#viktor is dying he is fine | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heartcereql · 1 month ago

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velvet crowbar

childhood friends torn apart as Viktor rises to the elite world of Piltover while you remain in Zaun, neglecting feelings out of fear.

cw: use of y/n, angst angst !!!, viktor acting like an ass out of pure fear and love ://

a/n: we're sooooo back hehe:)

The sky over Zaun always seemed to press down on you, a heavy blanket of gray smoke and the faintest glimmer of dying light. The city never slept, its heartbeat thrumming through the cracked streets and rusted pipes, a constant reminder of its pulse. Yet, despite all the noise, all the chaos, there was a quiet corner of your mind where the memories of him still lingered—of Viktor, the boy who once dreamed beside you, in a world where you both could be more than this.

But now, as you stood on the rooftop of your building, on the verge of collapsing, staring out toward Piltover, the city of metal and glass that seemed so far removed from everything you knew, it felt like a lifetime had passed since those dreams. You could see the lights beginning to twinkle in the distance, an endless sea of gold, cold and untouchable.

You had once imagined running to Piltover with him, escaping the smog and decay of Zaun, finding a place where dreams were not just for the rich, but for the willing. You had imagined standing beside him in the light, where he was the brilliant inventor, the genius, and you were... whatever he needed you to be.

But that was before.

Before the city had swallowed him whole. Before the distance between you had stretched out like the gap between the stars. Before Viktor became the man Piltover needed, and you were left with nothing but memories and an aching chest.

You hadn’t seen him in months, not properly. Letters had become few and far between, the words that used to come so easily now barely reaching the paper. And when they did, they felt distant, almost like he was writing from another world—one that didn’t have a place for you.

You tried not to let it bother you, tried to pretend that you didn’t still wait for his visits, for the sound of his voice. But the truth was, you missed him. You missed the boy who had been your anchor in this crumbling place, the one who used to say your name like it was the only thing that mattered.

Today, however, something was different. You didn’t know what it was at first—maybe it was the way the wind shifted, or the way the light in Piltover seemed to call to you, pulling your gaze towards it. Maybe it was just your heart, too tired of pretending that nothing had changed.

You heard him before you saw him. The soft shuffle of boots against stone, the quiet exhale of breath in the cool air, the metallic clink of his crutch against the pavement. And then, there he was, standing at the bottom of the steps that led to your rooftop.

Viktor.

For a moment, you just stood there, frozen, as you looked at him. His figure was taller now, his frame more angular, the clothes he wore no longer the worn fabrics of Zaun, but the fine, immaculate garments of a Piltover citizen. His face, still familiar but so different, looked as if it had been shaped by something far away from the world you both had once shared.

You didn’t know how long you stood there, just watching him, before you found your voice.

"Viktor," you whispered, as if the sound of his name could pull you both back to what you used to be.

He smiled, but it was a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was a smile of politeness, of formality—a smile that didn’t know you the way he once had.

"Have you been well?" His voice was smooth, but there was a distance to it, something colder than before.

You nodded, but your throat tightened. There were so many things you wanted to say—things that had festered in your chest for far too long. But you didn’t know where to begin.

You used to tell him everything. Now, you couldn’t even bring yourself to ask how he was.

"I’m managing," you said, your voice sounding weaker than you intended.

He stepped closer, but the space between you felt impossibly wide. Every step he took was a reminder of how far apart you had become. He wasn’t the boy who had climbed up here in the dead of night just to whisper dreams of a different life. He was Piltover’s Viktor now, and you were still here, in the shadow of Zaun, holding onto the remnants of a life you once shared.

"I’m sorry I haven’t visited sooner," he said, and for a moment, you thought you could hear the weight of guilt in his voice. But when you looked at him, all you saw was the stranger who had once been your closest friend.

The silence between you stretched, heavy with things unsaid, until he finally spoke again. "It’s just... things have been busy. There’s a lot I’ve had to focus on in Piltover."

You swallowed, trying to ignore the sting in your chest. You knew what he meant—Piltover had taken him. Taken him away from everything that had once been important to him.

And you had been left behind.

"Of course," you managed to say, even as your heart twisted. "You’re doing important things. I understand."

The air between you both felt thick with unspoken words as you both lingered in the quiet aftermath of your meeting. Viktor’s hand stayed close to his chest, his fingers twitching as though he wanted to reach out but didn’t know how.

You swallowed hard, finding your voice again, though it trembled.

"What is it, Viktor? What’s going on? You've been so distant. I don’t— I don’t get it. You used to tell me everything." Your eyes searched his, desperate for a glimpse of the Viktor you once knew.

He shifted his weight, his gaze flickering down to the ground before meeting your eyes again. There was hesitation in his expression, something raw, like he was fighting with himself to say the right words.

"I’ve been... busy." He let out a long breath, and there was a heaviness in it, like explaining it to you wasn't something natural, but something to be elaborated. "I’ve been working on something important in Piltover. It's… something that could change everything, for both of us."

"Piltover?" The word left your lips before you could stop it, disbelief in your voice. "You're really living there now? You’re—you're working there?"

He nodded slowly, almost reluctantly, like the confession itself pained him.

"Yes. I’m working under a researcher—Jayce Talis. He... he and I are developing something that could revolutionize technology. It’s hard, Y/N. So hard. But it’s the only way forward." His words were heavy with the weight of his ambition, but something in his eyes betrayed him, a flicker of doubt, or maybe regret. "I wish I could have told you sooner."

Your heart twisted at the mention of Jayce, and the strange unfamiliarity of Viktor’s words lingered in the air. There was no more talk of your shared dreams, no more talk of Zaun, only Piltover’s cold steel and polished streets. The world he now belonged to felt so far from you—like something that could never belong to someone like you.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" You wanted to ask if he missed you, if he even thought about you anymore, but the words felt selfish, fragile. You felt small in this new space he had carved for himself.

"I didn’t want to drag you into it," Viktor said, his voice quiet, almost a whisper. "The people in Piltover… they’re not like us. They wouldn't understand. It’s complicated." He looked away, the distance between you both growing as he ran a hand through his hair, his breath ragged. "I didn’t want you to be caught up in it, Y/N. Not with everything that’s happening now. I—I thought it would be better this way."

You felt your chest tighten, the hurt festering behind your ribs.

"Better for who, Viktor?" You swallowed, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. "You think it’s better for me to be left in the dark? For you to pretend that nothing’s changed?"

His eyes softened, and he took a hesitant step forward.

"No, it’s not like that. It’s just… I can’t put you in danger. Not with how things are moving. I’ve seen how Piltover treats people like us." His words were raw, heavy with the weight of everything he had seen, everything he had become part of.

You shook your head, forcing back the wave of bitterness threatening to spill over. "So, what? You just want me to stay here and wait? Wait for you to get so far away that you forget who I am?"

"I could never forget you," he murmured, his voice a gentle plea. "But Y/N, you need to understand. This place, it’s changing me. It’s changing everything. And I need you to stay safe. That’s why I..." He stopped himself, the words falling short of the meaning you both needed.

You were silent for a long time, the air between you both thick and awkward. You could feel the cracks forming between you both, widening, pulling you apart with every unspoken word.

Finally, you spoke, though your voice was shaky, almost uncertain. "Where are you working? Piltover... I mean, you said you’re working with Jayce. I just... I need to see you, Viktor. Please. I need to understand."

For a moment, Viktor seemed to hesitate, his face creasing with the weight of what he was about to say. Then, with a sigh, he muttered, "I’m at the Hextech Labs now. It’s in the heart of Piltover. If you really want to understand, that’s where you’ll find me."

The words hung in the air between you like a challenge, like a door you could either step through or close. You clenched your fists, a strange resolve settling in your chest.

“I’ll come,” you said, your voice firmer now, despite the coldness creeping up your spine. “I’ll come to see for myself.”

Viktor’s eyes widened as if he hadn’t expected you to say that, and for a moment, there was panic in his gaze, a flicker of fear. But he didn’t stop you.

“Y/N, I don’t think you should—” he started, his voice tight with a warning.

But you were already turning away, the weight of your decision pressing down on you like the very world you were about to enter.

You’d never imagined Piltover would feel like this. Its gleaming towers, so pristine and far removed from the chaotic, gritty streets of Zaun, made you feel small. As you stood on the edge of the grandiose bridge that separated the two cities, the weight of your own breath felt louder than the bustling crowds around you. The air was too cold, too crisp. Too polished for someone like you.

But you were here.

You didn’t know what you expected to find when you crossed the bridge—perhaps an entirely different Viktor, one who had shed the layers of their shared past, a man too far gone into his new life. Maybe a part of you thought that if you came here, you could still see the boy who used to walk alongside you in the alleys of Zaun, whose hands you once held with reckless hope.

The Hextech Labs stood in front of you now, a towering monolith of glass and steel that seemed to radiate the ambitions of the city. You could see its grand entryways, the carefully crafted banners that fluttered above, the people walking in and out with an air of purpose, none of them even sparing you a second glance.

And there he was, inside. Viktor.

You took a step toward the door, your heart thudding loudly in your chest. This wasn’t just a visit anymore. This was the final step to understanding. Or, perhaps, to unraveling everything that had grown between you two in the silence.

You didn’t know how much time had passed since Viktor told you where to find him, but now that you were standing here, you couldn’t turn back.

The automatic doors opened with a faint hiss, and you stepped inside, blinking against the sterile brightness of the lobby. No one took notice of you as you walked through, a stranger to this world. But the path was clear, a hallway that led to the heart of the lab. Your footsteps echoed softly, each sound a reminder of the difference between you and the world you were entering.

You found Viktor just where he’d said he would be—standing near one of the Hextech machines, deep in conversation with a group of people in polished uniforms. The sight of him, now fully immersed in his new life, took your breath away. His lean on his crutch was firm, his hand moving as he explained something, his voice steady and authoritative. The Viktor you knew—who fumbled over his words in Zaun—was gone. In his place stood a man who carried the weight of Piltover’s expectations on his shoulders.

When he turned and saw you standing there, his expression flickered, just for a moment, before he masked it. He excused himself and dsimissed the other topsiders. The word burned in your thoughts.

His lips pressed together, and for a second, he looked like he might say something. Instead, he only took a hesitant step toward you, his brow furrowing as he took in your presence.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice colder than you remembered. “What are you doing here?”

You flinched, the sting of his words hitting you more than you’d expected. His tone wasn’t warm. It wasn’t affectionate, either. He sounded distant—almost as though you were an intrusion. His eyes, those familiar honey orbs, seemed to search you for an answer he already knew but wasn’t willing to accept.

