#LOUD on the Viktor front though

[hy6erion]

I have a prompt for you :3 Modern college AU, Reader is Viktor’s long term (3 years) gf. Viktor and Jayce are roommates. Unbeknownst to reader, Jayce has harbored a massive, horny, borderline obsessive crush on the reader, but reminds himself that she’s his best friend’s girlfriend and she’s off limits. After a particularly gnarly fight, and Reader goes to Jayce for comfort. Jayce’s dreams come true as one thing turns to another and the two finally fuck, even though Jayce knows it’s super wrong, he just can’t help himself.

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 ���𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐒𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐥

⇢ 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 (𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢), 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫), 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫, 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

Jayce shouldn’t think about you like this.

He shouldn’t be thinking about you at all.

You were Viktor’s girlfriend. Three years strong, the kind of relationship people envied in college—built on wit, inside jokes, late-night library sessions, and that particular kind of intimacy that came with knowing someone’s every habit, every preference, every vulnerable little detail. You and Viktor had history. You were off-limits.

Jayce reminded himself of that every day.

And yet.

He’d met you when you first started dating Viktor, and for a while, you’d just been his best friend’s girl. He’d liked you, of course—who wouldn’t? You were smart, funny, charming. A little wicked when you wanted to be. You had an easy confidence that wasn’t loud but could cut through a room when you chose to wield it. He respected you. He’d been happy for Viktor.

But then he started seeing you.

The way your shirt would ride up when you stretched, exposing a slice of soft stomach, the curve of your back. The way you’d cross your legs in those tiny little shorts you wore around their apartment, not even thinking about how much thigh you were showing. The way you’d throw your head back when you laughed, exposing your throat, and something deep in Jayce’s brain would snarl, bite.

It had started slow. A thought here or there. She’s cute. She smells nice. Her voice is pretty. But then it grew. And grew. And now—

Now, Jayce was drowning in it.

It was unbearable, the way he wanted you.

He wanted you with the kind of reckless, hungry desperation that kept him up at night, his cock hard and aching under the sheets, one hand shoved over his mouth as he furiously fisted himself to the thought of you.

Because he’d seen enough to know what he was missing.

Viktor wasn’t shy about affection—not in front of Jayce, anyway. His hands were always on you. A palm on your lower back, fingers curling around your wrist, a possessive hand curling around your nape when he pulled you in for a kiss.

You were sweet when you kissed him. Jayce had seen it, had watched your lips part, the way your mouth opened up so easily under Viktor’s, the little sighs you made when he deepened the kiss.

And Jayce— Jayce hated himself for it, but he stared.

He watched the way your lips moved, the way your hands would slide into Viktor’s hair, nails dragging against his scalp. He watched Viktor slip a hand under the hem of your shirt when he thought Jayce wasn’t looking, fingertips tracing the bare skin of your waist. He watched Viktor tug you into his lap when you were sitting together on the couch, your body curling into him so effortlessly.

And he imagined.

He imagined you crawling into his lap instead. Imagined those fingers twisting into his hair, pulling him down for a kiss. He imagined you pressing up against his chest, all warm and soft, melting against him the way you melted against Viktor. He imagined sliding a hand between your thighs, slipping his fingers under the hem of those tiny fucking shorts, touching you—

Jayce swallowed, his jaw tight, his fists clenched on his knees.

He needed to get a grip.

But it was so fucking hard.

Especially when you were over all the damn time.

Like tonight.

You were curled up on Viktor’s bed, scrolling on your phone, while Viktor sat at his desk typing something up. Jayce was trying to focus on his own work, but you were right there. Your legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles. Your shirt slipping off your shoulder, exposing a teasing glimpse of bare skin.

And when you stretched, arching your back with a soft, contented little sigh—

Jayce had to physically look away.

Because if he didn’t, he’d be imagining how you’d sound stretching out under him, back arching as he pinned your wrists above your head, pressing his cock deep inside you. He’d be imagining the way your body would move against his, hips rolling, thighs trembling.

Would you whimper?

Would you moan?

Would you say his name?

Jayce inhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus on his laptop screen, but the damage was already done. His jeans were getting tight, and he couldn’t just sit here like this. Not with you so fucking close. Not when Viktor could look up at any second and see the way his best friend was fighting a hard-on over his girlfriend.

