#Yandere Viktor | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luv-lock · 2 months ago

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⸻ 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.

𝒍𝒖𝒗-𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 ☆ 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

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writerbugg · 2 months ago

Text

𝕭𝖚𝖗𝖓𝖊𝖉

Yan. Viktor x Reader

Word Count - 9.3K

Some notes. This story should NOT be romanticized, this is one of my darker stories so please read the warning.

The timeline of this oneshot is a bit distortated, I'm spreading some of the events out a bit farthen then they happedn in the og storyline.

The reader is mid-twenties (25-26) in this so there's around a 5 year age difference.

!!Warnings!! - Yan. behavior, Mentor and Apprentice Relationship, OOC, Smoking, Violence, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Unwanted Physical Touch, Guilt-tripping, Panic attack, Mentions of Blood, Injury

Pt.2 (Feat. Yan Jayce) Coming soon...

━━━━━╝✹╚━━━━━

And the world screams,

'Kiss me, Sun of God.'

━━━━━╗✹╔━━━━━

Your breath fogs the window as you rest your head against it. The sun hasn’t risen, yet sleep eludes you. Outside, the world is a mix of cold and silence, but your mind churns ceaselessly.

Three years since you began your apprenticeship under Jayce. In that time, Hextech has advanced beyond anything you could have dreamed.

Piltover has become the heart of progress, its Hexgates connecting nations, "The Center of Trade and Evolution," as Mel once called it.

Yet, for all its brilliance, Hextech remains a paradox to you—a marvel you can admire but never fully understand, much less touch.

Your gaze drifts to the blue orb resting beside you, its pulsing aura whispering a melody you can’t quite discern. Hesitantly, you reach for it, your fingers twitching as the air around the gemstone hums with energy.

You barely graze the pristine blue gem before a sharp jolt shoots through your fingers.

You yank your hand back with a hiss, cradling it to your chest. Blowing on your fingertips does little to soothe the sharp, lingering sting. An exasperated sigh escapes you as you look down at your slightly blistered fingers. This result was expected but still maddening.

For reasons you could not understand, touching Hextech directly always left you burned.

“No progress, hmm?”

The clicking of a cane echoes behind you. Panic flickers across your face as you quickly tuck your hand behind your back and turn around, but it’s too late.

Looking up, you’re met with the unimpressed stare of your mentor’s lab partner.

A nervous chuckle escapes as your cheeks flush with shame. Viktor hobbles closer, stopping in front of you. With a pointed expression, he silently gestures for your hand.

Reluctantly, you reveal your hand from behind your back. Viktor takes it carefully, his touch firm but gentle as his eyes trace the small burns along your fingers.

“You know,” Viktor begins, “it seems counter-intuitive for Jayce to appoint the one person in Piltover incapable of safely handling the Hexcore as his apprentice.”

He presses lightly on one of the burns, making you wince and yank your hand back. You glare at him, but he ignores it.

“Why are you up so early?” he asks. “And meddling with Hextech alone? Jayce has told you many times—it’s reckless, given your condition.”

You shrug, offering no real explanation. The ambiguity earns you a disapproving look, though you catch a glimmer of amusement in Viktor’s expression.

“Jayce is rubbing off on you,” he mutters. “Both of you are hardheaded to a fault.”

Viktor turns and gestures for you to follow him. You comply, trailing him to his cluttered desk. Notes are scattered everywhere, buried under odd trinkets and prototypes.

Reaching over the mess, Viktor grabs a small ceramic jar. Carefully, he removes its glass lid, revealing a clear green liquid swirling inside. Dipping a piece of cotton into the liquid, Viktor takes your hand again, dabbing the burns with a precision that’s almost meditative.

The burns will heal in a few days, fading as if they were never there. Still, this ritual has become a quiet tradition, a bond between you and Viktor—something unspoken yet meaningful.

The door swings open, shattering the tranquility. You immediately sit up straight, pulling your hand away from Viktor.

Jayce enters, his smile as bright as ever, and your stomach flutters as his gaze meets yours.

“Good morning, you two!” he says cheerfully, earning a grunt from Viktor and a wave from you.

“Today’s the day—Progress Day!” Jayce announces, his excitement contagious. “We’re finally going to showcase everything we’ve been working on.” Even Viktor’s lips twitch into a faint smile.

Jayce crosses the room to retrieve the crystal you had touched earlier, carefully placing it back in its case. “We need to get ready. Heimerdinger will be here any moment.”

He turns to you, pulling out a pair of gloves from his pocket and handing them over. “My mother made these,” he admits. “For the presentation. I need my apprentice up there with me, after all.”

You take the gloves, admiring the craftsmanship. “Wait… you want me on stage?” you ask, startled.

Jayce chuckles. “It’s your last year of apprenticeship, Y/N. You’ve proven yourself time and time again.” He places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “It’s time you made your debut.”

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

“The gemstone is gone.”

❪❂❫

“I have come before you to recommend that we suspend all Hextech operations.”

❪❂❫

“I propose that a new chair be brought forth and that House Talis be elevated to the august body.”

❪❂❫

You lay on the rooftop, staring at the stars above. The events of the day whirl in your mind like a storm. The attack, the stolen gemstone, Jayce’s abrupt decision to shut down Hextech operations without consulting you or Viktor, and his election to the council. It all feels surreal, a cascade of chaos.

“The stars are lovely tonight, no?”

The sudden voice draws your attention. Viktor stands nearby, his gaze fixed on the heavens. Though calm, his posture betrays exhaustion.

He sits beside you, gesturing toward the horizon. “Do you see them? The lights of the Undercity.”

You nod as faint glimmers come into view. “You’re from the Undercity, right?” you ask softly.

Viktor inclines his head. “And that’s why you want to use Hextech,” you continue, “to help them.”

“Yes,” he says, conviction threading through his voice. “I wish to end the suffering of the Undercity. To use our technology to evolve humanity—beyond its limits.”

You place a hand on his shoulder. He stiffens at first but relaxes as your words cut through the quiet.

“Your dream is beautiful, Viktor,” you say, admiration clear in your voice. “And I can’t wait to see you and Jayce bring it to life.”

His golden eyes linger on the Undercity before flickering to you. “You believe in us,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “In me.”

“Of course I do,” you reply without hesitation. “You see possibilities where others see obstacles. How could I not believe in that?”

A rare softness touches his gaze. “Thank you,” he says earnestly. “Your faith… it means more to me than I often let on.”

The silence that follows is comfortable, the two of you watching the stars and the faint lights of the Undercity. Yet, a shadow passes over Viktor’s expression. His fingers tighten around his cane, his thoughts veiled but heavy.

“The night grows late,” he says finally. “We should rest. Tomorrow will bring more challenges.”

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

You stood silently behind Jayce, your gaze darting between him and Viktor as the tension between them thickened.

"This is a misuse of our work," Viktor muttered, eyes fixed on the enforcers tinkering with the Hexgate. His voice carried the sharp edge of frustration. "What happened to our promise to improve lives? To help those in the Undercity?"

Jayce let out a sharp breath, shaking his head dismissively. "I’m a Councilor now, Viktor," he replied, his tone clipped. "My priority is ensuring the Hexgates are secure. That has to come first." He turned to you, raising an eyebrow. "You understand, don’t you?"

Caught off guard, you hesitated, shifting your weight. "Maybe you should’ve... included Viktor in your plans," you murmured carefully. "You know, since you’re supposed to be partners."

Jayce scoffed lightly, his humor paper-thin. "Aren’t you supposed to be my apprentice?" he quipped, offering you a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Across from him, Viktor gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod. A flicker of genuine gratitude. You returned it with a faint smile before Jayce’s attention shifted elsewhere.

Marcus entered the room, and Jayce moved to speak with him, leaving you and Viktor by the railing.

"I just don’t understand," Viktor murmured as you leaned on the edge beside him. "This should be all the more reason to push our research further. The Undercity needs us, and the longer we ignore them, the angrier they’ll grow."

His gaze flicked to your hands, lingering briefly on the smooth skin where blisters had once marred the surface.

"...Thank you," he whispered, his voice soft but sincere. "At least you understand my frustrations better than Jayce does."

You shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck. The quiet critique of your mentor made your stomach knot, but you kept silent. It wasn’t your place to interfere in the growing rift between them.

"—Have you made any progress on the stolen Gemstone?" Jayce's voice cut through your thoughts, snapping your focus back to him.

You noted the strain in his posture, the faint shadows under his eyes. He looked overwhelmed, and a pang of sympathy tugged at your chest. His new role was a heavy burden, but selfishly, you wondered how it might affect your time together. Would he place your training on hold, as he had seemingly done with Hextech?

The thought left a sour taste in your mouth.

Shaking it off, you turned to Viktor, who had gone quiet. His gaze was fixed on the Hexcore, its faint glow reflected in his eyes. There was a distant, almost hypnotized look in his expression.

A chill crept up your spine.

"Viktor?" you called softly, stepping closer. Your heart jolted as you noticed the blood trickling from his nose.

"Viktor!" You grabbed his shoulder instinctively. The touch startled him, and he tensed briefly before relaxing as he recognized you.

“…I’m fine," he muttered, brushing your hand away with a quiet sigh.

Jayce, alerted by the commotion, hurried over. His eyes darted between you and Viktor, narrowing when he saw the blood.

“Viktor, are you all right?” he asked, placing a firm hand on Viktor’s shoulder. The gesture forced you to step back, though you remained close.

“It’s... just a headache," Viktor replied tersely, shrugging off Jayce's hand. "I need to get back to the lab."

He turned away, cane tapping against the floor in an uneven rhythm. Halfway to the exit, he hesitated and glanced over his shoulder, gesturing for you to follow.

You cast a quick, uncertain look at Jayce, who stayed rooted in place, his gaze troubled.

After a brief hesitation, you complied, following Viktor into the corridor.

The walk to the lab was steeped in silence, tension radiating from Viktor with every brisk step. His jaw was set, his frustration evident in the stiff line of his posture.

Suddenly, he stumbled, his cane skidding against the floor. You lunged forward just in time to catch him as he collapsed against the wall, coughing violently.

"Viktor," you murmured, adjusting to support his weight as he leaned heavily on you. His breaths came in labored gasps, but he didn’t resist your help.

"Maybe we should call it a night," you suggested gently. "You’re not well. I could make you some soup—tomato basil, maybe?" You offered a tentative smile. "It’s the only thing I can cook without setting a stove on fire."

Viktor didn’t respond, his focus elsewhere as you guided him to the lab. Once there, you settled him into a chair and pulled up one beside him.

For a moment, the quiet hum of machinery filled the air.

"When I lived in the Undercity," Viktor began suddenly, his voice subdued, "I knew a man—a teacher of sorts. He once told me that loneliness was the burden of a gifted mind." He turned to you, his expression contemplative. "Do you ever feel that? The isolation, simply because you see the world differently?"

You considered his words, offering a faint smile. "Honestly? No. My parents were... eccentric, to say the least. Borderline mad scientists, but they understood me. Every phase, every crazy idea—I always had them."

Your smile softened. "And now, you have me. And Jayce. Even if we don’t always agree, we’re here for you, Viktor. Right behind you. Always."

His lips curved into a faint, bittersweet smile, though his eyes flickered briefly toward the Hexcore.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

Hours later, you had gone home, leaving Viktor alone in the lab to finish working on the Hexcore. The day’s events weighed heavily on him, the anger and disappointment still clinging to the air like smoke. His hands ran through his hair in frustration.

Sending you home had felt like the right decision at the time, but now that he was alone, a pang of creeping guilt settled over him. He hated that you were caught in the middle of his and Jayce’s ongoing conflict, forced to navigate between them because of your apprenticeship.

Your apprenticeship under Jayce.

The sudden acknowledgment twisted sharply in Viktor's chest. You were bound to Jayce—the Council’s rising star, Piltover’s golden boy. Jayce, who’d leaped into his new role without considering the ripple effects on those tethered to his orbit. On you. On your work. On your future.

If Viktor were your mentor—

He cut the thought off sharply, jaw tightening. It wasn’t his place. But the resentment gnawed at him, clawing at the edges of his resolve. You deserved a mentor who saw your potential, not someone too blinded by his own ambitions to nurture it.

Viktor’s eyes flickered to the porcelain pot sitting on his desk.

Perhaps…

The Hexcore hummed faintly, its glow pulsating in uneven rhythms. Viktor rose, but a sudden wave of nausea pulled him back, his knees buckling as he gripped the desk for support. The fit came hard and fast, wracking his body until crimson droplets sprinkled onto the scattered notes on his desk.

The air thickened, whispers curling like smog around him. His blurred gaze fell to the Hexcore, now spinning in erratic spirals, its light carving shadows that seemed to breathe.

A promise hummed through the static—a tantalizing whisper of hope, of salvation, of Evolution.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

It was early morning when you got the news.

Your breath was labored as you raced past Jayce who had just exited Viktor's room, not sparing him a single glance.

“Viktor!” Your voice jolts the frail man awake as you burst into the room.

“I came as soon as I heard,” you murmur, setting your bags on the chair beside him and diving into them. “I stopped by a few places to pick up things I thought you might need—”

Your words tumble over each other as you pull out a mismatched assortment of elixirs, fresh food, and little trinkets. You barely notice his faint, amused smile as he watches you, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths.

“You’ve brought half the city,” Viktor rasps, his voice weak but carrying a faint warmth.

You pause, finally meeting his gaze. “I’d bring the whole of Piltover if it meant you’d get better,” you say softly.

His smile lingers, though bittersweet.

You feel tears well in your eyes as you stare at your friend. "...How long?" You whisper shakily.

"...A few months," Viktor answered, his voice quiet.

The words hit like a blow to the stomach. Without thinking, you step closer, wrapping your arms around him. Viktor stiffens at first, surprised, but slowly, he returns the embrace.

You cling to him as sobs wrack your body, your tears soaking into his thin shirt. “I can’t lose you,” you choke out.

For a moment, his hand hesitates, then rests lightly against your back. His voice is a faint murmur, “You won't,” Over your shoulder, he gazes at the sketches of the Hexcore, a stark reminder of what it promised him.

The tools are in his grasp now.

The faint smile on his lips remains, but its sweetness curdles, twisting into something spoiled, something unlike himself. His grip tightens—almost imperceptibly—as if tethering himself to you.

"I haven't given up yet,"

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

“You should be with them.”

Jayce glances up at Mel, her calm expression a contrast to the weight of his own guilt. She’s right, as usual. Viktor was his partner. You were his apprentice. He should be with you, especially after this morning.

That look on your face this morning... The desperation, the panic. He’d never seen you so raw, so vulnerable, and it made him feel helpless. Useless.

