#Viktor x f!reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ihopeinevergetsoberr · 1 month ago

Text

academic rivals request! viktor x fem!reader, nsfw

request: @4-leafed pls... if u have time pls write a viktor x reader that r both geniuses at the academy but very much toe the line of rivalry and sexual tension...i love competitive smart people that fall in love when the rivalry becomes respect ... and they FREAK IT!!! possibly in a lab ! up to you : 3c

i liked this request so much that i ended up writing a decent-ish one-shot….

update: i wrote a part 2 because it was highly requested! you can read it here :)

rating: explicit

word count: 3,5k

warnings: academic rivals. LOTS of dialogue and bickering. dubious science because i skipped it in school, had to do some basic chemistry revision to write this pornographic catastrophe, so please pat me on the back. rough sex? rough… foreplay, that’s for sure. dirty talk, if you can call bickering that. penetration. reader tries to slap viktor, spits in his mouth and he cums in his pants. normally, i only write vanilla stuff, so i have no idea how it turned out THIS kinky (at least for me okay). not proofread (yet). nsfw under the cut:

—

“How do you take your coffee?”

His voice betrays the feeble intention of civility, fusing that polite inquiry into a hiss—a phonetical torture you didn’t even know could occur before. So much for killing you with kindness. Outstaging quips by desecrating courtesies.

“I don’t care,” you mutter on autopilot. Can’t let him in on any personal preferences, no matter how insignificant. “Just don’t put arsenic in it.”

Viktor scoffs. Puts the kettle away and peers at you over his shoulder, all wretchedly complacent.

“So the rest of the periodic table is welcome, I presume?”

Viktor. The local Nikola Tesla knock-off. Never a moment of peace with him; and the fierce taste of competition grows coppery in your mouth whenever he’s in your sight—the most handsome trigger of your cheek-biting reflex.

His name is an insult on your lips and you want to taste it. Chew it, crush it with your teeth and spit right out, preferably aiming for those poignant eyes seeking you in every classroom—so eager to light up with objection the second your opinion differs from his.

Always the first prick to disparage your input. A never-resting generator of all the meticulous ways to denounce your projects.

“If I may.”

Sickeningly polite, too. With that lithe finger pointing in the air— so irritatingly comical. He may not, but there isn’t a chance he’ll shut up, now, is there?

And so he’d clear his throat, straightening his tie in that ridiculously solemn fashion. As if stepping on a pedestal to deliver a life-changing speech—not some shallow nitpicking regarding your circuit breakers. All eyes on him while his kept staring only into your soul. Special treatment, if you will.

You will not.

“Using magnetic frames is careless,” he’d state. With his hand imposingly pointing to the blueprint on your slide. “Copper coils may oxidize. Not to mention the overheating. I would use thermoplastics. They’re significantly more efficient. And heat-resistant.”

Oh please. Like someone here gives a shit about what you’d use.

But you can’t say that. Not in a room full of professors. And, judging from the countless nods of approval, the shits were, in fact, being given.

“Too risky,” you oppose. “Thermoplastics often degrade at high temperatures. Electric insulation is not worth the damage of releasing hydrocarbons. I assumed that you’d be aware of that, Viktor. But I suppose that was an omission on my part.”

More nods of approval, now in your favour. Here it goes again—the ever-lasting spectacle of hatred. Elegant, when entertaining the audience. Anything but discreet, in private. A perpetually drawn game of chess. By repetition, not agreement. Both of you refuse to retreat until checkmate.

Oh yes, the sentiment was mutual. You and Viktor were notorious for tearing at each other's throats. The things you’d sacrifice to make that more than a mere metaphor, though. To pull him by that neat tie to sweet asphyxiation and hear him rasp for mercy with eyes full of pathetic condemnation. And he dreamed of that, too. His cane was itching to give you a smack—to paint your behind a plum so deep you’ll have troubles sitting without wincing. When it came to making metaphors literal, he’d pick being the pain in your ass.

However, your mentors couldn’t care less about the rivalry. The Collegiate Inventors Competition was coming up. And who could possibly make better candidates than two greatest minds of the engineering department, with academic excellence so accurately neck and neck that both of your names now occupy the honorary first place in every ranking table?

That’s how you ended up with your sentence—three weeks of after-hours cooperation in the lab with the incorrigible bastard himself, a quarter of which you’d already successfully wasted on pointless bickering. Well, not without achieving some common grounds. The choice of prototype landed on one of your personal ambitions—a wearable exoskeleton for post-surgery rehabilitation, with plenty of robotics involved. Endorsed by Viktor, for once. The greater good must have swallowed even his dispute. Off to a nice start, if someone were to ask you.

However, the first issues struck early: on the very stage of development. Viktor volunteered for modelling: meaning, the framework would be custom, to accommodate his spine specifically. An object lesson for everyone involved, it would seem—but only in an ideal world. Which, considering what you had at hand (acrimony, bitterness, an entire picky bit of gall), was filtered out by default.

Now, five gruesome days and who’s-even-counting-anymore restarts later, you’re nowhere near close to at least a draft, yet borderline keen on murdering each other. And you’re certain the latter is approaching. He did just contemplate putting arsenic in your cup, after all.

Viktor stirs the coffee. Watches his reflection smudge in the dark, whirly water, shooting you an askance glance from beneath thick brows when you start stirring yours—the spoon clanking a tad too loud, as if you were doing it on purpose. Which, you undoubtedly were.

“Stop that,” he groans, almost leaping out of his chair. Heavy, disturbed gaze meets your cheeky simper. “You don’t have to stir it so thoroughly. It’s not like you take it with sugar anyway.”

“Of course.” You shrug. “I don’t drink slop.”

“Oh, I figured. There’s nothing sweet about you, so why would your coffee be any different?”

“There’s plenty of sweetness about me. I simply don’t squander it on entitled pricks.”

That finally grounds him. And you’re giddy for the way his sturdy hand grips the cup so hard that it almost shatters into his palm, knuckles growing pale enough to match the porcelain. More so when you take a loud, languid sip, feigning innocence. Fully wallowing in his darling, defeated speechlessness.

“Excuse you,” he mutters. “Entitled?!”

“So you agree with the ‘prick’ part?”

“Yes, and I take great pride in it. You may mark me flustered.”

“Don’t forget to bust in your pants.”

Viktor sneers: chapped lip twitching, scowl growing defensive. Lanky legs untangle as he rises to his feet, towering above you in an angry lean on his cane—long frame transforming into your personal, scrawny menace, pissed exhale sharp and nasal above your head. And you admit to looking small beneath him—all hunched shoulders, weak smile finally tumbling lopsided.

“Don’t you dare call me entitled,” he demands—and means it. It’s palpable in the way he twists the handle of his cane, the squeaky sound violently scratching your brain. “I sweated blood to achieve my privileges in this establishment.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. “So did I, and yet you keep ordering me around as if I’m some braindead apprentice. We’re counterparts, Viktor. You’re supposed to be mindful of my perspective.”

“I never see you being mindful of mine,” he counters.

And, well. You can’t argue with that.

Your coffee break continued in avoidant silence, but the ambience simply reeked of hostility—stifling enough to make you leave the lab feet first. The deadline’s chokehold besieging your neck wasn’t of any help, either—you had to submit the draft for approval by Sunday. And, so far, you haven’t even agreed on the design plan.

You shoot Viktor a reluctant glance. Pensive, he sat slouched over his parchment, emitting pure peril. Like his shoulder blades might stab you if you attempt a single tap, belligerently peeking through the thin shirt. You tucked your lip under your teeth, chewing hard, tongue running over every small, neurotic wound inside your mouth. Fruitless negotiations held a special spot amongst your least favourite endeavours, but this conundrum called for a desperate measure.

“Viktor.” You winced at how chocked up it came out. He noticed that, too—because of course he did—turning in his chair to nod at you, ever so shit-eatingly. Lancing eyes scrutinised their way up to your face. What an affront.

“Yes?” Always chiding in that condescending tone of his. Hissy ‘s’ echoed in the lab, gnawing at your nerves.

“We have to submit something by the end of this week. Let’s at least decide on the blueprint.”

“Fine.” He shrugged, returning to his sketch. “We’re going with mine.”

“No!” You snapped. “We’re coming up with a new one. Together.”

Viktor hummed in mock consideration. The strand of hair he’s been twirling unraveled, claiming more attention than you deemed him worthy of. Sighing, he lazily reached for your graph, frowning as his eyes started skimming over the scribbles. You made your way to the desk, claiming a spot behind his shoulder. That required a tacit truce.

“You really want to wield… hydraulic actuators?” He winced, looking up at you. Had your breath hitching at that respectful attempt, the effort prominent in the very way he uttered those words—as if struggling to filter out swear ones.

“Yes,” you mustered. “For high power.”

“But they’re so heavy.”

“Well, what would you use?”

He chuckled—rich and malicious. Flipped the page and finally averted those curious eyes, arching a bushy brow.

“I thought no one gave a… crap about what I’d use.”

Oh, well. It felt nice while it lasted.

“How did you even—“

“You ought to be more discreet with your vitriol,” he retorted. “I’ll let you know that I’m a decent lip-reader.”

“Then don’t stare at my mouth next time. What would you use, Viktor?”

Now that left you both startled. His fingers stilled above the diagram, flexing in disbelief, hollow cheeks hued a puzzled rouge as you almost chomped your tongue off, showing an embarrassed curse back into the depth of your throat.

“Ahem. Electric motors,” he chanted, pretending to overlook the slip-up. And for once, you were grateful for his tact.

“I see. Well, er… put that down, please.”

He instantly complied, fetching a pen. Left you to reflect on your misery to the rhythmic sound of his scrawling, pressing a sweaty palm to his forehead.

“Right.” He sighed. “What about the power supply?”

“Rechargeable batteries?” You suggested weakly. “Lithium-ion.”

“Very well. Frame?”

“Something durable. Titanium?”

“Absolutely not,” he scoffed, pushing the notes away. “Why must you always insist on using the heaviest equipment?”

“I don’t know, corrosion resistance?” You muttered back, hovering over him. “Biocompatibility?”

“That’s perfectly manageable with carbon fiber!”

“So it shatters after the tiniest bump? Bravo, Viktor, how ingenious.”

He lurches forward—rigid breath quivering over yours. Close enough to crush that thick skull with your forehead—if only you ventured, that is. But, alas, you’re not as brave just yet. Some brief eye-stabbing is about all you’re good for.

“Fine,” he agrees, pulling away. “We’ll use aluminium alloys. Corrosion resistant and easy to machine. No one wins. Does that suffice?”

“Yes. Now will you finally let me take your measurements for the sketch?”

He doesn’t answer—at least not verbally. Merely stands up and nods to the measuring tape, face still heavily contorted with displeasure. But you don’t oblige just yet. How can you, when Viktor’s fingers suddenly reach for his collar, fumbling with the button? And—oh no—now they’re sliding lower, reiterating once, twice, thrice, until his chest (flushed, but that might just be wishful thinking) is fully peeking out, teasing the smooth scrap of ivory skin.

“What… are you doing?” You mumble, utterly startled.

“…Undressing?” He says matter-of-factly, looking up at you so askance as if you’d just asked him if the sky is blue. One more ministration and the shirt is neatly folded next to the parchment—waiting for you to be through with the measurements to be slid back on his bony shoulders.

“That, I can tell,” you mumble. “Why did you undress?”

Viktor’s gaze daggers into you again. “Don’t tell me you were actually intending to measure me clothed? Can you not comprehend precision?”

“Precision?”

“The prototype is expected to cling to me. I don’t see how that’s achievable with my shirt on— I assumed that was rather obvious.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Ah, sweet civility. I even started worrying that other entitled pricks must’ve depleted your decorum, but it seems like you saved some up for me after all. I’m flattered, really—“

You don’t even register when it happens.

Next thing you see is Viktor seizing your wrist—sternly yanking your slap off his face before it gets the chance to land there in a flared handprint. Nothing but pure rage and prickliness—right where his short nails are lancing your skin, engraving an ugly bracelet you’ll wear for hours.

Well, maybe there is something else. Something inexplicable, and tremendous—deep in the way your eyes keep drifting south—where his pants sling low on defined hips, and the pretty trail of dark hair runs from navel to waistband—no doubt circling exactly what you manage to make out in the convex slope of his crotch. And you want to slap him for that, too—sonorous, and frenetic. Going in again with full force, but his force always turns out to be fuller—and in an instance he firmly twists your arm, pinning it behind your back—pale face barely five inches away from your flushed one.

What happens next is beyond any explanations. Later, he’ll blame it on inertia—that stupid urge to maintain the speed, to stay in motion with your messy antics until some external force stops him—a simple need to claim you before the inevitable collision.

But there’s no inertia in escalation. In the way his free hand grabs you by the nape and clashes agape mouths together, teeth bumping hard enough to make you consider booking a dentist appointment later. Not a sign of inertia when you grab him, either—a little clumsy through the sharp pain in your twisted arm—bold fingers raking his scalp in a vengeful tug on his hair.

And it’s more than a kiss. If anything, it looks like you’re trying to eat him—tongue out and thrusting into his throat so fiercely that he gags on it, almost tearing up. Now you know what sheer desperation sounds like, and it’s grunting against your mouth, suddenly pitching to a pathetic moan when you grab a handful of chestnut hair and pull so hard that his eyes roll back, lean frame shaking under your violent approach. You use that startled momentum to try and pry your arm free, but he still keeps it in place.

“You’re hurting me!” You hiss, attacking his neck—the very one you always shamefully admitted to finding the sexiest any man can possess, and your teeth roughly pinch at his voice box, coaxing another whine.

“Good.” He groans with spite. “I hope I am.”

And yet, he releases your aching arm, trading it for a calculated squeeze of your waist. But the audacity overshadows his little mercy. You instantly use the unrestrained privileges to force a finger into his mouth—astounded at the way he instantly opens up, almost mockingly pliant. More so when you spit on his tongue, sparing no shame—as if trying to rile him up beyond recognition. Grinning, when your saliva dribbles down his chin.

“Ah.” He huffs, instantly licking up the remnants. “Thank you. Ever so disrespectful.”

“You haven’t earned my respect,” you lie, nudging him towards the chair. Not even bothering to wait until he lands, impatient hands already messing with his belt—so treacherously earnest as you shake, unfastening the buckle, and the bastard chuckles at that, looking down at your eager work.

“That’s a new low, then,” murmurs coyly, helping you into his lap, heavy head leisurely thrown back. “Sleeping with someone you don’t respect.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh yes. You’re about to.”

You glare at him from under heavy lids, but the anger refuses to linger—not when he stares back full of indignant awe, so clearly basking in your attention. With his cock half-springing out of undone pants, shamelessly twitching against your palm. And not a single breath was hitched to conceal his excitement.

“Must you always be so insufferable?” You reproach, pushing his hair back—too domestic for your own liking, and yet it doesn’t feel unfitting. Especially when he leans into your hand, welcoming your touch on his sweaty forehead—like he wanted you to feel it fever up with want.

“No.” He shakes his head. “But if it can grant me this, I’ll triple the effort.”

“What happened to new lows? You don’t have a fraction of respect for me, either.”

“You’re right.” He shrugs. “Fractions could never encapsulate my tribute to you.”

And his hand slipped under your skirt, shakily crawling home—precisely where you’d never confess to needing him a mere minute ago. But the sentiment did a decent job at diluting your rancour. There came no protest when he introduced two long fingers into your underwear, openly gasping at the evident dampness. And you allowed him that with no regrets. Moreover, you helpfully sank yourself knuckle deep, wincing at the brief burn, arms wrapping around his neck as he sweetly looked up, seeking your permission. Which was instantly found in the pretty moan you spilled into his mouth, slick tongues back at their futile attempts to strangle each other.

However, your patience was running thin. As much as you wanted to indulge in proper foreplay, whatever masochistic dance he exposed you to had you in agony ever since it started—and it was getting unbearable to ignore the ache, no matter how bad Viktor craved to postpone the main course.

Your thighs clenched hard as you crouched above him, fingers wrapping around the hilt to awkwardly line the tip up with your cunt—the slick sound of it slowly sliding down suddenly igniting some tender bashfulness. Like you didn’t just spit in his mouth with a vile smirk. Like he never had to confine you from slapping him in the face.

That stretch felt different from the one after his fingers. Significantly richer, it made you whine—a pitiful sound reverberating against his skin as you held on tighter and allowed him to bottom out, savouring every little crevice inside you. Raw, yet neither of you seemed to care—that concern was pushed alongside your underwear, then forgotten altogether when your walls clenched him, offering tight bliss.

“Move,” you demanded, grabbing him by the chin. Viktor rasped something back, but you didn’t catch it—already too busy tongue-fucking his pretty neck, turning your teeth into sharp tools ready to stain it mauve with bites.

And he complied again. One hand trembled on your hip while the other crawled between your legs—first missing your clit in the chaotic pace of thrusts, then finding it again as it grazed his fingertips. So cheeky when he dared to pinch it, avenging every pull on his hair. Though, he couldn’t gloat in your wince. Not when it clearly was one of the pleasured kind.

But you didn’t feel like letting him regain composure. You already missed his husky groans—ached to test what else fucking you could make him mutter. Fogy gaze found his face again, softening at the sight—all wet forehead full of concentrated creases and thin lips bitten to bloodless paleness.

You took over. Let him lean back and rest as you roughly rode him into the chair—and for that he gave you a grateful moan, the insistent thumb toying with your clit never stopping even for an instant. Good with his hands, and he knew it—proudly grinned when you struggled to keep going, taut legs treacherously giving up astride him.

That didn’t please you in the slightest. You wanted him to be close, too: slid a hand up his chest and angrily tugged at one nipple—chortling when his mouth dropped in a stunned gasp. Bewildered, but he didn’t mind it—amber eyes squeezed shut when his head lolled, and you finally got his lovely moans back—raspier than before, ravenous enough to make your head spin.

You could already feel it, pulsing somewhere deep within. Blurry vision couldn’t make him out anymore, the lab smudging into a mess of weird shapes—you were about to cum, hard, and Viktor threatened to follow suit any second—his thumb failing to hold steady, and yet the pressure was still there, courtlesly helping you chase that sweet relief. Such a gentleman.

“Close,” you chanted. “So, so close.”

“I know,” he answered, choking on a groan. “Me too.”

And you melted, almost crushing him with your weight. Quivering in a spasm so intense that it had him struggling to keep moving, and yet he was mindful of the risk—used the last fractions of his brain capacity to gently nudge you off his cock and pump it fast and hectic. Cumming in one endlessly thick rope, with a moan so vocal that it reached you even through the layers of foggy, ear-buzzing aftermath. Had you shuddering when you clung off his shoulder, glassy eyes wide with trembling astonishment. You stared at him through the approaching wave of disbelief.

No signs of regret so far, or maybe it was simply still forming—for now, you silently admired not a snarky bastard, but a pretty, fucked out boy beneath you.

“Oh, would you look at that.” Viktor chuckled, sheepishly looking down. “I didn’t forget.”

“What?” You mumbled in confusion, following his gaze.

And when it finally caught your attention—sticky and relentlessly staining his pants—you slammed a hand over your mouth, muffling the hysterical laughter.

“And here I thought I finally fucked your remarkable memory out.”

“Oh, by no means. As, eh… intense as that was, that misery of mine is not going anywhere. However,” he trailed off, his hand skittishly moving towards yours, “sex clearly proved beneficial for our… dynamic.”

You smile, sliding your palm into his warm grasp.

“Can it ensure us enough civility to win the competition?”

And Viktor scoffs, coyly looking you in the eye.

“Why should we limit it to just that?”

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor arcane smut #viktor x fem!reader #arcane smut #viktor arcane x reader #no beta we die #viktor x f!reader

3K notes · View notes

whoreforsexymen · 1 month ago

Text

Hidden In Plain Sight | Viktor

Pairings: Viktor x GN!Reader

Pronouns: None used for reader 🤍

Rating: NSFW, 18+, MDNI !! You WILL be blocked!

Word Count: 2.5k

Tags: Blowjob, Unknown/Unintentional Voyeurism

Summary: You aren’t going to let a conversation stop you from relieving your lover of his frustrations.

Notes: Heyyy!! So. I’m working on requests. But this idea popped into my head when I was rewatching S1 to prepare for S2!!

This is based on S1 E5, the conversation Viktor has with Sky Young. I loved the idea that, since Viktor was so clearly uninterested in her, I should make the reason for the uninterest be you. 🥵🤍 Enjoy, my loves.

I SWEAR PT. 2 of The Cuck Fic is COMING SOON!!!!

Viktor threw his hands to his sides in a sharp, exaggerated motion, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head back against the top of it as he tried to counteract the heaviness that had settled over him. The weight of his thoughts was more palpable than any tangible burden. His eyes drifted briefly to the clutter of papers scattered on the desk, but nothing held his focus for long.

Viktor’s mind drifted, momentarily pulling him away from the weight of his work. He wondered where you were, why you weren’t here with him now. In moments like this, when the pressure of it all became too much, he often needed you to hold him, to ground him in a way only you could. He could almost feel the comfort of your presence, the warmth of your touch, and it left a deep ache in him. It wasn’t just the physical relief he craved—it was the calm, the quiet reassurance that you always provided. Without you there, the room felt colder, emptier.

He exhaled sharply, a deep sigh that seemed to carry more than just exhaustion. The silence of the room hung in the air, thick and unyielding, until it was broken by a soft, almost hesitant voice from behind him.

“It’s beautiful.”

Viktor tensed up at the sudden intrusive voice.

The words felt distant, like they belonged to another world entirely, one that wasn’t caught in the weight of Viktor’s own spiraling thoughts. He didn’t need to look to know who it was—he could picture her there, standing a little too close, her voice trembling at the edges.

Sky. Always Sky.

Viktor didn’t turn. There was no need to. She had said enough with those few words. He inhaled again, slower this time, trying to keep his “irritation” from surfacing.

He sighed, the sound low and heavy.

“I can’t figure out why it’s not working…” Viktor muttered, his voice flat, as he rubbed his hands over his face, trying to maintain a simple composure. It wasn’t just “frustration”—there was something else lurking beneath it. Something quieter that gnawed at the edges of his mind.

“You will…” Sky’s voice was soft, almost soothing, as though she had said those words a thousand times before, to herself or to him, or perhaps to both. Viktor didn’t acknowledge the comment, his gaze still fixed on “nothing” as he looked down into his lap.

Sky shifted, an anxious movement that Viktor could feel even without seeing it. He imagined her wringing her hands, pushing her glasses up her nose, trying to find the right thing to say.

“Are you… headed home soon?” Her voice was tinged with hope, though it faltered as she continued, as if she already knew the answer.

“I thought we could walk together…”

Her words hung there, like a delicate thread pulling at the edge of his attention. But Viktor wasn’t interested. He didn’t hate her, but his mind was somewhere else—too far away to grasp her meaning.

He almost rolled his eyes, but he stifled it. Instead, he answered with an aloofness that was more instinct than deliberate cruelty.

“I’m, uh… probably going to sleep here tonight,” he said, his voice distant, distracted. The words were a gentle deflection, but the disinterest was clear. His fingers tapped absently on the desk, the motion more automatic than purposeful.

Sky’s voice softened, like a fading echo.

“Again? You know there’s always tomorrow, right?” The words stung, though she tried to mask it with a forced cheer. Viktor didn’t respond right away, but he knew what she was trying to do.

“Goodnight, Miss Young,” he said, his tone a little more clipped now, though he didn’t intend for it to sound harsh. He didn’t need to look at her to know she was still there, standing in the doorway, hoping for something—anything—that would make him look at her the way she looked at him. But he didn’t.