“Gonna grab a shower,” Jayce muttered, already getting to his feet.

He barely waited for a response before heading for the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. His hands were already at his belt, yanking it open, then his zipper, shoving his jeans down just enough to free his aching cock.

He was leaking, pre-cum smeared over his fingers as he wrapped a hand around himself, hissing through his teeth.

He shouldn’t be doing this. Not with you and Viktor in the other room.

But that only made it hotter.

Jayce squeezed his eyes shut, breath shuddering as he imagined you on your knees for him, looking up at him with those sweet, innocent eyes, your lips swollen and wet.

Would you tease him?

Drag your tongue over the head of his cock, tasting him, making him beg?

Or would you take him deep, all at once, moaning as he hit the back of your throat?

Fuck, fuck, fuck—

He bit his lip, his pace getting faster, his mind flooding with filth. The thought of bending you over, gripping your hips tight enough to bruise, watching his cock disappear into your wet, tight heat.

Would you take him like a good girl?

Would you cry for him, beg him for more?

Would you let him fuck you on Viktor’s bed, moaning into his pillow, soaking the sheets?

He was close. He was so fucking close—

“Jayce?”

Your voice. Right outside the bathroom door.

Jayce nearly choked on his own breath, barely swallowing down the groan threatening to escape his throat.

He couldn’t stop. Not now. His body was right there, coiled tight, ready to snap.

“Y-yeah?” His voice was hoarse, strained.

“You left your laptop open,” you said. “Want me to close it?”

Jayce barely heard you. His head was tipped back against the wall, his hand working himself furiously, desperate and needy and—

“Jayce?”

His whole body jerked, his free hand slamming against the shower wall to keep himself upright. Hot ropes of cum spilled over his fingers, his stomach, his breath coming in ragged, shuddering gasps.

Fuck, he was a mess.

“…Jayce?”

He barely managed to suck in a breath before responding, his voice rough, strained.

“Uh—yeah! Yeah, thanks—just, uh—just close it.”

A pause. Then, finally: “Okay.”

And then you were gone.

Jayce dropped his head back against the shower wall, chest heaving.

He was so fucking screwed.

⸻

Jayce had always known it would be you.

If he ever fucked up—if he ever did something truly unforgivable—it would be because of you.

Because he wasn’t strong enough to resist.

Because he wanted you too badly.

Because if you ever gave him even the slightest chance, the tiniest sliver of an opening, he knew—knew—he’d take it.

And tonight, you were in his bed.

Not like that. Not yet. But close. So close.

Your back was pressed against his chest, the curve of your spine fitting perfectly against him, your body curled up tight. His arm was draped loosely over your waist and you were holding onto him, gripping his forearm like you needed him.

Jayce’s heart was pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

You and Viktor had fought—one of your worst ones yet, judging by the way you’d stormed into Jayce’s room, tears already gathering in your eyes, voice shaking.

“He’s such an asshole sometimes,” you’d choked out, voice thick.

Jayce had never seen you like this. Sure, you and Viktor bickered, had your little disagreements. But this—this had been different. Your eyes were red-rimmed, your breath hitching like you were really about to cry.

And Jayce— he’d hated it.

Hated seeing you like this. Hated the idea that Viktor had made you feel this way.

So he’d done the only thing he could think of.

He’d pulled you into his arms.

He hadn’t even hesitated. He’d just reacted, gathering you up against his chest, tucking you beneath his chin. And the moment he felt you melt into him, your fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt, your warm breath against his collarbone—

Jayce had been ruined.

You let him comfort you. You curled up against him like he was something safe, something you trusted. You buried your face against his neck, and your lips brushed his skin, soft and warm, and Jayce had to fight the full-body shiver that threatened to overtake him.

He wasn’t strong enough for this. He wasn’t strong enough for you.

Now, you were here, in his bed, tangled up with him, breathing slow and deep.

And Jayce—Jayce was barely hanging on.

Because he could feel you.