Mel’s hand moves gently through his hair as she speaks, breaking the quiet. “How is Mx. L/N? I haven’t seen much of them lately.”

Jayce stiffens, glancing away. “They’re fine, I think—why?”

Mel shrugs, her tone nonchalant but her gaze sharp. “No reason, just an observation. They seem... distant. Did something happen?”

Jayce falters. Had something happened? You and he didn't talk as frequently as before. He searches his memory but finds only fragments—moments where your attention seemed elsewhere, your words clipped.

“I don’t know,” he admits. A quiet befalls the two of them, only a soft breeze interrupting the silence.

“Maybe I... should be there more. For both of them.”

Mel hums thoughtfully, her fingers stilling. “Perhaps you should. Before it’s too late.”

[OML I LOVE MEL KJENFKJSEDF]

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

Jayce hesitated at the door, his hand hovering over the knob. The dim light spilling from under Viktor’s door made his stomach twist. He knew he should have come sooner.

The door creaked softly as he pushed it open, revealing Viktor sitting upright in bed, a sketchpad balanced on his lap. You were slumped in a chair beside him, fast asleep, your face turned toward him with exhaustion etched in every line. Viktor’s hand idly brushed through your hair, his movements slow, almost reverent.

“Jayce,” Viktor greeted, his voice hoarse but carrying that sharp, sardonic edge. “Burning the midnight oil, I see.”

Jayce stepped into the room, his gaze flickering between you and Viktor. “I came to check on you,” he said after a beat. “On both of you.”

“How thoughtful,” Viktor murmured, though there was no mistaking the faint sting beneath his words.

Jayce’s chest tightened. “I didn’t know it was this bad,” he admitted. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Viktor’s smile was razor-thin. “And what would you have done, Jayce? You’ve been occupied. The Council, your reputation, your ambitions—so many pressing matters. Where would I fit?”

The words struck like a blow, and Jayce flinched. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” Viktor’s voice softened, a chilling calm threading through his words. “When was the last time you worked with us in the lab? When did you last look at them and see what this has cost?”

Jayce’s gaze fell to you, the subtle furrow in your brow even in sleep telling him everything he needed to know.

“They’re loyal,” Viktor continued, his hand stilling briefly in your hair. “More than I deserve, perhaps. Certainly more than you’ve earned.”

“Viktor…” Jayce’s voice cracked under the weight of guilt.

“They need someone who sees them. Not someone torn between a dozen different obligations.” Viktor’s hand resumed its slow, deliberate motion, his gaze settling back on Jayce with unsettling clarity. “Loyalty has its limits, after all, and it frays under neglect.”

Jayce opened his mouth, searching for a rebuttal, but found none. Instead, he swallowed the lump in his throat and turned toward the door.

As it clicked shut behind him, Viktor glanced toward the Hexcore sketches. His fingers curled through your hair as he murmured, “You’ll see. Progress waits for no one.”

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

Jayce stared at the envelope in his hands. It felt heavier than any paper had the right to be. He had agonized over this decision for days, and yet it still felt like a betrayal.

When he opens the door, the soft clink of tools fills the air. You’re at the workbench, hunched over a half-assembled gadget. The sight reminds him of all the times he would stand over your shoulder and critique you.

“Hey,” he calls gently, but the sound still makes you jump.

You turned, your expression softening into a smile—until you saw the look on his face.

“Jayce?” you asked, worry lacing your tone. “What’s wrong?”

He hesitates. Only for a moment, but still, it felt like an eternity.

“I need to talk to you,” He held out the envelope, his hand trembling slightly. “...about your apprenticeship.”

Your eyes darted to the envelope before back to him. “What about it?”

He hesitated, then forced the words out. “I— Viktor and I thought this might be... better for you.”

You take the envelope, your fingers brushing his briefly. The contact sends a brief flicker of warmth through you, but it’s quickly extinguished by the growing knot in your stomach.

“What is this?” you ask, your voice quieter now.

Jayce rubs the back of his neck, his eyes darting anywhere but your face. “It’s... a transfer of mentorship. To Viktor. He’ll take over as your mentor from now on.”

The silence in the room was deafening.

“It’s for the best,” Jayce said quickly as if the words might soften the blow. “Viktor can give you the attention you nee—”

“Why?” The question escapes before you can stop it, laced with disbelief and hurt. “Did I... do something wrong?”

Jayce winces, shaking his head, “No, it’s not that. You’ve been incredible, really. It’s just Viktor… He’s better suited for this.”

“Better suited?” you repeat, your voice cracking.

“That’s not what I meant." He defended, stepping forward, but you recoiled, the distance between you widening in more ways than one."You deserve someone who can focus on you, who can... help you grow. And with everything going on, I just—”

“You just what?” Your grip tightens on the papers, your heart pounding in your chest. “You don’t want to be my mentor anymore?”

Jayce clenches his fist, but doesn't say anything, unable to look you in the eye.

“I thought...” Your voice wavers as you look down at the transfer forms. “I thought I mattered to you. That this... this partnership mattered.”

“You do,” Jayce says quickly, stepping closer, his hands hovering as if he wants to reach out but can't. “You matter, I promise. This isn’t about that, it’s about what’s best for you.”

“Then why does it feel like you're only doing what's best for you?”

The question hangs in the air, and Jayce flinches as if struck.

Clutching the papers to your chest, you quickly begin cleaning up your station. “Fine,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you jam your now broken gadget into a random drawer. “If this is what you think is best, then, fine.”

Turning away, you leave Jayce standing there, his fists clenching at his sides. The door closes softly behind you, but the weight of what just happened lingers in the room, heavy and suffocating.

Jayce sinks into the nearest chair, burying his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he whispers to the empty air, though he knows the words won’t reach you.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

The lighter flicks in your hand, the flame sparking briefly before you bring it to the cigarette perched between your lips.

The faint burn in your throat as you inhale almost distracts you from the knot tightening in your stomach, replaying the conversation in your mind.

Leaning against the railing, you hold the cigarette loosely between your fingers, smoke curling upward in thin, fading wisps that vanish into the night. Your chest tightens, your gaze slipping to the envelope sitting beside you on the ledge.

You thought you mattered to him.

The sting of rejection mingles with the acrid sting of smoke, and your eyes water. You tell yourself it’s the cigarette.

You take another drag, longer this time, the embers flaring faintly against the darkness.

“Am I interrupting?”

The voice cuts through the stillness, accented and soft. You startle, choking on the inhale, coughing as you fumble to regain composure.

Turning, you find Viktor standing a few feet away, a faint smile teasing the edges of his lips as he watches you struggle.

“Geez,” you rasp, rubbing your throat. “Knocking’s a thing, you know.”

He steps closer, his gait deliberate, his eyes flickering to the cigarette now on the ground. “You smoke?” he asks, voice tinged with curiosity.

“Not often,” you mutter, shifting uncomfortably. “Old habits and all.”

Viktor hums, leaning on the railing beside you. The air between you feels heavier than the night itself. “I heard what happened,” he says, his tone subdued, “I’m sorry.” His hand finds your shoulder, the touch hesitant but grounding.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you reply, toeing the discarded cigarette. “It’s not your fault.”

His hand lingers for a moment before withdrawing. “Perhaps not. But I cannot ignore the role I’ve played in this... shift.”

A bitter laugh escapes you. “Shift. That’s one way to put it.” Your fingers tighten on the railing, the city’s lights blurring slightly as you focus on the ache twisting in your chest. “I don’t even know what I did wrong.”

“You did nothing wrong,” Viktor says firmly, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. It draws your gaze to him. “Jayce’s decision was misguided. Shortsighted.”

His conviction catches you off guard. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Viktor says, his voice softening. “He is distracted, burdened by expectations he barely understands himself. He likely believed this was best for you, but in doing so, he failed to see how much he’s hurt you.”

The words settle heavily. “Maybe,” you murmur, “but it still feels like he gave up on me.”

Viktor’s expression darkens, his hands curling faintly at his sides. “Jayce does not understand the depth of loyalty you’ve shown him. Nor the potential you hold. It is his failing, not yours.”

You swallow thickly, his words cutting through the lingering haze of doubt. “I just... I thought I mattered to him. As a mentor, as a...” You trail off, the word left unspoken, though it hangs in the air.

Silence stretches between you, filled only by the hum of the city below. Viktor’s voice, when it comes again, is quieter but no less steady. “You still matter. To me, at least.”

Your head lifts, his words sinking in. He meets your gaze, his golden eyes steady and sincere. “You are... remarkable,” he continues. “Your dedication and ingenuity should be nurtured, not cast aside.”

Heat creeps to your cheeks, and you glance away, unsure how to respond. “Thanks,” you say softly, the word inadequate but all you can manage.

His lips quirk into a faint smile. He glances at the crumpled cigarette. “Perhaps next time, a cup of tea instead?”

You laugh quietly. “Yeah, maybe.”

With a slight nod, Viktor steps back, retreating into the building, leaving you alone once more. The crisp night air fills your lungs as you take a deep breath.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

You’re standing beside Viktor, the air in the lab thick with tension. Heimerdinger’s voice carries a weight you haven’t heard before as he stares at the glowing Hexcore. “What is that?” he asks, his tone grim.

Viktor’s lips twitch into a smile, seemingly oblivious to the Yordle’s concern. “I call it the Hexcore,” he says. His golden gaze flickers to the device, its pulsing glow reflected in his eyes. “An adaptive rune matrix. Hextech that evolves.”

The Hexcore radiates a heat that makes your skin prickle, like standing too close to an open flame. The sensation grows, an almost oppressive wave of intensity washing over you.

“It’s groundbreaking,” Jayce adds, stepping closer, his voice animated. His words blur, drowned out by the dryness in your throat and the heat clawing at your senses.

The room wavers, the edges of your vision distorting. Viktor’s voice cuts through the haze. “You alright?” he asks, concern threading through his words. His gaze sharpens, catching the sheen of sweat on your brow.

“Fine,” you manage, your voice hoarse. “Just… not used to this.” You force a weak smile, but his eyes linger, unconvinced.

Before he can press further, Heimerdinger speaks again, his tone firm. “You must destroy it.”

Viktor’s head snaps toward him, disbelief flashing across his features. “What?” he asks, his voice almost breathless.

The Yordle’s expression hardens. “If ever you’ve trusted my guidance, trust me now. I’ve seen nations crumble from a single spark, and this—this is no different.”

Jayce moves to block Heimerdinger’s advance. “No. I won’t let you,” he states firmly, his stance unyielding.

The Hexcore pulses faintly, its glow intensifying for a moment. You step back instinctively, the heat becoming almost unbearable.

Heimerdinger’s gaze shifts to Viktor, his voice softening. “You’ve changed, Viktor. What have you done?”

Viktor hesitates, his focus flickering between the Yordle and the Hexcore. “I… I don’t understand.”

Heimerdinger’s eyes narrow, his voice heavy with warning. “That thing must be destroyed.”

The Hexcore flares again, forcing you to take another step back. Jayce and Heimerdinger exchange heated words, their voices rising over each other. Viktor remains silent, his gaze fixed on the device, distant, almost entranced.

As the argument crescendos, Heimerdinger turns to leave, pausing briefly beside you. “Trust your instincts,” he says, his voice low but firm. “And remember, sometimes your abilities are all you have. Don’t let this be your tragedy.”

His words linger as he departs, leaving a strange tension in his wake. You stay stuck in your spot, not listening entirely to Viktor and Jayce’s hushed conversation.

Viktor’s voice pulls you back. “I want you to come with me, to Zaun,” he says, his tone decisive, Jayce had already left the room, leaving just the two of you. His hand rests lightly on your shoulder, the touch steady despite the faint prickling heat. “It will be... enlightening.”

Your eyes widen at the offer. “To Zaun?” you ask cautiously. “Does Jayce—”

“Jayce isn’t your mentor,” Viktor interrupts, his tone brooking no argument. “I am. Prepare yourself. We leave tonight.”

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

“I understand now,” Viktor said, his voice steady as he stepped closer to the shadowy figure of his old mentor, Singed. The faint flicker of light from a nearby apparatus illuminated his sharp features. “And I need your help.”

Singed didn’t look up immediately, his hands busy calibrating a device on his cluttered workbench. “And you came alone?” he asked, his tone calm, though a tinge of curiosity threaded through it.

Viktor shook his head. “No. My apprentice waits outside.”

Beyond the lab’s cracked door, you leaned against a ruined wall, exhaling a long-suffering sigh. The stale, chemical-laden air was getting to you, but boredom was the real killer. You kicked a pebble at your feet, muttering, “Some ‘important errand’ this is...”

“An apprentice?” Singed finally turned toward Viktor, his pale eyes narrowing with intrigue. “You’ve grown much, my boy. Why not bring them inside?”

Viktor’s gaze swept over the lab, lingering on the glass capsule at the far end. Inside, the still form of Rio floated, suspended in eerie silence. “They’ll... need time,” he replied, a faint unease creeping into his voice. “Like I did. I don’t want to rush things.”

Singed shrugged, his movements deliberate as he set aside his tools. “What is it you’ve brought to me?” he asked, smoothly shifting the conversation.

Viktor stepped forward, handing over a stack of meticulously prepared notes and a sealed vial. Singed accepted them, scanning the pages with practiced efficiency. “Fascinating,” he murmured. “Your work has matured, Viktor. I would very much like to see the device—this Hexcore.”

Viktor tensed, his gaze flickering back to Rio’s capsule. “That... may be difficult to arrange,” he admitted.

Singed’s expression didn’t change, but there was a weight to his silence. Viktor sighed, stepping closer to the capsule, his voice low with frustration. “I’ve tried every combination of runes. Adjustments. Iterations. Yet the result is always the same: the subject withers. It rots.”

Singed’s brow furrowed slightly, his hands resting on the workbench. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “the fault does not lie with your calculations.”

Viktor’s head snapped toward him. “Then where?”

“With your subjects.” Singed reached for a vial of shimmering, violet liquid, its glow cutting through the dimness. “Nature has made us intolerant to change. Fortunately,” he added, holding the vial aloft, “we have the capacity to change our nature.”

Viktor stared at the vial, unease rippling through him as he took a half-step back. “And this is... shimmer?”

“A variant,” Singed confirmed, walking toward him with measured steps. “It will provide everything one needs to survive a violent transition.”

The vial’s glow reflected in Viktor’s eyes as he hesitated. The liquid pulsed faintly, almost as if it were alive. His cure. His key to evolution, so close he could almost feel its weight in his hand.

“I must warn you,” Singed said, his voice quiet yet deliberate. “If you take this path, they will despise you. Love and legacy—these are sacrifices we make for progress.”

