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Long-awaited

Viktor x Reader | 18+ MDNI | One-shot | 7k+ words | Written for the event of Arcane Hallo-week 2022

Halloweek days 3 and 4: Mages, witches, and wizards & Monster AU

Summary: You have waited patiently for a sign, a reminder, that you would get a familiar. And the wait was well worth it.

Out of all creatures, though, you were not expecting an incubus.

Tags: Incubus Viktor, witch Reader, some allusions to animal blood, a smidge of horror themes, rituals, PinV, a smidge of overstimulation

After requesting incubus Viktor a few months ago, I decided to finally write some incubus Viktor too:) I want to thank all of my friends for this because I was so annoying to them about this fic KJNDKFNSK But especially @thedreamlessnights and @fly-like-egyptian-musk because they betaed the early stages of this fic and gave some very valuable input<3. Also, a huge smooch to @grumpyoutlaw because I'm using her design of Incubus Viktor, which you can find here!:D

When your fellow wizards, witches, and mages told you that a familiar should be chosen the moment a very particular mark made itself known in your skin, you hadn’t expected for that mark to appear on your chest, right over where your heart steadily beat.

Much less were you expecting that kind of mark to appear.

But you knew what it meant. You knew it meant that finally, finally, the time to choose a familiar came. That moment every magical born waited the first part of their lives for, that being who would be intrinsically connected in ways no one, except for the people in the bond, would be able to.

An old grimoire dictated every step you should follow to successfully find that thread that would inevitably connect you to your familiar. Countless of your kind have looked and used that old, failproof grimoire, and countless of your kind will look and use that old, failproof grimoire in the future, too. Eons after your body turned to dust and returned to the nature it once belonged to.

Some got animals; from simple fishes to powerful phoenixes. they were plain, yes, not as potent as other types of familiars, but they also came without problems such as a neglect of your personal life, or regular journeys to otherworldly realms.

Others got beings that were not animals but didn't belong to the otherealms either, such as werewolves, vampires, faes, aluxes, or even ghosts. Hidden in the shadows of their summoner, becoming companions for the rest of their lives.

You, however, had a very peculiar mark, imprinted in a color that was reminiscent of liquid metal, iridescence marking your skin with a sigil that served as the foretelling of what was to come. People like you wore their marks with pride, but isolation was the price to pay for such a powerful bond. Magicals like you were eternally bonded to creatures out of human comprehension: angels, eldritch invocations, incubi, succubus, or even small deities. You would be destined for greatness, prowess, and unimaginable feats, as long as you’d complied with your end of the contract.

Contracts between familiars and users were as varied as the types of relationships between these two types of beings. They ranged from keeping a familiar clean, safe, and fed, to helping them become more powerful, astute, and talented. The promise of a vendetta, entire empires, or just plain company was fine for some.

Even though familiar and user were almost destined to be partnered– as their blood and their magic essences called for each other in the dark– familiars could always refuse the offer.

It left the mages in question absolutely devastated. They would develop an incommensurable sadness, exploding anger, sharp desperation, and desolation of their very being. It was enough to drive them crazy– to end with their own lives, even.

Although you didn't want this to happen, you also wanted to provide more than just a necessity, more than a symbiotic relationship for your companion. You wanted more than just leeching off each other’s magic power and precision to enchant this strong magic.

You had heard the awful stories about irresponsible mages who threw away their partners, and treated them as mere dirt on their shoes when they accumulated power and recognition. You saw them in stray dogs, whales who wandered lost in melancholy along the seas, and pixies whose light was just a dim ember engulfed by the darkness of loneliness. Vampires who tasted a smidge of camaraderie were left to fend off by themselves in their endless thirst. Succubus who no longer knew which home they could go to, left to haunt stranger's dreams until their lust was satisfied.

You wouldn't want that– for whoever ended up in a partnership with you to feel isolated, abandoned, or neglected. You would make them feel as if their presence in your craft and your life was welcomed. Because it was the truth. You hoped that through this bond you were able to find another friend, a sibling, or a second parent, someone to share your life with. Someone that understood the loneliness that gnawed at your bones since you were just a child, marked forever by the weight of potential, of a promise to harness magic like no one in your generation could.

You still remembered the pointed glares of other children, when all the parents reunited their kindred once a month to watch your progress and the way your magic was developing. The old generation gave away their knowledge, selflessly hoping for the newer generation to take what was given to them and transform it into something new, something that would serve them even though the passage of time was relentless in its advance, hoping. Hoping that this wisdom wouldn’t be twisted and distorted into unsavory, or much worse, ruthless practices that all of the elders were trying to abandon with each year new kids initiated themselves into magic.

This, however, didn’t prevent your schoolfellows from looking at you weirdly, poignantly. You were an oddity by the sole fact that you could, since a young age, foretell strange happenstances like strong rainstorms, natural disasters hitting the small towns nearby your own, someone dear to your family passing away without any further signaling, or strikes of luck that would affect members of other families and that you, without any further training, could predict in the way flower blossoms flowed in the wind, or in the way ground coffee left a stain on your small napkins.

At first, the elders of the small region thought it was just the gift of prophecy. But then came the bending of the elements. Seeing things that, to the untrained eye, weren’t there. The ghostseers recognized your ability to talk with the dearly departed, with the mischievous spirits too. Then came the tongue-tying spells that flowed easily through your teeth, wishing for good luck to those who ventured and succeeded in the endeavor of becoming a beloved friend. And when the more sharp accusations came, you didn’t hold back in the mind-bending curses, or the ghost-following maledictions directed to those who, as you, couldn’t hold back their tongues regarding you or your potential.

You were what other magicals called an all-rounder. Being able to master all of the arts in your own craft. Feared because of this, your mothers promptly encouraged you to seek the truth and be kind but taking no evil into you or the ones close to your heart. You wore this ability to see the good inside the bad with pride, like a badge to prove the others that, no matter how grim or unsalvageable any predicament could be, there was always a positive side.

But all-rounders consumed more magic power than regular magicals. Their potential wears them out constantly, leaving them always tired and in need of feeding. They usually needed strong familiars to be able to fulfill their promised mastery. And they rarely got bonded with these kinds of familiars. As if nature mocked you all, taunting you with something you couldn’t have. And your home alongside the neighboring towns sighed in relief.

But then your mark appeared.

Once you had received the mark, wearing a smile despite your anxiety, you gathered the ingredients you needed: Rabbit blood, swan feathers, happy tears of a dragon, rose water, pink salt, rose quartz, and lavender. The bones of three mice, of at least three years since their deaths, alongside the ashes of a dearly deceased one.

Then, a few days before the summoning ritual, the rose water and lavender had been mixed with the tears. A few of your spells, blessings, seals, and potions had been exchanged for other goods: meat, cheese, rosé, spices, a red velvet cape with golden embroidery, new boots of beautiful black suede, and a new set of bedsheets.

Once that mark had appeared, your family had made all the arrangements for you to go and live in the woods, inside an old cabin that had once belonged to your uncle. He was now traveling alongside his vampire partner, whom he had helplessly and irrevocably fallen in love with.

Despite your grief caused by the separation, never to return and live under the same roof with the rest of your family, you knew it was for the best; if something went wrong, at least no one in your tiny mage town nor your family would be in danger. Or, if your endeavor was successful, they would be away from creatures that could throw tantrums and hurt others in the process, such as tall ones or banshees. A necessary sacrifice to safeguard the ones you held close to your heart.

As the night of your summoning arrived, you made a circle of pink salt on the hardwood inside your little cottage. Hung the swan feathers along with more dried lavender and rose quartz over the circle, tying up the mice bones to a string over the windows. Used the blood to draw little runes all over your skin, on your shoulders, forearms, and clavicles. On your naked breasts, your belly, and your thighs. Your trembling limbs made the endeavor more difficult than what should have been a piece of cake for you. You couldn’t help it, though. You were equal parts excited and nervous at the thought of finally meeting your familiar.

Especially considering your dreams.

Ever since you were a child, strange dreams had invaded your subconscious during sleep. First, they were sensations, like waking up with a grin on your face, or feeling as if someone lightly whispered sweet nothings in your ear to coax you into awakeness. A cumulus of susurred voices that, despite their chants being in an unknown language, you found comforting. Like someone had awoken you with breakfast in hand, ready to hand it directly to you in bed, and said breakfast was pancakes with maple syrup smiley faces.

Then you entered adolescence. Said sensations became passing images and blurry moments that left your head spinning and the impression that you were lost, alien to your own reality upon sunrise. Despite the ungrounding feeling, the images and moments were vivid in memory, sometimes you could have the luxury of describing your dreams to your mother. A toy boat held by gray hands and tiny claws, kind eyes of a brilliant amber color crinkling at the corners, in what you knew was a playful smile, and the aforementioned clawed, gray hand waving at you right before consciousness came back to you.

You had already asked your mama what those dreams were when you were a child. Her answer was an ominous and not-very-telling oh, they are someone very important that you will meet later in life.

And you tried to get more information. You wanted to know who they were now!

When your dreams turned into snippets after puberty, though, you needed to know what all of this meant. So you asked, once again, and this time your tender age didn't stop your mother and your mama from explaining everything.

And it turned out, those dreams were about the familiar you had yet to meet.

Your mama explained how that gorgeous dalmatian who went with her everywhere, or the fae that lived near you and always visited your mother with a hug and gifts for you, were familiars.

They would someday become one of your most treasured friends to ever exist, per their words.

Those dreams stayed innocent enough. Laughs over a shared comment that was already forgotten in the morning. Smiles at each other, eyes crinkling at the corners. The familiarity of someone you didn’t even know, whose presence you waited for every night you went to sleep. The urge to tell them about your feats, about your victories. About your sadness and your failures, too.

Then came your birthday.

You woke up in a sweat, a vivid image of your now-grown familiar engraved in your head: sharp jawline, piercing eyes, and a devastating smirk. Their hands gripping tightly your hips, claws bruising the tender skin. The raw feeling of their cock, entering in and out of you as you moaned their name over and over again. Strangely, though, you couldn’t remember what they were called.

You read once in a book about familiars, that having those dreams about familiars wasn’t that uncommon, and that sometimes they were just meaningless dreams.

You could only hope you finally knew their name tonight, and that it became a name you held dearly to your heart.

You left all your clothes behind save for your cape, put on your boots, and, under the darkness of a new moon, walked into the woods.

Your footsteps crackled loud and clear as you moved, the crunch of dried leaves under the soles of your shoes. Dim light provided by a single candle was the only source of brightness guiding your way, blurring the trees into mere splotches of black around you and distorting the harmony of what you knew were stumps and branches.

You were told you would find it. The instructions were easy and clear.

Find the most beautiful stone you have ever seen. And if you touch it and it feels hot, take it home. If you are successful, the ritual shall continue.

The small rock seemed to weigh like a book on your palm, despite its size being more akin to a thimble. It was smooth to the touch, an amber so beautiful you could swear it reflected the moonlight, chosen especially because it reminded you of the eyes of your soon-to-be familiar, its warmth bringing you a sense of peace amidst your troubled emotions.

From the distance, you noticed the light emanating from your windows through the sheer fabric of your curtains. But you had left unlit candles inside.

Whatever you did, the summoning ritual was working.

Stepping inside your home felt like entering a thunderstorm striking at a field. Air charged, electricity buzzing around, and your every nerve on alert. What, or rather who would you find inside your home? Did you make the right choice? Would they be a good fit for you and your desires? A good fit for the uses you wanted to give your magic? The uncertainty gnawed at your bones, almost making your steady steps falter, almost. Your curiosity seemed to win, though. And your mother’s and mama’s words, about how this being would become very important to you, came once again to your mind. Their words about treating them kindly.