The warmth of you. The softness of your body, the way your back pressed into his chest, the curve of your ass nestled against his thigh. The little way you shifted against him, not even thinking about how you were pressing yourself closer, the way your fingers tightened around his arm when he moved, like you didn’t want him to go.

Jayce swallowed hard, his breath ragged.

This was wrong. This was so wrong. But you weren’t letting go. And neither was he.

Jayce sucked in a slow, shaky breath, forcing himself to be still. To be good. To be the friend you needed right now, and nothing more.

But then you shifted again, tilting your head back against his shoulder, blinking up at him with those soft, sad eyes.

“…Do you think he still loves me?” you whispered.

Jayce’s heart ached.

How could you even ask that? How could you not know?

He wasn’t Viktor, but if he were— if he had you, if you were his—he’d never let you doubt it for even a second.

“You don’t even have to ask that,” Jayce murmured, voice low, rough. “Of course he does.”

You hesitated. Looked away.

“But why does it feel like he doesn’t?”

Jayce felt something coil tight in his chest.

Because Viktor doesn’t deserve you, he wanted to say. Because he’s a fucking idiot for making you feel like this.

But instead, he just exhaled, shifting slightly, just enough to brush his lips over the crown of your head.

“…He’s just a dumbass sometimes,” he said, as gently as he could.

You huffed a soft, breathy little laugh, but it was shaky, still raw at the edges.

You turned in his arms.

Shifted so that you were facing him now, your forehead just inches from his, your breath warm against his lips.

You didn’t move away. Didn’t pull back.

Jayce could see everything. The way your eyes searched his, soft and unreadable. The way your lips parted, just slightly, like you were waiting.

Jayce’s whole body went still. Because he knew that look. And it had never been for him before.

His breath came sharp and fast, his heart hammering, his pulse a frantic, desperate thing in his throat.

“…Jayce.”

His name on your lips was so fucking dangerous.

Because you weren’t saying it like you usually did. You weren’t saying it like a friend. You were saying it soft, breathless, hesitant. Like something unspoken was hanging between you, thick and heavy.

Tell me to stop, Jayce thought, his hands trembling where they rested on your waist. Tell me you didn’t mean to get this close. Tell me you don’t want this.

But you didn’t. You just looked at him.

And that— That was what finally broke him.

Jayce kissed you. He didn’t even think. Didn’t hesitate. Just moved, closing the space between you, slanting his mouth over yours, catching that perfect, soft little gasp against his lips.

And you kissed him back.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him, pressing closer, your body molding against his like you fit there. Like you’d always belonged there.

Jayce groaned into your mouth, deep and desperate, his grip tightening around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.

You were so warm. So soft.

And you weren’t stopping him.

You weren’t stopping any of it.

Jayce didn’t know if he should feel guilty.

Didn’t know if he should feel like the worst person on the fucking planet right now.

But all he could think about—

All he could focus on—

Was you.

Your mouth against his. Your body against his. The little, breathless sound you made when he dragged his teeth over your lower lip. The way your hands fisted in his shirt, like you needed this just as much as he did.

Like you wanted him.

Jayce knew— Knew— That he was never coming back from this.

⸻

Jayce knew he’d burn in hell for this, but if hell felt even a fraction as good as sinking into you did, then he’d gladly walk into the fire and beg for more.

You were beneath him, your cheek pressed into the mattress, hips tilted up to meet every slow, dragging thrust of his cock. His body caged yours, his chest molding to your back, one arm coiled tight around your throat, just enough pressure to make you shiver. You were spread out and helpless under him, pinned, trapped between his massive frame and the damp, twisted sheets of Viktor’s bed.

And he still didn’t know who he was apologizing to.

His forehead dropped against the back of your shoulder as he fucked into you, slow but deep, his hips rolling in a lazy, dragging rhythm that made you whimper into the pillow. He could feel every inch of you, every quiver of your walls, every tremble that ran through your body when he bottomed out, when he stretched you, splitting you open on his cock, ruining you for anyone else.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, lips dragging over your skin, mouthing at your shoulder, your nape, your jaw. He didn’t even know what he was saying sorry for anymore—fucking you like this? Making you take it like this? Or was it for Viktor, for stabbing him in the back, for stealing something that had never been his to claim? But then you made that sound, that soft, breathless moan that sent a bolt of heat straight through his gut, and he wasn’t sorry, wasn’t fucking sorry at all.

