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bringthekaos · 1 year ago

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Ok but after getting home from the gala he needs extra kissies from Viktor 🥺🥺🥺 he is just so tired of playing pretty boy for research money

So sorry this one took so long to answer, but this one is just too good, it deserved a ficlet too!! (This is in reference to this ask about Crystal Rose Jayce.)

Fic is not explicit, but it is suggestive as feck.

Crystal Veneer

Jayce didn’t mean to take his anger out on the door to the lab—the concussive bang echoing through the wide-open space like a gunshot as he kicked it inward with so much force it slammed into the wall and dented it. But the stress of the evening had just been building and building and building like a flame with infinite fuels, and he just had to let it out.

Galas. Parties. Schmoozing with the most conceited and stuck-up bureaucrats Piltover had to offer, and all just so his research could continue. It was a vicious circle, an Ouroboros of depressing proportions—have idea, need funding, kiss asses, get funding, execute idea, repeat ad nauseam. There was no getting ahead of it either, because there was never enough—he’d always end up supplementing the funds with his own when he inevitably depleted it all in the process. So there was never excess, never a little bit to put away to kickstart the next project.

And he was fairly certain they all wanted it that way—the idea of him having free rein with his own time and research scared them. They didn’t want to be left behind. So instead they kept him on an ever-tightening leash so that they could all slap their names next to his on anything and everything he invented. So that no idea was singular, nothing belonged to him—in the end, everything he made belonged to his investors. He was just a veneer on top so that it would sell.

He grumbled to himself as he bit at the middle finger of his left glove, ripping it off with his teeth and tossing it onto his desk as the evening played out in his head—the fake smiles, the rigid posture he’d had to hold that now had his shoulder blades burning. The scattered conversations and gossip about him, as if he wasn’t standing right there. Calling him ‘Golden Boy’ and ‘Defender’ and ‘Man of Progress’ in tones that suggested he was nothing more than that—their little trophy they could hold up high when they needed something to brag about. So many monikers, and yet he was fairly certain some of them had forgotten his actual name at this point.

It was a heavy, raucous clang, clang, clang like rotary chains that startled Jayce from his brooding. The sound echoed from the far corner of the lab, eerie and haunting, and he frantically spun around to meet it—raising the Mercury Hammer and yanking on the trigger to open the hammerhead and charge it.

The source of the sound was immediately clear as the azure glow of the hammer illuminated the space—Viktor, the Machine Herald himself, dramatically clapping his metal hands together and meandering in from the shadows.

“Bravo, Defender,” he drawled, punctuating it with one more slow, metallic clap of his hands. “I’ve seen whores give more convincing performances.”

Jayce released a long, annoyed sigh; letting the hammer droop in his hold as he rolled his eyes and turned back to face his desk. He didn’t typically turn his back on Viktor, especially when he didn’t yet know what kind of mood his old friend was in, but… after the night he’d had? He would honestly welcome the Hexclaw blow to his spine. At least he would finally feel something, even if it was for target practice.

“The fuck do you want, V? I’m really not in the mood,” he snapped, unceremoniously tossing the hammer down to thunder onto the floor. He wouldn’t typically do that either, relinquish his only weapon, but he couldn’t bear its weight anymore. He’d been carrying it all night; just another prop for the partygoers to ogle. A prop held by a prop—bit on the nose, if you asked him. But then again… no one typically did.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Viktor deadpanned back, and Jayce could hear the reverb of those metal boot heels hitting stone as he took a few steps closer. “You got your funding, didn’t you? That’s what matters—so you had to prance around like a pretty peacock for their enjoyment to get it… mm. Let’s face it, you’ve always been good at that part, haven’t you Defender?”

Defender… defender, defender… pretty boy, Golden Boy. Dance for them, boy, it’s why you’re here.

Rage built at the base of his throat, making it feel like he’d swallowed molten glass. His chest went tight and his hands balled into fists so hard that his fingernails curled into the oak surface of the desk. Pain shot through his jaw as he viciously ground his teeth, but it wasn’t enough to bite back the scream,

“Can just one fucking person call me by my goddamn name?!”

And before he’d even registered moving, he had grabbed the bottle of liquor before him (it was a gift from Camille—she knew he hated these funding galas, so she’d sent it over as a pre-game gift… complete with red velvet bow) and flung it ferociously against the nearest wall. The spray of liquor and shattered glass rained down onto his desk and clothes alike, and the sharp chill of it was enough to douse his anger with regret.

That was a gift, she was just being nice—why do you always take your anger out on the wrong people? Punish the wrong people? Maybe they’re all right to write you off, disregard any usefulness you may have in exchange for displaying you like a trophy. At least you can’t hurt anyone if you just shut up and smile…

“Oh, Jayce…”

The maelstrom in his brain all came to a screeching halt—Viktor’s voice, now calm and coaxing and so achingly smooth as it cascaded over the sharp edges of Jayce’s anger that it was smothered altogether.

“Jayce…”

A bone-shaking shudder went down Jayce’s spine as Viktor’s weight, Viktor’s warmth was suddenly pressed wholeheartedly to his back. And those metal hands, so sure and strong, began to slither around Jayce’s waist to sprawl over his stomach—ruching up his shirt and untucking it as they went. They soothed over his ribcage, following the lines of his finely pressed waistcoat until they were splayed out on his pecs, where they roughly pulled him back hard against Viktor’s body.

Viktor’s breath was warm and moist on the back of Jayce’s neck as those familiar lips followed his hairline and pressed a kiss there, just behind his ear.