“I—” You paused, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. “I came to see you, Viktor. I needed to understand.” Your voice shook, and the resolve you’d built up back at the entrance began to waver. “You said you were working here. I wanted to see... see where you’ve been. What you’re doing.”

Viktor’s gaze hardened, and he quickly glanced around the room, as though the walls themselves were listening. He took your hand and led you to a stark corner, hidden by all the machinery, dark and dusty.

Viktor’s eyes softened, but there was something restrained in the way he looked at you. He glanced over his shoulder, as though calculating something, before turning back to you. “I’m glad you came,” he said, though his words felt heavy, like they were forced out of him. “But you shouldn’t be here, not like this. It’s… it’s different here.”

The hesitation in his voice only made your heart ache more. You stepped closer, trying to reach him with your gaze.

“Different how? Viktor, I came all this way. I just want to see you. I just—”

“You don’t understand,” he interrupted, his words quieter now, but there was a slight urgency behind them. “This place, Piltover—it’s not like Zaun. It’s... it’s hard to explain. There are things here—things I didn’t expect that... I didn’t want you to see.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture you recognized. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Y/N.”

You blinked, confusion mingling with the rising frustration in your chest. “Hurt? What are you talking about?”

His eyes darted away for a moment, as though searching for the right words.

“The judgment here... the way they look at people from Zaun.” He shook his head, looking at you as though seeing you for the first time in a new light. “I’ve endured so much to be here. They don't take it easy with us. I don’t want... I don’t want you to be part of that. It’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be involved with any of this.”

Your heart sank. “So, that’s it, then? You’re ashamed of me? Of where I come from?”

Viktor’s eyes widened slightly, and he stepped back, clearly shaken by your words.

“No, Y/N. That’s not it. It’s not about you, it’s about—about the risks. I can’t ask you to put yourself in that position. I... I care about you too much to let that happen.”

You felt the sting of those words hit harder than you expected, each one feeling like an unspoken apology, but still holding you at arm’s length.

“You care about me?” you echoed, a bitter laugh bubbling in your throat. “Then why won’t you let me be with you? Let me see the life you’ve built? You’ve kept me at a distance for so long, Viktor.”

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said quickly, stepping forward. But then he hesitated again, as if the distance between you felt like an insurmountable barrier. “But this is... this is bigger than us, Y/N. I need you to understand that.”

His words hung in the air, but you could hear the crack in his voice. Still, the weight of his protection felt like a cage.

You wanted to say more, to demand that he explain himself further, but instead, your body turned of its own accord. Without another word, you walked away from him, your footsteps heavy with the disappointment you couldn’t shake. It wasn’t the rejection that hurt the most, but the way he couldn’t see you—couldn’t see what you needed from him.

The journey back to Zaun was a blur. The twisting alleys and rusted walkways passed by in a haze, the familiar scents and sounds of the Undercity failing to ground you. All you could think about was the way Viktor had looked at you—the hesitation in his eyes, the tightness in his voice when he told you to leave.

This isn’t your world.

The words echoed in your mind, each one sharper than the last. You had always known that Viktor’s life in Piltover was different, that it wasn’t the same as the life you shared in Zaun. But you had never thought that difference would grow into a chasm, one wide enough to push you apart.

You sat down on a rusted bench near the bridge, your hands clenched into fists. The sting of his rejection burned hotter with each passing moment. It wasn’t just the fact that he had told you to leave—it was the way he had said it. As if you were a liability. As if you were something to be hidden, something to be ashamed of.

And yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from making excuses for him.

Maybe he really was trying to protect you. Maybe the people in Piltover were as judgmental as he said. But even if that were true, it didn’t explain why he had let their opinions matter more than yours. Why he hadn’t trusted you to decide for yourself.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. Viktor had always been your anchor, the one constant in your ever-changing world. And now, for the first time, you felt adrift.

You didn’t cry, not then. Not when his sharp words cut through the air, nor when the weight of his rejection sank deep into your chest. You refused to let yourself break while standing in his polished, lifeless world.

But later—when you reached the safety of your rooftop, its closeness to the sky wrapping around you like an old, tattered blanket—you let yourself unravel.

His words had replayed in your mind, over and over, like the static from a broken radio: “You shouldn’t have come.” The pain wasn’t just in what he said but in the way he said it. Quiet. Unyielding. Like a door closing in your face.

It didn’t make sense. He had always been proud of his roots—or so you thought. You’d seen the fire in his eyes when he spoke of the change he wanted to bring, of how Zaun deserved more than what it had been given. But when you stood there in his world, it was as if all of that had been erased, replaced by something cold and distant.

You couldn’t stop wondering: Was it me? Did I remind him of what he’s trying to leave behind?

Yet even as doubt gnawed at your resolve, another voice in your mind fought back.

This was Viktor. Your Viktor. The boy who used to stay up all night with you on the rooftops, whispering dreams of a better world into the dark. The boy who had limped to your door with bruises on his knuckles and a wild grin on his face, holding up a gadget he swore would make life better for everyone. The boy who had looked at you—really looked at you—in a way that made you feel like you weren’t just surviving. You were alive.

That boy couldn’t just be gone. Could he?

The lab was quieter than usual, save for the faint hum of the machines and the occasional clink of tools on metal. Viktor sat hunched over his workstation, his eyes fixed on a piece of Hextech equipment that had been giving him trouble all afternoon. Yet, for once, it wasn’t the device that occupied his thoughts.

It was you.

The memory of your face lingered in his mind, the hurt in your eyes when he had asked you to leave. He could still see you standing there, a stark contrast to the polished, sterile surroundings of his lab. You were a reminder of everything he had fought so hard to leave behind—and everything he couldn’t bear to lose.

He had wanted you to stay. More than anything, he had wanted you to stay.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it?

The thought of you being dragged into this world made his stomach twist. This cold, unfeeling place where everything was measured in worth and potential, where people like you were judged for where they came from rather than who they were. He had barely managed to claw his way into their circles, and even then, he wasn’t truly accepted. Not fully.

They whispered about him—about his accent, his limp, his strange inventions. He could feel their stares, their skepticism, every time he entered a room. And if they saw you, they wouldn’t just judge you. They would judge him.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. And yet, he couldn’t ignore it.

Viktor leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t afraid of how they would see you. He knew exactly what they would see: your resilience, your warmth, the fire in your eyes that refused to be extinguished. But he was afraid of how they would use you—how they would turn your presence into a weakness, a chink in his already fragile armor.

And more than that, he was afraid of how they would use him against you. He had seen it before—the way the topsiders wielded power, how they twisted vulnerabilities into leverage. If they decided you were a liability, if they decided you were expendable…

He closed his eyes, gripping the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles turned white. He couldn’t let that happen.

“I’m protecting her,” he murmured to himself, as if saying it aloud would make it true.

But deep down, he knew the truth was more tangled, more shameful.

He wasn’t just protecting you. He was protecting himself.

Because if you saw him through their eyes—if you saw him as less, as weak, as someone who didn’t belong—it would break him in ways he wasn’t sure he could endure.

He didn’t sleep that night.

The lab was silent, save for the hum of machinery and the occasional crackle of electricity. Normally, that sound was comforting—a reminder of the work waiting to be done. But tonight, it only grated against his nerves.

He should have gone after you. He knew that. The moment the words had left his mouth, he had known. But instead, he had stood there, rooted to the spot, watching as you walked away.

The way you had looked at him before you left... it haunted him.

Viktor leaned heavily on his cane, staring down at the blueprints spread out on the table before him. None of it made sense anymore. Not the equations, not the diagrams, not even the goals he had once clung to so fiercely.

He wanted to tell himself he had done the right thing, that pushing you away had been for your own good. Zaun and Piltover were two different worlds—worlds that didn’t belong together, no matter how much he wanted them to. No matter how much he wanted you.

But the truth he didn’t want to admit was far less noble. He hadn’t pushed you away just to protect you. He had done it because he was afraid.

Afraid of what it would mean if you stayed. Afraid of how they would see you. Afraid of how you would see him.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling in his chest. For all his intelligence, for all his inventions and ideas, he couldn’t figure out how to bridge the gap he had created.

But the thought of losing you completely? That was a problem he couldn’t solve.

The smog of Zaun had a way of clinging to your skin, a reminder of where you belonged—or at least, where the world thought you belonged. But you couldn’t shake the thought that there was more, that you deserved more. That he deserved more.

That’s why you found yourself on Piltover’s shining streets again, your resolve hardening with every step closer to the towering building where you knew Viktor would be. This wasn’t just about the words he had said, or even the ones he hadn’t. It was about answers. About understanding why the boy who once promised you everything now seemed intent on giving you nothing.

You didn’t announce yourself this time.

The lab doors slid open with a soft hiss, and you stepped inside, your presence breaking the sterile quiet. Viktor didn’t look up immediately, his focus pinned to the contraption in his hands—a sleek, glowing device you couldn’t begin to understand.

“Viktor,” you called, your voice firm yet trembling at the edges.

His head snapped up, the familiar amber of his eyes flickering with surprise, then something else you couldn’t place. Guilt, maybe.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone careful, as though the wrong inflection might shatter the fragile air between you.

You ignored his question, stepping further into the room. The scent of metal and ozone filled your nose, and you noted how starkly this world clashed with the smoke and grit of Zaun. “I needed to see you.”

His jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line, eyes avoiding yours. “I thought I made myself clear.”

“Clear?” you echoed, incredulous. “Viktor, you’ve been avoiding me. And then, when I came to you, you—you pushed me away like I was nothing. Do you have any idea how that felt?”

His fingers twitched against the cane, his weight shifting uncomfortably. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

“Why not?” you challenged, your voice rising. “Is it because I don’t fit into this perfect, shiny world of yours? Because I’m not one of them?”

“Stop,” he said sharply, and the word hit you like a slap. He drew in a shaky breath before continuing, softer this time. “You don’t understand.”

“Then make me understand, Viktor,” you shot back. “Because all I see is someone who’s ashamed of where he came from. Of who he left behind.”

His head dropped, his hair falling into his eyes as he exhaled a long, heavy breath. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he spoke, his voice low and laced with something raw.

“You think I left you behind?” He looked up, and there it was again—that guilt, etched into every line of his face. “I would never... you are the one part of Zaun I’ve never wanted to leave.”

“Then why?” you demanded. “Why push me away? Why say those things?”

