#yandere viktor arcane x reader

[lovesick-desires]

VALETUDINARIANISM

YANDERE!VIKTOR X IMMUNOCOMPROMISED!READER — CHAPTER TWO

‎‎‎‎PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⇠ ✩ ⇢ NEXT CHAPTER (coming soon)

ABSTRACT: After escaping Viktor's clutches, you hide away in your humble abode in Zaun. Unbeknownst to you, that is not where the story ends. Oh, it is only the beginning. AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry for not finishing this chapter yesterday, I was in the emergency room for appendix pain (turns out I have norovirus D:). CONTENT WARNINGS: gender neutral reader, season two spoilers, yandere behavior, manipulation, cult behavior, no mentions of "y/n", no descriptors for reader/"y/n", coercion. stalking, abuse of power, weapons (knife), foul language, reader has panic attack, breaking and entering, foul language, use of Google Translate for Czech, attempted forced brainwashing, sensual touching, hints of savior complex, semi-rushed ending (sorry) (N)SFW?: mildly NSFW WORD COUNT: 2.0k VIKTOR'S YANDERE ARCHETYPE: delusional, protective

All you could think about was getting home and forgetting this all happened. Your legs carried you as fast as they could, the fire of fear burning at them as if to keep you moving. To keep you from stopping. You could feel your lungs burn and ache from the overexertion, but you had to keep moving as you eventually got back to the heart of the Undercity.

Once you reached a secluded alleyway, you stopped to catch your breath, making sure no one else was around. Once you realized you are in your own solitude, you couldn't help but lean into the wall behind you and slide down it to sit on the cold, hard ground. The adrenaline wore off as a coughing fit erupted from your throat. Fuck, you overworked your body and now you were faced with the consequences of your condition.

Reaching into your pocket, you felt your fingers around until they were wrapped around a plastic bottle. With haste, you retrieved the pill bottle and inspected its contents.

Seven pills left.

You needed to get more, but that would have to wait.

Scooping a pill from the bottle to leave the remaining six, you placed it under your tongue and let it dissolve as you sat there on the ragged floor. As your body and mind calmed down, you began to realize your position in a Zaun alleyway at sunset. It was best to get moving.

With the realization, you shakily rose from the ground, knees buckling. You had to keep moving, no matter how much your body hurt. Walking out of the alleyway, you draw your hood up to blend in among the crowd of Zaunites as you wondered home.

A week had passed since you escaped the commune. You still hear whispers of the Machine Herald in passing when you strolled the Undercity streets. You knew better than to expect miracles now, everything comes with a price: inadvertently or not. However, whenever you went out, you felt eyes on you constantly. You figured it was your paranoia from after the whole freaky cult incident, yet you couldn't quite erase the feeling.

It was a dreary eve in the Undercity as you sat in your bed, all cozy as you were reading a book. As your eyes scanned the lines of dialogue, you felt your eyelids get droopy. Realizing this was your cue to halt your reading for the night, you slid your weathered bookmark onto the page you were on. As you closed the book as the pages fluttered together into their former stack, a soft sigh elicited from your tired lips. Reading was a nice distraction to you from all the other fuckery in your life such as your illnesses and anxieties. You placed the book on your nightstand as you laid back. Reaching up to your lamp's knob, you turned it until it clicked, letting the light flicker off. In the wake of the lamp's golden light, the blue moonlight seeped in through a crack in your curtains, basking a small sliver of the room in its ethereal light. As you stared up at the ceiling of your dingy apartment, you felt sleep slowly smother you...

creeeeak...

What was that?

You opened your weary eyes to gaze at where the sound came from: your window. Behind the beige curtains stood the silhouette of a slender individual, making your blood run cold.

creeeak...

You rouse yourself from your sleepy state to reach down to the floor, putting your hand into your boot to retrieve your knife. As your vision focuses, you freeze when you see the man reach down to the base of your window and pull it up. You forgot to lock the window. Fuck.

When you see the hand come to view through the curtains, it was that painfully familiar gray tone. You immediately knew who it was. Realizing you didn't know what to do, you froze, shutting your eyes to feign a peaceful slumber.

creeeak...

You could hear the Machine Herald step foot into your bedroom, causing you to grip your knife tighter under the sheets. You tried to stay calm but you could feel your heart rate accelerate exponentially. Your mind was getting fuzzy and your limbs were trying their best to stay still. Why you were faking it? You didn't know, but something told you to... in the back of your mind...

creeeak...

The healer was now looking down at you at the side of your bed. You could feel his overwhelming presence in the vicinity. Your knuckles paled from how tightly you gripped the knife, praying to whatever god out there that he would just leave or something.

"Promiňte..." was the only word that escaped from the Machine Herald's pasty lips. You felt something get closer... and closer... Your eyes reluctantly fluttered open to see his hand was right in your face, electric purple filtering out of its cracks and cavities. Your gaze quickly moved up to see his eyes were a glowing pale lavender, no irises or pupils in sight. You had to move...

Move...

Move...

MOVE, DAMMIT, MOVE!

Your head flinched away right before he could caress it, causing a chain reaction of adrenaline course through your veins and joints. In a flash, you pulled yourself away from the healer, pointing your knife at his sternum. This induced a subtle gasp from Viktor, the light from his hand and eyes slowly diminishing out of shock.

"Don't... touch me..." You rasped, your voice crackling from lack of use in the past few hours. Your hand trembled as the raw, unfiltered anxiety coursed through your vessel. To this, Viktor looked slightly hurt from your outlash and a little... entertained? You couldn't quite read the glimmer in his eye, but you knew damn well it was bad news.

As if on cue, you felt your lungs start to give out, making a cough erupt from your sore throat. Viktor immediately took notice to this.

"Please, miláček, let me help—"

"Why are you in my apartment? How did you find me?" You interjected, your gaze narrowed with confusion and contempt as you kept your knife pointed at him. You pursed your lips to try and hold back another cough but it burst through your lips, making your grasp on your weapon weaker.

"Please, just relax. I am not here to hurt you—"

"Answer my questions." You barked out in a cough, holding back the pressure building in your throat to avoid showing any more weakness to the man before you. To this, Viktor's gaze hardened as his brows furrowed. His slowly retracted his hand from you and now stood before you.

"The way I found you is... irrelevant. But why I am here, is not. Now, please, put down the knife and i will explain everything." The healer elaborated, putting his spindly hands up in mock surrender. You sniffled as a painful coughing fit burst from your throat, inadvertently causing your grip on the knife to falter. The blade clattered to the hardwood floor as your aching body fell back to the mattress it sat upon, provoking a cough to escape your lips again.

Of course, this was the week you had to get a respiratory flare up.

"Pills..." was the only word you could get out between coughs. To this, Viktor was alerted and began to glanced around the room only to spot the bottle of pills on your dresser. The healer rose with urgency and grabbed the bottle, encompassing it with his spindly fingers.

"Is... this what you need?" Viktor questioned as he shook the bottle gently, rattling its contents. In your weakened state, trying to suppress your coughing and wheezing, you nodded. You went to reach for the bottle from his hand, only for him to retract his hand.

"No, it's okay, let me help you... Please..." The Machine Herald uttered in a tone that sounded like an desperate prayer to an omnipotent deity. Coughs erupted from your shaking lips as the healer sat besides you on the bed, undoing the lid from the pill bottle. With a quick glance at the directions on the bottle, he committed them to memory as he scooped a pill out from the bottle, leaving the remaining five. With a firm yet gentle hand, he grabbed your jaw to hold you in place.

"Trust in me. Open your mouth for me, miláček" He rasped, holding the pill in between his thumb and pointer finger. With no other options, you reluctantly opened your mouth, raising the tip of your tongue to the roof of your mouth. You barely suppressed the urge to cough as you took wheezing breaths, the itch in the back of your throat driving you mad. A soft smirk spread across the healer's fair lips as he lowered the white tablet into your mouth with a gentle touch, depositing the pill under your tongue. He held his fingers in your mouth, hooked slightly on your lower jaw, before slowly retracting them. As his fingers vacated your mouth, his thumb briefly dragged across your bottom lip, making you instinctively shut your mouth.

"Good, very good," The Machine Herald murmured, his eyes intensely locked with yours. You slowly felt the ache in your lungs and the itch in your throat dissipate from the dissolving pill under your tongue. With a shaky sigh, you look up at the man sitting beside you. Slowly, the cult leader retracted his hand, his touch lingering for a moment.

"Why... did you try to... heal me when I was asleep?" You questioned, sitting up straight. You felt weary of the man who just broke into your abode, of course, yet you felt a sense of calm when near him. Like an allure of a raging flame to a mere moth.