“My Jayce…”

Jayce’s knees nearly buckled at the words, so sensually growled into his sensitive skin that he suddenly felt feverish—hot and achy, shivery and weak…

The hum of the Hexclaw caught his attention though, and for a moment he almost panicked—fuck, let my guard down, let my stupid emotions get the better of me, and now he’s got me ripe for the pulverizing…

But instead, it simply curled down and around Jayce’s front, delicately plucking the violet rose boutonnières from his lapel. It curved back then, holding the flowers out and waiting as Viktor leaned in and inhaled of them, long and slow.

“Mm…” he grunted, the sound vaguely dissatisfied, and then the Hexclaw was unceremoniously (and rather comically) tossing the flowers away.

“Window dressing,” Viktor continued, and suddenly Jayce was being spun around with force, lifted, and plopped back down onto the desk, his knees pushed wide to accommodate Viktor’s hips. Jayce yelped with surprise, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t enjoyed it… Viktor’s strength, the unbridled ease with which he handled Jayce’s not-inconsiderable size. To be the focus of Viktor’s attention, to be seen and analyzed and handled. Like he was something worthy of the effort, and not just some fancy centerpiece to be ignored.

And now that he was recovering his bearings, Jayce found Viktor’s mask removed—the sound of it clattering to the floor going almost unnoticed as Jayce lost himself in those familiar glowing eyes.

“This was what I always hated about Piltover, Jayce,” Viktor positively purred Jayce’s name again, and it soothed some burning need that had been scratching at Jayce’s ribcage. Say it again… say it again and again and again, please, then maybe I won’t catch fire. Or maybe I will, but either way, just say it again…

“They always felt the need to decorate that which was objectively already perfect,” Viktor continued, one hand gripping Jayce’s wrist and bringing his one still-gloved hand up between them.

He held Jayce’s gaze with hawklike intensity as the Hexclaw came down, gently pinched at the middle finger of his glove, and pulled it off. And Jayce gulped past a monstrous frog in his throat as Viktor slowly leaned in, placing warm, velvety kisses to each finger, one by torturous one.

And once he’d finished, his hands slid down beneath the lapels of Jayce’s evening coat and slowly, sensually pushed it back and off, until the metal embellishments rang out against the desk. Before Jayce could even re-situate his arms, he found Viktor’s hands wrapped firmly around his lower back and pulling.

The movement had Jayce fully flush against Viktor’s chest, and he could do little else but whine as Viktor nuzzled into his neck again, asking, suggesting. And Jayce couldn’t comply fast enough; rolling his head back and gripping at Viktor’s armor for purchase as those lovely lips latched on once more—biting and kissing and sucking until his skin was moist and hot.

“My Jayce…”

Jayce could hardly breathe now, the intensity of this need constricting like a python around his lungs. Your Jayce, yes, yours, yours, always yours. Show me you want me, show me you need me, show me I’m not just some pretty thing you can prop up on a pedestal and ogle…

Jayce’s skull ached when the Hexclaw forced him back upright, but the pain melted away as he was met with Viktor’s lips crashing into his own. He wholly gave into it, his entire body curling into Viktor’s as those soft, supple lips sucked away all the anger and frustration.

Viktor tasted of something sweet and fruity, something familiar and nostalgic… and Jayce chuckled against Viktor’s lips when he figured it out. It was those prickly pear sweets Jayce kept in a jar on his desk, for those evenings when he needed a sugar kick to keep him going. Viktor must have raided the lab while he waited for Jayce to return from that ridiculous Crystal Rose Gala—likely polishing off half the jar, with that insatiable sweet tooth of his.

“I see someone found my stash,” Jayce cooed into Viktor’s mouth, punctuating it by taking Viktor’s lower lip and sucking it between his own.

“What can I say, I was bored,” Viktor replied, his augmented hand beginning to soothe back and forth over Jayce’s thigh, driving him to maddening distraction.

“Impatient as ever,” Jayce chided back, pecking a single quick kiss before going on, “you do have to share me…”

Viktor growled back at him, his torso angling forward so quickly that Jayce had no choice but to fall back against the desk, thighs squeezing at Viktor’s hips for stability.

Viktor prowled in over him, caging him in with those heavy metal arms and crouching low so his lips barely brushed Jayce’s.

“No. No, I don’t. I don’t share with ungrateful Pilties. If they aren’t going to appreciate you, Jayce, then I’m just going to have to keep you…”

He propped himself up with the Hexclaw then, both hands joining at Jayce’s chest to begin unbuttoning his waistcoat and shirt.

“…all to myself.”

Jayce lost track of time after that, all thoughts of being nothing more than a decoration obliterated by Viktor’s thorough, doting hands.

#arcane #arcane league of legends #league of legends #jayce talis #jayce giopara #Crystal rose Jayce #lol jayce #arcane Viktor #machine herald viktor #jayvik #vikjayce #ficlet #jayvik fanfiction #my writing #asks #ace answers

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aspenmissing · 18 days ago

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ᴀʀᴄᴀɴᴇ: ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ || ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ

7092 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ/ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ/ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ (ɪɴ ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇꜱ), ��ᴏᴄ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴏᴜʀ ʙᴏʏꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴏᴜꜱ 'ᴅɪᴅ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ' ɢɪʀʟ ʜᴀꜱ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴀ ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʏ/ɴ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴀ ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴅᴏ?

JAYCE

The hum of Hextech lamps cast a soft glow over the room, their sapphire light painting gentle shadows on the walls. Jayce’s chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm as he slept, his head nestled against the pillow. Yet, beneath his peaceful exterior, his mind was caught in a turbulent storm, ensnared by the grip of a vivid nightmare.