Viktor’s fingers hovered over the vial, his breath shallow. “They will understand,” he said finally, his voice a whisper. “They always have.”

His hand closed around the vial, the glass warm against his palm. For a moment, he studied it, the shimmer within swirling as if in anticipation. He slipped it into his pocket with a flicker of resolve.

“And if they don’t,” he added softly, more to himself than to Singed, “then I will teach them to.”

Without another word, Viktor turned and strode out of the lab. The faint clinking of the vial echoed in his pocket as he stepped into the ruins, the cold air biting at his skin. His eyes quickly scanned the area, finding you crouched by a crumbled wall, lazily tossing rocks into a shallow stream.

He approached and tapped your shoulder, drawing a startled yelp from you. Spinning around, you glared at him, hand pressed to your chest. “Seriously? Can you not?”

“It’s time to go,” Viktor said, his tone clipped, brooking no argument. “I have what I came for.”

You scrambled to your feet, brushing dust off your clothes. "Uh— yeah, right— sorry," you muttered, falling into step behind him.

As you trailed after him, curiosity got the better of you. “Soo... how’d it go?”

Viktor’s stride didn’t falter. “It went... well,” he replied evenly. “I believe I’ve found a solution.”

Your face lit up with excitement. “Wait, really? Does that mean—”

“Not here,” Viktor interrupted sharply, his voice low as his gaze darted to the shadows. “It’s not safe.”

Chastened, you nodded, your excitement dimming as silence fell between you.

The city’s bustle greeted you as you passed into a more crowded district, its vibrancy pulling you from your thoughts. The chaotic energy of Zaun seemed to pulse with life, unlike anything you’d seen before.

“Wow,” you murmured, marveling at the neon-lit chaos. “This is the Undercity?”

Viktor slowed slightly, his expression softening at your wonder. “Yes. It may lack the polish of Piltover, but it is... alive in ways they cannot comprehend.”

You nodded, your gaze darting between the glowing lights and towering structures. “It’s nothing like the stories. It’s... beautiful.”

A faint smile touched Viktor’s lips. “Zaun thrives despite the shadows it’s cast into. Ingenuity flourishes here, even amidst adversity.”

You glanced at him, a grin tugging at your lips. “You’ve got stories about growing up here, don’t you?”

He chuckled quietly. “Zaun teaches resilience, but it is not a kind teacher. Every invention, every triumph—it was survival, not progress.”

“Explains a lot about you,” you teased lightly.

He arched a brow. “Oh? And what does that mean?”

You shrugged, smirking. “You’re like... the world’s most intense puzzle. But lately, I think I’m finally starting to figure you out.”

He chuckled again, a rare warmth in his voice. “And you, my apprentice, remain delightfully open-minded.”

The two of you shared a quiet smile before continuing your journey, the glow of Zaun fading as Progress Bridge loomed ahead.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

Jayce walks through the smog on the bridge, glancing over the aftermath of last night's attack and the protests. A frown prints itself on his face as he spots two familiar figures near the edge of the bridge.

Anger bubbles just beneath the surface, but he forces his jaw tight, trying to leash it. As he approaches, his boots scrape against the grit of the stone. Viktor is the first to notice him.

“Jayce?” Viktor’s voice is tinged with confusion, his brows knitting together as he gestures toward the blockade. “What is this?”

You sit beside Viktor, a gnawing dread coiling in your stomach. From Jayce's expression, you knew you were in trouble.

Jayce’s voice is low, but it cuts like glass. “Do you two have any idea how this looks?” He glares at Viktor, his words clipped and venomous. “I order a blockade, and my partner violates it, dragging along my- his apprentice? Are you out of your mind?”

Viktor straightens, the weariness in his frame offset by the defensiveness in his voice. “You ordered this?” His tone is incredulous, his gaze searching Jayce’s face. “Why?”

Jayce’s voice rises a bit as he struggles to remain calm. “There are people down there who seem hell-bent on destroying us. And you—” Jayce turned his fiery gaze towards you, “—you just went along with this? Knowing how dangerous it is? How reckless?”

Viktor’s lips press into a thin line as he exhales, shaking his head. “I was consulting a friend about our quandary,” he says, “I brought Y/n along because I’m their mentor, and I thought it’d be a good teaching opportunity.” his words deliberate and firm. “I told you I knew someone.”

Jayce’s eyes widened in disbelief, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You didn’t tell me they were from the Undercity.”

Viktor’s gaze sharpened, a flicker of something dark passing through his eyes. “What difference does that make?” he asked, his voice quiet but loaded.

“They’re dangerous!” Jayce hissed.

The words hang in the air, as Viktor’s gaze hardens, glaring into the other man, “I’m from the Undercity.”

Jayce's expression melts, a donning look mixed with regret appearing on his face. “Viktor, I didn’t mean—” He reached out, but Viktor batted his hand away, leaning on his cane as he stood.

Sighing, Jayce lowers his hand, "Sorry... Was your friends able to help?

Viktor pauses, glancing back at Jayce, "No," he answered, “No, he said nature was resistant to this sort of..." His grip on his cane tightens, "tampering."

The silence hung heavy as Viktor turned, his back rigid. You follow closely behind, ignoring the feeling of Jayce's stare on you.

━━━━━━━━

The walk to the lab felt endless, the silence between you thick with unspoken tension.

Once inside, the quiet lingered, broken only by the faint, unsettling hum of the Hexcore. You sat across from Viktor, watching as he wordlessly pulled out a notebook, scribbling away as if nothing had happened.

Your gaze drifted to the two plates of food waiting on the desks—Sky must have brought them earlier. Reaching for one, you broke the silence. “Have you eaten?” you asked softly, though you already knew the answer.

Viktor didn’t look up. “We’ve been occupied,” he murmured, his focus unwavering. “I need to figure out how to…”

He trailed off, and you frowned. Setting your bags down, you approached with one of the plates. “You won’t get far on an empty stomach,” you muttered, setting the food beside him.

His pen paused as his gaze flickered to the plate, then to you. “You care too much,” he said quietly.

“And you care too little,” you counter, leaning back in your chair. “Someone has to make sure you’re taken care of.”

He chuckles dryly, placing down his notebook and pen as he turns to meet your gaze. "I thought you were my apprentice, not my caretaker."

You shrug, "Aren't apprentices supposed to help their mentors? Plus,” you leaned against the desk, “after 3 years of working together, I figured I earned the friend title.”

“Perhaps,” he said, his voice quieter now, his gaze fixed on you. There was an intensity in his eyes that made you falter.

The hum of the Hexcore permeated the atmosphere, a subtle yet resolute drone. It reminded you of flies, their incessant buzzing heralding decay, drawn to what was already doomed. Like a song, featuring a strange, almost living rhythm, curling around your thoughts. You made an effort to ignore it, but the unease it evoked inside of you persisted, a whispered omen through static.

Your gaze stayed locked with Viktor’s, his amber eyes glinting with an intensity that made your chest tighten. For a fleeting moment, you wondered if he heard the hum too—

“Though,” Viktor murmured, his voice low and measured, “perhaps I view you as something more.”

—or if it had already consumed him.

The quiet stretched, your pulse quickening as you tried to process his words. Then, without warning, he leaned forward—lips brushing yours.

His touch was gentle, careful, but it felt wrong. The room shifted, the walls closing in as the Hexcore’s hum swelled into an unbearable crescendo, like flies buzzing over decay.

Your mind screamed at you to move, to pull away, but shock froze you in place.

You didn’t know what to do, or how to react.

When he finally drew back, the space between you felt impossibly vast and suffocating all at once. Viktor stared, wide-eyed, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d done. You mirrored his expression, stunned.

“I don’t know,” he cuts you off, his voice quiet but strained, like a violin string pulled too tight. He looks down at his hands, now trembling slightly. “I... I shouldn’t have.”

Your chest tightens as the silence between you grows unbearable. Every instinct tells you to say something, to demand an explanation, but words fail you. Instead, you grab your bags and retreat toward the door, the hum of the Hexcore growing louder in the stillness.

Viktor doesn’t move to stop you.

The door clicks shut behind you, and the faint sound feels deafening. Outside the lab, the air is cooler, but it did little to soothe the burning of his touch.

Inside, Viktor sat motionless, staring blankly at the plate of food. His lips pressed into a thin line, the weight of his guilt suffocating. But it wasn’t guilt over the act itself—no, the guilt came from something far worse.

I don’t regret it, the thought whispered like a vulture circling prey.

His gaze drifted to the Hexcore, its ominous glow pulsing faintly in the dim room. “I’m losing myself,” he murmured to the silence.

The Hexcore’s hum deepened, an almost living response, vibrating through the air like whispered agreement.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

You lean over the sink, droplets of water sliding down your face and dripping from your chin. The coolness of the water clings to your skin, but it does little to wash away the lingering sensation. His touch. His words. The suffocating hum of the Hexcore.

Your hands grip the porcelain edges of the sink, knuckles white, as you stare at your reflection in the mirror. Your reflection betrays you, every ounce of feeling lingering on its face. The towel wrapped around you feels heavy, suffocating, as though it might drag you under.

You don’t know what to feel.

Three years you've worked with him, learned from him. Even when he wasn't technically your mentor.

You admired him.

You owe him so much. The opportunity he gave you, the trust he placed in you. His unrelenting dedication and care, even as his body betrayed him.

The memory of his lips on yours lingers like an oil slick, something you can’t scrub away no matter how hard you try.

That bond felt scorched, twisted by the memory of his lips on yours. The Hexcore’s hum still buzzed in your mind, incessant like flies, circling something already decaying.

You press your palm to your lips as if to smother the burning sensation.

You splash water onto your face again, desperate for clarity, for some release from the sickening tangle of emotions pulling at you from every direction. Disgust coils deep within you, heavy and unrelenting. Disgust with him. Disgust with yourself.

How did it come to this?

Your breaths come in shallow gasps as your mind races. Could you have done something differently? Said something? Stopped him? But the guilt gnaws at you, whispering that perhaps you’d allowed this to happen, that your care had somehow blurred the lines between what was right and what should never have been crossed.

The buzzing from earlier won’t leave your mind, an ever-present phantom in the background of your thoughts. Flies, their relentless hum circling something already rotting.

You press the heels of your palms to your eyes, willing the image away. You want to cry, but the tears won’t come.

Instead, you exhale a shaky breath and straighten, staring at yourself in the mirror once more.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

"You can't be serious." Viktor seethed at Jayce, "You aren't actually considering using Hextech as a weapon, and against the undercity!?"

The past two days away from the lab weren’t nearly enough. The noise, the tension—it’s relentless. You find yourself yearning for a simpler time, back before the council, before the Hexcore began to feel like a living, breathing entity between you all.

"I can't—right now—I can't deal with this," Jayce sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I have a council meeting in a few hours. Y/n," he turned to you, his voice softening, "Could you go over these tests while I’m gone?"

You nodded, distracted, your eyes briefly locking with his.

Before you could reach for the files, a sharp voice cut through the tension.

"No."

You and Jayce turned, surprised by the sudden interruption. Viktor stood at the edge of the lab, his gaze locked on Jayce with an intensity that chilled you.

"They are no longer your apprentice, Jayce," Viktor continued, his voice rigid. "Any work they receive will be through me. And me only."

Jayce froze, eyes narrowing in frustration, but Viktor didn’t seem to care.

"Fine." Jayce scoffed, shooting Viktor one last glare before exiting the lab, the door slamming shut behind him.

The tension between you and Viktor hung in the air as silence settled in. Viktor turned back to his work, fiddling with some mechanical components. You returned to your notes, the scratching of your pencil filling the void between you.

The stillness was deafening. Only the clinking of Viktor’s tools against metal and the faint hum of the Hexcore filled the space.

"Shit, where—" Viktor muttered under his breath.

You lifted your gaze, curious, but the irritation in his tone was unmistakable.

"Y/n," he called quietly, "Do you think you can find my needle nose pliers?"

You nodded, mumbling a soft "yes" as you rose from your desk.

You glanced around, quickly spotting the pliers resting right next to the glowing Hexcore. Unease settles in you once more as you stare at the Hexcore.

Did it always look like that?

"Y/n?" Viktor's voice cut through your thoughts, forcing you back into reality.

"Oh— uh, found them."

You mutter, going over the the desk to pick them up. The moment your fingers brushed against the tool, the air seemed to crackle.

The Hexcore flared, and before you could pull away, a tendril of magic lashed out, striking your hand.

Pain seared through your palm, sharp and relentless, making you gasp and stumble back. But it was too late.

The Hexcore surged, and agony radiated up your arm like wildfire.

"Y/n!" Viktor's voice was frantic now, his chair scraping sharply against the floor as he rushed to your side.

Your skin sizzled as the glow of the Hexcore intensified.

A yank on your arm forces your attention away from the burn, Viktor grasped your hand tightly, inspecting the burn. It looked... worse than all the other burns you had received.

"You... You should have been more careful," Viktor murmured, his words shaky, but they felt distant, disconnected like they were coming from somewhere far away. His face was pale, his lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at your burned hand.

Slowly, he drags you away from the Hexcore over to his desk. Viktor grabbed a familiar porcelain pot, its surface cracked but still holding strong. He removed the glass lid, the faint scent of herbs wafting into the air as the greenish liquid within shimmered under the lab’s dim light.

For a moment, his hand hovered over the pot, hesitation flickering in his eyes. He dipped a piece of cotton into the liquid, his movements precise, almost mechanical. Then, with a gentleness that felt strangely out of place given everything, he took your injured hand in his.

The burn throbbed as he dabbed the cotton over it, the cool liquid soothing the worst of the sting. His touch was deliberate, almost reverent, as though he were trying to erase the damage through sheer force of will.

“This isn’t permanent,” he said softly, breaking the tense silence. “It will heal in a few days. You’ll hardly remember it.”

You winced as the liquid seeped into the wound, biting your lip to keep from crying out. “I’ve heard that before,” you muttered, your voice tight.

Viktor stilled, his hand pausing over yours. He stared at the burn for a long moment before he spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “Do you remember the first time this happened?”

You didn’t answer immediately, the memory tugging at the edges of your mind. It was years ago now, back when the lab felt like a sanctuary instead of a battlefield. Back when Viktor’s smile held warmth instead of shadows, the Hexcore was just an idea, not a force that seemed to breathe and pulse with its own twisted life.

“I remember,” you said, at last, your tone guarded.

Viktor nodded, his lips curving into something that was almost a smile but didn’t quite make it. “You were shaking. I thought you might never come back.”

You glanced at him, caught off guard by the faint flicker of nostalgia in his voice. “I didn’t want to. Not after that.”

He hummed, the sound low and contemplative. “And yet you did. You always came back.” His eyes met yours, and for a fleeting second, they softened. “Even when you have every reason not to.”