Hope overtook your every thought, then, moved by your wishful thinking about how your familiar would treat you with the same kindness and consideration you would give.

You took off your cape and hung it on the coat rack, shoes forgotten at the entrance.

Then you followed the light into your little study, attached to a very modest greenhouse. As you moved, the hardwood creaked beneath the heels of your feet, just a tad stronger than what you’d grown accustomed to in the last two weeks that you had been living there.

When you stepped inside, the ritual circle you'd made was surrounded by the candles left, now lit. Their flame was a deep violet tone, casting a dark shadow onto the walls, and diffusing the objects into dancing figures that deformed the entirety of the space.

Trembling hands gripped the cloth covering the mirror in front of your work desk, where only pitch black was reflected into the glass.

For the contract to take place, you have to step in and estate your clauses. You were quick to do so, sitting in the middle of the salt circle, rabbit blood long dry and therefore not a stain on the back of your bare legs.

"I…" you started, not sure of where to start.

A steady breath. A crack of your knuckles. The sound of the wind howling in between the glass of closed windows. Noises of the night and nature, rioting and chanting for you in their own way.

But then you recognized songs that did not belong to the night. Melodies akin to the ones you heard when you stepped into a cemetery or a place where something terrible happened.

Murmurs and almost quiet voices. The undead were calling to you, begging you to let them use the portal that you had created purposefully. They wanted a means to be in this realm once again, their voices echoing an incessant string of let me in, let me in, let me in.

That was why your choice of colored candles was black because it saved you the trouble of defending yourself from those wandering souls, wanting to live and forget their regrets through your body.

Of course, you wouldn’t agree to that. Ignoring them, you called with a more firm voice.

“I know you’re in there. Please say your name.”

The candles were extinguished with a huff, as if someone blew onto them. You were only worried for a few seconds before they lit once again with renewed brightness, the flame still the same shade of violet.

What changed was the reflection facing you in the mirror– a reflection of yourself. Had it not been for the flames, you would’ve thought the ritual didn’t work, or your familiar rejected you.

“Viktor,” answered your reflection, but with a voice you recognized as clearly not your own.

Their voice was accented, gentle but laced with confidence. The next words they uttered didn’t come out stuttered either.

“And your name would be…?”

For a moment, you were stunned. Watching yourself respond in the mirror with a much lower voice than your own surely was not helping your uneasiness. But if you wanted for the partnership to work, you had to make an effort, too.

So you said your name back. Steady, gentle. Your middle name, too, so the one on the other side knew you weren’t holding any information from them. Oh, how much could be said in just a name. A first impression, the first glance of what someone has to offer. Of what you have to offer.

“I called in with magic and yours was the reply, the thread,” you recited the customary beginning of the speech printed inside the grimoire, “the bond that will unite us forever more.”

“What are your conditions, then?” the one on the other side said.

“I– I need to harness your magic force, far more powerful than my own. But directionless. I can give it a sense. I will channel it until it takes form.”

"And how do I know my magic won't be used to harm? How could I know that you won't misuse the gift?"

The voice sounded more cautious than accusatory. They surely must have heard of stories about ruined kingdoms and deserted towns that came to be, all because of the wrong uses of very powerful mages and their otherworldly familiars.

"I guess…" you started slowly, mulling over your options.

Your speech had been memorized even before your ritual started, but you decided to toss whatever prefabricated words you wanted to blurt out and take a risk. "I could talk to you about how our magics are linked all through the universe. How it was predestined, how our essences called each other even through worlds, but… I guess my final answer is that you would have to trust me."

Your reflection squinted and pursed their lips. Whoever this Viktor was, they wanted to make sure you would make good actions with the power that could be granted to you.

The candles dimmed off again, only to be reignited with a beautiful red flame this time. The shadows did not dance, but it almost seemed like they were with how much the light flickered, as if everything was covered in that crimson blur.

Somehow your study felt cozier, it felt full of life even in the middle of the night.

You glanced at the mirror once again. Your reflection was not there anymore.

You instead found a tall figure. His whole presence stood out from what you were used to seeing. His skin was dark gray, with accents on his chin, his ribs, and his legs.

His clawed hands were colored of a black almost as deep as the one on his scleras, making his eyes shine as if they were a firefly in the night.

Two dark moles framed his features, one above his lip and the other beneath his eye, somehow making his strong cheekbones more beautiful to your eyes. Like a hint of dun and mischief amidst his strong features.

Of course you'd find him beautiful.

He was an incubus. The sharp-ended tail and the curved horns were just a confirmation.

You could already feel the warmth spreading from cheeks to chest when you noticed he wore nothing except for a red loincloth.

He stepped out of the mirror, before his words cut through the nightly silence.

“And what good have you done for this world? Have you, in any way or form, made this land a better place than what you encountered before you?”

Even though you suffered through the weird and pointed staring, you found petty the thought of holding a grudge. Your small maledictions and curses didn’t last more than a day. You would also make small charms: make someone’s crops grow faster, or designate a specific patch of land for the possums and the harvest mice to eat from, without them touching the rest of the crops. Charms to help someone sleep, to make someone retain better information before an exam. Small enchantments to make the rain come sooner, to make the sun shine the brightest.

Your craft was born out of the desire to make you and your kind stronger, and closer.

You saw by far the worst of the little community, in the form of the sharp gazes cutting through your heart like a knife, words poisonous and rotting regarding your persona… But if that was the worst the small region had to offer, you could also imagine the best.

And you could help achieve that greatness, you just needed Viktor’s magic to achieve it.

“Mostly my small charms, a little seal work too. Runes, curse-breaking, benedictions too. I found a way to work through words and runes so the good doesn’t have any undesired effects, but… My magic wastes away easily. It is fragile.”

Viktor seemed to ponder on your answer far more than you would have liked, taking a few minutes to think about his words. Was this demon going to make a deal with you, or not?

“Then, by all means, state your oath.”

You already thought about it, long before you even started the ritual. You weren’t sure about the words, but the meaning? It was clear as water.

"You will not know maliciousness from me, while you’re by my side. If you join me, I will ensure you are always fed, secure,” you started, “and fulfilled with the purpose of my magic, that will use yours as a source of power.”

Taking one step towards him, you extended your hand. A sign of peace, almost like a laurel.

“The most important promise of this oath… If you’re just like me, if we are mirrors of each other as this bond is telling us we are, then… I swear in my life that you will never feel loneliness by my side. I will never do something that I know will cause you pain, or sadness. I promise to cherish this bond for as long as my heart beats, and then a little more.”

Once more, the candles blew out only to be ignited once again.

This time, you could notice two things once your eyes got used to light again.

The flame was of a pristine white color, illuminating the room in something akin to starlight.

And Viktor was grasping your hand in a strong handshake, claws lightly raking the inside of your wrist and bringing you goosebumps.

His voice was clear but focused, his words flowing freely in the silence of the night, as if the whole forest turned its attention to whatever words he spoke. You were also taking heed of his pledge.

“I promise to offer you my power,” he says, voice full of determination. “I will follow right behind you, I will watch for your safety as I know you would with me, too. As long as we both live, this bond will be unbreakable.”

Then, you felt a sting on your wrist, the one that was firmly grasping Viktor’s hand. There it was, a small rune that symbolized the closing of your deal with Viktor.

Viktor, your familiar.

And you knew that, to finish the deal with familiars of his kind, there was only one step more.

But you didn’t want to bring it up. You didn’t want to bring it up for fear your voice would break, and your will waver, your legs tremble and your eyes avert from his.

His wits were quicker than yours, though, and his tongue too.

“I suppose you know what it is, eh… What is supposed to happen for us to seal our contract, yes?”

A heat started growing from the inside out, you could feel it bloom from your chest, creeping through your neck and reaching your cheeks. You felt warm, your belly was trembling lightly, and despite your hesitancy, you wished to see this until the end.

So you just nodded, aware of what was to come. Without letting go of his hand, you began walking towards your bedroom.

There was a distinctive warmth radiating from his hand, the contact almost burning against your skin. You could also hear your own footsteps creaking on the wooden floor, and from the corner of your eye, you realized the candles you left behind began dimming out one by one, leaving a small, lonely candle lit on your bedroom's floor.

No one made a move, and yet, the door closed gently, as if someone was waiting for Viktor and you to enter the room.

Once the door was closed, the flame extinguished, drowning the room in a darkness so profound you couldn't see past your nose.

But you could hear. And you certainly could feel Viktor's hands on your waist.

“I won't hurt you,” he says. You could feel the vibrations of his chest on your own back, shoulders flush against him.

His hands went from your waist to the span of your ribs, a motion so delicate to the touch, had you trembling from head to toe in expectancy.

Then, you heard that sound the curtains made when they were being opened. Little by little, fabric gave place for moonlight to enter the room.

And then, now with the soft dim of the night and the stars, you saw yourself in front of your mirror. And most importantly, you saw who was behind you.

Viktor's face was nestled in the junction between your neck and shoulders, nosing your pulse point as if he was waiting for you to react. You felt his warm breath on your skin, warm as the rest of him, warm as the rest of your body, too. A flame amidst the frigid forest that swallowed your small cottage.

His eyes were beautiful. Amber lights framed by a very delicate black, auburn eyelashes the finishing touch. They looked at you, inquiring, waiting for a response.

And a response was what you gave him, when you finally leaned your face against his, in a delicate but resolved kiss.

It was enough for him to spin you around, and for you to deepen the kiss. Tongue asking for entrance when you gave the smallest lick to his lower lips, pliant to your wishes and desires.

You could feel the calluses of his hands wandering from ribs, to your hips and then your breasts, eager to explore more of you.

When he grabbed your ass, he put your body flush to his, almost glued, as if he wanted to become a whole being. Whole, once again. Whole, but it never was one. Whole, because it was now.

In no time you felt your body fall against the soft mattress, against new sheets made of silk, black so profound it felt like being absorbed by the emptiness itself.

And above you, there was Viktor, finally discarding that cloth covering him that did very little to hide his arousal, hard cock springing free.

You thought he would take you right then and there, but he instead brought his mouth to trail reverent kisses on your body. Featherlight touches from his lips against your collarbones, and your neck, and then slowly descends to your shoulders right before lowering to your chest.

You could tell his teeth were sharp when he started kissing the tender skin of your breasts, his warm mouth a contrast to the cold room when he gave the barest lick to your nipple. Slowly sucking on your bud and lightly bringing it to a peak, his hand went to grab the other breast, toying with his fingers on your delicate skin.

His other hand came to rest atop your thigh, fingers slowly moving between your legs.

You were quick to notice that with every patch of skin he touched, you felt as if it lit on fire. Skin hot while you trembled under his touch, goosebumps eliciting under his fingers.

“You're tense,” he says, bringing his lips to your neck and leaving tender kisses on your delicate skin.

They were soft, very soft, almost as delicate as the sheets underneath you. He lavished your skin with something you could almost call fervor, and soon you felt relaxed, the beginning of lust hazing your mind.

You moaned when he bit into your skin, not expecting the sudden change into roughness but ending up liking it more than you thought you would.

The haze in your mind started invading more and more your senses.

You craved more and more Viktor with each passing second, the flame growing to an ember once his lips found yours. His tongue was demanding against your mouth, demanding for you to submit to his desires, to submit to him. His fangs prickled the tender skin of your lips as he devoured your mouth, and you wanted nothing more than to feel his skin against yours, every centimeter of it.

