just the right amount of pressure to his touch-starved flesh to cause him to take a deeper intake of breath. Jayce throbbed at the prospect of Viktor’s touch, obliging instantly. He wanted to feel his long digits wrap around him. To indulge in the pleasure it would provide. But instead, his partner slipped one of the pillows from the head of their bed under his thighs, elevating him slightly. A sound somewhere between a gasp and a whimper slipped past his lips despite his best efforts to contain it as he lost the blissful warmth and pressure that the mattress provided, his arousal now suspended just out of reach as he settled into place on the pillow. He went untouched again. It was a terrible shame.

A small hand pressed against the middle of his back, stilling him as Viktor positioned himself behind him, allowing his weaker leg to rest on a pillow of his own, allowing it to act as a buffer of sorts to avoid discomfort from pressure. Jayce felt his breath trail up the length of his spine at an almost agonizingly slow pace, hot and tantalizingly warm as he leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss against the back of Jayce’s neck. It was a scant thing, but he sighed in blessed relief when he received it anyway. Any contact with Viktor was worth treasuring. He needed him. Badly. So badly, in fact, that it was starting to become unbearable, the throb of unsatiated eros rendering him sensitive and ever more desperate to receive. To give.

Perhaps sensing his growing discontent, Viktor pressed a soft kiss against each of his shoulder blades in turn, each more tender than the last. It seemed that there was a limit to his cruelty after all. Jayce hazarded a soft smile, his breath shuddering as he clung to the pillow beneath his chest, Viktor’s hands dipping low and urging him to part his legs just a bit more. Gripping the middle of his back and kneading the muscles there soothingly, he pressed a single slicked finger against him. He didn’t push in. Not immediately. But the sharp intake of breath Jayce involuntarily took spoke volumes to his growing sensitivity. He barely withstood the urge to rise up, chasing what he so desperately needed. He was starting to realize that doing so would earn him the exact opposite result. That was the game they were playing tonight.

They lingered for a moment, unmoving as Viktor continued to work the muscles in his back underneath his fingers. But just as Jayce began to turn his head to look back at him questioningly, Viktor pressed in slowly, pulling a gasp from him as Jayce shoved his face into the pillow instead, the hair on his face brushing against the plush cushioning. Despite his previous torments, this was one area where Viktor was unwilling to undersell him, adding an additional digit a minute later. He was met with no resistance as he delved deeper, searching. His mouth watered at the stifled sounds that Jayce made, though his love was unable to see it. And with a slow curl of his fingers, he located precisely what he was looking for. He grinned knowingly.

With a deep groan, the entirety of Jayce’s body lurched as lightning shot through him, the sensation nearly too much to bear. Viktor quirked his fingers against the spot again. And then a third time, each somehow more unhurried than the last. And then with an abruptness that made Jayce want to choke, he withdrew, pressing another kiss against the spot on his back where his hand had just been.

It was as if he’d suddenly slipped and fallen headlong into hell.

The sensitivity was nightmarish, the ache where his fingers had been moments ago akin to the dull throb of a toothache that knew no relief. Not quite painful, but utterly unpleasant. Jayce whimpered softly, the flushed skin between his thighs trembling from a lack of contact that he could abide no longer. Reaching down with his right hand, he attempted to remedy the situation himself, only to be met with the sensation of Viktor’s fingers trailing up his arm before it was gingerly brushed away, Jayce huffing in defeat as he burrowed his face deeper into the pillows. He felt Viktor’s breath at the back of his neck again, but this time there was no kiss.

“Jayce Talis… What exactly do you think you’re doing?” Came the soft syllables that spelled his undoing. There was something so knowing in his tone. It was taunting but delicate, slow-acting venom laced with sugar and humor. It would’ve been punishing if not for the way it enriched every aspect of Jayce’s arousal, making his loins do cartwheels as he lingered in a purgatory of his own making. Or perhaps that was the same thing at this juncture. He wasn’t sure which of them was more invested in this little game of theirs, but he certainly hoped Viktor had less stamina than he did.

It was unlikely.

“... Do you want me to beg?” Jayce said, an air of desperation to his voice. He sounded almost defeated; whittled down and ready to do his bidding. It earned him a scoff and a playful pat on his back. And then he craned over his shoulder, his lips grazing Jayce’s earlobe as his voice fell a few octaves. His words were hushed and deliberate, even more so than they’d been a moment ago. And Jayce hung on every vowel.

