#rip to jayce though

[atomicjellyb3an]

Caitvi

The arcane writers

[mettywiththenotes]

Caitlyn: Viktor's at the center of all this, isn't he?

Jayce: *deep sigh* I miss my wife, Caitlyn. I miss him a lot.

[carrion-corvus]

AU where Viktor never left Zaun 🙏

[notachair]

ARCANE S2 SPOILERS

btw 🤗🤗🤗 to me being right about jayce using the hexcore to save or "save" viktor after being deadly (or apparently *dead* I think) injured after the attack against the council and it leading to jayvik divorce 🤗🤗🤗 happy birthday to me 🥳🥂

[katz-rambles]

Hi ! Could we have a childhood friends to lovers ViktorxReader please ? 🥰 I am CRAVING for new works

Yess!! I love this trope it's sooo cute!!

2k words, so I hope you enjoy, Anon!

(fluff, gn!reader, reader is a professor, making out, getting caught, Viktors a bit of a tease (when is he never though), I think this is it!)

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰

When your family left the under-city, you knew everything would change. You were glad that it happened, it opened a whole bunch of doors for what you could become when you grew into an adult. But it also meant leaving your old life behind, one of the things you still think about to this day. Your heart aches when you think about the people you knew, you just hope that they ended up in a good place. When the shimmer trade spiked, you thought you'd never see any of the people you knew ever again, most of them probably either succumbed to the drug, or was killed during the many times the enforcers went down. You didn't like to think about it, but it's the harsh reality of Piltover.

Now you're walking the halls of one of the most esteemed universities inside of piltover, not as a student, but as a professor. You climbed your way to the top, and you know that your family is proud of you. They're the only reason this became possible, so when you got offered, you jumped at the chance. You're not complaining either, it's a well paying job with good benefits.

The day seemed to be going by incredibly slow, each hour felt like a year. You had a pile of tests on your desk that you had to mark, you've gotten through about half of them. But there's only so much marking someone can take before you feel like ripping your hair out.

So, instead of ripping your hair out, you decide to go on a coffee run and get some fresh air. You've been inside your office for so long, you're surprised you're still standing. One of the downsides to being a professor.

The walk to the Cafe down the road from the university isn't a long one. It's about three minutes, so long enough that you can get some well needed fresh air, but not long enough that you're regretting your decision.

When you reach the university, hit coffee in hand, you run into one of your former students, Jayce Talis. He gives you a friendly wave and comes up to you, “hey, professor. How's your day been?” He asks, awkwardly trying to make small talk and you have to cover your smile by pretending to clear your throat. “It's been well, thank you for asking. How's yours been?” You smile at him, not wanting to seem impolite by just ending the conversation there. He shrugs and sighs, you get the feeling.

Just when you're about to ask a question someone calls Jayce over, and when you both look over you're met with the sight of someone who you thought died long ago, but there he is, standing right in front of you, his cane in hand. You've heard of hextech, you're not in your office that much, and you've heard that Jayce didn't do it alone, but you never knew who his lab partner was. You also know that Heimerdinger has an assistant, but you were never able to catch said assistant's name. But you expected everything and anything, but him. You could have sworn he was dead.

“Viktor,” you manage to get out, although it's been years since you've last seen him, the memories you two made together as children stay fresh in your mind. Plus, he's incredibly attractive, everything from his overgrown hair to the way he leans on his cane, still managing to be taller than you, though not by much. It all had your mind swarming. His eyes rake over you before he looks back to your eyes, “Milý,” he breathes, a faint smile on his face as he continues, “you’re.. ehh.. hi.” He chuckles, standing a bit straighter on his cane. Before either of you can say anything else, Jayce buts in, “I hate to ruin a good moment, but the council wants to see us, Viktor.” Viktor nods and gives you one last nod before limping after Jayce.

Seeing someone who you hadn't seen in a good decade or so was not on your bucket list. You sit down in the chair behind your desk and lean back, letting your head just barely dangle off the back of the chair. You bring your hands up and rub your face, taking a deep breath and groaning. The sound is muffled by your hands. You sit back up again and sigh, you shouldn't feel this way. But you can't deny the way that you felt your heart race when you saw him again, he has such a boyish charm that just pulls you in, the same as is it did when you two were kids. You just chalk it up to a shock factor, you haven't seen him in years. You're just shocked, that's what you tell yourself.

The whole day all you can think about is him, you almost feel giddy, almost like a schoolgirl again. You take a breather, you've made a good amount of progress on the tests so you can afford a quick walk. Plus you have a class soon, and your classroom is on the other half of the university, and you've still got to set up your notes, you internally groan at the thought of giving another lecture. This is your fourth today.

When you finally reach the classroom, the professor that was using the room before you is just finishing cleaning up. You opened the door, only to be met with Viktor and Jayce, and then Heimerdinger soon after. You give a polite nod to Heimerdinger, and smile at Jayce and Viktor. You take your bag off and grab your notes, placing them on the table in front of you, before speaking up, “I thought your lecture ended a while ago, what are you still doing here?” You try and make your tone seem polite enough to cover up the, almost, rude question.

It's Jayce that speaks up first, “Heimerdinger thought it would be a good idea for us to sit in for one of your lectures, since the subject your an expert in is arcane.” You nod and chew the inside of your cheek. You're an amazing talker, and can easily give an hour long lecture, but with Viktor there, you feel anxious at the thought. Although it makes sense, hextech deals with arcane and what better person to listen to than someone who's an expert in it. You try and finish setting up without letting your mind wander too much, but your eyes keep on drifting from the papers in front of you to Viktor. When you look over at him, you find him already staring and he quickly looks away from you.

Now it's just a matter of waiting, you have ten minutes until your class starts so why not help Jayce and Viktor with their problems. You let them, mainly Jayce oddly enough, to ask you any questions they may have and you answer them to the best of your ability. Soon enough your class starts and you have to push away the temptation of staring at Viktor the whole time. Though, a few times you caught him, out of the corner of your eye, looking at you, and you embarrassingly stumbled over your words those times. You swear you saw the ghost of a smirk on his face at your reactions. Everything about him is so damn enticing, it's infuriating. How can one man be so wonderfully perfect, it doesn't make sense to you.

After your lecture, you're leaning over your desk, your mind swarming with thoughts, some not as innocent as you'd like.

When you're met with a hand on your back that has you letting out an embarrassingly loud yelp. Lo and behold, Viktor’s standing right behind you, with a smirk on his lips. “You seem awfully.. eh.. jumpy today, is everything alright?” He asks, moving his face closer to yours, and your heart is racing so fast you're convinced it'll jump out of your chest. His hand on your back moves lower until he rests it on the curve of your hip, gently squeezing it. “Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired.” You sigh, doing your best to not stutter or hesitate on your words. Viktor chuckles, the sound is something you'd pay to hear again, and moves his face closer to yours again. “Well, we can't have one of the best professors sleeping on the job. Now can we?” If it weren't for the teasing lift to his words you'd think he was actually concerned, but you both know that you're he's not actually. He almost immediately caught onto your lie.

You have to crane your neck at an, almost, uncomfortable angle to be able to see his face. You have to loft your face up for your neck to not be strained too much and you unintentionally bring your faces closer together. In the moment everything feels heightened, you're more aware of him. The hand he has on your hip feels heavier, you can feel the heat coming from his body from the proximity of you two, and you can smell him, a wonderful scent mixed with oil from the lab, the salty smell of the bay, and the knee-weakening scent of his cologne. Right now, everything about him feels intoxicating.

His hand lifts from your hip and to your back, carefully nudging you to turn around so you two are fully facing each other. He then places his hand on your chin to lift your face up, once again. He lets go and grabs your hand, placing it on his chest before speaking, in such a quiet tone you almost didn't hear him, “do you feel that?” Under your palm you can feel each beat of his heart, it's fast, probably just as fast as yours is. All you can muster is a nod. “That's what you're doing to me.” He sighs and brings his face closer to yours, the sound of his words mixed with the tone of his accent is something you're slowly becoming addicted to.

You bring your free hand up to hold his face, your finger traces his cheekbone and then you rest your palm on his face. “Good.” You smirk and his eyes flick down to your lips, and you take the hint, closing the gap between you two. He presses you against the desk and reciprocates the kiss, just as eager and desperate as you are. Each second that passes by feels like an eternity, and you hope it never ends. You've wrapped your arms around his neck and his free hand is resting on your hip. You're the one to pull away first with a quick gasp for air. Viktors face has a red flush to it and you swear you fell deeper in love right then and there.

“I've waited so long to do that, when you left for the top-side the only thing I regretted was not telling you how I felt.” He chuckles, stroking your hip, and you smile and lean in to kiss him again, this time it's him who closes the gap. His lips against yours feels right, you've kissed other people, men and women, but none have felt as right or as good as this. It's a bit messy, and rushed, but it feels right. You slide your hand back down to his chest, feeling his heart race under your palm is something that has you feeling giddy. He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer to him. The moment, unfortunately, had to come to an end, the sound of the door opening, not only were you two caught but it reminded you that you two were inside a classroom, thankfully it wasn't a student who caught you, just an incredibly shocked Jayce. You look at Jayce and then back at Viktor, who looks just as shocked as Jayce, and you cover your mouth with your hand to stifle your giggles. “This is a place of learning, you two!” Jayce scoffs and throws his hands up, and Viktor groans, taking a few steps back.

“Good thing we're learning then, or we were learning.” Viktor teases, giving you a quick wink before going over to Jayce who looks even more shocked than before, he looks at you and then back at Viktor before groaning in defeat and chasing after Viktor. You're not sure what's going to happen between you and Viktor next, but you're sure that, whatever it is, it will be amazing.

[aimfor-theheart]

to break first

|| mel medarda x reader, jayce talis x reader, viktor x reader || E/18+ || messy dynamics/hurt/comfort || wc: 6k || ao3 ||

minors and ageless blogs dni, 18+

Your lovers are strange, demanding types.

a/n: idk man. but this revived my writing so. pls take it. dividers by @/cafekitsune

tags: messy dynamics, light smut/smut mentioned and implied, implied rough/hate sex, some hurt/comfort, ends on a hopeful note. not beta read/edited.

You've never liked Jayce much.

And you might just be the only person he doesn't like, either.

He plays nice, though, especially around Viktor. You think Jayce has teeth that he tries to hide, but you catch the flash of them from time to time. He smiles at you and it doesn't reach his eyes. It's just shy of contempt.

It makes your grin cheshire and sharp. You like watching him squirm. You like watching him wrestle with his distaste for you, try to keep his teeth hidden. Especially here, at this gala, all gold and sparkling and pristine, for all the world to see.

Bubbling rosé is bright and fruity on your tongue. You're shoulder to shoulder with Viktor, the two of you half-miserable together, stuffed into formal wear and ripped from your respective labs and studios. Which is why Jayce lingers; he's hovering in that annoying way of his. Bumbling a little. He's trying to make Viktor feel more at home but—

You have something Jayce doesn't.

Only you can do that.

You're Viktor's childhood friend, thick as thieves and twice as inseparable. You're an artist from the Undercity—a painter, a poet, a musician. An artistic genius, the world claims, an artistic savant. And one of the rare, lucky few who has been exalted and raised above your station to be paraded around Piltover like some trophy of success from their lowest. It's mostly Viktor's fault, you claim—the moment Heimerdinger found him, he also accidentally found you.

"Ah, if it isn't one of the most brilliant and groundbreaking artists of our generation." A smooth, easy voice floats through your thoughts. You turn your head to find Councilor Medarda, swathed in what could be a starry sky of silk and gold.

She's even more beautiful in person somehow; if you were to paint her, she'd be all easy, graceful lines, curved and long. A lily stem. The arch of a tiger.

"Just the person I was looking for." She muses.

"Me?" You balk, at the same time that Jayce gaps, "Them?!"

You swing your gaze to glare at him and even Viktor wrinkles his nose. Jayce tries to clear his throat, clear the mistake.

Councilor Medarda raises a brow at Jayce, but then her eyes flicker to you, honing in on you. Hazel and gold and reflective; a kaleidoscope of color. And with such—intensity. You feel it in her. Thrumming. "Yes, you." She says smoothly and she smiles in the elegant way of royalty; perfect and mysterious.

"Are you sure you have the right person, Councilor Medarda?" You joke, "you know I'm just—"

"I'm certain. And please—call me Mel. I'd love to commission you for several art pieces to be displayed in the council chambers."

Viktor whistles a little, impressed, though you can tell it's a little dry.

(He both rambles and rants about Councilor Medarda from time to time and you can never tell if he adores her or resents her.)

Jayce startles at this, but again, he tries to play it off. He places his hand on her lower back, "I didn't know the council chambers was looking to display art."

Mel allows his hand to remain, but she tilts her chin up and her eyes flash somewhat—quick, sharp. There's a silent conversation there that you can't decipher.

But you can tell there is something more than just coworkers happening between them.

"I'm looking to display art in the council chambers." Mel then says.

Jayce looks away, cowed somewhat, tail tucked between his legs in a way that makes you smile.

Mel drifts from Jayce's hands, offering her arm to you, "will you walk with me? I'd love to discuss what I have in mind."

If only to steal her away from Jayce, you finally peel yourself away from Viktor's side and the wall. Your shoulder, where it was touching his, goes cold. But Mel's arm is warm as you twine it around yours.

She draws you away from the scientists, into the fray of swirling, dazzling people.

You glance over your shoulder only once and catch Jayce's eyes, and let your smile curl into something a little smug, almost vicious; baring your teeth as if to gloat at his own, still tucked behind his lips.

***

"Mel's an artist." You say to Viktor, offhand. "A good one, too. You should see her paintings—"

Viktor sighs heavily, snatching one of the little tools that you'd been fiddling with out of your hands. "You sound like Jayce."

You wrinkle your face in disgust, reaching back for the tool and grappling with him a moment for it. You press all against each other, squabbling, before you win out and take it back from him. He stares at you, almost in some form of a glare and you stare back, watching his eyes, dark in the low light of the lab. He glances at the tool in your hands like he might try to take it back, and when he moves, you move faster, and hold it out of his reach.

"Are they together?" You ask.

He gives up on the tool.

Then, he lifts his shoulders in some form of a crooked shrug, eyes going skyward. "One can only assume."

"She's out of his league." You sigh, throwing your weight back in the chair in despair.

Viktor snorts at that, returning to his work, "I'm sure few are in league with Councilor Medarda."

His voice is dry. A little brittle.

"I don't know what you have against her." You then venture, speaking more to the ceiling, returning to fiddling with the tool. It twists in your fingers, the sound of metal whirling and softly grinding.

"I have nothing against Councilor Medarda." He says too evenly.

"You know, I've never been able to tell if it's contempt or adoration you have for her." You continue, as if he hadn't said anything to contradict you. "But either way, she gets under your skin."

"She does not—"

"Are you jealous? She took your big, dumb partner away?" You press, twisting and twisting away at the tool.

"No—" Viktor says sharply, but it rings with a note of truth. It's not quite that then.

You pause. And then.

You crack your eye open, "I think she likes me."

Viktor pauses now too, metal clinking quietly with the sudden stop of his work again. He knows that tone of your voice. His face pulls; distaste. Frustration.

(Jealousy.)

His speech is slow as he tries to parse through what to say, "Councilor Medarda is charming and—"

"She invited me to dinner." You say and now you're watching him carefully, "at her personal suite. Just us."

Viktor rounds on you, "you're going to get yourself into trouble."

You can't help but smile, slow and amused, "I feel like it's good for the art—fool around with a politician—"

"You know, I have always wondered if you would learn your lesson," Viktor continues over your monologuing about drama and passion and politics, "—maybe this time, you'll finally learn it."

He snatches the tool from your hands and throws it down on his desk.

"I love learning." You chirp innocently and he shakes his head, face flushed with passion.

He looks at you again when he can, shakes his head some more, some of the irritation fading from his features. He never stays mad at you for long; doesn't have it in him. Besides, he causes his own trouble. Doesn't learn his own lessons. And when the dust settles, the two of you are still here, beside each other. The artist and the scientist, making messes, breaking things—all for some higher purpose only the two of you have ever understood.

(You've loved him your whole life. Sometimes, you think you carry half of the other's ribs inside one another. He must have twelve of yours, and you must have twelve of his—)

You lift your foot, nudging his calf beneath the desk with it, then up to place it in his lap. An olive branch, of some kind. Your affection is unsurprising to him and he sighs. He drops his hand to your ankle. He squeezes.