The words hung between you like a fragile thread.

“I came back because I trusted you,” you said quietly, the weight of the statement pressing down on your chest.

Viktor flinched, the softness in his eyes hardening into something darker. He lowered his gaze, focusing intently on your hand as he wrapped it in a clean bandage.

“You still can,” he murmured, but the words felt hollow like he was trying to convince himself more than you.

The silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive. Finally, Viktor broke it, his voice barely above a whisper. “About… before.”

Your breath hitched, and your stomach churned at the memory. You didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to relive the wrongness of his lips on yours or the way it had made your skin crawl.

“I shouldn’t have…” he began, his tone strained as if the words were being dragged out of him against his will. “It was—” He faltered, his grip tightening ever so slightly around your wrist. “A mistake.”

Viktor didn’t meet your gaze, his focus fixed on the task at hand. But there was something in the set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, that made you doubt the sincerity of his words.

“Do you regret it?” you ask.

His hand froze mid-motion, and for a long moment, he didn’t respond. Then, slowly, he looked up at you, his amber eyes burning you.

“No,” he admitted, the word barely audible. “I don’t.”

The air between you seemed to shift, the weight of his confession pressing down like a physical force.

You pull your hand away from his grasp, and he lets you.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

You wandered the dark hallways, muttering curses under your breath. In your rush to leave earlier, you had forgotten something important in the lab, and now you were back. The sun had long set, casting shadows that made the corridors feel even more oppressive. Every step felt heavier as you neared the lab.

Your hand rested on the door, but you hesitated. A strange purple glow seeped from beneath it. Frowning, you pushed the door open just a little more.

What you saw inside froze you in place.

Viktor stood at the center of the room, clutching the Hexcore as energy surged from it. The room was alive with chaotic power, papers swirling violently in the air. The air crackled with an intensity that almost felt suffocating.

Viktor’s grip on the Hexcore was inhumanly tight, his body convulsing as energy ripped through him. His screams echoed a twisted mix of pain and something darker.

"Viktor!?"

Without thinking, you rushed forward, grabbing his arm in an attempt to pull him away. But the Hexcore seemed to resist, pulling back with a force that threatened to tear you apart.

A searing pain coursed through you, starting from your hand and spreading through your body like wildfire. You gasped, the sensation of your skin sizzling almost audible as you fought to stay on your feet.

An opulent light flared around you, the burns climbing up your body halting and healing quickly but leaving deep, raw scars in their wake. You could barely keep your vision clear as they spread, scarring your face and limbs, only for the wounds to heal just as quickly—leaving deep, jagged scars behind.

Viktor’s strained gasps filled the air as he looked over his shoulder, horror donning in his eyes when he recognized you. He saw the burns, your face raw with the damage, but before he could speak, the Hexcore pulsed again.

A final surge of energy erupted from it, throwing you back, your body slamming against the wall with a sickening crack. The lab was plunged back into silence, save for the distant hum of the Hexcore still glowing ominously in the center of the room,

Viktor gasps, catching his breath as he writhes on the floor. Desperation claws at him as he searches for your body, wi9dening once he sees it on the other side of the lab, blood smearing the wall behind you, a stark red against the pale stone.

“Y/n—” His voice cracked, hoarse and trembling. He dragged himself toward you, his movements slow and unsteady, his desperation palpable.

“Y/n!!”

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

Jayce stood motionless, staring at the still form in the hospital bed. Half of your face was unmarred, a ghost of the person he’d known for years. The other half was ravaged beyond recognition, the skin deeply scarred, a stark contrast that was hard to look at.

Beside him, the doctor spoke, her voice calm but grave. “There’s a spinal fracture. If they wake, they’ll be paralyzed from the waist down.”

“Stop,” Jayce whispered, his voice barely audible. He closed his eyes, as if shutting out her words could make them untrue. “Just... stop.”

The doctor hesitated, then nodded, her expression softening. “I’ll give you some space.”

As she left, Jayce remained rooted by your bedside, his gaze never leaving you. How had it come to this?

You had been more than an apprentice to him—his confidant, his partner, someone who believed in him even when he doubted himself. And now, you were here, teetering on the edge between life and death.

He gently reached for your hand, clutching it as though his grip alone could anchor you to this world. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “No more of this. No more council. I’m done with them. We’ll fix this. I’ll fix this.”

But his words felt hollow, and deep down, he knew he couldn’t undo what had been done.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

“No one could have predicted this tragedy. Today marks six months since Zaun’s devastating attack on Piltover—”

The radio droned on in the background, but Viktor wasn’t listening.

He stood silently beside the hospital bed, his gaze fixed on you. Your face, marked by the scars left behind, was peacefully asleep. Machines beeped softly in the background, monitoring your condition.

Viktor’s discolored hand hovered just above yours, trembling slightly. His expression was unreadable.

“Soon, my dear,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Soon.”

To be continued...

TagList:

@marcyyywukinnie

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leth-writes · 3 months ago

Text

yandere arcane x reader from the undercity

SUMMARY: yandere arcane x undercity reader

WARNINGS: 18+ as always on my blog, though the work is safe for work. Typical yandere shenanigans.

mild spoilers for season two in Caitlyn’s part, but I think I managed to avoid season two spoilers in every other part.

MASTERLIST: https://www.tumblr.com/leth-writes/757800060720496640/requests-open?source=share

Requests are open!

SILCO

Silco’s job is made a whole lot easier by you being a citizen of Zaun. He’s able to pretty effectively track you around the undercity without much effort, hell, he might even sick Sevika on you just to follow you around and take notes, who knows.

He’s really obsessive about making sure you’re safe. Before you’ve met, he’s got someone on you constantly, taking notes and giving him a detailed list of everything you do. He also manages to bug your apartment. He likes watching you just putter around, it helps put him at ease.

I think he’d have an easier time rationalizing his affection for a darling from the undercity; his whole goal is to make the undercity sovereign, and if you share those goals, he’ll give you a little more wiggle room. You still won’t be able to leave The Last Drop, like at all, but you’ll definitely get a bit more space than he would normally allow a darling to have.

Since you’re so familiar with the undercity, collaring and tagging you is a necessity for him. He can’t have you running away, so he gets Singed to embed a fucking tracker. You won’t even feel a thing, it happens before you even gain consciousness that first day.

Spends a lot of time breaking you down so you never try to run away; everyone knows how important you are to him, and that puts a target on your back.

VI or JINX

She doesn’t really care all that much. It’s a bit easier to get her to open up, but beyond that, I think she just sees the undercity as like the baseline, she doesn’t even consider that she would end up with someone from the topside.

SEVIKA

Makes her job a hell of a lot easier. You already know her reputation, you’re never gonna disobey her. Don’t even think about it.

Makes sure you stay on the premises of The Last Drop, keeps you cooped up most of the time. SHe’s worried you’ll run away if she takes you out, though she keeps you entertained by buying you trinkets and takeout. You’re just amazed to see stuff from the topside, you’ve never been, and it’s easy to keep you busy.

You’re like a kid, staring at the snow globe she buys you. She genuinely thinks you haven’t moved all day.

VIKTOR

Also makes his job easier. As a person from the Undercity, you understand his backstory in a way someone like Jayce never would.

It also makes it easier to keep you isolated. You do face discrimination as an undercity person when you’re topside, which keeps you running into his arms. He knows you could beat him up, it wouldn’t be hard, but you would have no way to get back home, and your quality of life has shot way up anyways.

Your relationship is actually probably the healthiest out of everyone on this list, just by virtue of him feeling free to take you around town, though he does use the discrimination to subtly remind you not to leave him. You might not even notice you’ve technically been kidnapped, he’s so subtle.

CAITLYN

Season one Caitlyn doesn’t mind all that much.

Season two Caitlyn treats you like a fucking pet. She acts like you’re… lower than her. She loves you so, so much, but she definitely doesn’t trust you the way she would trust someone from Piltover. You’re never leaving the house, and you’ll never return home. She plans on cleaning the place out, anyways, so it’s not safe for you down there.

She probably keeps you on sedatives. She views you as slightly dangerous, so she isn’t willing to take that chance.

You’re a lot more pliant when you can’t tell up from down, and she’s free to just cuddle with you without a worry in the world.

#yandere arcane #yandere caitlyn #yandere jinx #yandere vi #yandere silco #yandere viktor #lethwrites #yandere sevika

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weepingchronicles · 2 months ago

Note

Can I request a yandere viktor before he becomes the herald of machines and since after his transformation the love for the reader still exists, maybe it has even become a little dark

of course! thank you for your request. i am not a league fan although i watch arcane– so some of this may be a bit off.

❝yandere!viktor x gn! reader❞

🔩.𖥔 ݁ ˖✒️ Viktor falls in love fast, almost too quickly without even knowing someone's name yet although he does not fall in love very often. Or at all. But when he does it gets intense very quickly.

🔩.𖥔 ݁ ˖✒️ He is almost inclined to dismiss you. You're just someone else. You don't understand his work and he doesn't want to risk any bystanders getting their stupid selves in the way.

🔩.𖥔 ݁ ˖✒️ But something changes one day, it could be something small like discovering a common interest between you two or a kind gesture. Anything can get this boy hooked. Or perhaps it was something bigger. It took you actually getting hurt to realize his care for you. You weren't just another cog in the machines, you were a whole mechanism.

🔩.𖥔 ݁ ˖✒️ After that Viktor tried his best to ignore you. He didn't want you getting hurt anymore because of him. His intentions are often good but he doesn't realize that his actions could be more harm than help.

🔩.𖥔 ݁ ˖✒️ And so he pushes you away to isolate himself, believing he is protecting you.

🔩.𖥔 ݁ ˖✒️ After he becomes herald of machines his love for you has not only heightened but has become worse. He pushed you away thinking he was doing something good, no, no. That was all wrong. Now he sees he has the power to fix you too, fix everyone. He is going to save everyone.

🔩.𖥔 ݁ ˖✒️ Depending on the reader, he definitely is going to bring you with him to his glorious evolution. You can try to run and fight him off but he will never really stop. You are the centerpiece of his entire plan, he wants you most of all by him, forever.

🔩.𖥔 ݁ ˖✒️ One side of him also hates you, he hates his tragically human love for you that he will do anything in his mind that will get rid of it. You just dying won't do, the only thing that will satisfy him is having you with him forever.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #arcane #yandere drabble #yandere arcane #yandere hcs #yandere viktor #yandere league of legends

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lovesick-desires · 1 month ago

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VALETUDINARIANISM

YANDERE!VIKTOR X IMMUNOCOMPROMISED!READER — CHAPTER ONE

⇢ NEXT CHAPTER

ABSTRACT: An immunocompromised individual comes across Viktor's commune and Viktor wants to do more than just cure them of their ailments. CONTENT WARNINGS: gender neutral reader, season two spoilers, yandere behavior, manipulation, cult behavior, no mentions of "y/n", mind reading, use of google translate for Czech WORD COUNT: 1.7k VIKTOR'S YANDERE ARCHETYPE: delusional, protective

Growing up in the Undercity was especially hard for someone like you: someone who was dealing with an debilitating disability. In a city full of pollution and waste only worsened your symptoms, especially since you had no money to really manage it well, let alone treat it. Life constantly had you recovering or suffering from illnesses, one after the other. It felt like you were drowning in an ocean of chronic health issues, wave after wave of illness pushing you down just when you reached the surface to catch your breath.

One day, wandering the lanes in your ill state, you heard whispers of a man who could cure any ailment. Someone who utilized the arcane arts to cure disabilities, illnesses, anything... Of course, this lured you in. Not having any other hope in getting the help you desperately needed, you decided to look into this mysterious man.

Viktor, that's what his name was, or so you've heard as it was mumbled in the streets of the Undercity. A man who could heal all: the Machine Herald.

Eventually, you found the location of this mysterious healer in the outskirts of Zaun. Lanterns and cozy looking tents decorated the landscape, centered around a large iridescent orb in the center, which was presumably where the healer was—

"Excuse me," A meek voice emerged from the front gates. As you glanced over to the voice's origin, you spotted a man standing there with his hands held together. His warm auburn hair fell in messy strands over his forehead, framing his peach face and pale eyes. He was adorned in a white robe that seemed to be some sort of fabric wrapped around his body, which was accented by the metal accessories decorated him torso and left arm. The most unique thing about this man was that he had iridescent markings encompassing his right eye, looking akin the the pattern on the orb in the cult's center.

"Yes?" You replied, slowly approaching the weary man.

"Can you... please drop your weapons? This is a place of peace, not violence." The man spoke up, gesturing to the knife that was sheathed in its holder wrapped around your thigh. Realizing what he was referring to, you immediately were put on edge. Why was this man trying to take your weapons and leave you defenseless in a city such as theirs? However, you had your other knife hidden in your boot for emergencies, so you'd be fine to lose one. Begrudgingly, you undid the buckle of the knife's holster and dropped it to the floor, much to the relief of the man before you.

"Thank you." The man spoke up, his voice tinged with a sense of relief.

"Where is this healer I have heard of?" You queried the gateman, facing him with your full body now as you adjusted your stance. To this, a small smile spread across his lips.

"Ah, you mean the Machine Herald, yes. He should be in his center. If you'd like, I can lead you there." The gateman spoke, gesturing towards that weird orb in the center. Reluctantly, you nodded, letting the gateman lead the way.

As you two walked around, you gazed at the surroundings. Men, women, children, all running amuck and looking... happy. It was sure an odd sight to experience in a place such as the Undercity. These people had those iridescent markings on their body like the gateman had. Is that the Machine Herald's healing? Did it leave that sort of marking on those he cured? They each seemed different markings in different places, all with the same iridescent look and sheen. What would yours look like?

"We are here." The gateman uttered, gesturing to the large orb before you two with two large crescent shapes bent around it like a broken halo. As his hand landed on your shoulder, you jumped a little before glancing over at him.

"He will heal you, trust in him." The man proclaimed with such assurance in his voice that you could feel it in your chest. Slowly, the man's hand slipped from your shoulder as he left you before the orb, walking back to his gate.

Your gaze left the man as you looked up at the orb before you, shocked at the sheer size of it. With much reluctance, you took your first steps up the stairs to its entrance, mentally bracing for whatever you saw through those double doors. With shaky hands and a racing heart, you reached for the handles and pushed the doors open.

As you glanced around, you were greeted with foliage in every nook and cranny of the room. Plants and trees you had never seen before with vibrant colors flooded all your senses as if trying to suffocate them with such vibrancy. Glancing up at the ceiling, you could see the holes of the orb filtering in a golden sunlight, dappling the flourishing interior with the light of the heavens. In the center of the concrete paths stood a lavish water fountain. With shaky steps, you approached it as you admired the clean looking water. You had never seen clear water like this in your lifetime, let alone in the Undercity of all places.