Jayce groaned, tightening his arm around your throat, pulling you closer, forcing you to feel the full weight of him as he drove into you. You gasped at the new angle, nails scrabbling at the sheets, he felt you clench around him, felt the way your body reacted to every shift, every press, every deliberate grind of his hips.

“You like this, don’t you?” he rasped against your ear, his voice wrecked, desperate. “You like getting fucked like this. Letting me have you. Letting me take you however I want.” His free hand traced down your spine, fingers splaying across your lower back before sliding lower, palming your ass, spreading you wider for him. He swore under his breath, feeling how wet you were, how easy it was to push back in, your body welcoming him, gripping him like you never wanted him to leave.

And Viktor—Viktor would never fuck you like this.

Jayce wasn’t even sure Viktor could.

The thought made something mean and possessive unfurl in his chest, something ugly and hungry and dripping with venom. His hand slid up, fingers tangling in your hair, wrenching your head back just enough to expose your throat, your gasping mouth, your fucked-out expression. His teeth scraped along the curve of your jaw, his lips ghosting over your ear as he let out a ragged chuckle.

“You ever think about this when you’re with him?” His voice was low, teasing, but there was something dark threaded through it, something raw. “Ever wish he’d put you on your stomach and fuck you stupid? Hold you down and make you take it?” He punctuated the words with a sharp thrust, making you cry out, your fingers twisting in the sheets.

But you didn’t tell him to stop.

You never told him to stop.

That was all the confirmation he needed.

Jayce growled, his grip on your throat tightening, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who had you like this, who was stretching you open, ruining you, making you moan and whimper into the pillow. “Bet he’s never made you this messy, has he?” He kissed the corner of your mouth, nipping at your lower lip. “Never made you this fucking wet.” His free hand slid down, fingers dipping between your thighs, finding the slick evidence of just how much you loved this, how much you needed this, how much you wanted him.

“Fuck,” he hissed, feeling you tremble under him. “Look at you. So desperate. So perfect. And all fucking mine right now.”

Because you were.

In this moment, you were his.

Viktor might have had your past, but Jayce was carving himself into your present, marking you with every deep, deliberate stroke of his cock, making sure you’d remember him long after this. Making sure you’d feel him tomorrow, aching and sensitive, your body still shaped around the memory of him.

Jayce groaned, his body shuddering, his arm flexing around your throat as he buried himself as deep as he could, his hips rolling, grinding, dragging out every last delicious little sound you had for him.

He could die like this.

Jayce barely had the presence of mind to bite back his groan as he drove into you again and again , slow and deep, his body flush against yours, his breath hot and ragged against your ear. You were so wet, so warm, clenching around him with every thrust, your soft little whimpers muffled against the pillow. His arm stayed firm around your throat, holding you exactly where he wanted you, keeping you spread out beneath him, trembling, needy.

“Mine.” The word was a growl, a broken confession, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he rocked into you, dragging it out, making sure you felt every inch of him. You shivered at the possessiveness in his voice, your fingers twisting in the sheets, another breathless little moan slipping from your lips. Fuck, you sounded so good.

A knock at the door. Jayce froze.

“Y/N?”

Viktor’s voice. Jayce’s stomach fucking dropped. His cock twitched inside you.

“Are you in there?” Viktor’s voice was quieter than usual, hesitant. “I… I want to talk.”

You stiffened under Jayce, your breath hitching, but he felt the way your cunt fluttered around him, like your body didn’t want him to stop, like the shock of it only made you squeeze him tighter.

And Jayce—he should pull out, should shove you away, should fix himself, should do anything but what he actually did.

Because instead— He tightened his arm around your throat and thrust back in.

[kaminocasey]

Personal Space

A/N: I saw art of Jayce invading personal space and realized that Jayce would have no concept of personal space. (Did you see the way that man laid his head in Mel's lap? The way he comforts Viktor?) Also please be gentle with me, this is my first Arcane/Jayce fic lol.

Summary: You really love your personal space, unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how one looks at it, Jayce also really loves your personal space.