“That would be unconscionable of me, wouldn’t you say?” Jayce suddenly felt something warm against the length of his opening, rubbing lengthwise up and down the skin that made up the ring of fire that now encompassed his overly tender entrance, to the engorged throbbing mess that was his painfully over engorged arousal. Each slow drag lubricated him, but there was no indication that Viktor planned to indulge him any further. He raised up slightly, brushing the tip of his wanton flesh against the throbbing, delicate flesh of Jayce’s opening, pressing just enough to leave the faintest traces of pressure before pulling away and continuing to run up the length of his backside. Viktor took Jayce’s earlobe into his mouth, sucking it tenderly before releasing it as his shoulder length hair tickled his lover’s back. And then he chuckled to himself, the vibration reverberating through Jayce’s entire upper body as his legs trembled in futility. “What do you take me for? I am many things, Jayce, but have you ever known me to be cruel?”

Oh yes. He certainly had. Right now, in fact.

“... I would never accuse you of something so untrue.” Jayce wondered if his words sounded as sarcastic out loud as they did in his head. It earned him an amused scoff. Viktor then slid down just a bit further, clasping Jayce’s quaking things together as he slipped his length between them, applying pressure to it. He exhaled deeply, clearly enjoying the pleasant warmth that surrounded his throbbing flesh and the disbelieving sound of utter betrayal that came from somewhere deep within Jayce as he tried and failed to gain purchase against him. The sensation of his length sliding back and forth between his thighs, so tantalizingly close to where he wanted him to be but not quite there, was maddening. Viktor smiled softly, patting his behind lovingly.

“Yes, you would.” He suppressed a chuckle, but his voice still carried the same air of dry humor that Jayce was so very fond of. There it was. That signature Viktor wit. The biting yet never unkind sarcasm reserved specifically for him that brought him such joy. “You're thinking it right now.”

Why lie when Viktor was right and knew himself to be? There was no deceiving him, especially when Jayce was already struggling just to form a coherent string of thought. “I thought you said you wouldn’t read my mind.”

Viktor released his legs and pulled away, leaving him with no sensation at all. Jayce huffed. Somehow, this was worse.

“I do not require the use of the Arcane to know what is going on inside your mind, Jayce. Your eyes betray you. Your wandering hands.” He lined himself up with Jayce’s entrance with calculated lethargy, slipping his free hand under the front of Jayce’s body and resting it against the space between his navel and his engorged flesh. Pressing lightly to solicit a simpering gasp from him. Savoring the way the muscles in Jayce’s stomach tensed in anguished anticipation. “Betray the extent of your longing. Your desire.”

When he finally indulged Jayce, the sensation was like nothing he’d ever felt. Like flames being doused with cold water, and yet still continuing to rise and billow in vehemence all the same. Viktor sank in with consummate ease and criminal slowness, millimeter by millimeter as Jayce grasped the last vestiges of his sanity and the bed sheets in turn, his eyes seeing nothing as all traces of intelligent thought evicted themselves from his once brilliant mind. He was a wreck, a shell of his former self, devolved to nothing more than a floundering mess, the sweet heat of his beloved within him all he would ever need for the short time that life remained in him.

After what felt like a lifetime, Viktor was fully seated within him. He could conceal the look of abject pleasure on his face, but not the deep purr of rapture that vibrated through every muscle in his body. Jayce’s eager body encompassed every atom of him perfectly, almost as though his muscles had been molded specifically to his preferences, his passage sculpted by design for this very purpose. It was utter ecstasy. Euphoric. Everything he needed it to be, even if he hadn’t realized it until that very instant.

And then Viktor stopped moving.

For the first minute, Jayce assumed that Viktor was allowing him a grace period to adjust to his frankly unanticipated size before proceeding. Jayce remembered being genuinely taken aback by that particular revelation the first time he’d seen him engorged, staring in a way that had earned him a deep red blush from his, at the time, anxious new partner as he loomed over him in their new bedroom, admiring every inch of his body. But then the second and third minutes came and went, and Jayce realized in abject horror that Viktor had no intention of doing anything. He suddenly thought he might snap, his fragile sanity finally reaching the point of no return as he white knuckled the sheets as if his life depended on it.