He stood in a crumbling hall, Hextech crystals sparking wildly as chaos erupted around him. Explosions rang out, the air thick with smoke and panic. Jayce frantically scanned the room, searching for her. "Y/N!" he called, his voice hoarse with desperation. In the haze, he caught sight of her—her figure outlined in the flickering blue light, trapped behind a wall of collapsing debris. She was shouting something, but the words were drowned out by the cacophony. He pushed forward, trying to reach her, but his legs felt heavy, as though weighed down by unseen chains. The world seemed to close in, the edges of his vision darkening as she disappeared from view.

“No!” Jayce shouted, bolting upright in bed.

His chest heaved as he struggled to steady his breathing, the dream’s intensity leaving his heart racing. For a moment, he couldn’t discern reality from nightmare. The faint crackle of the lamps and the soft rustle of sheets grounded him, pulling him back to the present.

Y/N lays peacefully beside him, her face calm and serene in the dim light. One arm was tucked under her head, the other resting lightly on the blanket that rose and fell with her steady breathing. Jayce’s shoulders sagged with relief, and he raked a hand through his hair, damp with sweat.

He shifted quietly, not wanting to disturb her, and leaned back against the headboard. Even though she was safe, the lingering dread clung to him. He reached out hesitantly, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Her lips parted slightly as she exhaled a soft sigh, her head tilting toward his touch. The small movement sent a wave of warmth through his chest, momentarily chasing away the nightmare’s shadows.

Jayce let out a shaky breath, his hand retreating to rest on his knee. Despite the comfort of her presence, the fear gnawed at the edges of his mind. What if the dream was a warning? What if he couldn’t protect her when it truly mattered?

The weight of his responsibilities pressed heavily on him. Hextech had revolutionized Piltover, but it had also drawn enemies—people who would stop at nothing to exploit its power. The thought of her being caught in the crossfire was a fear he rarely voiced but carried constantly.

He glanced down at her again, his expression softening. In sleep, she looked untouched by the worries of the world, her features illuminated by the faint glow of the lamps.

Unable to help himself, Jayce reached for her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. The contact steadied him, grounding him in the present.

“Jayce?” her voice was groggy, her eyes fluttering open. She blinked up at him, concern lacing her sleepy tone. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he murmured quickly, though his voice betrayed the remnants of his fear. “Go back to sleep.”

Y/N propped herself up on one elbow, her brows knitting together. “You’re not okay,” she said softly, her gaze searching his face. “Was it a nightmare?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. About you.”

Her expression shifted to one of tender understanding as she reached out, cupping his cheek. Her touch was warm, anchoring him further in the moment. “I’m right here,” she whispered. “Safe and sound.”

Jayce closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. “I know. It just felt so real. I thought I lost you.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” she teased gently, her lips quirking into a small smile.

A soft laugh escaped him, the tension in his chest easing slightly. He opened his eyes to meet hers, the warmth in her gaze chasing away the lingering darkness.

“Lie down,” she urged, tugging lightly on his arm.

She tugged him gently, guiding him to lie back down beside her. Sliding her arms around him, she pulled him close, his head nestled against her chest. Resting her chin atop his hair, she held him tightly, her embrace warm and protective. His arms wrapped around her waist in return, their legs tangled together beneath the blankets, anchoring them in each other’s presence.

“You don’t have to carry everything alone,” she said, her voice a soothing murmur. “I’m here for you, no matter what.”

Jayce exhaled deeply, her words wrapping around him like a balm. “I don’t deserve you,” he said quietly, his tone filled with both awe and gratitude.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied with a soft laugh. “You’re stuck with me.”

He smiled, pressing a light kiss to her collarbone “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

As her breathing slowed and steadied, Jayce found himself attuned to the gentle rise and fall of her chest beneath him, the rhythmic thrum of her heartbeat filling his ears. It was the very essence of her life, grounding him in a way words never could.

The nightmare still lingered at the edges of his mind, but it felt distant now, diminished in the presence of her warmth and vitality.

With her heartbeat as his lullaby, Jayce allowed himself to relax, the steady rhythm of her life lulling him into a peaceful sleep.

VIKTOR

The soft glow of the moon filtered through the cracked blinds, casting long shadows across Viktor’s desk. His hands moved with practiced precision, adjusting wires and fitting delicate pieces together.

But fatigue crept up on him, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion. He tried to push it away, but the weariness was too much. Viktor leaned forward, resting his head on his arms, closing his eyes for just a moment. The room was still, the quiet air surrounding him like a blanket. For a brief instant, he let himself drift, succumbing to the quiet pull of sleep.