He turned from you, limping toward the far table where his tools lay scattered. His grip on the cane was tight, knuckles white. “Because I am not proud of what I’ve become,” he admitted finally. “Not here, not in this world.”

“What are you talking about?” you pressed, your frustration giving way to confusion.

“I have fought for respect, for a chance to prove that people like us can be more than what they think. But they do not see me. Not truly. To them, I am a... novelty. A curiosity. And if they knew about you, about us...” He trailed off, his hand curling into a fist on the table. “They would see you the same way. Or worse.”

“Let them judge,” you said, taking a step closer. “Let them think what they want. I don’t care, Viktor. Why do you?”

“Because I do not want you to endure what I have endured,” he said fiercely, turning to face you. “You deserve better than this place. Better than me.”

The words hung between you, heavy and damning.

“Don’t you dare decide what I deserve,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You think I don’t know what this world is like? What people like them think of people like us? I do, Viktor. But I would endure it a hundred times over if it meant being with you. So why can’t you let me decide that for myself?”

He stared at you, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched, filled only by the faint hum of the machinery around you.

Then, finally, he spoke. “Because I’m afraid,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “Afraid of losing you. Afraid that... that if you stay too close to me, this world will crush you the way it has tried to crush me.”

You stopped, his words robbing you of your breath. The anger that had carried you here faltered, giving way to something softer, something more vulnerable. He wasn’t ashamed of you. He was afraid.

Though his words didn't extinguish all of the fire of your frustration, your gaze softened, and you stepped closer, close enough that you could see the slight tremor in his hands, the way his chest rose and fell as though each breath was a battle.

“Viktor,” you said gently, “I’m not afraid. Not of you, not of them. I’ve survived Zaun, haven’t I?”

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Zaun may be harsh, but it is honest. Piltover... it is sharp in ways you cannot see. You do not know what it is to be dissected, to be dismissed with a smile. It is cruelty dressed in gold, and I—” He broke off, his voice catching. “I could not bear to see it touch you.”

You reached out, your fingers brushing his hand where it rested on the table. He flinched, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you slipped your hand into his, squeezing gently.

“I’ve been through storms, Viktor,” you said softly. “I won’t shatter because someone here thinks less of me. You have to trust me.”

He met your gaze, the weight of his fears reflected in the golden depths of his eyes. And then, as though the dam had broken, he closed the distance between you, cupping your face with trembling hands.

“I have tried,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I have tried to keep you safe, to keep you away from all this. But I... I cannot. I cannot keep myself away from you.”

His lips met yours in a kiss that was both tender and desperate, as though he was pouring every unsaid word, every unspoken fear and hope, into that single moment. For a heartbeat, the world outside the lab fell away—Piltover’s gleaming towers, Zaun’s shadowed streets, the endless weight of their struggles. There was only him, only you.

You hesitated, your body frozen in the whirlwind of emotions. Then you felt it—his tears on your cheeks, warm and unyielding, as though they carried the weight of every burden he had shouldered alone. It was that touch, more than the kiss itself, that undid you.

For so long, you had built walls of your own, convincing yourself you could carry the unspoken love in silence, that it was enough to be near him. But in that moment, you knew: love demanded trust, not just from him, but from you. Trust in the man before you, in the bond you had forged through years of hardship and laughter, hope and pain.

You gave in, melting into him as your hand found the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Your lips moved against his, answering every plea with a promise of your own. The kiss deepened, your tears mingling with his as you surrendered to the love you had carried for him, quietly, always.

When the kiss finally broke, you were both trembling, breathless. His forehead rested against yours, his hand lingering at your cheek as if afraid to let go. His voice came as a whisper, raw and vulnerable.

“I was wrong to push you away,” he said, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I thought I could protect you, but I see now... I was only hurting us both.”

You searched his eyes, finding the weight of his apology there, but also something deeper—a glimmer of the man you had always known, the boy you had grown up beside. “You don’t have to carry everything alone, Viktor,” you murmured, your hand covering his. “You never did.”

He closed his eyes, exhaling a shaky breath. “I just...” he began, his voice faltering. “I didn’t want to risk losing you.”

“You won’t,” you said firmly, your voice steady even as your heart ached for him. “Not to Piltover, not to your fears, not to anything. I’m here, Viktor. I always have been.”

His gaze softened, the tension in his shoulders easing as if your words had pulled him back from the edge. “I don’t deserve you,” he said, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips.

“Then it’s a good thing love isn’t about deserving,” you replied, your own smile breaking through your tear-stained gaze.

For the first time in what felt like years, you saw hope in his expression—a fragile, flickering thing, but real nonetheless. And for the first time, you let yourself believe that the fractures between you could be healed, that together, you could weather the storms to come.

The lab was quiet again, but this time it felt like a sanctuary, a place where the past and future could finally meet.

“Come back to Zaun with me sometime,” you said after a while, your voice soft but carrying a playful edge. “Even if it’s just to remind yourself where you belong.”

Viktor’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile.

“I will,” he said, his voice steadier than before, “It's about time I stop running. And I start trying to make this right.”

#heartcereql #arcane #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor x you #arcane x reader #viktor angst

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madschiavelique · 2 months ago

Text

A Crown Of Ink : Chapter 7 - Five Of Wands

summary : you've been avoiding viktor, but as your next homework session comes around, he cannot help but be curious. oh and more tyler

content warnings : crude language (not much okay), reader is having thoughtsss

word count : 5,6k

author's note : FIRST OF ALL i was sick and on my periods writing this okay so this is much more of a transitionary chapter than anything for the shitstorm to come, SECOND OF ALL i KNOW it's another 5 of wands chapter i'm sorry i forgot that i had already used this card before THUS i will probably change the card in chapter 4 because i couldn't see any other card working for this one. but i still hope you all will like it <3 (i don't know how many times i wrote "sighed" in this chapter so BEAR WITH ME)

proofread by the lovely @yaffles-world

masterlist : here ．．discord : here ．．playlist : here

taglist : @doctorho @6selkie @yunloyal @kryscent @hypocritic-trash-baby @kapitankarate @a-lovers-card @ababanerb @lolixsstuff @forget-me-not-my-dear @smolanchovy @shugar0cone0alt @harrys--ferret-blog @suuummerrr @stillinracooncity @noxturnalmoth @dlbitch

Friday arrived for another study session between you and Viktor. The week had flown by, with one particularity: your stubborn avoidance of Viktor, and his stubborn search for you.

During classes, you always managed to find a seat as far away from his as possible. You avoided him in the corridors, ignored him when you crossed his path, and when you were in the library and you noticed him, you packed up your things as quickly as possible to leave.

Since the power cut, you'd been even more keen to avoid Viktor. Although you'd done it before, you'd simply decided you didn't want to interact with him. The last few weeks had been far too full of his presence, and you needed to get away from him both physically and mentally.

The trip to the museum, the lunch with him and Jayce, the hour of detention... Your days were far more filled with him than you would have preferred.

It had been a sudden, almost instinctive choice to get as far away from him as possible.

There was something in the air the evening of the blackout, and even today. A kind of disturbing truth was taking up more and more space in your mind: Viktor wanted to be your friend.

In your eyes, there was always a huge worry about making friends. Your circle was small, and most of your friendships were involuntary, and you were fine with it. You didn't need many friends, you simply kept the ones you trusted. But were you ready to place your trust in Viktor?

Alas, Friday was here, and Viktor was inevitable.

You had arrived a little early at the library, dropping off your things and anticipated for your study by picking up the tomes you would need during this session. The library was already busier than it had been the previous week, with your class mimicking you and Viktor as they set to work on their history topic to avoid working on it at the last minute.

You despised the very idea of doing this assignment, as it brought you too close to your years living in Zaun, to more nightmares every night, to more Viktor. You wanted to get rid of this homework, and you knew full well that to do that you'd have to actually deal with it.

But while he was away, you took the opportunity to take out a sheet of paper and dipped the tip of your quill in one of the pretty inks Eris had given you. You wanted to write to her. You hadn't received any correspondence from her for some time now, and you suspected that she too had other things to worry that were more important than taking the time to sit down and write a letter.

Dear Eris, you began.

The weeks are endless here, and I almost miss the times when the only thing we had to do all day was figure out what to do to avoid dying of boredom till night came. I've welcomed my new flatmate, Sky Young. She's nice - I could have had worse, I doubt I could have had better. Speaking of better…

You raised your feather above the paper for a moment, hesitating over the next part of your sentence. Viktor would be inevitable in this very letter, and the idea frustrated you. No matter what happened, his name was on your mind, always at the corner of your lips, ready to rub against your teeth and sound out like a finger pressing on a trigger before shooting.

Were you going to tell her about your concerns? Were you going to feign disinterest, pretend it was just some guy Jayce had introduced you to?

I'm getting a bit more used to tarot. You write as your sign of progress. This morning I drew the five of wands. From what I gather though, it doesn't look very positive. I should expect it, five guys hitting each other with sticks seems an unlikely interpretation of a general hug.

According to the little booklet, the five of sticks represented: Incendiary events. Protests. Angry people. Drama. Exciting conflicts.

You'd raised your eyebrows as your eyes roamed the rest of the descriptions: New ideas are born of passionate debate. Energy is scattered but if forces work together, powerful results occur. There's a need for unity. You're bothered by people who don't act as you'd hoped. Free yourself by surrendering to the present moment.

Well, that looks promising, you thought. The card was obviously pushing you towards Viktor, and that was bothering you.

You were clinging to what you had, to the past, to the only thing you knew: survival. Viktor was turning your finely constructed ecosystem upside down, as if he were treading on a sandcastle you'd spent hours building on a windy beach.

But something inside you was beginning to creep in; an idea that seemed dangerous, and which a few weeks ago would have seemed quite simply impossible to think of.

What if you tried?

What if you tried not to be so uptight about working with him? What if, for once, you accepted the possibility that this wasn't a competition for your life?

The idea was bitter, weighing you down with anxiety. You went back to writing your letter.

I think I know what the card is leading me to, you confessed, but it is deeply unpleasant. What more can I say... I don't think this letter is going to be very long. I don't have much to tell you, and if I do, I'd rather say it to your face than on a sheet of the Glorious Academy of Piltover. You added useless curls in your writing for the title of the Academy to emphasize the ridicule of its prestigious status. You knew Eris would laugh. Did you get any new exotic payments? Here I'm drowning in copies and bolts, but your inks and herbs keep me company.