She hesitated for a moment, her presence lingering in the room like a shadow, before she stepped back. The silence stretched on in her absence, but Viktor remained frozen in place, his thoughts elsewhere, far away from the quiet, expectant gaze he knew she had been offering.

With a soft exhale, Sky left. And the room was quiet once more.

As the door clicked shut behind her, replacing the silence, Viktor let out a long breath, as though he had been holding every one of the previous ones far too long.

The room fell into an uneasy stillness, broken only by the mechanical hum of surrounding equipment, his own steady breathing, and the faint sound of wet, sloppy, suckling.

He looks down into his lap once more, where you were, your head bobbing between his legs like a buoy in water.

Viktor felt his stomach churn at the sight of it, a wave of pleasure pooling inside him. A low, involuntary groan slipped from his lips, the sound escaping after he’d spent too long stifling it.

It was deep, slow, and rich, a reflex of the sensation that tightened in his chest and spread through his body. His breath hitched slightly as the pleasure took control, a warmth spreading through him as he fought to stay composed in case anyone else were to pop into the room.

Your lips were wrapped tightly around his needy cock, maintaining a seal around it as you sucked and licked at it.

Viktor, truthfully, hadn’t been frustrated at all during his exchange with his assistant.

In fact, he had been struggling to conceal the pleasure slowly building within him—pleasure he had worked hard to keep hidden from Sky.

Earlier, you had offered to help ease his tensions, but Viktor had turned you down, citing the risk of someone walking by at any moment. You couldn’t deny he had a point—-which felt ironic, now. But you weren’t one to be easily deterred.

You couldn’t help but pity Viktor, watching him struggle with the frustration that clung to him like a second skin. The weight of his work seemed to suffocate him—trying to stabilize and control the intricate combinations of runes for the new version of Hextech he and Jayce had launched. The constant pressure, the endless tinkering and problem-solving, had a way of wearing him down.

No matter how often you reminded him how brilliant, how capable, how wonderful he was, it never seemed to quiet that relentless inner voice of doubt. He always carried that burden, that self-imposed expectation of perfection, even when he had already accomplished so much.

You knew there was only one real way to relieve his aggravation apart from the simpler comforts you’d provide.

And so, as Viktor bent over his work, eyes fixed on the sprawling notes before him, you slipped under his desk. He didn’t notice at first, too lost in his thoughts, as you moved quietly and carefully, prowling and crawling to him like a tiger stalking a gazelle.

What you didn’t realize, though, was that Sky had arrived and was now looming behind Viktor in the annoyingly often way she did. The chair Viktor occupied, wide and heavy, combined with you on your knees, faithfully hid you from her eyes. Leaving Sky unaware of your proximity, just as Viktor remained blissfully unaware of her presence.

Your hands were beyond eager as they worked to unbutton his clothes, the fabric of his pants slipping easily beneath your fingers. You could feel him tense, stiff as a statue as you pulled his cock out right after she had said her first sentence.

You knew Viktor was stunned, and it amused you to imagine the expression on his face as he tried to conceal what was happening outside of Sky’s awareness.

You only had to wait, feeling the tension in him shift, his body responding to your touch in ways he was trying hard to ignore, while also trying desperately hard to maintain an unsuspecting tone as he talked.

You had begun lapping, sucking, and hollowing out your cheeks to accommodate his size and length. You greedily slid down until his cock reached the back of your throat, almost laughing at the sound of the sharp inhale that garnered from him.

A part of you almost wished Sky could see you—see how easily you could reduce this man to a babbling mess, unlike anyone else. It wasn’t as if you and he were some secret, hidden item, but maybe if she knew, really knew, what you often did to him, and how he crumbled, she’d finally back off.

Maybe then, and only then, would she relinquish her pathetic attempts to encroach on what was yours. The thought of her realizing that she’d never compare, never measure up to the desire Viktor had for you, gave you a twisted air of satisfaction.

You heavily considered the idea.

Your amusement remained bold, even as Viktor’s attention finally drifted down to where you were hidden beneath his desk. It was almost as if he had sensed your devious train of thought.

He shot you a look, one that said more than words ever could. There was a trace of minor disappointment in the way his brow furrowed, confusion flickering in his eyes as he tried to reconcile what was happening beneath the table with the ongoing conversation. But beneath it all, you saw the unmistakably familiar glimmer of pleasure, one he couldn’t quite suppress, despite his attempt to maintain control.

It was a mix of surprise and something deeper, something he didn’t always allow himself to acknowledge. His eyes lingered just long enough for you to sense it, the tension between his desire to focus on his work and the undeniable pull of the moment.

Several painstakingly long moments passed before Viktor finally managed to rid the room of the unwanted third presence. As Sky exited, Viktor released a deep, almost aching sigh—one that resonated with a relief so intense, it sent a shiver of arousal down your spine. The tension that had been weighing on him seemed to melt away in an instant, and the air between you thickened with the shift in his attitude.

Without hesitation, his hand slipped into your hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as he gently tugged you closer. His gaze met yours, dark and heavy, as though he had been waiting for this moment, for the silence to settle between you both. The way he looked at you now was unmistakable, that mix of pleasure and need, the kind of intensity that made your pulse quicken.

“You really need to learn patience, my love.” He breathes, his other hand coming up to caress your cheek as he uses his grip on your hair to help guide your movement.

He hisses as he pushes your head down far enough to lightly rut his cock into the very back of your throat.

“What if she had seen you?” He asks, not really expecting a reply considering your current state.

You hum lightly as he slowly but surely flicks his hips up into your mouth, gagging around him as he did so. Viktor’s string of moans in response to your gags were filthy, needy, and whiny. You always drove him crazy, and this was no exception.

“Mmf…” he groans, biting his lip as a last ditch effort to keep himself from moaning too loud—-quickening the pace with which he began bobbing your head to meet his tiny thrusts.

“Mmm.. like that, my love.” He instructs softly—reassuring that the new way you had started licking up and down the length of his cock was simply divine.

Viktor was cursing himself inside due to the speed at which his orgasm was approaching. You’d barely been down there six minutes when he recognized the familiar tightening in his stomach nearing the edge of snapping.

“My love, I— I’m going to—“ he tried to warn you before his hot cum began spewing onto the inner walls of your mouth. It shot directly into the back of your throat, splattering off the tissues and trickling down your esophagus. The tepid, viscous substance slid further and further down as you swallowed around his twitching cock.

Viktor had cum with the unholiest of moans leaping out of his throat to invade your ears. It sent an unforgiving wave of arousal through you, singeing your skin and shocking your bones. He had gripped your face with an automatic force, pushing you down as far as you could possibly go, his eyes clamping shut as the thick strings of cum practically drowned you on land.

You gagged against the mindless way he jerked his hips into your mouth as he chased his orgasm seemingly halfway to your stomach.

Viktor practically whimpered at the sensation of you mercilessly swallowing around him—-now sensitive beyond measure from the sheer might of his climax. You had been correct—-he really needed that—arguably more than anything else.

When the pressure in your throat became unbearable, you squeezed his leg, silently pleading for him to loosen his grip.

Viktor’s eyes snapped open, the clarity that followed his release allowing him to regain his focus. He immediately uncoupled his hands from your head.

“I—I’m sorry, my love… I guess I got carried away,” he muttered, his voice tinged with sheepish regret.

You gasped as you pulled away, strands of saliva trailing down your chin in a delicate cascade—-like a miniature waterfall against your skin.

You hum softly in response to his apology, the hum dancing along the edge of a gentle laugh.

“Guess I did, too,” you murmur, wiping your mouth clean as you meet his gaze with silent affection.

Viktor gently cups your face once more, his thumb sweeping over the apple of your cheek as a soft smile tugs at his lips.

“Thank you…” he whispers, his voice rich with adoration, gratitude, and love for you. He tilts his head, aligning it with yours as his intent becomes clear.

He presses his lips to yours in a tender, silent show of his affection. Viktor shudders as a result of tasting himself all over your lips and tongue. The fact that you had eagerly swallowed every last drop sent a jolt through him, making his hair stand on end—-as it always did. He was downright obsessed with your greedy thirst for his cock and his seed.

The passion and tenderness with which Viktor kisses you never fail to set your heart racing, the gentle yet intense pressure of his lips stirring a swarm of butterflies in your stomach.

After several tender, passionate moments, your lips still lingering in a dance of their own, Viktor pulls away, his mind swirling with the renewed flames of longing sparked by what just transpired.

“My love… Why don’t we move… on top of the table?” he suggests, a playful gleam lighting up his eyes as he gazes into yours once more.

At his suggestion, you feel the butterflies in your stomach morph into something far more intense—fighter jets soaring through the cavern of your core. You meet his playful gaze with one of eager anticipation.

You nod, shifting to rise from your knees.

“I’ll lock the door,” you mutter softly.

#arcane smut #arcane x reader #arcane #arcane imagine #arcane x reader smut #Viktor x reader #Viktor x reader smut #Viktor arcane #viktor x gn!reader #Viktor x fem!reader #Viktor x male!reader #Viktor x f!reader #Viktor x m!reader

591 notes · View notes

lokidjarin-7567 · 1 month ago

Text

The Prophecy

Viktor x You When the friend of your youth, Viktor, sees you still living in the Undercity, and working in a strip club at that, he is determined to reconnect, and rekindle a childhood friendship that was rooted in something more. Contents: fem!reader, fluff, angst and smut all in one folks, 18+ MDNI, a few physical features described but still reader insert I think (hair colour and freckles), both Viktor and you POVs, long-ass one shot 8.1k words Taglist: @night-fall-moon @zsuzsu321 @sh1zhu @circeinspace @casualjagodek @retrokatz @am-3-thyst @xlittlemissydjx @sseleniaa @thefandomsfervent Hi guys, thanks for bearing with my while I've been working on this one!! I have been absolutely obsessed with this man ever since I finished Arcane, so I just had to write something about him! I also think a lot of people mischaracterise him, so I tried really hard to get his personality right - let me know if I actually have lol. Anyone who knows my works knows how slutty my smut can get lol, but this is actually quite tender so a new one for me too. Anyway, I'll stop waffling now, I hope you enjoy. TTPD Contents | General Masterlist | AO3

DISCLAIMER: while this, in my opinion, is still classified as an ‘x you’ fic, a few physical features are described, namely ‘you’ having burgundy red hair that is, at one point, described as curly and having freckles, alongside a handful of super vague descriptors (eg. fluttering eyelashes, slope of her nose AKA things that can be applied to any and all faces) - basically everyone in the Arcane show has cool hair so I thought this would be a cute detail. It’s possible to ignore if you don’t want to think about have a different hair colour, but if you don’t want to, don’t read it! Almost every comment on this fic has been relating to this which, when I put hours of hard work and effort into something that I was proud of, is insanely demoralising. There has always been a disclaimer in the contents above, but I’m adding it here as well so it’s as clear as possible. Dead dove do not eat and all that. And I’m always open to constructive criticism, but there’s a way to go about it, and a way that will put someone in a slump for months, so please think before you comment! Anyway, not to put a downer before the work, thank you for the reposts and loves so far ❤️

Viktor was lost in thought as he made his way back to Piltover, small tube of Shimmer tucked away in his satchel. He didn’t know what to do. Using it might stabilise the Hexcore, allowing it to keep the plants alive and accomplish everything he and Jayce had been working towards for years, maybe even curing this sickness that had taken over him, or…

Or it could end horribly.

The undercity was as dark and unpleasant as he remembered it. He had never fit in here in his youth - too scrawny, too bookish, and with his leg, he stood no chance. And now was no different.

The neon store signs stood out against the blackened buildings and muddy streets. This part of the city, deep in the underbelly of Zaun, seemed busier than the rest, roads bustling with call girls and salesmen and tourists from Topside taking their pick of unruly establishments. Hundreds of voices layered atop each other in a cacophony of harsh laughter, garish music and argumentative tones. There was barely space to walk, especially with his cane, and he was starting to wonder if this journey was even worth it.

Then something caught his eye. A flash of red, deep and vibrant, moving towards him on the far side of the lane. It was hair, bouncy and curly and his subconscious told him it was shorter than it should’ve been, but it was a colour he knew. Her face wasn’t one he could place at first, but as she got closer, he saw the freckles that smattered across her nose like a constellation, her pink lips that were perpetually curled into a soft frown, her eyes that she always accentuated with brown liner. It was her.

The only friend of his youth. A young girl who used to sit behind the foliage near the water where he tested his inventions. She was shy, even shyer than he used to be, too scared to ask him anything about what he was making for a long time, just watching with curious eyes. But he would never forget the day she moved closer. The way her long, burgundy locks flowed around her, almost touching the floor, the way she was trying her best to be confident, but there was a soft shake in her hand, and a slight stutter as she said hello. Then she produced a small invention of her own - a submarine, the same colour as her hair, designed to float perfectly so the periscope was the only thing that peeked out from the surface.

For years, they were inseparable. She was more artistic than him, always adding a flair to her designs that he didn’t have, so he’d let her ‘improve’ his too. They would play together, and then as they got older, build together, each creation more daring and experimental. And then they started to drift apart. They were in their mid teens when her mother got sick, and she couldn’t make it out as much. Viktor always offered to help, but she refused, not even allowing him to see where she lived. And so, when Professor Heimerdinger found him and offered him an opportunity to be his assistant, he couldn’t even tell her. He left a note, delicately placed under a rock where they would build together, telling her where to find him and how to get in touch, but he never heard anything.

And now here she was. He called out her name softly, not wanting to alarm her in this hostile city, but she didn’t hear. She’d walked past him now, so he turned, following but she was walking fast, faster than he could manage. He called out again, but it wasn’t until then that he noticed the headphones over her ears. She couldn’t hear a thing. He carried on, hoping she would stop but she didn’t. If it was anyone else, he would’ve gone home, given up, but now he’d caught a glimpse of her, he had to see her. To talk to her. To find out why she never got in touch. To apologise for leaving her behind.

She disappeared from view for a moment, and he panicked, thinking he’d lost her again, but he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, entering an alley beside a row of bars and clubs. He grimaced, following her to see the red locks just moving out of sight again, and a bouncer closing the door behind her. He tried to follow her into the building, but the man stopped him.

“Please…” he asked, out of breath, “it’s an old friend, I need to see her…”

“Staff entrance only, pal. You’ll have to go ‘round the front like everyone else.”

“But… she’s right there… I only need one moment, if she just saw me…” The words died on his lips. Would she even recognise you?

“Don’t make me ask you twice.”

It was dark inside the club, the lights low apart from on the stage and around the bar. It was only mid afternoon, but the place was near full of lowlifes just starting their evenings, sloshing their drinks and talking loudly. The neon from outside carried into this space too, strip lights around the platforms accentuating their presence. There were dancers atop each of them, but he averted his eyes. He shouldn’t have come here. This was so far from his comfort zone, loud and unruly, a long way away from his lab, but he had to see her. He couldn’t let her go again.

He found a stool by the bar, ordering a soda and waiting for her to start her shift. There was no way he could miss her again if he was right here when she started.

And then he saw her at the very edge of his vision, as though his eyes were programmed to search her out in any crowd. She was on stage, cherry red hair glowing in the soft lights, combined with the neon from below making her look like a ghost, ethereal. What was she doing up there?

***

“Afternoon, Joey.” You muttered to the bouncer, and he opened the door for you wordlessly as you slipped off your headphones, replacing your perfectly selected playlist with the sleazy music of the club. Just one of the many reasons you hated working here. You were running late, as per, throwing your things in your locker and quickly changing. Lacing up your shoes always took the longest time, and you barely even had a chance to check yourself in the mirror when you were finished. Your hair looked perfect at least, the naturally burgundy curls sitting at shoulder length. You missed the long hair of your youth, but it become impractical very quickly, and the memories it held… you ended up cutting it all off soon after your mum died. That was when you started working here too. You’d had dreams, of course you did, but growing up in the Undercity made it almost impossible to follow them. There were worse places to work though - for the most part, the patrons were respectful, and everyone who you worked with was kind, but it was still a strip club. At the end of the day, no little girl wanted to be an exotic dancer when they grew up. At least it just about paid the bills.

You had been put on a long shift today - late afternoon until the early hours. You didn’t mind though; it was exhausting, but more time meant more tips. And you needed the money. You were saving, slowly but surely. One day, it would be enough.

These shifts always started slow. Not many tips this early in the day. Not enough drunks - they were all too willing to part with their money, an exploit you knew how to use. After a while on stage, it was your turn to make your way into the crowd. You started away from the bar, smiling at a few, a couple of words of flirtation thrown around, but no one was loose enough for anything else yet. There was something different about the energy today though. You felt… exposed, on display, more than usual. Self conscious in a way you hadn’t been since your first week. By the time you got to the bar, you were already feeling frustrated at the lack of interest. But your favourite coworker was pouring the drinks tonight, and she had one ready for you already.

“Thanks, Katie” You crooned, knocking back the shot quickly and she immediately offered to refill - something you gratefully accepted.

“Thought you might need it. Slow start?”

“Yeah, not the best day so far.” You took your second, thanking her again, when you heard a voice call out your name. Your real name. It made you start, whipping your head around to find the source. You didn’t use that name here. You were expecting to see an ex, or an old boss, but instead you were met with a face you hadn’t seen in years.

His eyes hadn’t changed. Kind but tired, amber in colour and glowing like whiskey in sunlight. The curve of his nose was the same, the curl of his lips, the small moles like points on a map - one beneath his right eye and the other to the left of his lip. There was a cane tucked beside his stool, and he was dressed well. Too well to be in this part of town. A uniform of some sort, something a Topsider would wear: blue shirt accented with a cream ascot and waistcoat. It suited him.

As soon as you saw him, every fond memory of your childhood rushed back to you like a river. The gentleness when he explained his creations to you. His willingness when you asked if you could paint them pretty colours, or add cute designs. The way he held you as you cried about your mum falling ill. How quickly he offered you support, and how quickly you turned him down. You didn’t want to be a burden, but you regretted that choice as soon as he stopped showing up to your usual spot. You kept going for months before you gave up, still trying to find him. The last time you visited was to scatter your mum’s ashes - your stories of Viktor’s designs and the beautiful creek where you tested them out together being one of the last things that brought her comfort.

And now, he was here.

He’d made it out. He’d made it Topside. And you’d only fallen further down.

If there was one person you never wanted to see you like this, it was him. He was the only slither of your youth and innocence left, the only soul in the whole of Runeterra who knew the true version of yourself, the first version of yourself. The version you actually liked. And now, he had to see this. You couldn’t tell what you were feeling. Every emotion was vying for attention: joy, nostalgia, anger, envy…

He repeated your name in a questioning tone, and you realised you’d been staring at him, the rollercoaster of emotions you just went on likely visible on your face.

“Do you know him, darling? Or shall I grab Joe?” Katie asked from behind the bar, staring him down with a protective look. Viktor opened his mouth to speak, indignant look on his face, but you answered for him, never once being able to tear your eyes from him.

“Yeah I… cover for me? If anyone asks, he got a dance.”

“Of course.” Viktor’s gaze had returned you, confused, and you just muttered a ‘come on’, signalling him to follow you, and you lead him across the floor to one of the private rooms. They weren’t exactly the nicest places to talk, the whole room painted a hideous deep purple, a weirdly-shaped black velvet sofa the only thing to sit on. As soon as you closed the door, turning around to see the soft look on his face, every drop of anger seeped from you, replaced with relief. Relief that he was alive. Relief that he had done something with his life. Relief that you hadn’t lost him forever.

You couldn’t help it but let the tears fall as you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him tight.

***

He was surprised by her warm welcome. After all these years, he had always imagined she would resent him, but here she was, face pressed to his chest as she hugged him, tears falling onto his shirt. He didn’t even have to think about it, one arm naturally surrounding her as she cried, keeping her close, while the other held firm to his cane, ensuring it was stable for the both of them. He never wanted to let her go again.

She eventually pulled away though, wiping her tears with the shy smile he remembered so well.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to.. on your fancy Topside shirt too.” She laughed nervously, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I… um, I imagined bumping into you one day, finding you again, but I never thought I would be dressed like this.” He finally let himself glance down at her when he said that, to take her in completely, safe in the knowledge that she wasn’t meeting his eyes. She looked beautiful - a black two-peice set, solid silk on the areas that counted, but the frills and accents were a sheer lace, stockings too, glittering beads woven into the delicate material. Even if the environment didn’t suit her, somehow the clothes still did, the same style he’d seen her develop in her teenage years. Simple in colour, beautiful in design - the cunning of her inventor’s mind applied to her other passion.

“What are you doing here, Viktor?” She sat down on the awkward sofa, curling her legs up onto it, and he followed suit, resting his cane against the arm.

“I could ask you the same thing.” It fell from his lips before he could stop it, and he winced, expecting her to be offended, but she just smiled sadly.

“You got out.” She stated as a shrouded question, ignoring his quip, and he nodded. He could explain, he should, but not yet.

“And you never wrote me.” He responded.

“Write you? Viktor, I didn’t know where you were.” She never got your letter.

“I left you a note by the creek. You never got it?” She shook her head. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve found you somehow, or…”

“It’s ok, Vik.” She shuffled closer on the loveseat, grabbing his hand and squeezing tight. Hearing the name she used to call him sent a pang of pain to his heart. This is what he had been missing out on all these years, all because of a stupid letter. “If I was in your shoes, I’d have done the same. Besides, I never let you see where I lived, or anything else about me. And when mum… I fell off the face of the earth. I wouldn’t have let you in no matter how hard you tried.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“I know.”

***

You spent a long time asking about his life now. He was working in the academy, partners with Piltover’s favourite researcher, helping to create the HexTech that kept the whole city afloat… he had changed the fucking world. And you were… here. Still.

He said your name softly, as though trying to broach a subject carefully and you knew what was coming. You had seen the query floating in his eyes since the moment he saw you.

“What are you doing working here? I mean, you’re brilliant, more so than me, and yet…”

“I’m still stuck in the Lanes?” You sighed.

“Well, yes.” You’d never once thought of him as ignorant. Maybe he’d been living Topside for too long.

“I never got my break. You deserved what you got, of course you did, and you’re the smartest person I know, Viktor, but that doesn’t change the fact that you got lucky. And it’s not the same here as when we were kids. Sure, things weren’t great then, but now… There are no jobs, no money, housing is insanely competitive even though most of it is disgusting.. it’s a vicious cycle meant to keep you in the shitter. This is what I could get. It pays my bills and lets me save a little, the other girls are nice, it’s close to my apartment…”

“But…” You knew from the look on his face what he was going to say - a long speech about how much potential you have, and how much better you could have it. You dropped his hand.

“But what?” You couldn’t help but snap, defensive over the very job that you cursed daily. “But I’m better than selling myself to sleazy drunks? You think I don’t fucking know that? You think I want to be losing my sense of self every day just so I can keep the lights on? You think it’s my dream to feel like I’m a lesser human being because I will let someone pay me to take them into this room and…” You stood up then, starting to pace as silent tears fell. You never let yourself think about any part of your life longer than you had to. Not pondering on it was the only thing keeping you alive.

“You know I wasn’t saying that…”

“I know I’m sorry… I just…”

“I know… I know…” He stood up then too, wrapping you in his arms and letting you cry. Again. You felt so stupid. “I missed you.” He whispered, face nestled into your hair, barely audible.

“I missed you too.” The tender moment didn’t last for long though, as a sharp knock on the door startled you, jumping away from him and wiping your eyes.

“Vikki?” Joey’s voice called out, and you breathed a sigh of relief. “You ok in there?” You put on your smiley voice, cooing back to him.

“Yeah, all good Joe, got a paying customer in here...”