They had once sat here together, in this very room, side by side, each lost in their own worlds but enveloped in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. She would bring him tea, or cookies, or simply sit beside him, reading, waiting, the kind of waiting only someone who loved him could do. But lately, the warmth between them had begun to fade. The laughter had turned into silence, and the moments of peace between them were fewer, more distant. The clatter of metal on metal snapped Viktor from his thoughts, but it was all wrong—too loud, too sharp, too sudden. His breath caught, and his chest tightened as the memory of her voice surged forward, as if it had always been there, lurking. "I can’t keep doing this, Viktor." Her voice was clearer now, too real, too sharp. It echoed, distorting, ringing in his ears. The weight of those words pulled him under, deeper and deeper. Her face flickered in front of him, her eyes wide with something he couldn’t name, something both familiar and alien. He had only nodded—empty, distracted—and her departure had been quick, like a shadow vanishing at dusk. The door had closed behind her with a soft, final click, and Viktor had stayed, frozen, his eyes staring at the empty space where she had been just moments before. The room around him began to shift, bending and warping in an unnatural way. The corners seemed to stretch, the walls pressing in on him, folding like paper. His hands trembled as he reached for something, anything, to anchor himself, but the tools on his desk scattered like leaves in the wind, spilling across the floor in a chaotic blur. Her bags—he hadn’t noticed before. They were packed, sitting by the door. She was gone. Gone. The panic tightened around his throat, a vise that made it hard to breathe, to think. "I can’t do this, Viktor." The words pierced through him like a cold blade. They didn’t sound like they had before, though. They felt like a melody, haunting and sweet in their finality. The guilt... it surged, flooding him from every direction. His mind swirled with thoughts—too many thoughts—crashing together like a storm. And he could hear them. The footsteps. Soft. Steady. But when he turned— Nothing. Nothing but the empty room. No warmth. No soft laugh. No teasing. Just the hollow echo of silence where she should have been. “Miláčku?” His voice was barely a whisper, his chest so tight he could hardly draw air. His heart pounded as if trying to escape, and his vision blurred. The room, the entire world, seemed to shrink in on him, as if the space was closing, folding inward, trapping him. His hands were shaking, and before he could stop himself, he knocked over a glass of water. It spilled, cascading over the papers on his desk, but the liquid seemed to melt into the wood, disappearing as if it had never existed. (Darling) The machinery hummed around him now, louder, frantic, as if it, too, was desperate for something, but Viktor couldn’t focus on it. He couldn’t think. All he could hear were her words, echoing, replaying endlessly in his head. “I’m sorry, Viktor. I can’t do this anymore.” His vision warped, the edges of reality distorting, twisting like smoke curling in the wind. He could see her—her face, her eyes, but they weren’t right. They were too far away, out of his reach, slipping through his fingers. The more he reached for them, the farther they seemed to go. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t—

Viktor awoke with a start, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as he shot up from the desk. His body trembled as he fought to calm his rapid breaths. For a moment, he couldn’t tell what was real—was he still dreaming? His heart raced in his chest, the remnants of his nightmare lingering like a shadow on his mind.

But as his eyes adjusted, he realized he wasn’t in his workshop. The familiar soft glow of the moon filtered through the window, casting gentle shadows across the room. The air was calm, carrying the soothing scent of lavender and cinnamon. The warmth of the space wrapped around him, much different from the cold sterility of his workroom.

Viktor sat up, disoriented, struggling to shake off the lingering unease of the vivid dream. It had felt so real—so painfully real. A heartbreak he feared might be inevitable. He rubbed his eyes, grounding himself, and as his gaze swept around the room, familiar sights began to settle him. The small desk in the corner, the hand-painted mug they’d chosen together, the photo of the two of them at Piltover’s Grand Exhibition—moments they had shared, reminders of a life they were still building.

But what truly grounded him was the soft weight of a blanket draped around his shoulders. He hadn’t even realized he’d been covered, but there it was, warm and comforting, a small gesture he hadn’t even thought to question.

As he shifted, his gaze drifted to the desk. There, on the surface, sat a plate of cookies—freshly baked, golden brown, and just the way he liked them. Beside it, a glass of milk, still cool to the touch, shimmered in the soft light. Next to both, a small note, written in neat, delicate handwriting, rested gently against the plate.

'I saw you sleeping at your desk, and I didn’t want to wake you—you looked like you really needed the rest. But whenever you’re ready, please come to bed and join me. I’ll be waiting for you.' Love, Y/N x

His fingers hovered over the note, the words sinking into his mind as his chest tightened. She was here. She hadn’t left him. She was still with him, still cared enough to leave him this small comfort. She hadn’t given up. The relief was almost overwhelming, and for the first time in what felt like ages, Viktor allowed himself to breathe. He wasn’t alone. He hadn’t lost her.

His heart ached with the weight of the dream lifting from his shoulders. The nightmare, the fear of losing her, melted away with the soft, familiar warmth of her presence in the room. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d allowed himself to feel this grounded, this safe.

With a small, grateful smile, he carefully stood from the desk, his legs still weak from the hours spent hunched over his work. The blanket, now draped around his shoulders, gave him a comforting sense of reassurance as he moved toward the plate of cookies and milk. He picked it up, the warmth of the gesture filling him with a kind of solace he hadn’t realized he so desperately needed.

He made his way back to the desk, eyes tracing the note once more, the words sinking deep into his soul. The quiet, loving message reminded him of the one thing he could never lose sight of—her. And with that simple reminder, Viktor felt the pull of the warmth, the light, and the love waiting for him just beyond the door.

A quiet promise echoed in his mind as he set the plate down gently. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. This time, he’d find the balance. This time, he’d cherish what mattered most.

Slowly, he made his way to the bedroom. To Y/N. To the life they still had. To the love he almost lost but now vowed never to take for granted again.