"I just want to help you, miláček. You are suffering a great illness and you can not free yourself of that burden. Getting sick over and over again takes a toll on the body. I, myself, would know that from personal experiences," The healer explained, looking out your now open window as the beige curtains fluttering in a soft zephyr. "My body... was once weak and crippled, bound to utilize a cane just to something as small as taking a mere step. Now, I am free... and you can be free too if you trust me." He added, glancing over at you. Then, that familiar feeling of overwhelming dread pooled in your stomach. You knew you couldn't, but where could you run? You couldn't let him 'heal' you...

"I... I can't trust you... I-I don't know all what this... healing... entails—"

"You are scared of the unknown. You are scared of what could happen. The possibility of being without something you have had your whole life, despite it being malicious to your body, it scares you with what could be. You are so used to things going poorly for you to the point that you are just mentally preparing for the next blow. You do not know how to cope with the possibility that you struggled for all these years for naught." Viktor interjected, gazing at you as he rose from the bed, now illuminated in the blue moonlight. He now stood before you his eyes gazing over your form.

As the healer starred down at you, his soft lips spread into a barely visible smile, the blue moonlight basking him from behind.

"Come with me to the commune. Just for three days. See how the people live, how you could live. If you stay the three days and haven't changed your mind, you can leave and never look back. Just.. give it a chance, please, for your own sake." The Machine Herald proclaimed, a tinge of hope in his pleading voice.

For that moment, the pool in your stomach dissipated. You felt willing to give it a chance as you rose from your bed.

"Okay, but only three days."

What's the worst that could happen?

SONG OF THE FIC: DISEASE - LADY GAGA

VALETUDINARIANISM Taglist: @clownery-atits-finest, @unmotivatedbug Want to join the tag list? Click here to learn more!

[yan-randomfandom]

yandere viktor with an innocent and naive reader but with magical abilities, where the reader knows how to use simple magic like conjuring plants or controlling water... ((the reader only knows the basics of magic, since no one taught it and this magic would be the only one so far who knows how to do it, and the reader was a little scared of being in a rush or being studied like a lab rat because she has magic, but she confided her secret to Viktor...)) Why do you do that?

Y!Viktor x GN!Mage!Reader

a/n: posting this before act 2 omg, i think i need a rewatch — btw this one only has very light yandere undertones,, ..erm

🫧 ;

"Psst. Hey, want to know a secret?"

Viktor blinked. His eyes followed the moving reflection on the iridescent river. Your figure was mirrored in the water, an unreadable expression on your face.

... He looked up, alarmed. Were you talking to him? Viktor didn't even know you.

You met his amber eyes. For whatever reason, on the edge of the cliff just above the water, you folded your legs against your chest and buried half your face in your arms.

"Well?" you pushed, voice muffled.

His mouth opened, then closed. Viktor nodded wordlessly instead.

" ... Promise me you won't tell anyone."

Without a moment's hesitation, the young boy nodded again.

He watched as you stood up and jumped steadily into the river, splashing him and his mechanical boat. A low, frustrated groan escaped him as water seeped into his clothes.

"Oh, sorry," you said as he tried to wipe the water from his face. "Let me get that for you."

Suddenly, Viktor felt his weight gradually become less unpleasant—almost refreshing, even, as if the water slid across and away from his skin and clothes.

That's when he saw it.

A small blob of water, floating in the air. It moved carefully like it was fragile.

Then came another, and another. Small specks came together until it formed one single bubble.

Abruptly, it dropped in the river. Like nothing ever happened. Viktor's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Cool, right?" you grinned. He looked at you with furrowed eyebrows, his jaw gaping. One of your hands was lifted, fingers poised in a manner of delicacy.

"You," Viktor finally spoke, stammering, his breathing ragged. "You did that? Was that... magic?"

You chuckled, settling yourself beside him. He turned to you, scooting over to make room, and met your steady gaze. “I think so. But I was serious when I said never, ever tell anyone.”

He shook his head, utterly appalled. "Is this some sort of trick?"

"I wish—"

“This is not funny,” he snarled, his demeanor shifting completely, catching you off guard. “If you’re just here to get a reaction out of me, I’d advise you and your friends to leave. Please.”

You frowned, standing up with your fists clenched. “No, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m so sorry! And I don’t… even have friends.”

Viktor searched your face.

There's nothing to suggest a lie. He's observant, and he quietly prides himself over it, but this is one of the few cases where he genuinely starts to doubt his judgment.

"But," you sighed, turning away. "I'll leave if that's what you want. Apologies."

...

"... Wait."

— 🌱

The leaves of the seedling barely moved.

"Aw," you chuckled, dropping your arm to your side. Who knew conjuring plant powers could be so draining? "Well, I tried. Let's take a break!"

He let out a choked noise, pausing his writing. "We barely started! How is it that whenever you get to try something new and amazing, you avoid it?”

...

You didn't respond immediately.

Viktor put down his notebook, looking back at you, who was blankly staring at him.

"I guess I'm... scared?" you said, tilting your head. To his surprise, you gently grabbed his hand, running your thumb across his palm.

His face warmed. He physically couldn't say or do anything.

"You're the only one who knows about this, Vik," you muttered, your eyes fixed on his rough skin. "I sprung this on you when we were kids, which is kind of hilarious, by the way, but I had a reason. In my mind, you were the only one who would understand."

He thought so, too.

Viktor couldn’t stop himself from slipping his fingers between yours. It was a good thing you weren’t looking at him—otherwise, you might’ve seen how red his face had become.

"And you told me no one will believe me," he said, and while the memory was of you giving him a serious warning, his tone was filled with nothing but endearment.

"I still stand by that," you laughed, pulling your hand away from his, much to his disappointment. You still hadn't glance at his face. He mentally scolded himself for almost hoping you would see his expression. "Especially with our age now. They'll just think you're crazy."

"I understand," he chuckled, turning away. "About that break... you want to go to our usual?"

A smile curled your lips. "Yes, please!"

— 💌

Viktor said he has a surprise for you.

Admittedly, you're feeling extremely anxious. He grew up to become a researcher, an inventor—facts that don’t surprise you.

As his best friend, a person able to do magic, while absolutely shitty at it, you know he sees you as someone with massive potential. Literally. No one else in Piltover or Zaun is known to do this. Maybe in a hundred years—who knows? You didn't even have a proper education.

...

Viktor cleared his throat. "I've been offered a position in the University of Piltover."

You froze. The letter in his fingers bore the university’s wax seal in the center, bold and unmistakable.

“Holy shit,” you blurted, your eyes darting between him and the letter. “Holy shit!”

Jumping over to Viktor, you wrapped your arms around him in a tight embrace. The biggest, most triumphant smile tugged at your lips. He staggered a little, but you were too wrapped up in your happiness to notice.

"Language," he laughed, hugging you back.

You snickered. "I'm so proud of you! Words can't even begin to express how happy I am for you!"

Pulling back, your hands still rested on his shoulders. Your smile relaxed ever so slightly as your eyes gazed into his softer ones.

"I knew you could do it," you exhaled.

A small pause.

Viktor had a look. Oh, shit. What’s that smirk for?

"...You're not done," you accused, raising an eyebrow.

He lifted the letter in his hand. "I have not accepted yet."

Now, your brows knitted together in utter confusion.

"... Why not—?"

"I said I won't be going unless they let me bring a plus one."

You smile faltered, denial crossing your face. He noticed it. Did he just say what you thought you heard him say?

"Are you saying...?" Your expression shifted into worry; you didn't quite understand his point.

"I want you to come with me," Viktor said, grabbing your hand and placing the letter in your palm. "To Piltover."

Oh, no. You didn't mean to.

You panicked, pulling away, the letter slipping from your hand.

Viktor's brows furrowed. He thought you'd be happier about the news.

Then, he looked around.

It had rained just before he decided to share the news. Some raindrops were still fresh, glistening from the downpour.

And around your figure, small droplets rose into the air. The air is thick with tension.

"Viktor. You're not giving me to them, are you...?"

Defeated. That's how your voice sounded.

"Of course not," he hushed, pushing you onto a chair. "Never. Please calm down. Let me explain."

You obliged, sitting down. He sat beside you.

"I'm sorry," you spoke first, meeting his eyes. "It's not that I don't trust you. Heck, I trust you more than anyone. The thought of going up there... it just makes me anxious."

"I understand," Viktor nodded. He turned his head. "However, I promise you, I won’t let them take you away from me. You’ll be solely under my care. But I do know someone who’s willing to help us."

Viktor. So compassionate and filled with empathy. You admired him for those very reasons, not just for his brilliance. His presence feels like a whole other world to you—someone who could help you understand your abilities. Perhaps the only chance you have to truly learn who, or what you are.

"I'll be a burden."