“You got it, doll.” You heard him walk away, and turned back to see Viktor looking at you, head cocked, small smirk playing across his features.

“What?” You asked with a shy smile, wiping away the last of your tears.

“Vikki?” Oh.

“Well I couldn’t exactly use my real name.” He laughed at that, and you couldn’t help but giggle too. “That does mean we’ve been in here too long though, I should…”

“Yeah, no of course…” he moved to open the door, grabbing his cane, but you stopped him quickly, pressing your hand against the door frame.

“One second…” He frowned as you reached towards him, but he didn’t move, just watched curiously as you took your time unknotting his ascot. Once it was off, you unbuttoned a few of his buttons, trying to ruffle his shirt a little, make it look like you had actually been doing your job rather than talking to an old friend. “There…” you muttered quietly, realising he’d shuffled a little closer to you as you worked, and now his lips were only a breath away. He was looking at you so intently, as though there was something he wanted to say, but he never spoke, just gazed at you in a way that made your heart swell. Your hands lingered on his chest, comforted by the warmth and solidness of him. A reassurance that he was real and here. You didn’t want to move.

“Please, don’t go anywhere just yet…” you muttered, the words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

***

She had been backstage for a while now, muttering something about trying to move her shifts around. She came back beaming, and it was infectious, a smile he was trying to fight taking over his own face just at the sight of her.

“Ok, if you’re busy tonight, or you have plans, you can tell me to piss off…”

“Never.” She blushed in response, her wide smile spreading further as she spoke, and he was helplessly drawn to her, eyes scanning her face intently.

“Well, someone came in early for their shift, but someone else is running late… anyway, our schedule is a mess, but good news is I only have to stay for another hour and then I’m free so… I was thinking, maybe you’d want to grab some food and catch up? Unless you have somewhere else to be…” She still sounded so shy, so unsure - the same habit she had when she was young, babbling when she was nervous. He was finding it hard to connect the dots in his mind: the timid person before him now, the girl he used to know, and the dancer on that stage, full of bravado and confidence.

“That sounds wonderful.” The joy in her face was intoxicating, and he watched as relief visibly washed over her body.

“Ok, brilliant.” She spun away for just a moment, trying to track down the bartender she seemed to know well. “Katie, he’s with me, ok? Send him back in like an hour, and his drinks are on my tab.” He tried to protest, but she rested a hand on his shoulder, quickly silencing him. “I insist. It’s the least I can do, considering how long you have to wait around.” Again, he tried to tell her didn’t mind, that he’d wait as long as she needed, anything for her, but she was gone already, slipping into the crowd, his shoulder cold where her hand had been. He sighed, turning back towards the bar on his stool, taking another sip of his soda.

“That’s our Vikki…” Katie mused, slicing a few garnishes behind the bar. “Never accepting that somebody else would want to do something for her.” He let out a dry laugh, half at the name, half in agreement.

“That sounds like her.” A beat of silence passed between them. The club was starting to fill up, but it wasn’t too rowdy yet, and nobody else was at the bar, all relying on bottle service and shot girls instead.

“Drink?” He shook his head politely. “How do you know her?” Katie asked, staying busy but obviously trying to snoop. He didn’t mind. She was a topic he didn’t mind talking about.

“Childhood friend. I haven’t seen her in… a very long time.” Her eyebrow shot up at that.

“What was your name, by the way?”

“Viktor.” A look of surprise flitted across her face.

“Ohh.” She drawled knowingly, smiling at herself as she continued to wedge limes.

“What?”

“I’ve heard of you, that’s all. Her childhood love who disappeared on her while her mother was dying…”

“You don’t know the whole story…” He snapped back quickly. He might hate himself for what happened, but he felt the need to defend his choices. It had turned out well for him, he just wished he could’ve found her. Taken her with him. Their life could’ve been so different. Katie chuckled, continuing her tasks.

“Oh trust me, I do. She’s very quick to defend you, you know. You can do no wrong in her eyes…”

“Not so sure about that…” As he muttered to himself, something she’d said suddenly hit him. Her childhood love…“Actually, on second thought, I will grab a drink please, whatever she usually has. But don’t put it on her tab…”

“I wasn’t planning on it, Topsider.” She saluted mockingly with a smile.

Two down and that was all he was having, just needing something to take the edge off after Katie’s admission. All those years wasted, because you thought childhood love was stupid and pointless. And now, seeing her again, you still love her as much as you did back then…

Katie was on her break, so he twisted in his seat, trying to find her in the crowd. She had never been difficult for him to spot, everything about her so familiar to him, and this time, she was centre stage, which made it even easier. Every part of him was screaming to turn away, to not taint his view of her, but he was instantly transfixed. She danced so fluidly, so gracefully. Every movement she made was purposeful and poised. However much she hated her job, she took pride in it. He was a scientist, sure, but she was a creator, through and through.

***

You were finally finished, and you were exhausted. Even though it wasn’t even half a usual shift, seeing Viktor, all the memories it brought back, it had been so emotionally draining.

You were grateful that the changing area was empty. It wasn’t the usual shift time, and no one ever came here on their break, so at least Viktor wouldn’t have to deal with that. You almost laughed at the thought.

There was a gentle knock, and his voice sent a flutter straight to your heart.

“Vikki?” He called out mockingly, and you laughed at the way he’d latched on to your new name. It was inspired by him, after all. “Are you decent?”

“Yes, you can come in.” You were looking good, if you said so yourself. The fashion and the opportunity you were afforded to express yourself in that way was one of the few things you did like about this place. You’d tried to incorporate the shapes and designs of your ‘work attire’ into a more Lanes-friendly outfit, layering a black organza shirt over the lacy bodice, beading shining through the sheer fabric, pairing it with a bubble skirt and knee high boots, just the right height to allow your stockings to peek from the top. There was only one item that wasn’t black; his neckerchief that you had taken earlier was now around your own collar, tied in a dainty bow. He grinned as soon as he laid his eyes on it, striding towards you and gently holding the hemmed edge between his fingers.

“I guess I’m not getting this back, huh.”

“Never.” He shrugged.

“I’m ok with that.” God, the way he looked at you. It made you melt without fail, warm flush spreading across your cheeks.

“Are you ready to go?” You muttered, eyes still glued to his, honey tones making you feel as though you were stuck in them. A fly trapped in amber, resigned to its fate.

“I’m ready when you are.”

You’d decided you were going to cook for him tonight instead of taking him out. The places near you either weren’t nice enough, or they knew you for the wrong reasons. Besides, you wanted to show him your place. To show him that, even though you were still here, you had done everything you could to make the best of it, to continue learning and inventing and developing yourself.

That did mean you had to stop by the store, though. Which meant bumping into Angel. He and Viktor would not get on.

You had grabbed Viktor’s arm as soon as you left the club, a habit from the times Joey had walked you home, knowing that you were safer beside a man than by yourself. Even though the Undercity was bustling tonight, there was something so soothing about being here with him. A nostalgia warming you from the inside out. He let you guide him into the shop below your apartment, chatting absentmindedly about nothing and everything, when a smooth voice stopped yoou in your tracks.

“Not so fast, Vikki…” You groaned, turning back the few steps you had made into the entrance.

“Hey Angel.” You cooed, although it felt wrong falling into your usual flirtatious routine when Viktor was right behind you. He was working behind the counter today, thumbing through the till. His long dreadlocks were down, grey peeking through his beard, wide grin as his eyes traced over you, following your arm to where it joined the man next to you.

“Is that a nickname, or…” Viktor muttered, and you couldn’t help but laugh as you responded.

“No, Vik, this is my landlord Angel…”

“Landlord, huh? Thought I was more than that, sugar…” He leaned across the counter, shit-eating smile on his face, clearing noticing and enjoying the fact he was winding up your new companion. Viktor scowled, moving a step closer to you.

“Yeah, yeah, keep dreaming, old man…” You sent him a wink, and he laughed, the booming noise of it always making you smile. “What have you got in that’s fresh? I’m actually cooking tonight…”

You chatted a little longer, grabbing what Angel recommended and some wine, before heading upstairs via the back of the shop. Viktor was still scowling slightly as you were unlocking your door, and you laughed lightly, nudging him with the bag of shopping.

“What?” He huffed.

“I don’t like that guy.” He grumbled, feeling smug that you had called it.

“He’s my landlord, Vik, and a friend. He’s a good guy, don’t worry.” He just shrugged as you finally got the door open, and you thanked the stars that you had remembered to tidy last night, or else it would be a complete tip. There were still remnants from your busy morning scattered all around the studio: scrap pieces of fabric and thread strewn across the kitchen table, the half-finished neglige you were constructing laid over the back of one of the chairs, the cogs and pieces of machinery lie abandoned next to your sewing machine in the wake of the modifications you were trying to make so it could handle more delicate material. The space itself was dark in colour, olive and navy washing the walls, brown leather sofa and black countertops marking their territory in the small apartment, the stain-glass screen in front of your bed the only splash of jewel toned colour. You could feel Viktor’s curiosity at the place, and as he stepped further into it, a smile settled onto his lips.

“It’s so very… you.” He said, and in any other intonation, it would’ve sounded like a bad thing, but when he said it, full of adoration.. it was a compliment of the highest order.

***

She was mesmerising as she cooked, twirling in the kitchen to her carefully selected vinyl, a wide smile on her face as she tested what she was making. He wanted to help but she wouldn’t let him, batting him away and telling him to sit down, and for now, he had obliged. But, as much as he wanted to help her always, right now, he just wanted to be close.

“At least let me pour the wine?” He said, already standing to help, and she huffed, but didn't object. Instead, she handed him the corkscrew and the bottle wordlessly. He smiled, leaning against the counter and continuing to watch her as she stirred. She was always so chaotic when she was creating, something evidenced by the near bomb-site on her kitchen table. It was just so… her. Everything about her apartment was as well, such a perfect and beautiful representation of everything she was, every tiny detail of her life and personality reflected in the space she lived in. The colours, the soft furnishings, the bookshelves lining the wall behind her bed. Then, he noticed something about the stain glass screen that separated the room, soft light from her bedside lamp washing through it and creating a blue ripple across the floor like a stream. It was of their place, their creek. It was abstract, sure, but he would recognise it anywhere. The way certain rocks jutted out, the colours of it all, the small boat floating in the still glass water.

“Did you make that?” He asked earnestly, and she briefly glanced up from the stove to see what he was looking at.

“Yeah, I've been trying out a lot of different hobbies actually, things to keep me busy when I’m not working. That was one of my favourites…”

“It’s beautiful.” She smiled sadly, focusing her attention back to the pan.

“It reminds me of you.”

He poured them both a glass, and she gratefully accepted.

“It’s nearly finished, just a few more… oh I meant to ask earlier…” Her mind was such a beautiful thing, the speed at which it moved so captivating, not even time to finish her own thought before starting another, “why were you even here today? In the Undercity, in my club… I just never thought I’d see you back here by choice.”

“I was visiting an old friend, a quandary about a new gadget Jayce and I are working on, but…” He was going to say something about it, ask her opinion on whether he should follow Doctor Reveck’s advice, what he should do next, but he decided against it. “He didn’t have any insights.”

“Maybe I can help?”

“No, I…” She looked hurt at the speed the word left his mouth, almost recoiling and turning back to her cooking with a frown. “I mean that you probably could, but I don’t want to taint tonight by talking about a project that has been frustrating me for weeks. Another time though, of course I would appreciate your insight.” She sighed in relief, smile flitting back across her face. She grabbed a spoon from the drawer, humming as she did, a flurry of breathtaking movement as she dipped it into the sauce, spinning back around and holding it up to him.

“Taste?” She asked, the look on her face so hopeful it melted him, her joy infectious. But underneath all of it, he couldn't help but notice the cracks: the bags under her eyes, the tiredness set into them, the subtle shake of her hand. But he just smiled, enveloping her hand in his and bringing the spoon to his lips.

“It’s perfect.”

“I’m not sure I’d go that far.” She looked proud nonetheless, spinning back away from him and he was left to watch again, heart swelling. He wanted this. Cooking with her, drinking wine in the kitchen to her favourite record, letting her order him around. He wanted the… intimacy of it. The domesticity. The realisation of it ached. You could’ve had this. All these years without her, all these years wasted. Precious time that you no longer have to spare. If you’d have just waited, just taken more time to find her, insisted on helping her even…

“It’s ready!” She exclaimed, presenting a plate with a wide grin, and every stress, every regret simultaneously melted away and intensified, a pit forming in his stomach.

“It looks wonderful.”

***

You had eaten, and you were both now on your second glass of wine. You felt closer to him with every single second, drawn to every word he said like moth to a flame. At some point in the evening, you’d moved to the floor, backs to the sofa, as you looked through some of your old sketches you had found. The conversation lulled momentarily, a faraway look in his eyes, and you realised how close you had gotten. Your elbow was leaning on the sofa, supporting your head with your body twisted to face him, knee pressing against his thigh. You moved your head forwards to glance at the sketchbook, and your hand fell, resting on his shoulder. A stillness fell over him at the touch, and he smiled sadly to himself.

“I think you should come back with me.” He stated with finality, and you froze.

“What do you…”

“I think you should come back to Piltover.” He closed the book, placing it gently on the low coffee table. He was serious. “Help Jayce and I with our projects. Let me teach you about HexTech.”

“Vik, I don’t exactly have any actual experience. I don’t have an education. I can’t afford to live Topside…”

“You can live with me.” He said it so simply, like it was so obvious. Of course you would love that. Now you’d seen him again, you didn’t want to be apart from him but… “Professor Heimerdinger can give you lessons, but you have the mind already. There are certain things that can’t be taught. You have the passion, the skill, the creativity…”

“But…” You weren’t trying to pick apart his plan, but it felt terrifying. Even though it was everything you had ever wanted, it felt so far fetched. Like a fever dream. It didn’t feel like your life, your future.

“No, I… I lost you once, I can’t do it again.”

“Vik…” He grabbed your hand that was resting by his shoulder, and you felt yourself relax into his touch. He turned head to meet your eyes, sadness creeping into them.

“I don’t have much time left.” The finality of his statement shocked you, and you couldn’t tell what he was talking about. Did he have somewhere else to be? Oh god, you’d already kept him here too long…

“What do you mean, time left?”

“I’m dying.” It felt like somebody had punched you in the gut, all the air in your lungs gone.

“You’re…”

“Dying.” He repeated factually, and your heart sank further into your stomach. “And if we don’t… Jayce and I are working on something that might help, but if it doesn’t, I need someone I trust to take over from me.”

“Viktor, hold on, I need to think…” Your mind was racing, and you still couldn’t quite wrap your head around everything, hands running through your hair. He was dying. He wanted you to move Topside. He wanted you to work with him. To take over his life’s work. “It’s been years. I haven’t seen you in years and now you want me to… now you trust me to…”

“Of course.” He muttered, speaking your name softly to get your attention, hand gently wiping your face where tears had fallen without you noticing. “You’re everything to me, you always have been. There’s nothing I wouldn’t trust you with.” His hand was still resting on your face, and as you searched his eyes, you saw something else. Something pleading, something that echoed the feeling bouncing around in your heart. It would be hard. It would take a long time to settle in, to learn the ropes, to feel like you belonged. But it was your dream. To help change the world. And if he didn't have long, there was no chance you were wasting any of your time left with him.

“Ok.” You answered nodding, and you watched a smile take over his face, heart swelling at the sight.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah… Vik, you’re offering me my dreams on a silver platter, and on top of it all, I get to be…” You nearly slipped, about to say be with you but you knew that was a lot. That you had only just reunited and to spring the whole I’ve loved you since I was 10 and I’ve never loved a soul since thing on him might ruin the dream that he’s just given you. But, fuck, you wanted to kiss him right now. “I get to work with you again.. there would have to be one hell of a catch for me to say no to that.”

“The whole dying thing isn’t too much of a problem then?” He asked with a slight smile, trying to hide a genuine fear beneath a joke.

“Oh, honey, knowing that we don’t have another decade of time to lose… I’m not letting you slip through my fingers this time.” His hand felt so natural resting against your cheek you’d forgotten it was there until it moved to cup the base of your neck, thumb drawing gentle lines across your jaw. His amber eyes were searching your features, looking for anything to indicate that you were unsure, but your resolve shone through, and you could see the moment he realised this was going to work, relief flooding through them.

Then, before you could process what was happening, his hand gently guided you forward until your lips brushed against his—light as a feather. For a moment, you couldn't believe he had just kissed you, that it was real. But as you met those pleading honey eyes, everything else faded away. Every doubt, every regret, every sliver of worry vanished, replaced by such overwhelming care and love that you felt you might burst. Your body gave in without conscious thought, melting into his arms as you kissed him. His hands drifted to the back of your head, tangling in your hair and pulling you closer. You couldn't get close enough, your hands gripping the front of his shirt. His fingers traced down your body until they reached your hips, pulling you over him. A soft giggle escaped into his mouth as you swung your leg over his, settling onto his lap. When he finally broke for breath, you found yourself chasing his lips, panting into the space between you with a wide smile.

His lips found yours again, this time with more urgency, more need. Your hands slid up his chest to his shoulders, steadying yourself as his grip on your hips tightened. The feeling of his fingers pressing into your skin sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but let out a soft moan into his mouth. He smiled against your lips, one hand moving to cup your face while the other remained firmly at your waist.

"I've wanted this for so long," he whispered against your mouth, voice rough with emotion. You could only nod in response, too overwhelmed by the feeling of finally being in his arms after all these years.

The record had long since stopped playing, leaving only the sound of your shared breaths and racing hearts in the quiet apartment. His thumb traced gentle circles on your cheek as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, full of warmth and something deeper, something that had been there all along. Something that you had been too blinded by insecurity to notice earlier. Something that you knew all too well, reflected in your own heart. You pressed your lips to the mole on his cheek, and the one beside his mouth, a small smirk playing across his features as you did.

“I still can’t quite believe this is happening.” You muttered softly against his cheek, and he sighed, thumb dancing across your lips.

You eventually found yourselves entwined on your bed, limbs tangled in soft cotton sheets, his back pressed firmly against your sturdy wooden headboard as you rocked into him with gentle, deliberate movements. Each subtle shift of your hips sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, making your breath catch. You panted softly into his mouth as his strong, careful hands helped guide your every motion, his touch both grounding and electrifying. The overwhelming need to be closer drove you to pull him tighter against you, your arms wrapping securely around his shoulders until there wasn't even a whisper of space between your bodies. Your chest pressed firmly to his, feeling his rapid heartbeat matching yours, as your head naturally found its place in the crook of his neck. You pressed feather-light kisses against the sensitive skin, tasting the salt and breathing in his familiar scent. The intimacy of the moment was almost overwhelming - so intense, so raw, so perfectly natural - and you found yourself climbing toward your peak faster than you ever had before, your body responding to his every touch as if it had been waiting for this moment forever. You whined softly into his skin as pleasure built within you, each movement bliss, and he responded with a groan as he pressed his lips tenderly to your temple.

"That feels so good, sweetheart," he drawled, his voice coarse with desire, and your hips instinctively bucked harder against him, drawing a sharp gasp from both of you. His meticulous fingers traced teasing patterns across your hipbones before finding their way between your bodies, circling your sensitive clit with perfectly measured pressure that made your toes curl. His other hand gently cupped your chin, drawing you back until your eyes met his, gilded with desire but still so full of tenderness. His lips ghosted across yours before he pressed his forehead to your own, releasing your face and returning his hand to your hip, guiding you once more. You could feel yourself fluttering around him as your pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak, and his eyes rolled back, a broken groan escaping his lips and filling the charged space between you. The coil of pleasure wound tighter and tighter as you approached your climax, desperately seeking more of him, claiming his mouth in a deep, passionate kiss that swallowed the stream of desperate moans spilling from both your lips. When your release finally crashed over you, it was like nothing you'd ever experienced - all the pressure, all the built-up desperation exploded like a supernova and pure, white-hot ecstasy consumed every nerve ending, every thought, every sensation except the feeling of him inside you and against you. He followed shortly after, gasping your name like a prayer against your skin as his own pleasure overtook him, his lips finding purchase on your neck as he shuddered through his release. In that moment, it was perfection, hearing him, feeling him, everything you had ever dreamed of and more. But as you came down from your shared bliss, you couldn't quite silence the intruding thought lurking at the edges of your consciousness - that you wouldn’t have him for long.

***

She looked so peaceful curled against him, her head nestled perfectly in the crook of his chest as if she belonged there, her beautiful red hair fanning out like a fiery halo in the dim light. Her beauty was staggering - the gentle slope of her nose, the delicate arch of her brows, the soft curve of her lips - and he couldn't help but trace each feature with his fingertips, mapping the geography of her face with tender precision. She sighed contentedly in her sleep at his touch, unconsciously pressing closer to him, one hand curling loosely in the fabric of his sheets that lay across them. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this complete, this profoundly at peace, as if all the jagged pieces of his life had suddenly aligned. His fingers continued their gentle exploration, committing every detail to memory - the light dusting of freckles across her nose, the subtle flutter of her eyelashes, the way her lips curved slightly downwards even in sleep. He wanted to capture this moment, to carry it with him always like a talisman, a protection. A reminder that he would do anything to preserve her peace of mind. To make her happy.

The soft amber from the bedside lamp caught in her hair and painted her skin in warm honey tones, making her look almost otherworldly in her beauty, an ethereal being who had chosen, inexplicably, to be with him. He pressed his lips to her forehead in a feather-light kiss, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair, before letting his own eyes drift closed. Despite everything - the illness creeping through his veins, the uncertainty that clouded their future like a torrential storm on the horizon - right now, everything felt exactly as it should be.

#viktor x f!reader #viktor x reader #viktor arcane #fanfic #fanfiction #viktor fanfic #viktor x you #viktor smut #viktor angst #viktor fluff #one shot #arcane #arcane season 1 #glorious evolution #childhood friends to lovers #ttpd #the prophecy

675 notes · View notes

rottenfyre · 20 days ago

Text

⸻ ꜱ ᴛ ʀ ᴀ ʏ ʀ ᴀ ᴛ ⸻

Pairing: Yandere Viktor x Fem Reader Part 1

Summary: He was just walking at night. Everything was quiet. Everything was fine. What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: Y/n is mentally ill, Viktor is not really obsessed in this part, more like a slow burn.

Notes: I just start watching Arcane but I think I know enough to write about the characters ig? But if I get something wrong I apologize. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

The streets of the Undercity were always cloaked in a heavy, oppressive silence after dark, punctuated only by the occasional sounds of life: a distant shout, the clatter of boots, or the hiss of steam pipes. Viktor didn’t mind the quiet. He’d grown used to it, his mind finding comfort in the routine of walking home, his bag of scavenged parts clinking softly at his side.

Then something hit the ground in front of him.

Hard.

The sound came first, a sharp scrape followed by a low thud that made him jump. Something had landed right in front of him, and for a heart-stopping moment, Viktor thought it was a body.

She was sprawled on the ground, her limbs at odd angles, her chest still. He froze, his mind stuttering to process what he was seeing. A girl. No older than him, dirt-streaked and wild-looking, like she’d been dragged through hell and spat out. Her hair stuck out in every direction, matted and tangled, and her clothes were little more than tattered rags.

For a split second, he thought she was dead.

His heart was pounding, his breath quickening as the shock began to settle into a nervous dread. What was he supposed to do? Call for someone? Leave her here? She looked so small, so broken. He couldn’t just—

Her eyes snapped open.

“Hi.”

Viktor jumped so hard he almost dropped his bag. She smiled up at him, bright and casual, like she hadn’t just fallen from a deadly height and scared the life out of him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Before he could recover, she tilted her head and said, “Can you keep a secret?”