"Fascinating, isn't it all?" A voice with a thick Czech accent spoke up from behind you. Glancing back, you take in the sight of an individual wrapped in what appeared to be some sort of blue sheet that was doctored into a makeshift robe with the help of ivory colored belts at his waist. His umber hair laid in undulating waves, framing his pale face as the tips of his hair were a soft blonde. While his face was a pale tone, the rest of his skin from his strong jawline down was a purplish grey with raised markings that looked like billowing smoke which were adorned with golden markings. "All this beauty in a place such as this once was." He continued, walking towards you in a slow, meticulous manner. After staring at him for a moment, you cleared your throat.

"You are... the healer, correct?" You muttered, watching him carefully as you kept your guard up.

"Relax, this is not a place of malintent." The Machine Herald spoke softly, reaching out for you with a gentle hand towards your forehead. For an unknown reason, you felt calm as you gazed up at his hand, letting his fingers graze your forehead with a tender touch. A small spark filled his gaze as his fingertips glowed softly. Slowly, he pulled his hand from your forehead, looking down at you.

"Ah, I see your ailments now. Your body is weak, yet your soul is strong. The will to live you have is very admirable, despite your chronic hardships." The healer spoke, much to your confusion.

"How did you know that?" You questioned, raising a brow at his sudden knowledge of you.

"I saw it when I touched your forehead, miláček¹," He muttered, looking at his fingertips for a moment before averting his gaze back to you. "I can heal you of your ailments, which is why you are here, correct?"

"What's the catch?" You interjected, obviously still on guard about the whole situation. It all seemed to be too good to be true. After so many years of you suffering, it can go away just like that? Viktor's face stayed stoic and unmoving.

"Ah, I see. You are afraid I am taking advantage of your vulnerabilities for my personal gain," Viktor proclaimed as he strolled past you towards the water fountain. As you looked over your shoulder, you could see him picking up a cane that was leaning against a tree near the water fountain. "I can understand why you would think that why, given how long you have suffered from having such suffering in your life from illness." He continued as his gaze shifted from his cane to you.

"So, what do you want? Money?" You questioned, turning around to fully face the Machine Herald. To this, the Machine Herald scoffed.

"Money? No, no, I have no need in monetary assets." He replied, his thick eyebrows knitted together.

"So, what is it? What's the price?" You spoke, walking towards the healer, trying to rack your brain with any possibility.

"I only request your devotion. This commune could do well with addition such as yourself." Viktor declared, holding his cane at his side firmly. Oh great, you had to join this guy's cult to get healed of your disorder. You felt a pit in your stomach when you realized his implications. You would probably have to live in this cult for the rest of your life. What would life be like? Would it be as utopic as it seemed or would things be more dystopic than Zaun?

"I don't think... I can do that." You muttered out, taking a step back. Something was off about this whole thing. Something was under the surface that you didn't know about, you were certain. To your rejection, Viktor's eyes widened softly before he tutted, offering his hand out to you.

"You are scared of the possibilities, I understand that. But I can assure you that you can trust me." The Machine Herald cooed, his purplish grey hand beckoning you to him with spindly fingers. You felt your heart race in your chest. No, you can't do it. Something was wrong. You knew something was wrong, deep down.

To this, you took two more steps backwards only to bolt out of the orb, not looking back even after the Machine Herald called out your name. Bursting through the double doors of the center, you run through the winding paths between tents and markets. Narrowly dodging cult members who all looked at you with bewildered eyes, you ran as fast as your legs could carry you. You had to get out of here. Now. Something was seriously wrong with this fucked up cult and you knew better than to get involved any further. You ran through the gates where the auburn-haired man stood, confused at your sudden escape.

You had no idea what you had just done by rejecting The Machine Herald's blessing. You had no idea what you had awoken in the healer. He knew you were gone, but he knew he would find you.

¹ miláček — "darling" or "sweetheart" in Czech

SONG OF THE FIC: DISEASE - LADY GAGA

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ARCANE MASTERLIST

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yanderearcane · 7 months ago

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Yandere Viktor Headcanons

[I have notifications turned off for this blog, so go wild]

He was impressed by your appearance, especially for someone from Zaun

Was to shy to approach you, but watched you from a distance

He was quite entangled by you

His entanglement turned into obsession

He wanted to impress you, get your attention, but he wasn't sure how

He feels that he can get your attention, he just has to figure out how to do it

Leaves little prototypes outside your home

Is flattered when you use them/like them

You finally approach him when hearing about him through the grapevine from above

You share many ideas of humankind and the unfair treatment of your fellow Zauns

While he is outcasted and alone, you have developed a social personality as to co-mingle with Piltovers, even though you hate them for their privilege. You just needed a way in. The best way to destroy a democracy is to take out the workers at the bottom; The whole pyramid will come crashing down- So, that's what you set off to do

You wanted Viktor's help

Whether he agrees with your motives or not is unclear from the beginning as he does not shy with his flirting with you

Your flattered and a little surprise by his sudden boldness

He does end up impressing you with his machinery- Though, when you take him up, you're a little surprised when finding out he knows Jayce

Though Viktor is quick to assure you he has no ties to that man- None that mattered

#yandere viktor x reader #yandere viktor #viktor x reader #viktor #arcane #league of legends #yandere arcane #yandere arcane x reader #arcane netflix #arcane headcanons #lol headcanons #arcane league of legends #league of legends x reader #yandere league of legends

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married-to-google-translater · 2 months ago

Note

How will react yandere viktor with a kanao reader ?

She can't choose a decision for herself and use a coin for take a décision ?(i'm sorry if my english is bad)

No worries your English is good

Yandere Viktor

You were one of Jayce's and Viktor's assistants when they were working on hex tech.

That's how you two really got to know each other.

However, Viktor wouldn't pay much attention to you at first.

Viktor would be interested in your way of "making decisions".

You put a surprising amount of faith in fate.

As a scientist, Viktor would have been more used to logical solutions.

Because of this you would talk a lot about life and your views.

Yandere tendencies would start to increase slowly

Actually Viktor would talk more.

You usually focused on listening.

Viktor would like to help you learn to make decisions, but his Yandere side would like you like this.

He would be afraid that you would leave him someday.

Viktor wouldn't let this happen...

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mo0nfairy · 2 months ago

Text

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ BLOMSTERTID, PART FOUR !

summary :: Centuries-old mage, Y/N L/N, possesses magical abilities unheard of. A few citizens monopolize the remnants of magic they find, of which they now title “Hextech”. Hearsay of this power bleeds through all of Runeterra, until Piltover and Zaun find themselves in an anarchic war to obtain said power. Before Y/N can even blink, however, the humans neglect their plans when they realize they’d rather have Y/N instead.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 10.7k

content warnings :: SPOILERS! obsessive!vi, yandere!vi, yandere!jinx, yandere!viktor, gender neutral reader, alcohol/alcoholism, violence, suic1de attempt, & some s3xual themes (but nothing too explicit).

vi's yandere traits are . . .

ambitious, territorial, & controlling

⋆ ｡ ˚ ⋆ ⸺ When the moon rises and the vibrant world eases, Vi always finds herself dreaming of the same thing.

She imagines herself beneath a shower of softness, the sight of prickling tears or bruising flesh disintegrating. Even in the height of her childhood, her desires have always been adorned in thick blankets of fluff. Instead of toys and trinkets, it was hopping sheep and tickling feathers. Here, there would be no further need for clenched fists anymore, not when there is tender love.

To feel the touch of gentle warmth — that is the haunting desire which paints her dreams.

It is a desire that is entirely foreign. A stranger, indubitably. Yet, this hunger is so immense, the mere thought of actually satiating this emaciation causes her stomach to sway.

Even standing at a high point in Piltover, identity exposed to any lingering pedestrians, Vi does not feel at unease. Beside Mylo, Claggor, and her sister, Powder, the heist they frivolously forged in their heads fails to provoke any nerves within the young girl. If anything, she is fearless, as many have described her as. Not a worried bone in her body.

Slithering into the apartment of a Topsider came with its bumps in the road, but nothing that team could not swiftly smooth out. The mess of golden gadgetry scattered around is framed in an array of twisting cogs and sprockets. Books are spread through the expanse languidly, a few left open and dogeared to certain chapters. A wide chalkboard joins this scientist’s paradise, as well. Scribbled in white chalk are a myriad of mathematical equations she couldn’t decipher even if she cared enough to try.

With a warning of concern to Powder (and a quick scolding to Mylo and Claggor), Vi sets out by herself and finds an office space nestled at the end of the hallway. The door is of a dark mahogany wood, carved with dark golden frames and intricacies. Oh, to be born so lucky and care for the appearance of a simple door.

Within, there is a wider variety of books, scattered pages of blueprints, and even a lone, half-eaten sandwich.

And right in the center of this mess is a figure.

She cannot articulate how (or even why, for that matter), but the sight of them yanks the breath right from her chest. For the very first time in her tumultuous, violence-induced life, flight-or-fight has become a afterthought. Standing on the threshold, she freezes.

Bent over the desk is a cloaked stranger. Their fingers, jagged and dark-hued, toy with some electric experiments. The subtle jingle of the jewels and adornments beneath their coat perfuse through the silence. A cloud, almost a halo, suffuses from their form in hues of purple and sapphire. All that is missing is a fluffy pair of wings and Vi would be positive she’s just stumbled upon an angel.

When they turn over their shoulder to identify the sudden, yet sneaky entrance, she truly feels like she has become a statue.

They are pretty. Frighteningly so. Not in the same vein as the Piltover Pageant Queens, but something entirely beyond that. It is pure and unearthly; something soft, yet gut-wrenching. A whole other universal level of ‘pretty’, she’d describe. And as high and mighty as she carries herself, that stone-hard facade crumbles to baby pebbles when a subtle smile stretches on their serrated lips.

They stand to their feet, abandoning their efforts with Topside science in favor of her. As they step closer to her, something unknown crawls about in her stomach. That hunger, so comfortable in its withering starvation that the mere scent of nourishment has it itching to sprint away. Still, she remains frozen in dazed wonder.

It is only when they halt before Vi does the realization settle. She wished she had chased them through that sandstorm. Chased them through any storm, for that matter. She can no longer count on her fingers the instances in which she found her sister doodling that exact face among the walls of the Last Drop’s basement, her hands a permanent stain of old chalk and dry markers. It is simply a sloppy cartoon, she always assumed. But now, it is everything and so, so much more.

“You may have a good heart, but you must not let it blind you.”

Wind chimes.

That is what the voice sounds like, accentuated by summer winds and sprinkling rain.

Wide-eyed like some stupid puppy-dog, all Vi can do is stare as they bring their hand up to her cheek. The heavenly warmth perfusing from their palm meets her flesh and in a flash, her vision is overwhelmed in darkness. Images flood through the shadows, all painting a picture of this stranger.

They sit beside a river’s edge, peering into the water surface and scrutinizing their appearance in utter horror. Splotches of purple and blue cover their skin, contrasting in varying sizes and hues. Incomprehensible gibberish glitters across their exposed, sparkling skin. Black streaks of dirt and ash leak down their face with the seeping tears. Horrific perfection.

“Mama…” They whimper, cracked and devastated.

A gasp leaps from Vi’s chest as she is finally granted clarity.

Her feet fail her in awkward tumbles, before she inevitably falls to the ground. She finds herself to still remain in the office of this rich Topsider, but she is now in complete solitude. The stranger has vanished. Nothing remains in their departure besides the open window panes swinging with the wind.

They leave the girl no room to digest the fact that every desire of softness and tender touch was just clutched in her palms. Not when it had abandoned Vi as quickly as it was granted to her.

This sense of abandonment festered inside of her for the remainder of an entire decade.

Desperate endeavors at grasping a sliver of what you had gifted her all prove to be futile, no matter how ambitious the attempt. If anything, the sheer opposite had infested Vi’s life; a pendulum swung ahead to something amazing for only a second, just to remain stagnant on the opposing end for many agonizing years.

Any effort at forcing that pendulum back, maybe even reforging the events of her memories, only serves as a blunt reminder of what she is now. A pit fighter, of all things; a savage spectacle. All her hands now know is violence.

Large streaks of dirt paint the expanse beneath her eyes. A smudge here, some dusted there — just the same as you, peering at yourself on the reflective surface of the river. And as devastating as the conclusion is, she has no choice but to accept this is what her life was made for.

The only remnant of peace Vi can grasp in this life is within the walls of her bedroom. As artificial as it may be, drinking herself sick and watching her poisoned brain carve fantasies into reality is the highlight of her day.

Slumped over the thin mattress, she gapes in reverie at the blurry sights of you. Sometimes staring into the cracked mirror, a deity admiring the masterpiece of their appearance. Other times laying right beside her, gentle hands that cannot get enough of her flesh. Maybe even bludgeoning her fists into the punching bag, imagining some lovelorn, teenage-like fantasy of her defending your honor, to where you drown her in praise and gratitude.

The peace is puny, pitifully so. Yet, is the only drop of fuel pushing her forward through this pathetic life.

And indulging in these visions is exactly Vi’s intentions as she returns to her room after another win in the pit. That is, until she is greeted by a sight that alone is enough to ruin her entire night.

“Violet.” A smooth accent speaks.

Standing beside her door is a figure dressed in that familiar, irritating gold and blue uniform. Navy-blue hair is slicked back into a ruler-straight ponytail, framing her sharp face, paired with a gun almost as tall as her towering frame.

“Who are you? And how do you know my name?”

She displays her badge like a shimmering trophy.

“Commander Kiramman. Leader of House Kiramman. Address me with respect, or keep your mouth shut.” She speaks with direction, chin held high and chest puffed out. Classic Topsider.

“Still doesn’t answer my question.”

“It’s written on your face.”

Vi sighs out in defeat, entering her room and grasping a random, half-full bottle from the ground. She lands with an exhausted groan on her mattress.

“So, what is it now? Random search? Escort off the property? Or are you just here to waste my time?”

The Kiramman follows suit and stands on the threshold, gaze stern as she glares at Vi.

“I’m here for an investigation. I’m sure you and your people,” She spits out, “have heard of the attack against the council.”

“Yeah.” Vi snickers. “Just means we got a few less Pilties to worry about.”

The last syllable barely parts from Vi’s mouth before she finds herself staring down the barrel of a gun.

“I warned you, filthy rat.”

She merely rolls her eyes at the aggressive gesture. Violence is a second home, after all.

“Fine. I don’t know shit, alright? Bomb went off, rich people died — I know just as much as the other schmucks in this pit.”