JAYVIK

Y/N stood at the edge of Piltover, the skyline a jagged silhouette against a blood-red sky. The air was thick with smoke, the scent of burning metal and decay. The once-bustling streets were now silent, save for the distant crackle of fire and the echoes of chaos. Her heart raced as she turned, searching for the only two people she cared about—Viktor and Jayce. “Viktor!” she shouted, but the words were swallowed by the flames. "Jayce!" She ran, her feet pounding the cracked streets, fear gripping her chest. The city she had loved, that they had all fought for, was crumbling. The walls were torn apart, buildings collapsing into rubble. The smoke thickened, and her breath caught in her throat. She found them—Viktor and Jayce, standing together but broken. Viktor’s face was pale, his hands stained with blood, his body shaking. Jayce, his armor battered, was barely standing, but his eyes were locked in determination. Behind them, a monstrous shadow rose. It loomed over Viktor and Jayce, a grotesque blend of technology and organic matter. The figure was a manifestation of all the choices they had made, all the things they had failed to understand, all the mistakes that had brought them to this moment. “No!” Y/N cried, rushing toward them, but she couldn’t reach them in time. The creature swung its arm, knocking them both to the ground. Blood spilled onto the broken street, and their bodies lay motionless, eyes wide with pain. Her voice broke as she called to them, her heart shattering in her chest. "Please, don’t leave me." But they didn’t respond. The shadowed figure loomed over them, and everything was slipping away. The world around her shattered like glass, the city crumbling beneath the weight of their failures. She tried to move, to save them, but it was too late. The nightmare consumed her, and all she could hear was the sound of her own heart breaking.

Y/N’s eyes snapped open, her heart racing in her chest as she gasped for breath. She was drenched in sweat, the vivid images of her nightmare still lingering in the corners of her mind. The dream had been so real—so horribly real. She had seen Piltover burning, the cries of the city echoing in her ears, the destruction of everything they had fought for. She had seen both Jayce and Viktor—her heart twisted at the memory of them, bloodied, broken, caught in the aftermath of their ambitions and choices. The sound of metal clashing, the weight of betrayal, the crushing guilt—it all tangled together, suffocating her.

As her breathing steadied, she slowly became aware of the warmth beside her. She shifted slightly, her eyes blinking against the faint light of the room. Jayce’s arm was draped over her, his strong, protective hold comforting despite the chaos of her dream. His face was relaxed in slumber, a soft, steady rhythm to his breathing.

But then, she felt the soft warmth against the side of her head. Viktor. He had always been an enigma, but somehow, he was there, his face resting beside hers, his presence both soothing and intense. She could hear his faint breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he slept, the sound of it grounding her as much as it reminded her of how precarious their situation truly was.

Her mind raced, the nightmare still clinging to her like a shadow. She had to get up. Had to escape it, even for just a moment.

Slowly, quietly, Y/N slipped from under Jayce’s arm, trying not to disturb either of them. She padded softly across the room, her bare feet barely making a sound on the wooden floor. The air felt cool against her skin as she reached the kitchen, the dim glow of the city’s lights filtering through the window.

She wasn’t sure what she needed—a drink, a distraction, anything to calm the fear still pulsing through her. She poured herself a glass of water, her hands trembling slightly as she brought it to her lips. But even the water couldn’t seem to wash away the lingering images of the dream.

Y/N took a seat at the kitchen table, her eyes unfocused as she stared out the window. The sounds of the city seemed muffled, distant. She couldn’t shake the feeling of dread, the gnawing fear that somehow, they would all be consumed by their own actions. She didn’t know if she could save them—if she could save herself.

The chair creaked softly as Viktor appeared in the doorway, his figure framed by the dim light. His sharp eyes softened the moment they landed on her, sensing the tension that gripped her. He paused for a brief moment, then stepped into the room, the gentle tap of his cane against the floor the only sound breaking the stillness.

“Miláčku?” he said, his voice quiet but filled with a steady calm. His presence seemed to settle the air around them. “Is everything alright?” (Sweetheart)

Y/N bit her lip, fighting back the surge of emotion rising in her chest. She didn’t want to burden them, not after everything they had endured together. But Viktor’s understanding gaze and Jayce’s silent presence beside him made her hesitate, and the walls she’d tried to keep up started to crumble.

Jayce’s voice came next, groggy but reassuring, “You know we’re here for you, right?” He stepped forward, his eyes soft with concern, despite the sleep still lingering in his voice. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it on your own.”

Y/N turned to them, the warmth in their eyes cracking through her defences. She didn’t want to drag them into her nightmare, but the weight of it still clung to her, suffocating and real.

“I had a nightmare,” she admitted softly, her voice wavering. “I saw Piltover burning… And I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t save either of you.”

The room fell silent, the only sound the quiet breathing of the three of them. Viktor’s gaze softened, his hand moving slowly toward her, sitting down on the chair besides her. His voice, gentle and steady, broke the silence.

“It was just a dream,” he said, his tone low and soothing. He laid his hand over your shaking one, gently stroking his thumb over your knuckles. “You won’t lose us. We’ve faced so much together already, and we’ll face whatever comes next as one.”

Jayce moved closer, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to carry that fear, Y/N. We’re in this together. Always.”

Y/N felt the weight of her fear slowly start to lift, their words wrapping around her like a blanket. The nightmare still lingered in her mind, the terror of losing them and the city’s destruction still echoing in her thoughts. But in that moment, with Viktor and Jayce beside her, the fear seemed more manageable.

The nightmare hadn’t come true—at least, not yet.

And with them by her side, she knew she wouldn’t have to face it alone.

VANDER

Vander lay in the grip of a nightmare, his body tense, his mind trapped in a place where everything felt suffocatingly wrong. His breathing was shallow, heart hammering in his chest as the dream unfolded with horrifying clarity.