Warnings: Fluff, a little bit of angst. Jayce Talis has no sense of personal space. Kissing. Parties. Protective!Jayce.

Pairing: University!Jayce Talis x University!Reader

“It’s looking like it’s not going to be finished in time to show the professor…” Jayce grumbles to himself, looking up at the chalkboard full of equations and symbols that you don’t understand. 

You’re studying literature. Jayce is studying science. Opposites. Yet, you know what they say about opposites attracting. Like magnets. That’s you and Jayce. Though, you suppose Jayce probably wouldn’t understand that phrase unless it’s only referencing magnets. 

That’s the thing about the two of you. Before meeting Jayce, you couldn’t stand to let anyone in your personal space. You didn’t like people touching you but then this guy came along and it was obvious right from the start, he’s the touchy type. And suddenly, you found yourself not minding. 

“Look at this.” Jayce grabs you, pulling you in front of him so that his front is pressed up against your back. 

Gods, he’s so warm. You can’t help but lean against him as he rests one hand on your hip and then points to all the things on the chalkboard with the other, explaining every single point and fact to you. You have no idea what the hell he’s talking about, but it doesn’t matter. 

So much for personal space.

~*~

“Read to me.” Jayce walks into your dorm room late at night, finding you curled up in your bed, leaning against the wall, reading your book. 

Without an invite, he crawls into your bed and then rests his head in your lap, shutting his eyes. You can tell that he’s been in the lab all night by the way his body just slumps over your lap, his hand resting on your knee. 

“My roommate is sleeping.” You murmur, looking up at her across the room in her bed, her back turned to you as she faces the wall.

“She’s a heavy sleeper.” He shrugs.

You don’t say anything for a moment, earning a sigh from Jayce.

“Resa.” Jayce says your roommate’s name a little loudly.

Your head shoots up to your sleeping roommate’s form who hasn’t even so much as budged.

“See?” Jayce chuckles, glancing up at you slightly.

You let out a fake sigh, rolling your eyes and then start reading out loud. You get about a page in when Jayce pulls your free hand up into his hair, letting you know what he wants. Your fingers curl into his hair and start massaging his scalp. 

He lets out a soft groan and your hand pauses for a moment before he whispers. “Don’t stop… please.” 

You smile softly and start again, turning back to your book and starting to read out loud again. A few moments later, you hear soft snores. 

Later that night, as the two of you sleep, he has you pulled against him as he spoons you. You can’t help but think to yourself the next morning when you wake up before he does, who needs personal space?

~*~

Shelving books on the weekend at the library helps bring in a little bit of income for you to get by while at university. Sometimes, Jayce will come and keep you company while you do so. Which is how you find yourself in this situation.

“So, I was thinking we could leave from here and go straight to Claxle’s party once you’re off?” He gestures to the doors.

You give him a sour face.

“Don’t give me that face. Please.” He gives you a fake pout, making you roll your eyes.

“Don’t you give me that face.” You look down at the cart of books, trying to not give in.

At least not right away. 

Every time you pull books off the cart to put back onto the library shelves, he takes another step toward you, practically crowding you against the shelf.

Does he know he does this to you? Does he do it on purpose?

“I cannot think of anything I’d rather do less than go to Claxle Bogart’s party.” You whisper.

He chuckles. “Oh come on. The parties aren’t that bad.”

You raise your eyebrows in a “oh really?” Kind of way and he rolls his own eyes, leaning off the shelf and stepping closer toward you, forcing you to look up at him. It’s times like these when you’re reminded of how much bigger he is than you. 

“Jayce…” You sigh, your eyes looking up into warm amber eyes.

He sighs your name and it takes everything in you to not go weak in the knees. 

“I’m afraid I won’t be much fun. I just wanna go back to my room and read my book.” You murmur, pulling away to start shelving books again.

“That’s why we gotta loosen you up, sweetheart.” He teases you, grabbing your shoulders and forcing you to look into his eyes again. 

You can’t help but go warm at the nickname and at the begging eyes. Unfortunately, you know there’s no saying no to this man. You think he knows that, too.