"No. Of course not. I want you by my side."

You hesitated. Despite your family being clueless about your ability, they were still the people you cared for. You still had a life in the undercity.

"And if I refuse...?"

Viktor took a moment to respond. The thought of leaving you hurt his heart.

"You... I believe you don't have much of a choice."

You couldn't explain why, but you found it in yourself to wholeheartedly believe him.

— 💜

zamn

critique is welcome btw

[hexxedcore]

What would Yandere Viktor be like in this 2nd season? Of course if you want, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable making this yandere topic

not an uncomfortable question at all, anon! in fact i love viktor and i love yandere tropes even more ❤️

WARNINGS: YANDERE, unhealthy / toxic relationship, manipulative behaviour, delusion (mostly religiously fuelled if i’m being honest), codependency

I’m a firm believer that Viktor wouldn’t be a yandere who imposes him physically. This is a man who is speculative and used to hiding away in the shadows — he demonstrates everything with well planted seeds of deceit and doubt.

Now, Season Two Viktor? With what we know, it’s up to so much speculation regarding what his motives are and what’s going to happen next — but this specific trope is so rich in the potential it has depending on who you present yourself as to him. A devoted follower? An estranged lover who sought him out after he abruptly left? A Zaunite attempting to stop the hold he has on his vulnerable disciples?

I’ll be covering the disciple trope below but will gladly create more posts for the others.

DISCIPLE READER:

You come to him in a moment of desperation, having heard of the whispers scattered through dark alleyways of Zaun that there was a mage who possessed the capability to heal any wound he was presented with. A miracle worker in the flesh.

It was a opportunity impossible to pass up. Everyone had been scrambling for an opportunity to meet him, have him cure their lung ailments or their Shimmer addictions.

Despite being tentative going into the belly of Zaun, you were admittedly shocked by the abundance of life in what had once been deemed the slums. People who were rumoured to be disfigured and marred purple were walking around, regarding you with inviting smiles, soft skin, full eyes.

When Viktor first spotted you wandering his growing compound, lost, he was absolutely entranced. For a moment he was left wondering why everyone was so adamant on worshipping him, when the obvious miracle here was you. You’re just so pure, so perfect, that even the Hexcore is adamant in prolonging your visit.

You approached him with hopes of a cure to the infection that had been riddling your lungs due to the Gray being released to the Undercity. Viktor wasn't in a state to do anything but oblige.

For as much as you heard of his cures being instantaneous and life-changing, yours had been painfully slow. Viktor reassured that due to the unique nature of the Gray, the Arcane was reacting in unpredictable ways. Therefore; you should make yourself at home. Stay, for the time being.

It wasn't difficult to settle in with how amiable the other 'followers' were, as they enjoyed calling themselves. It also wasn't surprising, considering how reverently respectful Viktor had been treating you. As though you were a deity of his own, despite your lack of impressive actions.

It almost made you forget about the swelling cough that persisted in your chest, or the fact you’ve forgotten how long it’s been since you’ve even begun your stay.

Needless to say, you don’t plan to leave this routine anytime soon. He doesn’t plan on allowing you, either.

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ BLOMSTERTID MASTERLIST !

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

⸺   chapter one.

⸺   chapter two.

⸺   chapter three.

⸺   chapter four.

⸺   chapter five.

⸺   chapter six.

⸺   chapter seven.

⸺   chapter eight.

⸺   chapter nine, ending one.

⸺   chapter ten, ending two.

(gif creds)

[reareaotaku]

Yandere Viktor Headcanons

Tw: Age-Gap, Mentor-Student type relationship

A man who's far beyond his years. You have a bright mind and he takes you under his wing

He wants to pick and prod at your mind, find out all that you have to offer

Being from Zaun, Viktor has only known struggles through his life and has never been able to fit in. So, for you to be just like him, he's thrilled

If you have a disability, it's even better, because it creates an even stronger bond

He wants to teach you, guide you, be your.... well, mentor

But the relationship doesn't stay like that for long

His feelings get so mixed up and he doesn't know how to control himself

Your relationship takes a turn into inappropriate ways. You form a more 'romantic' bond... At least, on his end it does

He's just never met someone like himself before and you get him like no one else does

How could he not love you?

Sure, maybe the age-gap was a little off, but who cares? He loves you and you love him....

You do love him, right?

[narxcisse]

★ — General yandere Viktor headcanons

Yandere!Viktor x GN!Reader

CW: Obsession and yandere behaviors, surveillance and control, manipulation, forced proximity, Vik pretends to depend on you occasionally, isolation(?), takes place in s1

English isn't my native language

Viktor’s analytical nature extends to his obsession. Once he’s fixated on someone, they become the center of his world, overshadowing even his work.

He memorizes every detail about you—your habits, preferences, quirks, and routines. This knowledge is meticulously stored and analyzed to "understand" you better.

Rationalizes his possessiveness as care. He believes he’s the only one who can protect you, especially from the chaos of Zaun and Piltover.

He subtly manipulates circumstances to keep you away from others, framing it as concern for your safety.

Any perceived threat to you triggers his protective instincts. He can be dangerously calculating when dealing with rivals or anyone who might harm you.

He uses his Hextech knowledge to develop devices that monitor or safeguard you—tracking bracelets, automated sentinels, or surveillance systems disguised as gifts.

Viktor uses his calm demeanor to guilt-trip you into compliance. He’ll lament how much he sacrifices for you, subtly steering your choices.

He’ll portray himself as overworked or burdened, implying that your support and closeness are the only things keeping him going.

Viktor impresses you with his intelligence, subtly reinforcing the idea that he’s irreplaceable.

He ensures you rely on him emotionally or practically, making it difficult for you to leave.

He might push himself to the point of exhaustion and subtly blame you for not being there to stop him, saying things like, "If I had you by my side, perhaps I wouldn't push myself this far."

If you ever try to distance yourself, he may consider using his technology to "fix" you, claiming it’s for your benefit.

Viktor’s obsession is methodical. He won’t lash out irrationally but will quietly remove obstacles or manipulate situations to keep you close.

Around you, Viktor shows a softer side that no one else sees (Maybe Jayce sees it sometimes too), making it hard to view him as a threat.

Viktor may mark his territory with small, easily overlooked gestures—insisting you wear a scarf he gave you or leaving his inventions in your home.

Don't underestimate his cane, if you try to run away, he will easily knock you out with it.

If pushed too far, Viktor can become dangerously unhinged. In rare moments of desperation, his calm facade may crack, revealing just how far he’ll go to keep you.

It starts innocently enough—or so it seems. Viktor’s health has been deteriorating more visibly over the past few days. You notice the way he winces when he moves, the increasing reliance on his cane, the exhaustion written across his face.

He brushes off your concern at first, but one night, you find him sitting in his chair, his head resting heavily in his hand, looking utterly defeated.

"I thought I could endure this alone," he says quietly, his voice hoarse with fatigue. "But... I fear I cannot."

You freeze. Viktor has always been stoic, resilient, unwilling to admit weakness. To see him like this sends a pang through your chest.

"I didn’t want to burden you," he continues, his amber eyes meeting yours, glassy with an emotion you can’t quite place. "But it’s becoming harder... to keep going without someone to rely on. Without you."

He doesn’t explicitly ask for anything, but his words hang heavy in the air. You feel his unspoken plea.

"Perhaps it’s selfish," he murmurs, leaning back in his chair as if the weight of the world rests on his shoulders. "But... your presence eases the pain. When you’re near, I feel... stronger."

The way he looks at you—so "vulnerable", so "dependent"—makes it impossible to say no.

"Stay tonight," he says after a pause, his voice almost a whisper. "Just for a while. I need to know you're here."

You hesitate, but his hand reaches out, brushing yours lightly. His touch is cold but steady, grounding in a way that feels both comforting and suffocating.

"Please," he adds softly, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I... don’t want to be alone tonight."

Against your better judgment, you agree. He guides you to sit beside him, his arm brushing against yours. For a while, it’s quiet. Then, almost tentatively, he leans closer, his head resting against your shoulder.

---

After some time, he shifts, feigning discomfort. "Forgive me," he murmurs, his voice strained. "The pain... it’s worse tonight. Would you... hold me? Just for a moment?"

You blink in surprise, but before you can respond, he adds, "I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t unbearable. I just... need to feel that someone cares."

You reluctantly oblige, wrapping your arms around him. He lets out a soft sigh, almost as if in relief, and his own arms tentatively encircle you.

"Thank you," he whispers, his voice tinged with satisfaction. "You have no idea what this means to me."

Even as you sit there, his hold tightens subtly, possessively, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

As the night wears on, you start to feel a creeping realization that this might not have been as innocent as it seemed. Viktor, however, seems content, his gaze soft but calculating as he holds you close.