With measured ease, the Kiramman sighs out a breath, folds her gun, and tosses it over her back.

“We’re looking for Jinx, the criminal mastermind behind the attack. We’ve received several reports of her appearing around this area.”

She folds her long arms over her chest.

“Since you are the most prominent figure in this… pigsty, surely you have seen her.”

Vi sneers in response. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. I’m too busy trying to keep myself afloat down here. Not that you Topsiders know jack shit about that…”

She then takes a hardy chug of the alcohol in her hands. As she drinks, the Commander slips her fingers into her back pocket. She unfolds a wad of paper, before presenting it to Vi.

“Then, do you recognize this person?”

Cheap whiskey spatters from Vi’s mouth when she registers the contents. Eyes blown wide, she goggles at the sight of your face sketched in almost exact clarity amongst the lined page. A near identical replication of the day she was blessed with the genuine sight.

The bottle in her grasp is swiftly abandoned in favor of snagging the paper from the Enforcer. A grunt of disdain huffs from her, but Vi is too engrossed in you to care for the disrespect of the stranger in her room. Every intricacy and trace is done with such grace, she may as well have been holding your face in her palms.

“We are under the impression they played a role in this attack-”

“No!” Vi abruptly interrupts. “They wouldn’t- You don’t know anything about them…”

“Well… Whoever is behind it, we believe they are after Hextech. We’re halting all trades until further notice.”

The words may as well have been background noise to Vi. In one ear and out the other, inevitable when she is met with the most realistic depiction of you she’s seen in years.

“If it interests you,” The Commander begins, shoveling another item from her pocket. “You seem to know more about Y/N than you let on. And we need as many bodies as we can get.”

The gold glimmer of an Enforcer badge grasps Vi’s attention. Taunting her, almost. She slaps the badge out of her hands almost as quickly as it was revealed, the metal clinking with the several empty bottles left languidly in the corner.

“Fuck. You.” Vi seethes, her grasp still latched to the paper in her hands. Possessive is her disposition.

Nonetheless, the Kiramman remains just as stone-cold as she was when she first waltzed into the room. She does not utter another word before she leaves Vi to herself, her offer still plaguing the silent air.

Vi’s back hits the mattress with a hard thump. Paper still in hand, she stares into the etchings as though you were truly here beside her. Terrifying perfection.

It is that very perfection that sat Viktor here in the first place.

Right beside his partner before the city's councilors, who all look down at him as though he were a muck-covered stray at their doorstep.

Piltover has never been his home, nor has its people accepted him as. The only home he has ever been granted full claim of is you and the paradise that is the sanctuary you’ve cultivated. Now, that serenity has been robbed straight from his hands; he was granted a second of heaven and nothing more. And it is torturing him more than he is willing to admit.

Viktor’s disposition alone does all the confessing necessary, however. Urgent conversations from the councilors are drowned out by the forlorn, cry-ridden mold seeping through his mind. What was once soul-crushing anguish is now simply nothing. A hollow numbness that permeates his entire being; a deep pit that could only be filled by you.

Some frantic entity within him desperately latches onto any loose thread of yours he can find, but any breath of you is merely a figment of his imagination. No matter how hard he may fight and thrash, the truth still bludgeons its bruised, bloody fists into his form: Viktor was not strong enough for you. And without you, there is nothing else in this life that interests him.

“If the Under-City possesses even a sliver of Hextech, this could only result in-”

“It is not the Under-City you should concern yourselves with.” Viktor interrupts. “It is Jinx who is the problem.” He snarls her name like he is spitting out rotten food.

All attention is forced to Viktor, but his gaze remains far and distant. His thoughts have lost themselves in an open field of torturous disarray.

“How are you so positive this is the effort of a single individual?” Cassandra questions him. “How do you know this Jinx you speak of is not working with others?”

A sneer itches at his lips.

“That rat stole Hextech directly from my hands. She will stop at nothing if it is for the sake of Y/N.”

“You speak quite highly of this… Y/N.” Mel Medarda inserts herself into the discussion. “Seems to me they hold some imperative power. Am I mistaken?”

“They are of utmost importance. Y/N is an absolute necessity.”

Whether this imperativeness is for the sake of Piltover or himself, he isn’t sure. Still, he will lay his deepest feelings bare for all the Councilors to judge and belittle if it means bringing you home. Viktor is now miles beyond desperation and this new sensation frightens him to no end.

“Power that Jinx could want, perhaps?”

Viktor shakes his head in disagreement. “No, no. These… feelings Jinx has for Y/N tread deeper.”

“You propose Jinx is possibly in love with Y/N?” Mel inquires further.

“I believe Jinx thinks she is in love with Y/N, but it is merely insincere. No, a creature like her will never amount to anything worthy enough for Y/N. They are simply too…”

A soft fog drapes over his expression.

“Resplendent. Brilliant a-and radiant. An angel we have been-”

“I think what my partner is trying to say is… Jinx is a problem that needs to be promptly addressed.” Jayce rescues Viktor from the social-suicide he was seconds away from committing.

This does not save him from the ghost of his memories plaguing his body, however.

In the clap of a second, Viktor has returned to the scene of the crime: within the whorls of your beloved sanctuary. That laughter, that haunting laughter, pervades through his memory like a thrashing storm. Perfusing into every corner of his mind, granting the tortured man no possible room for clarity. And so enchanted with the moment, Viktor does not attempt to fight the urges his body indulges in before his eyes are rolling back and he’s leaning in to kiss you.

Before your lips can meet in a music-swelling moment of bliss, an abrupt explosion penetrates through the air. The romantic scene is brought to a record-scratching halt and instinctively, Viktor leaps to protect you from the sudden intrusion. A fraction of his mind curses him for not discerning the threat sooner. He’d be a stronger knight if his monarch weren’t so damn hypnotizing.

The swarming fireworks are soon engulfed by the encroaching of smoke bombs, erupting the once breathtaking environment into hazy clouds of purple, pink, and blue. Viktor does not hesitate before sacrificing his body as your shield, tackling you to the ground and ensnaring himself around every inch of flesh he can reach.

Just as he begins to drown you in relentless assurances of his protection, his devotion, how he’ll never abandon your side, the rampant chorus of footsteps then accelerate behind him.

In a flash of blue braids, he is knocked out cold.

When Viktor wakes, he discovers himself motionless in a pool of his own blood. Through his dizzy gaze, the colorful smoke has eased and the sun has reached its highest point. A bitter silence has now overwhelmed the air. Nonetheless, the only thought present in his mind is you.

He searches through the havoc to no avail, dragging himself to his stuttering legs to further search his surroundings. Limping forward, every nook and cranny present is scrutinized by this crazed man, prayers of finding your face drifting from parted lips.

The frightened villagers have all scurried to their homes, barricading the doors and windows with any fragment of protection they can garner. Cowards, Viktor mutters to himself. There is no force in the universe that could restrain him from ensuring your safety. He would tear mountains asunder just to see a smile stretch on your face.

Abruptly, Cassandra Kiramman is what halts Viktor’s trip down memory lane.

“We cannot ignore the possibility that Y/N may be working alongside Jinx. What proof do we have that tells us otherwise-?”

The snap! of Viktor’s cane splitting into two permeates the room’s expanse when he slams it against the desk edge.

“You keep their name out of your filthy mouth!” He spits out, wild and enraged. “There is no boundary I will not cross if it means being united with my spouse! Be it another bomb from that blue-haired mutt, I will persist through all-!”

In the matter of a second, a violent force crashes into the room and several councilors are killed beneath its weight.

Viktor, horrifyingly so, is almost among those several. Not with the desperate enforcement of Jayce Talis, who rushes him to the lab to treat his fatal injuries.

And this very lab is where Jayce has remained for the past several days he has lost count of.

His partner remains stagnant in the mess of Hextech, opalescent strings of gooey sludge enmeshing his unconscious body. Meanwhile, Jayce scrutinizes every etch of Viktor’s journals, searching for some antidote that will wake him from this magic-induced coma. Though, the most redundant theme in these scientists’ notes is the etchings of the same face, sketched over and over again in an obsessive harmony.

Jayce’s fingers drift among the surface of the page, dragging his gentle touch among the curves and shading of their paper face. He can understand why Viktor is so enthralled by them, as they are evidently, heart-wrenchingly beautiful. But, Jayce is not an easy man. Thus, he does not waver for the artistic works of a man head-over-heels. He’ll just choose to ignore the strange pit in his stomach every time he recalls Viktor using the word “spouse” in regards to them.

“We need to begin preparing ourselves for a full-scale invasion.”

Caitlyn Kiramman announces herself abruptly as she struts into the room.

Upon this intrusion, Jayce slams the journal shut as though he were caught by his mother sneaking sugar before dinner. He cannot put a finger on the reasoning behind such a culpable reaction, but he digresses to accommodate her presence, anyway.

“You’ve taken this time to secure Hextech, I presume?”

She rounds the corner, but her determined strides reach a sudden halt upon finding the sight of Viktor. For just a moment, there’s a glimmer of emotion in Caitlyn’s expression. Brief, albeit, but its existence had prevailed fleetingly, nonetheless.

“He’s breathing. That’s… That’s all I know.” Jayce mutters.

Her weakened attitude is swiftly replaced by her habitual, stiff disposition. Chest and chin held high, she continues.

“There is no use dwelling on these matters. Not when the Under-City is potentially planning another attack.”

Exhaustion getting the better of him, Jayce scoffs at her persisting suggestions, rubbing the ache in his temple.

“Cait, I already told you. I promised Viktor. You can’t just go down there, guns-a-blazing-!”

“And I have told you, Jayce, this is no longer up for debate. Jinx has proved herself to be an extraordinary threat. Now, we have proper reason to believe Y/N is, too. It is absolutely imperative these threats are located and neutralized.”

Caitlyn glares daggers as she awaits his response. Jayce has been rendered speechless, however. The hopeful plans he formed for this nation a decade ago have all crashed and burned in a violent matter of seconds. He has found himself at a complete loss, no successful direction on this plane to resort to. All due to this Jinx character. Now, potentially, this beautiful stranger, as well.

Stuck within his inner turmoil, Caitlyn perceives his silence as an answer. She turns her shoulder and takes a single step toward the door.

“Let me try talking to them.”

This grasps her attention.

“You… You wish to speak to Y/N? Why?”

A confession of what lies in Viktor’s journal bridges on his lips, but he halts the efforts of his honest tongue.

“I, uh…” Jayce gulps nervously, but conceals the motion with a forced cough. “I believe I can crack through them. If I can talk to them, I may be able to predict Zaun’s next attack.”

Caitlyn merely gapes at him in utter bewilderment, stammering over herself before she can properly articulate her puzzled thoughts.

“That is vacuous! Our knowledge of Jinx is weak, yes, but Y/N is an utter stranger! A monster, at that! You’d be throwing yourself into uncharted waters, Jayce, you cannot be-”

Her expression drops from scrunched confusion to bitter offense when she realizes the intent behind his lies. He refuses to meet her eye and maintains his vision to the glossy floors. Ashamed, but he will not admit such.

“What will Miss Medarda think of that? Hmm?”

Her tone is low and cautionary. A gentle threat, subtly jabbing at her new privileges as a respected councilor member.

“It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. The sake of Piltover is most important.”

The thinly-veiled lie provokes a sharp, dry laugh from Caitlyn. It is her final response before she promptly takes her leave.

Another powerful figure of the Upper-City has been claimed by this all-engrossing outsider. That being one of the closest friends she has ever known. This creature will surely claim more, unfortunately, but Caitlyn will not allow them to possess her.

She will stop at nothing to bring this devil to their feet. No matter what it takes.

Down under, thundering music and flashing lights dance around Vi. Slumped over the ragged surface of the bar, the ache of alcohol hammers her messy mind. Her pockets are heavy with the coins she earned from another win in the pit, but her senses may as well have been melted to jelly with how much intoxication she has poisoned herself with. Just another night spent resorting to whatever means necessary to forget, the bartender knows all too well.

Tonight, however, another heavy-weight worry has been tossed onto the pile of thousands.

“Me? An enforcer?” Vi chuckles at the prospect alone. “The peanut patrol can suck it, for all I care!”

Another mouthful of liquor burns her throat as it descends.

“That Piltie-bitch wouldn’t know Y/N if they punched her in her dumb face, heh!”

Her bruised, calloused hand lazily grasps hold of her cheek, the very way you did all those years ago. A glance over to the busy dance floor and her evening intentions have found success. There you are, your cloaked figure like a sore thumb among the other partygoers; a scene so out of place, it is almost comical.

“Y/N…”

With liquid courage working its wonders, she has an unbearable urge to shuffle over to you, collapse against your form, and pour her heart from her ribcage straight into your palms. The confession would be drunken and disgusting, stained in inky reverence and muddy worship. Yet, perhaps you’ll be so moved by this passionate declaration, you’ll let her drag you back to her room and-

“Sheesh, kid. Back at it again?”

She’d let out a groan if her body had the energy to do so.

Loris, a regular in the audience, sits himself beside her. Or, ‘Wannabe-Vander’, as she has jokingly titled him after one too many shots.

“What’s ‘yer diagnosis this time, ‘ey? That ‘Y/N’ ‘yer still caught up on?”

Her languid arm attempts to shove him away in her drunken state. Maybe sock him in the face for speaking of you so passively while she’s at it.

“Shut up… Dick…”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get ‘ye home.”

His arms lock under hers and lift, bringing Vi to her wobbly legs. Reluctantly, she follows his guide. Her eyes are locked to the fuzzy hallucination of you with every step out of the bar.

The sight of the flags with the enforcers insignia threaded into the fabric is a brutal reminder of life without you present.

“Enforcer… Fucking joke…”

The thought alone puts a nauseating taste on her tongue. Do Top-Siders really think they can cast out their own people, only to return and take their pick of the litter? Despite all the inevitable disappointment their behavior elicits, Vi still finds herself in the same insufferable fits of rage with every action they take. Every damn day it seems they test her patience. Now, they’ve taken one step too far, from military stomps to an all-too aggressive, annoying intrusion.

Vi splats face-first into the firm plush of her mattress. Loris speaks, most likely a farewell, but the rampant ringing in her aching head fails to discern his words. The door closes with a clunky click and just like every other night, Vi is all alone. The air may be hollow and heavy, but her mind is alive with the softness she only touched once.

“Y/N…”

If it is true, if you are really out there somewhere and not just a pretty figment of a teenager's wild imagination, she cannot decide how to feel. She is at an odd juxtaposition between an ecstatic light and a lonely darkness. All those isolated nights, drunken ramblings, and savage bar fights — why weren’t you there to stop her again? All she has known her entire life is pain, why can’t you mend it the way you did all those years ago?