“Wha—”

Her grin widened as if he’d agreed, and suddenly, she lunged at him.

Viktor barely had time to react before she tackled him, pushing him backward and forcing him against the wall of the alley. His bag slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground as she pressed her small, trembling body against his.

“Don’t move,” she whispered urgently. Her eyes flicked toward the mouth of the alley, her body tense like a cornered animal.

He tried to push her off, glaring at her. “What are you—”

She clapped a hand over his mouth, silencing him. The pressure on his mouth tightened as she leaned closer, her body trembling against his. “Don’t breathe,” she whispered urgently, her lips barely moving. “They’ll hear you.”

Don’t breathe? How does she expect me not to—

His lungs began to burn, and panic surged as he realized she wasn’t going to let go. She was staring at the shadows now, her entire body tense like a coiled spring, completely focused on the approaching danger. She didn’t even seem to notice the way he was clawing at her hand, his vision starting to blur from lack of air.

Finally, the shadows passed, and the sound of boots faded into the distance. She exhaled sharply, releasing his mouth as if she’d just remembered he existed. Viktor collapsed forward, wheezing, his hands clutching his knees as he struggled to breathe.

“Sorry,” she said, not sounding particularly sorry at all. She tilted her head, watching him with a strange mix of curiosity and amusement. “Didn’t mean to almost kill you. You okay?”

“Okay?!” he rasped, his voice hoarse. He straightened, glaring at her. “You—what is wrong with you?! You nearly suffocated me!”

She blinked, her grin returning as if he’d just told a joke. “Yeah, but you’re not dead, so it’s fine.”

He stared at her, utterly baffled. “Fine?! I could’ve—” He cut himself off, realizing it was pointless. She didn’t seem to care.

Instead, she crouched down, picking at the dirt under her nails like they hadn’t just been inches from being caught by enforcers. “You shouldn’t be out here, you know,” she said casually, her tone conversational. “It’s dangerous.”

Viktor’s jaw dropped. She’s the one warning me about danger?

“What were you even doing?” he demanded, his voice sharper than he intended.

“Running,” she said simply.

“From who?”

She jerked her thumb toward the direction the enforcers had gone. “Them.”

His frown deepened. “Why?”

Her grin stretched wider, a flicker of pride in her eyes. “Saved someone. They were gonna beat the hell out of him. Couldn’t just let that happen.”

Viktor blinked, startled. “You… saved someone?”

“Yup.” She reached into her pocket and pulled something out. A rat.

She held it up like a prize, its tiny body squirming in her grip. Viktor recoiled.

“This guy!” she said cheerfully, as if she hadn’t just produced a filthy rodent from her pocket. “He told me. Said they were after him. Begged me to help.”

Viktor stared at her, completely at a loss for words. “You… saved a rat?”

She nodded, then tilted her head toward the rat as if listening to it speak. “What’s that? Oh, you’re welcome! Don’t mention it.”

“...You’re talking to a rat,” Viktor said flatly.

She glanced at him, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Of course I’m talking to him. He’s the one who needed help.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache forming. “You are insane.”

“Probably.” She stood up, brushing herself off. Despite the bruises already forming on her arms and the fresh scrapes on her knees, she looked completely unbothered. “But I’m alive, and so are my friend, so we’re good.”

The rat squeaked, and she smiled at it. “He says you’re rude.”

Viktor closed his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose. Why is this my life?

She stood up suddenly, cradling the rat in her hands. “You should go home.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but she was already walking away, her steps light and carefree as if she hadn’t just caused chaos in his otherwise quiet night. She paused at the mouth of the alley, glancing back at him with that wild, mischievous grin.

“See you around,” she called, disappearing into the shadows before he could respond.

For a long moment, Viktor just stood there, staring at the spot where she’d been. He felt like he’d just been hit by a storm, his mind still struggling to process what had happened.

He picked up his bag with a sigh, shaking his head. “She’s insane.”

Viktor wiped the sweat from his brow as he leaned over the rickety workbench, his hands busy tightening a bolt on his latest contraption. The hum of the old generator filled the small workshop, its dim light flickering in time with the buzzing of loose wires overhead. The Undercity was quiet for once, save for the occasional shout in the distance.

It was peaceful. Or, at least, it had been.

“Viiiktorrr!”

The sing-song voice startled him so badly that he dropped the wrench. It clattered loudly to the floor as he whipped around, his heart racing.

And there she was.

She leaned casually against the doorframe, an apple in one hand and her rat perched on her shoulder like some demented pirate. Her grin was wide and far too pleased with herself as she tilted her head, studying him like he was the intruder.

“Why—how did you get in here?”

She grinned, unbothered, an apple in her hand as she lazily leaned back on her elbows. “You didn’t lock the door, genius. What if I was here to rob you?” She took a loud bite of the apple, the crunch echoing obnoxiously through the small room.

“I don’t have anything worth stealing,” Viktor muttered, turning back to his work and deliberately ignoring her presence.

“Well, that’s sad.” She hopped off the bench, wandering around the room like it was her personal gallery. “This place is… cramped. Smells weird too.”

“It smells like grease and metal,” Viktor said dryly, narrowing his eyes at the mess on his table.

“Exactly.” She wrinkled her nose before holding up a mangled piece of scrap. “What even is this?”

“Put that down.”

She made a dramatic show of tossing it over her shoulder—thankfully onto a pile of equally worthless junk—and walked over to him, planting herself directly in his line of sight.

“Guess what,” she said, leaning in with a grin.

Viktor sighed, running a hand down his face. “I don’t have time for games.”

“That’s a boring guess. Wrong!” She plopped the apple onto the workbench and reached into her pocket, pulling out a very familiar rat.

He groaned. “Not that thing again.”

She gasped, clutching the rat to her chest as if he’d insulted her firstborn child. “Richard is not a thing, Viktor!” she half-yelled, her voice indignant.

“Richard,” Viktor repeated flatly, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, Richard!” She set the rat on the table like a proud parent. “He’s very sensitive, you know. You should apologize.”

“I am not apologizing to a rat.”

“Then I’m not leaving.” She grinned, folding her arms like she’d won.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, pushing his chair back and pointing toward the far corner. “Keep him away from my tools. And don’t touch anything.”

She pouted, scooping up the rat and tucking it into her pocket. “Fine. But you’re no fun, Smarty.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Why? It suits you.” She tilted her head, smirking. “Besides, you talk all fancy. It’s cute.”

“I do not talk—”

“Yes, you do,” she insisted, mimicking his accent in a way that was both wildly inaccurate and annoyingly exaggerated. “Eet’s naht a secret, ya?”

He groaned, turning back to his work. “If you’re here to annoy me, you can leave.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, Vitya.” She hopped off the crate, leaning over his shoulder to peer at the contraption he was working on. Her breath tickled his ear, and he tensed, trying to ignore the way she was so close.

“What are you even working on?” she asked, her voice full of curiosity.

“A stabilizer,” he replied shortly.

She leaned in even closer, resting her chin on her hand as she watched him work. “For what?”

“For something you will break if you touch it,” Viktor shot back.

She gasped again, this time in mock offense. “I would never!”

He gave her a pointed look, and she immediately grinned, not even bothering to deny it.

“Y’know,” she said after a while, her voice oddly thoughtful, “you’re doing that wrong.”

“I am not—” Viktor froze, frowning as he turned to her. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, taking another bite of the apple. “That thingy. It’s supposed to go there, not there.” She pointed with the apple, juice dripping onto the table.

He hesitated, frowning at the wire. She wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t about to admit that. “And what would you know about engineering?”

“Nothing,” she said brightly. “But Richard does.”

He turned to look at her, dumbfounded. “The rat?”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “He’s very smart. Aren’t you, Richard?” She scratched the rat under its chin, cooing at it like a mother with her baby.

Against his better judgment, Viktor adjusted the piece to where she’d pointed. To his disbelief, the mechanism clicked into place, the spring he’d been wrestling with finally snapping into alignment.

“See?” She leaned in closer, smirking. “You’re welcome.”

He stared at her, bewildered. “How—?”

“I told you. Richard is very smart.” She wiggled her fingers at him, laughing when he rolled his eyes.

“You are insufferable,” Viktor muttered, turning back to his work.

“And you’re boring,” she countered, leaning against the workbench and smirking at him. “But you’re lucky you have me. Otherwise, this thing would’ve blown up in your face.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If you’re going to stay, at least don’t—”

“Touch anything? Got it,” she said, immediately picking up one of his tools and inspecting it.

He groaned, muttering under his breath in his native tongue. She just grinned wider, spinning the wrench in her hand as she leaned in closer to watch him work.

“See?” she said after a moment. “This is fun. Like teamwork.”

“This is not teamwork,” Viktor grumbled, already regretting every life choice that had led to this moment.

But as much as he hated to admit it, her advice—whether it came from her or the rat—did help.

“Hey, Smarty?” she said suddenly, her voice softer this time.

“What?”

She smiled, her grin less wild and more genuine, though still laced with mischief. “Don’t forget to lock the door next time. Richard and I might not always be the ones sneaking in.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

She gave him a mock salute, tossing the apple core onto his workbench despite his protests. “Catch you later, Smarty.”

And just like that, she was gone, leaving him to stare at the space she’d just vacated. Viktor shook his head, muttering under his breath. “That girl is going to be the death of me.”

From the corner of the room, Richard squeaked, and for a moment, Viktor thought he almost agreed.

“You walk too slow,” she complained, glancing over her shoulder. “You’re lucky I have patience.”

Viktor snorted softly. “Patience? That would be a first.”

She giggled, stopping abruptly in front of him. Before he could ask what she was doing, she pulled out a piece of fabric.

“Turn around,” she ordered.

Viktor blinked, confused. “Why?”

“Just do it!” she said, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. “It’s a surprise, Smarty. Trust me.”

“Somehow, that is not very reassuring,” he muttered, but he complied, turning his back to her. He stiffened as she tied the fabric around his eyes, her fingers quick and confident.

“Why the blindfold?” he asked warily.

“Because,” she said, her voice unusually soft, “I want to make sure you trust me. I trust you, after all.”

Her tone caught him off guard, the sudden sincerity cutting through her usual chaos. For a moment, Viktor hesitated, his instinct to question her motives clashing with something deeper, something harder to name.

“…Fine,” he said at last.

“Good!” she chirped, back to her usual self. “Now, no peeking.”

She grabbed his arm, tugging him along with surprising determination. He stumbled a few times, half-expecting her to lead him into a wall or worse, but she guided him steadily, her grip firm and warm.

Finally, she came to a stop. Viktor felt her hands brush against his face as she untied the blindfold.

“TADA!”

Viktor blinked, his vision adjusting to the dim light. Then he took in the “place” she was so proud of.

It wasn’t a place at all—not really. They were in an abandoned corner, tucked between crumbling walls and piles of junk. Her “home” was a patchwork of scavenged materials: a makeshift roof of tarps stretched across beams, a tattered mattress shoved into one corner, and a collection of odd trinkets arranged on a broken shelf. It was… bleak.

She stood in the center, beaming at him like she’d just unveiled a grand palace. But when he didn’t say anything right away, her smile faltered. She shifted her weight, looking down and twisting her fingers together nervously.

“You don’t like it?” Her voice was small, hesitant in a way that was so unlike her usual bravado.

The words snapped Viktor out of his shock. “No! No, it’s not that.” He stepped closer, shaking his head. “I just… I wasn’t expecting this.”

She tilted her head, her grin slowly returning. “What were you expecting?”

“Well…” He hesitated, gesturing vaguely. “I thought you were… a stray.”

For a moment, she stared at him blankly. Then she burst out laughing, doubling over and clutching her stomach. “A stray?! What, like Richard?”

Viktor crossed his arms, waiting for her laughter to subside. “You can’t blame me for thinking it. You never stay in one place for long.”

“Fair,” she admitted, wiping a tear from her eye. Then she grabbed his hand, tugging him toward her shelf of trinkets. “C’mere, you’ve got to see this!”

She picked up each item on the shelf—a cracked pocket watch, a jar of mysterious glowing liquid, a rusted gear—and explained its significance with the excitement of a child showing off their toys.

“Look at this! I found it in a pile of junk. It’s still got some working parts!” She set it aside and picked up something else. “And this? Don’t even get me started. I bet I could make it do something cool if I had more time.”

Viktor watched her, his heart sinking. She was like a child showing off a collection of treasures, her enthusiasm genuine and almost heartbreaking.

“This,” she said, holding up a jagged piece of glass, “is my favorite. It reflects the light just right when the sun hits it.”

“And when does the sun ever hit it?” Viktor asked dryly, though his lips twitched with the ghost of a smile.

“Details,” she said, waving him off.

Despite himself, Viktor couldn’t help but feel… pity. This wasn’t a home. It was barely a shelter. And yet, she looked at it like it was a treasure trove. She didn’t even seem to realize how precarious her situation was.

But as she talked, Viktor noticed something else—something that unsettled him as much as it intrigued him.

She wasn’t stupid.

The things she said, the way she pieced together scraps and made connections that no one else would think to make—it was… brilliant, in its own way. Unorthodox and chaotic, yes, but undeniably sharp.

And yet… she was clearly unwell. The way she talked to the rat like it could understand her, the way her mood shifted so suddenly, the way she clung to this place like it was the only thing tethering her to reality—it all painted a picture of someone barely holding herself together.

“You don’t talk much,” she said suddenly, interrupting his thoughts.

“I’m listening,” Viktor replied.

“Good.” She smiled, setting down the glass shard and turning to him with an intensity that made him feel like she was looking straight through him. “Because I think you’re the only one who ever does.”

The weight of her words settled over him, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say.

“I should go,” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual.

Her smile faltered again, but she nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

As he turned to leave, she called out after him.

“Hey, Smarty?”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“Thanks for coming.”

Viktor nodded, his chest tightening as he stepped out into the dark streets. The image of her standing in that pitiful excuse for a home, smiling like it was the only place she’d ever belonged, stayed with him long after he left.

Viktor was lost in his work again, the world outside his dimly lit workshop fading into nothing more than background noise. He liked it that way. The soft clink of tools and the occasional hiss of steam were soothing in their predictability, a stark contrast to the chaos that so often surrounded him.

Then the door slammed open.

The noise jolted him, his tool slipping and clattering to the floor. He turned sharply, irritation flashing across his face—until he saw her.

She stood in the doorway, swaying on her feet, blood staining her clothes and dripping onto the floor. Her face was pale, and her wild grin was a shadow of its usual self.

“Hi, Smarty,” she said, her voice faint and trembling. Then her knees buckled, and she collapsed.

“Shit!” Viktor scrambled toward her, dropping to his knees beside her limp body. His heart pounded as he gently turned her over, his hands trembling.

She was a mess. Blood smeared her face, matted her hair, and soaked through her tattered clothes. A gash on her forehead bled freely, her stomach was stained dark with more blood, and—Gods—her hand. Two fingers were gone, the stumps crudely wrapped in a filthy piece of cloth.

“Stay with me,” he muttered, his voice shaking as he checked for signs of life. Her chest rose and fell, shallow but steady. Relief flooded through him, but it was short-lived. She needed help, now.

Without wasting another second, Viktor lifted her as carefully as he could, carrying her to the workbench. He swept tools and scraps onto the floor, clearing a space to lay her down.

Her head lolled to the side, and he caught sight of the deep cut along her scalp. Blood trickled down her temple, pooling beneath her. He swallowed hard, grabbing a clean rag and pressing it against the wound.

“Why do you always have to get yourself into trouble?” he muttered, his voice tight.

She didn’t answer, of course. Her eyes were closed, her expression strangely peaceful despite the state she was in.

Viktor worked quickly, cleaning her wounds with the limited supplies he had. The gash on her head was bad, but not fatal. He stitched it carefully, his hands steady despite the fear clawing at his chest.

Then he moved to her stomach. He hesitated for a moment before pushing her shirt up, revealing a deep, jagged cut just above her hip. Blood oozed from the wound, staining his hands as he worked to clean and bandage it.

“You’re going to be fine,” he said, more to himself than to her. “You always fight back, don’t you?”

But when he unwrapped her hand, his breath caught in his throat.

Two of her fingers were gone, the wounds raw and poorly bandaged. He couldn’t stop himself from staring, his mind racing with questions. What had happened to her?

Once her wounds were patched as best as he could manage, Viktor sat back, his chest heaving. His workshop was a mess, the floor streaked with blood, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was the girl lying unconscious on his bench.

He pulled up a chair, his legs threatening to give out beneath him. Resting his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands.

“You’re going to drive me mad,” he whispered, his voice thick with frustration and fear.

For what felt like hours, he stayed by her side, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. He couldn’t shake the image of her smile, the way she’d said “hi” like nothing was wrong. Even now, as she lay broken and bleeding, he could picture her laughing it off.

But this was different. This wasn’t some harmless scrape or reckless stunt.

And as he sat there, the weight of it all settled over him like a suffocating fog. She didn’t have anyone else. No one to look out for her, to keep her safe. No one but him.

It had been three days since Viktor had found her, bloody and broken, lying in his arms, barely clinging to life. Three long days of constant vigilance—watching over her, cleaning her wounds, trying to keep her alive. And yet, every time he thought she was stable, every time he thought she might pull through, the weight of the situation would crush him all over again.

Viktor hadn’t left her side. He hadn’t dared. Every time he thought about stepping away—just to get a bit of fresh air, to get something to eat—he’d look at her pale, unconscious form, and the thought would vanish. He couldn’t leave her like this.

He was exhausted. His hands were sore, his body stiff, but he refused to leave. His thoughts had been a blur, haunted by the image of her pale, still body, unable to understand why she wasn’t responding. Why was she still unconscious? Was there something else wrong with her?

This time, though, he’d gone out. For a brief moment, he had left the room, telling himself that she was stable. Just long enough to bring back food. Nothing elaborate—just enough to feed them both, something to give him the energy to continue.

He walked back in, the familiar scent of stale air mixed with fresh food filling the space. He set the food down on the small table beside her makeshift bed, a little too loudly.

And then, as he sat beside her, something happened that made his blood run cold.

He noticed it.

Her chest… didn’t rise.

For a split second, everything seemed to freeze. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at her.

“No, no, no…” he whispered, his fingers trembling as he reached out to touch her neck, feeling for a pulse. Nothing. He put his fingers under her nose to feel her breathing, but it remained still.

There was no breath. No movement.

He felt a coldness seeping into his veins as panic set in. She’s… she’s dead? His mind couldn’t process it. There was no way. He hadn’t let her slip away. He couldn’t have.

His hands moved frantically to her chest. He placed his ear against her ribs, trying to hear any sign of life. He focused—listened—his heartbeat thudding loudly in his ears, trying to block out the noise in his head.

And then, he heard it.

A faint thump.

His breath caught.

A heartbeat.

A heartbeat?

But then—

“Ouch!”

Viktor jolted, pulling back as pain shot through his side. A small, sharp pinch had found its mark, right in the flesh of his ribs.

“Surprise!”

Viktor froze, staring at her, his eyes wide with disbelief as she sat up, her disheveled hair falling around her face. The woman who he had thought was dead, the one who had terrified him with her stillness, was now grinning at him like it was the funniest thing in the world.

Her laugh echoed in the room, light and teasing, as if nothing had just happened. As if she hadn’t nearly killed him with worry.

“What the hell?!” Viktor shouted, standing up abruptly, his face flushed with anger. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

She didn’t even flinch. She just sat there, grinning like an impish child who had just pulled the best prank of the century.

“You… you think this is funny?” His voice was tight with frustration as he paced around the room. “Does it amuse you to scare the hell out of me?!”

Her expression didn’t change, though her smile faltered slightly. She didn’t speak, just tilted her head slightly as if he was the strange one in all of this.

Viktor took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, though the anger was still boiling in his veins. He turned back to her, glaring. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through these last three days?!” His voice cracked slightly, but he pushed on. “I thought you were dead, and I—I—I couldn’t…”

She was still silent. Her eyes just stared at him, wide and calm, watching his outburst with something akin to amusement, as though he were an animal in a cage.

His fists clenched at his sides, and he exhaled sharply through his nose. “Why won’t you talk?”

And then, just as Viktor was about to say something else, she spoke.

“I’m happy.”

The words were simple, quiet, almost like a child speaking a secret. She smiled again, the soft curve of her lips more genuine this time.

“You’re happy?” Viktor blinked, taken aback by the simplicity of it. “What, are you out of your mind? How can you be happy after all that?!”

She nodded, her expression almost serene. “Yeah, I’m happy. I’m happy because you were worried about me.”

Viktor stared at her, his face hardening. He couldn’t even process what she had just said. “You think that’s funny?”

Her smile didn’t falter. “Not funny, no. Just… good.” She tilted her head, looking at him with those wide, knowing eyes. “Good that you care.”

Viktor clenched his jaw, trying to fight back the swell of emotion that threatened to overtake him.

He didn’t want to care about her, not this way. Not after everything. He didn’t want to feel this deep, gnawing responsibility for her well-being. But… she had a way of making him feel as if he had no other choice.

“You’re insane,” he muttered under his breath, his tone barely holding back frustration.

She let out a small, soft laugh, almost like she had just cracked a secret code. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

Viktor closed his eyes for a moment, pressing his fingers to his temples as if he could somehow chase away the headache that had started to form. He was trying so hard to stay composed, trying so hard to make sense of all of this, but it felt like the more he tried to control it, the more chaotic it became.

He took a deep breath and then looked at her again.

She was still looking at him, waiting for him to say something.

“I’m not happy you put me through hell,” Viktor said quietly, his voice rough with the weight of his frustration. “But I…”

She leaned forward, her smile widening slightly. “You do care.”

Viktor’s lips twitched. He bit his bottom lip hard enough to almost taste blood. He knew she was right. Damn it, she was right.

“I don’t know what to do with you,” he said under his breath.

She giggled. “That’s okay. I like it that way.”

“You’re lucky I don’t just leave you here,” he muttered, though even as he said it, he knew he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

She was right about one thing—he had been worried for her. He hadn’t even realized how much until she finally woke up and proved how absurdly difficult it was to understand her.

But her smile—it was the same smile, the one that hadn’t changed since he first met her, the one that made everything she did feel... wrong.

“Don’t go,” she said softly, her voice suddenly serious.

Viktor looked at her, his expression hard. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And in that moment, Viktor realized just how tangled they both were—trapped in this strange dance, this odd connection. She had no idea how much she scared him. How much her antics were eating at him. But for some reason, he stayed.

And somehow, that was the scariest part of it all.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

539 notes · View notes

imthataliensuperstar · 1 month ago

Text

Even though I hated seeing Viktor having a terminal illness and being in pain :( BUT….

He looked so pretty and hot as fuck while doing it!!!

UGH I WISH HE KEPT WEARING THE GLOVES TOO!!!

#arcane #viktor #arcane the league of legends #league of legends viktor #viktor arcane x reader #arcane viktor #viktor league of legends #viktor arcane #viktor lol #viktor smut #viktor x reader #viktor x f!reader #viktor x female reader #viktor cult

477 notes · View notes

anixzty · 1 month ago

Text

I need Viktor so bad bro, yall don’t know how badly I need that man. I’m going absolutely feral just thinking about the things he could do.

#viktor arcane #viktor league of legends #viktor x reader #viktor smut #viktor x f!reader #im going insane #i need him so fucking bad #going feral #viktor is so hot bro wtf

311 notes · View notes

xetlynn · 1 month ago

Text

an artists muse- a viktor fic.

two.

[one] [two] [three]

to strive, to fail, to re-begin.

