#hope I captured jayces yearning

[isagaiia]

ribbit

[quartz-kilsviken]

Written in the Runes

Chapter 1

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

➸ pairing: jayvik x reader

➸ word count: 3,649

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

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

➸ Next Chapter Link- Pt.2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fraud?”

“No.”

“Murder?”

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach drops. “Was anyone hurt?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now you’re here.

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