He was starting to get the impression that Viktor was enjoying this just a little bit too much.

Jayce sighed, turning his head to face his partner. The smug, knowing look on his face was the stuff of nightmares. Jayce wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Viktor grin before, but he wasn’t sure if he found it adorable or genuinely disquieting to witness. His eyes were half lidded, and his face, neck, and ears were flushed a flattering shade of dark pink. He took deep but deceptively erratic breaths, tilting his head to the side as if to wordlessly inquire if he wanted something. He looked like he was barely resisting the urge to drool. The sight of Jayce like this was so very intoxicating.

“... Viktor…” He spoke his name as though it were a curse and a blessing all at once. Something to be revered and feared in the same breath. It earned him deepened eye contact and a hand on his chest as Viktor used his now free left hand to brace himself against Jayce’s body, running his fingers over his sensitive skin in idle praise.

“Yes, Jayce?” He spoke as if he were unaware of any potential issues, nonchalant and utterly, playfully apathetic towards the concept of what his actions had caused and the way Jayce was rapidly unraveling before him.

Sighing deeply, Jayce’s gaze softened, something in his eyes so tender and pleading that it made Viktor’s mask slip for a brief moment as he seemed to contemplate whether Jayce was truly suffering as a direct result of his actions. He didn’t want that. “I should’ve just let you sleep. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. This is fun. The most fun I’ve had in ages, in fact.” He pulled backwards, guiding Jayce to kneel in front of him as he discreetly assessed his comfort level. This wasn’t a position that was likely to aggravate Jayce’s leg or back, but it would always be a consideration for Viktor regardless. Toy with him as he might, he took his suffering very seriously. “Ask nicely.”

“I thought you said you didn’t want me to beg,” Jayce said almost definitely, scoffing at the sheer audacity of his imposition. He was incredulous.

Another chuckle, this one accompanied by the gentle massaging of Jayce’s chest as Viktor leaned in and pressed his body against his, kissing his exposed neck with all the tenderness of a kitten. His beloved trembled at his touch, his thoroughly exposed length begging for attention. Viktor lowered his hand, willing to oblige if he’d simply return the favor first. “There is a difference between begging and saying please, Jayce. Use your words.”

Jayce allowed his shoulders to slump to an almost sarcastic degree as he gnawed on the inside of his bottom lip. Viktor affectionately peppered comforting kisses along his neck and shoulders, pressing lightly at the source of his suffering with his hand. That was all he had to do? Truly? It wasn’t another playful deception? He only had one means of answering that question. He would take him at his word. “... Please?”

He felt Viktor smile against his skin as he nuzzled him, pausing his ministrations entirely.

“Good boy.”

In one smooth, calculated motion, he withdrew fully and then plunged back into the depths of this being, hitting every nerve ending along the path. Jayce’s breath hitched as he groaned headily, hoping with everything in him that the stone walls of the establishment were thick. For a moment, he saw stars. Stars just as real and vivid as the glittering nebula they’d witnessed together that very night. Viktor slowly withdrew again, this time stopping just shy of exiting entirely, spreading the sensitive muscles at his entrance with the thickest portion of himself as he watched the capacity to think or breathe leave Jayce permanently.

Viktor had his own preferences in regards to tempo, but he knew Jayce’s well enough to know that this was precisely what he wanted. What he needed. And he was nothing if not accommodating.

He snuggled up against him, continuing at a steady yet unrelenting rhythm as he shushed him gently. It wouldn’t be long. He’d known that much for a while now, such was the nature of his taunting. One could not be expected in good faith to withstand such a thing and then last much longer afterward. Leaning over as far as he could, he took in the sight of Jayce’s disheveled face from over his shoulder, caressing him gently as he pressed as far into him as he possibly could. He held himself there as he savored the distinct sensation of Jayce practically convulsing around him, his nearly overstimulated muscles spasming sporadically as he brushed against that heavenly place deep within him. Viktor wished he could bottle and distill the sensation. But perhaps not. Why diminish its significance?

Jayce blinked away unspent tears, but he felt nothing remotely resembling pain. There was only satisfaction, deep and carnal in a way that was uniquely satiating. And despite the torment he had inflicted upon him, Jayce hoped that it was a sentiment Viktor shared. There were no hard feelings between them. There never would be. Jayce knew that he could trust Viktor to respect him and not take things too far. To call off his little game should he truly wish it. Viktor was incapable of hurting him, even if he wanted to. And he didn’t. He was diligent. Steadfast. And intensely loving.