“I intend to take care of you this time,” he whispers, voice becoming a comforting familiarity with each syllable he spoke, “you already did all the work with the contract.”

He left a trail of kisses as he went from your mouth to your breasts once again, only stopping to suck one for a few seconds before kissing his way to your abdomen, slowly traveling to the inside of your thighs.

Before he could go any further, he grabbed the back of your legs and hooked them over his shoulders, leaving a chaste kiss on your inner thigh.

You could notice his eyes, it was impossible to miss them. They were the most powerful source of light in the entire room, incandescent honey gaze staring directly at you with such an intensity that you were tempted to close your legs.

You would have, had it not been for the long lick he gave from your entrance to your clit.

You let out a weak, soft moan. Not satisfied with your reaction, he licked once again. His tongue lapped at your clit relentlessly, and just when you thought you couldn’t feel any better you felt something prod at your entrance.

“Mmm, yes,” you managed to say, breathy voice almost imperceivable.

That same tongue, now inside you, dragging against your walls and pulling moans out of your mouth, each one louder than the last. Viktor’s tongue was inhumanely long, reaching parts of you that no one, no human, had ever done before, relentlessly abusing that spot that had your toes curling and your cunt dripping into the mattress.

Your hands were restless, didn’t know where to grab or what to do, trying to find an anchor amidst the pleasure consuming you from head to toe. And you found purchase not in his soft, auburn hair, but in the long, curled horns that adorned his head, the same smoky color as his forearms and his claws.

If it bothered him, Viktor made no signs of discomfort.

You could feel the reverberation of his grunt against your core, and then when you tightened your grip he let out a drawn-out moan.

The coil in your lower stomach kept tightening, his long tongue bringing you closer and closer to your climax. One of his fingers went to your clit, mindful of his own sharp claw, and started rubbing in circles.

It proved to be your undoing, and you came on his tongue, while Viktor greedily swallowed and moaned, lapping like he was starved.

But he didn’t stop there, no. He kept lapping and sucking, dragging out the pleasure until you felt like you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Shit, Viktor! I– I can’t, please, I–”

“You can,” he says, stopping momentarily before continuing with his work. “You will. You have summoned me, and now you will seal this contract in its entirety.”

You want him to stop, you want him to go on. You want to close your legs and open them further, you want the maddening pleasure to both stop and go on, until it consumes you whole and you’re nothing more than the mere ashes you use for your spells.

But he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t slow down. He keeps his tongue buried deep inside you, while you keep finding your release over and over again.

You aren’t aware of how much time passed, or if it was hours or just minutes but noticed that Viktor was giving you time to rest.

Your breathing steadily relaxed, but you also did notice the light dimming. You knew there was no candle left, no light other than the ones outside.

And that’s why you did notice, it was as if there was no moon outside.

You could only gaze at Viktor’s eyes, the only light present. He was climbing once again to you when you noticed the knocking on the window.

A bunch of black hands tapping at the crystals, like thousands of eerie drums whose owners came out of the pitch black in the night.

You didn’t have much time to dwell on this fact, which in itself indicated the contract was being properly sealed because shortly after Viktor searched for your lips once again.

You could taste yourself on him, head dizzy with the aftermaths of your release and with the realization that there was still more.

The kiss was passionate but short-lived, and when you searched for his mouth once more the bastard tapped on your bottom lips and chuckled, a smirk plastered on his face and making the mole adorning it much more beautiful.

Your hands wanted to hold his face between them, but when you tried to move them you noticed there was something that held them together. The texture was soft, but not the soft as one might find fabric or fur soft… More like soft skin. Your hands were almost tied together, and you could feel that something was also moving your legs and holding them apart, so Viktor could fit right between them.

Did he want to feed from you once more? Did he want to keep on feasting on you, until there was nothing more but your remains?

But it seemed as if he could sense what you were thinking, and leaving a surprisingly chaste kiss on your forehead, he whispered: “I will not hurt you. And that includes feeding from you only the necessary.”

You were quick to notice how the things holding your limbs were a part of Viktor, soft appendages manhandling you to his liking. Until your legs were in the air, leaving your dripping cunt exposed to him.

“But you must know,” he adds, a hand going to your inner thighs, his fingers softly trailing the delicate skin, “my connection to you is, eh… Quite peculiar. In this case,” and then he makes a pause to take a deep breath, just as he teased your cunt with the pads of his fingers, claws never causing you discomfort, “I don’t feed from your lust itself, no. I feed from your want.”

And then you felt him, finally. His cock dragged between your folds, coating in your arousal and teasing your clit with every thrust.

“The more you want me, the more satisfied I will be.”

You couldn’t move. Even though you could only see those striking eyes, you could feel his weight on top of you, feel his appendages keeping you from moving, feel his cock finally entering you.

It felt like an eternity passed in a few moments, until he bottomed out.

The temperature in your home seemed to have dropped even lower, so cold that you could actually feel yourself shivering. Viktor seemed to notice and put an arm around your waist, while his other arm helped him brace himself above you.

He barely gave you time to react before he pulled out until only the tip of his cock was buried inside you, and then slammed back in.

There was a loud snap when his hips met the back of your thighs, and you couldn’t help but whimper. He decided to silence you by kissing you with renewed fervor, his kisses remaining gentle while he picked up the pace.

His thrusts went from tentative to strong in a matter of minutes, and then they became brutal.

“Ah, Viktor! Yes, yes…”

You didn’t even know what you were praising him for, but you couldn't help but feel watched, perceived, seen, even. Like someone hidden for a long time that now, was treasured in the hands of someone capable of seeing you, as you were.

You hissed when he put his mouth on your nipple, sucking and biting before he spoke once again.

“Pretty girl, you are mine now.” His words were only fueling the liquid fire inside your veins, heartbeat echoing in your own ears. “You might have done the summoning ritual, but once I accepted, you became mine.”

And then you felt it.

The runes you made on your skin, painted with blood, now searing hot on your skin.

The pain you felt was sharp, short-lived, and quickly replaced by the pleasure coursing through your veins. Quickly forgotten by the overwhelming sensations surrounding you.

You could see nothing except for those eyes, everything else cast in shadows. But you could hear the snapping of his hips, the slick sounds every time he thrust inside you, your own moans intermingling with Viktor's groans, the squeaking of the bed, the loud banging from outside the windows, the howling of the wind in between the branches, and the loud rattling of the headboard against the wall.

You could smell the herbs you used for your house, your own sweat, and the sweet-salty smell of your own arousal, dripping now into the mattress.

One of the appendages let go of your wrists, and you instantly brought your hands to the back of Viktor's head.

You could feel his soft hair, threading it in your fingers. You could feel his lips every time he brought his mouth to yours, in short-lived and sloppy kisses, only cut by the sounds coming out of your mouth. Not quiet nor shy anymore about your own pleasure, and Viktor's breathy moans were everything you needed to hear at the moment.

You could feel your own hands traveling on their own accord to grab Viktor's horns once again. They reminded you that you were not dreaming, you were not hallucinating. This was happening.

You could feel his claws, gripping your hips and trying not to scratch your soft skin, small pinpricks of pain just adding to your lust-hazed mind.

You could feel his cock deliciously dragging in and out of you, abusing that sweet spot that made your toes curl and made you want to hook your legs over his shoulders.

It only served you as a reminder that you couldn't move, that those soft, strong appendages had you at his mercy. That you could just remain there, throw your head back, and take it.

One of his hands went from your hip to your clit, the careful pad of his finger making circles and making you moan louder, clenching around his cock.

“Viktor, please… I– I can't –”

“You can,” he says, sweet kisses on your neck, a stark contrast to his brutal thrusts. “You will.”

Viktor bites you, right over the rune that carved itself over your clavicle.

It's a light bite, you knew he was careful with his sharp teeth, and the diffused line between pleasure and pain is enough to send you over the edge.

You cum, hard, impossibly tight around his cock. Your legs shaking and tears on your face as you ride your high, only aware that Viktor was holding you and praising you, gentle voice slowly grounding you until you could distinguish you did so well.

“Good girl.” His praise sent another wave of arousal, heat pooling in your belly once again.

And then, he starts thrusting again.

It was too much, you would not be able to handle it. And yet it wasn't enough, you wanted to be forever doing this, letting him stuff you fool until the end of your days.

“In no time, you will feed me like no one ever could.”

He wouldn't stop until you saw the sun rising on the horizon.

Six months had passed since you bound your life to that of your familiar.

Familiars were allowed to roam around in their realms or with their chosen mage, and Viktor didn't hesitate to stay with you.

In fact, he was glued to you almost the whole time.

Just as your mothers predicted, a familiar was someone whose mysterious connection you wouldn’t ever completely comprehend, but cherish for the entirety of your life.

And something grew out of it. More than your familiar, you were starting to consider Viktor a partner.

He was always careful with you. He of course enjoyed feeding from you, but he also treasured the closeness that came out of the process.

His kisses were the sweetest ones you’ve ever experienced, his touches were soft, and he had a habit of falling asleep clinging to you, even though sometimes you had to maneuver around his horns to snuggle against him, too.

He went with you everywhere. He used human clothes that were comfortable to him, boots comfortable and specially crafted for him, as you later learned he had to use a cane. He always walked beside you, or behind you. To retrieve ingredients, and to sell your spells.

Which was the reason he was beside you, in the middle of a crop field, the nearest house barely a point in the horizon. You had been called to help a family with their crops, that for some reason were not growing enough.

“This needs a growing spell, but…”

His eyes set on you, curious about which kind of complex runework you were going to use this time.

“I found a way to leave a very small patch of land for the harvest mice to live in. They don’t really take much space or food, but they’re very important.”

“And how do you, eh, plan on making this spell work?”

You tried to hide your grin behind the piece of paper containing the runes.

“Well,” you started, “this will need some activation from a fertility spell.”

His hands went to your waist, his forehead touching one of your temples, and his nose nudging your cheek.

“And I think you know how we start a fertility spell,” you add.

He didn’t need any more explanation, finding an answer in your giggles and in between kisses.

#arcanehalloweek22 #arcane halloweek day 4 #arcane halloweek day 3 #viktor x reader #fanfiction #uwuboowoo

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fandom-events · 3 years ago

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Day 3! Viktor and the hexcore, which counts as magic.

#arcanehalloweek22 #arcane halloweek day 3 #viktor #fanart

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fandom-events · 3 years ago

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Conclave

Jayce x Viktor x Fem!Reader

Arcane Halloweek: Day 3 - Mages, Witches, and Wizards

A/N: Kind of went off the rails for this one lol - created a whole ass mage universe. not in the arcena universe, just kind of made my own. but it’s not really important lol. Hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: canon divergence, AU, angst, fluff, very vague mention of the fact that reader will outlive Jayce and Viktor, happy ending.

Un’beta read - apologies for any grammatical mistakes/spelling errors

The crimson wax seal stares up at you tauntingly, the carefully crafted sigil of house Narkissos laying broke in half in your haste to read the parchment it held closed.

“No, no, no! Fuck!” Pieces of hair break off in your fingers as you grasp desperately at the strands, complete and utter fear for using through your veins as you pace across the room.

You knew coming from an old house would come back to haunt you. You should have expected this - you can’t run from them forever. Not when they send for you personally.

Not when they call a conclave.