You smile for a moment, but the thought of mentioning Viktor keeps running through your mind. You looked around for a moment, as if he would miraculously appear and snatch the letter out of your hand to read it. But nothing, just the serene calm of the library - only the sound of flipped pages as students tried finding some information were keeping you compagny.

You were right about the Emperor. Of course you were. You confessed. A new pupil has arrived and, to top it all, he's beaten me in the league table. I suppose you can imagine how I felt about the situation. Every day is a tooth-and-nail battle with him. To crown it all, we've both been assigned to a collaborative project. Isn't that great? Anyway. I miss you a lot. I can't wait to hear from you. Say hi to Ekko for me.

Ekko was a childhood friend who you spent a lot of time with. It was undoubtedly through his demonstrations of repairs and your afternoons spent working on tinkering projects that your interest in science and engineering was born.

You dipped your quill in your inkwell one last time.

P.S: The name of the Emperor is-

"How long have you been here?"

You almost spilled the inkwell on the table as your eyes rose to Viktor, standing in front of you with his satchel slung over one shoulder.

You sighed. He could at least have made his presence known by clearing his throat, not by standing still and watching you like a cat under his amber eyes. You took your letter, writing his cursed name, followed by yours before blowing on the paper to hasten the drying of the ink.

"Long enough for either of us to fall asleep in Devid's classes," you huffed as you finally folded the sheet in half and tucked it into your notebook to send it later.

He wore a small smirk, gracefully relieving himself of his satchel by pulling it off his shoulder and letting it fall gently to the floor. He sat down opposite you, taking out his things.

"Was Demacian never one of your fortes for you to sleep during his classes?" he asked about Devid, your language teacher. "I thought you'd understand with your wide panel of knowledge."

"I do understand," you corrected him as you picked up a tome to begin your work session. "I'm fluent - I don't need more of what's being said in these classes."

"Why?" he asked, placing his inkwell and notebook on the table. "Ever travelled there?"

"I never travelled outside of here and Zaun," you informed him.

He sighed, looking down at his notes. "Then you don't speak Demacian."

You frowned, raising your head. He met your gaze, waiting for your next remark.

"Why?" you questioned. "Has his royal highness, all full of Runeterrian knowledge, been on a sweet trip to the Great City?"

He arched an eyebrow, his eyes drifting over the small pile of tome to grab one.

"Any idiot knows that learning a language in classes and putting it to practice in the actual region where said language is spoken is a completely different thing."

You remained silent, trying to contain and prevent yourself from giving him the pleasure of answering. You went back to your notes, pressing the binding of your notebook to the table as you jotted down a few more bits of information you managed to find in the new tome you'd selected.

A full minute passed, after which Viktor couldn't help breaking the silence.

"Why are you ignoring me?"

You sighed. Was he a puppy in need of constant attention?

"I'm not ignoring you." You confirmed, not looking up from your notes.

"Fine," he said, searching for a way to continue the conversation, to find the keyword to unlock you. "Why are you avoiding me?"

This time he'd hit the nail on the head. Obviously he hadn't been blind to your dodges, but how could he? He was observant, always making the perfect deductions, and was smart enough to get on your nerves.

"Can we focus and work?" You tried to extricate yourself from the situation.

He sank back in his chair, staring at you for a moment. "Not until you answer my questions."

This time you won his gaze. "Too bad there's no candle for you to bargain information with."

"I can find other ways," he remarked, "Miss."

You tensed at the nickname, your lips pressing together as you leaned on the desk, resting your elbows on it.

"Oh yeah?" you replied, almost amused, "I hope these ways will be as promising as you and Jayce's attempt at cooking on a heater."

He smiled, approaching you in turn. "You seem to have forgotten that I seem to know more about you than you know about me."

"And then I thought I was supposed to be the obsessed one," your brows knit as a curious little smile tried to stretch your lips. "You're not stalking me, are you?"

Your eyes crinkled, scanning his continuously. The days were receding further and further into the night, and the sky outside was gradually turning from cyan to indigo. Under the subdued lights of the library, Viktor's eyes stood out, ever more piercingly under his long brown lashes.

"From what I have heard," he continued, as you both leant on your elbows against the table as if playing chess, "Madam Selene is truly open when it comes to questions asked by her students."

He had just put your king in danger, your lips parting in surprise for a moment before closing again, jaw clenched.

"Surely she won't mind exchanging on the pride that her legal daughter is to her?"

You inhaled heavily, chewing your cheek as his insufferable sneer spread to the corners of his lips again, raising his mole slightly.

You picked up your quill again, avoiding his gaze and letting yours return to your notebook. You dipped it in with a half-open, hesitant mouth as you considered what you were going to say, both to him and on paper.

"I'm avoiding you because I can't get to be friends with my only rival."

He seemed amused by your sentence, as if you were just a child trying to impress an adult by saying something serious and threatening with the latest big word you had learned. He rested his chin on his palm, watching you write, and for an instant you thought of the paper he'd never passed you back during detention. What was he about to say?

"Isn't there an old saying about being close to your opponents?"

"Isn't there this old thing called ‘free will’ that allows me to do whatever I want?"

He shrugged. "Your free will hasn't decided to make you leave this room so far."

You regained his eyes this time, the latter looking through you, trying to peek through the cracks in your facade for a chance to see the lights that resided there.

"Are you challenging my free will? Because I can give it some physical attributes in the scientifically accurate name of 'clenched fists'."

"I'll pass." He sneered. "I'm sure Tyler has had enough lessons on this concept."

Silence fell again. You scanned the lines of another novel where too little information about Zaun was catalogued, while Viktor had not touched his pen. You could feel him in your peripheral vision, watching you, following you relentlessly.

"Am I truly your rival?" He finally asked.

"What else would you be?"

Viktor pouted, straightening slightly. "Being your rival implies having the same goal and fighting for it. I am uncertain if that definition applies to us in this case."

Admittedly, he didn't seem to have the same devotion to his academic results as you did, which frustrated you deeply. But what about the second option he cited?

"In the Academy, we all have the same goal," you replied, watching him for a moment before returning to your notes.

There was another pause on the table, and you thought that perhaps this time he would start working. But he didn't.

"I want a truce."

You looked up, raising an eyebrow.

"...Okay," you finally say, picking up another book, "good for you."

"I mean it, Miss," he insisted. "I think you've had it wrong on me-" But you cut him off.

“What are you implying?” you asked, annoyed at beating around the bush when you seemed to be the only one working right now.

"I'm not implying," Viktor nuanced, "I am saying."

"Saying?" You shook your head, waiting for the next part.

"Yes. You know, that thing that one can do with the possession of a mouth and vocal cords? You've become an expert at it just through this conversation,” he remarked as he straightened up and grabbed his pencil, twirling it between his fingers, "as it is the most we have spoken together in a week."

"Well then, conversation doesn't seem to be such a dying art anymore now does it?" you remarked.

Viktor smiled. "You seem to like quoting me."

You stared at him, raising your eyebrows and sighing. "I'm going to use unparalleled verbal condescension: shush." Your eyes returned to the tome you were working on. "This is a library, not a café."

"You've never spat in mine, by the way, reassure me?"

"After wasting my spit talking to you, I doubt I'd waste any more in your coffee."

He didn't say a word, but you knew he was smiling. Facing you, painfully fiddling with his pen as if this whole thing was some meagre task he could afford to procrastinate on.

You hated this attitude, the simple fact that he didn't seem to work to achieve his goals, that it was innate when you had struggled to rise so high for so long.

"I mean it," he said, straightening up, putting aside his teasing tone for a moment, "for the truce."

You looked up at him, his expression unfamiliar to you. There was something gentle in his piercing gaze, as if he saw something in you that was worth seeing. You sighed, thinking for a moment.

Would this childish quarrel last until the end of the year? Would you still consider him an enemy when you could have made a new friend? Friendships didn't come your way every day - you were well aware of that. But were you ready to put aside your stubbornness after the various humiliations he had put you through?

“What would a truce even mean?” you finally asked, somehow intent on hearing more.

His lips stretched slightly as his eyes widened. He shrugged.

“I don't know,” he admitted, ”I never thought I'd go this far with you, on this topic.”

Your shoulders slumped.

“Then think of something to say next time after we finish working on this.” You returned to your page, rereading your notes. “I'll take the subjects of Boundary Markets, Cultivairs, and Hope House Orphanage. One location for each level. You should pick three too.”

“Hope House Orphanage?” He repeated, mind finally concentrating on the exposé. “That's the only good thing that can be talked about in such a level.”

You turned a few pages of your notes, running through the lines of your research.

“There's always Old Hungry,” you remarked, voice lower.

The Old Hungry was a gigantic mechanized clock tower that grew from the very depth of Zaun and built itself up till levels that could reach some of Piltover's buildings. It was too imposing to avoid, and too full of history to be left aside in the presentation.

“Old Hungry? This old scrap doesn't even give time anymo-”

“It's the Heart of Zaun,” you cut in. “It's unavoidable to talk about it anyway.”

“Why don't you take it if you're so adamant about it being on our work?”

You remembered its size, the dark wingspan and the wind blowing through the dusty gears of the Old Hungry.

“I'd rather you be the one to take it.” you confirmed.

“Why?”

“Because. Don't you want to take it?”

“Do you want to get rid of it?”

You exchanged a look with him, urging him not to be picky.

“Why are you being so mysterious about all of this?” he questioned, eyebrows furrowed.

“You seem to have forgotten that you seem to know more about me than I know about you,” you repeated, annoyed.

“Shall I ask Selene?” he said ironically.

“I fear asking her this would be a limit placed both in her knowledge about this as well as your questions for her.”

He gazed at you for a moment, clearly frustrated by the secrets, the things left unsaid. You stood up, returning the tomes you'd already read to their shelves. Viktor stood up, following you.

“Acting tough will not make it hurt any less,” he said as you climbed the steps of the ladder and he reached its base. “You know this, yes?”

You suppressed a sigh as you placed one of the tomes on the shelf, arranging it perfectly in line.

“I don't need any of your life lessons,” you remarked, placing the extra tomes. “Can you move the ladder to the left?”

“You know the magic word,” he almost crooned.

You scoffed, not intending to give it to him so easily. You leaned to the side, watching, tiptoeing to reach one of the too few tomes on Zaun in the entire library.

Viktor seemed amazed at how stubborn you could prove to be, especially about him.

“Don't tell me your leitmotif resides in what doesn't kill you makes you stronger?” he questioned as you leaned dangerously toward the books.