~*~

There’s a band playing somewhere in the hall of this dorm that has the door open so the music can trail out throughout the party. This is definitely not your scene, but as Jayce guides you through a crowd of people, his hand on your lower back, you can’t help but lean into his side. When you look up at him, he’s just looking forward, unaware of the effect he has on you. 

“Do you want a drink?” He leans down, close to your ear.

The warmth of his breath sends goosebumps down your entire body. You nod, leaning against the wall, needing a moment to collect yourself. Watching as he disappears into one of the rooms, you look up at the ceiling, breathing deeply. The music still feels way too loud and you feel exposed.

The dress was Jayce’s idea. He had told you that you looked great and you thought maybe you could trace a hint of pink in his cheeks when he said it, but you’re not convinced that wasn’t just your brain hoping. 

You hear your name from an unfortunately familiar voice. 

“Claxle.” You sigh, rolling your head to look at the annoying host of the party.

He leans against the wall, invading your personal space in a way that feels absolutely wrong. This is way different than Jayce. Jayce’s presence is warm and sweet. This is cold and makes you feel like you’re being stared at by a predator. 

“You don’t normally come to my parties.” He takes a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving you.

Your head turns toward the door that Jayce went in and you debate whether or not you should go find him. 

“Jayce convinced me.” You tell him.

“Talis, huh?” He smirks. “I always thought there was a little something something with you two. Then I figured maybe he was just using you to help him with his homework or something.”

You glare at Claxle. “Jayce is a scientist. I think he can manage his own homework. You know, speaking of, I think you’re the one who needs a tutor since you’ve not turned in an assignment to Professor Ulsa.” 

You give a polite and fake smile to let him know you’re done with the conversation. Unfortunately, Claxle gets a look in his eye as he looks you up and down.

“You do realize you’re wasting your time with Talis, right? Saw him cozying up with some blonde girl the other day anyway.” He smirks. 

“Okay.” You reply, refusing to give him any sort of reaction. 

Before Claxle can say anything else, Jayce finally makes his way back over, handing you a drink with a gentle “hey”. You smile up at him, ignoring the other guy. Claxle walks away without even acknowledging him. 

“What did Bogart want?” He asks. 

You shrug with an amused look. “To let me know I’m not your type and that you’re only friends with me so I can help you with school.” 

“What?” He glares, looking away into the crowd for Claxle. 

“Hey, it doesn’t matter.” You try to pull his attention back to you. 

Jayce’s gaze softens when he looks back down at you, nodding reluctantly. He’s normally so level headed, you’ve never seen him that worked up over something some jerk says.

“Let's get out of here.” He mumbles, taking your drink and sitting it down with his on a table so that he can grab your hand and lead you up the steps to the roof of the dormitory. 

He’s quiet for a while as he looks out over Piltover. 

“Jayce?” You tilt your head, watching as he’s leaning against the edge of the building.

He turns his head toward you and then slides his hand down to your hip, looking down at his own hand as he does so. This feels different than usual. 

“Why don’t you like me?” He murmurs, resting his forehead against yours. 

“What?” You ask, confused. “Of course I like-”

“No… that’s not what I-” He groans softly, clearly frustrated. “Claxle was wrong… you are my type.”

Oh.

“I am?” You can’t help but whisper, terrified that if you talk too loudly, this moment could be ruined or taken away from you. Or maybe you’re just too used to working in a quiet library.

“Of course you are.” He smiles that charming smile that makes your chest tighten. “I’ve only been flirting with you for the past two years.”

“Two years?” You ask, incredulous. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

He shrugs. “I’m shy?”

You playfully slug him and he laughs, pulling you closer against him. 

“I’ve been trying… I cuddle with you, I touch you…” He murmurs. 

“Jayce…” You shake your head, amused. “I thought that was just you being touchy.” 

“You didn’t notice I’m only that way when I’m with you?” He grins.

You shrug. “I guess not.”

“Will this help?” He asks, leaning down and brushing his soft pink lips against yours.

Finally, you think to yourself. 

His lips are just as soft as you’d thought they’d be. It seems like he’s been wanting to do this for just as long as you have.  

When he pulls away, you shake your head. “Need a little more help.” 

He chuckles against your lips before deepening the kiss, his hands eagerly finding your hips to hold you right where you are, holding onto you like you’re this man’s anchor. 