"She's going to eat you alive." Viktor finally warns.

"One can only hope."

A laugh startles out of him, rough and raspy, before it dissolves into coughing.

You lurch up to give him water, sitting near you, and bring the glass to his lips on reflex, like you used to as children. And on reflex, he drinks—he doesn't try to take the glass from your hands right away or push you away. Instinctively, you care for him, and instinctively, he lets you.

(You think you're the only one he'd ever allow to do this, born out of years of pressed side to side in the same bed, listening to him weather the nights. Born out of years of your love and stubborn care for him.)

After a moment, he lifts his hand and slowly replaces yours.

You hover over him. He sets the glass down. The water is almost gone. You'll replace it for him before you leave the lab.

He settles back into his chair, eyes returning to the pieces in front of him; all the odd metal scattered like little silver stars in front of him against a vast, dark sky. He picks up one, and then another, and tries to fit them together.

Then another. And another.

You watch him twist and turn, put the puzzle together.

He says, "Lately, I feel as if—" his fingers are careful, almost shaking, as he tries to create something of the scattered, broken pieces, "everything is quite fragile. And it's all just going to—" he presses a little too hard, and the metal all splinters apart, clattering back to the desk, "break. At any given moment."

After a moment, he looks up at you, still hovering over him, "I fear you're heading towards a breaking point."

You hum a little.

"What is it you scientists say?" You ask, running your fingers through his dark hair, thick and tousled. You twirl a strand around your finger, let it fall;

"It has to break first, before you can discover anything."

***

You'd say Mel Medarda is a wolf in sheep's clothing, but she doesn't feign anything so harmless or lost as a sheep.

You do think she's—

A little like Jayce, where she hides her teeth. But where Jayce irritates you because he's certainly trying to seem better than he is, or more harmless than he can be, Mel does so with intention. Mel hides her teeth to lure you closer. She doesn't pretend she doesn't have them; she waits until you're in range before you catch a glimpse of them.

And by then, well. It's too late.

You realize this over dinner, as she laments about what art she'd like from you and she's adamant about not censoring you.

(You're known for you controversy; whether in your physical art, your poetry, or music. Once pulled to the light of the Upper City, you refused to let them defang you. Where Jayce pretends he doesn't have teeth, you bare yours proudly, and sometimes wish you could tear the tender parts of Piltover open.

You strive to do it with your art. And while applauded in some vague capacity, you are also kept on a tight leash. Your patrons are warily supportive of you. Your commissions are strict. You're treated the way you think a wild animal is; with utmost care and fear and awe.)

In fact, her only rule for you, is to not hold back.

Which, given the growing tension between the Upper and Lower Cities, you realize this cannot only be from the goodness of her heart or for the integrity of art but—

You tilt your head and consider her.

"Am I a political move, Mel?"

She smiles in that enigmatic way of hers, her teeth flash, "isn't all art?"

You narrow your eyes, "perhaps. I wonder of it's effectiveness when it's employed by the people it often critiques." You lift your chin and pretend to be hurt—or perhaps, mask your hurt within dramatics to make it seem ironic, "and here I thought you really liked me—"

"I do." Mel assures, "I've admired you a great deal from afar. And getting to know you, your mind, it's—" she considers her words, "it's been nothing short of mesmerizing. Astonishing."

She sounds sincere. But you wonder if she always sounds that way.

She can tell she hasn't convinced you because you've never been able to mask your emotions well, so she leans forward and says, "unfortunately, everything I do is a political move, whether I'd like it to be or not. Both can be true—" she says, "I can adore you. And I can also need you to make a public point, wield you like my own elegant weapon."

"Artists make for disobedient weapons, usually." You say.

She laughs a little at that and agrees, "True." And then she lowers her voice, looks at you through the fan of her dark lashes in such a way that seizes you—arrests you, holds you right there, caught, in her heady gaze;

"But I don't need you to be obedient."

"I can never tell if you're trying to seduce me or persuade me." You blurt out, the words running from your mouth like a rabbit from a wolf. Your desire bursts from you like frightened birds taking to flight, like most of what you feel does, all of it spilling out of you in a gush of rawness.

She stands gracefully and again, you think of how you'd draw her—how you'd capture her in a poem or a song. The sharp curve of her waist, the predatory grace she carries effortlessly. You think her song is a croon from the deep part of your chest. You think her poem looks like an hourglass on the page and she slips from your fingers as easy as time does, too.

She rounds the small table to your side.

You look up at her. Your heart kicks up into a quick dance.

She brings the back of her knuckle to your jaw and gently—with all the carefulness in the world, strokes you.

(She touches you the way one does a bird, as if they know it's fragile. Perhaps as if they know it might fly away.

Or maybe she touches you the way one does an animal they're not sure of; will you bite? Will you lean into the touch?)

"Both can be true." She finally answers.

When she kisses you, it's fiercer than you're expecting; a lightning strike, a blow to the heart.

Your teeth come up against hers.

She gasps when you drag her further down to you, greedier than she's ever known, meeting her fierceness with your own, like the clashing of blades, or the destruction of stars.

And you think, if you don't want obedience, then I'll show you.

I'll show you.

***

"What are you playing at?"

Jayce's voice is a vicious little hush in the caverns of the council chambers. Mel has just left you after peaking over your shoulder to view the preliminary sketches.

You lift your head and blink up at Jayce slowly, dragging yourself from your sketch; from your world of art.

(It sets his teeth to grinding because Viktor makes that same look, when he's so deep into his work and Jayce disturbs him. It's a face he finds endearing on both of you, unfortunately. He imagines your minds are in heaven and he's selfish enough to drag you both back down to earth.)

"What do you mean? For the art piece?" You ask, glancing down at your lap, at the series of gestures and lines that you've been lost in. Maybe you're feigning innocence a little. But you want him to say it, if he's going to pick this fight.

Jayce's eyes flash like the too-hot part of the flame.

You have to bite back a smile.

Come on, you think wildly, say it. Let's fight. Here in the chambers, where you try so hard to be their golden boy.

"What are you trying to get out of Mel?" He asks and it makes you laugh outright, because he's dancing around what he really wants to ask.

Your laugh echoes in the hall, bouncing off all this marble and gold. It's out of place here, too loud, too free.

"The better question is what she's trying to get out of me." You say, "do you think I have it in me to manipulate the Mel Medarda?"

He goes quiet at that.

"Are you doing this to get back at me?" He asks after a moment and it's so close to what he wants to ask, so close to what he really wants to talk about.

"She kissed me first." You answer. "Have you had this conversation with her?"

You can tell by the shadow of uncertainty that passes over his face that he hasn't. You stand, easily setting your sketches and pencils aside, and drift nearer to him.

"Oh," you hum, "you didn't know. She didn't mention some plan of seduction to you? Maybe she really does like me."

He rounds on you so sharply that you are genuinely surprised. You gasp when your back hits the wall and he's got you caged in, a snarl on his lips and you finally get to see those teeth of his—

"You just always have to push me, don't you? In all the years I've known you, you've only ever tried to get under my skin. I tried so hard, for so long, for Viktor's sake to get along with you." He says lowly and distantly, you think, does he cage in Mel like this? With his big arms and broad chest? Or does she have him on a tight leash, underneath her?

"This time, I didn't mean it. Surely, you understand—" you say slyly, "when she comes onto you like that, all honey-voiced and half-lidded. She's hard to resist, isn't she?"

The grip he has on your biceps tightens to a point of pain—he'll bruise you. You'll be tender there, where his big hands gripped you, and it only makes you smile.

"Stop it." He snaps.

But you can't help yourself now, because once you've got something between your teeth, you've never been able to let it go;

"I just want to know if she kisses me the same way she kisses you? Does she play nice with you? She's quite fierce with me—"

When Jayce kisses you, it's a crush of aggression.

You laugh into his mouth wildly as he shoves you harder against the wall, teeth mean in the tender part of your bottom lip so that your laughter melts into a groan of pain. Of pleasure.

You claw at his back and wonder if Mel does, too.

You fight and hiss and snarl, show him your teeth when he sinks his into the fluttering pulse at your throat. You try to draw blood. You think he tries to bruise.

And well, you always wanted to see his teeth—

Just never thought you'd end up with a ring of their mark on your neck.

***

You're not really sleeping—nights are long. Days are longer. You're in the studio too much. This art piece is strangling you, wrestling with you and you're losing. Your lovers are strange, demanding types. Jayce comes to you at his lowest, and Mel at her highest. She licks the wounds Jayce leaves on you, purrs about how good you're being for her, goads you into putting up more of a fight that she likes to quell. She asks, have I stolen your bite? Are you going soft on me? Until you try to wrestle with her, too.

Mel subdues you the way snakes do—constricts and tightens and puts all that pressure on you until you just burst.

Until you go slack in her grip.

Jayce takes his anger out on you and he's not so cunning or delicate as her. You think Jayce struggles with you the way he must with his hammers, with high heat and all his strength.

Your art is starting to look like pieces of them; brutal and brilliant and cunning and beautiful. Tricky to capture, even more difficult to mesh together.

You're covered in paint when Viktor comes to visit you, frustrated with the canvas in front of you, which you think you'll end up scrapping again.

(This is the fourth one. You've been trying to fit all the components and pieces together but none of it's working, all of it's a mess. Splintered apart on the canvas. It looks like a disaster on the page.)

"Have you eaten?" Viktor asks as he comes to stand behind you. He gazes at the canvas n front of you.

You sigh heavily. "Have you?" You return.

He snorts at that, "No. I'm coming from the lab and thought I'd check on you—Mel mentioned you were here."

He pauses and then, "that you'd been here. For awhile now."

You hear the layers in his voice; the worry, but then the—

Irritation? Disdain?

"Are you asking me to dinner?" You say instead, dashing the canvas with a sudden great, horrible X. It's your meager attempt at some sort of joke or flirting, but your voice is perhaps too thin for it. You stare at your canvas, now dripping with that great X, the paint slipping down and marring it further.

When you turn to look at Viktor, he regards you warily. He glances at the canvas you've just ruined, and then back to your face.

He takes in your appearance; your disheveled hair and the paint all over your clothes and skin. And then his eyes skip down to your throat, to your arms. All marked up and bruised, unhidden and worn proudly here, in the safety of your art studio.

"Should I be concerned?" Viktor asks instead and you've always loved his bluntness. His lack of tact is like coming home. It's a relief, when you're constantly with Mel and Jayce lately, who talk in riddles and niceties and flowered language that hides their intentions or feelings.

There is a bitterness in Viktor's voice that you know well, too.

"About?" You prod.

"I'm no fool." Viktor answers, "I know you're sleeping with Councilor Medarda."

"Is that all you know?" You return, tilting your head.

"Is there more to know?" Viktor asks, eyeing you.

"Jayce hasn't said anything?"

You watch a strange shadow pass over Viktor's face as he slowly comes to the natural conclusion that you've lead him to. He's right, he is no fool. And then you watch his eyes catch fire, catch jealousy.

"I warned you—" he starts, suddenly.

"And I told you, it's good for the art—" You joke.

"Obviously it isn't!" He snaps, gesturing to the canvas behind you, ruined and glaring at your back. And then he heaves out a rough, agitated breath, dragging a hand through his hair. "Do you ever think of consequences?" He demands.

"Sure," You say, "I'm exactly where I want to be."

"You know, they are my colleagues. What am I supposed to do if—?!"

You laugh at that, enough that it startles him out of his beginning tirade. He comes up short and his shoulders bunch with tension as he glares at you.

"Is something funny?" He hisses.

"Your colleagues?" You repeat, "that's all they are to you?"

"Well—yes, technically." He stumbles on his words here.

"Are you jealous, Viktor?" You ask. "You don't have to be."

"I'm not jealous—" He refutes, even as his cheeks grow ruddy. And for a moment, you could be twelve with him again, his face flush as he looks at you after you'd kissed him for the first time because he'd never kissed anyone before. Or twenty-two and drunk, kissing one night under the stars when you felt so lost and disorientated in the Upper City—just wanted to feel like yourself again.

Or now, at thirty-two, staring at the man you've loved your entire life and whatever mess you've made out of everything.

You reach out and touch his cheek, glowing with color, and at first he winces away, but when you persist, he relaxes. He presses his cheek to your open palm and looks at you; raw and frank and so Viktor that you can't help the faint smile that touches your lips. Even as he frowns at you.

"What are you meddling with?" Viktor murmurs, turning his face into your cupped hand. You feel the faint brush of his lips, a little dry, and soft. Warm.

"Apparently our political landscape." You respond and that at least gets a laugh from him. You feel it against you and some spark shimmers through you, shudders and opens itself to you.

(Your desire for Viktor is something always with you, ambient, perhaps dormant, that always resurfaces like the great fins of some horrible, huge monster in dark waters. Your desire for Viktor is a symptom of your love. You've never know what to call it except that, except his.)

"Have I upset you?" You ask now as his laughter fades, and with it his amusement.

He sighs deeply and you feel his breath against your skin. You draw nearer. He leans back onto his crutch only slightly, only for a moment, before he allows you further into his space.

"I don't—" He struggles for the words before admitting, "yes, somewhat. For some reason."

"Are you feeling neglected?" You ask and try very hard to keep your amusement out of your voice, lest you irritate him further. He's always had a jealous streak in him, even as kids. If you made another friend, he would pout until you draped yourself over him and showered him in your attention again.

Even your previous relationships had bred some sort of jealousy in him; he's never liked any of your partners.

(It's so endearing to you that you have to tuck your teeth into your own lip and hum a little.)

You lean towards him, ducking your head so that your nose dips to brush against the line of his jaw. You feel his body shudder more than you see it. His breath goes tight. Your eyes flicker, a flash in the sun-spun light of your art studio;

"Do you want me to kiss you the way Jayce kisses me?" You murmur, your lips hovering over his. You watch his face gutter, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. His breath goes shallow.

"Or would you prefer Mel?" You murmur, just before you close the distance and kiss him with a certain fierceness, a meanness that you don't usually have with him. He stumbles back a little with the force of it and your hand that had been holding his cheek, slips into the hair at the nape of his neck.

A groan startles out of him when you tighten your hand into a fist and pull.

You part from the kiss, panting a little, and he looks down at you, eyes molten gold and burning.

You're about to kiss him again, when he murmurs, "I want—" he swallows hard, "I want you to kiss me the way you do—I want—"

You press back into him instantly, suddenly overwhelmed with the thought, with the notion that his desire, his jealousy—

You kiss him like you always have, overeager and desperate and messy. You urge him backwards, towards your workbench, all cluttered with paints. His crutch clatters against the ground uselessly as you grab for each other. You knock over a jar of brushes half-haphazardly placed on the floor.

You're overwhelmed with the thought that his jealousy might've been for you, too.

When he braces his hand against your work bench, he knocks over a cup of paint. You laugh into his mouth as you paw at his stupid, perfectly buttoned vest. When he touches you again, he stains you blue—and later red and violet. Burnished gold and paint so silver it makes the stars look dull.

A mess, he tsks, impossibly fond, as he looks at you and himself and the work space.

At all that you'd done.

***

"You've been pulling strings," Mel says as you lay in her lap, letting her pet and stroke you. Her fingers dance over the ridge of your brow.

You blink up at her slowly, eyes fluttering. "Shouldn't that be my line?" You ask.

"I'm not naive to the way you've been pulling our strings." She muses, fingers tumbling into your hair. She's gentle here, careful as she cards her way through your hair, her fingers nimble.

"Pulling strings is a far too sophisticated thing to call it." You snort and lean into her touch like a cat, preening a little.

"What would you call it?" Mel asks and the smile she wears is less of a mystery to you now, and you can tell there's a fondness to it.

(She does really like you—she is really being sincere, you've learned.)

You think about this for a long moment; you toy with saying a fucking mess. Or digging my own grave. But neither feel quite so full—while true, in many ways, there leaves little room for—

Well, this.

The way she holds you. The cat's curl of her smile, pleased and mischievous. Her fingers, gentle and coaxing, urging you to unfurl and bloom.

Or Viktor's rasping laugh that you can pull out of him. The fondness you hold for him like a pearl held inside a clam, growing and glowing. The way you drape yourself all over him, and he accepts it as easy as the day accepts the sun, or the night accepts the moon into its skies.

And even Jayce and the strangled back-and-forth that the two of you dance; it's still yours. It's still his. And the way he cups your cheek admist the violence or how he let's no one speak ill of you in front of him.