“My leitmotif,” you pointed out as you almost reached the binding of the tome you were after, “resides in what doesn't kill you disappoints me-”

You'd reached the book, but your sentence was cut off at the end by your sharp gasp of breath. You'd just lost your balance, your feet slipping off the ladder step as you felt the air rush beneath you and expected to slam heavily into the ground.

The sound of something falling to the floor echoed, the sensation of hands on your back and waist catching you off the ground. Your heart pounding with the shock of sudden fear, you realized what had just happened in the blink of an eye: Viktor had caught you in your fall.

You could feel his thin fingers, warm and tentative, resting on the vest of your uniform around your waist. He held you there, firmly, and you felt your back brush against his chest, his breath landing on the nape of your neck and raising the hairs on it.

You released yourself from his grip and turned to face him, suddenly backing away, heart still pounding, but unable to differentiate whether this was due to the suddenness of the fall, or something else.

He seemed just as surprised as you were, lips parted. He didn't seem to be about to make a condescending remark, a joke about your lack of balance that could be matched by his, nothing.

You leaned back against the shelf, trying to calm yourself as your muscles relaxed from the apprehension of your fall.

There was a moment of quiet, a moment when, for once, neither of you knew what to say to the other. Your eyes fell to the ground, where Viktor's cane had fallen. You swallowed on a dry throat, inhaling to try and grain back your thoughts.

You knelt down to pick it up, straightening up to hand it back to him. He studied you for a moment, his eyes fixed on yours. He brought his hand tentatively up to the handle of his cane, stretched out towards him.

“Did you mean it?” you asked in a low voice as his hand reached the pommel, his thin, long fingers a minute ago resting on your waist wrapping elegantly and slowly around his cane.

“The truce?” he questioned, his voice almost reaching the whisper, as if he feared any higher volume would burst the delicacy of this bubble you were both in.

You let go of the cane, leaning back against the bookcase again, like a prop, like your crutch.

“The other night,” you began, eyes lowered to your feet on the floor, ”you said that it seemed impossible to me that you wanted to learn more about me, out of genuine curiosity. And now, you said you wanted a truce.” You raised your head, straightening to look at him. “Did you mean it, all of this?”

You felt very small, as if you were walking and, in the middle of the nettles, had found a patch of grass where you could put your feet without stinging yourself.

He seemed touched, but this emotion seemed to give way to confusion.

“Why wouldn't I mean it?”

Why would you mean it? you wondered. You'd had enough examples of how trust was doomed to fail you. You pulled yourself upright, drawing your armour back over you, closing your heart before it went beyond the confines of your chest.

“Oh sorry,” you resumed, sarcastically. “I forgot how through your many gallantries in our discussions you have evidently shown to be the most agreeable young man in the world.”

He smiled, his cheerful attitude back in place in the blink of an eye. “I cannot deny that exchanging with someone like you brings out the more playful part of me.”

“Someone like me?” you stressed, almost offended.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “Your morals are like a legend - rumoured to exist, but no proof to back it up.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes as you started walking back to your table. “My expectations for you were low when asking this, but somehow you still failed to meet them...”

But your sentence had died on its end, as not far from your table, an unfortunately familiar, tall figure with blond curls stood.

Fuck. Tyler.

Seeing you reappear from between the shelves, he noticed you both, a cheeky grin spreading across his face as he strode towards you.

“Ah,” he smiled as he approached you, ”my tormentors.”

You sighed, standing by your table as he reached the height of your chair. “You again.”

“What?” He chuckled, feigning offense as he rested his hand on his chest. “Aren't you pleased to see me?” He arched an eyebrow. “I'm sure you've got another one of these filthy Zaunite, barbaric lessons to give me.”

“You wish you were worth the effort.” You huffed, moving closer to your chair, but he came between you and it.

You glared at him, who seemed satisfied with your reaction. He turned to Viktor.

“Your dog's got quite the bite, Moravec.” His eyes settled on you again, watching you up and down until they returned to yours. “Where did you get one of those?”

You breathed heavily, the annoyance of his remarks demeaning you to a supposedly docile and pliable being making your blood boil.

“Turns out she has a mouth and proper aligned thoughts that you could not fathom reaching, Tyler.” Viktor pointed out, coming to sit in his respective place.

The blond watched you, not letting go of your eyes for a moment as he took a step back and took his place in your chair. “How noisy insects are this time of year.”

And he was proud, of his insolence, of his overflowing egotism, which he displayed like the most expensive and chic jacket he owned in his priceless wardrobe.

“Tyler,” you began, inhaling as you tried to calm yourself, “‘piss off.’”

“Such a soft language.” He sneered, lounging in your chair as if he'd ordered its manufacture himself. Who knows, maybe all the academy's furniture rested on his family's finances. “Do they all speak like that in Zaun?”

“Why? Wanna go visit?” You inquired, crossing your arms over your chest. “I wonder what'll get taken first, your pretty blonde locks, or your tongue.”

You played on his unfamiliarity with the city, his prejudices ingrained in his mind, unfolding a terrain of fictitious threats that could be very useful to you.

It had its effect. For a slight moment, you noticed the concern in his eyes, a very silent ‘... is that true?’ that didn't cross the boundary between his mind and lips.

“My patron came to me.” He confessed, looking away as if ignoring you. “Seems like your detention ran a bit short, didn't it?”

You heard Viktor chuckle, but didn't even turn around. “It's just like you said, Miss,” he remarked, leaning forward on the table. “Looks like he is obsessed with us."

“You're not worth a thought.” Tyler spat, obviously insulted by Viktor's remark. He turned to you, grabbing one of your pencils to play with like it was his. “Didn't know you had your own patron, though.”

“Let me guess.” You sighed, placing your weight on one of your hips as you stood. “Your little clever mind aligned two dots and thought that Zaun and Patron together was an impossible combination of words here in the Academy.”

He was amused, but obviously annoyed. You must have touched a reality in his reasoning that he didn't like you to know.

“This one was a second thought.” He admitted all the same. “The first was,” he leaned in slightly, “how the hell does a girl as irascible as you managed to pull any social strings to get yourself a patron?”

You giggled. He was trying to push your buttons. Perhaps he was simply a masochist, you considered, perhaps he had a pronounced desire for humiliation. Or perhaps he was just profoundly stupid.

“Funny, I thought the same thing about you when I met you.” You offered him a smile that possessed no warmth. “But I guess walking around with a golden spoon in your mouth and shitting in silk sheets during your childhood up until now must have its advantages. Right, Hoskel?"

Tyler frowned, hemming his lower lip in anger. His eyes shifted from yours to Viktor's. “She truly is-”

But you cut him off, placing both hands on the table and leaning towards him. “She is in front of you. And she,” your voice darkened, ”can add some new marks on your face to match the blue of your eyes.”

Tyler tensed, the seriousness in your stare convincing him for a moment that your threats weren't empty words, but promises that would come true if necessary.

He let out a nervous laugh, nodding as if you'd just given him a most satisfying demonstration. He was probably thinking, right then and there, that he was safe. That on the floor of the Academy, you wouldn't repeat the violent acts that had earned you an hour's detention.

“You, are a tough one, my friend.” He laughed. “You still have the essence of your hometown so far, you as well as he.” He turned to Viktor. “Paint stripes on a toad, it'll never make it a tiger.

Your blood ran hot, the sentence like an iron that had just burned your skin raw. You gripped his tie, pulling so hard that Tyler nearly stumbled and strangled on it as you pulled him towards your face, your face twisted with hatred.

His eyes were filled with a new fear as you rumbled, your voice low. “Say that again, and I'll fucking kill you.”

His chest bulged and sagged rapidly as his shoulders were up to his ears in fear, stressing as your knuckles turned white under the tight grip you had on his tie.

He swallowed, staying that way until, in the blink of an eye, his gaze landed on your lips.

The simple act brought you back to the reality of your proximity, of your two faces so close together that anyone could have considered this something intimate. You let go of his tie as if it carried an infection, as if it had suddenly become so hot that you had to let go of it at all costs. You frowned, stepping back, watching Tyler as he breathed just as heavily.

The great doors of the library opened, and the tiny silhouette of Heimerdinger poked his pink nose into the room. This was enough for you to put aside the previous event, same for Viktor and Tyler who both turned to the professor in surprise.

You eyes widened, straightening up as he strode contentedly towards the center of the room. What was Heimerdinger doing here?

It was unusual to find teachers in the library, and obviously all the students around you seemed just as confused about the situation. He trotted on, making his way to the very center of the room under the curious gazes of students.

“Young folks,” he called, “I have an announcement to make. Please gather around me, so that I don't have to see you all one by one in the immensity of this room."

The students exchanged surprised glances, approaching him. You looked at Viktor, who was frowning. He stood up. You approached Heimerdinger. When a small arc had formed around the professor, he cleared his throat.

“I would have liked to have waited until our next class to tell you,” he admitted, “but with the news just in and the weekend coming up, I thought it wiser to tell you as soon as possible.”

Everyone was hanging on his every word.

“You see, we've been communicating for some time, the Academy members and myself, with The Great Demacia University.”

Murmurs began to rise in the tiny group of students, whispers about the white region running through the air.

“And we have concluded, after many very promising exchanges, that a few classes from the Piltover Academy will have the privilege of traveling to Demacia as part of a school trip.”

Surprise filled the room. A school trip?

"The Academy and I,” continued Heimerdinger as he walked hands behind his back, the two elements of his sentence simply inseparable, ”consider it a real cultural benefit to be able to organize such a program to link our two schools. The trip will therefore take place in a month and a half's time.”

Some of the students laughed, the joy of the news filling them. The idea of a school trip puzzled you. You'd never left Piltover or Zaun. You'd always clung on to those two towns, and upsetting that perspective was something you hadn't quite figured out yet. But it would undoubtedly be a good way of discovering new horizons, of not having to confine yourself to the same landscape of two cities you didn't like for different reasons.

However, your thoughts paused for a moment, as you sensed that Heimerdinger hadn't finished with his announcement.

“Yes, I know.” He chirped. “The excitement of a new journey is not a small thing in young souls. However, an event such as this deserves an organizational rearrangement.”

And that's where things got complicated.

“First of all, your duet presentations that were due in two weeks' time have now been determined by myself into an overall assignment for your year.”

The majority of students rejoiced, but your heart fell into your stomach. An assignment, spread out over the whole year, that you were to do with none other than Viktor as your sole partner in this work?

You exchanged a glance with him, the latter seeming unaffected, neither hot nor cold.