Regret. That’s all you felt the next morning. Your head pounding, eyes sensitive to the sunlight and your body ached from the bruises you got from God knows what. Somehow you got yourself to get ready for the day, popping pain killers with freezing cold water before heading to this little cafe shop down the road.

You used to go there frequently last year in your freshman year of college, this year will most likely be no different. Opening the door to hear the bells chime. Normally you loved the sound but at this moment you wanted to rip it down from its spot.

You put in your order with the lady at the register, you still wore your sunglasses even indoors. Giving away the fact that you were hungover as shit. After she takes your name you sit down at the closest booth, slumping over immediately. Not even taking your phone out.

You didn’t notice the boy from your class who was staring at you from across the building. Curious as to why your energy was not the same as yesterday. Were you bipolar or something? “Large iced coffee for [Name]!!” The girl's voice loudly rings in your ears and you almost let out an audible groan as you stood up. Lazily grabbing the cup from the counter, slumping back down on the plastic cushion.

Hungover. Viktor thought to himself. You most definitely had a time last night. He almost smirks from how silly you looked. He didn’t know you like that though to find it too amusing. He goes back to jotting words down in a notebook. Every now and then he stole a few glances. Just making sure you didn’t pass out or something.

Your phone buzzed in your hoodie pocket, letting you know it was time to get to your first class of the day. You thank your sober self from yesterday for doing that or else you would’ve sat in the cafe without a care in the world.

As you leave you finally notices the boy from your Chemistry class. He glances up the same time you were looking at him. Your eyebrows were furrowed but no one could tell from the dark lenses of your glasses. You give him a meekly smile, waving curtly before exiting through the glass door. He didn’t have enough time to register to wave back to you.

You were already out of eyesight.

You feel like you know him from somewhere after you thought about it for a while. Your whole class period was you trying to remember his name or anything. Wondering why his face was stuck in your mind.

It etched at you so harshly you decide to pull out your phone, hiding it under the desk as you text Powder.

—-------------------------------------

You- Hey, do you know anyone with kind of shaggy brown hair, amberish eyes, slender face? Uhh uses a cane?

Powpow- uhhhhh no? why would I know who that is?

You: Just wondering.

Powpow- got a new crush or soemthin?

You- Something**

Powpow- I’ll kill you.

Powpow- but seriously why?

You- I sit next to him in chem, his face is bothering me.

Powpow- dang he that ugly?

You- no omg, his face didn’t look familiar yesterday but today it’s like I’m remembering something? I don’t know it’s weird.

Powpow- you are pretty strange.

You- bye.

Powpow- love youuuu

—---------------------------------------

“How do I already have a pack of homework?” Jayce angrily asks his group of friends as they sit in the student lounge. “It’s the second day!” He exclaims dramatically, showing off his packet from mathematics. “Babe, it’s not that bad.” Mel doesn’t even attempt to show sympathy for her boyfriend. “Not that bad? This is horrible.” He wiggles the papers in her face. She pushes it down gently. “You’ll get it done, you’re smart enough.” She chuckles.

Violet sits up suddenly, startling her girlfriend who was petting her hair. “Karaoke night on saturday.” She jabbers out, not asking but telling them. “Not going.” Viktor hums out, scrolling on his phone. “What? Why not?” Jayce furrows his eyebrows.

“I don’t want to go.” Viktor glances up for a split second only to look back down at the screen. “You’re going.” Jayce states. “I’m really not.”

“We’ll see.”

“I’ll be there.” Mel smiles, “I don’t know if I’ll sing but it will be fun.” She declares to which Jayce pulls her into his arms. Muttering out a yay in her neck. “I don’t have a choice.” Caitlyn sighs, she’s had to hear about this from Vi the whole week after Vander had announced he was doing it at his bar.

“Viktor, you have to come. Just one night.” Violet pleads with their friend who isn’t really giving them the time of day. He rolled his eyes. “If I go it’s only for an hour.” He says.

“Okay! I’ll take it!” Vi saluts.

“Are the boys coming?” Powder asks as she drives the both of you to this store you’ve been wanting to go to. “They said they were.” You shrug your shoulders, reopening the groupchat with the guys. They all had dry responses but it was also all yeses from them. That’s all you and Powder needed.

“You want to drink on Saturday or be the DD?” She turns into the small parking lot abruptly, your body going up against the car door. You were unphased nonetheless, being used to your best friends driving. “I don’t think I can touch even a sip of alcohol after yesterday.” You cover your mouth, almost dry-heaving at the thought of the burning sensation sliding down your throat.

“You say that every time. I guarantee you you’re going to be blackout next week.” Powder snorts, her car coming to a full stop and she pushes the gear into park. The both of you unbuckle and get out.

“Probably but this weekend is a little too soon.” You place your sunglasses on, using your middle finger to bump them up your nose.

You enter the clothing store, the smell of cleaning supplies and polished wood wafts into your face. You scrunch your nose but continue inside, lacing your fingers with your best friend’s.

“Smells weird in here.” Powder whispers, you snicker, agreeing with her. It was quiet in the store, only a faint sound of the radio and overhearing the only worker’s phone call conversation. You hear the front door open. Being nosy you poke your head up from one of the racks, you saw a girl you went to high school with.

You frown, clinging onto Powder. “Hey, the smell’s getting to me. Can we leave?” She notices the fear(?) in your eyes. She wants to question it but instead she nods her head letting you lead the way out of the store.

“[Name]!?” You mentally curse hearing your name come out of the one mouth you never wanted to hear for the rest of your life. Your shoulders slump, plastering a fake smile as you turn to her. “Maddie.” You politely say, Powder’s face drops. You’ve briefly spoken about this girl. Not good things either.

Supposedly she had a fling with Vi’s girlfriend, Caitlyn as well.

“How have you been? It’s been forever!” She walks closer, not even noticing the defensive stance you were in. Ready to leave.

Unfortunately Powder and you went to different high schools for a year. So Powder never met this girl. “I’m alright, how are you?” Your hand still gripped tightly onto your best friend. Not daring to let go. Your body was tense, almost shaking.

“Oh, you know! Life!” She giggles and your nostrils flared at the noise. “Mm, yeah.” You raspily let out. “We were just leaving, it was nice seeing you again.” You dryly tell her, hand on the door to push it. “Wait! We so need to catch up. Here, give me your phone!” She goes to hand you her phone. You kiss your teeth before speaking. “Sorry, I don’t give out my phone number.”

“Instagram then.” She pulls up the app, practically shoving the device in your hand. You blink down at it. You have her follow your spam account. “My phone’s dead. I’ll follow you back later.” Giving the phone back and hurriedly leaving before she can say anything else.

Powder unlocks the door, not saying anything as you seem pissed off. “Can we go home?” Your voice wavered as you stared out the window. “Of course, I’m sorry [Name].” She speeds out of the parking lot after you buckled up.

“Why are you sorry?” You raise a brow, having a small smile gracing your face. It relieves the girl a tad. Not much though, she can’t stand when you're upset because it’s so rare that it happens. “That girl must’ve done some fucked up shit for you to act like this.” She responds, kneading the steering with.

“Ah, right. It was just this high school thing. I had an online friend I shared my art with. He helped me stay motivated. Was pretty much my muse!” You giggle remembering the many conversations the both of you had over Discord. As embarrassing as it was, you heavily used that app as a middle schooler.

“She texted him pretending to be me. Ruined the friendship.” You scrunch your nose, the texts coming back to you. How harsh he was when he ended the friendship. Blocking you on everything.

“What was his name? Maybe I could talk to him, clear things up? Why didn’t you tell me about him in high school?” She interrogates you, repeatedly glancing at you with her side peripheral. “I was embarrassed about having an online friend. She only found out because I left my phone open when I went to the bathroom.”

“And no, I don’t want you to talk to him. What she sent… I don’t even want him to forgive me. I told her things I should’ve never said.” Your chest was beginning to hurt, recollecting the mistakes you made.

You didn’t end the friendship with Maddie, you didn’t know what to do. You didn’t talk to her much after but there’s a reason she thinks you guys were on good terms.

“I’m sorry for keeping this conversation going, let’s talk about the karaoke night!” Powder strives to change the subject, it was too late. You were now going to be in your head for the rest of the night. Being hungover doesn’t help either.

-----------------------------------

I don't like maddie so I made her a bad guy in my story. Because I can.

Also the first two chapters are the shortest, the next ones will be a lot longer. If you want to be added to the taglist let me know!

[main page]

153 notes · View notes

jazziejax · 30 days ago

Text

𝐂𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐢’𝐬 𝐋𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐲

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - The aftermath of the rebellion told from a different perspective. How a small family was ripped apart in the matter of seconds and their lives were never the same again.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - wounds, death, blood, stabbing, crying, panic attacks, anxiety, magic if that’s spooky to you, screaming, and all around distress. I never really know what to but in this section honestly.

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - Is this another fic that will probably become a series that I won’t finish? Jaybe, jaybe not. But if you’ve been looking for me, know that I have chapters written for my other fics, I just needed to take a break due to finals week and the distraught I went through with the show Arcane, hence why I’m writing this now. Also, I stayed up until 3am writing this, not don’t mind the mistakes, I tortured myself and cried. Sorry for any spelling or grammatical errors!!! ALSO, this is sort of an OC fic but it can be read as reader. I try to stray away from too much description because I don’t think I’m that good at it, but I only write in OC format because it’s easier for me to visualize and write what I want you to see. I should really get into 1st and 2nd person wiring more often.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 5,491

“Darling, I’d wait for you, even if you don’t ask me to.” Chimed shakily over the muffled sounds of screaming and explosions. “Tie a lasso around the moon, and bring it on down, for you.” The voice quivered, and her grip intensified when the sounds of explosions became closer to where the children hid.

“I’d bottle the feelin’ you give and shelve that stuff for years to come.” The smaller child, wrapped in her sister’s arms, could feel the wet drops of the other girls' tears hitting the exposed nape of her neck. She had her face stuffed within the crook of the older girl's neck, trying to focus solely on the sound of the soothing song and her racing heart. They softly swayed, trying their best to soothe themselves and the other as the chaos outside continued. They were tucked into the corner of a home that wasn’t theirs, only there to wait for their parents to get back from their part of the rebellion.

“Cause baby when your arms are around me, I’d swear I’m holding the sun.” She continued to sing, the smaller girl chiming in at the end as she righted her grip. The older girl only moved her grip from her sister’s back to wipe away the stray tears running down her face.

“I’d give you the sun if you asked me. You could have all of the time.” The older sang, getting slightly choked up when she saw glimpses of light and shadows through the window near the door, in perfect timing with gunshots and bombs. “You could have the stars and the trees when dividing up the universe...” She trailed off, taking the necessary pauses within the tempo of the lullaby, but also because she needed to breathe to calm her racing heart.

She rubbed the back of the slightly smaller girl's head, moving up in the motion of the get black bun at the top of her head. She tucked them more into the corner, her back itching from the old, moldy, wood and rusted nails that dug into her skin. The only indicator was that this was a real. That this nightmare was her reality.

“You could have mine. You could have mine.” The girls sing at the same time, both of their eyes closed as they envisioned the chorus being sung in the melodic and comforting voice of their mother. The eldest couldn’t hold it in anymore. As choked herself on a sob as she fluted her sister, leaning her ear back into the corner. She tried to stop the tears rolling down her face, eyes clenched and her teeth gritted.

The younger girl didn’t really know what do to for her aching sister, all while trying to heal her own pain that she was unsure of having in the first place. So she just held her righter, reassuring her that she was there, even though she couldn’t do much. Her face stayed in the crook of the girl's neck, the only sense of comfort was the smokey scent of poppy flowers her sister always held from her taking the pair to roll in the Piltover flower fields at night.

All the older girl could do to soothe the pair was to continue to hum the song, tried from the constant state of worrying she’d been in for what felt like hours. Her head was still headed back as she held her sister, the pair drifting off into an exhausted but unwanted slumber.

The small sense of comfort didn’t last long, for the youngest at least. She rose her head from the girl's neck, her ears no longer muffled from the contact. She couldn’t hear much, which was good considering the stark contrast of the sound of war that was previously raging beyond those doors.

But what wasn’t good was that her parents weren’t back yet.

She raised herself more, her sister’s arms dropping from her sides and onto the dust-ridden ground as she moved.

“Maggie.” The younger girl whispered, looking at her older sister, who didn’t react. “Maggie.” She said again, the some leaning closer and giving her the finest nudge, to not make too much noise.

Still nothing.

She sighed, decking that the girl had to be exhausted from all the anxiety that riddled them not long ago. She then just decided to rise from her sister’s legs, which were probably relieved to be relaxed from her weight.

Her knees popped as she stood, releasing tension from being in that fetal position for so long. She shook off her jacket, laying it on top of the girl's sleeping form to fill in for the warmth she was leaving.

She then turned around, slowly stepping towards the window near the front door. She hid behind the wall, trying to not put her whole body into the frame of the glass as she analyzed the state outside. She couldn’t see much, fire and smoke fogging the glass and sky. She sighed, glancing back at her sleeping sister. She could see the streets as even getting to her in her sleep, a permanent frown over her features as she dreamed.

She needed to find their parents.

“I’ll be right back, Maggie.” She sighed, her hands clenched as her heart began to race. “I have to find mom and dad.” She said.

She jumped before placing her hand on the door knock, the rusted metal was slightly warm due to the fire that lurked nearby. She then slowly opened the door, the wood and metal surprisingly quiet, not that any could hear her over the cracking of everything burning. But it was good to be safe.

She closed the door behind her, stepping onto the damp mud that seemed to grow from the fissures. Her boots made no sound as she lurked her way through the smoke. She brought her shirt up to cover her nose as she began to slightly cough, her eyes stinging. She shivered slightly, her bare arms and hole-filled pants not doing much to provide warmth.

She only let out small coughs as she made her way through the murky area, glancing at piles of…she didn’t know what, she couldn’t see that well. She decided not to dwell on it much, only trying to make her way to the bridge she knew her parents would be at.

That's where they said they’d be.

She waved smoke out of her face as she walked only minutes away, coming into a better clearing. She was only about ten feet away from the only thing separating Zaun and Piltover when she saw it.

Bodies.

She sucked in a breath at the sight of them. There were flames everywhere, the ones on this end not being put out by the equipped enforcers.

Her eyes were no longer watering just from the sting of the smoke.

Bodies lay around the ground surrounded by the entrance near the structure. Bodies of people she knew, people she saw within her town. The woman from the brothel who used to come to her mom for cosmetics. The man from the food stand that gave them free fruit and bread if their dad would make his famous fruit pastries. The elderly couple that used to sit around and tell fascinating tales to the children, takes that she only hoped were true. She saw kids her age and older, people she used to play with near the stream.

Bodies that looked too familiar. Dressed in their usual bright colors.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no.” She uttered as she ran into the bridge, only briefly dodging being brunt from the flames around her, feeling the heat on her skin. Closer to their side, lay the familiar figures of her parents. Her breaths began ragged and she sunk to her knees near them, tears streaming down her face. “No, no, no, no, no. Mama, Papa, no.” She cried as she shook them. “Come on, get up.” Shaking them vigorously.

Her mind was scattered, deciding to work on them one at a time. She moves over to her father, who later on his stomach, facing away from her. “Come on, Papa, you have to get up.” She said through the tears streaming down her face. “You have to up for us, please.” She begged.

She received not even an inkling of a response, causing the girl to sob. She placed her head onto his back, breathing in his pinewood scent that was now mixed with the smell of smoke. She sobbed into his blue shirt, leaving stains of snot, spit, and tears from her gut-wrenching sobs.

Her mind ran a mile a minute, the girl continued to cry as she moved over to her mom, the woman lay on her stomach, looking up at the stars. Her hand was covering a wound she had had in her abdomen, a fancy knife sticking out. A Piltover Enforcer knife. “Please Mama, you have to make it. Please!” The girl sobbed louder, moving to place her hand over her mom’s, her smaller hand getting slicked with the woman’s blood. She was in the state of grieving her father while she tried to care for all she had left.

She could feel the shallow breath the woman took with her hand on her abdomen. She had a little hope.

“Please Mama, please! You have to hang on for me.” She cried, placing her head on the woman’s chest. She got no answer in response to the sobs that racked through her body, but she could hear her faint heartbeat.

What she couldn’t hear was the sound of boots smacking against the pavement, making their way closer to her.

Maggie let out an uncomfortable groan as she raised her head. She brought her hand up as she twisted her neck, trying to alleviate the pain she now had from napping with her head back.

In doing so, the jacket that blocked her from the cold nature of Zaun hit her like a brick. But it wasn’t the freezing air that she was focused on.

It was the missing body of her sister.

She immediately jumped up from her sitting position, unstable from just waking up and her tired legs having not moved since the weight of her sister was on them. “Dessa?” She called out, looking around the small, abandoned house. She got no answer.

She moved to look around any part of the home the girl could be in, the old home creaking and dark. And her sister was nowhere to be found. She then looked at the front door, noticing the smallest crack left by the girl leaving. And her heart dropped.

She rushed to swing the door open, not caring to be discreet like they planned as she looked for her little sister. “Odessa?” She called out, looking through the smoke and flames that surrounded her. No response.

She drew in a hiss as tears started to prick her eyes, not knowing what to do. She couldn’t care less about all the smoke she was inhaling due to her fast breathing, or the smoke that stung her eyes.

All she wanted to do was find her family.

“Odessa!” She moved around in the smoke, calling out for the girl. Her feet were frantic as she dodged flames. Her sporadic movements and racing thoughts caused her to trip over something, falling head-first into the muddy ground. She glanced down at what caught her ankle, her breath getting caught in her throat as she gazed into the bead eyes of someone. She let out a small yelp as she backed away from the body, trying her best to get to her feet.

She stumbled on her way up, her eyes jumping to everything around her, taking in nothing but bodies and flames. Her heart raced as her eyes darted every which way. She was too in shock to even cry, but she could feel her heart contort within the confines of her chest as panic began to set in. The thought of her whole family being gone.

She trudged through the heat, trying to catch a glimpse of even the smallest of movements as she looked for her family. “Mama, Papa!” She screamed. “Odessa, please! Where are you!” She knew she was taking a risk by being so loud, especially when someone dangerous could be lurking anywhere. But she didn’t care. That only meant that maybe she’d be put out of her misery and join the ones she lost, or that her family would have to grieve her, but at least they’d be together.

Her breathing was more than labored, it was short and skipping. Her eyes were frantic when she caught something not far away from her. She could see a tall figure move through the smoke. She inched forward, trying to see through the glass that was blocking her vision. She was only feet away when she saw the back of an enforcer. She was moving his way in on something with his gun pointed.

She watched, trying to see what he was seeing until her eyes caught the familiar yellow, baggy pants on the ground not far away from him. And she stopped breathing altogether.

Odessa snapped her head up when she heard the gravel under his boots, making eye contact with the dark glasses of the enforcer had mask. She gritted her teeth, rage filling her at the sight of him. “You did this!” She yelled, not caring for the gun aimed at her. Whoever was behind the mask hesitated the moment her eyes met theirs, as if they were taking in the scene of it all.

“You did this and you’re gonna pay! Your whole bloodline will! All of you Pilte scum!” She screamed in rage, moving to the knife lodged in her mother’s side. She didn’t want to remove it, but she’d rather this officer die at her hands for the sake of her mother than die with no revenge.

Maggie heard it all and watched the scene in shock. She could see the dead bodies of her family from where she stood and her sister was about to die. But she couldn’t grieve now. Grieving was a luxury she didn’t have at this time.

So she looked around her, spotting a machete some dead Zaunite held as they marched into battle. She didn’t think before ripping the blade out of their hands. She was immediately running to her sister, trying to save the only family she had left.

“ODESSA!” She belted as she ran, catching both of their attention. The distraught girl looked over at her sister while the Enforcer eyed the girl running their way. She was moving at an insane speed, a sharp blade in her hands and fury written on her face. See the woman, the officer moved to aim their gun and the charging girl, but she was too close. Her sister’s eyes widened, watching the movements they both took. “Magnolia, no!” She screamed. But she was too late.

She plunged the blade into their chest, just as a gunshot sounded.

Things seemed to be more silent than ever, birds squawking and flying off due to the surprise of the loud sounds. The cracking of the flames seemed to drown out all around them, the sound was the gasping coming from the enforcer. Maggie’s breathing was still labored as she pulled the long blade out, causing the enforcer to choke on their blood, before she plunged it back into their heart, causing the body to fall.

They collapsed backward, practically sliding off the knife in her tight grip. She heaved as she watched them fall, a pool of blood beginning to surround them. Odessa removed her hands from her ears and opened her eyes, her eyes moving to the form of her sister before her. She glanced at the body but far away from them before looking back at her family.

Maggie snapped out of her head, moving to kneel on the other side of their parents. She looked her sister in the eye, with different expressions but both full of grief and despair. Magnolia looked over at the still body of their father before glancing back at Odessa, who silently shook her head, tears still streaming down her face. The older girl closed her eyes, trying to stop the pain that twisted within her heart as one tear slipped past her lids and slid down her cheek. “Okay, okay.” She breathed, her hands shaking as she tried to soothe herself in such a situation. She looked down at her mother, seeing the shallow breaths the woman her taking as the knife moved within her abdomen. Her eyes moved from the stars above to look between her two daughters.

“You’re gonna be okay, Mama,” Magnolia said shakily, placing her hands on the woman’s chest. “I’m gonna make sure you’re okay. You’re gonna make it, okay?” Her voice quivered. Her hands moved from the comforting grasp on her chest to the knife in her side. Her eyes were frantic, looking between her mother’s face and her shallow breaths. She didn’t really know what to do and the panic was becoming worse. “Okay. Okay. Okay, I’m gonna save you, okay? I’m gonna make sure everything is okay. Everything is gonna be alright.” She rambled, her eyes trained on the knife that stuck out of the woman. She placed her hands on the handle of the blade, her grip tight but also trying not to apply or alleviate any pressure.

“Okay. Okay. Okay.” She took deep breaths, her eyes jumping from the wound to her mother’s face to her father's dead body. She didn’t know what her next move was going to be but before she could make it, a bloody hand was placed over hers. “Maggie.” Her sister whispered, causing the girl to look up at her. She didn’t meet Odessa’s eyes, which were trained downward.

She followed her gaze, her eyes landing on the blood flowing from the bullet wound in her stomach. She sucked in a breath, watching it seep through her thin clothing. She looked back up, seeing the tears stroll down her sister’s face as she began to shake her head, realizing that she was losing all her family in one fell swoop. “Maggie, no.” She cried.

Magnolia shook her head, scooting forward on her knees to place her hand on the side of her sister’s face. “No, no.” She said, shaking her head as she continued to breathe funny, which they knew didn’t know if it was due to the nerves of everything or the bullet. “Look at me, Dessa. Look at me.” She said softly, her jumpy eyes looking between the glistening ones of her sister. “You will be fine, do you hear me? You and Mama will be fine. I’m going to make sure, okay?” She said, her breaths starting to become shorter than they originally were. Odessa couldn’t believe her, her head shaking as she watched the person she loved wither in front of her.

“Yes, it will, Dessa,” Magnolia said firmly. “Yes it will and you have to be strong for you and Mama, okay?”

“Don’t talk like that, Maggie. Don’t!” The younger girl cried.

“Okay, Dess, okay.” She sighed. She then placed her lips against her forehead, letting the kiss linger before she released her grip on the slightly younger girl. She then placed her hands back on the wound of their mother, who could only watch as tears clouded her eyes. Magnolia couldn’t look at her mother, her gaze focused solely on the wound, catching glimpses of her own as she breathed. “It’s gonna hurt for a bit, Mom, but you’re strong. I’m so sorry, okay?” She didn’t waste time for an answer she knew she wasn’t going to receive before pulling out the knife. She frantically put her hands over it to stop the blood while the woman groaned, causing the girl to clench her eyes shut as if to stop the sounds from entering her ears. Odessa grabbed the knife, hurriedly cutting off a piece of her own shirt and handing it to her sister.