(Or the way Jayce and Viktor's minds work together, or how tactical Jayce and Mel can be; sharpened like daggers and twice as pretty. Or the creativity you pull out of Mel, allowing her to see the world like a boundless piece of art. Or the way Viktor's science influences your art; how your art influences his science. The fierceness you bring out in Jayce—the passion he brings out in you.)

It doesn't quite account for all the parts that make you burn and grow and shake out your great, big wings to fly.

Finally, you say, "it feels like I'm trying to find the melodies and harmonies and how they mesh—or the composition of a painting, or the feeling of a poem, but some of the words are still missing. It feels like when I chase art and try to break it open, to reveal what it wants me to learn—or show me."

"Have you figured it out yet?" She asks and she's genuinely curious, almost quiet in her desire to know.

At that, the door creaks open and there are several hushed whispers before Jayce suddenly strides into the room with all the false confidence in the world. Viktor looks sheepish behind him.

You sit up sharply, trying to detangle yourself from Mel.

"I told you they were here—" Viktor hisses to him, "and we shouldn't—we shouldn't be here."

Jayce isn't listening, though, and he's clearly inflating himself to get out, "I've come on important business of the council."

Mel raises her brows and throws you a sideways glance. She then says, "then come in, Councilor, since it's so important that you've come to my personal quarters. Unannounced."

Jayce at least has the good sense to look a little sheepish now, too. You can't help the laugh that springs out of you.

He throws you a dark look before clearing his throat.

"Councilor Haskel and Salo are seeking to strike down the art deal." Jayce announces and your heart drops a little, sinks in your chest.

You look at Mel. She purposefully keeps her face a mask of coolness. She rolls her shoulder briefly, which is your only tell of irritation or concern.

"Come in, Jayce." Mel finally says, "and you, too, Viktor. Shut the door behind you."

Both wander into the space and it's such a surreal moment, all four of you, for once, in the same room, that you can't help but laugh again.

Mel sighs in a way as if to say, I suppose this would happen eventually.

Jayce and Viktor can't quite look anyone in the eye and they both take uneasy seats int he living room.

Again, you feel like laughing—you're not sure what all the trepidation is for. Each of them have you seen you naked; you have seen them naked.

"What's their angle?" Mel asks, ignoring both Jayce and Viktor's shyness.

Jayce clears his throat, "they don't think it's worthwhile to support an artist from the Undercity at this time."

You wince and Jayce adds, "their words, not mine."

"Well, that won't do." Mel tsks and she suddenly moves to stand, graceful as ever, her robes trailing in a wave of silk and the smell of lillies. She likes to pace when she's thinking, and she pads over the window, to look out at the city.

Eventually, she says, "we'll need a grander plan. Something they can't refuse."

"What are you thinking?" Jayce asks.

She turns and all around her, she's doused in gold light, glowing in the evening sun as if she was born to it. "Perhaps combining some science with it." Now she looks at Viktor, "something symbolic to the current advancements with Hextech, perhaps."

Viktor looks at you, then back at Mel, "I can do that."

"Jayce, I need you to talk to the other Councilors and be sure they're not swayed by Haskel or Salo." She then adds, "and I want more publicity around it—and around our artist and scientist."

Our artist.

Our scientist.

"Ah—" Viktor starts, "I don't want to be in the public eye."

Our, our, our.

"It'll put pressure on Haskel and Salo if the people are behind you both, too." Mel presses gently, though her gaze has softened on him; she's sympathetic to his desires.

To assure him, you chirp, "I can do all the talking."

"Not sure that's our best idea." Jayce remarks.

"I am certain I can name several worse ideas of ours." You quip without thinking, and then you toss one of Mel's throw pillows at him; the beautifully embroidered one that's likely far too expensive and made from the rarest threads.

It hits him with a dull thud. And for a moment, he's shocked. The room is silent.

Still, your heart sings our, our, our.

But then Viktor snorts, before breaking out into his low, soft chuckle. And then the twinkle of Mel's giggles, coupled with your own laughter that bursts from your chest like a bird taking to flight.

And Jayce watches a moment, all of you laugh and smile, and if you could paint him in this moment, you would—

A little awe-struck. Tender around the edges, burnished gold. Breath stolen from him.

(Oh, he does really like you, too. All of you.)

But then laughter rumbles from him, too. And the tension slips from all of you, drains from your bodies with each bubbling sound.

And all of them together—finally together—are the melody you've been looking for, the words you couldn't place. The color on the canvas that finally brings it all together.

It's all the broken pieces like a mosaic, finally put together to create something whole.

And it's all ours, you think, the sun a flare of light and beauty bursting through the room, bathing all of your favorite people in it's gold and glory;

It's all ours.

[hwalovs]

Golden and Glowing (M)

Pairing; Jayce Talis x Fem!Reader Word Count; 7.8k Warnings; some (a lot) angst, S M U T T Y SMUT SMUT!, unprotected PiV, put on a dry suit before diving you freaks, some oral (fem receiving) ((i lied its full, fem receiving, diabolical oral)), fingering, dry humping, lots of kissing, overstimulation(?), fabric ripping, Jayce whimpering, Jayce whining, desperation in human form.

Summary; After Jayce comes back, he finds it difficult to face you. Yet, after you meet him in the council room, he can't stop the rush of emotions on seeing your beautiful face, and soft eyes.

A/N; I saw him in the council room in that fuck-ass-fit and KNEW I would be at my keyboard. Also- I've loved Jayce since season one, I saw him and knew he whimpered. i also love his beard and it will NOT stop me from giving him jaw kisses. I will GLADLY kiss against it idGAF!

MINORS DNI!!

THIS IS NOT EDITED! DO NOT REPOST MY WORK!!

The council room was repaired in his absence, even the large doors had been replaced. Though new, it still creaked when you gently shut it. Its latch resonated around the room, and you cursed under your breath, moving into the room with jittering hands and a racing mind. 

Mel was the one to tell you that Jayce was back, and waiting in the council room. You didn’t want to go in there, not after the attack, but you swallowed down your anxiety, smiled and bid her a farewell, and faced the dark wood with golden knobs. 

For a couple months, you thought he would never come back. Almost coming to terms that he was dead. There was a fleeting moment you thought he abandoned you, but that was thrown out. Jayce would never, ever, abandon you. Or anyone, for the matter. He loved too hard, and lost too easily. He was too determined to a fault, and you saw that when he created Hextech. When hardships came, Jayce was the type to take it by the teeth, see it through to the end with full confidence. He excelled in helping people, finding out what was wrong, and making it better. 

Which is what scared you the most when he disappeared. The only way he would truly be gone, is if he was dead. Yet, there was no body. So, you waited. 

You look at everything but him first, stalling. How could you be this scared, it was just Jayce. With gritted teeth, and unsteady breathing, you find him in the center of the room, in the same place his trial was all those years ago. He stood tall back then, taking whatever question the council threw at him with full determination he would win, earn his place back in the lab and with hextech. 

Your mouth is moving before you can stop it, “your hair is longer.”

Jayce stands different, more tense and strained. Dark colors replace the white, red, and gold entourage he was decorated in by the council. Shaggy hair, scarred arms, hunched posture. It was like seeing a different person standing in front of you. But, you supposedly knew this man. 

He slowly turns his body to face you, sharp eyes slowly softening when they meet yours. His shoulders drop, but only a miniscule amount, and his gloved hands itch to feel you. 

“Is that a beard?” you smile, tilting your head, walking further into the room, down one of the steps. He stays put, but there's a moment you can see his body pitch forwards to move closer. It's almost nonexistent, but it was there. The light that spills into the room bathes him in a golden hue, his eyes shaded by his hair. His hammer was different, you note, watching as its multicolored metal reflects the light, a kaleidoscope dancing on the desk behind it. 

“What’s happened to my golden boy? Should the man of progress be seen with such a rugged image?” Your voice cracks, and heat appears behind your eyes, but you still force a teasing smile. Pulling your hands behind your back, you hope that he didn’t see them shake. 

After so long, he was here in front of you. He was looking over you with the desperation of a starved man, his chest slowly beginning to heave. His hammer slides until the metal slams into the ground, the handle slipping from his grasp to slowly fall against the desk. It startled you, watching him move carefully. A predator not wanting to scare his prey. 

You almost forgot how big Jayce really was. All shoulders and chest filling your vision. His waist was smaller, and you used to be able to wrap your arms fully around him at night when it was cold, seeking out his warmth. As you look him over, you can see the tremble in his hands, how his shoulders quake in the deep maroon velvet fabric. 

Before you can even think, he’s moving closer. Not even looking down at the stairs as he skips them all together, stopping inches away from your face. The light is blocked, and he looks ethereal. A golden hue glows from his body line, giving a halo to a broken angel. Tilting his head slightly to look over your features. His honey colored eyes are shining, red rimmed and swimming with emotions flashing by so fast you can barely pick them out.

Sadness, anger, desperation, happiness, it was hard to tell which one was dominating over the other. Sadness, perhaps. Or maybe it was desperation. 

“Are you real?” He sounds more broken than he looks. Voice a whisper in the air between you both and all of a sudden you can feel the tidal wave of emotions that you tried to ignore. The ones you felt when you found out he was gone, that he left you behind, that he didn’t care enough to even tell you where he was going. Your cheeks are suddenly wet, and a hiccup is swallowed when you move and push against him. He takes it, all the punches and shoves you throw against his chest. 

“Yes, you idiot,” you shudder, “I’ve been here while you were doing god knows what!”

He can only frown, gloved hands clenching at his sides while looking down at your shaking form. You refuse to look at him now, tears twinkling like fallen stars from your waterline. Shaky hands rush to wipe them away, before you shove him again.

“Where were you, huh? You left me here, alone! How could you do that to me? After everything we’ve done?”

His stomach twists, and he aches to tell you everything. To tell you how he woke up in a storm after touching the anomaly under the Hexgate, how he saw things in the shapes of people. Scuttling across the distorted grass and up broken buildings. He would tell you how he fell into a ravine, breaking his leg and swallowed by the dark. He would tell you how he survived, how the image of the anomaly haunted- haunts him. He’d tell you all with a straight face, that he climbed floating rocks to the top of the Hexgate, and met the same mage he saw as a child, and what he instructed him to do. 

He would not fail, he’d say

Yet, he wanted to spare you the pain of knowing what could happen to you, to him, to Piltover and Zaun and the entire world. He stood before you, broken and reformed into a man he almost didn’t recognize. You spoke to him like you always did, how he remembered when he would sit in front of that fire, it still had the same cadence as the one in his mind when he was taking apart his hammer to fasten it to his deformed leg. Your instructions clear on what bolts and panels to take off, what he could use as a strap to hold it all together. You reassured him he would be okay, and reprimanded him for being there in the first place. 

Would you still love him, as he is now? He couldn’t hold himself in the same light as the ‘Man of Progress’. What if that’s who you wanted, rather than the broken minded man in front of you. It's what he would think about at night, staring into the storm above as he listened to the water drip into the small, stagnant, puddle beside him. Even when he got back, and stood under the hot water of his first shower in months. All he could do was think of your eyes glaring at him, telling him that he was different, not the same Jayce he disappeared as. 

How could he see you like this?

How could you love him like this? Broken mind and body?

Harshly rubbing your eyes, you sigh and look over him. His hands were shaking, jaw clenching and unclenching as tears finally gathered. A frown was wobbling on his face, everything was threatening to boil over. You could see it, that rope inside him unraveling into a tangle of emotions you knew he couldn’t handle. 

When you reach up to grasp his face, like you did when he was tired, or when he needed you after another failed experiment, look down at you with tired eyes and a small smile. His beard was scratchy, or akin to scruff than anything. You wanted to feel along it all day, but he flinches, moving his head out of your grasp and you feel the cold truth slam into you from behind. Something had happened to your Jayce, something terrible and a small voice inside told you he would never talk about it. 

“Oh, Jayce,” you whisper, arms falling to your sides. Tears spill from his eyes, and he slowly lifts his hands enough to drag his gloves off, trembling. It's a silent cry, droplets falling down his neck to soak into the fabric at his collar. He swallows each sob, each whimper that threatens to spill past his lips. Dropping his gloves to the ground, he softly and slowly grabs your hands, breathing deeply when your skin touches his. 

He was cold, you realize. Trembling fingers sliding between yours with a clumsy vigor, dancing up your palms and sliding around your wrists. He slowly drags your hands up, up and up until they settle onto his cheeks. Immediately, your finger splay across his dark beard. They press into his cheeks, feel how his jaw tenses, and as quickly as he started crying, you join him. 

You’re not a silent crier, you realize. A sob makes its way past your lips and you drag him forwards until he's crashing into you, his arms moving to grip at the fabric of your shirt.  He bends until his forehead is against yours, breathing you in rapidly. He can’t get enough, your perfume swallows him whole and he curses himself for ever forgetting it. 

“I’m sorry-” He sobs, his tears mixing with yours. You almost collapse, hearing him so broken, but you shake your head and pull him closer, your lips just grazing his before he sighs and pulls you in deeper. 

He tasted like heaven. There's a hint of the sweet candies you and Viktor would buy specifically for him, and under all of it, honey. Yet, there's the undertone of the mint from his toothpaste, the coffee he drank this morning. 

The last time you kissed him, he was leaving for the council meeting, trying to strike for peace with Silco and for the petty war between them to be over. He was tired when he left, and Viktor had given you a light kiss to the cheek before they departed, a strained smile on both of their lips as they disappeared behind the lab door. 

The kiss he gives you now starts slowly, remembering what the other felt and tasted like. It's all slow touching and even slower kissing, opening back that door you thought you would have had it close forever, close off what it would feel like to have him like this again. 

Jayce breathes you in deeply, your taste made his stomach clench in anticipation, or what was to come. Surely, you’d understand, right? He needed you, needed to remind himself that he was alive and you were safe with him. 

It devolves, his hands working from your arms to your waist, his head tilting to the side to deepen the kiss. His hands are shaking as he licks along your bottom lip, desperate for entry. 

Giving in easily, you sigh as his arm makes its way around your waist, one of his hands moving to cradle the back of your head while you slide both thumbs under his eyes, subconsciously wiping his tears away. Your tongue twists with his, a fight for dominance he easily loses, allowing you to explore him without restriction., 

He shivers when you bite down on his lip, pulling away to look at you with half-lidded eyes. Pupils blown, he takes a split second to look around the room, before turning back and bending down to lift you from the backs of your thighs. His grip was tight, not allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist like you used to. Yelping, you wrap your arms tightly around his shoulders, face nuzzling into his hair while he walks over to the council desk. He sets you down lightly, before grabbing your face to pull you back to him. 

He's desperate now, kissing you like it was his last day on earth, and maybe it was, as long as you were going out with him you didn't care. Love was drawn onto your skin by his lips, silent words that soaked through and wrapped around your heart in a symphony of beauty. There was also the lust that followed, crackling and clawing like a desperate creature you both unintentionally created. As he painted you, you’d paint him beautifully as well. 

You whimper into him, his teeth dragging across your bottom lip as he pulls back, hands gripping your knees while he slowly makes his way down your neck. Gripping onto his velvet shirt, right where the fabric is folded to his elbows, you try and find purchase before his teeth sink into your skin. It was rough, how his teeth threatened to break through. You knew it would bruise quickly, and you almost smiled at the way his tongue quickly followed in apology. 

Lightly, he pulls your knees apart, not forcing, but asking. You oblige quickly, pulling him to step closer while your back arches to accommodate his height. A hand leaves your knee to grasp your neck, pushing his thumb into your pulse point until you tilted your head in obedience. He’s muttering against your skin, words so quiet you couldn’t even what when you tried to. 

“What is it, baby?” You ask, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging softly. He whimpers, pulling from under your knee to drag you closer. Your cunt fits snug against him, and he whimpers again, softly grinding against you. 

He’s still mumbling, you realize, and pull harder against his hair, dragging his face from your neck. Giving him a soft smile, you lean forwards to kiss him. When he jerks his body close, to meet you halfway, you yank on his hair, and he stills. He watches with bated breath and dark eyes as you slowly lean closer, dragging your lips along his neck until it reaches just below his ear. His skin was hot, pulsing under your lips as you pressed one, two, three light kisses against it. 

“I need you to speak clearly, Jayce, can you do that?”

It’s hard to keep yourself together, with him rutting against you like a horny teenager, and his hands gripping your knee and neck in desperation. His eyes clench shut, tilting his head back and against your hand until your fingers splay out in his hair once more. 