“And...” The professor resumed. “The planning of this event alone will eat up a good two weeks of this year. Consequently-” Silence fell, everyone waiting for the end of his sentence, "the exams in each subject for this semester have been brought closer together, and will therefore take place in two weeks’ time.”

Your lips parted, as if the apocalypse had just been added to your diary.

Two weeks. You had two weeks to study everything. Two weeks to get to know everything.

Two weeks to overtake Viktor and regain your place at the top of the ranking.

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sweet-as-an-angel · 29 days ago

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Taking Viktor's Virginity [Viktor x Reader | Smut]

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Heavy Angst, Spoilers for Season 1, Talks of Death, Dying & Mortality, Descriptions of Physical Illness, Penetrative Sex, Implied Female Anatomy for Reader, No Pronouns used for Reader Except 'You'.

Word Count: 1,861

Viktor’s skin is pale and coated with sweat, his body heaving with every deep, laboured breath. His hands claw at the bedsheets beneath him as he lays upon his death bed. But it is not his illness that drives him so. Not today. For you sit atop him, hands gripping the clinical robes the doctor gave him as your hollow centre swallows him inch by delicate inch.

Viktor gasps, hands whitening as he holds onto the sheets not out of pain but of a pleasure he believed inaccessible to him — one he thought he’d experience no sooner than an untimely death. The knotting beneath his stomach tethers him to this coil, to you, and he contends with the foreign feeling of budding euphoria as it flowers within him.

He feels your body welcoming him, taking him deeper inside until he feels the skin of your lips pressed flush against the fine, tamed mass of dark hair that covers his skin. This tightness is not unlike that he feels in his lungs every waking moment as his illness takes hold, yet this is infinitely more desirable. He fights to open leaden eyelids and look upon you, both exhaustion and pleasure urging him to keep them screwed shut. The glow of the ceiling light frames the back of your head, making you appear as something biblical from a religion founded in a far-off land.

Between gasps, you smile down at Viktor, body rising and falling in a smooth pattern as you unsheathe his slender length before adopting it into your wanting core, the tip knocking some part sensitive and unseen within you. But this is not for your pleasure. You know this. This is solely for Viktor - to give him the most base and primal human experience there is before his expected passing.

Having been friends for some time and closer to each other than others would suspect, it hadn’t taken much to convince Viktor to give it a chance. In all honesty, you’d initially suggested it as a method of pain relief, but upon discovering that this would be Viktor’s first (and likely only) sexual encounter, you wanted to make it worth his while — make his borrowed time stand still for a tick.

Viktor gasps, his hips weakly trying to pursue yours as you lift from his length, a sheen of your arousal combined leaving his shaft wet and glistening. His bones groan and you hear, feel, them creak. He grips his teeth, the enamel cracking beneath not much pressure at all. Symptom of his sickness. You place a reminding hand to his jaw and he loosens, leaning into the warmth of your palm, vibrant and flush with life compared to his sallow complexion.

“Just relax, Viktor,” your voice is of resounding comfort, the gentle ringing of a bell. You lean forward and place your lips upon his, pressing hard enough that he can feel your intention but no pain. His lack of experience and his exhaustion show as he tries earnestly to take your lips in his like the interlocking of lovers’ hands, yet his teeth bite gently on your bottom lip, his tongue uncertain and sluggish as it licks a stripe across the gum behind your lips, counting your teeth. You give a well-natured chuckle and, gently, withdraw, and, much like the rhythm of your strokes, return, pressing flush against Viktor’s lips not just a kiss but all the experience you’ve cultivated, saving and using it just for him.

The arousal within you graduates to something greater, the building of pleasure between your legs becomes noticeable. Distracting. You push forward — through — focussing only on Viktor’s pleasure. You’d have time to pursue yours properly at a later date. He wouldn’t.

Once you’ve acquainted Viktor with the feeling of your mouth to his, your tongue slithers to the parting of his lips, the seam of his undoing. He parts them, and with a gentle rhythm you map the inside of his mouth, the originator of his sass, of his every comment that left you in stitches every time. Of his smiles which he rarely granted to anyone, especially nowadays after Jayce’s ascension to the position of councilman.

You consider pushing it out of your mind that this could very well be the last time you ever hear or see anything of Viktor’s personality. Your heart, your body, tightens and, unwittingly, you clench around Viktor. He gives a vocal reaction, moaning sharply despite his sluggish demeanour, his body rocking into yours. You wonder how he’d feel knowing that his pleasure derived from the reaction you had to thinking about his death.

This, you do push out of your mind. But you choose to remember that his mortality is the reason why you’re doing this to begin with, why this should be as special for Viktor as you can make it.

You press on, with renewed fervour, and take charge, driving your tongue deeper into the cavern of his maw and sliding it along his flaccid muscle within. You taste metal, the remnants of blood coughed up from somewhere within himself. You don’t shy from it. You commit it to memory. The folder of everything belonging to Viktor stored in your mind. You bring your hands to cup his face, manoeuvring him for his comfort and your convenience as you endeavour to remember every part of your beloved friend, inside and out.

Meanwhile, Viktor's cold, pallid hands are pressed against your exposed thighs, your bottoms and undergarments laying neatly folded on the visitor’s chair. Your warmth — both that beneath his hands and that which is swallowing his most underused asset — is unlike any he’s felt before. He’s been held, yes — granted those times had been few and far between, whether it was a quick embrace from Jayce after a breakthrough or the plush of your thighs brushing him when you would breeze past him in the lab, leaving him buzzing and distracted as he stifled the temptation to indulge in a human instinct he thought beneath him. Savage.

The memory of the latter leaves him humming. He entreats himself to the sight of you once more. His vision is blurry not just for the failing of his body but for the fact that his eyes can’t focus on you. You’re too close to see but perfectly within reach to taste. Your eyes are closed and he can feel the soft tickling of your lashes against his cheek, see the hollows of yours accentuating as your work your mouth with his to establish a rhythm. He tries to keep up with you, heaving breaths through his nose, wanting to give back to you even a fraction of all you’re giving him right now. He feels himself twitch and, though this entire situation is foreign to him, knows that his end is nigh. In more ways than one.

Viktor feels himself engulfed in the same feeling as when he’s zapped by his own Hextech invention. He feels alive.

He wants you to know. He needs to tell you.

His words are only hums in his throat as you occupy his mouth with your own, pressing the heat of your eagerness to please against his dry, cracked lips and letting a pink flush take his cheeks. When the humming persists and you feel his fingers weakly grip the skin of your thigh, you withdraw, panting. He looks up at you between half-lidded eyes.

“I... I need you to know that–“ he coughs and his hold on your thighs tightens so that you can feel the crescent indents of his brittle finger nails on your skin. You wish for him to press harder, deeper, so that the memory of him will persist, take longer to heal.

When he gathers his bearings, he continues: “This is the first time I’ve ever truly felt like...like I was living, not just existing.” His eyes, from what little is visible of them, seem to shine in a way you’d never seen before. The yellow of his irises hidden beneath a glow of white as the light above reflects in his eyes.

“My only concern is that, now I’ve had a taste of you — of life as it should be — I’ll fear to relinquish it when I go.”

You see now that the glistening in his eyes comes from his tears, and, to stop him from seeing your own as they catch in your throat, you take a breath and press your lips to his, screwing your eyes shut. You’re aggressive in your pursuit, but neither you nor Viktor care. Your hands find his and, pitting them either side of his head, you interlock fingers.

Perhaps it’s guilt that leads you to say what you say next, or perhaps it’s what you know you should say before it’s too late. Or maybe the guilt of giving Viktor something to fear losing convinces you to go all-out. Nothing to lose.

“I love you.”

Your voice is quiet, strained beneath the weight of holding back tears and the exasperation of your shared kiss, but Viktor hears you all the same. The tip of his nose presses to yours and his forehead finds yours. His last display of strength as his neck is lifted from his pillow, holding contact between two minds made for each other.

“I love you, too.”

The rhythm — albeit having warned somewhat during these minutes of revaluation — brings Viktor to a tidy end. He finishes, indicated only by the thin, weak spray of warmth you feel inside you, the drop of his head against his pillow as his orgasm saps the last of his strength, and the unrestrained moan that comes from Viktor, bouncing off the walls of this sterile tomb before dying quickly.

These walls weren’t built for acoustics.

You don’t finish. And that doesn’t matter.

You hold hands with the brunette beneath you, feeling him gradually softening, his pulse weakening as he’s no longer pressed to the most sensitive and innermost part of you. When you’re sure he’s ready, and when you can bear to, you slide off him, shuffling off the edge of his bed and putting your underwear back on.

You're not even sensitive. No visceral evidence of your activity, no consequence. The only thing you can liken it to is the concern Viktor raised with you once privately, that of his legacy, of his contributions being too miniscule to be remembered.

Casting a glance at Viktor, you see him staring at you. And suddenly you’re shy, looking away and turning, hiding the flush of your cheeks.

Viktor chuckles before giving way to a coughing fit. Each wheeze makes your heart squeeze.

Fully clothed again, you tend to Viktor, wiping a cool cloth along his forehead, finding him a new, clean robe to change into. When you try to dispose of the other, he accosts you.

“No. Keep it.” He gives pause. Realises you can’t read his thoughts. “For me, I mean.”

You cast him a curious look, the partially-sodden mass of white material rolled up in your arms. Viktor gives a laid-back, crooked smile. You wonder if it hurts for him to do so with how cracked they are, whether he opens old wounds when he gives you such a delicate look.

“You never know, I might want it someday. To reminisce, I mean”

Someday. A luxury many can’t afford. You just hope that Viktor wins the lottery.

Masterlist Masterpost

#viktor x reader #viktor x you #viktor x y/n #arcane viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane x you #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane x y/n #viktor arcane #arcane viktor #viktor

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femininominal · 2 months ago

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I DID IT. I FIGURED OUT WHAT THE BLANKET MEANS.

Okay, so we see it first when Viktor is resurrected from the goop and becomes weird purple groot man. Jayce gives him the blanket.

Viktor says he isn’t cold, but Jayce gives it to him anyway. Jayce cannot let him leave without some part of him, without a way to be there for him, even if it was vicariously through a random ass blanket. He has saved Viktor, but something’s wrong. He’s not the same. (I think we’ve seen this movie before)

The we see it again. Viktor still has the blanket even when he’s dying. Even when he’s slowing loosing himself, the blanket is there. And notice how it covers everything waist down? Not just a way to hide his dick, it’s symbolic (because everything is in this show). His upper half is deteriorating. His brain is unconscious and his torso has a giant hole in it. But everything under the blanket is fine. The blanket saved him (symbolically and metaphorically speaking)

Then here’s the blanket again. But now it’s different, corrupted. There are straps and whatnot around it, and on one of these such a straps has a circular looking thing. And it has patterns engraved into it that look a whole lot like the arcane. The arcane is holding down the blanket.