Keep reading

#arcanehalloweek22 #arcane halloweek day 3 #fanfiction #Jayvik x reader #Jayvik #poly Jayvik

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fandom-events · 3 years ago

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The Painting Mage

Written for day three of Arcane Halloweek! @fandom-events ! The prompt was "mages, witches and wizards". So we have a bit of young Jinx, discovering something interesting... Read on archive of our own:

Enjoy!

The paint splattered against the wall like blood spray, vivid blue like the strange crystal’s glow making Jinx flinch. She lowered her brush, staring at the art she’d made so far. Just a few lines, honestly, but it calmed her. She took a deep breath, curling her toes into the rough floor of her cell. If she stared at her painting long enough, she could pretend she wasn’t in the cell. That nothing happened. She poked the blue paint. It didn’t explode, simply stuck to her finger. It couldn’t hurt her. Nothing that she made could hurt her. That was the beauty of her creations. They didn’t hurt unless they made her remember.

Art allowed her mind to wander from Vi and Vander. The mere thought of them made her shoulders tense. Both of them were as good as dead to her. They’d left her, cold and alone in an alleyway. After the enforcers heard the explosion from the strange blue crystals, they came running. Yanked her away from her family before she even knew what was going on, beating her harder than rain against the ground.

Then, they imprisoned her. Not before a proper trial, of course. Her trial had been widely publicized. A spectacle. Nobody seemed to realize the person behind the witness stand was a child. Everyone else in the prison stared at her like she was weak, and Jinx realized that she was, especially when compared to the massive forms of the other prisoners. When she thought of giving up, Vi would come into her mind. So she fought. And lost. Every day hurt. Even if they didn’t lay a finger on her some days, just being alone made her feel feral.

Vi was right. She was a Jinx. Bad luck to everyone, especially herself.

To keep herself sane, she started carving designs into the walls with a sharp piece of rock. Occasionally, she’d get a piece of charcoal, or a nicer guard would slip her a crayon and some paper. The rest she’d have to find, steal, or buy from the prison dispensary. She’d saved up almost all of her money for these paints over the course of who knows how many years, if only to cling to her sanity. The brushes she had to make herself, trimmings of her own hair crudely taped to sticks. While her mind wandered, her hands had a mind of their own, painting.

Jinx looked at the bright spattering of paint on the wall and drew a single line. She’d been working on a face. Thin and angular, drawn in bright blue and stunning green, streaks of purple and pink striking strong shadows. The hair had taken such a long time to draw, a smear of color with a streak of fluorescent yellows, like a streak of white in the hair. Then, she painted a mouth.

She painted another line, then two more that were curved. It almost looked like a mouth, stern and downturned. She giggled in spite of herself. It really looked like a mouth! A well-painted one at that. She silently patted herself on the back.

“Hello,” she said to the friendly face, “I’m Jinx! Who are you?”

She waited for a response. Nothing came. Something had to be wrong with her. Her expression deepened into a frown, brows furrowing. She sighed and shook her head. It’s fine, she told herself, certainly other sane people talk to paintings. Certainly.

“Of course you didn’t say anything, you don’t have ears!” She cawed.

Two curved lines in the same blue made a pair of ears, Jinx using her thumb to smudge the paint as a form of crude shading. The ears looked nice, if a bit large for the head, and she tilted her head.

“Now can you hear me?” she chirped, “I’m Jinx. It’s good to meet you!”

She laughed. For once, Vi wasn’t in her head. Nor were Mylo, Claggor, or Vander. She’d made a new friend. Someone who didn’t think she was a terrible jinx who messed everything up. She smiled at her painting.

It smiled back with crookedly painted teeth.

“Hello Jinx, it’s good to meet you too.”

The painting’s voice was rough and rang through the air like a gunshot. Jinx yelped, dropping her crudely made brush. Paint splattered all over her feet. Jinx clutched at her head, staring at the painting as the disembodied head tilted ever so slightly.

“Jinx?” Jinx screamed and stumbled back at the voice. The mouth was moving. Little droplets of spit-like paint fell from the crooked teeth. She shook all over. Had she gone crazy? She had to have gone crazy. Paintings didn’t talk. “You’re not real! I’m going crazy!” Jinx snapped with a trembling voice. The painting laughed.

“I can assure you I am real, child,” the voice comforted, “You created me, after all.”

She furrowed her brows, staring at the painting who definitely shouldn’t be talking, he was a painting!!!!!

“How?” “Jinx, I would love to answer your questions, but I would rather like to be able to see. Could you give me a pair of eyes?”

Jinx shakily picked up her brush. She walked back towards the wall and raised her brush. An eye. She could paint an eye. With shaking hands, she drew a circle. The paint dripped. She tried to wipe it away with her hand, but it ended up smearing messily over her hands and the painting’s face like an ugly scar. The paint kept on dripping. Jinx shook. She smeared it again. Bright blue stuck to her fingers. She tried again with pink, purple, and green. The result was a mess of color covering half of her painting’s face.

“I- I’m sorry, I messed up, I messed up your eye really bad.”

The painting made a quiet shushing noise.

“It’s okay, Jinx. You’re an artist, right? So anything you create is art.”

She sniffled, her eyes wide and rimmed with tears. “Even if what I made looks bad?” The painting chuckled.

“Of course. Now. Paint the other eye.”

Jinx breathed in slowly. She raised her brush and dipped it in a little bit of black paint. She tapped the brush end off on the pot and drew a simple circle. And inside that circle, she painted a blue circle. With her thumb, she used black paint to smudge an eyebrow over the eye. And because the painting looked a little silly without a nose, she quickly sketched a nose, big and crooked. It fit the rest of the angular silhouette and made the face look a little goofy, more friend-like. Jinx giggled.

“What, is there something on my face?” The face asked, blinking a little.

“You look silly!”

“That’s not something you should say to a friend!” the painting chortled. Jinx tilted her head. “We’re friends?” “Of course we are.” “You look lonely, though.” “You do too, child.”

“But you look extra super lonely because you have no body!” The painting guffawed. Jinx couldn’t stop herself from chortling ridiculously, staring at the face she had painted. Oh, she’d really lost it. But did that really matter anymore? Even if she was crazy, it was so nice to hear another voice… It had been so long since someone talked to her like a person. She smiled even brighter at her painting. A friend, she finally made a friend. Literally. She made a friend. “How are you alive?” she asked. She raised her paintbrush and drew two lines connecting the head to the neck. Curved lines made a shoulder. She’d made a mistake in the neck, but managed to make it look like the collar of a shirt. She smiled as she began to paint the body. “Because you created me, child. I am… a simulacrum of some sort. A painting, brought to life by the magic of creation.” “Magic?” Jinx asked. She’d only ever read about magic in storybooks, evil wizards and cruel sorceresses scorching the lands of Piltover. She looked at Silco. How could he be evil? Jinx thought of another book of Vander’s, a collection of paintings from all over the world. In one, there was an entire garden that had been made by a wizard. In another, a massive city had been coaxed from the sea. Creation. Jinx took a shaky breath. Silco didn’t seem phased by her fear. “Magic, powerful magic at that.” “I didn’t even realize I could do magic!”

The painting shook his head.

“Then you must be a rather impressive mage, especially for your age. Ah, thank you for the arms, by the way. And the torso. I hope a pair of legs will be joining them shortly.” Jinx giggled.

“They will! I’m sorry about not being able to give you hands, though. I’m not that good yet, so I made your arms go behind your back! Oh! What’s your name? I asked but you scared me really bad so I forgot to ask again.” The painting smiled fondly at her.

“Silco, you may call me Silco.”

“That’s a nice name!” Silco smiled. Jinx sat, painting the outline of one leg.

“Speaking of questions, child, are we in a jail cell?” Silco asked.

Jinx stepped back. She crumpled to the ground and curled in on herself. She nodded. “Yeah, we are. I… hurt a bunch of people. It was an accident, but my family left and then the enforcers took me here– please don’t leave!”

Silco pushed himself off the wall, a sad expression on his face. The stone was completely blank where he once stood, now a colorful ghost lowering himself on his one leg.

“Jinx, you created me out of nothing. You are a bright soul, and anyone who doesn’t see that is clearly fooling themselves.” Jinx gazed through the bars of her cell.

“I… what if they’re right about me, though? The lawyers, the judges, my family, they all said I was a thief, a rat, a– a Jinx.”

She looked back at Silco. His face had gone soft, brows furrowed. “Who cares what those small-minded fools have to say? This whole world could be yours, Jinx. You are so much stronger than anyone thinks, even you. You don’t deserve to be stuck behind bars for a simple accident– you deserve to be out there, creating.” Silco pulled himself forward even more. The gaps in the painting Jinx left started to fill themselves in more, patches of skin tone and black joining the cacophony of color that made up his existence, glowing like a neon sign in the jail cell. His hands– parts of him Jinx hadn’t dared to paint– were completely made of the stone of the jail cell, held together by whatever magic Jinx had. Jinx scrambled behind him, hastily painting another leg for her newfound friend.

Silco fully stepped from the wall. He loomed over her, all sharp and menacing. But his smile, painted by Jinx, comforted her. Silco extended a phosphorescent hand to her. She took it, surprised by its warmth. She stood. Without thinking, she threw herself onto Silco, crushing him in a tight hug. He settled his hand on her head. He felt real. Realer than anything Jinx had ever seen.

“But how can I get out?” Jinx asked, her face still pressed into Silco’s painted shirt. Silco laughed softly, pulling away. He looked down at her with his chaotic, colorful eyes.

“You make a way out, little mage.”

Jinx looked up at him, then to the blank wall of her cell. If she could paint a person…

…then she could certainly paint a door. A way to a better place.

She dipped her fingers in the blue paint. She dragged them over the floor, sending crashing waves over rough stones. She turned her head back to look at Silco. He watched her patiently, a small smile on his face.

She marched forward to the wall, her canvas. She took a deep breath, then exhaled. She could paint anything, anywhere. Her mind wandered to one of Vander’s old books. A picture, so bright and beautiful that she just had to tear it out and keep it. And she told her family that one day they’d go there, and see it with their own eyes.

They were dead now. So she’d have to paint it for them to see. She flicked her fingers over the wall, splattering blue paint like the rhythmic rocking of the sea, flicks of white forming wave crests, and the seabirds circling overhead. She could hear them, splashing against the thin barrier of reality that still was there. She dunked her brush into bright pink, and sunset was born on the dark walls of her cell, a neon-sign sun dangling like a stuffed animal from a power line over the ocean.

Far off in the distance a marble town perched, cast in the deep shadow of the setting sun and surrounded by verdant grass. Ocean water flowed into her cell from her painting, gathering over her ankles. Jinx laughed. She dunked her dirty brush into the ocean water, then into white paint. She pressed her thumb against the brush and sent paint flying.

A sea of stars glowed in the sky Jinx had painted, just starting to reveal themselves as the sun dipped into the ocean. An albatross flew into her cell. The crashing waves now reached her knees. Guards and convicts started yelling, muffled by her creations. That didn’t stop Jinx. Pink blossoms drifted from flowering trees and kelp tangled up in the salty ocean water that shimmered like gold. Silco waded next to her.

“This could all be yours, Jinx,” Silco spoke, “someday this could all be yours.”