“I thought about you- everyday-” he begins, eyes opening to look at you in pain. Not the kind of pain you inflict on someone, but of a pain so deep within his bones it shines through his gaze. 

“I wanted to be with you so bad- please believe me, I would never leave you voluntarily.”

“Oh, baby, I know,” you coo, releasing his hair to thumb against his cheek, slide the pad against his bottom lip. His breathing is erratic, and his hips have stopped. He looked at you as if you had all the answers, and while you don’t right now, you’d lie through your teeth just for him.

“I’m right here, nothing is going to happen to you.”

He shudders, “I thought you’d never want to see me again, that you’d hate me for being gone-”

“You’re here now, Jayce, that's all that matters to me, okay?” 

Nodding, he drags his hands along your skin, until they rested on your waist, fingers twisting and gripping onto your shirt like it was a lifeline. 

“I thought I’d never get to touch you again, to have you like this. You look so pretty right now, honey.”

The words travel straight to your gut, a fire that was burning under your skin the longer he held onto you. 

It's easy to fall back into the routine of what once was, but you realized that; while before, he needed to be kept in line and put in his place, to scold and tease and taunt. Now, the Jayce in your hands needed you to comfort him. He needed you to remind him that he was real, that you were real and not going anywhere. 

“Kiss me, sweet boy.”

He surges forwards, lips crashing against yours while your hands feverishly start unbuttoning his shirt. His bangs tickle your forehead, and he can't stop himself from rutting against you again. He haphazardly undo’s your pants, fingers slipping and after missing a button, he grunts against your lips and grabs the flaps of your pants and yanks them apart, one of the buttons falling to the floor. You laugh, pulling away and smiling up at him. He’s embarrassed, hiding his eyes and pulling you impossibly closer to him by the ripped fabric. 

“I-” he whines as he ruts, “I need you, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” You tilt your head, and he furrowed his eyebrows with a nod, “how do you need me?”

Groaning, he drops his head onto your shoulder, fingers itching to dive into your pants. You quickly grab his wrist before he can, nails pressing into his skin in warning. This time, you try a different approach, trying to get him to talk to you. 

“Tell me, Jayce, did you think about me like this?”

“God, yes,” he moans, free arm wrapping around your waist, arching your back. You wrap your arm around his neck for leverage, sighing, “yeah? What about me?”

He shakes his head, a laugh tickling you before he pulls back, “I-” he swallows, “I thought about how you’d cum around my fingers, and on my face-”

“Dirty boy,” you tease, kissing his collar bone. His hips jerk, cock catching along the now open panel of your pants. He hisses, eyes flickering between yours, shining, “I thought about you- you wrapped around me, tight and wet and perfect just for me- you were made for me-”

Letting go of his wrist, you let his hand dive between your legs and into your pants, it's sloppy, the way his hands desperately move to get closer to you, immediately pulling the band of your panties away to sink his fingers into your slick, knocking against your clit once before venturing deeper. Gasping, you grab at the front of his partially open shirt, his tan skin peeking through. His chest heaves as he pulls back up and finds your clit, fingers rough as he circles it. 

“You always sound so- fuck-” his fingers move from your clit to your entrance, rubbing against you once to test the tension before sinking a finger inside of you, mouth dropping at how tight you were, “sound so pretty, when you cum-”

“I never thought I’d hear it again,” he sighs, tilting his head. You smile, finally undoing the rest of his shirt and kissing the large expanse of his chest. He sighs, pulling his finger from your tight hole to find your clit again, pulling its hood back with his palm before teasing the sensitive bud. You shudder, forehead falling against his skin, using his closeness, you suck against his chest, leaving red splotches while his voice wraps around you like a blanket.

“Didn’t stop thinking about you- your voice, your eyes, god baby, I’ve missed you so much,” voice breaking at the end, he nuzzles his face into your neck, forcing yours to move from his chest, your cheek resting against his shoulder. “Even-” he swallows, “even you yelling at me, telling me off and how I annoy you.”

He slowly drags his hand away from your cunt, wetness trailing after until he’s wrapping his lips around his finger. A loud moan rumbling his chest, your cunt clenching. 

“Never thought I’d taste you again,” Wet fingers wrap around your throat, not tight, just enough to drag your lips back to his as your hands fumble to undo his own pants. Humming, you lick into his mouth, tasting yourself. Sweet, yet a familiar tang. He licks against your lips, into your mouth and suckles on your bottom lip. 

“Jay-” you whine, your legs wrapping tightly around him as he punishes you back, your arms frantically moving to support your weight. His tongue licks down the column of your throat, stopping to push up your shirt enough to kiss against your stomach, moving to suck a deep red splotch onto your hip bone, his canines scratching against you. Drool makes its way from the corner of his mouth, and his tongue licks it away. He winces as he drops to one knee, careful of the other. The brace dug into his skin, leaving a bruise in its wake. It was new, a shiny silver metal that contrasted against his black pants. You noticed it, but it didn’t bother you. This was your Jayce, and you love him in any way. 

Pulse erratic, you push down your pants the best you could with his weight on you, and you almost smile when his hands join yours, yanking the fabric down your legs until they reach your shoes. Quickly, he discards them, throwing them behind him before stopping abruptly to look over your soft skin. 

While to you, he was glowing in the sunlight, golden sun painting him in an ethereal light. To him, you looked akin to a god, the sun almost made you sparkle. He could feel his chest swell, his cheeks hot as his trembling fingers grabbed your shins, bringing one close to lay featherlight kisses. Slowly, he works his way up, eyes never closing, never wanting to miss a single one of your beautiful expressions. The way your eyes blink, your lips part when he reaches your inner thigh, how your hands reach to grasp the closest thing to you for support. 

He loves you, unforgivingly, as he bites into the sensitive flesh just before your cunt. It makes your back arch, head falling back as you try to shut your thighs, his hair tickling you, beard scratching against your skin. He grunts, pulling away to lick at the intended mark of his teeth, freezing and holding you open as he gazes at the beauty that is your slick cunt. It shines in the light, beads of it sliding down until it threatens to drop onto the desk below you. He inches forwards, slowly licking against your skin until his tongue parts your folds. 

His whole body shivers at your taste, your warmth, your sweet nectar flooding his senses and he wouldn’t have it any other way. The tip of his tongue catches your clit, and he can feel your thighs twitch. Your hand is in his hair, and your eyes lock on his immediately. He almost cums untouched at the blissful smile you give him. You whimper as his tongue runs along your folds harder this time, stopping to give your clit an open mouthed kiss. It throbs under his lips, and he can feel his hands shake. 

If this was the last time, he would take his time. He would drag this out until he couldn’t, when the sun rises again tomorrow, when someone inevitably walks in. He didn’t care, he had you in his arms again. 

His tongue joins his kiss, sliding to press into you briefly before pulling away to watch the concoction of your slick and his spit slide down. Before it can drip onto the desk, he rushes to lick it away, swallowing it down with a guttural groan you’ve never heard from him. It's lethal, as his hooded eyes flicker over your face before he shuts them completely, diving between your legs and eating you like a man starved. 

It's messy, spit unstopped from dripping while his tongue moves against you. He’s trying to taste all of you, all at once. He’ll lick your clit, and then dip down to tongue into your entrance, feel you clench around him before moving back up to suckle. He can feel it drip down to his beard, soaking the hair, but he did nothing to stop it. 

“Jayce- wait-” Your pleading, a whimper falling past your lips as you grip onto his hair. Your elbow was screaming in pain as it digs into the wood below you. Yet, what mattered to you most was the starved man between your legs. He ignored you completely, wrapping his arms around your thighs to lock you to him. He quickly shakes his head, tongue calculated as it hones in on a specific pattern on your clit. It feels like heaven and hell all at once. Rapidly, your release is building. It starts as a tickle in your gut, and then festers into a burn. Your muscles start to lock and shake, your lungs seize and before you realize you’re not breathing, he slides a quick hand across your tummy, tapping quickly, bringing you back. You gulp down air, your hips trying to hump into his mouth. 

“Please- slow down-” he only groans in response, pulling away and taking a deep breath before going back down. He goes back to flatten his tongue against you, slowly dragging it up before taking your clit between his lips, sucking hard.

Your back arches, thighs shaking and you moan. It almost hurt, how hard he was sucking, his tongue flicking against the bud until he released you and continued circling. You're pulsing beneath him, tears gathering as you drag him closer by the hair. His beard was scratching the sin of your thighs, a welcoming burn. 

His fingers soon join his mouth, tips teasing against your entrance before he’s sinking two into you. He doesn’t stop until knuckle deep, twisting his hand palm up and curling his fingers while dragging them out. Your hips trying to get closer, or further away, you didn’t know. The pleasure was immense, heart racing as you let go of his hair to grab the edge of the desk, thighs trying to shut around his head. 

He pulls away just enough to look up at you, eyebrows furrowed and eyes pathetic. He’s drunk off your taste, of how wet and tight you are around his fingers. He’s begging you, resting his head against your thigh as his tongue circles your clit. 

“Just like that-” you whimper, trying to gulp down enough air, yet still breathless as he nods so obediently. His eyes brighten, watching how your mouth drops open, body tensing. Yet, he knew it wasn’t enough. You were on the brink, teetering on a cliff you didn’t know you’d survive the fall of. 

Jayce didn’t give you time to prepare, he moved his fingers faster, curling them against your sweet spot while surging forwards with his mouth to suck hard onto your clit, moaning around you. 

Your release hits unexpectedly, a dam breaking in your gut and you slap a hand onto your mouth to stop yourself from screaming. Your slick and cum cover him, a flood of your release dripping down his hand. Your vision is white, sobbing into your palm as your hips shake against his grip. It's electrifying, the warmth that spreads like wildfire through your veins. You didn’t know if you wanted him to stop, or keep going. Yet, he didn’t give you a choice on that either. 

He moves his hand faster, tongue flicking against your clit rapidly. It makes your whole body freeze, not knowing what to do. You just came, how could you be so rapidly gearing up to cum again?

While his fingers torment your sweet spot, he pulls back for air, his arm fully enclosing your thigh so his thumb could reach, circling hard and fast. He watches you with wide, desperate eyes. Breathing deeply, licking his cum slicked lips, “One more- please,” he whimpers. 

He had to be lying, right? He was so unforgiving with you, your wetness echoing around the room. You didn’t know what to do with yourself, hyperventilating as you felt the build up once more, yet this time, it was faster. Your previous orgasm hadn’t even faded before this one started, It was building into a monsoon of pleasure. It made your ears ring, your eyes shut tightly and whether you liked it or not, you were going to cum again. 

“Jayce!-”

“Oh my, god-”

Your ears start to ring, thighs tremble, and Jayce’s mouth is back on you. It’s overwhelming, the pleasure that greets you on the other side. All you can do is face it head on and your orgasm washes over you once more. It was so much more intense than the last one, you swore your legs went numb. 

It could’ve been minutes, or seconds, but Jayce’s mouth is back on yours, tongue pushing past your lips and you can taste your own cum. It's filthy, his wet beard against your skin as he pulls you so close your hips hang off the side of the desk. Somehow, he had gotten his pants pushed down to his knees. His hands are desperate as he maneuvers your shaking legs around his hips, shirt pulled up to show the expanse of his stomach. 

His cock was throbbing, thick and long with its tip an angry shade of deep red. Pearly pre was leaking down the side, shining against the light as he moves to rub his cockhead against your slick folds. Whimpering, you shudder, legs tightening around his waist as he pushes the tip into you. 

“Oh god, I’m not gonna last long-” voice cracking, his hand splaying against the wood to your side, his other looping under your hips to hold you up. Swallowing against a dry throat, you grab onto his forearms, his body pausing. 

“My sweet boy,” you whimper, “you need it that bad?”

You always spoke at the most inconvenient times, he thinks. His hips jerk forwards, sinking deeper into you with a whine, shivering at how tight and warm you are. You were always warm, always welcoming him with open arms and a loving smile. He missed you so much, craving for this warmth while next to the fire he made. This is the warmth he wanted when he was shivering, thinking of nothing but you when he was climbing that damn ravine. 

He doesn’t think, only slides his hips forwards until his pelvis meets yours, clit throbbing against his skin. He almost reaches down to thumb against it, but decides not to when he feels your walls clench around him like a lifeline. His moan travels through the room, across your skin and wraps around you like a blanket. 

“I do,” he says, almost apologetically. Shaky hand leaves the desk to rub the skin of your tummy, before slowly pulling out until just the tip remains, and thrusting back in. The stretch is borderline painful, causing you to whimper. His gaze flickers back up to you, a frown twitching his lips. 

“Don't stop,” you whisper, hips pitching upwards, his hand forcing you back down, “keep going, baby.”

Nodding, he breathes deeply before continuing, his hips moving at a continuous rhythm. 

Jayce was always careful with you, soft touches and worried eyes always a staple when his cock is inside you. But now, his hand that rests on your tummy is slowly pressing into you. It makes you tighter around him, your cum from before forming a white ring at the base of his cock. He moans at the sight, tilting his head. You would always be perfect for him, cunt sucking him back in when he tries to pull out. Your ankles hook together behind his back, and he closes his eyes to bask in the pleasure while listening to you whimper and moan beneath him. 

You watch him intently, feeling his fingers flex against your skin and you try to keep up. His hips wont stop accelerating, skin slapping against skin as his head falls against his chest, eyes opening into slits as he watches his cock disappear into you. 

“So good,” he slurs, his shoulders tense as his body slowly pitches forwards until his forehead rests against your chest. With shaking fingers, you move to undo your shirt. Your breasts come free and Jayce immediately starts to suckle on the skin between them, your head thumping against wood, back arching into his mouth. Your nipples harden into buds when the cool air hits them, Jayce groaning before taking one into his mouth. His tongue swirls around it before taking it lightly between his teeth, pulling away with it, and then letting go. 

“You’re doing- fuck,” you curse, eyebrows furrowed, “You’re doing so good, sweet boy-”

Nodding, his hips falter as he speeds up his pace, your body jerking up the desk until he growls, grabbing your waist to drag you back. Your hands grab onto his arms, nails threatening to dig into his skin, but you hold back. He’s already gone through so much pain, why inflict it further?

His hips dont stop, though, and you gasp, “wait-”

“I-” he gasps, fingers gripping onto the tops of your thighs, shaking his head as he roughly starts abusing your cunt. The pleasure was almost painful, burning under your skin until you felt it within your bones. “I’m sorry-” He sobs, a tear falling from his eye. Eyes wide, you watch him with parted lips. He was frantic, hands shaking as he kept thrusting erratically. There was no rhythm, just a desperate race to the finish line. 

“Jayce-” you whimper, hand pressing against his lower stomach, trying to slow him down but he grabs your wrist, pulling it away. He bring s it up to his mouth, kissing your skin before dragging it to rest above your head, his fingers intertwined with yours. He could feel your cum dripping from his balls, no doubt pooling on the floor between his feet. There's tears gathering in your eyes, that familiar burn flaring in your gut once more. You couldn’t cum again, not after the torment he put you through with his mouth. 

“I need you,” he sobs again, looking at you with sparkling eyes and parted, gasping lips, “need you so bad, sweetheart.”

It burns so good, that fire beneath your skin, and you realize that if he keeps going at this pace, you won't have an option but to cum again. Jayce, though, didn’t seem to care. It almost scared you, but his grip on your hand was shaking, and his eyes kept clenching shut with pleasure.

He was pushing through the sting of his brace digging into his leg, of the burn in his thighs. He was rapidly chasing that high he wanted so desperately, forgoing anything else but himself. Jayce was a giver, always making sure you felt good before ever thinking about himself. Yet, now, when your hot, wet, throbbing cunt was wrapped so nicely around his cock, all he could think about was himself. 

“Please, please, please,” he begs, words slurring together as he roughly takes what he wants, your tears finally fall from your eyes, and he leans down to kiss them away, kissing down your cheeks until your lips are on his again. He moans against them, biting your lip until you open your mouth to let his tongue in. Yet, this time, he waits. He waits until you move your own, trying to lick into his mouth but he stops you when he wraps his lips around your tongue, sucking desperately onto it. Moaning, you grab his hair, pulling him closer. His chest rests against yours, hot skin against skin, and it forces his pelvis to grind onto your clit. You’re sweating, beads rolling down your back while his skin slides easily along yours. A delicious burn festers, sinking deep into your bones and up your spine until you have to choose but to whimper and pull away from him. Walls fluttering, Jayce bites the skin of your neck, licking against the salty sweat, not slowing down in the slightest until you're pushing your hips up against his desperately and moaning so loudly he wonders for a split second if the people outside could hear you. He didn’t care, not when you clung to him while your pussy was clenching his cock like he was a lifeline. 