Even in League of Legends, he has his blanket. It’s always there. It’s tattered and worn, but it’s there. It’s present.

Then we have the final nail in the coffin. His final form, his astral projection, he has made himself a god and the blanket is still there. It’s consumed by the arcane, colored in neons and stars, but it’s there nonetheless. It never leaves. The blanket never leaves. This token Jayce has given him, this seemingly random moment thrown in the show that seems like it’s only there so they have a way to give him some clothes, and it’s always there. Why?

because it’s his humanity

“Jayce cannot let him leave without some part of him, without a way to go with him, even if it was vicariously through a random ass blanket”

Jayce gifts him humanity

“But everything under the blanket is fine. The blanket saved him”

his humanity saved him

“The arcane is holding down the blanket.”

the arcane is holding down his humanity

“It’s tattered and worn, but it’s there. It’s present.”

his humanity is present

“It’s consumed by the arcane, colored in neons and stars, but it’s there nonetheless. It never leaves. The blanket never leaves”

his humanity never leaves him

Jayce never leaves him

Jayce is his humanity, Jayce keeps him human.

(if you really want to cry then reread the post and replace the word blanket with humanity)

#arcane #viktor arcane #viktor league of legends #viktor lol #jayvik #viktor nation #jesus viktor #machine herald #glorious evolution #league of legends #Jayce #jayce arcane #jaybe or jaybe not

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captain039 · 1 month ago

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PART 6 Unconventional Alpha

Alpha!Viktor x omega!reader

Warnings: Heats, suppressants, AOB, light swearing, Viktor’s not dying but still disabled, reader has chronic pain, plus size reader, nesting, Older Viktor, Professor Viktor, artistic reader, age gap reader is in their 20s +, smut, oral f receiving

Previous part <-

When you wake up again it’s hell. Your whole body is protesting your existence, it’s too hot under Viktor’s blanket, you kick it off then groan at the pain in your hips. You let out a small fake sob, half fake anyway. You hear the soft thud of a cane against the floor and see a concerned Viktor in the doorway.

“I’m fine, just complaining,” you say voice croaky from sleep. His eyes glance at the blanket you’ve discarded on the floor. He turns on the ceiling fan before walking over, he picks up his blanket and places it neatly on your bed.

“Your heat is in full swing” he says and you nod not bothering to look at him. You can smell his scent even more now making it hard to focus. He frowns a bit his hand touching the exposed skin of your back suddenly. You sigh and let out a small noise akin to a moan, your body tensing instantly hand slapping over your mouth.

“Apologies” he mutters but doesn’t move his hand.

“You’re having a flare up” he says gently and you frown at him wondering how the hell he can figure that out with a simple touch.

“I’ll make you some breakfast, do you have medication?” He asks and stands.

“Yeah top left cupboard, I’ve got bread and butter in the fridge, I don’t want something big” you mutter and he nods before walking off. You sigh feeling bad for making him make you breakfast even if he offered. You don’t think you can move though, the heat spread out your body and the tense muscles of your hips and back make it hell. Viktor returns a plate of toast in his hand with two capsules on the side.

“I’ll get you a water bottle” he says and you gesture to your bedside table vaguely. He lays down the plate on your bed before picking up your water bottle.

“Can you sit up?” He asks and you laugh at him.

“I’ll take that as I no” he smiles not taking your laughter to heart.

“Can I…join you in your nest?” He speaks softly and it makes your heat flare up more, but you nod. He sits down, your water bottle in his hand. He shuffles himself back till his back hits the wall. He places your water bottle by you before leaning over to grab the plate, he takes the two capsules and hands them to you before opening your bottle.

“Sit up so you don’t choke” he coaxes gently and you sigh pushing yourself up more on your pillows so your head is up. You take a sip of water before downing the two capsules and sigh.

“Good girl,” he says quietly and you both tense, you see the pink dust on his cheeks and feel your heat grow needier.

“Toast,” he says quickly putting the plate by you and clearing his throat. You eat slowly in a small awkward silence, you eat one and a half before you sigh and sink into your pillow. He sits there for a moment his cheeks still dusted with pink.

“You’re probably not wanting anymore heat right now” he says in thought and you shake your head.

“Not really, too hot for the heat pad,” you say.

“Wait till the medication sets in” he says and slowly gets off your bed taking the empty plate.

“Thank you” you mumble and he glances back and nods.

The first two days seem bearable, sort of, you manage to walk yourself to the toilet and back so that’s good. The need is only simmering below your skin and in your lower belly. At night it’s a little worse when you hear Viktor’s soft snores and wonder if he’d wake up if you indulged in a little self-pleasure. You can’t though, your room will stink of it and you don’t want to embarrass Viktor anymore than he probably already is having to babysit you. The third night you’re agitated, by your thoughts, by the growing need, you had almost beg for a simple touch when Viktor brings you food. Now you lie awake cursed you can’t move freely or bring this need down even a bit. You’ve moved your nest around a bit to accommodate your pain, and there’s a towel under you too in case certain things get worse, it feels scratchy though and you hate it. Viktor’s blanket doesn’t smell like him any more either and it’s making you annoyed. You hear movement from your lounge and the gentle sigh of Viktor getting off the pull-out sofa, you assume he’s going to the bathroom but when the gentle sounds of his cane come into your room you look at him in the darkness.

“What’s wrong?” You ask.

“I’d like to ask you that” he says and you realise you’re probably projecting your emotions into your scent.

“I’m sorry” you mumble. He walks closer and you turn the lamp on reaching a little awkwardly. He looks to your nest in question and you nod before he sits down. You curl your legs up so he can manoeuvre a bit till his back is on the wall.

“Keep your legs straight is better than bent” he takes your ankles and gently tugs them over his lap and you flush a bit and nod keeping back an embarrassing noise of delight when he touches you. You watch his eyes narrow as he keeps his hand resting on your upper ankle.

“Your joints are swollen” he says his voice dropping lower as he gently begins to massage the swollen skin around your ankle.

“Joys of what I have” you say sighing a bit at the gentle pressure. You always hated massages, going to physical therapy they’d massage so roughly, manipulate your muscles and joints, or a massage therapist would be too hard and you’d leave in agony, but this, his slender fingers gently rubbing over the swollen joint like you’re made of glass, gently warming up your skin even more, applying light but nice pressure it’s heaven. Your eyes flutter close and you sigh basking in the tender care of your alpha. You frown though, your alpha, you open your eyes again to look at him finding his intense honeyed eyes on yours. You falter under the rapt attention he gives you. You feel seen and cared for, not just another face in the crowd or something to be pitied or manipulated. His hands slide up your exposed legs and you flush a bit knowing you haven’t bothered to shave in a week but he doesn’t care. He slowly moves almost like a graceful predator, lean body crawling over yours till he’s hovering above you. He keeps his hands by your head, one leg bent and at your side the other no doubt his bad leg stretched out beside yours. You breathe him on, his scent and sigh contently at the smell of alpha filling your nose.

“Will you let me help you?” He asks his voice a husky whisper you barely catch. You nod not entirely sure which meaning to go with before you see him slide down your body again and rest between your legs. You feel yourself go incredibly hot and not just from the heat you’re in, your heart pounds and your body instantly knows preparing itself for an alpha. You feel an embarrassingly wet patch soak from your underwear through your shorts and you watch as his nose flared and his eyes darken. His eyes flick to yours before he gently kisses your thighs, you feel your hands itching to cover your face but the way his eyes hold yours it’s impossible to look away.

“Lift your hips slowly” he says and you use your legs to lift your hips. He moves quickly sliding down your sleep shorts and underwear in one go before helping you lower your hips back to the bed and placing gentle kisses there. He sits up and guides your left leg to the same side as the right and takes your lower garments off and lies them on the bed before spreading your legs again. You resist the urge to clamp your thighs shut knowing your body is already producing slick.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks his eyes gazing into yours and you take a small breath and shake your head, you need this, your heat makes you fuzzy with need and desire. He nods and slowly lowers himself back between your thighs, he gently noses your inner thigh taking a deep breath a low growl rumbling from his chest that is purely alpha satisfaction and it makes you whine. You feel his breath fan over your mound, his nose trailing down to your slit. His eyes flick to yours once more before you feel his fingers spread your lips apart and a hot tongue at your entrance that makes you gasp. You do everything to sit still while he takes long slow licks at your slicked entrance but your hips move to meet his tongue.

“Keep your hips still love, I don’t want you hurting them any more than they already are,” he says in a low voice his accent coming through thicker. You nod and hold your hips still despite the jolts of pleasure that go through you at the slow dance his tongue does. Your arms covering your face your mouth parted slightly as soft pants leave your lips embarrassingly but you swear you feel your omega nature purr and bask in this. You were already so on the edge your heat making everything heightened, you could feel your orgasm building embarrassingly quick and struggle to hold back. His tongue presses against your clit applying the pressure you need, a few strokes of his tongue and you’re coming quickly with a strained cry and arch of your back, you feel his arm over your hips holding you down though so you don’t hurt yourself.

“That’s it” you hear faintly too clouded by pleasure as you feel your inner walls clamp around nothing. His tongue makes you oversensitive as he cleans up your juices before lifting his head. You press your palms to your eyes and feel a wave of emotions go over you, you let out a small sob and feel Viktor crawling back up your body with gentle hushes.

“You’re alright sweetheart, just breathe” he whispers prying your hands from your eyes. You look at him with watery eyes and feel humiliated by crying after an orgasm.

“Too much,” he says softly not as a question but as fact as he lies on his side and brings you to nuzzle into his neck and your nose by his scent gland.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you” he murmurs and cradles you gently.

“You didn’t, I don’t know why I’m crying,” you say breathing in his calming alpha scent your hands gripping his shirt.

“It’s your heat, everything is overwhelming on edge, your emotions especially so” his hand gently massages your scalp and you find yourself calming down at the alpha's touch. You take a big breath trying to calm yourself down your hands unclenching from his shirt.

“It’s probably ten times harder due to being on suppressants so long, your flare up too, as well as not being mated ok?” He speaks softly and you nod relaxing against him. You move so your hips aren’t aching and sigh.