She stepped forward. The floor of her cell was sand now, and her feet dug into it. Fresh air filled her lungs. She ran, ran towards this painting given life, her creation, and the water rose up to her stomach, her chest, her neck. The guards were getting closer now. Jinx floundered in the water. Silco yanked her into his arms, Jinx resting her head on his shoulder. His hands were rough, but they held her, they kept her safe. Now, now she was truly free. She couldn’t stop the triumphant whoop from escaping. She looked behind her. The guards were at her cell, trying to unlock it, calling after one another. She stared back through the painted gate. Guilt filled her. Maybe she deserved to be in there. For Vi, Vander, Claggor, Mylo. Her smile fell. But then Silco took her hand, gently squeezing it.

“Let go now, Jinx. There’s nothing left there for you,” he whispered.

Jinx stared at the cell. The rift in reality she’d caused started to fall apart, pieces of the sky starting to close like a wound. Slowly, bit by bit, the gate closed. The world healed around it. Clouds and endless sea filled the place that once was her jail cell. Jinx let out a deep breath, pressing her head against Silco’s.

He was right. There was nothing left for her there. Here, she could have a second chance. Maybe she could paint herself into a person Vi would be proud of. Create something worth loving. Fatigue crashed into her like a wave. Making a person and a portal must’ve been too much, she realized. She slumped against Silco, knocking her head into his shoulder.

“I’m gonna draw you a friend,” Jinx sleepily spoke, “She’s gonna be big and tough and I’m gonna name her… something like my sister’s name, Vi.” “How about Se-Vi-ka?” Jinx nuzzled her head against her newfound friend’s shoulder.

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” she muttered, “and she’s gonna have a big sword and never lose a fight, and she’s gonna be so strong.” Silco ran a hand through her mess of hair, humming at her musing. “Get some rest, Jinx. It’ll all be okay.” And she believed him, drifting off to the sound of the ocean.

#arcane halloweek day 3 #arcanehalloweek2022 #fanfiction #silco #jinx #dad silco

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fandom-events · 3 years ago

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Arcane Hallo-week Day 3

Dark Hexcore / Mages, Witches, & Wizards

Silco x reader

Word Count: 355

Seguir leyendo

#silco x reader #arcane halloweek day 3 #fanfiction #sellyoursoulforagoodfic

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fandom-events · 3 years ago

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Day 2 of Arcane Halloweek which i definitely finished and posted on time, scary movies :D

Word Count: 2k

Rating: Teen and up (for language, violent themes)

Summary: Viktor is invited by Jayce to Caitlyn's house to watch a scary movie.

#arcane Halloween day 2 #arcanehalloweek2022 #fanfiction #Jayvik #Jayce x Viktor #jayce #Viktor

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fandom-events · 3 years ago

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Primeval Penumbras [1/2]

Yes, 🎶 another one bites the dust 🎶 that is divided in two parts. This one is a blend between the Arcane Halloweek Day 3: Dark Hexcore and Day 4: Monster AU, so next part will be posted tomorrow :D

Viktor x Fem!Reader-----7.3K----SFW (check tags)

Synopsis: Viktor only intended to make a breakthrough while creating the Hexcore, to further his knowledge of the Arcane and its powers and with some time improve the lives of the people in disadvantage, just as he was once. Except he doesn’t have time. And the Hexcore is more dangerous that he conceived, accidentally opening a portal through the Void, and allowing its creatures to roam free into the city. Good thing you could also escape, a huntress diguised as a monster, ready to chase them down, and maybe even be the clue to save his life…

It was an especially chilly night in the lab. Blueish elongated shadows seemed to shape into humanoid forms making him company as if they were merely waiting.

Viktor didn’t mind, though. His vision was covered in black dots circulated by the magical hue of the shimmering Hexcore. Stiff back and cramped tendons were his fists grasped the controls to shift the metal plaques covered in runes. A part of him wanted to go and lie in bed, his muscles sore from sitting all day. Perhaps if he focused enough, the ever-growing hunger roaming inside his stomach would subside.

It worked the last two times, after all.

Somewhere along the hallway, a clock strikes an hour later. Deep darkness poured from each corner of the lab—Viktor didn't bother to turn on the lights, and he was too absorbed to ask Sky to do it before she went home. Too late now. He was occupied in more relevant matters; for example, how the Hexcore wasn’t working.

Despite his vision inside the Hexgates, the one that came like a renovated wave of energy and resolution along the seeming infinite panels filled with runes and magical gemstones; the artifact in from of him didn’t want to cooperate.

If only he could know why. He’d tried everything, every combination of runes ended up without a ripple of magic activating the artifact. Viktor knew it was his fault. He built it incorrectly—but why his equations in the blueprint were correct? It couldn’t be the material, because the Hexgates were made of the same metal.

Was he being too greedy, just for wanting to fulfill his lifetime dream?

His head began to pound, the Hexcore light was getting blurry. Frustration mixed with exhaustion and hunger made him tighten his jaw. Another combination, another failure. His hands were hurting again—without even mentioning his back.

A curse muffled between gritted teeth, why it didn't work? He was so sure of it when Jayce came over hours ago; he thought to be crossing the threshold of a breakthrough.

The Hexcore floated in its mysteriousness, and he hated it. Stomping out his seat, his hands sent failed blueprints floating above him, pushing the stool too far from the worktable, a growl that was half a scream when he stood up abruptly, muscles and bones cracking.

A cough made him topple over the desk, his breathing was getting shallow. Not this again, he thought, feeling the fear, but the quickly familiar wet sensation of blood escaping from his throat—not that it was supposed to be there in the first place, but it was only a matter of time, he supposed.

It was how the Undercity reminded him about the crude reality of the people who lived there every day. The death looming always too near.

Blood spilled over the desk. Viktor needed to clean it before Sky or Jayce saw it. The edges of the lab were getting darker, was it because he didn't have anything to eat all day?

Shadows contorted when the Hexcore responded.

…What was that? His eyelids were heavy as if they were carved in rock, but he could see… the Hexcore taking the blood. Is the Hexcore taking the blood?

Its light became purplish, blue consuming away. His vision got narrower, and he toppled over the desk when his vision was conquered whole by black.

Viktor didn’t feel his body hitting the ground, not the portal growing from within the Hexcore out into the lab, its insides all dark and old and frightening.

*~*~*~*

Time didn’t exist inside the Void—time was a human tool, after all. And the creatures lurking inside this… thing weren’t human. You were used to the odd, camouflaged shapes moving inside caves when they thought you didn’t notice. They wriggle, twitch, and crawl from their hideouts. They were always the same, the monsters.

But the Void was so big, and the creatures roaming in it so many, it was more difficult to remember all your past encounters as every day was a constant hunt-or-be-hunted situation.

Time didn’t exist inside the Void, and yet, you grew a little inside of it, it meant you still remained human, even if that meant having to feed into those nauseous creatures, too disgusted for your usual human food. It was pure luck, then, when the parasite found you.

You hated it for a while, wanting to find any rusty weapon buried in the ruins of the fallen city you used to call home to pierce your back with it, hoping that in those blind blows you could kill it.

But the parasite wanted to live as much as you, and it did feed into those monsters, unlike you. The creature kept you alive with the simple condition of lending it your body to grow into a symbiotic deal that could have been much crueler and treacherous.

Now you were the creature, your human body hidden behind layers of waving shadows, black limbs hugging your stomach as a second, thicker ribcage. Without the possibility of a mirror, you couldn’t really know how you looked when the parasite took control of your body, not how you looked when it was only you, the human. The luring bait.

It was located over your spine like a rigid corset. Not bones, but too cold to be entirely flesh. The first time it attached, it hurt for a long time. Now? Not so much, only the incessant drop in temperature and the abrupt sensation of scorching heat over your skin, there where the parasite hugged your body as it grew in a matter of shallow breaths, covering your limbs and head with its frame.

Like now.

It was hungry. The first times it was gruesome looking at it kill the predators quickly becoming preys—tentacles flying over your back to pierce and tear and poison them as you jumped, hands and legs becoming claws to leech into the monsters.

This time, the monsters were running, fleeing.

You furrowed, and the parasite followed them, jumping on the uneven ground, tentacles grasping thin air every time. Why were they so desperate? Your body jumped over ruins, breaking the rock of crumbled buildings, the multiple eyes in the parasite's head showed multiple prey, all of them escaping.

Escaping towards…

You stopped, seeing a blue light flooding the cave that trapped the Void. They were following the light. Was it a trap? You have never seen a monster like that. Were the Watchers? One of the Empress’s minions?

The parasite covered your body in fear. But then some monsters crossed the threshold and… they just disappeared. Nothing closed the gates.

You, the human inside the monster, stepped forward. It’s a portal. You could see the blurry edges of a room with a tall roof and part of a door—you could still remember how they were.

Monsters were crossing, and then the fear become rage. They can’t go out. The Void must remain trapped, said the rightful part of you, but the other, mixed with the monster’s, was longing for freedom.

I just want to return to where I belong. But you weren’t human anymore.

The Void must remain trapped, you remembered yourself as you ran towards the shining portal. You didn't have much time, such light inside the bottomless darkness could be perceived by everyone. And the parasite, a greedy thing, began to spread its tentacles to kill anything in the surrounding area.

This will be my freedom.

The ground began to shake, larger creatures getting closer. The parasite held in its tentacles shiny pieces of void’s cores, purplish magic cores which it used to feed you both. Enough for a long time, you thought while crossing the threshold.

Getting inside the portal was similar to the sensation of falling into the Void—magic everywhere, buzzing in your ears and traveling every cell of your body. But this magic was both new and ancient, a metallic taste in the reddish edges of the tunnel where purple and blue mixed in lightning and speckles and messy spiderwebs.

This wasn’t just magic from the Void.

You got ejected into a desk too little for you, falling over the cold marble floor. The parasite’s claws were filled with human blood.

Retreat, you commanded, and now satisfied with its victorious hunt, it obeyed. Your hand remained crimson, blood beginning to coagulate. The human who created the portal wasn't in the room made shambles.

Like you, monsters escaped. Looking at the portal’s origin—a little, floating blue cube with runes carved in the metallic plaques—you thought, let the Void remain trapped.

The blood on the desk was dry, the little remains in your stained clothes and hands.

I have to close the portal, you thought frenetically, sweeping your view into the tools scattered over the ground. A cutter shone like a star among the other metallic tools. You didn't even consider it twice, drawing a line with the metal over your palm.

Pain was strange in your human form, it felt fleshed out, too vivid to be real. The parasite only felt cold and heat, and that was enough. Feeling too much in the Void could mean living inside immense torture forever.

You draw runes of closure into your wounded hand, palm against the magic cube as it absorbed the blood, closing the tunnel in a little vortex motion, collapsing into itself. The cube became darker and more purple with your blood, metal edges began to blurry. A chill traveled through your skin, and you looked at the shattered window.

The monsters were gone, they flee from the window, break the door, and down the hall. Dread set heavy in your stomach. You'll hunt them, it was the correct thing to do. And then—

Then the Void must be contained, so you’ll look into a way to… go back.

Under the desk, something jumped at you.

Without making you turn, the parasite into your back extended some tentacles to pierce the creature in the air, its shrieks flooding the eerily quiet room. You saw the play of purple light inside the creature being swallowed by one of the tentacles’ mouths. Your spine felt colder and heavier, a good signal.

For the next minutes, you inspected the place—it looked like an engineering lab, with tools you couldn't identify or equations you could only solve in your wildest fantasies. Recollecting some papers to see scribbles about the magic cube—called Hexcore— if the cursive little letters were really saying that. You couldn’t be so sure.

Only notes and broken equipment, no more monsters. Which wasn’t a good thing.