He saw Y/N, helpless before him. Her face streaked with tears, her body trembling as she desperately tried to shield herself from the relentless blows raining down on her. He could feel the weight of the world pressing on him, his body frozen, trapped beneath some invisible force. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he willed himself to move, he couldn’t reach her. He couldn’t stop the pain she was enduring. Her cries of desperation echoed in his ears, each one a haunting reminder of his failure. He was bound, unable to protect her, unable to save her. The sound of her cries—soft but desperate—echoed in his ears. The fear in her eyes, the pain that twisted her features, tore at him, but he was paralyzed, unable to protect her. Each strike against her sent a shard of guilt deep into his chest. I should’ve been there. I should’ve stopped it. This is my fault. Her eyes locked with his, filled with pain and fear. Please, Vander... help me. But he could do nothing. He could only watch as she crumpled to the ground, unable to shield herself anymore. The guilt he felt was all-consuming, the weight of his failure crushing him from the inside out. I should’ve been there. I should’ve kept her safe. I’m the one who failed. The scene before him blurred, fading into darkness as the last echoes of her cry resonated in his mind. The nightmare swallowed him whole, until he was surrounded by the silence of his own fear, broken only by the frantic pounding of his heart.

Vander’s eyes flew open, his chest rising and falling erratically, sweat dripping down his forehead. He gasped for air, his heartbeat thunderous in his ears. His body was stiff, his muscles locked in the aftershock of the nightmare. The room was dimly lit, the quiet hum of the world outside barely making its way through the thick walls of his thoughts.

He turned toward Y/N’s side of the bed, desperate to find her, but the space beside him was empty. A jolt of panic shot through him, his mind flashing back to the nightmare’s ending—the horrific thought that he had lost her. He sprang from the bed, his hand gripping the cane he had left leaning against the side of the table. Each step he took felt weighted, as if he were walking through water. His heart pounded with an urgency that didn’t seem to let up.

His steps were heavy as he ventured into the living area, his mind still reeling from the fear and guilt of the nightmare. But as he entered the room, the sight before him stopped him cold.

Y/N sat on the couch, her leg propped up on a stool with a pillow beneath her cast. The kids—Powder, Vi, Claggor, and Mylo—were gathered around her, their faces alight with laughter as they scribbled on her cast with colourful markers. The air was filled with their youthful chatter, and the warm morning light filtered in through the window, casting a soft glow across the room. Despite the pain she must have felt, Y/N wore a calm, content expression, her attention focused on the kids as they drew their names and playful doodles on her cast.

Vander stood frozen for a moment, his breath catching in his throat. The weight of his nightmare began to melt away, and with it, the suffocating fear. His heart stilled, his muscles loosening as the reality of the situation sank in. She was there, alive and well, surrounded by the laughter of children, safe and sound.

Y/N glanced up at him, noticing him standing there, her smile gentle and soothing. "Hey," she said softly, her voice like a balm to his frazzled nerves. "You’re up early."

Vander didn’t answer right away. Instead, he walked toward her slowly, his heart still catching in his chest, his feet heavier than they should be. He sits down besides her, his arm reaching around her and pulling her body into his size - his head laying onto yours.

“I was... worried,” he finally confessed, his voice quiet and strained, still carrying the weight of the nightmare. His eyes flickered to her cast, then back to her face. “I thought… I thought I lost you.”

Y/N smiled softly, a reassuring warmth in her gaze as she placed her hand on his leg, gently caressing it. “It’s just a broken leg, Hun. I’m okay. Honestly.”

He lowered his head slightly, his face a mixture of guilt and relief. “I couldn’t protect you,” he murmured. “I should’ve been there.”

Y/N shook her head gently, her hand moving to squeeze his arm in reassurance. "It wasn’t your fault," she said softly. "I just slipped down the stairs. Accidents happen. It’s nothing serious, just a little setback. I’m fine, I promise."

Vander looked down at you, her eyes still heavy with sorrow, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. The guilt from his nightmare lingered in his chest, but seeing her here—alive, safe, and surrounded by the children—was a comfort he hadn’t realized he needed.

The kids were still focused on her cast, giggling and chatting as they drew with colourful markers. Powder had scribbled a small drawing of a heart with her name inside, and Vi had drawn a cartoon version of Y/N, looking proud of her work. Mylo had written a playful message about getting well soon, and Claggor had added his own little doodle of a smiling sun.

As Vander looked at the kids, a soft chuckle escaped him, the tension in his chest easing just a little. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude. The nightmare had been a reminder of his fears, of the fragility of life, but here, in the warmth of the present moment, he could feel the weight lifting.

“We’ll always be here for you,” Y/N said quietly, her voice full of tenderness. “You don’t have to carry that burden alone.”

Vander looked down at her, his heart swelling with a fierce protectiveness he hadn’t known he could feel. The nightmare might still haunt him, but as long as they were together, he knew he would do everything in his power to keep them safe.

“I won’t let anything happen to you again,” Vander promised softly, his voice full of resolve.

Y/N smiled up at him, her hand resting on his, her eyes twinkling with a playful glint. “Oh really? Are you going to beat up all the stairs for me? Maybe destroy every last one of them?” she teased, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Vander chuckled, the tension in his chest easing just a little as he squeezed her hand gently. The kids continued to decorate her cast, their laughter filling the room. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of her love and the joy of the children, Vander finally allowed himself to breathe again, knowing that no matter the nightmare, this was his reality.

SILCO

Y/N and Silco lay in their shared bed, the room quiet save for the faint sounds of the night. There was a comfortable gap between them, not from distance, but from a natural rhythm in their sleeping positions. Y/N lay on her side, her back facing him, the gentle rise and fall of her breathing steady and untroubled. Silco, on the other hand, twisted and turned restlessly in his sleep, his body twitching with unspoken tension. The remnants of a nightmare clung to him even in the silence, the darkness of his past always lurking just below the surface, threatening to rise again.