Maggie took it, placing the fabric over to wounds to soak up the blood. She clenched her jaw as she stuffed it in only a smidge, causing the woman to groan again. Magnolia bit her lips, tears rolling down her eyes at the sound of pain coming from the woman. Odessa’s tears never stopped, the girl moving to cradle her mother’s head into her lap, doing her best to provide comfort.

“Darlin’ I wish that you could give me some more time.” Odessa began, her voice quivering as she gazed into her mother’s eyes, singing the song. “To herd the whole sky in my arms and release it when you’re mine.” She tried her best to sing. The woman gazed up at her, a sliver of a smile gracing her lips as she looked lovingly into her daughter’s eyes.

“I'd tell you, "I thought I loved you too" I just didn't have the words to say.” Magnolia chimed in, her eyes trained on the wound that wasn’t stopping its gushing. “I'd put the piece in your backyard, in hopes to be enough for you to stay.” She breathed out, suddenly becoming tired. She placed her head onto her mother’s lap, still applying pressure with the fabric that was becoming slacked in blood. Her other hand tried to find her mother's bloody one, the woman able to flex her fingers around hers, feeling the connection between them.

“I'd give you the sun if you asked me.” They both continued, the younger girl not taking her eyes off the woman who started to blink slower and slower.

“You could have all of the time. You could have the stars and the trees when dividin' up the universe.” She sobbed, seeing the light in the woman’s eyes go out. “No, no, no. Mom, please.” She sobbed.

“You could have mine. You could have mine.” Magnolia continued to sing, drowning out the sound of her sister pleading for the life to stop leaving their mother. Her breaths started to become shorter, and her blinking became slower as she covered the wound, her other hand playing with the fingers of her mother. She closed her eyes, too tired to open them back up. Blood seeped from her wing onto the group next to her mom, connecting to the woman’s hand. Magnolia clenched her jaw, focused solely on feeling the connection between her and her mother, their fingers intertwined as blood seeped between the creases of their being. “You could have mine. You could have mine.” She continued to sing as best as she could, her voice trailing off.

Sobs racked through the younger, her eyes looking between all the of her family laid before her. “No, please! Please don’t leave me!” She cried, looking at them. “Please don’t leave me here! I want to go with you, please!” She sobbed. She held her mother's head, softly rubbing the side of her face before looking up at the sky. “Take me with them, please! Don’t leave me here!” She yelled. All that came was a gust of wind, pushing the smell of her family’s blood and smoke into her nostrils. She sobbed at that, leaning down to place her forehead against her mother’s, tears streaming down her face. “Please.” She said softly.

It was silent for a moment, nothing being heard but the girl's pitiful sobs as she clutched all that she had in this world.

Her eyes were closed when she felt the heat of something near her. She glanced up, catching a light emitting from her sister. The girl lay on her mother, emoting a soft, golden glow that seemed to slowly intensify. She blinked, looking at the girl in confusion.

“Maggie?” She asked timidly. She could’ve sworn she heard a soft and angelic hum come from the glow at her voice, but she couldn’t dwell on it before she watched in astonishment as the glow seeped onto the person she had contact with. The older woman in her lap hummed with a soft glow of her own. The light dimmed within Magnolia as the power transferred, causing the mother to emit the same shine.

And then it went away. Odessa sat there in shock, not knowing what to do.

A gasp ripped through the woman in her lap, her eyes blinking rapidly as she gazed up at her daughter. Odessa immediately burst into tears again, looking down at the woman. “Mama!” She cried, hugging the woman in her position. The older woman placed her head next to her daughters, taking in deep breaths as she felt the breathing and okay girl next to her. “Oh, my sweet child.” She said softly, rubbing her daughter’s head. Odessa seemed to cry harder at her mother’s voice, clutching onto the woman.

The pair held each other for minutes, baking in what they both knew. She died, but now she was back again. She felt the life leave her, felt the pain take over her in her last moments. Odessa saw her eyes become dull as she stopped breathing. But now here she was, breathing perfectly fine, in no pain as she clutched onto her baby.

After only moments of relief, the woman sat up with her daughter's help. She stopped, however at the sight before her. Her eldest daughter and her husband lay, no sign of life.

She saw what happened to her husband. She was there when a piece of rubble fell on him. But that didn’t make the sight of half her life being gone any better. Tears streamed down her face as she looked between the two. Her daughter lay with her head in her lap, trying to gain comfort from her mother in both of their last moments. The woman sobbed, bending down to hold the girl closest to her. “My poor baby.” She cried, clutching onto the lifeless body of the girl.

Odessa stood behind her, her eyes clenched shut at the sound of her mother’s sobs. She couldn’t fathom the sight anymore. The sight of her mother clutching her sister who was now dead.

Dead because of me. She thought.

She doesn’t know what was worse, having to live with the guilt that her mother lost something she loved due to her, or losing her whole family before her. She placed her head into her hands, facing away from the disgust of her now-gone father, sister, and best friend. Her hands were placed over her ears to drown the sounds of everything out, the only thing she could hear was the sound of thoughts.

You did this.

You shouldn’t have left that room.

This is your fault.

Your own sister.

She’s dead because of you.

She’s dead because of you!

She jumped at the feeling of hands on her shoulder, causing the girl to look up. Her eyes connected with the soft and loving gaze of her mother. The girl immediately jumped into her embrace. “I’m sorry.”Sobs racked through her aggressively. “I’m so sorry, Mama!” She cried. She was so exhausted that she was not sure if she even had tears left to cry, just dry heaving into the woman’s embrace. “It’s all my fault.”

“It’s not honey.” The woman said softly, lifting the small preteen into her arms. “It’s not your fault. It’s not.” She said. But Odessa wasn’t hearing her, clothing onto the woman as she looked at her sister's figure over her mother's shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so, sorry.” She continued to cry, not sure who she was speaking to now.

“It’s okay, my love. It’s okay.” The woman said. “We’re going to make it better.” She reassured herself as well, gazing down at the dead enforcer not far from them. She clenched her jaw before moving to grab the machete from the ground. She shored her lasting family in her one arm, looking at the more chaos around them. “Everything will be okay from here on. For me and you. Our family. For us.” She said. Odessa could only nod into the woman’s neck, finding it hard to speak now.

The woman began to move, making her way back home. She stopped at the sound of footsteps behind her, the blade clenched within her hands tightly, ready to defend.

But all that emerged was the familiar figure of the buff man she knew well. He paused at the sight of them, taking in the sight of her stature. The single girl she held with a weapon in her hands.

Vader held the small bodies of two girls, looking back at her. No weeds were changed between the pair, Greg filling their gazes as they took in all they needed to. He nodded at her, and she did the same before the pair walked away together, back to the place they knew as home.

It was quiet. The dark sky still loomed with the aftermath of the rebellion, smoke and red flames filling the area. The bridge was in disarray, broken and disheveled. A tall figure walked down the bridge, into the flames and bodies that surrounded it.

His heavy staff clinked against the metal ground as he passed every other body that littered the hellscape. That was until he made it to the end, and he gazed down at the small figure that lay near her father, a pool of blood that wasn’t all hers surrounded her.

The figure seemed to hesitate, looking at the familiar face that had no life. It was haunting, even for someone such as themselves.

The being then began to wave its staff around, intensifying the wind around him and the girl. Smoke and flames were caught in the magic that surrounded them. The girl's hair was blowing in the wind, her soft glow coming back. Then, runes popped up all around him. It seemed as if he deciphered between different symbols as he kept swinging the staff. Suddenly, a gem appeared in his hand, unscripted with a symbol. When he was essentially making a flame tornado around the pair, he then slammed his staff down, the sound echoing throughout the area.

A magical aura surrounded the girl, her golden glow intensifying as it glitched between that and a soft blue. The aura around her hummed, wind billowing through the expanse of the land as glowed, ruffing the robe the magical being wore. She started to change before his eyes, her dark brown hair lightening a bit as other bits turned a stark white. Her wound healed before him, before she suddenly gasped, her eyes shooting open. The golden glow she once emitted seeped into her from her bullet wounds, tracing its way up her body. The glow shined through her, showing as it came up to her throat and out of her mouth, and floated above her. It rose higher and higher, drifting to meet with the stars before suddenly moving back down, plunging through her and into her heart.

The magic around her left, and the girl suddenly fell from the air, not before the being caught her within his arms. She was unconscious when he gazed down upon her, her mouth open as she let out small snores into the fabric that he was wearing. He held onto her, gazing down at her anew.

He then began moving to the bridge again, the girl cradled in his arms. He held her as he traveled through the city of Piltover until he came upon a familiar building. He softly placed her onto the hard pavement in front of the door, moving to take off one of his scarves and place it under the girl's head. He then placed the rune bead held within her hand, closing her fist around it. He gave a soft pat to her hands before ringing the doorbell to the home.

He offered the girl on last longe gaze before suddenly disappearing.

The grand door creaked open, the small creature immediately looking at the girl lying before his doorstep, while a smaller creature yipped next to him. He glanced around for others, his eyes not ears catching sight of anyone else lurking near.

“Hmm.” The Yordle said. “Now how do I bring you inside?” He questioned himself, one of his small fingers tapping his chin.

Let me know if you cry, I tried to make it sad. I was so sad last night writing this that I had to make the mother live, I couldn’t do it. She probably won’t make it though.

60 notes · View notes

smol-lydia · 2 months ago

Text

Coffee and Cigarettes: A Viktor x f!Reader Rehab AU

TWs: mentions of drug use (future, not this chapter) mentions of anorexia and bulimia, smoking, mental health issues

Summary: You didn’t exactly sign up to spend part of your time as a scholarship student at the elite Piltover Academy on medical leave at a co-Ed rehab for those who struggle with addiction, but you want to keep your academic standing, so here you are.

You also didn’t sign up for the cute theoretical physics major turned fellow patient with the golden eyes and irresistible accent, either

A/N: hi all I’m backkkkk it’s about damn time!!! I’m currently going through a very transient period in my life and all that, and I haven’t watched act 2 yet due to that but I do know Jinx and Vik meet, and ik he calls her Powder. I figure that he would call her Jinx here if she wanted it though. I may have made reader a cello player because my sweet golden retriever of a boyfriend plays the cello lmao

I’ll have 15 months clean + sober at the end of November, gd willing 🙏💜

—-

The ward smelt of antiseptic. Wait—no. This isn’t a ward. You’re bleary eyed and tired from the meds they’ve given you to detox; being shuffled from a more intensive unit to this co-Ed rehab just feels like a blurry stop on a long road.

Your belongings are in a plastic “patient belongings” bag and a single wheelie bag; you hadn’t planned on this. On any of this.

On the Disaster. On having to take a leave from the elite Piltover Academy, the university where you had gotten a scholarship as a music student. The Dean said your scholarship wasn’t in danger; that the department just wanted you well again.

You didn’t know what you wanted anymore.

The intake isn’t much of a change as before. Name. Vitals. A new hospital bracelet to replace the other. Answering the same questions over and over, as though they aren’t in your file. You want to crawl into bed and stay there forever.

The charge nurse, a no-nonsense woman whose name tag reads “Sevika” seems done with you before you even open your mouth.

As you sit there, in the hard plastic chair, drawing your knees up to your chin, a short, blue haired girl approaches the nurses’ station.

She’s thin. Too thin, her collar bones sticking out and her cheeks hollow. You know that look, the look of malnourishment, and envy burns worse than the stomach acid.

“Sevika—“ the girl starts, and Sevika holds up her hand in a “stop” motion.

“I’m busy. Intake.”

“You can’t just—“

“Jinx. Unless your arm is about to fall off or something, it can wait twenty minutes. Go talk to Lest.”

“Fuck you too.”

Sevika rolls her eyes, and turns her attention back to you. “Well, now I can say you’ve met your roommate.”

“My roommate?”

“You’ll be in Room 2 with Jinx. We’re gonna keep your luggage locked up here until after dinner when the night staff can search your belongings for contraband with you.”

You want to say that if you possibly had contraband it would have been taken at the detox; that Sevika surely would know that given your paperwork. But she doesn’t seem like the type you want to get into a pissing contest with, especially on your first day.

Finally, she lets you go with a gruff, “you can go into the community room now,” flagging down a lackey to lead you, still shell-shocked, down a hallway and through a pair of double doors.

The community room is a little rough around the edges, but you can forgive that, given you’re more than a little rough around the edges yourself.

There’s a few couches scattered here and there, a plain wooden table in the back with some chairs drilled into the floor. A series of cubbies along one wall, with personalized name tags clearly designed by one of the patients’ in blue and pink paints.

A bookshelf with a small lending library of books; if your mind wasn’t so fuzzy you would gravitate towards here immediately. If you weren’t busy with your cello, your head is always buried in some book or another. It didn’t exactly make you the most popular growing up.

Maybe that was why—

No. That was stupid.

You stand on the precipice, the stupid binder they’ve given you on entry held close to your chest, taking in the scene around you, of the other fuck ups in the cage, so to speak. There’s the blue-haired girl, the skinny one, that’s supposed to be your roommate. She’s sitting all wrong on one of the tall-backed armchairs, the kind that you used to see in the Academy library. In the matching armchair next to her is possibly the most attractive boy you’ve ever seen.

All lanky limbs and sharp angles, with bright golden eyes and thick brown hair you immediately want to run your hands through. His crutch is next to the chair, and he has an Academy pin on the lapel of his vest—his shirt underneath is rolled to the elbows and you keep thinking about his forearms for some reason.

Oh god, this is bad.

Your mouth goes dry, and it gets worse when you notice he has the most perfect mole by his mouth, begging to be caught by an errant kiss. Your heart is hammering in your chest and your realize that not only is this quite possibly the worst “first day of school” vibe ever, but you haven’t said anything for the past thirty seconds like some sort of startled creature afraid of her own shadow.

The blue-haired girl throws a wad of paper at the Beautiful Boy’s head. “Hey, Vitya!”

“I told you to stop throwing things at my head.”

Oh, his accent is enough to bring you to your knees, too.

“Fine. But look! We got a new one! And Sevika said she’s rooming with me!”

Vitya—if that’s his name—turns his attention to you, and you don’t know what to say or do.

Thankfully, you don’t have to. An effortlessly cool young woman takes control, sticking her hand out for you to shake, blocking your view of the boy.

“I’m so sorry they just left you like this. Lest. One of the floor counselors.”

“The only cool one,” Blue Hair drawls from the corner.

“Jinx—“ Lest doesn’t even pretend to be mad.

“Would you like to introduce yourself?”

You shrug your shoulders, mutter your name. That’s enough, apparently, and you are about to go hide in a corner, but no such luck.

“Hey! New roomie!” Jinx waves you over.

“Hm?”

Jinx hangs off the chair. “I scared off the last roommate.”

“Jinx, you snuck contraband up your—“ Vitya points out in a matter of fact tone.

Jinx cuts him off with the wave of a hand. “Details, Viktor. Does it really matter?”

“Well, yes.”

You laugh. You can’t help it. Viktor has a wry sense of humor; you can see the twinkle in his eyes when he speaks, and it’s precisely the same type you enjoy. The sound seems to catch him off guard, and he looks at you up and down for a long moment; you find yourself wondering if you’re being studied, and it takes a lot of effort to keep your gaze level.

A click of a doorknob and heavy footsteps.

“Jinx, meds.” Sevika.

“Do I have to?”

“What do you think?”

“Ugh, fine.” Jinx gets up, blue braids trailing behind her, leaving just you and Vitya-Viktor. You’re still standing awkwardly, not sure if you’re bold enough to take her spot.

“She has a thing about the chair,” he says, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“I mean, I get it. If I had been here a while I would probably have a favorite too.”

You settle for the floor, drawing one knee up to your chest and circling it with your arm.

“It has been a while.”

Shit. If this is what Jinx looked like after a while in treatment, you probably didn’t want to see what the “before” was. You decide to change the subject.

“Vitya or Viktor?”

“An abrupt topic change.”

“I noticed you were called both. I was wondering what your name is.”

At this, you are gifted a rare smile from him, something you know you’ll be playing over and over again in your mind.

“It’s Viktor.”

——

#viktor arcane #arcane viktor #my fic writing #my fic #viktorxreader #viktor x reader fic #viktor x f!reader #viktor x y/n #arcane viktor x reader #viktor nation #jinx arcane

74 notes · View notes

ihopeinevergetsoberr · 2 months ago

Text

— i’m in love with a dying man

rating: mature. or explicit? i’m not sure. angsty study on grief in unconventional forms. (mild) smut purely for poetic reasons

word count: 4,1k

pairing: viktor x gn!reader

cw: terminal illness. several mentions of death. everyone is horny in a heartbroken way, so grab a napkin—but not for the reasons you think. and yes, you may dox me for making you even sadder after whatever happened in ep 6.

—

He licks a tear off your cheek, and it seeps in between the bumps on his tongue, all prickly salt running down your face in two glossy trails of sorrow. Stinging, when his calloused thumb swipes over a puffy eyelid, only to inevitably fall to your lip and tug, nudging your mouth agape. His desperate grip softens when you oblige and arch, letting him grunt over the slope of your throat; wheezier than you remember, raw, rhotic and ravenous. The hard shift of his lungs is palpable under your hand, ruckling heavily in his sternum. It almost breaks down to a cough when he cants his hips into you, slanting one last slow, weak slam. Spilling all his pent-up frustration deep inside you through that bitter orgasm, leaving a clumsy mess of stickiness to dry on your inner thigh. Stilling for you to hold him through that collapse, grateful for the shaky hand that you firmly fist into his hair. Not receding until at least a few kisses are strewn upon your shoulder.

It’s always like this now. Viktor clings to you, and you cling to him, nails digging into handfuls of him hard enough to draw blood, each embrace so tight your ribs might just break if he doesn’t retreat in time. And god does he wish to let it linger, to drag it out until eternity tumbles in—even if his eternity is reduced to a question of mere months at best, even if he must crawl out of a casket to have your touch back.

The night you almost lost him still has you in shambles. You remember it all too well—hell, it’s almost like that acute smell of hospitals and doom still coats his skin, more slimline than it ever was, its once ivory shade fading to chalk-like disaster. The utter horror of crushing verdicts, endless heaps of bloodied handkerchiefs and palms so cold that even the heat of your breath fails to make the feeling of him any less chilling.

The dark humor of sneaky death: she’s right around the corner, the cruelest of all mistresses. Ready to snatch him away whenever your fingers ghost over his spine, stroking a languid count over each prominent vertebrae. And no matter how tight you curl up beside him, she will supplant you, and her proximity can’t be measured in miles, feet, or inches. Because death is a termite—she gnaws at his very heart. And blooms metastases everywhere you still have him. She’s inside him. She’s merged with him into one.

At first, you denied it. Knuckles drummed against the wall in a frustrated fistfight, painting that scabrous canvas bright with your frustration. White and crimson—the speckled pattern of your hysteria. You recall how bad it stung, and how shame creeped up your spine—frightening and so, so sticky. Throttling, when he tended to that self-inflicted disaster, bandaging your smashed hand in motions sick to the core with gentleness.

And it felt so ugly. Like you’ve grown to loathe everything around you: the doctors, for their disgusting prognosis; life itself, for being hardly fair. And even Viktor. Especially him—for slowly slipping out of your pale-knuckled grip. Well, red-knuckled, more like. That angry stunt did cost you a decent injury. White and crimson, remember?

Naturally, grief doesn’t always progress by the book. However, denial always comes first. It’s an axiom, an invariable component, and you’re sitting on Viktor’s hospital cot, hand in trembling hand, eyes snapped wide and ferocious. Wrapped up in fear while the silence rings in your ears.

His doctor addresses the quandary. It doesn’t feel vicious—at least, not yet. Flimsy, more like. Deceptive, too. Like if you just blink it away hard enough everything will snap right in place, and you’ll find yourself at home again—where that aseptic smell of medication can’t reach either of you.

Well, of course, there’s always a possibility of postponing the inevitable. Winning over a year or, even, two—if Viktor’s lucky enough, that is. But you both know that he’s lacking in that department.

And yet, you grab your little hope by the throat: to look into later, when your comprehension is intact again. Surely, it’s just not plausible: so what if Viktor’s cough pulls you out of sleep every night, so what if every shirt he owns has tiny blood stains on it? Yes, he spends more time in bed than he does at the lab. He’s simply tired. He needs the rest. Not in peace.

The retraction doesn’t linger, though. It survives a few more blood tests and a lengthy, dreadful discussion of his calamity—most strikingly frightening when the doctor talks him through each option. And not a single one manages to appease you. To stop your fury from retching out and causing an ugly scene.

So you fling the door to his room ajar and leap inside with a bitter scowl, teeth gritting hard enough to crumble into powder. Arms a tight crisscross over your chest, step wide and listless—punctuated with a muffled clack of heels. Viktor’s eyes follow your tremulous circles—a lazy, sheenless flick of pupils, each widened into a bleak void from the rancid dose of painkillers. He lays supine, with his hair ineptly slicked back, umber waves awry, loose and sweat-damp. He’s almost mellow, tongue barely a glide over his chapped bottom lip—a martyr-like stiffness, the carrion of a man.

But you don’t look at him. You pace, and pace, and pace—in that same tiring route, all around his creaky cot. Viktor rasps something indistinct—a muffled plea that tickles the back of his throat, rupturing yet another coughing fit. You silently hand him the speckled handkerchief.

He looks up, eyes the saddest shade of buckwheat honey—dark with remorse; seeking comfort. But you don’t have any to give. You stare past him, gnawing at your tongue hard enough to draw fleshy copper. Dodging the kiss he tries to press to your wrist—pulling yourself back and out of his loving grip, igniting a staring competition full of glassy eye-daggering. Blink slow and borderline drowsy.

“Milackú,” he pleads. Pulls at the corner of his mouth to wipe the bloody evidence of his withering.

Your tear catches in your bottom lashes.

“Milackú,” he rasps again, kicking the blanket aside. Stepping one bare foot on the cool tiles and reaching for you: arms, legs, and heart—all yours for the taking. If only you consider crawling under his minty sheets again.

You don’t.

“Why?” It’s so meek you barely recognize it as your own. Taut throat tightens even more, and, suddenly, you’re choking on a gasp. “Why did you turn down the treatment?”

“Please, if you could just—“ He husks, but you can’t hear him through the ringing in your ears; the room already smudged into wattery, astigmatic lumps, Viktor’s face but a bunch of fuzzy dots you’re struggling to make out. All missing jigsaws, blurry little fractions.

“What did I ever do to you?” You yell, shielding your eyes. Turning away from the arm he extends, his weak fist clenching to grab thin air, then tumbling as he stares at his palm in sheer dubiety, upper lip trembling.

He winces. Ceases you by the hand and tugs as hard as it gets—frail enough for you to easily nudge him away—but you don’t bother this time. Your knees ungainly bend into shaky arcs, drifting apart when he clasps around you and pulls until you finally land on the sheets next to him, your tears mingling with his cold sweat—a salty fusion of mutual suffering.

Then comes a sequence of guttural, squealing whines and you stay twined with him for a while. Lithe fingers run through your hair, spreading to untangle an occasional knotted strand—up, and down, and over your shoulder in a caress. His lips purse on your temple, sucking an indistinct kiss. His heartbeat trails off under your fingertips the second you rake them over his thin hospital gown, growing frenetic again when you tug at the fabric, demanding closure.