Peeking over the broken window, you saw a titanic city. Skyscrapers made from gold, wide and neat buildings filled with tiny windows and balconies. Your view couldn't see the totality of the territory, a bridge connecting the canal, and the rest of the city, so dark and cramped you couldn't make any logical form into it.

Monsters could be anywhere.

Well, perhaps not everywhere. They had preferred easy prey, and lived in certain conditions, like—

Someone peeked with a lantern over the room. Jumping away from the window, you called the parasite to disguise you into shadows.

“…yes, Councilor Talis’ partner was already taken into the nearby hospital. It was probably an explosion.”

A muffled voice in the distance said: "Clean this disaster and put a door as soon as possible, please. I think I can trust this matter to stay confidential."

The lantern’s light turned off. “Yes, of course, Councilor.”

Was the man wounded because of a monster? But then why the blood staining the desk was already dry? You shivered, thinking that a monster could feed perfectly of sick humans.

Feeling the retreat of the parasite, too lazy after eating too much, you force it into place. Its form covered yours as you slid out the window and began to climb down the building, strange wind refreshing the hot insides of the parasite enveloping you.

Jumping from each tilted roof, it felt as if you could fly.

You could see nine different angles from the moon and the clear night sky, stars twinkling in the crepuscule as is greeting you. Tears prickled your eyes. They were so beautiful, and you missed them so much.

Finally, you landed in cobblestone. Looking at the tall buildings in front, you looked for one with lights on and an entrance gate open. You didn't forget how to read, either.

Stopping into one so wide it covered a whole street, you read Piltover’s Hospital: Commercial District.

Thinking about hiding in every corner while checking every room, you slid inside.

It was time to hunt.

*~*~*~*

This was supposed to be empty, only bottomless darkness. Instead, Viktor could hear the howling of an abyss—was this death?

If it was, then why there were monsters roaming among the ruins?

It was cold and obscure, and he was lying on the ground over his stomach. His hands didn't respond when he tried to push himself up. Where was his crutch? He loathed the sore pain in his throat expanding slowly in his chest, every breath shallow and forced.

From the corner of his vision, he saw a shadow moving, too fast and intentional for being inanimate. It didn’t have eyes, but its teeth shone with hunger when it lounged to gnaw at him—

The light was too bright at first, his eyes were used to the darkness of the strange place with only ruins and monsters making his company. From the corner of his vision, he saw Jayce, body folded into the couch next to his bed.

Little shakes made him aware that he was crying.

"Jayce?" Was he in the hospital? Viktor hated to feel the little tubes injecting oxygen directly into his nostrils, the rhythm of the air much slower than he liked to; after all, he'd had a nightmare just moments ago. But he felt too weak to move them aside, and his exhaustion scared him.

I can’t stop now, not when the Hexcore—

"Viktor," Jayce sounded relieved as if he wouldn't be able to wake up. Against the lonely lamp lit in the room with closed windows, the hazel eyes of his friend shone irregularly as tears were trapped inside. It was hard to focus on them, on anything in the room, for that matter. "The doctors… they said that you…"

He could barely hear him, but he didn’t need to. Sadly, the diagnosis wasn’t a surprise, even if he wanted to pretend it.

His throat was sore, that wasn’t a dream. Viktor swallowed carefully, thinking that perhaps his words wouldn’t sound too dragged and tired—defeated—; he didn’t want Jayce to hear him like that. But his attempt was fruitless when he muttered: “How much time do I have?”

Some months, Jayce was trying to say, lips barely moving when his body shook into a sob. Viktor wanted to say something, like, there’s still time, or, it’s alright. But he couldn’t. Viktor didn’t wish to lie to his friend, and he was still so exhausted, that all he managed was to nod.

Jayce told him to sleep a little while he went to sort out the paperwork for his hospital stay until tomorrow noon. "I'll be back soon," he promised, and again Viktor could only nod as Jayce closed the door with a soft click.

To give himself a little credit, he did try to sleep. But slumber escaped from his eager grasp as much as weariness settled on his body, conquering it when his eyelids fluttered close in longer intervals. The room seemed colder with every passing minute.

Viktor was shivering, eyes closed, when he heard tapping noises, like nails against the glass. His eyes blinked open for a moment, but he was alone in the room. He tried to stabilize his breath to hear further the slight tap, tap, tap.

It didn't come from the window but below him.

Inhale, exhale. A scratch. Could he be imagining it? Perhaps it came from outside, like a squeaky stretcher passing by.

Tap, tap, tap. Viktor closed his eyes again, and decided to sleep, so when Jayce opened the door—probably soon enough—he would encounter him resting.

It seemed to work for around fifteen minutes, maybe less. Viktor was falling asleep when he heard the dragging noise of a body right under his bed, then, the consecutive taps up into the roof.

The eerily, inexplicable feeling of something watching.

He opened his eyes, a large figure suspended over him. At first, he thought it was another nightmare brought alive by sedatives, but the creature didn't disappear when he blinked a couple of times. Not when one of its abnormally large extremities, resembling branches, poked the mattress near his arm, drawing blood from a scratch.

Sharp pain made him want to jump away, but his body remained frozen, not even he could move a finger. The creature tilted his body, suspended from the ceiling, lower to him. Three purple eyes—if he could guess they were supposed to be eyes—, floated in its misshapen head, plain at one side and irregular at the other, resembling an unfinished wood carving sculpture, followed by a long, curved neck.

Its eyes were fixated on his, waves of purple lights sent directly into Viktor's eyes. He was getting sleepy, dread replaced by fatigue. Another one of its limbs descended to pierce the mattress, torso lowered against Viktor's.

He could see perfectly the bony torso opening—not a torso, then, but a mouth—its ribs breaking and becoming sharp teeth. Was… he going to die like this? Not for sickness, but for the arbitrary attack of a monster?

What is that thing? Viktor thought afterward, despite the fear and desperation.

Its jaws clicked open, darkness against the sudden pop of color, vibrant purple in ropes that enveloped the mouth and pull it away, toward the superior corner. He heard the crack of the limbs tearing apart, force as the creature hissed, the roof sending dust into Viktor's face as its limbs fell one by one.

Tap, tap, tap, tap… This thing was the origin of the strange noises under his bed. Viktor was still feeling the hues of purple of the monster’s eyes every time he blinked, but although the fright was still there—his arm hurt, the wound was real—curiosity began to overtake it.

What was happening? He wished to have enough strength to seat into the bed and watch, even if the little cautious part of him reassured otherwise.

*~*~*~*

You screwed up when closing the portal.

While sliding between shadowy corners in dozens of bedrooms, you felt something tugging at the pit of your stomach, like a rope tied with a rock falling down an empty well. It was the magic you used to close the portal, more specifically, the blood magic that was still visible in the pink cut of your palm. The same magic that the other person utilized to open it in the first place.

It was depleting your force. But at least, it allowed you to find the creature fast enough.

It was a strange sensation, not only the rope tightly tied around your chest but also the sudden heaviness of your limbs as you were transported from one shadow to another, traveling around the floors until you were in the correct place. Inside the Void, everything was the same, a parage of chaos and monsters lurking in penumbras, but here there were smells and lights and colors, the sound of voices still strange for you after so many years of only listening to shrieks and hisses.

The person who opened the portal—a man, as you could see from your peripheral vision as you slid from under the door and stick to the left corner—, was laying in bed and you could feel the weariness pour out of him as the voidling drew closer to his body, gigantic mouth already open.

Freeing the tentacles out your back towards the monster felt like opening a tight fist. The flowing movement found its way into the monster's torso, but as they pulled towards you, your human body felt drained, muscles drag down and eyes fluttering close with exhaustion. And you knew it was the accidental blood bond to open and close the portal.

The monster jumped out of the bed, using one of its attached to the roof to cut the grasp on some tentacles while lounging towards the dark corner, clicking noises of its limbs against the floor. The parasite at your back recoiled barely, heat in the cage of its armor. It was angry—if a such creature could feel emotions, you'd think so. It was probably just a primitive response to pain.

It was fast for being so big, you thought dumbfounded when the creature pushed you against the wall, its limbs stabbing you at stomach level to keep you in place, the parasite’s skin being cracking slowly at the pressure. The human part inside you felt a burning pain on your spine where the creature connected with you was being squished, its little needle-like claws deepening the grasp of your flesh and bones. You responded by throwing one of your claws into its head, aiming to cut its neck now that they were covered in the parasite’s skin, becoming pointy hooks.

Strangely, you were too slow, one of its thin limbs almost slaying off your arm. Recoiling by reflex, instead it got stuck into the wall. The creature shrieked when the limb didn’t come out when being pulled, dust staining the vision in one of your eyes.

It opened its mouth, teeth punctured at stomach level, sounding like breaking bones when the parasite's armor began to shatter. The tentacles expanded from where they were hiding, even if it felt as if they were birthing out your tore skin, and hooked up into the monster’s back. Quickly enough you noticed the acid poured in it didn’t penetrate the skin, instead resolved to open the little leech-like mouths in each tentacle to make the job manually.

But you had to keep it in place. Your eyes were scanning the room in search for something useful, in vain. So, you used your last resource, feeling the gaze of the person on the bed, that now has moved towards the edge, as if he tried to stand up. He better not, you thought as you pushed the creature down the ground, you on top. You had to be quick, its teeth stabbing you much quicker. Your neck stretched up the most you could, the parasite's mouth opened disturbingly big for being just a supposed little being attached, your human jaws creaked at mimicking the movement, when pointy, irregular teeth revealed, fangs that weren't used for chewing, but tearing.

Chomped a clear bite, tearing the monster's neck. The creature screeched, ad you rolled it, your weigh keep it from moving while the tentacles finally revealed the core and devoured it without wasting a second, the purple hue first multiply when it broke, then diminishing when the parasite's body absorbed it, the heat turning cold in your second skin.

The monster was quickly gone, turning dust now the magic that sustained it has passed into another being. Alas, the wound in your stomach won’t. The parasite retreated to save energy and self-heal its skin, leaving you in your human form, collapsed into the shadowy corner, stomach bleeding faintly. Sweat covered your forehead, and your dizzying vision took much longer to adapt.

Your human companion was still looking, now sitting out of bed, dark brows furrowed against curious golden eyes. You stopped, childishly thinking his eyes were so pretty. Shaking your head slightly, you focused in more relevant matters. He looked so pale, and you quickly understood where your lack of energy came from.

“What was that?” he asked, voice raspy from a sore throat. “Who are you?” Looking at the wound in your stomach, he added: “Are you alright?”

Who and not what. Well, that was new.

"Why did you open a portal to the Void?" you asked back, standing on wobbly legs. You were copying his haughty attitude.

“The what? I didn’t—” his words are interrupted by a cough that had him folding over himself, blood splattering over the hospital’s robe.

Blinking at seeing the crimson stains, you began to ponder that perhaps he didn’t do it deliberately.

Your name sounded strange and unknown when you said it out loud. “I came from the Void. A place that’s better to remain unknown, believe me,” you said when he was done, feeling the wound in your stomach healing slower than usual. “I believe you opened a portal there accidentally, with that floating blue cube, and your blood.”

“That’s impossible. The Hexcore doesn’t work.” Such harsh words seemed to hurt him, a grimace falling over his features. “It doesn’t…”

“Perhaps not properly. But that monster didn’t appear here randomly. Not me, neither.”

“How did you find me? Were you following me? I didn’t see you when I…” his voice faltered, becoming a whisper that you couldn’t hear.

“Let me know if you encounter others. I closed the portal when I entered through it, but I think some slipped before me; I will be looking for them.”