"Perhaps... you could stay again tomorrow?" he murmurs, the faintest smile playing on his lips. "For my recovery, of course."

[rodolfoparras]

18+ MDNI 18+

Thinking about playfully wrestling with your boyfriend while he makes mindless comments about your strength “oh you’re so strong, don’t think I’d be able to escape even if I wanted,” he says in wonder, eyes practically shining as he squeezes your biceps, “you ought to be careful never know when I can break” he says jokingly while doing a half hearted attempt to try and escape your embrace.

Slowly but surely you start getting more and more rough with him: squeezing and pressing down onto spots, not enough to hurt but enough to make him uncomfortable. “You know what? You’re right. I don’t think you’d be able to get away if someone like me were to attack you.” The relaxed look on his face swiftly turns into one of concern and you can see the way he slowly attempts to back away from you.

But it’s to no avail, he’s trapped in your embrace, with you steadily inching closer to his face, a big sharp grin painted on your own face. “I mean what are you supposed to do? Can’t even push them away,” you say referring to his futile attempts at trying to push you away from him. “Guess you’d just have to stay and take whatever they’re willing to give you,” you continue, proving your point when you easily spread his legs wide and ground your cock up against his ass, all while he can’t do anything but helplessly watch as you twist and turn his body as if he were a ragdoll “Bet there’s plenty of things they would love to do to a pretty boy like you. Don’t you think?”

“Oh god- don’t -dont say that,” he gasps out, head falling into the crook of your neck as if he’s horrified. But you can feel his fully hard cock from where your hand is resting against his thighs , can hear the muffled whines and whimpers as he grinds himself up against you, can see it on him how he he’s torn between pushing you away and completely stopping this little game or pulling you closer to him to see how far you’ll take this.

What a sick little thing you got at your hands.

“How about this?” You say, hand yanking ahold of his hair to bring his ear closer to you “You try to run and we’ll see if I can catch you. Does that sound alright?”

This time you don’t get a verbal response. Instead you can see it on his face what he’s trying to say: and what happens if you catch me?

The silence is swiftly broken with a soft thud as you release your hold on him.”Run, quick,”

He doesn’t waste a second scrambling up the stairs, practically tripping over his feet as he turns corners. He looks and sounds absolute terrified and you can’t help but love that, cock growing harder as you follow him up.

With each step you take you can hear his rapid breaths getting louder and louder , can feel his own thudding steps as you walk down the narrow hallway, can practically smell him - not some cheap cologne nor any deodorant but rather a mix of sickly sweet vanilla and sugar- something that’s just so him - something you’d want to sink your teeth in and drain completely. You follow that very scent all the way to your shared bedroom.

And there he stands, looking like a deer caught in the headlights, or rather like a animal that’s bleeding out on the side of the road, with his cock still painfully hard and with a suspicious dark spot on his sweatpants.

“Oh sweetheart,” you coo, voice dripping with faux concern, while slowly walking up to him like he was an injured animal of some sort. “Why do you look so scared hmm? You know I won’t actually hurt you,” you continue, watching in amusement as he swiftly backs up til his back is flushed with the bedroom wall.

You’re quick to press yourself flush against his chest, once again trapping him in your embrace.“Come on. You wound me. I really wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. You know that,” You say eyes once again flicking up to the wet spot on his pants “Look, got yourself all worked up and for what?” You ask, as you cup the wet bulge over his pants.

“Stop - ah don’t” he cries out, sounding and looking absolutely horrified as he tries to push your hand away but once again it’s to no avail and he has to stand there as you freely grope him. However it doesn’t take much before he’s bucking up into your touch, head lolling back against the wall as whines and whimpers freely pour past his tongue “fuck- so good mph,”

“See sweetheart, I just want to take care of you, wouldn’t dream of hurting you,”you say with a soft smile as you continue to rub him through his pants. The man only furiously nods, begs and please of more more more, continuously rolling off of his tongue as he practically humps the palm of your hand.

“Unless you want me to, that is,” suddenly you’re flipping him around, hand rough as ever as you shove him up against the wall before slotting your leg between his thighs.

The poor thing squeaks in suprise, tears freely spilling from his eyes ,as incoherent words start pouring from his mouth.

“Come on now sweetheart,” you groan out , hand once again yanking at his hair and successfully pulling a hiss from him “you know that need you to use your words. Now tell em what you want yeah?”

Once again he’s fumbling over his words, too overwhelmed with emotions to form a coherent sentence. However you won’t take that for answer, hand once again yanking at his hair till he finally responds to you.

“Want- ah want you to touch me sir ah- please do anything touch me- hah fuck me - hurt me just anything please please-“

“Well who am I to say no when you ask so nicely?”

[aspid-of-roses]

Arcane 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞!𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

First post 🖤

Yandere!Viktor who is intoxicated by the scent of your skin, a warmth that seeps into his soul like the sun breaking through the fog at dawn.

Yandere!Viktor who buries his face in the crook of your neck on his worst days, eyes shut tight, seeking refuge in the steady pulse of your heartbeat. It’s not just comfort—it’s proof. Proof that he’s here, that you’re here. And you’re not leaving.

Yandere!Viktor who doesn’t hide his ambitions with the Hexcore from you. He doesn’t need to. Not from you. You would understand, wouldn’t you? You must understand. Who, if not you, could see the importance in his vision?

Yandere!Viktor who yearns for you to look at him the way he has always looked at you—with awe. It’s foolish, yes. Selfish, absolutely. But why should that matter? Why should anything matter? His world has boiled down to two essential truths: his hexcore dream and you. And in his mind, they are one—inseparable, unable to exist without each other.

Yandere!Viktor who breaks when he realizes he might never accomplish his goal. Guilt festers, corroding his resolve. Torn between the morality he once clung to and the all-consuming, scorching need to be worthy of you. You deserve more, he tells himself. But who is he if not the man who will, who should, become more—for you?

Yandere!Viktor who hears your voice in the depths of the Arcane’s thrall. No hallucination could be so clear. It’s you. It has always been you. Your voice is a beacon, threading through the labyrinth of his mind like a guiding star. You’re calling him, pulling him back, pleading for him to stay. How could he deny you?

Yandere!Viktor whose first instinct upon breaking free is to seize your wrist. His fingers press against your pulse, feeling the blood move beneath your skin. Every beat. Every shift of bone and tendon beneath his touch. It’s real. It’s all real. You’re real. You’re his.

Yandere!Viktor who exhales with a shudder, his voice trembling as if every breath could shatter him. “I came back,” he says, his eyes searching yours. Not for validation—he doesn’t need it anymore—but for the simple reassurance that you see him. Him. Not the machine. Not the Hexcore’s vessel. Him.

Yandere!Viktor whose mismatched, rainbow-tinted eyes never leave you as you lean in. Tears cling to your lashes, filling your already bloodshed eyes. You’re beautiful—so unbearably beautiful—even in pain. Especially in pain.

Yandere!Viktor who traces the curve of your lips with his long, deft fingers. The contrast of cold metal and arcane flesh against your warmth stings on your skin. His eyes flicker down to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze. He sees no fear there. No rejection. Only you.

“You called for me,” he murmurs, voice low, reverent, and unyielding.

“And I came back to you.”

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ꜱ ᴛ ʀ ᴀ ʏ ʀ ᴀ ᴛ ⸻

Pairing: Yandere Viktor x Fem Reader Part 1

Summary: He was just walking at night. Everything was quiet. Everything was fine. What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: Y/n is mentally ill, Viktor is not really obsessed in this part, more like a slow burn.

Notes: I just start watching Arcane but I think I know enough to write about the characters ig? But if I get something wrong I apologize. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

The streets of the Undercity were always cloaked in a heavy, oppressive silence after dark, punctuated only by the occasional sounds of life: a distant shout, the clatter of boots, or the hiss of steam pipes. Viktor didn’t mind the quiet. He’d grown used to it, his mind finding comfort in the routine of walking home, his bag of scavenged parts clinking softly at his side.

Then something hit the ground in front of him.

Hard.

The sound came first, a sharp scrape followed by a low thud that made him jump. Something had landed right in front of him, and for a heart-stopping moment, Viktor thought it was a body.

She was sprawled on the ground, her limbs at odd angles, her chest still. He froze, his mind stuttering to process what he was seeing. A girl. No older than him, dirt-streaked and wild-looking, like she’d been dragged through hell and spat out. Her hair stuck out in every direction, matted and tangled, and her clothes were little more than tattered rags.

For a split second, he thought she was dead.

His heart was pounding, his breath quickening as the shock began to settle into a nervous dread. What was he supposed to do? Call for someone? Leave her here? She looked so small, so broken. He couldn’t just—

Her eyes snapped open.