“Please. Please don’t do this to me.” You exhale your choked up entreaty into his neck and it pours over his skin in a rigid breath, aftertasting of stinging desperation. His hand seeks your face, taking a forcefully gentle hold of one puffy cheek, drinking in your unsightly, woebegone rebuke. Looking at you like a repentant devotee, his timid eyes meeting your fierce ones.

“This is not about you,” he wheezes, too stern for your liking. Presses his forehead against yours and holds you through yet another shudder—and there’s no avoiding his pleading stare. “I’m not trying to get away from you. I merely want to escape my conundrum.”

“These aren’t mutually exclusive, Viktor,” you hiss, voice simmering with betrayal.

“Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?! Is that all you have for me right now?”

“I’m afraid so.”

He sighs like he means it. His words keep slipping away from him, drowned in coughs and ambiguous humms. You get it, though. Your semantics became sparse the minute Viktor almost died in your arms.

You melt into one-another in a teary, sniffling twine—simply breathing, trading tense silences. His stately stance collapses into a lifeless hunch, straightening a bit only when your fingers billow over his shoulder-blades—chiseled like ones of a famished dog. There are plenty of dog-like things about him now—the pleas lodged in his glances, the newfound hunger for your touch. Especially for the way you’re holding him; every embrace like a loving headlock—and the pressure soothes him.

“I’m tired of taking risks,” he finally whispers against your temple. “All these… labored efforts for mere fractions of peace. Decaying steadily. Constantly hurting. I’m spent.”

“Exactly. Which is why you need the treatment.”

His lashes shudder against your cheek in a prickly tickle. They keep fluttering when he recedes, shaking his head with a bitter frown.

“But its success is… highly improbable.”

“Yes, but there’s still hope—“

“It’s running thin as we speak. I shouldn’t squander it on… the imminent.”

Viktor’s irksome choice of words had you springing backwards in glossy-eyed delirium. Staring in disbelief as if he’d requested something inexorable: which he did, inherently so.

He curses when tears slice your face again—tends to them with the softness of a man most contrite of his omission, shaky hands already catching holds of your waist, using your temporary pliancy to swiftly nudge you into his cot. Curling up close enough to have your weeps reverberate in his sternum.

“I’m sorry,” he repents with a deep rasp. “Please, don’t cry.”

He held you in reticence again: this time horizontally. Offered you every solace his body could provide: your fingers in his hair, fumbling mindlessly (he put them there himself). Tangled legs. Apologetic neck-kisses. His head heavy on your shoulder, its weight a welcome tranquility. And only when your last tear soaks his pillow does he commence with his explanation.

“I don’t want to spend what little time I have left miserable,” he tells you, drawing a breath. “Yes, the treatment might win me a year—a year I would spend bedridden, nauseous, and weary. A travesty of life. An illusive salvation. I’ve had enough of those.”

Your hand stills in his hair, nestled within unkempt strands. You’ve run out of tears, so this bitter truth is met with nothing but a piteous sigh—the only thing you can still master after crying your heart out into his skin. Now you can only stare at the ceiling, chewing on your cheek in cruel denial.

He’s right. He always is.

Viktor sees the shift in your face—knits his eyebrows together in tender pity, tucking himself firmly against your face. Wincing, when he feels the aching tension in your temple.

“I know I’m asking a lot of you. Too much, even.” He’s sincere when he says that, and you can sense the gratitude in his voice—for even allowing him to utter this excruciating of a thing, for attempting to understand.

You simply nod. Yes. It is a lot. But you want to hear everything he has to say.

So Viktor continues.

“I would hate for your last memories of me to be tainted with despair and hospitals only for all the struggle to go to waste when I inevitably pass away. I have no desire to postpone this torture at the expense of growing indifferent towards everything that makes me feel alive.”

“But what if we manage to cure you?!”

“That’s too much of a ‘what if’ to risk dying a grim death for. I want to die…content. I want to enjoy myself before I do. Please. Don’t take that choice away from me.”

His eyes brim at you with every ounce of guilt he possesses, big tears wallowing in his eyes like an earnest plea—tacit, weary, earnest. Yes, it’s not like you have a word in his terrific decision, but Viktor wants your blessing. It’s only right that he includes you. Even if he’s intending to refuse the treatment regardless. As absurd a bid as that is.

You clasp his face like it’s about to vanish. Like you won’t be able to make it out when he’s gone if you fail to remember it right this instant, your gaze frantically jumping from one feature to another, seeking to embroider the image into your very eyeballs. Roaming over the artifically-white hospital light hallowing every streak of his hair. Indulging in a bittersweet smile when you note how prettily it spills over the pillow. Lingering on the patterns in his ochre irises—almost fully swallowed by his void-like pupils. Observing how they match the insomniac, mauve shades under his bottom lashes. Tracing every convex little thing—two lovely moles, thick eyebrows, the pointy mouth. Everything you’ve grown to love so dearly. Everything his illness keeps taking away from you.

You wince, cradling his cheeks, your thumbs dipping into the hollows of them gently. Urging him to scoot closer—eye to eye, lips on lips. Breath over shuddering breath.

“Are you sure?” You mouth the question on his skin, barely even uttering it. Hot pressure meanders into your head like a prickly impulse. It’s timid like motion sickness—borderline nauseating, too—all murky splashes of trippy lights under your closed eyelids. And the unease is diluted only when he finally kisses you—an approbatory, guilt-ridden thing.

He’s certain. And for that, he’s so, so sorry.

You try not to think of it, focusing on the feeling. No tongue, no teeth: just sheer tremor and so much rawness. A soft, soothing exhalation straight into your mouth like the gentlest of placebos—and yet, it works for you, slaps your pulse out of its frantic antics, and the stiffness slowly leaves your limbs under his touch.

When it’s over, he winces at you in that sleepy, adoring way of his. Attempts a wry, sad smile. The cold light besieges his head into an even clearer halo—a foreshadowing of what is to come, an inconspicuous little thing. But everything about him is conspicuous to you. Loving Viktor has made you wary, and you wanted to hold onto that attention to the detail before it eventually slips away alongside him.

“Are you sure?” You repeat, tightening the inadvertent chokehold around his neck. The grip weakens only when he pulls away to clumsily clear his throat.

“Yes.” And you know he means it when his face turns just as solemn as when he confesses his love to you.

“I’ve had a nice life with you,” he adds, hoarsely. “I want it to feel nice when my time comes, too—whenever that might be. Sooner than later, I presume.”

The figurative knife in your stomach twists anticlockwise.

“Will you stay with me?” He dares to inquire. Meek, shaky hope tingling in his throat. “For however many months I have left?”

And when you look up at him with a hurt frown, he’s reminded not to ask you rhetorical questions.

—

A few days later, Viktor is discharged from the hospital and insists that you both go back to normal. Well, to the new, tainted definition of it—where one spoiled napkin less is considered an ephemeral improvement and grief is a fixed variable by your side.

Your slow-paced, quiet life that keeps turning even more timid in a frail attempt to savor what’s left of it. Faux preservation, but he allows it—savors it just as earnestly as you do, and your weeks weave into a darling, familiar routine. With some minor, necessary changes, no less: rest comes before the lab now, all deadlines fashionably late to accommodate this newfound tempo. Mandatory hourly breaks. Weekly check-ups. Four days off for every three he spends bent over the parchment. But this time, he doesn’t protest. His body demands it, inconveniently so.

You don’t tell anyone about your horrific arrangement—not yet, at the very least. It’s all you can think about, and the words threaten to slide out every time you speak—but you’re forced to swallow them with a smile so lopsided that everyone around you can only suspect the worst. A mantra of countless ‘What’s wrong’s irritating your ears with pure sincerity.

What is wrong with you, indeed? You’re a spectator to death—not just any death, but the one you dreaded most. And not only are you witnessing it in the making, but this decision was never forced—you handed Viktor the choice and accepted whatever he went with so obediently that it felt absurd, and it had your skin crawling every time someone vaguely mentioned anything even remotely related to his condition.

But they—whoever that refers to—could never get it. They wouldn’t know what it’s like: to be stripped of your selfishness for the sake of Viktor’s peace. Defying your needs. Forcing yourself to find relief in demise. You might’ve failed to intimidate her into allowing you to keep him, but you could still accompany him into her arms and make it glorious. Here it is. Your new, appalling reason. It’s all that you want now.

Or is it?

There’s plenty of nobility in being his chaperone—welcoming him into bed every night, painfully aware that it can become his death one. Treating every new invention of his like a soon-to-be postmortem legacy. Mourning the living. Anticipating the inexplicable. Marking every shared kiss the last, just in case.

But then it came—unabashed and sudden. That blurry line where mourning merges into something dubious, a confusing paradox that leaves you full of filthy carry-over somewhere within your gut. The scorch his lips engrave into the column of your neck. The way it ignites a swell you can almost convince yourself is actually tangible, running your fingers over it recursively like a tactile little prayer. The gaze he throws at you across the lab ever so sneakily—a figurative punch that feels surprisingly close to a kiss. And you never resist turning it into one. Escalating. Claiming. Indulging those ambiguous, yet-to-be-defined things and having them wash over the remnants of your decorum.

You try to fight it when it first happens, but it doesn’t last. There’s no place for restraint in grief—not when it turns into a beautiful desire to be all over him, to take everything life has to offer before he runs out of it. And Viktor doesn’t judge you. He encourages it. He craves it, just as bad—if not more—than you do. How many more undoings can he claim before the final one absorbs him? You’ve already lost that count. So much for having your love bleed on every inch of his skin.

Tonight you let it bleed mouth to mouth—a sweaty, heartfelt thing that commemorates your hunger for him in a kiss so dizzying that he has to lean back with a silent, breathless plea for brief interlude—foggy eyes staring up at you so devotedly. Shuddering, when your arms wander over his chest to feel the rasp, pointed lips bruised full of spit-slick swell. He’s a beauty—exquisite, albeit worn-down, his lines and angles blurring together into one eager, contourless essence, and you cage him in a firm straddle—your bare thighs over his clothed ones—grinding in a whiny attempt to reach him through his pants.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, leaning back to let him breathe. He’s sprawled out beneath you, tortuous hands already busy with tugging his tie off—impatient, clumsily nervous. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” you say at last, averting your gaze almost shyly. His fingers lurch to your hip, locking it in a gentle cradle, stilling above your backside in hesitation—asking for a laze caress, pushing your flimsy limits. As if forgetting that you never set those for him. Or, perhaps, he simply likes hearing your excited ‘yes’ every time. You can’t quite figure out which it is.

He grabs a handful of you with reverence, and yet there’s something resilient about that grip—like he dreads that you might slip through his fingers if he doesn’t hold on possessively enough, staring up at you with his head thrown back in a curious, admiring droop. Aiming to dispose of your shirt in a nimble pull. Plotting a sequence of kisses from neck to collarbone.

You expect it when he rises on his elbows, then grips the bedframe to shift beneath you in a silly leap. Inelegant, but he couldn’t care less, releasing his hips from the hedge of your legs to make you slide up his crotch instead—a most welcome, brusque change that you adapt to in a squealing instant. Your moaning mouth agape under his grin. His hips thrusting through restraining fabric. Shaky. Erotic. With your arms tumbling astride his shoulders.

“Don’t apologize,” Viktor insists in a lulling whisper, switching to a cautionary nip on your ear. “I’ve missed you, too,” he confesses somewhere into your hair, brushing through it with a tip of his nose—breathing you in through a tender whiff.

Your words get lost in a deep fluster, rolling back into your throat and lingering there in a suffocating lump. They have you stiffening, heavy eyelids squeezing shut—a voluntarily blindfold to help you explore him through touch only. An invitation to feel you where he pleases. And, well—it just so happens that your whims align with his—a cohesive, welcome collateral.

Viktor starts at the slope of your shoulder. Pulls the shirt down and traces that lovely curve—fingers first. Throws a brief, askance glance at your face to make sure that your eyes are closed, and, when met with the flutter of your lashes, gets back to his lovely tease. Tender, warm lips taste your skin with delicious, savoring sounds. Getting wetter when his tongue makes a fickle appearance—leaves a slick, capricious lick in the dip of your collarbone, fluffy hair tickling your face when he bends to tend to your chest, too—and you shiver as he sucks a plum love-stain that you’ll proudly wear under your shirts.

“See,” he cooes. “Whatever gets into you must be contagious.”

You give in to a half-lidded peek and find him begging for your assistance—a sweet request that you understand in half-nod. Arms up in the air and over your clouded head when he unleashes your skin from the thin garment—throws it on the floor for you to find later in the morning.

“But it feels wrong.” You sigh. “Ever since we found out…”

“I’d rather you quit talking about that in bed, please,” Viktor reproaches, eyes heady with want. His fingers slide into your underwear, contemplating its fate—should he make it join your shirt or pull it to the side in hasty fashion? Either approach had him shivering at the thought.

But the sudden sorrow stops the rush, rendering your urge for consolation. It wraps you around him all over again, legs locking in a tangle around his waist, drooping hands combing through his hair in a brusque, fervent tug. Seeking succor. Heart to heart and thumping an anxious march.

“I’m afraid,” you admit, but it’s not a revelation. All shuddering shoulders under his idolatrous caress, and you pang with guilt at that, too—it’s you who should be fondling him this delicately, warm reassurance seeping into his ears—not yours. But Viktor wants to be your comfort. If anything, it’s the only thing on his mind.

“What are you afraid of, beloved?” A little shiver at the unforeign endearment—a rare occasion. His thick brows still drawn together in a concerned arc. They relax only when you rake your fingers down his body—counting ribs, toying anxiously. The hurry is gone, there’s only caution now: his enamored eyes, waiting for you to find your slippery words.

“Of losing you before I get to show you how much I love you.” You whisper, suddenly tasting teary salt in your mouth. His thumb comes to the rescue, swiftly flicking the wet trails. So you chuckle at the affection in a silly stagger to bump sweaty foreheads together.

“Nonsense,” he insists. “You’re showing me right now.”

“Indeed.” You shrug. “But… Is this the right way?”

And when he puts your palm over his eager heartbeat, you’re reminded not to ask him rhetorical questions.

—

tags: @zaunitearchives @blissfulip @nausicaaandhermouth @thehistoriangirl @vyshnevska

#viktor arcane #viktor fanfic #arcane season 2 #viktor x reader #arcane season two spoilers #viktor angst #viktor smut #viktor x reader smut #viktor x gn!reader #viktor x f!reader #viktor x m!reader #viktor x any reader really #not specified AT ALL #wrote this in severe writers block so please be nice to me #im serious ill cry #arcane fanfic #arcane angst #viktor arcane angst

2K notes · View notes

zevrra · 1 month ago

Text

𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫

synop: (this is the final part to this series) ; you somehow manage to take on both viktor and jayce inside the lab.

wc: 2k

includes: smüt(ns//fw), fem!reader, threësome, fïngering, ëdging, v peneträtion, double v peneträtion, semi-public sëx, dirty talk

extra: make sure to read part 1 & 2 as well!! thank you all for the love and support on this <33

“shit.” jayce groans at the sight of you. neither he nor viktor could argue against your wishes when you looked so damn good like that, begging for them both. you watch as both of them blush a soft red before both nodded in agreement. “it’ll take some…time.” jayce adds with a slight gesture to his own twitching cöck; pride and worry in his tone.

but none of that mattered. you said what you said and you’d live up to it. “don’t care. i want you both.”

and he wasn’t kidding when he said it would take some time.

after what feels like an eternity of jayce fingering you, stretching you out, drawing you closer and closer to a second orgasm only to rip his fingers away from you, you’re beginning to fear you might lose your mind. you sit in his lap, as he’s returned to sitting on top of the desk, with your legs spread open wide for all to see. and if you were in any other state of mind, you might have been a little embarrassed about being so exposed. but not now, now you were simply dumbed down with pleasure as jayce’s hand sneaks its way back to your aching pussy.

“no more.” you weep, tensing up as his fingers press back into your core. he easily slides three fingers clean up until the second knuckle inside of you.

“sorry pretty, gotta make sure you can take us both.” jayce mumbles softly into your hair, almost apologetically but he’s not really that sorry. he’s not sorry at all, especially when his fingers slip oh-so-easily inside of you and the noises he forces out of you and your soaking cunt. listening to you moan while your core makes the most embarrassing, wet noises; oh no it turned him and viktor on extremely.

viktor stands between your thighs then, kissing the top of your head as he presses two of his own fingers inside you, sliding right up against jayce’s fingers and stretching you even further. “you were the one who begged for both of us, weren’t you?” vik hums in a teasing tone, a smile on his face. he flexes his fingers inside of you, just about the same time jayce does and it would have pissed you off how in sync they were but the mind numbing pleasure shut you up far too quickly.

“just a little more.” jayce encourages sweetly, placing a kiss against your head.

you whine in response to both of them, panting heavily as their fingers begin to work faster inside of you. they both finger you in turn, matching each other’s pace effortlessly, as they stretch you more and more. jayce’s fingers push deep, viktor’s pulls out, jayce slips his fingers out, viktor pushes his right back in. back and forth they work on your cunt until you’re growing hotter. lava burns in your lower abdomen and in your thighs and it makes you fidget against jayce’s lap. you whine at the tight feeling at your core, begging for any kind of release. and as the tightness grows closer and closer, you get louder and louder with each press of the fingers inside of you. the threat of coming again makes your toes curl, back arching, fingers gripping into the closest arm you can grab onto as your orgasm burns in your lower half.

but just like the several times before, the two men remove their fingers just at the last second. your orgasm threatens to break open the floodgates but is quickly retreating at the loss of stimulation and the edging leaves you gasping while tears cling to your eyelashes. “‘ts enough! i can’t take it anymore!” you plead.

jayce returns to placing soft kisses wherever he can reach while his hands smooth along your arms and the rest of your body. “you did amazing.” he praises, adjusting your body as he speaks, so now you can fully lean your weight back against him. hands sliding under your thighs and keeping your legs open for the next part to come. “viktor, give her what she wants.“

you could almost weep at his words but instead you nod as quickly as you can. “please.”

“mhm darling.” viktor softly hums in response to your begging. one of his hands presses against jayce’s knee as he angles himself right up against your core. his other hand wraps around his overly aching cock, giving it a swift tug with a low groan, before he’s pressing forward. the tip of his pink head slides easily against your wet cunt; and he slides even easier inside of your waiting body.

you tighten at the intrusion but quickly welcome it as viktor bottoms out. his hips press against your own as he slips his cock all the way inside you, reaching deeper than their fingers could have and it makes you cry with relief. “yes! god, yes.” you groan as you take all of viktor with ease.

who in turn mimics your groan at the warmth wrapped around him. he braces himself completely down onto jayce’s thighs now, forcing himself to still for a moment. “shit...” viktor comments with a whine before he slowly pulls out, his pretty eyes never leaving where the two of you connect, staring as he disappears once again inside of you. and he whimpers when he bottoms out for the second time.

you can’t help but chuckle a little at his fixation on your bodies meshing together. you reach with a gentle hand and caress the side of his face and he melts into your touch, glancing up at you while his hips begin to move ever so slightly. “you ok?” you ask sweetly, thumb rubbing across the high of his cheekbone.

“i am better than okay.” viktor replies with a small smile. the pupils of his eyes are wide upon looking up at your mutually red face and you manage a weak smile right back at him.

“c’mere. you’re making me feel so good.” you hum and your words make his hips stutter. he moves just a little faster, leaning forward with your guiding hand to allow both of you to kiss. and you kiss him oh so sweetly. your tongue running across his bottom lip and he gladly matches your movement while he keeps his pace thrusting inside of you.

jayce bites down on your shoulder, not to hurt you or anything, just to get your attention as you and viktor share a heated kiss. “don’t forget about me…” he mutters, pouting as he shifts his hips to press his own angry red head against your body.

you gasp softly at the thick of his tip pressing into your skin, causing you to briefly break the kiss with viktor to glance over your shoulder at the pouting man. “well, come on then. make me feel good too.” you tell jayce and it’s all he needs to hear before his hand slips from the back of your thigh to wrap around his thick cock, pressing the head right up against where viktor steadily fucks into you. you return to kissing viktor, eating up every whimper and groan the other man lets loose into your mouth.

jayce times everything else perfectly. as viktor pulls out, jayce rushes inside. his thick cock spears you deeper than vik’s had and you hate to say it but thank fuck for all the prepping jayce had insisted on. he slips deep inside and before you can fully adjust to his size alone, viktor is slipping himself right back inside of you; right next to jayce.

to say you’re stuffed full is an understatement. they both sit deep inside of you, moving just enough to continue to stretch you further now that they’ve managed to fit inside. you can’t help but cry into vik’s mouth, and it’s his turn to eat up every noise you make. and just like with their fingers before, the two fall into a perfect rhythm. viktor dives in, jayce slips out, viktor presses back inside; the combo leaves you breathless.

jayce’s hands return to your thighs as he ruts inside of you, messy but he makes up for it with his girth while viktor places perfectly angled thrusts into every sensitive bit inside your throbbing pussy. you break the kiss with a sharp cry as the two continue, hearing vik whimper at how much tighter you must feel now. meanwhile jay is in your ear grunting harshly with each thrust. “fuck.” he groans, hips never faltering as pleasure takes hold of him while he slips and slides right up against viktor. his nose digs into the crook of your neck and he practically pants against you, fingers tightening on your thighs.

you can’t even respond. words are nonexistent to you anymore as you’re split in half with both men fucking you; and all you can do is weep with pleasure. your orgasm is quick to build up again, it doesn’t take much now anyway, as the burn returns inside of your lower half. viktor presses his head against your other shoulder and somehow the two know to turn and place kisses against your throat. you were definitely going to be sore tomorrow but would need a damn turtleneck at this point too…you can’t complain though.

“going to…” viktor whispers against your neck and you nod in agreement. you were also getting closer and closer to the edge of your orgasm too.

doesn’t help when jayce suddenly ups his speed and deepens his thrusts, throwing both you and viktor into a spiraling mess. “j-jayce!” you cry, his fingers tightening again against your thighs as he practically piledrives inside of you, wildly thrusting against viktor as well.

“can’t last.” jayce grunts, burying his nose as deep as he can into your neck once more. “finish together.” he adds with a deep groan.

viktor is the first to lose himself. he slips out, whimpering, thrusting into his hand to finish himself off across your hip. you, mere seconds after vik, finish with jayce still pounding into you. he fucks you through your orgasm as it crashes down on you like a wave. you try to form any semblance of words but nothing slips past your lips besides pathetic whines. and with you squeezing tight around jayce through your much needed orgasm, it brings him into his own. his hips stutter harshly a few more times inside your spent pussy before he’s slipping out of you, quickly fucking the rest of his climax out against his hand, roping every last drop out onto your thigh and hip.

after his finish, all three of you return to mostly silence then, the lab being filled with nothing but your shared heavy breaths in the wake of your orgasms. you slump against jayce as viktor leans against you, running a hand to smooth through viktor’s hair as you all try and collect yourselves. and to think this all happened because you were too impatient to wait for nightfall. the thought put a small smile on your lips.