Even after all this buzzing noise, those words still echo in perfect precision.

“You may have a good heart, but you must not let it blind you.”

And to this day, she hasn’t a clue how this adheres to her life.

‘Good heart’ this, ‘good heart’ that. It is what the most imperative figures in her life have told her. You, however, were different. You were a warning, a feather-touched glimpse into the brutality of her future. Swarming in like a steel crane, bludgeoning the walls she’s spent her entire life forging brick-by-brick.

A strangled gasp dances into the silence when the revelation hits.

These walls have blinded her. That is why you are not here beside her! You must have attempted plenty of times, but the sheer girth of these walls has drowned out any call of her name. Vi was far-too engrossed in maintaining a tough, take-no-shit disposition and neglecting her need for gentler things. Neglecting her need for you, wherever you may reside beyond these thick layers. And this epiphany is shattering.

The Enforcer badge abandoned in the corner of the room calls out to her. A symbol of power and privilege, just beyond her touch. What was once something that churned her stomach by just a mere thought has now transformed into a golden, glimmering opportunity.

That navy-haired Commander, whatever her name was, seemed to know you extensively. Far more than Vi is comfortable with. Maybe if she bites her tongue and wears the badge, she’ll know just as much. Maybe if she leaves this pit, she'll know more than anyone ever has. Maybe if she crosses the bridge, she’ll obtain the proper resources to track down the love of her life.

Maybe, if she joins the Enforcers, she can leave the pigs a breadcrumb trail away from you. Then, just maybe, she can return some of that softness you gave her.

If one thing is abundantly clear, blue and gold are not Vi’s colors.

That is a coherent understatement Vi is acutely aware of now, standing beside the Piltie’s who destroyed her life as their equal. Here, they utilize what they call ‘The Grey’ as a weapon against the people of the Under-City. Green puffs of poison perfusing from every possible angle, the place she has titled home is now reminiscent of a battlefield.

Every building drowns in the gas, mere figments of shapes beneath its thick haze. ‘WANTED’ posters of this ‘Jinx’ character are engulfed in this matter, too. Respected members of the Chem-Barons are now left in languid messes of bodies, some dead while others gag and cling to life. The people of the underground deserve to breathe, until one of them is a bomb-wielding maniac.

“We’ll begin in the Lanes then down to the Slums. Remember: if there is a clear shot, you may open fire, but it is I who will deliver the final blow. No matter Jinx or Y/N. Understood?”

A series of “Yes, Commander”’s are mere squeaks against the booming authority of Caitlyn Kiramman. With a Hextech-powered gun in hand, she confidently guides several Enforcers through the quiet city.

Vi, amongst the several, feverishly scrutinizes through the green gas for even a prick of you. She is no longer blind; the mask has finally been torn from her face. As she concluded, it is surely only a matter of time before you come barreling out of the smog and into her embrace, there to never part again.

It is when their team passes an alleyway that her attention is garnered.

The space is overwhelmed in green fog, but through the silent murk is a noise. It is a quiet sound, like skittering paws. Restrained coughing, almost. That sound is not foreign to the Under-City, an expanse overwhelmed with disease and infection. For reasons Vi cannot decipher, though, this is different. Familiar, she could further detail.

The others have continued countless paces forward as she stands and studies the intricacies of the sound. Classic Topsiders leaving the Zaunite in their dust, once again. Vi does not take the rare moment of Enforcer eyes off of her for granted, however, and ventures into the alleyway.

The sounds that once allured her have now been overwhelmed by her own rampant breaths, intensified within the barriers of her gas mask. Hope has consistently preceded betrayal over the course of her life, so she does not dare let your name touch her tongue. It still resides in her chest, however, where you have always lived. Calling out for you with every thundering beat of her heart.

When Vi rounds a corner, something juts out through the poisonous clouds. Anxiety thrashes inside of her, but she does not dare to halt her efforts now. When she takes a single step closer, her entire world plummets.

Hidden behind an array of old barrels is no other than you.

And just like that, the war is over.

Guns stretching into red-painted arrows mending broken hearts. Gunpoint threats overcome with strong declarations of devotion. Gunpowder residue building to form dust bunnies of a home well-loved. Gunshots easing to soft breaths of tranquility on a gloomy morning. Gunmen’s savage hands healing through bandages to fur-soft touches.

Salvation has found its way directly to her doorstep, wrapped in pretty bows of purple and blue. The war is finally over and Vi can barely tolerate the rush of rapture now pumping through her bloodstream.

You’re huddled into a ball, nearly nude and nothing short of terrified. Puffs of purple and blue spark from your palms in your effort of summoning your powers, but the sudden surge in strength from before has now run dry. Your attempts at shielding your coughing fit is futile, as well, evident in the second presence now towering over you. And it takes every fibre inside her to restrain herself from tackling you like some feral, emaciated animal.

It is fate, purely. A few chapters late, albeit, but finally inked down in all of its beautiful, annihilating colors. You gifted her wisdom many years ago. Now, it is her turn to utilize her own wisdom to protect your precious life.

“Oh, Sweetheart…”

Vi is swift in ridding herself of her gas mask to place it over your head instead. The relief in your expression is immediate when you are finally granted a gasp of clean air.

It does not go unnoticed by Vi, either. She hadn’t realized she had placed a hand on your bare shoulder, but feeling your muscles ease beneath her touch has her releasing a shaky breath she wasn’t aware she was choking on. As though this was normal; as though neither of you had spent a single day apart from each other's side. Partners until the end of time, she muses, your paths and hands woven together with the universe’ needle and thread.

Her lover. The thought alone sends a hot tickle up her spine. Lovers.

Vi suppresses the gags induced by the gas in her elbow, while her other hand caresses the skin she has only dreamt of touching. Any turmoil hurled her way is now a cake-walk with your touch beneath hers.

So engrossed in the whorls of you, in fact, it is only now does she take further notice of other fractions of your physicality. Some vibrant smudges are written on your forehead. “KISS ME, JINX!” is drawn in a blaring demand. Beneath the beautiful face, now covered in a thick mask, is an adornment around your neck. “Property of JINX!”, a warning threatening others off claimed territory.

It is a revolting collage of obsession, one that informs her without words how Jinx is the only threat present here. It could never be you, the pinnacle of tranquility. Too perfect to ever force harm. This Jinx, however, is a different story.

The memories then strike like cold water.

Powder’s insistence of “the stranger” being taken alongside Vander, despite Vi’s assurances that they are nothing more than a fictional fantasy (a territorial motive on her end, she’ll admit). The relentless collision of blue magic that took the lives of almost everyone she held close. The quiet hope that somehow, you’d persevere through the wreckage and mend the impossible wounds.

Then, there was the red-hot rage ensnaring around her every action. Violent hands that swore to never touch family have done exactly so. “You’re a jinx!” erupting from her throat before she can measure the consequences. The enraged paces away, abandoning the only family she had left in ash. Stumbling upon the pit, where Loris took her under his wing. The place she has resided in for an entire decade.

“Please…”

And then, there was you. The essence of her wistful dreams; the only light present to protect her from the monsters under her bed. Now, plunging your hands into her chest and claiming her soul as yours, once and for all.

“Do not hurt me…”

You may as well have clutched her heart in the process, too. The thick, gooey chunks of the red organ stuffed beneath your fingernails.

Placing harm on you will never be a possibility. Like an ocean without water, a galaxy without stars, a pair of hands without touch. It is a prospect that simply does not exist. And it kills her that you think it does.

“You think I wanna hurt you, baby?”

As though she were approaching a feeble, wounded animal, Vi slowly shuffles closer to where you sit. Her arm slithers around your shoulder, your touch igniting a flurry of goosebumps down her flesh.

The puny strength your body conjured to plead for your life is soon snuffed out. Your heavy vision droops and you fall unconscious, coincidentally landing against the chest of Vi. And of course, in typical Vi fashion, her mind reaches the conclusion of you doing such from the comfort you find in her embrace. Not a second more is wasted before she is scooping you into her strong arms.

“Sweet thing… Nothing’s gonna hurt you…”

She presses a kiss to your temple. Electric, warm bolts tickle her lips upon contact.

“’Never gonna let you out of my sight again…”

Bringing herself to her feet, Vi adjusts your position in her arms and sets off into the night. Eager to embark on this new chapter where she indulges in the sweetest blessing she’s ever received.

The twists and churns of your stomach is what welcomes you when you first awaken. Voices dance in an echoing synchronization, impossible to discern in your weakened state. Specks of your vision return in short spurts which reveal nothing more than swaying purple lights through a maze of darkness.

“Aww, shucks, birdie! Just can’t stay away, can’t ‘ya?”

The familiar tones have you thrashing about in a new state of adrenaline-induced clarity. You frantically search for those blue braids you know too well, but find no sign of the criminal mastermind. What you do find, however, is another figure rushing to your side.

“Easy, Sweets. Just you and me here.”

Violet sits beside where you lay and her hands are on you in record speed. The Enforcer uniform she has draped around your form does not protect you from her greedy touch, with her caressing any fraction of you she can clutch in an attempt at comfort.

“What a mess you have become, child. What would your father think seeing you in such disarray?”

The sudden perfusion of a voice you have not heard in centuries yanks a sob from your chest. It is met with even more loving affections from the persistent presence beside you.

“Why did you abandon me…?”

Vi gapes at you in response. Tears prick at her eyes and her bottom lip begins to wobble — sensations that have become strangers over the past several years. She doesn’t grant herself a moment to even consider what this “abandonment” is before she’s adorning you in fervent reassurances.

“I…” She stammers. “I would never leave you behind! You’re the only reason I’ve stayed in this fucked-up city in the first place. I promise you, sweetheart, I’m not blind anymore.”

The intensifying ache in your stomach drowns out her remaining words. It is then you realize this sudden illness poisoning your body must be at fault for the excessive blood intake during your stay in Jinx’s lair. It is surely the reason behind such painful visions, too.

Rest is an imperative necessity now, but you will not ease until you have returned to the safety of your sanctuary. And you will certainly not rest in the arms of the girl you have not thought of once in an entire decade.

You can’t even grasp how you are supposed to confess how the “blindness” you spoke of was in relation to her father, not yourself. On the rare instances you leave the expanse of your sanctuary, you reserve a fraction of time to help outside citizens. Young Violet amidst her Piltover heist were among those citizens. It is only now do you realize the consequences of your kind actions.

The hushed pitter-patter of boots outside are soon met with the intrusion of a smooth tone.

“Retreating down to the Slums? Makes sense for someone of your kind.”

Vi’s immediate acknowledgment and panic tell you this is not another cruel trick your brain is forcing onto you. She then parts from your side, concealing a half-broken bottle behind her back before she faces the unwelcome visitors. Her figure passing through the crooked threshold is the last thing you see before you doze off, once again.

“Does it matter? I’m following orders, Commander, am I not?”

A stable lie has always come easy to Vi. This is a tool she swiftly abuses in the heat of the moment, a skill that is more imperative now than ever before.

“Without your badge, I see?” The Kiramman fires back.

“Heh, this is the problem with you Topsiders. You only look at shit from a surface level. Never had to dig your hands in the dirt like the rest of us.”

Caitlyn’s fingers tighten around the gun swung over her shoulder.

“Is that so?” She further challenges.

“’The fuck else would it mean?”

The Commander allows a silence to settle, stalking the nervous tics and twitches within the newest Enforcer. Soon to be former, but Caitlyn doesn’t mind allowing this mutt to run around in circles.

Always straight-faced, Commander Kiramman sends out her next demand.

“Search the grounds.”

The panic that ignites in Vi’s eyes is nothing short of delicious. If it weren’t for the purpose of maintaining her image, Caitlyn would allow herself to smile in response to the all-mighty pit fighter’s horror.

The bottle she successfully hidden then barrels through the air, puncturing into the skull of one of the several Enforcers. Their death came as quick as the bottle was thrown, landing on the ground with a harsh thump.

A flurry of gunshots ensue, all of which Vi manages to dodge. All she has to defend herself is her fists, which has been the weapon she has used for as long as she has lived. With ease, she is able to disarm the surrounding Enforcers and beat them into bloody pulps. Never has Vi been one to bend over easily. And that is certainly the case now with her forearms drenched in warm blood, blue-and-gold dressed corpses littering her path.

However, there is one missing. Through the enraged chaos, Vi cannot find the Commander amongst the mess of bodies. With the door to her childhood home wide open, she feels her stomach cave into itself. She clumsily scrambles to her feet and rushes into the dilapidated building, eyes wide and crazed as she enters.

The Kiramman is nowhere to be seen, and horrifyingly so, neither are you. All that is left of you now is the Enforcer jacket she blanketed you in.

A roaring scream bruises Vi’s throat raw as she collapses to the dirt. Tears mend with the mess, seeping down her face like they never have before. There is no torture like being so close to having everything, then having it torn from your hands in the matter of seconds. That is a reality Vi will do anything to destroy.

Never in the thousands of years you have been alive did you ever consider the possibility of being arrested.

One of the most powerful creatures in Runeterra has now been locked in a cage. You would laugh at the prospect alone if your body weren’t so weak. The stiff, cold surface of the cell bed you’ve been thrown upon does not aid this sickness, either. Neither does the boisterous complaints of other inmates and clanking metal bars.

Despite the rampant pounding using your brain as its drum, you’re insistent on staying conscious. No matter how torturous reality may be. Soon, you assure, you’ll be back beneath the warm blankets of your sanctuary, a steaming bowl of soup and cup of tea greeting you first thing. This adventure will be nothing more than a silly story to tell your beloved villagers.

It is when you glance out of your cell do your thoughts come to a halt.

Through the thick bars of the cell before yours, you find doe-like, honey-gold eyes staring at you in complete wonder. Her gaze is almost shielded beneath the messy mop of chestnut-brown locks atop her head. The fearful tears glimmering in the corner of those eyes prick at your heart, as well as the chubby cheeks already stained of her cries.

A little girl, in a place like this? What measures has Runeterra resorted to while you were sitting cozy in your palace?

“Oh… Hello there, little one…”

Your coo is quiet amongst the calamity of the prison, but the young girl latches to your words, nonetheless.

“Would you like to see something magical, perhaps?”

Her attention, already captured, is now thoroughly piqued as she eagerly nods her head. Her tiny fingers grasp the rusted metal of the cell bars, impatiently awaiting your next move.

Normally, in a healthier state, you’ll entertain the children of your village by forging shapes from these clouds. From cranes and flowers to blimps and dinosaurs, it never fails to put them in a state of awe. With your stomach still swaying with blood, the best you can muster is a few fireworks that lazily dance from your palms.