“Do you think they will follow me?” He looked half concerned, half resignated. Thick brows furrowed, dropped gaze and hunched shoulders.

You looked at his fragile state, something like guilt freezing your steps, thinking you could easily escape into the shadows and leave him behind. But you weren't in the Void anymore, and he was a person.

How strange.

Your strides were quiet against the linoleum, not stopping until you were in front of him. You could hear your heart beating faster than you were used to, like being in the middle of a hunt. He looked at you over dark lashes, eyelids fluttering closed. From the purple bags under his eyes, you could see he didn't sleep enough.

Much less with the last event.

It was a reckless action, probably even selfish, but you were in no right place to consider other options. You reopened the wound on your palm, dipping your pinky in the liquid.

“Open your mouth, please.” He glared at you.

“Why would—” you didn’t let him finish, introducing your finger inside his mouth. He bit you for the intrusion, and you contained a growl. Pulling your hand away.

“You’ll feel better.” And you would sense when another voidling creature lurked near him, in any case. You could hear steps approaching down the hall. "Call me if you have any questions. I think you should rest now."

He scoffed but his pale complexion had taken a more healthy color over his cheeks now. The man tucked himself into bed when he, too, heard the steps. "I don’t plan calling you, but in any case, how am I supposed to do that?"

You could distinguish the human silhouette under the door, taking the handle and pulling it down.

“You know my name now, don’t you?” you answered simply, calling the monster at your back to blend you into shadows when the door opened, and another man, much taller, went striding towards the other’s bed, clearly annoyed and preoccupied.

“Viktor, why aren’t you sleeping?” And then, upon noticing the crimson stain in his hospital robe; “do you want me to call the doctor?”

Viktor, you muttered. Well, now you two know each other’s name.

You and the monster, disguised in shadows, slid out the ajar door in three simple strides that would look like a flicking lightbulb, except for him, for Viktor, who looked from the corner of his eye, already knowing it wasn’t the lamp, but instead, you.

*~*~*~*

People said Viktor got caught in a magical explosion—that would explain both his passing out and the state of the lab. They tried to fix it, but there wasn't enough time between Viktor's leaving the hospital and the incident.

The window was still shattered, and the new doors didn't combine with the rest, but at least the chalkboard was intact, just as the notes and blueprints they left the day before. Just in disarray, but that could be fixed.

While looking at the Hexcore—now with a purple hue emanating from it instead of blue—Viktor knew better. And while some part of him felt guilty about hiding the truth from Jayce, he didn't want to cause a ruckus telling his friend he accidentally opened a portal into a forbidden place, with a strange, dangerous type of magic. He still wasn't sure what to expect from a symbiosis between the Arcane and this… thing. What did you call it? The Void? That Void?

He sat at his worktable, some edges still stained with dry blood. Looking back and forth between the crimson and the purple, Viktor got a memory of the Hexcore responding to his blood, and then your words resonated louder: he opened a portal—a magical portal—with it.

“Viktor, I’m going for lunch. Do not overwork yourself, alright? I’ll be right back.” He nodded absently at Jayce’s words, scribbling in his notes the link between blood and magic. The way you ate the purplish core of the monster, even the memory of his body feeling better when he licked your blood.

It was a logical derivation, that blood was one type of organic matter that propelled magic. Besides, his experiments of giving the Hexcore tools and pens didn’t work. So he went into the hall and plunged some plants from the pot decorating the entrance of the neighbor lab.

Viktor put the smaller sprout against the Hexcore, and light pulsed within. The runes glowed and the plants grew immensely and faster than with any fertilizer, but soon enough the plants dried, the purple inside the Hexcore deepening, runes blurring for a blink.

“What…?” he exhaled, quickly writing his first observation.

Did the plants just grow?

He put a second plant after moving the combination of runes, with the same result. Frustrated but curious, Viktor was about to do it a second time, when a hand materialized out of the accentuated shadows of the lab, grasping his wrist.

Your eyes shone as purple as the Hexcore when you glared at him.

“Stop feeding it! What do you think you’re doing?”

He pulled away, discovering your grip was strangely strong. Instead, he furrowed. “I don’t remember calling you.”

"Very funny." You snapped the plants out of his hands, his serious face frozen in an unappreciative scowl. "Don't change the topic."

“I believe entering this reserved area it’s punished with a penalty.” He pulled again, and you let go, sliding your body between him and the Hexcore.

“Too bad I’m not abided by your rules.” Your purple irises sneered into the flicking light of the Hexcore and his judicious gaze.

“This experiment can revolutionize Hextech… it can save my life," Viktor retorted, making you blink with surprise a couple of times before settling your expression into a neutral one. “Besides, what did you mean by feeding it? I’m not feeding anything, just—” But he stopped, not totally sure of how to explain, because he didn’t know with certainty yet.

He did say the Hexcore could be the autonomous version of Hextech that could evolve and learn by itself, but it was a contrasting story if the Hexcore was something alive.

"Save your life?" you muttered, without avoiding looking at his wrinkly clothes and unkept hair, purple eye bags that were beginning to fade, but still present. "That's why I'm so weak lately."

Viktor scoffed. “What did you give me yesterday? I’m feeling weird ever since.” Weird wasn’t the correct word, he looked stronger than his lethargic figure in the hospital.

“I’m glad you bring it out. We need to talk.”

*~*~*~*

The desk was cold when you sat on it, the creature at your back felt heavy and satisfied, even if it tried to tilt your back towards the strange floating cube. Your muscles were stiff, a strange play between a dot of warmth and cold in your spine, where the parasite was wounded.

It wasn’t healing quickly, which was a problem.

"Alright, let's talk, then." The man—Viktor—sat on the stool in front of the desk and drag it closer, so the length of his crutch brushed your left leg every time you bounced it. "Are you going to tell me what drug you gave me yesterday?"

You shook your head. “None. We accidentally made a magical bloodbound. You spilled some blood into the magical cube…”

“It’s called Hexcore.”

“…the Hexcore. You spilled the blood and opened the portal while combining runes. When I came, I had to close the portal with some blood, too.” You signaled the Hexcore. "The artifact connects us using magic, and unless it's destroyed, the bond will remain." He began to fidget with the handle of his crutch, fingertips brushing lightly against the white pants you stole from the hospital's storage room yesterday. "Your health should have been improved slightly by my strength, but mine it's diminished by your sickness. That's why I gave you my blood last night, so your health could turn better faster and thus not drag me along."

He was already planning, you could see it in his golden eyes glassy, brows knitted together, gaze fixated on the chalkboard in the corner of the room, filled with scribbles so close to each other you couldn't discern too many words.

“Can you cure me?” Viktor said, trying to sound plain, but you could hear the edge of hope in every syllable.

Pondering, you answered. “I don’t know.” His eyes dropped, and you had to add: “Perhaps I can, but after giving you too much of my blood… I don’t know if you would still be human.”

He put his chin between his thumb and index finger, vision towards the window, in something further than the city landscape. Maybe he’s willing to try, but were you? “Aren’t you human?” his voice sounded lost.

"Not anymore," you said quietly. And then, with a childish intent to better the mood: "I thought the tentacles would be an obvious sign."

Viktor smiled slightly. “Why did you stop it? From…” The words killing me didn’t come out, but they were engraved into his sudden grimace.

"I couldn't let it hurt you. It wasn't your fault to open the portal." He closed his eyes, turning his head in the opposite direction of where you were. "You didn't know what would happen afterward."

He didn’t talk for a long time, only the ticking of the clock and your breaths filling the room with noise. You were already standing up, ready to tell him to call you in case he found something out of place.

“Why did you cross the portal?” Viktor was looking right into your eyes, expression lightly filled with curiosity, eyes shining.

“To hunt the monsters that escaped. They’re very dangerous on the loose, and I have to kill them and do it as soon as I can, before people notice there are creatures from the Void here, too. Or worse, before someone gets hurt."

"Then they can't know about you either." You nodded, walking towards the exit of the lab, ready to call the parasite to disguise you as shadows so you could follow the same way you did to enter. Looking at the white pants and the long-sleeved shirt you stole from the hospital, he added: "I think we should find better-suiting clothes for you."

You turned toward him, cheeks pulling upwards in a strange motion that wasn’t completely a smile. “You think?” He was already standing up, going outside the lab into an adjacent door.

"I believe there should be some spare clothes from us lying around." You followed him inside the closet filled with lab coats and some clothes burned or decolorated. "I don't think either mine or Jayce's would fit you," he said looking at you with a slight pout, focused. "With some luck, Sky would have left some… Aha!" It was a pleated white skirt burned at the hem, with a white jacket also partially burned at the left side front.

He took a stripped, brown long-sleeved shirt way too narrow and long for you. “No blouses, so this will have to work,” Viktor muttered, lips pursing while giving you the clothes, gesturing to you to get inside the lab. “Change, I’ll wait outside.”

The skirt burned at the front, shortening the length a little. You couldn't remember when the last time you wore one was, but the fabric was soft. You couldn't button the shirt all the way up, stopping at your breasts. You hoped the jacket could dissimulate enough, even if the neckline was a little bit exaggerated.

Opening the door, you peeked at Viktor who was leaning against the wall. "I'm done." He looked at you, nodding proudly with a small smile playing at his lips. You didn't want him to comment about it, so you were about to leave. "Please call me if you encounter something strange."

Out of the corner of the hall, there were two male voices discussing something. You froze, while Viktor dragged you inside the lab before closing the doors and locking them.

You became a shadow, the creature at your back expanding its case to blur you into shadows. Viktor gestured to you while muttering: "No! There's Professor—there's a yordle outside!” You cursed. Of course, now of all the times, a yordle has to be approaching.

Biting your lip, you considered jumping out the window. The stench of the Void wouldn’t be so strong without you here, even if it were potent with your transformation. But then you’ll fall several stories down into a courtyard filled with people.

Shaking your head, you called your human form again. Viktor shoved you against his desk, so you were again trapped against the Hexcore and his body.

You felt your cheeks hot. “What are you doing—"

Viktor leaned towards your body, muttering in a rushed tone that made the hair in your ear move: "Follow my lead, yes?"

You were too astonished to reply, so you just nodded. To hunt inside the Void, you pretended to be weak prey, a lonely human trapped with monsters. Maybe it wasn't that different.

He put one of your hands tentatively over his shoulder. “Then hug me.”

It was strange, you thought while enveloping your arms around him, hiding your head in the crook of his neck. When was the last time you hugged someone? Probably more than a decade. And who was? You couldn’t remember that.

Alien sensation, and still some deep part inside of you crave for it, in the way your hands took fists filled with Viktor's clothes, under them, you could sense the edges of some metallic piece at his back, and you remembered your spine accessory.

You couldn’t see the expressions of the people who entered the room without knocking—you supposed they were familiars with the lab, perhaps even with Viktor. But oh, you could sense the magic, although faded, around the yordle.

"Viktor, why is the door locked?" a young voice said, followed by:

“Oh, it seems we’re interrupting—”

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Viktor said loud enough for them to hear, his breath moving your hair luringly. “I thought I never would see you again.”

You blinked, pushing him away slowly as you looked into his eyes. Until now you didn't notice he had a mole under his right eye. "I-I missed you," you said because you didn't know what more to say.

Viktor smiled, nodding softly as if saying good. Then, he turned, acting surprised and embarrassed, though you had to admit his flushed cheeks deceived just right.

“Hello Professor,” he tilted his head as if it were a little bow. “You’re back, Jayce.”