Yeah, you think, there is no personal space when it comes to Jayce Talis. 

And you’re absolutely fine with that.

[aspenmissing]

Ahhh! Yess another round of beautiful fanfics 😋😋! Could I pretty please with a cherry on top request arcane characters (and steb if you'd write him for me again, but if you don't feel like it that's perfectly fine too) and reader who's basically their right hand and half of their brain. They are together so much and compliment each other so perfectly so everyone assumes they're married. Reader is usually quick to correct them but this one time they do not. I'd love to see the arcane characters reaction to that!

No rush, you can write this absolutely whenever. Thank youu!!❤️❤️

ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴛ ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴀɢᴇ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ꜱᴛᴇʙ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 6593 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɴᴏɴᴇ?

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏᴏᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ ᴊᴀᴀɴᴏɴ!!! ꜱᴏ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʀ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ, ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ᴡᴇʟʟ! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴍᴀᴢɪɴɢ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ, ɪ ʜᴀᴅ ᴀ ꜰᴜɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ɪᴛ, ꜱᴏ ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ꜰᴜɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ɪᴛ! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ꜱᴛᴇʙ

JAYCE

You were always there—half a step behind or half a step ahead. Jayce couldn’t tell anymore. Sometimes, it was like you read his thoughts before he even had them, already preparing the rebuttal for a councilman’s predictable objection or drafting a revised schematic in the margins of his own blueprint before he realized what was wrong with it.

You didn’t walk behind him. You didn’t walk in front of him. You walked with him.

His right hand, and sometimes, when things got too loud in his head—his anchor. His breath. The calm voice in the storm. If Hextech had shaped the future of Piltover, then surely it had shaped you too, tucked away in the blueprints and circuitry, built right into the heart of it.

People noticed. They always did. How could they not?

So much so, in fact, that it had become something of a joke among the more socially inclined in Piltover’s upper circles. An elegant rumor that never quite died.

“Councilor Talis and their lovely spouse,” one of the Academy patrons had chuckled at a fundraiser just last week, swirling wine in his glass and gesturing to the two of you as if you were a matched pair on display.

You hadn’t even flinched. Just waved him off with that wry little smile. “Not married. Just smarter than him.”

Jayce had laughed, and maybe flushed a little. But he’d expected the correction. You always corrected them.

Until today.

=

The day had been chaos. Between back-to-back council sessions, mounting pressure over Hextech security concerns, and a surprise presentation Mel scheduled without warning ("It would be good for optics," she'd said), the both of you had barely had time to breathe.

Still, you’d stood beside Jayce at the front of the council chamber—your usual place, right at the edge of his shoulder, one hand resting on the notes you’d meticulously prepared, even though he never needed to read them when you were nearby. He didn’t look at them once.

Just at you.

One glance. One tiny nod from you.

And he carried the entire presentation like it was nothing, his voice steady and confident, his passion sharpening the air in the room. Because you were there.

When it was over, there was polite applause from the more reserved council members, more enthusiastic clapping from the Academy officials, and a visible look of relief in Jayce’s eyes as he stepped down from the dais beside you.

“You two made quite the impression,” Viktor said as he approached, cane tapping rhythmically across the polished floor. He offered a small, knowing smile as he glanced between you both. “Very... unified.”

You gave him a tired but pleased nod. “We’ve been practicing telepathy,” you quipped, eyes still sparkling from the high of the moment.

“And succeeding, apparently,” Viktor mused.

From the corner of the chamber, Mel sauntered over, arms crossed loosely, her gold jewelry catching the light as she assessed you both with mild amusement.

“I’d expect nothing less from Piltover’s golden couple,” she said smoothly, as if stating a fact.

Jayce opened his mouth, ready to do the usual song and dance of “Actually, no—” but then he saw it. The way your mouth moved slightly, like you were about to interrupt.

And then you didn’t.

You just smiled.

It wasn’t even a particularly mischievous smile. It was soft. Calm. Almost fond. And something in Jayce’s chest flipped.

Mel’s brow arched. Viktor blinked.

“You’re not denying it?” Mel asked, voice tinged with curiosity—and something just a little like delight.