“Can I hold onto you?” You ask softly.

“Of course you can sweetheart” he says holding you closer. Your arms go around his lean frame and you sigh contently. He reaches down tugging his blanket up and over you so your lower half isn’t exposed.

“Doesn’t smell like you anymore” you whisper.

“It doesn’t does it?” he chuckles softly.

“I’ll bring you a new one tomorrow” he adds continuing his gently scalp massage that makes your eyes droop close.

“Like the source better” you mumble sleepily feeling him smile as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

Next part ->

Taglist:

@donnie-is-here

@imithicwolf

@justmoniesworld

@sseleniaa

@charliepoopyfart

#x reader #aob #au #viktor x reader #alpha Viktor #Alpha Viktor x reader #Viktor #viktor arcane

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idcbabyialreadylostmymind · 9 days ago

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•Disease

Viktor x God/ess!reader

Synopsis-Viktor is in the verge of death, only a forgotten god can bring him back; what’s his fate?

cw- character death, bad writing, god!reader, writer watched what if when she started this, sexual undertones, kissing, reader is referred as ‘you’, uhhh I gen don’t know what else to put 😭

“I could be the doctor, I can cure your disease…”

Mortals. Primitive, selfish beings, they take so much but give so little. They don’t know it always comes back to bite them in the end.

Jayce eyes shoot open taking in painful gasps of air, delirious he stands up on wobbly legs. Looking around he’s horrified by the carnage that surrounded him. Where the council room once stood only rubble and mangled corpses of the councilors take its place. His breathing quickened, Mel. He searched frantically finding her incoherent, he helped her to her feet before his heart stopped. Viktor.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Jayce cursed himself before he realized he found his best friend, his partner's body; broken and bloody. Jayce ran towards the dying man. “No, no Vik come on stay with me.” The Talis boy cried, ripping Viktors dirty button, pushing up and down on his chest, hearing the crack of a rib with every compression he gave. His vision went blurry with tears. Viktor couldn’t die, Jayce wouldn’t let him. This isn’t working. I need to get to the lab. Was all Jayce could think, lifting Viktor off the floor racing to their lab.

He threw Viktor down, going through everything he possibly could to save him. There was nothing. How could this be? All those endless nights in the lab, countless nights gone with sleep, how many times they had to run over their morals for the greater good. How could this be? Jayce slammed his hands down on the stretcher Viktors body lies. He hadn’t realized he began crying again. And this time he couldn’t stop. “Please, please, anyone save him. Save my partner. Save Viktor.” He cried out into the air, it was insane, he knew nothing could hear him, help him. He was alone.

•

“Save him…. Save Viktor.”

Your ears rang over and over, the same phrase repeated over and over and over again until it was scorched into your brain. “Fine. Fine, Fine!” You grimaced walking up the invisible stairs into a room unlike any other; a room full of mirrors all differing in shapes and sizes.

You could see into any universe through these mirrors , anywhere anytime, everywhere all at once. You flowed through time and space, keeping the contingency in balance; but the punny little mortal kept disturbing you. Looking through one of the mirrors you touched the middle of the portal closing your eyes focusing all your energy to find that one little speck. Your terrestrial energy hummed around you; your plane of existence shaking all around you as if a glass ball under pressure about to shatter. Gotcha.

The fog of the portal disappeared and in it replaced a beautifully devastating scene, where one single action could create a new branch of reality. But this man doesn’t seem to be doing anything, but cry.

He was quite pitiful. The other man, the one he cried over, close to death if not already there. An essence radiated all through his dying body, you could feel the power he could hold. What a waste of potential.

You listened closely as the male pleaded and pleaded. “Save him,” he wailed. “I’ll do anything, give anything.” But it wasn’t him you wanted.

You bargained with yourself, if you saved the dying man you could have another soul, another disciple. But then your oath, if you broke then who knows what the Watchers would do.

“But, the Watchers haven’t been heard from in millenniums. I’m sure one life does not matter.” You mutter to yourself taking in a deep breath before you reach into the mirror grabbing Viktors hand and pull his soul from his body and bring him into your realm.

Viktor awoke gasping for air, he looked around panic feeling out his nerves. There was nothing, actually nothing but white, he was in a blindingly white room with no doors apparently. He looked down and saw his body, that was definitely not his. Where his metal protected body once was a white void takes his place, it didn’t feel like his body but a replica of what once was. Just as he went to find a way out a voice caught him. “Finally you’re awake I was wondering when you would—“

“Who are you?” Viktor cut you off from giving your gracious welcome speech, he studied you as you gathered yourself from his rude barbaric homosapien ways. You were indescribable, you went above all meanings of magic or logic he has ever known. Your body was like his but different. Colors of deep hue swished through your glorious temple, unlike his body yours blended with the void as if you bent it to your will. You floated around him ten times his size, terrifyingly beautiful.

“I am everything and nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

You don’t answer him, only swaying back and forth studying the statue in front of you, having truly forgotten how little human bodies can be.

“I heard your mortal man beg for your life, pleading for your soul's salvation.. I can give you salvation, Viktor.” You hummed only bringing Viktor deeper into your symphony of madness. “I can cure your disease.”

“What disease.” If all he can say through all this lunacy. “The disease of death.” You continued voiced strained almost as of this was exciting you, the longer you went on the clearer everything became, the blast killed him and this must be his hell.

“If I am to live again there will be a logical– a right way to do it.” Viktor tried to rebuttal your divine interference.

“Nothing can save you, no medicine, nor any human magic. But I can be your anecdote” You moved so fast Viktor couldn’t even catch your face as you moved back and forth.

“What.. I don’t– I don’t believe this.”

“I can make you believe.” You suddenly disappeared just for Viktor to feel a hand drag down his back.

“You are the flesh maggots adore,” you whisper into his ear, hands feeling his body up. “But I can make you so much more.” Your voice entranced him, enchanting his soul. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’ll transcend any and everything you’ve ever done on that little speck of a planet of yours.”

“How?”

Gosh the questions have mortals always been this annoying?

“I’ll merge the smallest piece of my soul and I'll exchange and you will give me yours.” You explain an exaggerated smile stitched on your small, your face muscles strain he was concerned for you, they would surely cramp if you continued.

“My what?”

“Oh my— your soul. What else?” You look at him as if he was an insolent child and to you he was.

Viktor, well he was calculating whether or not this could be real or not. How out of 1 million probabilities this is the afterlife he was stuck with and if he was lucky this is all a dream and he’ll awake in a hospital, maybe a little sore, but definitely not survived by a forgotten god. As if hearing his thoughts the creature before him pushed him on the ground, straddling him.

“Forgotten’s a harsh word, I’d like to think of it as temporarily disposed of. And like I said before,” you spoke softly, hands caressing his shoulders and face, Viktor’s stomach clenched an unfamiliar and unwelcome warmth filling his body. “No human medicine will work for you. Only I can help you, so let me cure you.” You looked into his eyes, no deeper. It was as if you were connecting with his very being, so he definitely wasn’t thinking with the next words he uttered.

“Fine.”

He gave in way quicker than you thought, you smiled delighted. Getting off of him quickly and lead him to another place of whatever plane of existence you were on. This time there was one thing, a huge pitch black temple, the sculpture looks as if made at the depths of Tartarus. It made one quite unsettled how off it looked compared to the heavenly light that could burn one’s eyes out blazing behind it.

But one thing Viktor was thinking, was how big this place is.

When you two reached the temple and he looked back to you, you had a much more serious expression, your angelic features scrunching up to make an unnatural scowl. He could tell you were never meant to be unhappy.

“Kneel.” Your instruction cut through his ears, slicing his eardrums. Your demand was quite painful. You looked back remorse painting your eyes. But you had to remain in control.

As you knelt beside him you dipped your hand into a golden dish filled with water as pitch as the temple. He hadn’t even realized what was in front of them. An altar. Dawned with candles that never melted, flowers that never wilted, fruit that would never rot. Unfamiliar Oil aromas mixed into his nostrils. Four cups each different in size and style sit on their own corner on the altarpiece. Who knew immortal beings have their own gods?

“Please ancient gods, forgive us for our mortal sins…” you whispered an unintelligible prayer, dipping in the gold dish four separate times kissing your hands in between the dips. You poured all different elements along with the water into a different golden cup. Then you grabbed each chalice and poured blood-like tar out of each speaking what Viktor assumed were names, that even he couldn’t pronounce.

“As you have sacrificed for us we shall for you.”

That caught his attention. He couldn’t even speak when you grab his hand and without a knife cut his hand open with the tip of your fingernail. “W-wha…” He couldn’t even speak as you did the same, your blood pouring out the same as he. He held his hand hissing at the burning pain and you just groaned, snatching his hand back. “Stop being a baby.” You say healing the cut with a wave of your hand over his.

“Now drink.” She said, bringing the golden chalice to his lips deaconing him on. His lips touched the liquid gulping four times, it was bitter and tasted like death.

He watched you as you downed the rest, the red drink dripping down your chest. You look back at him, a new ferocity freed from your soul, grabbing the sides of his perfectly aligned face and smash your lips into his. Viktor was taken aback, he tried to push you away but you were too strong and suddenly he found himself falling into the kiss. Your warm muscle found his lips parting them biting his lip so hard he bleed the metallic taste feeling up your mouth and before he could try and push away it felt as if something was being shoved down his throat. It was excruciating, excessive, euphoric.

As you merged yourself using all your will to not consume his entire being, Viktor felt as if he was at the top of the world. His eyes rolled back in ecstasy, never having felt this much pleasure before it was unreal, unnatural and he needed more.

He grabbed your arms pulling your inhabited body closer, his body sparked a new energy, a powerful energy all through your body, it made you lust for more. Your soul's powerful emergence created a light, The light that was both of you, burned brighter and brighter until it combusted stabbing the white voided room into a black hole.

And then Viktor was gone.

•

“They broke the oath.” A deep, dark voice spoke.

“This cannot be.” A jittery one shuttered.

“An act of rebellion I tell you. Who knows any deity now will think they can do whatever they want no respect—“ An old shriveled on spouted on and on.

“Quiet.” Said the fourth voice, all falling silent . “They will be dealt with accordingly, but first let’s see what they are planning…..”

Mortals are not the only ones who take things and never give back, Gods are the only real selfish ones; but they never know until the very end.

#arcane jayce #arcane viktor #arcane #arcane x you #god!reader #goddess!reader #viktor x reader #viktor x you #arcane x y/n #arcane x reader #arcane league of legends #viktor lol

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