“Hi.”

Viktor jumped so hard he almost dropped his bag. She smiled up at him, bright and casual, like she hadn’t just fallen from a deadly height and scared the life out of him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Before he could recover, she tilted her head and said, “Can you keep a secret?”

“Wha—”

Her grin widened as if he’d agreed, and suddenly, she lunged at him.

Viktor barely had time to react before she tackled him, pushing him backward and forcing him against the wall of the alley. His bag slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground as she pressed her small, trembling body against his.

“Don’t move,” she whispered urgently. Her eyes flicked toward the mouth of the alley, her body tense like a cornered animal.

He tried to push her off, glaring at her. “What are you—”

She clapped a hand over his mouth, silencing him. The pressure on his mouth tightened as she leaned closer, her body trembling against his. “Don’t breathe,” she whispered urgently, her lips barely moving. “They’ll hear you.”

Don’t breathe? How does she expect me not to—

His lungs began to burn, and panic surged as he realized she wasn’t going to let go. She was staring at the shadows now, her entire body tense like a coiled spring, completely focused on the approaching danger. She didn’t even seem to notice the way he was clawing at her hand, his vision starting to blur from lack of air.

Finally, the shadows passed, and the sound of boots faded into the distance. She exhaled sharply, releasing his mouth as if she’d just remembered he existed. Viktor collapsed forward, wheezing, his hands clutching his knees as he struggled to breathe.

“Sorry,” she said, not sounding particularly sorry at all. She tilted her head, watching him with a strange mix of curiosity and amusement. “Didn’t mean to almost kill you. You okay?”

“Okay?!” he rasped, his voice hoarse. He straightened, glaring at her. “You—what is wrong with you?! You nearly suffocated me!”

She blinked, her grin returning as if he’d just told a joke. “Yeah, but you’re not dead, so it’s fine.”

He stared at her, utterly baffled. “Fine?! I could’ve—” He cut himself off, realizing it was pointless. She didn’t seem to care.

Instead, she crouched down, picking at the dirt under her nails like they hadn’t just been inches from being caught by enforcers. “You shouldn’t be out here, you know,” she said casually, her tone conversational. “It’s dangerous.”

Viktor’s jaw dropped. She’s the one warning me about danger?

“What were you even doing?” he demanded, his voice sharper than he intended.

“Running,” she said simply.

“From who?”

She jerked her thumb toward the direction the enforcers had gone. “Them.”

His frown deepened. “Why?”

Her grin stretched wider, a flicker of pride in her eyes. “Saved someone. They were gonna beat the hell out of him. Couldn’t just let that happen.”

Viktor blinked, startled. “You… saved someone?”

“Yup.” She reached into her pocket and pulled something out. A rat.

She held it up like a prize, its tiny body squirming in her grip. Viktor recoiled.

“This guy!” she said cheerfully, as if she hadn’t just produced a filthy rodent from her pocket. “He told me. Said they were after him. Begged me to help.”

Viktor stared at her, completely at a loss for words. “You… saved a rat?”

She nodded, then tilted her head toward the rat as if listening to it speak. “What’s that? Oh, you’re welcome! Don’t mention it.”

“...You’re talking to a rat,” Viktor said flatly.

She glanced at him, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Of course I’m talking to him. He’s the one who needed help.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache forming. “You are insane.”

“Probably.” She stood up, brushing herself off. Despite the bruises already forming on her arms and the fresh scrapes on her knees, she looked completely unbothered. “But I’m alive, and so are my friend, so we’re good.”

The rat squeaked, and she smiled at it. ���He says you’re rude.”

Viktor closed his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose. Why is this my life?

She stood up suddenly, cradling the rat in her hands. “You should go home.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but she was already walking away, her steps light and carefree as if she hadn’t just caused chaos in his otherwise quiet night. She paused at the mouth of the alley, glancing back at him with that wild, mischievous grin.

“See you around,” she called, disappearing into the shadows before he could respond.

For a long moment, Viktor just stood there, staring at the spot where she’d been. He felt like he’d just been hit by a storm, his mind still struggling to process what had happened.

He picked up his bag with a sigh, shaking his head. “She’s insane.”

Viktor wiped the sweat from his brow as he leaned over the rickety workbench, his hands busy tightening a bolt on his latest contraption. The hum of the old generator filled the small workshop, its dim light flickering in time with the buzzing of loose wires overhead. The Undercity was quiet for once, save for the occasional shout in the distance.

It was peaceful. Or, at least, it had been.

“Viiiktorrr!”

The sing-song voice startled him so badly that he dropped the wrench. It clattered loudly to the floor as he whipped around, his heart racing.

And there she was.

She leaned casually against the doorframe, an apple in one hand and her rat perched on her shoulder like some demented pirate. Her grin was wide and far too pleased with herself as she tilted her head, studying him like he was the intruder.

“Why—how did you get in here?”

She grinned, unbothered, an apple in her hand as she lazily leaned back on her elbows. “You didn’t lock the door, genius. What if I was here to rob you?” She took a loud bite of the apple, the crunch echoing obnoxiously through the small room.

“I don’t have anything worth stealing,” Viktor muttered, turning back to his work and deliberately ignoring her presence.

“Well, that’s sad.” She hopped off the bench, wandering around the room like it was her personal gallery. “This place is… cramped. Smells weird too.”

“It smells like grease and metal,” Viktor said dryly, narrowing his eyes at the mess on his table.

“Exactly.” She wrinkled her nose before holding up a mangled piece of scrap. “What even is this?”

“Put that down.”

She made a dramatic show of tossing it over her shoulder—thankfully onto a pile of equally worthless junk—and walked over to him, planting herself directly in his line of sight.

“Guess what,” she said, leaning in with a grin.

Viktor sighed, running a hand down his face. “I don’t have time for games.”

“That’s a boring guess. Wrong!” She plopped the apple onto the workbench and reached into her pocket, pulling out a very familiar rat.

He groaned. “Not that thing again.”

She gasped, clutching the rat to her chest as if he’d insulted her firstborn child. “Richard is not a thing, Viktor!” she half-yelled, her voice indignant.

“Richard,” Viktor repeated flatly, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, Richard!” She set the rat on the table like a proud parent. “He’s very sensitive, you know. You should apologize.”

“I am not apologizing to a rat.”

“Then I’m not leaving.” She grinned, folding her arms like she’d won.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, pushing his chair back and pointing toward the far corner. “Keep him away from my tools. And don’t touch anything.”

She pouted, scooping up the rat and tucking it into her pocket. “Fine. But you’re no fun, Smarty.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Why? It suits you.” She tilted her head, smirking. “Besides, you talk all fancy. It’s cute.”

“I do not talk—”

“Yes, you do,” she insisted, mimicking his accent in a way that was both wildly inaccurate and annoyingly exaggerated. “Eet’s naht a secret, ya?”

He groaned, turning back to his work. “If you’re here to annoy me, you can leave.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, Vitya.” She hopped off the crate, leaning over his shoulder to peer at the contraption he was working on. Her breath tickled his ear, and he tensed, trying to ignore the way she was so close.

“What are you even working on?” she asked, her voice full of curiosity.

“A stabilizer,” he replied shortly.

She leaned in even closer, resting her chin on her hand as she watched him work. “For what?”

“For something you will break if you touch it,” Viktor shot back.

She gasped again, this time in mock offense. “I would never!”

He gave her a pointed look, and she immediately grinned, not even bothering to deny it.

“Y’know,” she said after a while, her voice oddly thoughtful, “you’re doing that wrong.”

“I am not—” Viktor froze, frowning as he turned to her. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, taking another bite of the apple. “That thingy. It’s supposed to go there, not there.” She pointed with the apple, juice dripping onto the table.

He hesitated, frowning at the wire. She wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t about to admit that. “And what would you know about engineering?”

“Nothing,” she said brightly. “But Richard does.”

He turned to look at her, dumbfounded. “The rat?”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “He’s very smart. Aren’t you, Richard?” She scratched the rat under its chin, cooing at it like a mother with her baby.

Against his better judgment, Viktor adjusted the piece to where she’d pointed. To his disbelief, the mechanism clicked into place, the spring he’d been wrestling with finally snapping into alignment.

“See?” She leaned in closer, smirking. “You’re welcome.”

He stared at her, bewildered. “How—?”

“I told you. Richard is very smart.” She wiggled her fingers at him, laughing when he rolled his eyes.

“You are insufferable,” Viktor muttered, turning back to his work.

“And you’re boring,” she countered, leaning against the workbench and smirking at him. “But you’re lucky you have me. Otherwise, this thing would’ve blown up in your face.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If you’re going to stay, at least don’t—”

“Touch anything? Got it,” she said, immediately picking up one of his tools and inspecting it.