“Viktor… who… what…” Jayce shook his head, smiling friendly while walking towards you. You remembered him as the man inside Viktor’s room in the hospital yesterday. So, they were friends. “Hi, I don’t think we’ve been presented yet. I’m Jayce Talis, Viktor’s partner.”

He was debating between reaching his hand out to you or not, Viktor still half-hiding you. Against your best judgment, you jumped out of the desk and gave a final stride to shake his hand. "Hello, I'm…" faltering, you stopped mid-sentence, knowing well enough you couldn't give your real name in case Jayce was talking about you someday and accidentally blow up your cover while appearing in front of him like demons did in the legends. "I'm Cora."

After everything, it was a miracle you could still remember your mother’s name.

Viktor walked to be next to you, patting you on the shoulder. “Jayce, Professor, Cora’s my childhood best friend. Her parents moved to Shurima years ago, and I thought she’ll never come back.”

Nodding you turned and smiled at him. "I think I'll better get going, you seem to be very busy."

The yordle walked towards you, eyes squinting. “Child, may I ask if you ever visited Icathia, or lived near it?” Your blood run cold, and Viktor seemed to pinpoint his gaze from you to the yordle.

Swallowing, you said very quietly. “I did. My parents wanted to study the fall of the city, and I tried to follow their steps until they disappeared…” your voice broke against your will. “I... I suppose there are things better to stay hidden."

It was a difficult story to say because it was mostly true. The day the city fell, you lost your parents and many more things.

The yordle looked ashamed of asking. “I’m sorry for your lost, child.”

You almost jumped forward when Viktor put a hand on your upper back, flinching when he touched your spine. He wouldn't feel anything tactfully strange. The creature was a mere black line along your spine, flat and seamlessly undisturbed.

“I’ll walk you to the building’s exit. You must be tired from your travel.” Viktor walked towards the door, a constant thump every time, stopping by gesturing you to walk out first. The yordle nodded, and you could sense Jayce’s gaze piercing your back.

He began to talk towards the stairs’ landing on the floor beneath the lab.

“May I ask who Cora is?”

You descended slowly, waiting for him. “She was my mom.” He nodded carefully, looking guilty. “It’s alright, it happened a long time ago.” Half-lie, half-truth.

Most of the way was silent after that. The main hall was flooding with traffic, students entering, following researchers and academics up their labs. You looked at their uniforms, almost identical to yours. Sun blinding you when stepped out the building, a soft, gentle summer breeze surrounding the city.

“I’ll get going now. Just think about what I said, alright?” You were about to turn, feeling the warmth sunlight bathing you, you felt light and relaxed. A smiled breaking in your lips as a very awaited, believed to be forgotten emotion bubbled outside your being. “Oh, and thanks for helping me today. You didn’t have to.”

Viktor nodded slightly, a little smile playing on his lips at seeing you contemplating the scenery. “I’m eager to know more about where you come from, so, if you don’t mind… perhaps I can call you soon?”

You weren’t expecting this. “You want to know more?”

He grasped the crutch, making the metal creak. "I have to try every option available." Ah, right. You couldn't blame him for wanting to survive.

“Yes. You know how to call me.” Your steps were unsure, and your vision was unfocused between him and the building behind. Why did your cheeks feel so hot?

“Then, I’ll see you soon, yes?” There was still doubt in his voice, so you stopped and looked at him from a couple of stairs under, head tilted backwards.

"Of course, I haven't talked with people in a long time, so…" The sound that came out your mouth wasn't strange, you laughed a lot when you were little, but you thought you would never do it again. "I look forward to talking with you, Viktor."

He chuckled slightly, already turning away. “Me too,” Viktor commented lightheartedly before mixing with the crowd, disappearing from your view.

#arcane halloweek day 3 #arcane halloweek day 4 #viktor x reader #fanfiction #Viktor

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fandom-events · 3 years ago

Text

Piltovian Psycho

Written for day two of Arcane Halloweek! @fandom-events . The prompt was “scary movies”, so I decided to write an ode to one of my favorite horror movies, and my favorite girlboss— Mel Merdarda. Warnings for blood and violence. Enjoy!

Mel walked into the restaurant with a smile on her face and murder in her eyes. Normally, she’d never set foot in a place like this, but here she was, and there was Salo, sitting at a table in the middle of the restaurant. It was a good table, despite the restaurant being shit. The alcohol was cheap, though. Meaning it was one of Jayce’s favorite restaurants. Ever since Viktor quit the company and started working for that Silco freak, Jayce never seemed sober. Hell, he was so drunk that when Mel took him out, the poor thing believed when she said they were at Dorsia, even though they were at Barcadia.

Mel’s hands curled into fists at the memory. Barcadia was good and all, but it didn’t carry the prestige Dorsia did. She was a Merdarda for Christ’s sake, she should be able to get a table at Dorsia. She was just as good as these Piltover snobs. The restaurant— a dump called Texarkana— did serve her purpose, though. Low-key, filled with staff that weren’t paid enough to remember faces or names. It would be perfect.

Her nails dug into her palms and a smile fluttered to her face as Councilor Salo came into her sight.

He held himself with the effortless air of competence and intelligence that certainly required hours of practice to get right, especially since he had neither competence nor intelligence. Mel practiced that same air in front of her mirror while doing her skin routine. His suit was Armani. Perfectly tailored black suit jacket, a blue shirt, and an obnoxious blue and gold tie. His blond hair was done ever so tastefully, caked with so much gel it would crunch. The perfect, unshakable facade. Or maybe it wasn’t a facade; maybe he did have something underneath his business card pale skin.

He was already arguing with the waiter about how shit of a restaurant it was, how it was nearly empty, and that it was bogus they were out of crawfish gumbo or whatever slop he wanted. She sat across from him. She smoothed out her white dress pants and straightened her suit jacket. Tonight was special. She wore all Versace.

“J&B straight, and a corona,” she spoke.

“Double Absolut martini,” Salo snapped.

“Yes sir,” the waiter sheepishly said, turning to her, “would you like to hear the specials?”

Not if you want to keep your spleen, she thought. Instead, she gave a polite smile. Salo waved the waiter away. Of course, she couldn’t say it aloud. She had to keep her head, no matter what. One slip of the mask and it was over. Salo would march away and tell everyone that Mel Merdarda was a crazy bitch.

“We should’ve gone to Dorsia,” Salo whined, “I could’ve gotten us a table.

Pretentious prick. He gets one important job and he suddenly thinks he’s the king of the world. Dorsia took ages to get a reservation at, and here he was,

“Nobody goes there anymore,” she lied. Salo looked vaguely uncomfortable and took a sip of his drink. If her plan went well, it would be the first of many.

And it was. Mel kept the drinks coming, one after another until Salo was half in his chair and half over the table. Martini after martini came to the table, and Salo poured each down his throat like his name was Jayce Talis. She tilted her head.

“I like to dissect girls,” she said casually, “did you know I’m utterly insane?”

Salo only laughed.

“Where’s Jayce at? Are you two— how is he? Where is he tonight?”

“Jayce is Jayce. You know Jayce,” she said. Salo laughed.

“Yeah, you could do so much better than that alcoholic fuck,” he slurred.

Her eye twitched. It took every thread of will to keep from lunging across the table and grabbing him by the throat, deboning him like a trout in front of every single person in the restaurant. Jayce was a bit of a wreck, yes, an easily manipulated fool, but he was smart as a tack and twice the man Salo would ever be. Even more so, Jayce was the love of her life, the only thing keeping her from slaughtering Salo and every other pig headed asshole in Piltover.

She let out a slow breath.

“Why don’t we go back to my place?” She offered.

His grin became salacious. Mel entertained the fantasy of stabbing him with her fork. She tilted her head, and helped Salo up, outside, then into a cab.

The ride went surprisingly well. Getting him into the elevator took some effort, but soon enough, they were in her apartment. The floor had a coating of newspapers, and every piece of furniture was covered in a sheet. The only thing uncovered was a small crystal dish, which held a single cigar. Salo didn’t even seem to notice the state of her apartment, honing in on the bottle of brandy next to a chair. He sat down heavily. Mel walked next to him and poured him a glass. He took it and sipped slowly.

Mel walked over to her stereo.

“Do you like Huey Lewis and The News?” Mel asked, picking up the CD case. Salo shrugged sloppily.

“They're OK.”

She smiled.

“Their early work was a little too new wave for my tastes, but when Sports came out in '83, I think they really came into their own, commercially and artistically.”

She strut into the bathroom. Her heart pounded with manic energy.

“The whole album has a clear, crisp sound, and a new sheen of consummate professionalism that really gives the songs a big boost!”

The raincoat slipped over her shoulders like a second skin, covering her white Versace suit. Her hand fluttered to a bottle of pills. She poured two into her palm and swallowed them with a glass of water. She looked at herself in the mirror. A bloodthirsty creature stared back. She looked lethal. She looked like a Merdarda.

She picked up the axe and moonwalked out of the bathroom.

“He's been compared to Elvis Costello, but I think Huey has a far more bitter, cynical sense of humor,” she explained.

“Hey Merdarda,” Salo asked, staring at the bottle in his hand.

“Yes, Salo?”

“Why are there copies of the newspaper all over the place, d-do you have a poro? A little chow or something?” He joked, prodding the ground with his shoe. She smiled dangerously.

“No, Salo.”

He glanced backward, eyes half-lidded.

“Is that a raincoat?”

"Yes, it is!” She exclaimed patronizingly. Salo’s head lolled forward drunkenly. She started talking again.

“In '87, Huey released this; Fore!, their most accomplished album,” she said, cranking the volume on the stereo, "I think their undisputed masterpiece is ‘Hip To Be Square’, A song so catchy, most people probably don't listen to the lyrics.”

She emphasized the words with a little hip sway as she crossed the room. Salo stared at the newspaper-covered floor. He prodded the sports section with his foot. Mel continued, circling behind him to grab the axe.

"But they should, because it's not just about the pleasures of conformity and the importance of trends. It's also a personal statement about the band itself!”

She grinned wildly, baring her teeth. She hoisted the axe up.

“Hey, Salo!"

Mel raised the axe above her head. Salo’s head whipped around. His eyes lit up in desperate fear. His eyes were wide like a rabbit's. Mel brought the axe down. Hot blood squirted on her face, over the plastic poncho. It stained her skin. Ruined her makeup. Red and gold trickled down her face in thick rivulets. She yanked the axe out of him.

"Try getting a reservation at Dorsia now, you fuckin' stupid bastard!" Mel howled.

Salo’s body fell, and he bled all over the newspapers and her heels, painting the red bottoms redder. She snarled as the axe caught in bone. She yanked it out, shouting incoherently. The axe came down again. Again. Again. Her shoulders burned with the effort, but she couldn’t stop herself. The iron tang of blood filled the air, every breath tasting like she’d run her tongue over a nickel.

And the second she was done, all feeling left her body. Numb static crept over her. She unbuttoned the raincoat, stepped over the body, and sat on the sheet-covered couch. She took the cigar from the crystal dish on her table. She lit it. She inhaled a long drag of sharp smoke.

Salo’s corpse bled through the newspapers. She couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of his body laying there, even if it would stain her floors. A plume of smoke came from her nose, and . Catharsis flowed with the nicotine through her veins, heart a steady beat. Salo had died with his eyes wide open. Stupid prick. At least he didn’t stain her suit.

Mel crossed her legs, Louboutins dripping red, and smoked.

#arcane halloweek day 2 #Mel medarda #Jayce talis #Viktor #arcane #fanfiction

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