He feels the flood of your wetness around him, how it leaks down his cock and onto his thighs, but he didn’t care. Pulling away from your neck, he pushes himself up enough for leverage to keep thrusting, trying to find momentum to keep going and find his own unraveling. Your fingers find his cheek, and his eyes find yours again. 

You looked beautiful, golden and glowing while you stared up at him with sparkling eyes and bitten lips. His eyes move down your body, finding the deep red splotches that would no doubt bruise in the morning, to your beautiful chest that bounces every time his pelvis meets yours, to the way he was disappearing inside you. 

Pinpricks behind his eyes, Jayce paws at you, trying to find purchase when he can feel that pleasure building in his stomach. Your voice is in his ears, comforting him while he rapidly starts to reach his peak. His thigh shakes, stomach clenching, and he desperately hangs onto you. 

“(Y/n)-” his voice doesn’t sound like his own, a broken cry that reaches your ears before he sobs, hands grabbing your thighs to wrap them higher on his hips, letting him hit deeper inside you. He was faltering, you realize, his hips stuttering as they met you and in a desperate attempt to help him, you pulled him in each time with your legs. They were burning, shaking under the pleasure of your orgasms, but Jayce needed you, and you would stop at nothing to help him, even if it meant ignoring the spiked pains that came knocking at your door. 

You’ve felt overstimulation, but never to this extent. Jayce didn’t give you any room to breathe, thrusting into you so desperately you couldn’t discern what was pain and what was pleasure. All you knew was Jayce. His beautiful eyes that looked at you like you hung the stars, like you were all that mattered, that would get him to the end. Drool dripped from his lips, and he made no attempt to lick it away, it mixed with his beard. You try to pull yourself together, to formulate words from the thick fog that rested behind your eyes. He didn’t look any better, you realize with a smile, that he was so deep within himself it would take a while before he managed to crawl back out. It was only you that flooded his senses. He needed you to guide him, to help him reach this peak he couldn’t seem to find all on his own. 

“Such a good boy, aren’t you?” You groan, voice rough, watching as his eyes ignite with lightning, your voice a beacon. He nods, eyes squinting through the pain until he moans, nails digging into your skin, “my good boy?”

He whimpers, tears and spit dripping from his eyes and lips, his body pitches, but he catches himself on the desk. His hair falls into his eyes, and you can finally reach him. Trembling hands cradle his face, wiping away the tears before pulling him closer, licking from just below his bottom lip, to the inside of his mouth and against his own awaiting tongue, swallowing the drool before kissing him gently. When you pull away, he’s gasping, eyes shut tightly while his shoulders tense, he’s going to cum. Teetering on that edge, but a small part of him wishes that it didn’t. He wanted to stay like this for longer, wanted to feel your warmth and your touch and to be reminded that he was home. He was safe with you, no pain or misery could reach him as long as he was in your arms-

“Gonna fill me up, puppy?”

He’s right there, he can feel it threatening to snap. That blissful pleasure that’ll wrap around his bones, make his muscles spasm, make his head swim until he can no longer think of anything at all but your voice in his ears and the sight of you beneath him. There's a ringing, and then his hearing stars muffling until all that surrounds him is the sound of his breathing.  

“Oh god,” he whines, mouth dropping open as he dumbly nods against your hand blinded by his own pleasure as his thrusts stutter and he can finally feel that swell in his stomach burst, his cock throbbing as he fills you up with his cum. You moan softly, feeling him jolt and throb. Grip tight, he was whining and sobbing through it, shoulders twitching. His thighs were shaking, threatening to give out from under him if it wasn’t for his hands and leg brace giving him some semblance of support. 

“Such a good boy,” you whisper, kissing along his jaw and neck as he trembles. A bead of sweat ran down his temple, stopped by your finger and you pulled back with a smile from his neck to push back his damp hair. Half-lidded eyes stare back at you, and you keep your legs tight around his waist while he slowly drops against you, his weight settling onto your body. You heave, hands gripping his trembling shoulders and with a smile you move him until his face is resting against your neck. 

Breathing heavily, you can feel him slowly softening inside you, but you make no effort in moving. Your body is buzzing, fueled by the afterglow of pleasure and while you slowly thread your fingers through his hair, Jayce is gripping onto you tightly. 

Your fingers scratch against his head, and his body shivers beneath your touch. Slowly, he comes back to reality, opening his honey-colored eyes to look at you in bliss. Not all of his weight was on you, legs still somewhat steady enough. And as he pushes himself up onto his elbows, his fingers move to brush over your cheeks, just under yours eyes. The pads barely touch your lashes, and you smile as he leans down to kiss each cheek, and then your nose, and then your lips. It’s soft, tentative and brief before pulling away. He swallows, wetting his dry throat, and finally speaks after the minutes of silence. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” you sigh, smiling brightly, and Jayce can feel that desperation tug at him from the pit of his stomach. He almost died, he almost left you alone in a world that only he seemed to be able to fix. 

Slowly, he pushes himself up, watching you wince as he slowly pulls out. A mixture of his and your cum seep from you, spilling onto the desk. He raises an eyebrow, watching it leak from you and after you snap your fingers, he jumps back to reality once more. Pushing yourself up to sit, you look around the floor before spotting your pants, he follows your gaze, and on shaky legs and reaches down to grab them. First, you grab the underwear from the pile, trying to clean up the mess you both made, before sliding your legs into the fabric and pulling them up until you couldn't. He fixes his pants in the process, ignoring the wetness that clings to his skin. He quickly buttons them back, breathing deeply before looking back to you. 

Reaching a hand out, you ask Jayce for your help silently, he smiles softly, holding onto your hand while you drop down from the desk, legs almost giving out. Laughing, you both reach down to pull your pants up, forgoing your panties that now sat soiled on the desk. Finally releasing his hand, you lean against the desk and start putting yourself back together. While you button your shirt, he buttons his. When you button your pants, you make a show of trying to hook fabric onto a non-existent button, playfully glaring at him, while he buttons his. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers when your laugh fills the room once more.

“You’re buying me new ones,” you scold, pointing a finger at him before brushing down his clothes. Trying to make him presentable to the public once more. His hair is brushed away from his forehead, and when it falls back into place for the third time, you give up with a huff. Stepping back to look him over. His face was flushed, and with burning cheeks you reached out to wipe away the remains of you clinging to his beard. Smiling under your touch, he catches your hand before it falls back to your side, a sad look in his eyes as his thumb brushes over your knuckles. Your other hand joins it, thumb brushing across his wrist and your eyebrows furrow, finally noticing that his cuff is gone, replaced by a webbed design that reflects the unique stone. 

“What happened to you, Jayce?”

He doesn't know what to say, letting your finger brush over the now smooth expanse of skin. 

“I wanted to come back sooner, but I-” his voice pitches, cracking as he feels that heat behind his eyes again. You shush him, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head against his chest. 

Jayce was no stranger to the feeling of dying. He almost experienced it when he was a boy, trudging through the snow with his mother. He almost experienced it when he was bringing parts back from Zaun, his lab locked and an explosion knocking him against the wall. He felt it when the explosion threw him from his chair in this very council room, when he fell into a deep ravine, breaking his leg and struggling to survive for weeks. 

It was after falling into a ravine, breaking his leg, struggling to survive for weeks that he realized how precious this life was. While he was trying so desperately to advance Hextech, to bring an ease to sorrow for other people, he was ignoring the fact that he was alive and breathing. He had you, living and breathing in front of him, and no longer did he want to take that for granted. He wanted you to live the rest of your life with him, safe from the threat he managed to create. 

He wouldn’t fail.

[goshtoon]

NEEDS

Jayce x gn!reader (established relationship)

Wordcount: 3k

Warnings: 18+, fluff, sub!Jayce, Thighjob, hurt/comfort (a bit), pre mental illness influx, still crying while sex (male giving),

Heavy footfalls echo trough the silent floor, each one wearier than the last.

As former student, turned to up-starting inventor, now turned councilor: Jayce Talis commands his limbs to obey him for merely five minutes more.

The pressure of being a protector to not only his close circle but all of piltover weighing each step down more than the last.

On top of that he had a fall out with Viktor, who seemed to only get more weak by the day, as his illness festers within him.

Jayce suppresses a broken sob, lifting his palm to steady himself upon one of the walls, before regaining his ragged pace.

It’s all too much, he feels as though he might just crumble to the floor and sob waiting for his mothers grounding hands to comb through his locks.

But there’s something much more reachable, and arguably just as soothing.

You, and your firm presence, the perhaps only unchanging constant, waiting for him just through the door at the end of the stretching hall.

At the sight of your apartment door, Jayce’s body gets a rush, as if pricked by a needle, as something starts tugging within his chest.

An undeniable yearning pressing his feet to move faster, fishing out the key you had made for him.

It clicks in the lock and he moves in, pressing himself against the shut door heaving a low sigh.

„There you are…“ your voice drifts to his ears, almost as if cradling them each in some healing balm.

He finds himself unable to open his dry lips to speak back, almost as if something got stuck in his throat.

You’re clad in your sleep wear, having seemingly come from the kitchen, a steaming cup lodged between your hands.

Taking him in it doesn’t take a genius to take a guess at how he’s feeling. Tussled hair, a twitching hand, the slightly hunched back and his wobbling reddened bottom-lip.

These past few weeks it’s become a scarily common occurrence.

Brows furrowed, you step forward taking one of his shaky hands in your own, gently leading it to cradle the warm mug.

The warmth seeps into his skin, soothing the tension striking through his fingers. Letting out a small more content sigh he smiles at you, your own face mirroring his as you lean up to peck his lips. He almost collapsed into the kiss, desperately letting your warm soft lips mold against his own, bitten bloody on his own volition.

Pulling back, you give a gentle smile, partnered with his own lovestruck one.

„Don’t feel like talking right now?“ you incline your head, his own still too full of worry to form words, he wouldn’t know where to begin.

A slight tilt of his head confirms his intent to rest his voice for now, as you lead him into your living space.

It’s beyond dark out by now, and the main source of light are the fairylights strung all around the living room, that he made for you. They illuminate your shape in a golden like hue, as you cradle his unoccupied hand and draw him onto the couch.

„Now how about you sit here finish your tea and I give you a small massage?“ you quip up, a tender finger drawing circles on his palm.

The thought of your hands on him, gliding over his shoulders, his back and drifting lower and lower— do unspeakable things to his already spinning head. Mangled rotten worrisome thoughts are now partnered with guilt for the undeniable lust pulsing through him.

The thought of worrying about nothing at all, while you pamper him with all means at your disposal, a delightful prospect nesting in his emptying mind. Though the fear of not performing as he should, as he would want rips into the rosy notions.

He visibly deflates, rubbing his neck, giving a low hum.

„I’d love that“ he croaks, you perk up, moving behind the couch to rest your hands on his jacket. Slowly and gently you pry it off of him, with a little help from the wearer.

The mere ambience, you and the echoing silence seem to do wonders on Jayce’s static filled mind, as he closes his eyes and leans back into your touch.

You make sure to fold the jacket on the armrest, before starting of gently on his shoulders. Feeling the amount of tightness, as you give a considering hum, making sure to rub firm circles into them.

Jayce’s body goes slack under your calculated movements, his head falling back into the backrest, giving you a beautiful view of his visibly relaxing face.

His lashes flutter, as his lips part gently letting out small huffs of air and noises of distinct approval when you unfurl a particularly tight spot.

You almost lose yourself in the task, finding the sight of him and the noises to be the most rewarding of things.

“You’re incredible” he breaths, his eyes still closed and you believe the stray praise is more instinctive rather than targeted.

Making sure to firmly yet gently disperse all the knots within his muscles.

It doesn’t take long before Jayce is almost slipping off the couch, his body turning into putty beneath your firm touches.

“There we are” you mutter gently, earning a content sigh from the man who now gazes at you with his amber eyes, the most lovestruck expression gracing his sculpted features, the teacup long abandoned on the coffee table.

“Wow” he smiles at you, fumbling to upright himself. Having seemingly significant trouble, probably due to parts of his body having fallen asleep.

When he finally does his hands gently lay upon your hips as he presses a gentle kiss to the area above your stomach within reach of his still sitting frame.

“Thank you” he mumbles, snuggling into the previously kissed area, as you comb through his stray locks.

He’s still in his head you note, though his body may seem free of tension.

“How about you get ready for bed” you murmur, earning a huff from Jayce, his arms tightening around your waist, holding you steady like an anker.

Having to resist the urge to let him mope like this

As adorable as he is whiningly pouting like this, you have another idea how to get him to unwind even more— and for that you need him in bed.

“If you get to bed, I might have something for you” you whisper, his gaze snaps up as he gauges your mischievous smile and raises brow.

“I see” he grins up boyishly, before letting go of you and propping himself off the couch.

He wavers a bit, instinctively you reach out a steading hand though your lovers catches himself, uttering out a slight curse.

The plan forming in your mind, is to get Jayce to bed, knowing him though his body might be at ease no, his mind is most certainly still full of worry. Full of worry for Viktor, the council, the city both upper and under parts. You know it’s getting to him, having to take a place to make live changing decisions when you were just a mere inventor.

Hoping to be able to get him to lose himself for the night you gather a few things, hearing the unmistakable clatter of Jayce rifling through your stuff, most likely searching for some of his own clothes.

Though he has been around a lot more since joining the council, he technically hadn’t moved in yet.

“On the cupboard” you shout across the floor, hearing a pause before the clicking of his tongue.

Collecting a bottle of chamomile oil, taking a quick waft of it and a towel— you make your way to the bedroom yourself.

The scene upon entering is one which leaves your heart aching, Jayce fumbling with the top buttons of his shirt, seemingly a puzzle to his weary fingers.

Stepping forward, you lay the bought items on your bed, before laying your palms upon his own. His wide glittering eyes meet yours, as he pouts down in frustration. He lets his arms fall slack to his side as you gently undo the buttons.

„You’re still in your head“ you note, as you see his fingers twitch at his side, urging to do something.

„It feels wrong to rest“ he whispers frustrated, nursing his bottom lip between his teeth. He lets out a sigh as you press your fingers through the crevice of the open shirt, laying your warm palm upon his fuzzy chest.

It’s warm and rising as well as falling steadily, while his heart thumping beneath picks up speed when you coo at him.

„Jayce, pushing yourself like this, it’s taking from your ability to help when it might truly count..“

You’re meet with silence, your words might ring true within him tough he can’t accept them right now. He has a lot of people counting on him.

„It’s okay for now“ you move to turn, hands slipping of his chest.

Before your left hand can fall to your side he grasps for it, before pulling it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to your wrist.

„Come here“ you shift to sit on the bed, tugging him along, his weight finding its place beside you.

„You can’t resolve all the cities troubles in one night“ you remind, his face a reflection of his inner turmoil, before he sighs and his shoulders sack.

„You’re right“ he smiles at you, though his eyebrows still mirror his distress.

Then his eyes shift onto the items laid upon the comforter. His face visibly flushing at the sight of the oil, knowing very well what its usage usually entails.

„I’m not sure if I could relax enough for—„ seeing where his thoughts are headed you are quick to lay your hand upon his thigh.

„No, that’s not what I had in mind— I was thinking of something else“ his initial thought rings in your mind, having thought about it earlier though sensing he might be in need of something else for now.

„And what’s that?“ he leans closer, you love him when he gets like this. It’s always such a stark contrast to when you both actually go at it, and he’s reduced to something more akin to a whining mutt.

„How about you lose the slacks and find out?“ you tease, shifting your form fully into the bed.

The pants are seemingly less of a challenge than the shirt was and in mere seconds Jayce’s frame clad in a lose linen shirt and a lose pair of underpants joins you.

„Those too“ you instruct, Jayce faltering as his gaze follows the point of your own, as you spread the towel you’ve brought earlier on the bed.

Gently he pries the underpants off, and no matter how many times you two do this it does not sway his face from flushing.

“Ah” he’s not only flush in his face you come to realize, but his cockhead has similarly flushed, a spurt of pre beading at the tip.

“My, Jayce, maybe I needn’t massage your insides anymore if a mere shoulder massage gets you just as excited” the remark gets him to gasp under his breath, furrowing his brows.

“I’m not opposed to either massages….” He counters, though its leverage falls short with his leaky cock out and twitching.