He just enjoyed tormenting him a little bit from time to time. And luckily for them both, Jayce was into that.

“Tell me where,” Viktor gasped as he spoke, resting his chin on Jayce’s right shoulder as he trembled from a flood of sensation, lust coating every word that came out of his mouth as his sanity threatened to abandon him for good. He was the very image of a man driven mad with passion; the sound of his voice alone was a force of torment too strong to withstand. “Please.”

For the first time that night, the blood in Jayce’s body went somewhere other than his loins.

He felt Viktor shudder behind him, both of his arms rising from underneath Jayce’s to encompass the width of his chest as his breathing became ragged and unfulfilling. He grasped his shoulders from overtop his chest with his open palms, his fingers digging into the taunt flesh but not scratching or bruising. Merely holding on for dear life. Jayce wasn’t in a much better state himself, but it was still enthralling to be a part of. To hear the sound of Viktor so close to release. It never failed to make his blood ignite. Jayce felt Viktor’s face fall against the center of his shoulder blades as he struggled to hold himself back, his hair blinding him as it stuck to his face from a combination of their sweat. His eyes were closed as he lavished Jayce with a combination of barely comprehensible complimentary gibberish and feted kisses along the length of the scar on his back, his heart pounding against his spine. For the first time that night, he was asking Jayce to lead him, and that realization alone was enough to topple Jayce over the edge. He barely managed to answer before giving in, no longer able to withstand the intensity of their devotion. How could he?

“You know where.” Was all Jayce managed to wheeze out before he slumped forward, grasping the head of the bedframe with his outstretched hands. He almost choked on the air leaving his lungs, his mouth opening, but his body producing no sound aside from a deep, guttural groan that barely qualified as human speech. Whatever sound Viktor managed to make was muffled by his fluttering gasps and Jayce’s back as the pitch of his voice keened ever higher in chorus until he exhaled shakily and slumped over, his soul barely clinging to what remained of his body. His arms fell slack as Jayce bore the full, if not meager, weight of his body.

For all of about ten seconds.

Unable to withstand the quivering of his arms and shoulders any longer, Jayce released the headboard and tumbled forward, heaving as he drew breath. It was only after several minutes that he looked back over his shoulder at the simpering mess that had once been his partner. Jayce’s hands throbbed from how hard he’d clenched his fingers, and his eyes were blurry, but he could still see Viktor as he rose up on weak arms to behold him, his face streaked with freshly spent tears but no less full of love. It appeared that Jayce hadn’t been the only one who had been overstimulated…

That had truly been… something.

With a huff, Viktor collapsed against his back in much the same position as he had been in when Jayce had first awoken. The only sound was the pleasant crackle of the waning fire and the sound of their breathing as they both gradually began to catch their breath. Viktor didn’t move to withdraw himself, content to enjoy the warmth Jayce’s body provided for just a little bit longer. To bask in his heat as he rubbed soothing circles into his pectoral muscles from behind. They were both beyond content.

But they would have to change the sheets come morning.

“... Remind me to have a more… sensible reaction the next time you wake me up in the middle of the night?” Viktor requested softly as Jayce shifted below him, unteathering them. Viktor whispered at the loss of contact but did not protest, allowing Jayce to pull him to rest against his chest, his arms wrapping around him and anchoring him in place. The smaller of the two almost seemed bewildered by the gravity of it all, blinking slowly as his brain attempted to regain functionality, his muscles now fully relaxed and his body utterly limp. Post copulation clarity was a force of nature.

Jayce chuckled beneath him, his eyes slowly closing as he basked in the pleasant warmth of his company. Now that he knew that this side of his benevolent lover existed, he couldn’t think of anything he’d like to avoid less. “Absolutely not.”

—

I wrote an outline for this fic and limited myself to 1 page because I knew I had 6 other oneshots to write. It still ended up being 20 pages and 8790 words. I'm cooked. I'm starting today's fic RIGHT NOW, so here's hoping I can get it up at a reasonable time today since it's 3 pm here. Gosh, I hope this was decent since I've never written smut before outside of a BJ in one fic like a month ago lol! Next up: Old Man Mage Viktor! And oh boy, do I have ideas…

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