The world was suffocating. The water pressed in around him, dark and oppressive, as Vander’s face loomed over him, his eyes full of anger and disappointment. Silco reached out, his hand trembling, but every movement only seemed to push him deeper into the water. The faces blurred as his strength began to fade, and all he could think about was how everything had turned—how it had all come down to this. The once-familiar ally had become his executioner, and Silco’s mind was consumed with the pain of it. He thrashed, trying to break free, but the water and the darkness were all-consuming, pulling him deeper, dragging him under. Just as he felt his body go still, ready to surrender to the cold embrace of death, there was a soft, familiar touch. It was gentle, reassuring—a presence that stood in stark contrast to the suffocating violence of his nightmare. Silco's mind was reluctant to let go of the dream, but the touch was real, undeniable.

“Silco,” a soft voice called to him, its gentle tone a lifeline pulling him from the suffocating grip of his nightmare. “Silco, wake up. You’re safe. You’re here.”

His eyes snapped open, the world still spinning in the remnants of the dream. His chest was tight, lungs burning with each shallow breath as he gasped for air. His hands trembled as he reached for something solid, something real. But the cold, dark water, the crushing weight of Vander’s hands around his throat, still lingered in his chest, a phantom ache that wouldn't let go. But he wasn’t underwater. He wasn’t drowning. He was lying in their shared room, bathed in the soft, comforting glow of candlelight, the cool night air swirling around them. Y/N was there, her presence a balm to his mind, her hand resting on his arm, her worried eyes searching his face.

“Y/N…” Silco breathed, his voice raw and broken, still choking on the remnants of the nightmare. The panic gripped him so tightly that his hands clenched into fists, the tension in his body too much to shake off. He could still feel the suffocating pressure, the cold grasp of death.

Silco blinked slowly, his mind still foggy from the nightmare. The cold remnants of fear lingered in his chest, but he didn’t want to show it. He couldn’t let her see that side of him, not now, not after all they’d been through. His pride had always been his shield, and even in the wake of the terror, he didn’t want to burden her more than he already had.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, voice low and strained as he slowly shifted to lie back down. "It was just a bad dream. You should get some sleep. I don’t need to keep you up for this."

He made an attempt to pull away, to give her the space to rest, but the moment his back hit the pillows, the tightness in his chest only deepened. His mind felt scattered, the remnants of the nightmare still clawing at his thoughts, and it took all his effort to steady his breathing. Yet, as he lay there, still half-drowning in the weight of his fear, he felt the soft, reassuring weight of Y/N beside him.

Y/N didn’t need words, though. She simply shifted closer to him, her warmth radiating through the space between them. Without a single sound, she pressed herself gently into his side, her head finding the crook of his neck. The steady rhythm of her breath calmed him, like the quiet after a storm, a soft and steady comfort that washed over him, pulling him from the depths of his mind.

Her hand moved to his, gently pulling it to her chest, pressing it there as if to tell him, without speaking, that she was right there. That she wouldn’t leave him, not now, not ever. The touch was grounding and tender, a quiet promise in the stillness of the night.

There were no demands, no expectations. Y/N didn’t need him to say anything. She knew how much he appreciated her care, even if he couldn’t always show it, and in this moment, it was enough. The weight of her love was something he had never fully allowed himself to embrace, yet it felt like the only thing in the world that made sense.

Silco’s breath hitched slightly as the flood of emotions crashed over him. The fear, the self-doubt, the old wounds—they all still lingered, but with her there, he felt something different. He didn’t pull away. He couldn’t. Her warmth was like a balm to the pain that lived in him, the quiet strength she offered filling the emptiness he never let anyone see.

He didn’t need to say anything more. With her warmth beside him, her presence wrapping around him like a shield, he allowed himself to feel the peace he had long denied. The ghosts of his past, the nightmares that had plagued him for so long, seemed to recede into the background. For the first time in a long while, he felt safe. And he knew, in that moment, he didn’t have to face those demons alone.

He let out a quiet, shaky breath, his arm instinctively wrapping around her as he finally relaxed into the embrace. He surrendered, just for this moment, to the comfort she provided, to the understanding that she would never let him go—even when his pride made him want to push her away. And as he held her close, he knew, without a single word between them, that she was the anchor he hadn’t realized he needed.

JINX/POWDER (PLATONIC)

The darkness of the room pressed in on Jinx, suffocating her as the nightmare replayed in vivid detail. She was back on the bridge, the screams and chaos around her echoing like distant thunder. Her small hands clung onto her sister's hand, she peered past Vi and Vander, her eyes landing on her mother’s still form. She didn’t understand what she was seeing—her young mind couldn’t make sense of the motionless body, the crimson pooling beneath it, or the eerie, hollow silence that seemed to swallow the world around her. “Mom?” she whispered, her voice trembling, barely audible amidst the chaos. She turned to Vi, searching her sister’s face for something—anything—to ease the confusion building inside her. But Vi’s expression, pale and stricken, offered no answers. Vander bent down, his massive frame blocking her view as he spoke urgently to Vi, his voice low and firm. “Take her. Go.” His words were a command, but they sounded distant, like they were coming from underwater. Jinx clung tighter to Vi’s hand, her small fingers gripping desperately, her legs trembling. Her sister was her anchor, the only thing holding her steady in a world that felt like it was falling apart. But then she felt it—Vi’s hand slipping from hers. “No,” Jinx whimpered, her voice barely above a breath as Vi stepped away. The warmth of her sister’s hand faded, leaving her alone and untethered. “Vi?” Her voice wavered, small and unsure, as she reached out, trying to reclaim the connection. Vi didn’t turn back. She moved toward Vander, the distance between them growing with every step. Jinx stood frozen, her legs refusing to follow, her chest tightening as the chill of abandonment crept in. Her heart pounded, each beat a desperate plea for someone to come back, to take her hand and make her feel safe again. But no one came. The shadows on the bridge stretched long and menacing, and the ache in her chest deepened into a pain she couldn’t understand.