“Me neither” you remark, getting a hold of the oil, screwing open the cap to drizzle a decent amount onto your hand.

Jayce swallows sharply at the sight of the liquid pouring into your warm waiting palm, wishing it was an other substance.

You don’t need to lend him your pointed gaze to gauge his reaction. To most of Piltover who Jayce is, is by no means a mystery. Though only your sharp gaze truly can pick him apart and know him for what he truly is.

It pleases him to know end, knowing the power your attention holds over him.

Clasping your hands together you spread the oil across your skin, the scent wafting up your nostrils. When your hands are coated evenly you give Jayce an incline of your head.

His gaze is partially glazed over staring at your hands before meeting your gaze, the scent alone doesn’t fail to remind him off past intimacy, his cock already straining in his lose slacks.

“Please” it’s not exactly what you were hoping for, but what he pleads for is evident, when it’s punctuated with a jutting of his hips.

The warm digits of your fingers slowly take his twitching cock into their warm slick embrace. As you slowly nurse over the shaft, Jayce keeps the back of his hand over his face, his mouth agape in a silent moan.

Your left hand moves you the shaft, your palm doing circular motions over his leaking tip, whilst the other pays attention to his balls, gently coating them in a thin sheen of oil.

“I— can’t ah-“ Jayce is evidently overwhelmed, his face adopting one of your favorite expressions, with his eyes unfocused, face a flush and eyebrows furrowed.

Just when he starts to hump up into your hand you swiftly pull them both back. A whine bubbling from within Jayce’s chest as he heaves out a small sob.

The sound is not an uncommon indication for his pleasure to rough you lean over his lying frame to make sure he’s still with you.

“Hey there” you mumble

“Eh- hey” he responds, still breathing a bit heavily.

“Are you still okay with proceeding?” He finally meets your gaze, one you meet with a gentle smile. His own lips not quirking up but his eyes shimmer in determination as he eagerly nods.

“Good, now i need you to lay on your side like this” you pull back situating yourself on your side, Jayce slowly props himself up before paralleling your pose.

“Like this?”

“Yes, very good, a bit closer perhaps” his brow furrows a tad but he does as instructed without queries, his hand hovering above your hip.

Before he can move to do anything else you pull down your own sleep wear, your arousal very apparent.

Jayce’s eyes take you in immediately, his darkened gaze drinking in the sight of your wet twitching need, ultimately at arm’s length.

When his eyes drift up to your face again you’ve gotten a bit more oil into your hand, reaching down to spread it across your thighs.

Right about now he’s glad you took the time earlier to spread a towel on top of the blanket as he watched with bated breath how your thighs starts glistening much like his cock.

It’s probably about now that he realizes your intent, his face growing impossibly red as his lower lips starts shaking. He’s readily embarrassed, having admitted in a drunken stupor not long ago that he’s had a very similar fantasy akin to what you’ve constructed for a while now. With him being as busy as he is as of late, you’d both hadn’t come to have a lot of time to be intimate. Despite that, he had counted on you having forgotten about this particular confession, as he found himself embarrassed to have admitted it in a weakened state.

“Gods…” he whispers at the sight of your shining thighs so close to his pulsing need.

“You still in this sweetheart?” You murmur, leaning close to peek at the corner of his mouth.

He presses out a pathetic string of yes yes yes yes, as he tries chasing after your lips with his own.

“Good, put it between then.” You instruct gently, denying him of another kiss for now.

Instinctively Jayce juts his hip forward, the leaky tip of his cock pressing a brief kiss against the crevice between your thighs. You let out a sharp breath, gauging Jayce’s expression, as another whine slips from his lips.

“Slowly” you coo at him, laying your hand on his own, allowing him to find purchase against your waist.

Granted he tries to go slow, but pressing forth, the tight warmth of your slippery thighs, enclosing his throbbing cock, ultimate leads to an irrational thrust. Embracing his sensitive shaft fully.

Jayce head spins almost painfully as his thoughts wholly become consumed by the sensation of you.

“Wo— I- mu-ch better than anticipated…” he sobs and you see small tears pearl at the corner of his eyes.

Your hands reach up to cradle his cheeks as well as disperse the oncoming droplets.

“You’re doing amazing” the praise makes the hard appendage between your thighs throb, Jayce pulling at your hips to press his cock further through your thighs. His cock head jutting against your own arousal at the sudden movement.

“Jayce—“ you warn, when he burrows his face in your neck, his lips molding against your jaw to a leave a trail of apology kisses.

“‘M sorry” he sobs, and you gently embrace him, drawing small circles on his back.

“It’s okay” you whisper, as you start moving your hips back and forth gently. A shiver wreaks through his frame, as he buries his nose against the crock of your neck.

“There you are” you say pressing your thighs together putting pressure on jayces shaft.

The action makes him grow rigid as he Pulls you impossibly close. Spurts of his release pairing the inside of your thighs, bursting out below your ass.

Jayce tosses his head back, and you take the chance to nibble at his jaw, littering it with kisses as he rides out his orgasm high.

He suppresses a string on sobs, his face tear streaked as you part your thighs. His hand shots out, pressing it back down.

“Please” you stare at him, noting the need to just bask in this, your, warmth a bit more.

“Okay, we can stay like this for now”

You look behind yourself taking note of the mess

“Really glad I thought of a towel, such a mess” you playfully tsk, turning to Jayce as his face grows redder.

“It was definitely worth it” he utters “I think I wanna pull out now”

You slowly raise your thigh, as Jayce pulls back in tandem, falling onto his back.

Then shifts onto his side again facing from you, you’re familiar with the gesture, pulling around his frame from the back as he lets out a very content sigh.

“I need to tell you of fantasies while pissed beyond comprehension more often”

“You can tell me anytime, Jayce” he cuddles back into your frame, you pressing your lips against his shoulder blade.

“I know”

[trinityobsessesovatings]

Oh My God~! {ARCANE REACTION}

ARCANE CHARACTERS' REACTION TO YOU IN THE VIRAL TIKTOK NIGHTIE!

characters included; VI, CAITLYN, SEVIKA, MEL, and PAP-i mean JAYCE

CONTENT WARNINGS: suggestive themes, cursing, first time writer probably bad punctuation 😔 and lowercase 😔

i would just like to say; thank you to anyone who gives this a chance and reads it! this is my first time actually like, posting anything like this so this is completely out of my comfort zone. feedback is so very much appreciated.

enjoy! 🥰

////////

vi 

speechless pt.1

girl was cooking you guys a nice lil dinner 

i headcanon that she’s actually an amazing cook

i mean she got music playing in the background on low, the lights in y’all little apartment are dimmed

it wasn’t a special occasion or anything she was just feeling like y’all deserved it

she was in her little zone, humming along to song, bopping her head to the music, occasionally actually singing along to whatever she was listening to

then she hears your feet patting along the floor, when she turns around and sees you she deadass drops the plate that was in her hand

JAW DROPPED TO THE FLOOR

y'all know how she could NEVER stop looking from cait’s eyes to her kirammountains

YUH that was her with you, BUT ALL OVER!

you giggle to yourself, as you look at yourself in the mirror. ‘Oh yeah this is definitely gonna go somewhere!’ you thought to yourself, then proceeded to practically skip out of your bedroom.

CONGRATULATIONS YOU PLAYED YOURSELF!

you cute little nightie is ripped up and you guys are down one plate

congrats 😜

caitlyn

ever since your babygirl became a dictator i mean commander 🤭 sorry y'all 

she has been stressed and had to keep beating maddie off with a stick

she’s pulling the pearl; “I’M MARRIED!” 👹

so you decided to pull the classic show up to her place of work covered in a overcoat

caitlyn already knows what you’re up to and she definitely wants that cookie

she saw the nightie in your drawer the other day

but she’s still gonna let you have your moment

“I got something to show you, baby.” 

you tell her being all… seductive, prepared to surprise your girl.

she deadass hit you with a

“that’s nice, love!” 😊

you’re not impressed 😐

that’s alright though you got something for that ass

guess she just has to make it up to you for ruining the surprise 🤷🏾‍♀️

sevika

stress pt 2

speechless pt 2

half of me wanted to make this based off before she joined the council

but i said NAH make it post war councilwoman sevika

anyway

this WOMAN 😩 stay coming home about ready to crash out after having to deal with the other idiots on the council

this poor woman comes home, grabs a bottle of liquor, and lights a cigar

not before cracking a window though, you got on her for that shit and she would rather not face your wrath again

happy wife, happy life am i right or am i right?

ANYWHO

big mama doesn’t even know your home, it's so damn silent

then you strutting into the living room hitting this pose right here

i’m talking; cigar falling out of mouth, bottle booze hitting the floor with a thump, and she’s standing up and walking towards you like she’s under a spell

i’m telling you if this woman wasn’t so speechless AND stoic

she for sure would have let out an “AWOOGA!”

y'all ended up breaking the couch by the way… and dining room table

mel

deadass… y’all had the same exact idea!

like same idea, same day, YALL EVEN GOT THE SAME EXACT SLEEP DRESS

but both of y’all were giggling at the fact y’all both thought the same thing

literally went something like this:

“I have something to show you!~”

you had called from the closet

“Well I have something to show you as well~!”

she would say from the bathroom

then bam you both see each other and are like 🤨🤭🥴💋

like y’all both went all out

mel got body gold shimmery body glitter on, you got your hair did that morning, you both got on each other’s favorite perfumes on…

yeah y’all both matched each other’s freaks fr

jayce

never in my time of watching this show did i EVER think i would write for this man

but pookie lowkey got me rn… that black fit he wore for like 10 minutes in that one episode

YEAH I NEED THAT, I CRAVE THAT 👹

let's get back to our regularly scheduled program sorry about that y'all 😰

so you and jayce have been locked in since BEFORE the whole hextech explosion

LAWD when you heard your man was in the system 

OPEN THE CELL LET MY MAN OUTTA JAIL

is what you were saying

you were at his hearing in front of the council

almost had a heart attack again when they almost banished him

but look at y’all now!

he the man of progress and you all like:

“dats mine” 😌

THEN he calls you talkin bout some

“oh i'm a councilman now.” 😊

that’s when you decided

“yeah it’s time to give this man the ULTIMATE gluck gluck 3000 with the hextech upgrade”

he comes home from his first day as part of the council and this right here

🧍🏾🥴

because there you are

lights dimmed

rose petals scattered

glasses of champagne

nightie ✅ floor length robe ✅ makeup on sultry ✅

yeah he laid it DOWN on you that night

ready to congratulate your man

next thing his mama, the kirammans, and the council know:

he and his NOW fiancée are expecting

CONGRATULATIONS 🥳

////////

hope you enjoyed! ○( ＾皿＾)っ Hehehe…

[am-i-interrupting]

Across the River | Viktor x Jinx’s Older Sibling

Chapter 5: Defying the Laws

Summary: After the explosion and disappearance of Vi, you take your little sister across the river to Piltover. You struggle to keep the two of you afloat but manage to get Jinx to the academy. This is where she procures an internship that changes your lives.

Five months into her assistant career is what it took before Jinx saw the beginnings of Hextech. Jayce had been the one to offer to show her what Hextech looked like in practice after realizing that she’d only been practicing in theory.

Viktor shocked his head with a small smile when Jayce brought out the stabilizer they’d made those many years ago. Now tweaked to better preform than it once had.

Jinx was the one who laid the orb into the contraption. It slipped from her fingertips and caught in her long nails before she gently let it plop into place.

Jayce turned the dial and it sparked to life before the room engulfed in blue for a moment. It twinkled out as things began floating.

“Turn it off,” Viktor said almost as soon as the room went back to its natural coloring.

“What?”

Viktor gestured towards Jinx’s. Her eyes were wide but not in the excited way more so in the hallowed, haunted way.

Her breathing was labored. It huffed out harshly. Like she’d been running for miles without a break.

Jayce quickly shut off the device. While Viktor and Jayce landed in their original places with grace, Jinx fell to the ground.

Her knees took the brunt of the fall as her hands came up to her head. She stared off into space.

“Jinx,” Jayce said softly as he approached her, his hand extended.

“No,” she said, voice cracking, “no.” Her head tipped forward against the ground. “It was a mistake.”

Jayce’s hand pressed against her shoulder. She bolted up and jerked away like he’d just slapped her. Tears were prickling at her eyes, waiting to fall.

“It was a mistake,” she repeated right before they fell.

She kept repeating the words to herself like a mantra.

“Go get her sister,” Viktor told Jayce.

Jayce looked between the two of them. Viktor gave a soft nod, a silent “I’ve got her.” Jayce bolted out of the door.

“I didn’t mean to,” Jinx said.

Viktor slid down into the floor, using his crutch to make sure he didn’t topple. Slowly, he placed it on the ground.

“I was just trying to help,” she said, a sob beginning to tear through her. “I was going to save them.”

Viktor sat with her on the cold floor.

The door to the shop didn’t normally open unless someone was getting something fixed or picking it up. It certainly never chimed open followed by hurried footsteps of someone who’d been running.

You looked over the automobile you were working on and saw none other than Jayce Talis looking frantic. Immediately you were on your feet.

“Jinx,” he said, “she needs you.”

“Kash, I’m gone!” you yelled as you ran to the door.

“Wait—“

“Jinx,” was all you said.

“Go,” Kash said, granting his permission. Not that you needed it.

It felt like it took forever to get to the Academy. Only when you were anxiously waiting in the elevator did you ask what happened.

“I don’t know,” Jayce said. “We were showing her some stuff with Hextech and she just started freaking out.”

“Shut up,” Jinx said in a quiet voice despite Viktor not saying a thing. “I was trying to save you!” Her head whipped around to behind her shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” Such a stark contrast to the yell that had just ripped through her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It was a mistake.”

It was then that the door opened. Viktor didn’t turn to see who it was though from the sound of the footsteps, Jayce was certainly there so the other pair were bound to be you.

“Hey,” you said as you dropped to your knees next to Viktor and Jinx. “What’s wrong?”

“They won’t stop yelling,” Jinx said.

You extended your arms to her and she leaned into them. You cradled her close. You took out the pins in her hair and her braids fell down.

“You did nothing wrong,” you told her.

“I jinxed it,” she said through sobs wracking through her body. “I always do.”

“You don’t jinx anything.”

She kept muttering. You began to rock her. Softly shushing her before you began to sing.

“Dear friend, across the river

My hands are cold and bare

Dear friend, across the river

I’ll take what you can spare”

You continued on as Jinx’s sobs slowly began to fade.

“Mom,” she said.

She curled her arms tighter around you and stuck her face between your neck and shoulder. She didn’t care that she got axle grease on her skin. Your purple blue hair covered her face in a blanket of security.

She shaking it joined your soft singing.

“I ask if you a penny

My fortune it will be

I ask you without envy”

Viktor raised his head and looked up at Jayce. Jayce met his gaze.

There was clearly much neither new about their assistant. Much to learn. Careful waters to tread.

What had happened to this young woman? What had happened to the both of you? Why such an adverse reaction? So many questions and no answers.

It took a while before Jinx’s breathing went even and her eyes fell closed. Her hands that had a death grip on your clothes went lax.

“Show me what happened,” you said.

Viktor and Jayce shared a glance. Inhaling deeply, Jayce picked up Jinx from your grasp. He walked over to a small door that led to their break room of sorts. Inside was a couch that he laid her on.

Viktor stood and walked over to the stabilizer. He waited until Jayce clicked the door shut to begin fiddling with the dials.

The same series of events happened as the first time earlier in the day.

“Good job—“

One, two, three explosions.

“Claggor!”

A hand pushed you. Just as something few where you had been. The space now taken up by your friend. His goggles were knocked off his face. Blood splattered against them as you were thrown through the hole in the wall.

You fell down. At a rapid speed. Your head smashed into the pavement. Something was coming toward you from above. You tried to move out of the way.

Your world went dark.

Your eyes closed. Your jaw clenched. Your hand came up to block your face. You fell against a floor of tiles.

A hand was placed atop your own. Slowly you let it guide your hand away from your face.

A muffled voice surrounded you.

That hand was still on your own. You let it guide you to a firm surface. Up and down it went in a slow, steady rhythm. Your fingers twitched, something bunched beneath them.

You tried to focus on that rhythm. The feel of the soft. . . fabric(?) beneath your hand.

You found yourself wheezing out breathes in harsh huffs. You tried to steady it but the sharp burning behind your nose did nothing to help. Your leg curled up beneath you. You could feel the pain that should be long gone given the several year old scar but it never vanished.