He groaned, muttering under his breath in his native tongue. She just grinned wider, spinning the wrench in her hand as she leaned in closer to watch him work.

“See?” she said after a moment. “This is fun. Like teamwork.”

“This is not teamwork,” Viktor grumbled, already regretting every life choice that had led to this moment.

But as much as he hated to admit it, her advice—whether it came from her or the rat—did help.

“Hey, Smarty?” she said suddenly, her voice softer this time.

“What?”

She smiled, her grin less wild and more genuine, though still laced with mischief. “Don’t forget to lock the door next time. Richard and I might not always be the ones sneaking in.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

She gave him a mock salute, tossing the apple core onto his workbench despite his protests. “Catch you later, Smarty.”

And just like that, she was gone, leaving him to stare at the space she’d just vacated. Viktor shook his head, muttering under his breath. “That girl is going to be the death of me.”

From the corner of the room, Richard squeaked, and for a moment, Viktor thought he almost agreed.

“You walk too slow,” she complained, glancing over her shoulder. “You’re lucky I have patience.”

Viktor snorted softly. “Patience? That would be a first.”

She giggled, stopping abruptly in front of him. Before he could ask what she was doing, she pulled out a piece of fabric.

“Turn around,” she ordered.

Viktor blinked, confused. “Why?”

“Just do it!” she said, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. “It’s a surprise, Smarty. Trust me.”

“Somehow, that is not very reassuring,” he muttered, but he complied, turning his back to her. He stiffened as she tied the fabric around his eyes, her fingers quick and confident.

“Why the blindfold?” he asked warily.

“Because,” she said, her voice unusually soft, “I want to make sure you trust me. I trust you, after all.”

Her tone caught him off guard, the sudden sincerity cutting through her usual chaos. For a moment, Viktor hesitated, his instinct to question her motives clashing with something deeper, something harder to name.

“…Fine,” he said at last.

“Good!” she chirped, back to her usual self. “Now, no peeking.”

She grabbed his arm, tugging him along with surprising determination. He stumbled a few times, half-expecting her to lead him into a wall or worse, but she guided him steadily, her grip firm and warm.

Finally, she came to a stop. Viktor felt her hands brush against his face as she untied the blindfold.

“TADA!”

Viktor blinked, his vision adjusting to the dim light. Then he took in the “place” she was so proud of.

It wasn’t a place at all—not really. They were in an abandoned corner, tucked between crumbling walls and piles of junk. Her “home” was a patchwork of scavenged materials: a makeshift roof of tarps stretched across beams, a tattered mattress shoved into one corner, and a collection of odd trinkets arranged on a broken shelf. It was… bleak.

She stood in the center, beaming at him like she’d just unveiled a grand palace. But when he didn’t say anything right away, her smile faltered. She shifted her weight, looking down and twisting her fingers together nervously.

“You don’t like it?” Her voice was small, hesitant in a way that was so unlike her usual bravado.

The words snapped Viktor out of his shock. “No! No, it’s not that.” He stepped closer, shaking his head. “I just… I wasn’t expecting this.”

She tilted her head, her grin slowly returning. “What were you expecting?”

“Well…” He hesitated, gesturing vaguely. “I thought you were… a stray.”

For a moment, she stared at him blankly. Then she burst out laughing, doubling over and clutching her stomach. “A stray?! What, like Richard?”

Viktor crossed his arms, waiting for her laughter to subside. “You can’t blame me for thinking it. You never stay in one place for long.”

“Fair,” she admitted, wiping a tear from her eye. Then she grabbed his hand, tugging him toward her shelf of trinkets. “C’mere, you’ve got to see this!”

She picked up each item on the shelf—a cracked pocket watch, a jar of mysterious glowing liquid, a rusted gear—and explained its significance with the excitement of a child showing off their toys.

“Look at this! I found it in a pile of junk. It’s still got some working parts!” She set it aside and picked up something else. “And this? Don’t even get me started. I bet I could make it do something cool if I had more time.”

Viktor watched her, his heart sinking. She was like a child showing off a collection of treasures, her enthusiasm genuine and almost heartbreaking.

“This,” she said, holding up a jagged piece of glass, “is my favorite. It reflects the light just right when the sun hits it.”

“And when does the sun ever hit it?” Viktor asked dryly, though his lips twitched with the ghost of a smile.

“Details,” she said, waving him off.

Despite himself, Viktor couldn’t help but feel… pity. This wasn’t a home. It was barely a shelter. And yet, she looked at it like it was a treasure trove. She didn’t even seem to realize how precarious her situation was.

But as she talked, Viktor noticed something else—something that unsettled him as much as it intrigued him.

She wasn’t stupid.

The things she said, the way she pieced together scraps and made connections that no one else would think to make—it was… brilliant, in its own way. Unorthodox and chaotic, yes, but undeniably sharp.

And yet… she was clearly unwell. The way she talked to the rat like it could understand her, the way her mood shifted so suddenly, the way she clung to this place like it was the only thing tethering her to reality—it all painted a picture of someone barely holding herself together.

“You don’t talk much,” she said suddenly, interrupting his thoughts.

“I’m listening,” Viktor replied.

“Good.” She smiled, setting down the glass shard and turning to him with an intensity that made him feel like she was looking straight through him. “Because I think you’re the only one who ever does.”

The weight of her words settled over him, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say.

“I should go,” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual.

Her smile faltered again, but she nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

As he turned to leave, she called out after him.

“Hey, Smarty?”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“Thanks for coming.”

Viktor nodded, his chest tightening as he stepped out into the dark streets. The image of her standing in that pitiful excuse for a home, smiling like it was the only place she’d ever belonged, stayed with him long after he left.

Viktor was lost in his work again, the world outside his dimly lit workshop fading into nothing more than background noise. He liked it that way. The soft clink of tools and the occasional hiss of steam were soothing in their predictability, a stark contrast to the chaos that so often surrounded him.

Then the door slammed open.

The noise jolted him, his tool slipping and clattering to the floor. He turned sharply, irritation flashing across his face—until he saw her.

She stood in the doorway, swaying on her feet, blood staining her clothes and dripping onto the floor. Her face was pale, and her wild grin was a shadow of its usual self.

“Hi, Smarty,” she said, her voice faint and trembling. Then her knees buckled, and she collapsed.

“Shit!” Viktor scrambled toward her, dropping to his knees beside her limp body. His heart pounded as he gently turned her over, his hands trembling.

She was a mess. Blood smeared her face, matted her hair, and soaked through her tattered clothes. A gash on her forehead bled freely, her stomach was stained dark with more blood, and—Gods—her hand. Two fingers were gone, the stumps crudely wrapped in a filthy piece of cloth.

“Stay with me,” he muttered, his voice shaking as he checked for signs of life. Her chest rose and fell, shallow but steady. Relief flooded through him, but it was short-lived. She needed help, now.

Without wasting another second, Viktor lifted her as carefully as he could, carrying her to the workbench. He swept tools and scraps onto the floor, clearing a space to lay her down.

Her head lolled to the side, and he caught sight of the deep cut along her scalp. Blood trickled down her temple, pooling beneath her. He swallowed hard, grabbing a clean rag and pressing it against the wound.

“Why do you always have to get yourself into trouble?” he muttered, his voice tight.

She didn’t answer, of course. Her eyes were closed, her expression strangely peaceful despite the state she was in.

Viktor worked quickly, cleaning her wounds with the limited supplies he had. The gash on her head was bad, but not fatal. He stitched it carefully, his hands steady despite the fear clawing at his chest.

Then he moved to her stomach. He hesitated for a moment before pushing her shirt up, revealing a deep, jagged cut just above her hip. Blood oozed from the wound, staining his hands as he worked to clean and bandage it.

“You’re going to be fine,” he said, more to himself than to her. “You always fight back, don’t you?”

But when he unwrapped her hand, his breath caught in his throat.

Two of her fingers were gone, the wounds raw and poorly bandaged. He couldn’t stop himself from staring, his mind racing with questions. What had happened to her?

Once her wounds were patched as best as he could manage, Viktor sat back, his chest heaving. His workshop was a mess, the floor streaked with blood, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was the girl lying unconscious on his bench.

He pulled up a chair, his legs threatening to give out beneath him. Resting his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands.

“You’re going to drive me mad,” he whispered, his voice thick with frustration and fear.

For what felt like hours, he stayed by her side, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. He couldn’t shake the image of her smile, the way she’d said “hi” like nothing was wrong. Even now, as she lay broken and bleeding, he could picture her laughing it off.

But this was different. This wasn’t some harmless scrape or reckless stunt.