Despite the (in your opinion) pathetic performance, the little girl brightens with excitement, her hands clasped around her cheeks in amazed shock. For the first time in weeks, just about, you smile with her. Raw and real, just the way it is back in your sanctuary.

Like clockwork, that happiness is robbed from you when a certain somebody makes their presence known. The sight of the little girl is blocked by the bulky figure of Vi, who stares down at you in your cell as though you were served as the main course at tonight’s feast.

“Don’t get too excited, sugar.” She muses, tone slow and greedy. A timbre you know all too well.

A few metal clanks and twists of her hand, the cell slides open and grants this lovesick monster full access to you. Her gaze is predatory as she locks the cell shut behind her, unblinking eyes never parting from yours. An evident fire burning inside her that not even the most violent of oceans could extinguish.

“You think that stupid Kiramman is gonna be enough to keep me away?” She laughs mockingly at the idea alone. “Took some pathetic groveling to get back here, but I have a few ideas of how you can make it up to me.”

You curl into yourself, knees pressed to your chest as though it could conceal you from the hungry mouth drooling to sink its sharp teeth into you. This effort is merely futile as Vi wastes no time in sitting down beside you, calloused hand beginning to massage the juts of your knee.

“Violet…”

A warmth blooms in her chest at the sound of you cooing her name; the only noise she’d ever want to hear first thing in the morning, replacing the hangover-buzz diluting the demands to prepare herself for another fight.

“I worry for my people. Please, I insist! I must return home-!”

A finger pressed to your lips and you’re silenced.

The sly grin slithering onto her face is impossible to avoid, as well. Evidently giddy over the concept of having such control over you. You also do not fail to notice the way she subtly nudges that finger against her mouth. A sloppy indirect kiss, you presume. Even though he was such an ephemeral figure in your life, it might as well have been Viktor sitting beside you with such teenage-like antics.

“You don’t need to worry about all that right now, sugar. No monster is gonna get you while I’m here.”

A hand to your shoulder and you are swiftly tugged into her embrace, the same way a python ensnares itself against defenseless prey. Your body feels like that of a stranger when the action causes lethargy to perfuse through your whole body.

With your head on her chest, one thought remains persistent as you drift to sleep for the umpteenth time.

This is really getting irritating.

“Well… It all went to shit.” Jinx admits in defeat. “Didn’t it, Birdie?”

The nightlife has now overwhelmed all of Zaun, but Jinx remains on the outskirts in complete isolation. She passes the countless posters adorning her face in favor of treading mindlessly. She has no intended path in particular. Anything to keep her moving; anything that will outrun the demons that lurk in her path.

Her hair drags through the sand as she walks the edge of the lakeshore, feet bare to the jagged litter and broken glass shards. The water is frigid, to a painful degree, but she cannot find it within herself to pay any mind to the matter. Not with you gone, no. Nothing matters with you far from her side.

Footsteps drum from behind her, but she does not dare to turn. She is perfectly aware of what prowls in the darkness.

Mylo, in his state of a decomposed, neon-adorned apparition, breaks through the thick silence.

“What did I say? Like always, you find a way to jinx everything. Jinx.”

His teasing remarks do exactly as they intended: sink deep beneath her skin. Almost, she turns to snap back at his insult, but she manages to halt herself. After all, none of it is real, and surely you do not wish to date someone whose sanity is several blows away from shattering beyond repair.

It is when Claggor joins the party does she nearly crack.

“Did you really think they’d settle for someone like you? Come on, you knew it was a bad idea from the start.”

Her nails dig into her hair, attempting to shield her ears from the rampant abuse. You wouldn’t settle, you’re not like that! No, you’d love her, you were so close to learning how to! It was those stupid Topsiders who rid two innocent lovebirds of that chance! And that scientist, that bones-y creep! Couldn’t get it up for you and had to snag you away for a round two!

“Y/N, hoo! That’s a catch you don’t find too often. Don’t think it’s somethin’ you can hook, kid.”

Vander’s thick accent seeps deep into her bones. Jinx’s clenched fists pound against her skull as she tries to stop the thoughts from rattling around. She has torn Zaun asunder trying to find you, it was those Piltie scums who sunk their hook into you! It was them! Their fault, not hers!

Vi’s voice perfuses next.

“Time to cut your losses, Pow-Pow. They’d do better with someone like me-”

“Shut up!”

A bullet pierces through the wind when Jinx whips around to blow her sister's brains out. When the silence settles, deep and lonely, she registers her sanity has finally received its final blow. Now, there is nothing but the chunks of her persistent failure that remain. She is a jinx and that fact prevails like it never has before.

A single step sinks into the wet sand of the beach’s shoreline. Another sinks deeper, then another, and another. Her frail body begins to shiver from the ice-cold contact, but still, she does not cease her efforts.

Floating on her back, Jinx sways along with the gentle waves, a juxtaposition to the pandemonium within her mind. It is a strange peace the sensation earns her. Nothing reminiscent of your all-consuming tranquility, but the resemblance is puny, nonetheless. Serving as her only comfort through all of this noise.

With the flap of her hands, she descends her body further into the waves. The water gladly consumes her whole, gleefully robbing her of any oxygen. It clutches at her lungs with no hope of ease and indulges in the thrashing fight. Through the chaotic wasteland of her mind, however, Jinx can only find you.

Instead of the violent calamity she is so familiar with, the images stamped in her thoughts are inked in your happiness. Her eyes close and she revels in the picture-perfect scenery of what her life could have been.

Vibrant paint splattered amongst each other, a playful fight in the midst of the renovation of yours and (now) Jinx’s palace. Toying with gadgetry and inventions, forging utensils to better the lives of your villagers (and maybe the bedroom, as well). Cheesy, romantic music perfusing from the gramophone as you both clasp onto each other in an intimate dance. Cherries-on-top present themselves through kisses on cheeks, flustered giggles, and warm nuzzles. The very definition of a perfect life, that is how Jinx would describe these fantasies.

They continue to play as her lungs grow tighter and tighter and tighter. Though, there is no pain with your smile shining behind her eyes.

Then, with one final gasp of your name, there is nothing.

Across the bridge, you’ve now found yourself in an irritating routine of succumbing to your body’s incessant need for rest. Asleep for years, it feels like, only to be granted mere minutes of energy. Every time you stir awake, without fail, Violet is the one you wake up against. How a prison guard has not raised the question of why one of their Enforcers is cuddling an inmate, you haven’t a single clue.

What you do know is that she is currently in a deep slumber. Testing the waters, you lightly nudge the thick muscles of her arm. With no rousing in sight, you take advantage of her unconscious state and your sudden burst of energy.

With slowness that would put a snail to shame, you lift Vi’s arm from its permanent residence around your waist. Just before you can slither out of the new space for escape, that arm locks around your form, its sudden tightness forcing a gasp from your throat.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Her leg is then brought into that equation, too, now latched around your hips. Nuzzling her face into the nape of your neck, you try to ignore the possessive affections and instead, measure the weight of your possible choices from here.

Simply walking out of this cell is not a clear option here. There is also the matter of being patient for your powers to return, but the waiting game is not something you wish to play. A repeat of what that blue-haired mastermind put you through is nothing short of a nightmare. With only one feasible option on the horizon, you take a deep breath of preparation.

Evidently, this girl has a weakness. And that very weakness is heavy-eyed and lethargic, locked in this prison cell. Weaponizing this could result in your escape, sure, but it could also lead you into a… Sticky situation, if you will. Even if you read thousands of books on the skill of romance, you would still be oblivious in any effort to navigate that world. In the centuries of your life, you have never cared for such, either.

The people within your village have always been of utmost importance. Tending to them has been the path you have happily tread down for years. Never a kiss, never an embrace, never even holding hands with a special someone — your interest in these pursuits has never been piqued.

Sure, Viktor and Jinx are not the first to piece together your runes and find their way to your sanctuary, greeting you with lovelorn declarations of devotion that would take the trophies of the most talented of poets. None of their romantic pursuits ever compelled you to indulge them, though. Until the feelings are mutual will you ever consider the choice.

With that being said, this does happen to be the first time their reverence has pushed you and your magic outside of your sanctuary. Locked tight in a prison cell, no less.

From here, you bite the bullet and put on your best award-winning performance.

Before Vi’s grasp can tighten once more, you swiftly slip out of her greedy hold. She reaches for you like a child parting from their teddy-bear, but another demand of your return gets lodged in her throat when you straddle her.

Fake smile plastered on your face, you take her face into your hands and simply stare. A few well-measured caresses of your thumbs and she’s entirely at your will, evident in the exasperated breaths and powder-grey eyes sparkling like a puppy-dog with a juicy bone. Vi’s hands clutch around your thigh, jagged nails digging into the flesh as a desperate means to not let them travel further. This attempt at self-control is weak, however.

“Fuck. C’mere-”

Her lips just barely graze yours before you interrupt her intentions.

“I was so frightened before. Not a soul could fathom the weight of my fears.”

Paired with a gentle pout and nervous tone, any disappointment surrounding not having your lips on hers is replaced with genuine, unbreakable interest.

“Jinx was so, so cruel, Violet.”

The name of her sister should never sit on your tongue, only hers. It causes her to tense beneath you, a stirring pit of rage forming from the frail tones in your voice. The sight of tears building in your eyes does not assuage these feelings, either. No, it adds even more fuel to the fire.

“Even my cries were not enough to stop her vicious hands. Extraordinary violence, she always treated me with.”

It is faux innocence; a sloppy attempt, at best. Still, your efforts work marvelously with the anger you’ve managed to ignite. The fact she has not thrown you back onto the cell bed, stormed out of the prison, and returned with a pair of blue braids on a silver platter is nothing short of a miracle.

“You…”

Your finger traces the jut of her collarbone, eliciting a chill with every centimeter your nail treads.

“You are simply different. A softness I did not deem myself worthy of, crashing into my world like the catalyst you are.”

Accentuated with laughter, Vi falls even deeper into your magic spell. It is only now do you realize a mere caress would have done enough damage, why hadn’t you utilized this skill sooner? You did not expect such antics to work so obnoxiously well. So much so, you fear you may have abused this tool a pace too far.

“Let me make you feel good, ‘Sug. ‘Promise it’ll be nothing you’ve ever felt before.”

Her arm then ensnares around your waist once again, the other clasping your jaw to prevent another escape. The gasp it pulls from you is misinterpreted as something sensual, of which she gobbles right up.

“Tastes like candy, I bet.”

Vi’s lips find your neck before you can merely react to the sudden movement. Lapping and sucking onto any stretch of skin she can claim — a heaven she has only dreamt of clutching.

You twitch uncomfortably from the affection, which she, once again, mistakes as an act of passion. If her mouth weren’t occupied with the best meal she’s ever tasted, she’d reassure you of how there is no need to rut against her for more of her touch. If she were to speak of such, your act may falter from the disgusting insinuations behind the filthy words.

“Violet…”

Your attempt at grasping her attention is perceived as one of pleasure, evident in the satisfied groan it pulls from her. Brows curling upwards and all.

“Allow me to kiss you. Please.”

The words are so foreign, they feel equivalent to vomit crawling from your mouth. Anything to remove this blood-hungry vampire from your innocent neck.

Vi obliges in an almost whiplash-inducing speed and her eyes flutter shut as she leans in. With a prayer to no one, you enact on a power you did not ever believe you’d wield in such circumstances.

Two fingers pressed to her closed eyes, you whisper your next action.

“Sleep…”

And just like that, it was like the humiliating scene had never occurred in the first place. Violet is out like a light, sinking down onto the concrete-surfaced prison bed. This mechanism has only been explored in more light-hearted scenarios. It was normally exercised to lull fussy babies. Now, it is used to pacify the animalistic exertions of this dark-haired street fighter.

With your weakened state, you cannot accurately anticipate how long Violet will be asleep for, nor can you measure how much time is left before you’re forced into a state of unconsciousness, once again. You yank the dangling keys from Violet’s hip and fiddle with them clumsily, before the correct one finally unlocks your cell with a click. Centuries spent applying your powers to any barrier makes for an awkward runaway, you surmise.

Scanning the long aisle of cells for any lingering guards, you dash to the cell directly before yours. Another graceless scrambling of clanking keys ensues before you finally hear that melodious click. Upon entering, frantic and horrified that you had possibly let a child witness such a fiasco, you release a pent-up sigh of relief when you find her fast asleep. And, most imperatively, safe.

With another paranoid glance over your shoulder, you bend to her level at the edge of the prison bed. You inspect the skin not covered in rugged scraps for any wounds, of which you thankfully find none. The people beneath this roof are prone to aggressive violence. Forcing such hands onto a child is an act you deem unforgivable, and frankly, impossible to understand. It is an overwhelming gratitude you are met with when you find they spared the girl of such.

The adorable coos of gentle snores almost prompt a spike of guilt in you, but you insist on nudging her awake before this rare window closes.

Golden eyes peer around in confusion as she rouses from her sleep. Upon discerning the sight of you, the girl practically throws herself into your arms. You stumble back upon the surprising act, but do not hesitate in returning the affection. What kind of monster would deny a child the necessity of comfort, after all? The heart-shattering cries muffled into your shoulder only strengthen this belief furthermore.

“Oh, Rabbit… I will not let them harm us. I promise you.”

When she retreats from your hold, you clasp her face in your hand and stroke her chubby face.

“I know of a place I am positive you’ll adore. Somewhere you will never be hurt again.”

Her eyes are hopeful as they stare into yours, sobs having eased to hiccuping sniffles. A smile, just a hint of one, stretches on her scarred lips.

Shifting your gaze a little to the left, you find a rusted helmet with cracked goggles had been left underneath the bed. Possibly belonging to an old miner, it appears. You place the hat atop her messy locks, pretending you were crowning royalty.

“You will need your best armor, soldier. Only the strongest can embark on such a journey.”

That earns you a giggle, of which you revel in the success of.

“Remind me, soldier, what is your name?”

The girl seems to consider your question thoroughly, measuring how exactly she should inform you of such. Several motions of her hand spell out her name in sign language, of which you read in perfect coherence.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Isha.”

Meanwhile, Violet remains limp in the neighboring cell. A peaceful, blissful slumber that is oblivious to what is happening just several feet away. And in this slumber is where she revels in the exhilaration of a love she’ll cling to for the remainder of her days.

Like the triumph of a curtain call, Violet’s dreams have come true: to feel the touch of gentle warmth. After an entire lifetime, she is finally soft. Here, beneath the light of you, everything melts.

Now, her dreams have shifted. Violet will keep a tight clasp on this feather-touch.

No matter what it takes.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ YOU REALLY GOT A HOLD ON ME,

SO THIS ISN'T JUST PUPPY LOVE . . . ❞

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