Jinx jolted awake with a sharp gasp, her chest heaving as if she had been holding her breath for hours. Her heart raced, and cold sweat clung to her skin. The nightmare’s grip lingered, the scene replaying behind her eyes in fragments. The bridge. The blood. Her mother. The emptiness in her sister’s absence.

She buried her face in her hands, trying to steady her breathing, but the room felt too dark, too suffocating. Her trembling hands pushed her blanket aside, and she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. A faint, warm glow spilled out from under her door, catching her attention like a lifeline.

Barefoot and hesitant, she padded down the hallway toward the living room. The soft flicker of candlelight danced against the walls, and there, seated on the couch, was Y/N.

Wrapped in a blanket, a storybook resting on her lap, Y/N’s face was calm but distant, her eyes scanning the worn pages as if searching for something. Jinx hesitated in the doorway, her small frame half-hidden by the shadows.

Y/N glanced up, her warm, knowing eyes meeting Jinx’s. “Nightmare?” she asked softly, her voice steady and reassuring.

Jinx nodded, her throat too tight to speak, and shuffled forward. She didn’t hesitate when Y/N patted the space beside her. Crawling onto the couch, Jinx nestled into Y/N’s side, pulling part of the blanket over herself.

“I couldn’t sleep either,” Y/N admitted quietly, her hand coming up to stroke Jinx’s hair, her touch gentle and rhythmic. “I was thinking about my mother. This was her favorite book to read to me when I was little.” Her voice carried a soft, wistful edge, as though the memory lingered with a bittersweet weight.

Jinx glanced down at the book in Y/N’s lap, her tired eyes taking in the faded cover, its once-bright colours now muted with time. The edges were frayed, the spine cracked, speaking of countless nights spent with its stories. “She used to read it to help me sleep,” Y/N continued, her voice soft and steady, like a lullaby in itself. “When the world felt too heavy, this was her way of making it lighter. Maybe it’ll help you too.”

Jinx didn’t reply, but the faintest flicker of curiosity passed over her face. It wasn’t often she heard Y/N talk about her past. The mention of a mother—a figure tied to warmth and comfort—stirred something fragile in Jinx, a longing she barely recognized.

Without waiting for a response, Y/N opened the book, the pages crackling softly as they were turned. The faint, comforting scent of aged paper filled the room, mingling with the flickering warmth of the candlelight. Her voice began to fill the quiet space, steady and gentle, each word weaving into the air like a spell.

“Once upon a time, in a land of endless skies, there lived a little girl with a heart as bright as the stars…”

Jinx shifted slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around herself before resting her head on Y/N’s lap. The small, vulnerable gesture wasn’t lost on Y/N, who adjusted the blanket to cover them both more snugly. Her hand moved instinctively, stroking Jinx’s hair in slow, comforting motions.

The soothing cadence of Y/N’s voice was like an anchor, grounding Jinx in the present. The vivid echoes of her nightmare—her mother’s still form, Vi’s retreating hand, the empty ache in her chest—began to dim. The words of the story painted a different picture in her mind, one of vast skies and endless possibilities, far removed from the darkness that had gripped her.

“Every night, the little girl would look up at the stars, wondering if she’d ever touch them. But the stars whispered back to her, ‘You don’t have to reach us. You’re already one of us.’”

Jinx’s breath slowed, the tension in her body unwinding as she listened. The warmth of Y/N’s lap, the rhythmic strokes through her hair, and the steady murmur of the story created a cocoon of safety around her. It was a feeling she couldn’t quite name, but it filled the empty spaces in her heart, pushing back the shadows that threatened to consume her.

Y/N glanced down at Jinx, her voice never faltering as she continued reading. She noticed how Jinx’s small hands, once clenched tightly in her lap, now rested loosely by her sides. The lines of worry etched into her young face began to soften, her breathing evening out with each passing moment.

“The little girl learned that her light wasn’t something she had to find in the stars—it was already inside her. And with that, she wasn’t afraid of the dark anymore.”

Y/N paused for a moment, her hand lingering on Jinx’s hair as she turned the page. She glanced down again, noticing Jinx’s eyelids growing heavier, her small frame nestled deeper into the comfort of Y/N’s presence.

The candlelight flickered gently, casting long shadows that danced on the walls. The quiet hum of the room felt like a sanctuary, a rare moment of peace in a world that often felt too chaotic and unforgiving.

Y/N’s voice dropped to an even softer tone, as if speaking directly to Jinx’s heart.

“And so, the little girl slept, cradled by the stars, knowing she was never truly alone.”

Jinx let out a soft sigh, her head tilting slightly as she drifted further into sleep. Y/N didn’t stop stroking her hair, her touch now as much for herself as it was for Jinx. The weight of her own memories sat heavily in her chest, but in this moment, they felt bearable.

For the first time in a long while, Jinx looked peaceful, her small form curled up under the blanket like a child seeking shelter from a storm. Y/N kept reading, her voice barely a whisper now, more for the comfort of the act than the need to be heard.

The room settled into a profound stillness, the only sound the soft rustling of pages and the faint crackle of the candle. Wrapped in Y/N’s care, Jinx allowed herself to let go, her breathing steady and calm.

Y/N gazed down at her, a faint, bittersweet smile playing on her lips. “You’re safe now,” she murmured softly, almost to herself. And for that brief, quiet moment, it felt true for them both.

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