“Breathe in,” a thickly accented voice instructed. “Breathe out. Good. Repeat. Breathe in. Breathe out. Very good.”

You followed the demands of the voice you distantly recognized.

When your eyes opened, you were faced with tiled floors. A pair of legs bent at the knees right beside yours. A white vest and tie against a red shirt. A long, dexterous artist’s hand pressed against yours.

“Are you back with us?” A different voice asked as the accented one continued on.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think so,” your voice felt thick on your tongue. “Whatever that was, don’t show it to Powder again.”

“Powder,” the accented voice, which you now processed as belonging to Viktor, repeated. His voice curled nicely around the name.

You shook yourself. “Fuck. Jinx. Don’t show it to Jinx again.” You took a few more steadying breaths. “Whatever else you’ve been doing with Hextech, sure, but not that.”

“Can you explain what just happened?” Jayce asked.

“That,” you pointed to the contraption, “killed our family.”

Jayce and Viktor looked at each other, both with furrowed eye brows.

“How did. . .” Viktor’s voice trailed off.

“Wait a second,” Jayce muttered to himself. “There were four suspects, two boys and two girls. One with. . . blue hair. Did Jinx steal my prototype?”

“We’ve all stolen from a lot of people,” you said as you stood up. Viktor’s hand steadied your calf and thigh when you wobbled a bit. “I don’t keep track of from who.”

You brushed past Jayce and went directly to the room that held your sister.

“Stolen from a lot of people?” Jayce repeated.

Viktor grabbed his crutch and stood up, accepting Jayce’s offered hand. “You don’t know what it’s like in the Undercity,” Viktor reminded him. “You go home. I’ll stay with them.”

“Are you—“

“Go, Jayce,” Viktor said, a rare authority ringing in his tone. “I’ll stay with them.”

Slowly Jayce gathered his things and headed home for the night. Viktor knocked on the door with soft raps before he opened the door.

You were sitting in the floor, holding Jinx’s hand that hang from the couch in yours. It draped across your shoulder. You looked up at Viktor and then looked away.

He took a seat in the plush chair across from the two of you. He sighed as his aching bones relaxed just the slightest.

“When I was eight, I tried to steal food from some riverside restaurant. I wasn’t fast. I got caught,” he said. “I was ten when I attempted to steal again. It was after my parents died in the mines.”

“Are you trying to make me let my guard? Admit to something I’m not even sure she did,” that was a lie. You did know but no need to tell him that.

He shook his head, his lip went inward a bit as the edges tilted down. “No, no, I’m simply telling you I understand.”

You exhaled through your nose and leaned your head against Jinx’s arm.

Silence came between the two of you. It wasn’t harsh. It wasn’t kind. It just was.

There hasn’t been much silence in your life ever. Not in Piltover. Certainly not in the Undercity. It was nice.

Viktor broke it, “She called you mom. You’re not. . .?”

“No,” you said, voice barely above a whisper, “no. She doesn’t really remember our parents much but mom always smelled like axel grease, she sang that song, and we have the same color hair. When she’s out of it, sometimes she gets confused.”

He hummed. “How often is she ‘out of it?’”

“Often enough that I’m used to her talking to people who aren’t there. It’s rare that it gets this bad though,” you told him.

“And do you?”

“No,” you answered. “What happened happened when she was pretty young. I was lucky enough to be old enough to understand when everything happened, all the time. I guess that’s a benefit to being the oldest.”

“How much older are you?” he asked.

“About eight years, give or take.”

“Your family?”

“All dead. Mom and dad died during the battle at the bridge. I was thirteen, Jinx was five? Vander and. . . our siblings died in an explosion when she was ten.”

“That must have been difficult.”

“I don’t want your pity.”

“You don’t have it,” he said. “I understand. I don’t have siblings but my parents died when I was young. For about a year I was by myself before I was taken in by a man but that didn’t last,” he told you. You met his eyes, golden like honey. “She’s lucky to have you.”

“I think it’s the other way around,” you said.

“It can be both.”

“Thank you for staying with her,” you said. “A lot of people don’t.”

“Of course.”

He said it like it was so easy. Like it was nothing. Like you hadn’t had people yell at you when you were on the streets and she started muttering to herself that you needed to take her to her parents and get her evaluated as she started hitting her head.

He said it like it was simple.

Maybe with him it could be.

[xetlynn]

an artists muse- a viktor fic.

two.

[one] [two] [three]

to strive, to fail, to re-begin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were already out of eyesight. 

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

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

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

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

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

You: Just wondering. 

Powpow- got a new crush or soemthin?

You- Something**

Powpow- I’ll kill you. 

Powpow- but seriously why?

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

Powpow- dang he that ugly?

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

Powpow- you are pretty strange. 

You- bye. 

Powpow- love youuuu

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

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

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

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

“We’ll see.” 

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

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

“Okay! I’ll take it!” Vi saluts. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[main page]

[nomie-11]

Figure Skater!Vi x Figure Skater! Reader - Like Flying

masterlist!

*note: Vi and Y/n are in high school in this AU

Time to Nationals: 5 months, 0 weeks, 0 days

The grin on your coach's face was downright evil. She was clearly enjoying your suffering as your panicked eyes darted between her and the girl with bright pink hair next to her. 

“As I was saying,” Mel continued, her arms crossed in front of her chest. “This is Vi, she’s your partner for the time being.” 

Your jaw dropped, furiously shaking your head. 

“No. No way!” You fervently denied. “Does she even know how to do a lift? What happened to Jayce! Nationals is in five months, that’s not nearly enough time to get used to a new partner!”

Coach Mel just grinned a little wider. “Jayce tore his rotator cuff and is out for the rest of the season. Vi is your best bet at hitting nationals with a bang, and she’s looking to switch from solo free skate to duos, so this will be beneficial for the both of you.”

You opened your mouth to argue—Vi looked like she belonged in a punk rock band, not on the ice. And she hasn’t skated duos yet? She wasn’t even in skating clothes, for god’s sake. She was wearing ripped jeans and cargo boots!

“Ah!” Mel interrupted before you can even get a word out. “Save your complaints for someone who wants to listen to them. Vi knows how to do the tricks you need her to know. Stretch and get on the ice.” 

With a suppressed groan and the hardest urge you’ve ever had to roll your eyes, you just nodded and muttered a quick “yes, ma’am,” before slipping off your skate guards and stepping onto the rink. 

You tugged at the sleeves of your practice jacket, trying to channel your irritation into something other than glaring at the infuriatingly calm figure strolling toward the rink. Vi, as it turned out, wasn’t a total beginning, but her whole vibe screamed chaos in a way that didn’t mesh with the precision and discipline you lived for in skating. 

Your coach clapped her hands sharply, breaking you from your thoughts. “Alright, warm up together. Start with some side-by-side moves, then work on synchronization.” 

Vi smirked as she stepped onto the ice, her movements fluid and confident, her combat boots and jeans swapped for training clothes and a pair of beat up skates. “Don’t worry, Princess,” she drawled, her tone teasing. “I promise not to drop you.” 

You bristled, your cheeks heating. “Let’s see if you can even keep up.” 

—---------------------------------

Time to Nationals: 4 months, 3 weeks, 4 days. 

The first week was an exercise in frustration and patience. Vi was strong—absurdly so—but her timing was off, and her edges weren’t as clean as yours. During a particularly rough attempt at a pairs lift, she lost her balance and stumbled, sending you tumbling into her arms. 

“See?” she quipped, catching you and holding you upright with ease. “Didn’t drop you.”

You shoved her away, your face burning. “Try harder next time.” 

—------------------------------

Time to Nationals: 4 months, 1 week, 2 days

It wasn’t all bad, though. By the third week of working together, you had gotten used to each other’s patterns. Vi’s lifts had become sharper, her footwork more fluid next to yours, and you became more trusting. You hadn’t yet attempted what had once been your and Jayce’s signature move—a death spiral—but she was tossing you up into the air easier and easier with every practice. 

“You’re not bad at this,” you admitted grudgingly after practice, laying back on the ice, both of you completely spent and sweaty after hours of relentless conditioning as per Mel’s orders. 

Vi grinned, her chest heaving beside you on the ice. “Was that a compliment?”

“Don’t get used to it.” 

—----------------------------------

Time to Nationals: 3 months, 2 weeks, 3 days

As the time passed, you couldn’t deny the chemistry you two shared on the ice. Twist lifts became effortless, your bodies moving more in sync than you and Jayce ever had, as if you’d been partners for years. The adrenaline from landing a perfect throw jump or pair lift had you grinning uncontrollably, and Vi’s smile was just as infectious. 

After one particularly rough session, the two of you were stretching in the locker room, the soft lights casting a warm glow over your features as you pressed yourself further onto the mat by your locker. Tilting your head upwards, you matched her gaze, and Vi reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair from your bun behind your ear. 

“You’ve got talent, Princess,” she said softly, smiling up from her impressive split. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” 

Your heart fluttered, and you shoved the feeling down with practiced ease. “Don’t get all sappy on me now.” 

—---------------------------------

Time to Nationals: 2 months, 1 week, 6 days

The problem wasn’t just that Vi was good at skating—no, that wasn’t a problem at all. It was the way she made you laugh when you were frustrated, the way she caught you effortlessly during lifts, the way her hand lingered on your waist a fraction too long. But every time your thoughts strayed into dangerous territories, you stomped them down, reminding yourself that you didn’t like her that way. 

It was during an off-ice practice that it all came crashing down. You and Vi were practicing a star lift, a trick you had never managed to nail on the ice, with her hands firmly planted on your waist, until she finally managed to let go, holding her arm out in a position that finally had Mel happy. 

She held you up there for one second, then another, then another, until you had been up in the air for a full minute, every muscle in your entire body tense and poised, until you rolled down into the dismount, firmly held in her arms. 

When she set you down, she grinned. “Told you I wouldn’t drop you.” 

You stared at her, heartbeat loud in your ears. “I—I never doubted you,” you stammered, your denial crumbling. 

Her faze softened, and for the first time, you saw something in her powder blue eyes that made your chest ache. “Good,” she murmured, her voice low. “Because I’ve got you. One the ice and off.” 

And that was when the realization hit you like a ton of bricks: you were falling for her. No, scratch that—you had fallen. You had fallen for a girl. 

—-----------------------------------

Time to Nationals: 1 month, 3 weeks, 1 day

It had started with little things. You’d forgotten the sequence of a spin, mistimed a jump that hadn’t been a problem in months, or pulled out a death spiral too early, sending you both crumbling to the ground. Mel’s sharp words and kind eyes would snap you out of your daze, and you’d brush it off as exhaustion. But the truth was gnawing at you, unrelenting: you couldn’t stop thinking about Vi. 

Her smile, the way she called you “Princess” with that infuriating smirk, the way she steadied you during the lifts like you weighed nothing. It was distracting. Worse, it was dangerous. 

You weren’t gay. You couldn’t be. That wasn’t part of the plan. You’d always pictured yourself skating at nationals, nailing every jump and spin with perfection, earning scholarships, and making your parents proud. Falling for your punk-rock skating partner?

Absolutely not on the agenda. 

—-----------------------------------

Time to Nationals: 1 month, 2 weeks, 2 days

It was during a waist lift—a move you’d done a hundred times before. Vi had lifted you easily, her hands firm on your waist as you extended your arms and prepared for the dismount. But your focus slipped—the way she was holding you, the way she was touching you—instead of planting your landing, you panicked, your legs tangling underneath you awkwardly. 

Vi tried to catch you, but the momentum was too much. You hit the ice hard, the breath knocked out of your lungs as you skidded across the smooth surface of the rink until you hit the barriers with a soft thud. 

“Whoa, whoa—hey!” Vi’s voice was panicked as she crouched beside you. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head? Talk to me.” 

Your chest heaved as tears pricked your eyes. It wasn’t just the fall—it was everything. The pressure, the confusion, the unbreakable weight of feelings you wouldn’t dare admit to yourself. 

“I—” Your words got caught in your chest as she lifted you to a sitting position, her grip underneath your shoulders gentle and strong. “I’m fine,” you choked out, but the tears spilled anyway. You pressed your hands to your face, your shoulders shaking as everything inside you came crashing down. 

And Vi didn’t say a single word. She just sat next to you on the cold hard ice as you sobbed until your ice time was up, and the hockey kids came in. 

—--------------------------

Time to Nationals: 1 month, 2 weeks, 1 day

You didn’t go into the rink the next day. You couldn’t. The thought of seeing Vi—of facing everything you were feeling—was too much. So you sat outside the rink instead, leaning against the cold concrete wall with your knees hugged to your chest. 

You told yourself that you were just taking a break, that you’d go inside in a minute. But hours passed, and you stayed rooted to the spot, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts. 

What if everyone found out? What would your parents say? What would Vi say? 

You heard footsteps before you saw her. Vi rounded the corner, her skate bag slung over one shoulder as her combat boots hit the pavement, already back in her casual clothes after practice. 

“You weren’t at practice,” she said simply, sitting down beside you. 

You didn’t respond, staring at the ground instead. 

She waited a beat before continuing. “You scared me yesterday, you know.” 

“I’m fine,” you muttered, but your voice cracked. 

“No, you're not.” Her tone was soft, but firm. “Talk to me.” 

You shook your head, the tears threatening to spill again. “I can’t.” 

“Why not?”

“Because you wou;dn’t understand!” The words burst out of you before you could stop them, your voice breaking. 

Vi was quiet for a moment. Then, she reached out, her fingers brushing against yours. “Try me.”

You looked at her then, really looked at her, and the weight of everything you’d been holding back threatened to crush you. “I—I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you whispered. “I can’t think straight anymore. And you—you make it worse.” 

Vi blunked, her expression unreadable. “Worse how?” 

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling. “You make me feel things I’m not supposed to feel. I can’t—I’m not—”

“Gay?” She finished gently. 

You flinched, the words hitting you like a slap. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice small. “I’ve never felt like this before. And I don’t know what to do.” 

Vi exhaled slowly, her gaze trained on the pavement in front of the two of you. “First of all, there’s nothing wrong with you. Second… it’s okay to feel scared. I was, too, at first.”

You stared at her, your heart pounding. “You…?” 

She nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah. It’s obvious, right? Took me a while to figure it out. But you don’t have to figure everything out right now. And you definitely don’t have to do it alone.” 

You didn’t say anything in return, but the weight in your chest eased just a little, her words wrapping around you like a lifeline. Maybe, it would be okay. 

—-------------------

Time to Nationals: 1 month, 1 week, 4 days

One chilly afternoon, Vi met you at the rink with an unusual entourage. Trailing behind her were two kids—a tiny girl with bright blue hair clutching a stuffed bunny, and a boy with white hair who tightly clutched Vi’s hand. 

“What’s this?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as Vi grinned at you. 

“Introducing my little sister, Powder, and her best friend, Ekko,” Vi said proudly, ruffling Powder’s hair. “They’ve been bugging me to let them skate for ages. Thought you might want to help me teach them. You know, something fun for a change.” 

Powder looked up at you with wide, hopeful blue eyes. “Vi says you’re the best skater ever. Can you show me how to twirl like a princess?” 

Your heart melted a little despite yourself. She was so cute. “Of course,” you said softly. 

What followed was a chaotic but heartwarming afternoon. Powder clung to your arms for dear life, while Ekko, full of bravado, tried to show off and immediately fell on his butt. Vi laughed so hard she almost toppled over herself, and even you couldn’t stop smiling as you guided Powder through her first shaky glide across the ice. 

By the end of the session, Powder declared you her “favorite princess,” and Ekko demanded a rematch against Vi on who could skate fastest. Vi leaned against the boards, watching with a soft smile. “Told you they’d grow on you.” 

“They’re not so bad,” you admitted, catching her eye. “Thanks for this.” 

“Anytime, Princes,” she said, her voice warm in a way that made your heart stutter. 

—---------------------------

Time to Nationals: 0 months, 3 weeks, 5 days

“Y/n,” one of your friends waved you over to the window of your physics classroom. “Who is she?” Your friend pointed down to Vi at the gate to your high school, her pink hair catching the late afternoon sunlight. 

“A friend.” You replied, a tad too rushed as you grabbed your papers from the desk and started to shove them into your backpack. “I’ve gotta get to practice, see you later?” 

Your friend nodded, not really making a motion to move from the windows. 