“gods. i need a shower.” you cut through the silence, smiling fondly as both jayce and viktor manage weak laughs. “but i don’t think i’ll be walking for a little while.” you add as you semi stretch out along jayce’s strong lap, soreness already settling into your hips.

as if sudden dots are connected, both men realize that they’ve completely—for lack of better words—soiled you; covered in their sticky mess during the midst of their highs. viktor scrambles to find something to clean you up with as jayce shifts and adjusts you onto the desk he previously had been sitting on to help in the search with viktor. shamefully, they come up with nothing besides jayce’s large shirt and he tries cleaning you up the best he can with it.

meanwhile, you try your best not to laugh as he forfeits up his clothes, staining his shirt with the mess he and viktor shared. you watch with soft eyes as jayce cleans you up while vik dresses himself, handing you jayce’s jacket to semi cover yourself with. “next time…let’s use a bed. and be closer to a proper bath.” you hum ’innocently’.

with both men staring at you with shocked faces, you’re unable to hold back anymore; you break out into laughter as viktor and jayce both chirp a surprise; “next time?“

2K notes · View notes

ursawastricked · 2 years ago

Text

Distracting: Part 2

Viktor has been harboring guilt over his accidental thievery of your used champagne glass. At least he had the security that you were none the wiser..that doesn't change that your even harder to ignore now that he spent the weekend studying your lip print

warnings: More of Viktor's developing crush on you, lots of flashback to after the party, him being soft, some VERY mild suggestive stuff..don’t worry more is to come in the next part

Read part 1 here

Word count : 2,339

“Is the sun always that bright?” Viktor whined, covering his gaze as he hurried over toward the window, leaning toward it and squinting disaprovingly at the sunny world beyond it, before pulling on the shades and banishing the light. His head didnt exactly pound anymore, but he had a way of ending up hung over whenever he drank, call it his low weight, or the fact that his anatomy consistently seemed against him, if there was alcohol, it hurts the next day.

“I think it always stays like that Vik '' you answer, earning an unimpressed glance your way as he limps toward his desk and places down his bag. You stretch your arms upward, humming lightly as you feel the satisfying crackle in your spine and knuckles. You personally, feel wonderful. After the party over the weekend, you peeled away your dress and were fast to slip into a hot bath, allowing for your sore muscles to relax and let you practically fall into a perfectly restful weekend. You dont recall too much other than resting on your couch, reading the current novel that had infected your every thought, one you had also slipped into your bag for today when the lab was getting a little boring.

“Ugh..” You hear Viktor let out a relch at the sound of your joints popping, “Why, every morning..That isnt good for you, and it is worse to listen to” He lectured, placing himself in his chair, slowly turning to face you so that his point would get across. You mimic him immedietly, a practiced motion, turning to face him, and mirroring his posture and how his fingers laced together on his knee. He flashed yet another disaproving look, this time punctuated with a, “Rude”.

You snicker lightly, returning yourself to face your desk. Unpacking your bag only takes another minute or so, that moment remaining silent as you and Viktor set up for today's work load. The silence was normal, especially with Viktor, but that's why you liked working with him. While you could spend hours talking with Jayce, bouncing back and forth in a hyper focused frenzy, you much more enjoyed the comfortable silence of working next to Viktor. You had developed a ritual of passing back and forth materials and tools as you worked simultaneously on projects.

He was always respectful, never intentionally touching you without reason, and if he did bump you, he was quick to apologize, which you enjoyed only because of how flustered he got when he began to stumble over words so fast he began to slip into his native language. Or when he would tap you lightly with a pencil, and you would turn to see what he needed, only for him to lean over your notebook and scribble something down, like a warning before he did so.

You had caught yourself memorizing his little mannerisms over time, keeping a small tally at the top corner of your pages for every time he had tricked you into letting him fix a note, or murmured a word you didnt recognize when fidgeting with a new project. It relaxed you, like a little grounding tool to keep your mind occupied when you had tired yourself with your work, a healthy distraction. So you lazily flipped open your notebook to the current page, doodling a little box for today's tallies before pulling the sheet off your current project and beginning your busy work. Viktor sat quietly as he began his project, as usual. He had just gone for his wrench when he caught movement in the corner of his eyes, a familiar motion he had memorized, you're playing with your hair again. His gaze tracks the motion, how the tufts flutter about, if he was closer like last time, he was sure he would be able to smell the shampoo you used again..if he was correct in assuming, it smelt like honey. He didnt notice he was staring until you turned your head and caught him. Your eyes lock with his golden gaze for a short moment, a blissful second of eyecontact between you, before he caught it and you watched his gaze flicker around, his head turning swiftly before settling back on his work and his form shrank down far too close to his project to be safe, but successfully he had avoided the chance of you seeing how harshly his face darkened red. His breath was shaky, as he struggled to keep it low enough that you coculdnt hear. How frustrating, it had been getting harder to avoid your prying eyes, more tedious to avoid you catching him logging your smiles, and even harder to keep up conversations without smiling too much, and you had only added another level to it with that damned glass. That weekend, he had smuggled that stupid glass away from the party. He didnt know why, in fact he was sure it was a trance when he walked into him and Jayce shared an apartment, only to find the empty champagne glass still tucked in his palm. Jayce locked the door as Viktor considered what could have happened to end up here, now a thief..through the glass couldn’t be too expensive, it felt rather cheap.

“What's that you got there?” Jayce asked, leaning over Viktor and causing him the flinch, almost hard enough to send the delicate glass shattering across the floor. He gripped it tighter, giving one of his famously annoyed glances. Jayce lifted his brows, motioning specifically toward the rouge lipstain at the edge.

“Oh? Oh hoho..that color there looks pretty familiar” Jayce had started to tease, his chest was starting to bob with a deep chuckle, the kind he had always given when he was preparing to tease him.

Viktor felt the stab of anxity in his stomach, looking quickly between Jayce’s knowing gaze and the glass before he squirmed a bit away, trying to hide away in his room, fast.

“I dont want to talk about it.” He insisted, tucking away into his room and quickly hiding away the used glass in his closet with a slam.

“Talk about what? Did they give it to you or did you mean to steal it?” Jayce practically howled as he leaned into Viktors room, watching as his friend as he struggled to undo his tie with furious aggression, only getting more incense the longer he struggled. With a loud huff he finally undid it, now wrestling with his shirt vest,

“I didn’t mean t- I didnt steal it from them” He insisted, pulled off the vest before landing on his bed and taking off his shoes, “Oh..so you're not denying it anymore?” Viktor froze, his hands ceasing shakily over his cufflinks. Jayce smirked teasingly, suppressing another laugh until Viktor flung a loose shoe toward him. He quickly took the hint, “Okay! Okay! Good night loverboy-” He laughed, slipping away and leaving Viktor flushed violently and gripping his hair as he fell back into his bed.

At least now he could let his face cool down now that you were no longer watching him, it of course was easier to work and ignore you for a few minutes at a time. Until..

“Hey guys! Sorry I'm late,” Jayce hollered, bursting through the door, nearly tripping over the doorway and spilling the offering of coffe for the trio.

Yes, Viktor was screwed now. Jayce knew, he dditn know to what extent, but he did know. He knew about the glass.

“Here ya go,” Jayce chirped, handing you a coffee with that stupid winning smile.

“Aw, thanks ya goof. You know, you could just not be late, then you wouldn't need to get us coffee every monday.” You explain, sipping the drink as you watch him float off toward Viktor who had frozen solid since the door opened.

“Then I would miss out on your winning smile, you have a very special smile when you get surprised by coffee” He replied, twirling around to the other side of an unresponsive Viktor. He placed the cup beside his friend's hand, leaning over his shoulder to whisper where you couldnt hear.

“I got you the same order, in case you want to ‘swap’ cups again,” He hummed, almost getting hit as Viktor swatted him away. Jayce snickered quietly, slipping away to his own work.

Viktor sat staring at his coffee for a few moments, regrettably reaching for it. Coffee was essential, how unfortunate that it was a gift from Jayce..he drank it non the less, pressing his lips to the lid and gulping down a few mouthfulls and returning finally to an average working pace.

“Vik? Are you there?” Viktor snapped out of his focused state, turning toward the sound before pulling off his goggles and finding you much closer than he expected you to be. You stoof next to him, leaning a little over his side after spending the past minute or so trying to get his attention. You tilted your head, giving an amused huff as you slipped some papers to his desk. “Thank Janna the fire alarm wasn’t going off, you would be cooked by now.” He blinked, glancing from you to the papers a few times before turning to read them better. He pulled them from the table, acutely aware of the fleeting warmth your hands had left.

“Hmm..yes, and I'm sure in wouldn’t notice the heat or pain either,” he replied, looking over your notes with a similar, less intense, focus.

“I wouldnt be surprised, you kinda run on autopilot when you're zoned out. Once you stole my pencil for the day after fixing my notes”, You pull yourself up on the desk, crossing your legs and watching as he scribbles down corrections to your equasions. “And you have yet to return that novel I let you borrow, you're kind of a clepto.”

“I am not a ‘clepto’” he huffed, adjusting one of your notes, biting on the edge of his pencil,

“That's my pencil..”

He pulled it away from his teeth, inspecting it for any signs he may recognize. He flipped it in his hand, finding your initials etched into the wood..

“Ah..so it is..” he muttered, finishing his edits before offering you the pencil.

“No, you keep it.” You say, declining the chewed on pencil and snatching up your papers. You hug them to your chest, walking a step or two before leaning down close to his ear, “Add it to your little collection,” you purr, straightening up and hurrying toward Jayce for a final opinion.

Viktor stills in his seat, holding the pencil loosely between his fingers and staring blankely at the edge of the desk. He twitched his hand lightly, unable to do much more after that.

You were so close..he still felt the warmth of your breath across his throat, the memory of it sending a static shiver down his spine, causing him to lean over his desk and place his head againstt his hands. You were warm, even though you hadnt touched him, and being so close, he could confirm..your shampoo smells like honey.And when you sat on his desk, he had fought every instinct in his body not to look at you, not when you sat above him like that. Your legs crossed, leaned over his work. If he reached over, he could have confirmed another theory, whether or not your thighs were as soft as they looked- Damn it, focus. He coudln’t be doing this, not here. You were no less than a yard away and all he couldnt think about was how good you smelt, how your breath felt against his neck..how your lipstain would look against his skin. He had noticed you were wearing the same color as before.

‘Stop it. They work with you.’

He grabbed his coffee, sipping it aimlessly.

The night after the party, Viktor had sat staring at the single stained glass on his desk. He had pulled it out to clean it, thinking at least he could put it in the kitchen and just forget all about his accidentale thievery. Instead, he had ended up watching it, as if it would squirm or come to life if he only watched for long enough.

He didnt clean it..he let it sit on his desk and continued on with his day. On occasion he would glance at it, sometimes walking over and holding it to closely inspect the print of your lips left on its crystal edge. He always rounded back to it, replaying the memory of you in that dress, giving him the rest of your drink..you smiled..maybe you knew- of course you didnt. Why would you know? He was good about hiding it, right? He didn’t think he made it too obvious, maybe stareing a bit longer than he should have, or that one instance where he had to hide the smile tally from you when you had seemingly manifested beside him.

Before he had slept that night, he absentmindenly brought it with him to the kitchen..he ment to clean it..but instead he had filled it, nursing down a bit of wine to trick his brain into sleeping. Maybe even allow for a dream similar to the events of the party..with less of him standing alone.

He groaned lightly to himself, standing and grabbing his crutch before walking across the room toward the door.

“Everything ok Viktor?” Jayce asked, pulling his attention away from the blackboard,

“Just need some fresh air..” Viktor replied, escaping the lab, and making his way down the hall.

After a walk his head would be clear enough to work again. He would be able ti at least make some progress on the assignment without his thoughts drifting back to how your uniform looked against your skin, or how pretty your voice sounded when you gifted him your stolen pencil..

“Add it to your little collection..”

He paused..eyes wide. “Oh..no..”

539 notes · View notes

lokidjarin-7567 · 1 month ago

Text

Folks.. I am already 4k words into a Viktor x fem!reader smutty, angsty, fluffy one shot and ngl, I’m insanely proud of it. Trying to get the right balance of his character has been so enjoyable; I’ve seen so so many mischaracterisations of him so I really want to do him justice. Anyway, let me know if you’re also in love with this man and want to be on the tag list lol, I’m working on it tirelessly so it will be out in the next day or so I reckon. And it will be long oops - I simply don’t have the time to keep up more than one multi-chapter fic so I have to try and fit all my adoration of him into one shots 😭

#fanfic #viktor arcane #viktor league of legends #viktor x reader #arcane season 1 #arcane season 2 #arcane act 3 #viktor x f!reader #viktor x you #actually obsessive #ttpd

117 notes · View notes

thehistoriangirl · 2 years ago

Note

Bonjour!! I actually wanted to tell you how your writing is always something I look forward to at the end my day, like a candle lighting the darkest corners of my room. Could you maybe write a hopeless romantic!reader that slowly turned pessimistic at the thought of love (psst slow burn). Then Viktor realises how much reader has adored him since forever and wanted to do so in return! Merci♡

Bonjour ! <33 SADFGHJDHSGDJHDHDG thank you so much 🥺🥺🥺 Before anything, I have to said, you just cracked my well-preserved secret! Legend says if you ask me for a slow burn I will get overboard and make a multichapter fic :D and I guess it's true so here we are 🤡 [Brain why you have to be like thissss I hate you] Anyway, I hope you like this first part ;3 Passe une bonne journée, petalthea ! <3

The Oblivious Game I Want to Lose (Without Losing You) [Chapter One]

> M A S T E R L I S T <

Viktor x Fem! (Hopeless Romantic!)Reader-------2.1K------SFW

Synopsis: Your father wants you to forget about pursuing your dream of being an opera singer as your mother was. Instead, he's determined to make you a great business person to fit into his wealthy family—his solution? Hiring one of the smartest students of the Academy as your personal tutor, no other than Heimerdinger's assistant himself. But when you two grow closer, the plan gets tricky as you get your confidence back to fight for your re-discovered dreams just as Viktor starts to achieve his own.

Viktor saw you four times before he was obliged to talk to you.

Inside the Music Faculty, the chandelier sent golden hues against the gold and silver accessories of the guests filling the auditorium. A line of teenagers was waiting, removing awkwardly on their feet as the people organizing the admission test formed them into order.

He was in charge of the lightning, tucked next to the half-open curtain that separated the scenario and the backstage, sitting on a stool with uneven legs. Viktor was careful to balance himself up the wobbling seat, growing less interested in the auditions as time went on. While managing the levers, he considered what his final project for his Mechanic class could be.

Until a wailing interrupted his line of thoughts, almost tripping his body off the stool.

Looking backstage, he saw a teenager being dragged away from the queue by two men in twin outfits, a woman looking at you some feet away with a stern expression. You were thrashing and screaming—begging should be a better word—, Viktor thought when he heard what you were saying in a river of blabbering, like a plea.

Please just let me try. Father doesn’t have to know—

But they ignored you and the tears that shone clear against the dimmed light inside the backstage.

He didn't recollect the moment his body decided to move on its own, but the click of his wooden cane snap him back to the present.

One of the organizers looked at him from the corner of her eyes, shaking her head slightly as if saying don’t even think about it.

Viktor frowned because he wasn't thinking about doing anything. They were full-grown adults working for an important house, if your tailored clothes were correct signal enough of your upbringing.

Though that didn’t stop the bad-hidden laughs behind some participants’ hands.

But even as the sound of the cacophony grew fainter, the heaviness of his chest remained while remembering your broken voice, hands frantic trying to pull away, and he thought, brows pinched in confusion, that if that would have been him if Professor Heimerdinger hadn’t helped him enrolling into the Academy.

He saw you try three more times, with the same outcome. Only that each failed audition your pleads became weaker, and you didn’t fight back as much.

People kept mocking you, you fought and lost, and he watched you every time.

What a particular case, because Viktor couldn't understand why a rich family wouldn't let their child enter the Music Faculty and become an artist for the Opera House. And why you didn't give up?

The last time, just a touch on the shoulder was enough to take you away from the stage. Without the sound of your voice echoing in the room, you heard the quiet laughs, and for the first time, you looked back at them, eyelids heavy—Viktor couldn't know if it was anger or just fatigue.

The competitors cleared their throats and looked away, removing in their place as you scanned their clothes, eyes lingering in familiar crests.

"Good luck in the audition, then," you said, walking away without looking at him, even though Viktor felt as if his gaze was so heavy at least you should have felt it.

But no. You didn’t look back, and Viktor forgot about you soon after; when he became Heimerdinger’s assistant, leaving behind the myriad of little jobs he took at the Academy for extra income, the Music Faculty lightning technician included.

Until now.

*~*~*~*

The Ventos family manor was flooded with people as richly decorated as the house itself, and Viktor pretended to ignore the glances they stole as the guests looked at him following Heimerdinger’s steps.

Viktor knew the Ventos clan was horrifyingly wealthy, with around half of all the airships belonging to some member of the family, but reading about it and looking at the proofs were two different things.

The hall was bigger than Viktor's apartment, with arches supporting a tall, vaulted ceiling incrusted with mosaics. All inside was a spotless white and a pale blue, taking the nickname "owners of the sky" too seriously to be considered funny.

Professor Heimerdinger was greeting the few people that crossed his way into scanning the room, looking for the host of the party, even though Viktor was the one carrying the gift box.

A man Viktor recognized as part of the Chemistry Faculty of Teachers stopped his travel midway to the wine fountain when he spotted the yordle. He exchanged a polite and short greeting to Viktor before pouring his attention to the Dean of the Academy, asking him if he would like to see some experiments he’d been working on.

Heimerdinger raised a hand. "Excuse me for a moment—Viktor? Oh, there you are. Could you please give this to the birthday celebrant? I don't want them to run away from the party unexpectedly without the gift! Thank you, thank you."

The yordle turned his back on him, engaging again in the conversation while Viktor stood a couple of steps away, frozen, with an expensive gift tucked inside his arm.

He sighed, tapping his fingers over the box as his eyes scanned the room. How was he supposed to know who was the host of the party? All rich people looked the same, with expensive clothes and too many decorations with gold, all of them holding cups of wine while engaging in business deals.

Viktor walked toward some butlers and maids that were carrying away the empty platters from the dessert table and replacing them with new ones. He didn’t want to ask a rich Piltie about who was the birthday's celebrant—much less give any of them a gift—but it was part of his job, he supposed.

It didn’t make it easier.

One of the servants told him a name he hadn’t heard before. Frowning in confusion, the servant stopped what he was doing to give him a detailed description of the youngest Ventos heiress.

The young man shrugged. “I haven’t seen the Young Mistress in a while, though. I don’t know where the she could be.”

A maid interrupted. "Miss Ventos should be on the green balcony," she blinked and signaled the west corner of the room. "It's the balcony filled with plants. If they aren't there, then she probably withdraw to her bedroom already."

Viktor nodded, thanking them. After a short pause, the servants replied with a doubtful, “it’s nothing, Sir” and he left them to fulfill their job not wanting them to be punished because of his incompetence.

It wasn’t that late, perhaps 10 PM or something around that hour. If this person was already in bed—how old they were? Suddenly, his stomach twisted thinking about a spoiled child. What if she didn’t like the gift? What if she didn’t accept it because maybe she didn’t like him? Would he be in trouble?

The green balcony was obscured by thick potted flowers and little palms, only a narrow passage connected it to the marble rail that had a spectacular view of the city.

Viktor froze when he didn't see anyone in there. Should he return the gift with Heimerdinger? Or could he leave it with a servant?

His thoughts were interrupted by a rustling sound, his eyes darting toward the sound's source.

He recognized you right away, and Viktor felt a little embarrassed by it. You looked older—around four years had passed since the last audition you tried to join—but your clothes were very similar, contrasting with the pale blue and shining white in dark tones of purple and blue.

“Who are you?” you said, frowning. He felt your eyes sweeping his outfit—the Academy uniform—and your stiff posture, half-hidden behind a rosebush, seemed to relax.

Viktor blinked, and you blinked back, arching your brows.

“Ah! Right. I’m Heimerdinger— I mean, I’m Heimerdinger’s assistant.” He locked his cane’s handle in the crook of his elbow to take the box gift in his both hands, arms extended toward you. “He wanted me to deliver this gift. But I don’t, eh, I don’t know who the host is. By any chance… could you help me?”

You smiled then, a little tug of your lips as you took the gift box between your hands.

“Sure. Please tell Professor Heimerdinger my gratitude.”

“You’re the birthday celebrant?”

"That's right," you paused, shaking the box a little. It sounded metallic, and it was a little heavy. "Please sit down, I'm sure you must be tired from all that walking around."

You signaled at one marble bench built on one side of the balcony, next to where you were sitting, a glass of wine half-empty that you shoved away.

"You know you're hard to find," Viktor said, feeling the cold rock against his legs. He shivered a little, trying to be subtle about it. Then, he realized the words that slipped out of his mouth. "I apologi—"

“No need. You’re right, anyway.” You opened the box, putting aside the protective cloth to reveal a music box. When you pressed the button, the little shell opened, showing a little doll dressed in a deep blueish-greenish dress going in circles around a wooden stage.

Behind her, the scenery moved, showing an Ionian forest. You chuckled, moving one of your feet at the rhythm of the melody repeating inside the toy. Fingers hovering in the air as if you wanted to touch the little doll but wouldn’t dare to.

For a moment, he thought you looked cute.

“I knew Professor Heimerdinger still makes the best music boxes,” you muttered, and Viktor heard it for he was listening carefully.

“Do you know Professor Heimerdinger?” Closely, he wanted to add, but you seemed to understand his inner meaning.

“Yes. He was friends with my mom. Well—he helped her to pursue her career as an opera singer.”

Viktor smiled a bit. He finally understood that you wanted to enroll in the Music Faculty.

You jumped when someone called your name—a male voice.

"Shit," you whispered, and Viktor got surprised to hear you curse. Hurriedly, you took the music box under the bench, where the bushes hide it well enough. Your hands tried to accommodate your hair that had been disturbed by some branches as you stood up. "Enjoy the party for me—oh! That's right. What's your name?"

“My name?” You nodded, smiling warmly. “I’m Viktor.”

You extended your hand toward him. “A pleasure to make you my acquaintance, Viktor. I hope you enjoy the night.”

He frowned. "Are you leaving? No, wait. Where you hiding here?”

You beamed. "You're smart. Yes, I was. You see, when you reach a certain age your parents just organize these kinds of parties to shove suitors at your face each half an hour or so. I needed a break."

“Oh. You don’t seem fond of the attention.”

"I'm not. People still can't get over the fact about my mixed upbringing." You took off the shawl that was covering your shoulders, and let it fall on his lap. Viktor was still shivering slightly, the air of the night getting colder as time passed.

He wanted to ask what you were referring to, but you interrupted him:

“If you’re going to stay here, wear it. I wouldn’t want you to get sick.”

“But—” You shook your hands.

“Don’t worry about it. Thanks for the gift, Viktor. It’s the best I’ve been given in a long time. Thank Heimerdinger too, please.”

Viktor nodded and you said your farewell just as the same male voice entered the balcony.

You encountered him midway, dragging him away from Viktor.

“Yes, Father?”

The man sounded angry. Viktor could hear the disdain in Erik Ventos’ voice even from he was sitting, back hunched forward so he could hide better.

“Were you talking with someone?”

You laughed. “Oh, dear Father. Don’t tell me you have too much to drink again. Or it’s that you just like to nag at me?”

“Don’t try to act cocky. You left Yael from house Kiram all alone an hour ago!" Viktor heard your father whispering at you, a voice full of poison. "Is this how you pay for everything I've done for you? You're just an ungrateful brat."

Viktor closed his eyes while listening to that. His parents never talked to him that way, he couldn’t believe that some people would treat their own family in such manners.

“If you want me to marry him so badly, then go make the deal yourself,” you spitted out back, shoving him aside and walking away.

Erik Ventos followed you, stomping like a wild animal, the noise getting further away until all that was left was the crickets singing on the lonely balcony. His hands were tangled in your shawl, thinking that he was going to stay there a little longer, childishly hoping you would come back.

188 notes · View notes