And as he sat there, the weight of it all settled over him like a suffocating fog. She didn’t have anyone else. No one to look out for her, to keep her safe. No one but him.

It had been three days since Viktor had found her, bloody and broken, lying in his arms, barely clinging to life. Three long days of constant vigilance—watching over her, cleaning her wounds, trying to keep her alive. And yet, every time he thought she was stable, every time he thought she might pull through, the weight of the situation would crush him all over again.

Viktor hadn’t left her side. He hadn’t dared. Every time he thought about stepping away—just to get a bit of fresh air, to get something to eat—he’d look at her pale, unconscious form, and the thought would vanish. He couldn’t leave her like this.

He was exhausted. His hands were sore, his body stiff, but he refused to leave. His thoughts had been a blur, haunted by the image of her pale, still body, unable to understand why she wasn’t responding. Why was she still unconscious? Was there something else wrong with her?

This time, though, he’d gone out. For a brief moment, he had left the room, telling himself that she was stable. Just long enough to bring back food. Nothing elaborate—just enough to feed them both, something to give him the energy to continue.

He walked back in, the familiar scent of stale air mixed with fresh food filling the space. He set the food down on the small table beside her makeshift bed, a little too loudly.

And then, as he sat beside her, something happened that made his blood run cold.

He noticed it.

Her chest… didn’t rise.

For a split second, everything seemed to freeze. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at her.

“No, no, no…” he whispered, his fingers trembling as he reached out to touch her neck, feeling for a pulse. Nothing. He put his fingers under her nose to feel her breathing, but it remained still.

There was no breath. No movement.

He felt a coldness seeping into his veins as panic set in. She’s… she’s dead? His mind couldn’t process it. There was no way. He hadn’t let her slip away. He couldn’t have.

His hands moved frantically to her chest. He placed his ear against her ribs, trying to hear any sign of life. He focused—listened—his heartbeat thudding loudly in his ears, trying to block out the noise in his head.

And then, he heard it.

A faint thump.

His breath caught.

A heartbeat.

A heartbeat?

But then—

“Ouch!”

Viktor jolted, pulling back as pain shot through his side. A small, sharp pinch had found its mark, right in the flesh of his ribs.

“Surprise!”

Viktor froze, staring at her, his eyes wide with disbelief as she sat up, her disheveled hair falling around her face. The woman who he had thought was dead, the one who had terrified him with her stillness, was now grinning at him like it was the funniest thing in the world.

Her laugh echoed in the room, light and teasing, as if nothing had just happened. As if she hadn’t nearly killed him with worry.

“What the hell?!” Viktor shouted, standing up abruptly, his face flushed with anger. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

She didn’t even flinch. She just sat there, grinning like an impish child who had just pulled the best prank of the century.

“You… you think this is funny?” His voice was tight with frustration as he paced around the room. “Does it amuse you to scare the hell out of me?!”

Her expression didn’t change, though her smile faltered slightly. She didn’t speak, just tilted her head slightly as if he was the strange one in all of this.

Viktor took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, though the anger was still boiling in his veins. He turned back to her, glaring. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through these last three days?!” His voice cracked slightly, but he pushed on. “I thought you were dead, and I—I—I couldn’t…”

She was still silent. Her eyes just stared at him, wide and calm, watching his outburst with something akin to amusement, as though he were an animal in a cage.

His fists clenched at his sides, and he exhaled sharply through his nose. “Why won’t you talk?”

And then, just as Viktor was about to say something else, she spoke.

“I’m happy.”

The words were simple, quiet, almost like a child speaking a secret. She smiled again, the soft curve of her lips more genuine this time.

“You’re happy?” Viktor blinked, taken aback by the simplicity of it. “What, are you out of your mind? How can you be happy after all that?!”

She nodded, her expression almost serene. “Yeah, I’m happy. I’m happy because you were worried about me.”

Viktor stared at her, his face hardening. He couldn’t even process what she had just said. “You think that’s funny?”

Her smile didn’t falter. “Not funny, no. Just… good.” She tilted her head, looking at him with those wide, knowing eyes. “Good that you care.”

Viktor clenched his jaw, trying to fight back the swell of emotion that threatened to overtake him.

He didn’t want to care about her, not this way. Not after everything. He didn’t want to feel this deep, gnawing responsibility for her well-being. But… she had a way of making him feel as if he had no other choice.

“You’re insane,” he muttered under his breath, his tone barely holding back frustration.

She let out a small, soft laugh, almost like she had just cracked a secret code. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

Viktor closed his eyes for a moment, pressing his fingers to his temples as if he could somehow chase away the headache that had started to form. He was trying so hard to stay composed, trying so hard to make sense of all of this, but it felt like the more he tried to control it, the more chaotic it became.

He took a deep breath and then looked at her again.

She was still looking at him, waiting for him to say something.

“I’m not happy you put me through hell,” Viktor said quietly, his voice rough with the weight of his frustration. “But I…”

She leaned forward, her smile widening slightly. “You do care.”

Viktor’s lips twitched. He bit his bottom lip hard enough to almost taste blood. He knew she was right. Damn it, she was right.

“I don’t know what to do with you,” he said under his breath.

She giggled. “That’s okay. I like it that way.”

“You’re lucky I don’t just leave you here,” he muttered, though even as he said it, he knew he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

She was right about one thing—he had been worried for her. He hadn’t even realized how much until she finally woke up and proved how absurdly difficult it was to understand her.

But her smile—it was the same smile, the one that hadn’t changed since he first met her, the one that made everything she did feel... wrong.

“Don’t go,” she said softly, her voice suddenly serious.

Viktor looked at her, his expression hard. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And in that moment, Viktor realized just how tangled they both were—trapped in this strange dance, this odd connection. She had no idea how much she scared him. How much her antics were eating at him. But for some reason, he stayed.

And somehow, that was the scariest part of it all.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[weepingchronicles]

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

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

❝yandere!viktor x gn! reader❞

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[yanderearcane]

Yandere Viktor Headcanons

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

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

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

He was quite entangled by you

His entanglement turned into obsession

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

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

Leaves little prototypes outside your home

Is flattered when you use them/like them

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

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

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

You wanted Viktor's help

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

Your flattered and a little surprise by his sudden boldness

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

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

[lovesick-desires]

VALETUDINARIANISM

YANDERE!VIKTOR X IMMUNOCOMPROMISED!READER — CHAPTER ONE

⇢ NEXT CHAPTER

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SONG OF THE FIC: DISEASE - LADY GAGA

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[married-to-google-translater]

How will react yandere viktor with a kanao reader ?

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

No worries your English is good

Yandere Viktor

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

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

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

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

You put a surprising amount of faith in fate.

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

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

Yandere tendencies would start to increase slowly

Actually Viktor would talk more.

You usually focused on listening.

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

He would be afraid that you would leave him someday.

Viktor wouldn't let this happen...

[mossangelll]

yandere!viktor x reader

machine herald controlling you you to the point of infantilisation⁉️

this is probably on the fringe for a lot of people but the idea of a yandere going to such extremes because they “know what’s best for you” and experiencing such a dehumanising loss of agency scratches an itch for me

tw: forced age regression, uncomfortable dynamics, forced drugging, toxic behaviour

“Do you want the crayons or the storybook, hm?” he holds them up to you in either hand, “Speak up for me. I know my darling can do it.” If you didn’t know any better about him and the horrific things he’s capable of, you would honestly believe the gentle cadence paired with his own unique twang was calming and paternal.

What a sick fuck.

He had that smarmy grin plastered to his face as he watched you in silence, waiting for a response that obviously would never come. After all, he made you a makeshift pacifier that was strapped inside your mouth using soft fabric that also wrapped around your hands. He took your voice and mobility all in one fell swoop and you were helpless against him.

“Aw, poor little thing. You must be tired, eh?” His cold metal hand comes to press against your forehead, thumb easing away the tension etched there.

He hoists you up with ease from where you were sat at your miniature table and carries you over to a large mattress in the corner of your room, what he’s lovingly dubbed your “crib” due to the child-friendly gates surrounding it, and places you amongst the sea of soft plushies and pillows.

He sits down next to you on the edge of the bed and smooths the stray hairs that have come out out your immaculate hair do, one he did for you, of course. He wants to be a reassuring presence for you but as you lay before him, you feel bile rise in your throat.

The frustration continues to well up and your eyes burn with unshed tears until you can’t hold them back anymore and you sob. But even your cries come out muffled and you’re not able to truly express the anguish that rages inside of you, a freedom that is your birthright.

Why, out of everyone, did you end up with this psycho that treats you like a child?

Viktor lets out a soft gasp and immediately crouches down by your side. “Shh darling, everything will be ok. Seeing you like this makes me very upset, you know.” He coos but the wide smile he doesn’t even bother to hide tells a different story.