“Thank you Mr. Heimerdinger! I’ve got to run to my locker and head to the rink.” You called as you darted out of the door and down the hall to grab your skate bag. In less than a minute, your skate bag was slung over your right shoulder book bag over the left as you darted down the hallways down to the front gate. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your heart doing an involuntary little flip. 

“Thought I’d walk you to the rink,” she said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. 

You blinked. “You know I can get there on my own, right?’ 

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” she shot back, grabbing your school bag and slipping onto her own free shoulder. 

It became a routine after that. Every day, Vi would meet you after school, her presence an anchor that steadied you when your thoughts threatened to spiral again. She’d walk you to practice carrying your bag, and then, after you were both sweaty and exhausted, she’d walk you home, filling the air with her easy laughter and stories about Powder’s latest antics. 

One evening, as you stood on your porch, she paused before leaving. “Hey,” she said, her voice quieter than usual. “You’re doing better.” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and managed a small smile, a bit of blush rising up to your cheeks. “Yeah, I guess I am. Thanks, Vi.” 

Her grin returned, but softer this time. “Anytime, Princess.”

—--------------------------

Time to Nationals: 0 months, 0 week, 6 days

It was seven days before nationals, and Mel had made it very clear you were to stick to your strict diet. No sugar, no junk, no exceptions.

“Let’s make this as easy on Vi as possible, okay?” She had said, and you responded with an eager ‘yes’ because you were an idiot in love. No sweets, no pastries, and absolutely no cupcakes. 

So naturally, Vi showed up at the rink with a cupcake. 

“Vi!” You hissed as she held it out to you, the scent of vanilla and frosting wafting through the air. “Are you trying to get me in trouble?” 

She smirked. “Relax. It’s just one cupcake. Besides, I figured you could use a little pick-me-up.” 

You hesitated, torn between guilt and the overwhelming urge to devour it. “I’m not supposed to—”

“Live a little,” she interrupted, her smirk softening into something gentler. “You’ve been working your ass off. You deserve this. I can handle you plus an extra cupcake.” 

With a sigh, you took the cupcake, breaking off a small piece and popping it into your mouth. It was perfect—sweet and comforting in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. 

“See?” Vi said, her eyes sparkling. “Was that so bad?” 

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress your smile. “You’re impossible.” 

“You’re stuck with me anyways,” she quipped, leaning against the boards as she watched you eat. 

As you finished the last bite, you caught her gaze, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you. “Thank you, Vi,” you said softly, meaning more than just the cupcake. 

“Always,” she replied, her voice low, and the warmth in her eyes made your chest ache in a way that was starting to feel almost familiar. 

—------------------------

Time to Nationals: 0 months, 0 weeks, 0 days

The crowd was still roaring, the lights unbearably bright as Vi lifted you up onto the top step of the podium and stepped up after you. Gold medals hung heavy around your necks, the ribbons digging into your sweat-damp skin, and bouquets of flowers rested in your trembling hands. 

You’d done it. 

Months of blood, sweat, and tears—of doubts and fears and broken-down days—had all led to this. Your free skate had been perfect, every lift effortless, every step breathtaking. The arena had held its breath as Vi spun you through the final move—a death spiral, her hands firm in yours, your head inches from the ice. And when the music ended, you both stood there, panting, clutching each other as the audience erupted into applause. 

Now, standing here under the harsh spotlight, you were supposed to be smiling. But all you could do was stare at Vi. Her pink hair was matted with sweat, her face flushed from exertion, but her eyes—those steady, warm eyes—were locked on yours. 

For a moment, it was just the two of you. The screaming crowd faded, the cameras didn’t exist, and the world slowed. 

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but Vi was already moving. 

She cupped your face with her free hand, her palms cool against your overheated skin, and then she kissed you. 

It wasn’t rushed or hesitant. It was firm, certain—like she’d been waiting for this moment for forever. Her lips were soft against yours, and the weight of months of confusion and denial melted away in an instant. 

The crowd went silent for a split second before erupting into even louder cheers. Somewhere in the chaos, you heard gasps, whistles, and someone—probably Powder—yelling, “That’s my sister!” 

When Vi finally pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, and she was grinning so wide it was infectious. 

“You okay, Princess?” she whispered, her breath brushing against your lips. 

You let out a breathless laugh, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I’m fantastic.” 

Around you, confetti rained down, flashed from cameras sparkled, and the world cheered for the two of you. But none of it mattered. 

Because here, on the top step of the podium, gold medal heavy on your chest and Vi’s hand in yours, you finally let yourself feel it—no fear, no hesitation, just her. 

And it felt like flying. 

-------

this totally isnt based off of my own experience

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

[mollysunder]

Before the first season of Arcane premiered Riot released this interactive visual novel for the Riot x Arcane event. The setting was a hybrid of LoL and Arcane's universe, Piltover literally on top of Zaun, Cait is the Sheriff, but characters like Silco exist. The whole premise for the story is that Jinx stole some hextech and tapped into the Arcane oand opened a rift between worlds.

That's a lot. Personally I enjoyed this more to just see some characters out in the wild. Silco gets to be his charming self to you, the self-insert reader that's trying to find the culprit of the heist, which he knows was his kid.

Here's Jayce hating on Silco for something Jinx did.

This came out before the show did, so it's interesting to see how the game wants us perceive the characters' dynamics before we get further depth from the show. Most of it's related to Jinx because she makes herself the center of controversy.

For characters like Vi, who's already an enforcer that works directly under Sheriff Caitlyn in this world, she's clearly over Jinx's actions and wants to squash any further escalations.

Sevika is just as harsh and plainly sick of Jinx. I do find it interesting that the novel makes it clear tha Sevika believes that Jinx deserves some kind of punishment, though Jinx did endanger them all by ripping realities into eachother.

The only sympathetic voice outside of Silco in this story comes from Viktor, who after finding out Jinx was responsible for the Rift between realities asks you to remember that she's a real person that lived a life just like him. He goes so far as to contemplate another way to solve the situation and avoid a confrontation that may end with terrible consequences. (It's wild because the show then dedicates a whole scene to him defusing one of her bombs).

My favorite part is near the end where Silco tries to stop Jinx from harnessing anymore Arcane energy because it threatens to upend their reality.

I WISH they got to talk like this to eachother in the show, but so much was happening already. Even better Jinx gets the last words in and it justlays out what's ALWAYS been there.

This scene helped me understand that Jinx was always going to fire her rocket at the council, because she and Silco have both always been motivated to by power. They both know what it's like to be perceived as "weak" and they way it destroyed their lives respectively. It's kind of the reverse of what Mel and Ambessa have going on, you've got the diplomatic intrigue parent and the militarily minded daughter who wants to go further and absolutely will when you're not looking. And that's always been the thing with Jinx, if you give her any form of power, either a gun, a grenade, a rocket, or even magic she will take it and she will use it.

Right after this confrontation you have to defeat Jinx with the Power of Friednship or something (it's been a while). But even as put an end to the near calamity Jinx created there's at least one voice before it ends affirming Jinx's personhood.

It's weird honestly, Jinx didn't turn into vapor or anything, the story's pretty vague about what happens as you try to defeat her.

Well the novel's good when it's good anyway.

[ohnoitstbskyen]

Do you think Riot will make more seasons of Arcane in different regions post-s2, make more shows with different names that are set in the Arcane universe, or secret third option?

Yes and no.

To start with, yes: Arcane has been by far Riot's most mainstream successful media project ever (even outstripping K/DA), and there is literally no way in hell that the company isn't going to want to keep milking it until it is as dry, stale and withered as the PROJECT skin line.

So I predict that, absolutely, we will see new seasons of shows set in the League of Legends universe, probably animated, and hopefully with some of the extremely good animation partners Riot has managed to cultivate over the years.

The ARCANE branding is incredibly valuable now, and I wouldn't put it past Riot to do something stupid like name a show set in the Freljord ARCANE: True Ice or something unbearably stupid like that, even though the name relates extremely specifically to the setting and story of Piltover/Zaun and the Vi/Powder/Viktor/Jayce character group.

On the other hand, Riot might be the company on earth I trust the absolute least to effectively capitalize on and carry forward a success in creative arts that can't be monetized with skins and event passes.

Riot has an absolutely astounding history of tripping on their dicks when it comes to telling stories about their characters, in no small part due to its leadership quite simply never valuing storytelling as an end in itself. If it doesn't sell cosmetics or drive Engagement™ with the core League of Legends product, good luck getting Riot management to spend a fucking dime to make anything real.

Passionate people inside the company have to go to war, every single time, to make anything good happen. Legends of Bilgewater, the Spirit Blossom visual novel, the Marvel comics collaboration (RIP), Riot Forge, and very much Arcane, were absolute passion projects pushed over the line by people who literally put their jobs (and in many cases their health) on the line to make them happen.

Alex Yee and Christian Linke are old hands at Riot with a lot of clout, a lot of friends at the company, and a lot of goodwill to cash in, and if that hadn't been the case, there is literally no way in hell anything like Arcane ever gets made.

The behind-the-scenes documentary Riot themselves produced obviously goes out of its way to let Riot leadership suck themselves off about how much they contributed and how much they believed in the project, but make no mistake, they would have axed Arcane on the spot if there wasn't creatives fighting pitched battles every other day to keep it alive.

This is true of K/DA as well, by the way, there was a lot of internal resistance at Riot to that project - and to Star Guardians, and to Heartsteel. Anything cool Riot has ever made? Just assume that someone internally was shitting on it in meetings and trying to get it shut down.

Which is why I am intensely worried about Arcane in the long term. Not so much about Season 2, since it is mostly being produced by the same group of people, as far as I know, but that project is also going to be absolutely besieged by C-suite jackoffs trying to worm their names into the credits, making themselves Stakeholders™ and offering Feedback™ and voicing Concerns™, and I don't envy the showrunners the battles they are going to have to fight to keep these vultures away from the product.

But I am fucking worried about whatever Season 3 becomes. I am fucking worried about what happens the moment any of the key creatives behind the first two seasons resign, or get headhunted to new jobs. I am worried what's going to happen when Riot decides that the showrunners are "being difficult" and standing in the way of what leadership wants to do with the now very valuable ARCANE branding, and either corporately mandates them into roles of diminished influence or just outright fucking fires them (it'll be publicized as a mutual decision of course, it'll be publicized as a much celebrated retirement or "it's time to move on to new adventures").

Riot is a company with absolutely infinite capacity to fuck up a perfectly good thing for absolutely no fucking reason except some kombucha-chugging, suit-jacket-over-a-graphic-tee-and-sneakers-wearing, keeps-his-job-despite-multiple-sexual-harassment-allegations-because-he's-bros-with-the-C-suite, motherfucking "I am a player so I know what the players want" platitude-spouting "themes are for book reports"-ass Silicon Valley libertarian piece of shit decided he knows better than the artists whose work are the reason he takes home six figures a year.

[tkpuke]

jayvik with 16/lee!vik?

Jayce + Viktor - 16. “Put the book down and pay attention to me!”

The sound of chalk harshly hitting against a blackboard kept repeating, Viktor drawing a equation that took half the space in a hurried manner as if the ideas flowing in his head would vanish any second before he could write the rest down. Viktor was deep in thought, having spent around three hours already in the lab alone. No distractions so far, which he was thankful for.

Until the door swung open.

Jayce comes in, immediately taking a seat while dramatically running his hands through his hair; an anxious habit. “I need to rant real quick.” He starts, but Viktor only glances once and keeps writing away. “It’s this upcoming speech,” he fetches something nearby to fiddle with. “I’m so nervous I can’t even think straight. I don’t even have a speech prepared!”

“Mmm.” Is all Viktor responds with, now taking a little step back to view his work so far. Something’s missing. He grabs a book that was on standby the entire time, flipping through the pages to see what went wrong with his equation.

“I don’t know how much Insight I should give the people about Hextech and its potential. Will it scare them? Will it bring hope?”

“uh huh.” Viktor says again, but he wasn’t truly listening. He has been too caught up on what he’s currently doing, it’s impossible for him to drop it all suddenly and put full attention on anything else. Don’t get him wrong, Viktor deeply appreciates that Jayce comes to him for advice or just to be a shoulder he can lean on, but right now wasn’t a good time. Jayce seems to be a little slow on picking that up, though.

The man sighs, resting his cheek on his palm. “I really wish you could be up there with me, Viktor. I know you already declined but it would’ve put me a lot at ease, y’know?” Silence was all he was met with. He could hear the wall clock ticking, pages being flipped and a occasional chalk meeting the blackboard, but no reply from Viktor. The only sound he was looking forward to hearing.

Jayce finally looks over, seeing Viktor’s nose buried deep in a book. This entire time was he just being ignored? Annoyance starts to fuel Jayce’s entire body, making him stand up to creep over to Viktor quietly. He doesn’t even hear him, of course, his mind somewhere else.

Viktor’s racing thoughts suddenly ripped away from him by a hand placing tiny squeezes on his side. The book was dropped, Viktor grabbing onto Jayce’s wrist tightly but not doing much to push it away.

“Put the book down and pay attention to me!” Jayce nearly pouts as a joke, still squeezing away on Viktor’s side while his other hand supports his back so he won’t fall from all the helpless squirming. “Wahait! Stohohop, I wahahas!” He shakes his head in the midst of all the squirming, loose hair strands starting to almost cover his eyes. Jayce stops abruptly but with the hand still there, almost like a warning.

“Then what was I talking about?” Jayce clearly sees Viktor trying to mentally recall, his silence speaking volumes. “uhm….err…” Viktor hesitantly looks up at him, who stared back unamused. Then, the tickling started back up again.

“It’s not looking good for you, Viktor. Maybe this will jog up your memory? Worth a shot, right?” The squeezes started to intentionally get lower, Jayce evilly seeking out for that bad spot: the hips.

And Viktor knows this. Hence why hitting weakly at Jayce’s chest, trying to signal a tap out. “noHO!—JAHAYCE!” He pretty much squeaks, cheeks slightly flushing from embarrassment. Viktor absolutely hates the sounds he makes whenever he gets tickled silly, but if you ask Jayce?

He adores them.

“That is my name.” Jayce answers innocently, honing in on just that spot. At this point, he doesn’t even care if Viktor had actually listened to him or not. At first, this was for the sole purpose of a bit of fun revenge. Although it always finishes out to be Jayce wanting to just hear his partner laugh like there’s no tomorrow, his reactions so priceless. How can someone not enjoy tickling a person that scrunches up their nose when you target there, or squeaks like a mouse when you tickle here?

It would’ve gone on for a few more minutes if Viktor didn’t bump against the blackboard in the midst of all his squirming, accidentally erasing some of the equation he had written. They both halt; Vitkor staring at the half erased problem in disbelief and Jayce staring because he’s about to get scolded by him any second, which is not a pretty sight.

But Viktor didn’t scold. He instead slowly turned, faces so close they can feel each other’s breath hit their skin. What Jayce failed to see from the corner of his eye was Viktor starting to flex his fingers.

“You’re going to pay for that.”

[avelera]

Weird Arcane worldbuilding question/conundrum but… do they have doctorates in Piltover? And if so, do Jayce and Viktor have them?

I was going to say they don’t have them at all, but then I remembered that Cait calls Singed “Dr. Revek” so actually yeah, doctorates do exist.

But when Ambessa calls Jayce “Mr. Talis” he corrects her to Councilor Talis. Now, technically Council as a rank probably outstrips Dr. so in terms of etiquette it would be correct to defer to.

(Personally, I think it would have been very sexy to have Jayce say, “Actually it’s Councilor Talis. Or Dr. Talis.” But it could have also come off as insufferably arrogant which… also would have fit S1 Jayce very well.)

And of course, it’s a running theme that Zaunites don’t have surnames, that maybe you need a House for that, so Viktor would just be Dr. Viktor which sounds… odd. Clearly they’re just avoiding titles in that respect. The one exception so Zaunites not having surnames is Sky Young being referred to as Ms. Young, even though she’s from the Undercity, and even though it’s very possible she has a doctorate (or is working towards one in their lab).

So I think my conclusion is that Arcane decided to default to Doctor being a term only used for medical professionals, not engineers or other disciplines with an advanced degree. Heimerdinger is never referred to as Doctor, though as an immortal and the Dean of the Academy he certainly has the highest degrees available, one would assume.

So only Dr. Revek/Singed as a medically inclined professional gets the Doctor title. Jayce and Viktor as Hextech scientists continue to be “Mr.” despite almost certainly having advanced degrees themselves.

(RIP my desire to have Jayce correcting someone who thinks he’s an idiot by reminding them he has a doctorate, it lives on my heart.)