He leaves you for just a moment, fearful of what kind of accidents you could get into in his absence, he once said. You rolled your eyes at the time, still fighting for your independence with venomous words and sharp rebuttals, and was promptly punished for your disobedience. It wasn’t the first time and definitely won’t the last, but now you’re more accepting of your position with Viktor’s - better to make your life easier by giving into his unusual desires than be punished again and again and again until you finally learn your lesson.

He comes back with a steaming mug of hot chocolate, cooled just enough that it wouldn’t burn your mouth.

He pulls a vial full of a pale yellow liquid out of his pocket and drops two splashes of it into your drunk before giving it a good stir. He does this in plain view of you, knowing that there’s nothing you can do to stop him. Though your untrusting gaze cuts right through him, he continues on not caring about what you think is “moral”. He scoffs at such black and white thinking; you don’t have the knowledge and power he does, so how could you ever care for yourself the way he can?

“Drink up, darling. You’ll feel right as rain in no time.” He doesn’t give you the option of declining as he’s quick to pull out your pacifier and press the mug against your lips, cradling your head forwards so you don’t choke.

The hot chocolate is rich and velvety, smooth and indulgent with a slight edge you’re not quite able to place. Something of his invention, no doubt. Viktor often forbade you from eating too many sweets so this was clearly his way of placating you, baiting you into being on your best behaviour.

It’s unnerving, the way his curious amber eyes stare into yours with no intention of looking away, as if you were a perplexing equation he needed to find the solution to. You were simply something he needed to fix, a small stepping stone that meant nothing in his greater plan to solve humanity’s suffering.

Your head feels cloudy as you slowly fall into a smaller version of yourself, one that’s scared of the dark and cries whenever Viktor leaves.

You hate that he’s reduced you to a shadow of your former self, forcing you to act like a child while you frantically grip onto the disintegrating remnants of your past life. You hate the way your eyes start to flicker as drowsiness engulfs each of your senses - you especially hate feeling like you’re rolling over and simply allowing him do as he pleases, but as much as you wish to protest and scream you’re rendered still by whatever concoction he spiked your drink with.

Either way, he would probably get some depraved enjoyment out of you having a tantrum, since it only goes to prove that you need him to look after you and you’d rather not supply him with more fodder for the fire.

Viktor begins to hum a childhood song from the undercity but when the melody reaches your ears, it’s dampened like your head is submerged deep underwater.

He reaches for your hand which you limply grab onto with what little strength you have left, “There, there, little one. Close your eyes and sleep. You’re safe here.”

And sleep you do.

masterlist

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ BLOMSTERTID, PART FOUR !

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

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 10.7k

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

vi's yandere traits are . . .

ambitious, territorial, & controlling

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wind chimes. 

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

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

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

“Mama…” They whimper, cracked and devastated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Violet.” A smooth accent speaks.

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

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

She displays her badge like a shimmering trophy. 

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

“Still doesn’t answer my question.” 

“It’s written on your face.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I warned you, filthy rat.” 

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

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

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

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

She folds her long arms over her chest. 

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

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

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

“Then, do you recognize this person?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A sneer itches at his lips. 

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

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

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

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

“Power that Jinx could want, perhaps?” 

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

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

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

A soft fog drapes over his expression. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me try talking to them.” 

This grasps her attention.

“You… You wish to speak to Y/N? Why?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another mouthful of liquor burns her throat as it descends. 

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

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

“Y/N…” 

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

“Sheesh, kid. Back at it again?” 

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

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

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

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

“Shut up… Dick…” 

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get ‘ye home.” 

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

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

“Enforcer… Fucking joke…” 

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

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

“Y/N…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And just like that, the war is over.

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Sweetheart…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

The memories then strike like cold water. 

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

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

“Please…” 

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

“Do not hurt me…” 

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

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

“You think I wanna hurt you, baby?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Easy, Sweets. Just you and me here.” 

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

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

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

“Why did you abandon me…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that so?” She further challenges. 

“’The fuck else would it mean?” 

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

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

“Search the grounds.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh… Hello there, little one…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Violet…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is really getting irritating.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vi’s voice perfuses next. 

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

“Shut up!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck. C’mere-” 

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

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

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

“Jinx was so, so cruel, Violet.” 

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

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

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

“You…” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Tastes like candy, I bet.” 

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

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

“Violet…” 

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

“Allow me to kiss you. Please.” 

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

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

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

“Sleep…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Isha.”

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

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

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

No matter what it takes.

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

❝ YOU REALLY GOT A HOLD ON ME,

SO THIS ISN'T JUST PUPPY LOVE . . . ❞

gif creds.

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[reareaotaku]

If you accept what Yandere Viktor would be like, with a reader a little younger than him... I kind of comically imagine that the reader once innocently said he saw him as his father...

Note: Viktor is in love with the reader, but has not yet declared himself.

((Imagine how funny and sad it would be if the person you liked saw you as a father figure and not a future boyfriend/husband.))

You're from @yan-randomfandom blog, huh?

Tw: Suggestive/Implied NSFW

Originally, he took you under his wing as his successor, as he had no children of his own. He had years over your head, so why did it feel like you understand him? Like you knew him better than anyone in his years; Only you could understand him.

You had never had a present father figure in your life, so when Viktor took you under his wing, you were quick to take a liking to him. In fact, you adored him. His mind was well beyond his years and you admired him for it. He was everything you ever wanted and the father you never did.

So, imagine your surprise when it seemed something more was a foot... Viktor had started to act strange- Stranger than usual. He had been... well affectionate.

---

You liked Viktor's study, it reminded you so much of him. His writing and theories covered the walls and tables and it gave you motivation to do whatever you were doing. You straightened up when hearing the door open. You turned your head when hearing the door close and let out a sigh when seeing Viktor.

You smile, standing up and walking over to him. He opens his arms and encases you into a hug, squeezing you tight. You can feel him twirling your hair in between his hand and feel him humming from deep within his chest.

"I love you, Y/n."

"I love you, too, Viktor."

It was such an insignificant thing to you. You did love Viktor, but you didn't realize what you were signing yourself up for.

---

Viktor was handsome, anyone with eyes could see that, but you saw him as so much more. He was caring, compassionate, and intelligent. You sometimes wished you could be with more, but it seemed taboo, so you never pushed for anything more.

Viktor, though, was starting to lose his patience. How much longer could he play the long game and hope you pick up on his courtship? It was like a game with you. A one-sided game where the other player had no idea they were playing.

You felt like you were playing tug-a-war with your mind and heart. Your mind said it was wrong, since he was your mentor, but your heart claimed he was so much more. He was everything... But maybe you were just obsessed? Infatuated.

Viktor would never describe himself as the infatuated or even obsessed type. Though, with you, he couldn't control himself. You were perfect.

---

Viktor watched you continue to write your papers, as he leaned back in his chair. You had to feel his eyes on you, but it seemed it didn't bother you. He liked that about you; You held yourself highly, even though you were surrounded by prestigious assholes who thought they were better than you. You were better than that and you knew that. You were special.

You felt eyes on you and looked back to see Viktor. A light pink dusted your cheek, and you quickly covered your face as you looked away. It felt a little childish to hide your crush like a school teen, but you couldn't help it.

---

It was getting late. You could see the moon high in the sky and you were worried about the dangerous sidewalks. You should have been home hours ago, but now it was to late to go on bout the should haves.

You were startled when hearing the door open.

"You're still here?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess I got really sucked in."

You hear Viktor hum as his footsteps get closer. "Why don't you stay here tonight?"

"With you?" Your eyes widened and you quickly covered your mouth when the words left your mouth. Both of your faces turned a light pink and he looks away from you while rubbing the back of his neck.

"I mean... If you want too obviously."

"Of course I'd want too- I mean, you know, because it's so late..."

"Of course... Of course," He pats your shoulder in a reassuring way and you sigh, your shoulders relaxing.

---

You laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling. What were you with this man? You looked over at Viktor, wondering if he saw you as something more then a pupil. He had too... Didn't he?

You watch him stir in his sleep and you sit up, covering yourself with the blanket. He groans and rubs his head, before he too sits up. He runs a hand through his hair, before freezing when realizing he wasn't alone in the bed.

He looks over to you and his face turned a dark red. "Uh, Y/n-"

"Viktor..."

"Soo..."

There's a moment of silence, before you chuckle, causing him to look at you confused.

"You know, uh, I used to see you as like a father. I never thought we would be... something else."

"Father? Me? Seriously?"

You look over at him, feeling the awkwardness go away. "Yeah. I mean how could I not?"

"I would be a terrible father."

"But you'd be a better lover?"

"No... No, I wouldn't.