You tilted your head, gave a casual shrug. “I’m tired,” you said simply, tone light but layered. “Too tired to fight the truth.”

Jayce’s eyebrows shot up. A grin threatened the corner of his lips, and he coughed into his fist to keep it from spreading too fast. He heard Mel chuckle under her breath.

“You are married, then?” Viktor asked, still staring like you were a complicated math problem suddenly clicking into place. “Or... involved?”

You didn’t rush to clarify. You didn’t even look phased. You just gave another shrug, eyes still locked on Jayce like the answer had always been right there, written between the lines.

“Does it matter?”

That’s when it started.

Caitlyn wandered past with Heimerdinger, pausing mid-step as he heard the tail end of the conversation.

“Wait,” she said, finger pointing between the two of you. “Are you two actually—? I thought that was just a joke people made. Like… office lore.”

Heimerdinger blinked twice. “I had no idea Councillor Talis had wed. A private ceremony, perhaps? I do love a good elopement.”

“The gossip in the Council halls is going to explode this week,” Mel murmured, clearly enjoying herself far too much. “You’ll be the talk of the city.”

Jayce turned to you slowly, his voice quiet. “You didn’t correct them.”

You tilted your head again, lips quirking in amusement. “Maybe I’m tired of correcting the obvious.”

That got him. For a moment, he just stared—eyes wide, breath caught. You were still smiling that same gentle, devilish smile. Like you knew something he didn’t.

“Oh my God,” Caitlyn muttered dramatically, eyes wide. “You are married.”

“Nope,” you said immediately, popping the p with playful emphasis.

“But not denying it,” Jayce mumbled, still stunned, still watching you like he was discovering something brand new about a person he thought he knew better than anyone.

Caitlyn raised her hands. “Alright, I’m calling it—emotionally married. That counts.”

“The kind of bond you don’t need a ceremony for,” Viktor added with a soft nod, clearly satisfied with that logic.

Eventually, the others began to peel off, still chuckling and muttering about bets and rumours and how no one was surprised except Jayce.

But Viktor lingered behind, just a little.

“You’ve always worked well together,” he said quietly, glancing at you with genuine warmth. “It’s good to see the rest of the world is finally catching up.”

Jayce let out a breath, suddenly aware of how naturally your shoulder was leaning into his. How easy it was. How many years it had been like this. How many moments like this one you’d shared without thinking much of them—until now.

You looked up at him. Smiling, comfortable, confident.

And this time?

Jayce didn’t correct them either.

VIKTOR

The lab hummed with quiet energy — a lullaby of tools whirring, gears ticking into place, steam hissing softly in measured bursts. The scent of old metal and stronger coffee lingered like a second skin, and you moved through it all with practiced ease, matching Viktor's pace without even thinking.

He spoke aloud as he worked, his accent thickening the longer the day went on. Observations, hypotheses, little mutterings meant more for himself than anyone else. And still, without fail, you noted each word before he could finish the sentence.

You always sat just to his left — not because of habit, but because that's where your brain worked best, where his hand reached out automatically to pass you tools or scribble half-solved equations across shared pages. You drank from his mug when you forgot yours, stole his jacket when the lab got too cold, and shoved food into his hands when he “forgot” that humans needed to eat.

You were Viktor’s assistant in title, collaborator in truth, and something more — something unnamed but deeply known. There was no need to label it when your lives moved like a seamless machine: efficient, intuitive, precise. Everyone noticed it. Especially the other members of the council.

By now, it had become something of an Academy truth — a widely accepted belief that you and Viktor were a married couple. After all, who else but a spouse would have memorized his unique handwriting, translated his manic notes during his fevers, or kept him grounded when the Hexcore glowed too brightly and his cane shook in his grip?

You always laughed it off.

“Oh, no, not married — I just finish his equations when he forgets to sleep,” you’d say with a wave of your pen. “Not married! I just make sure he doesn’t blow off his eyebrows when he’s mid-epiphany and forgets fire exists.”

It was easy, automatic. You liked the boundary — the comfortable space where neither of you had to address what you already knew.

But today… today, you didn’t correct them.

=

You were seated across from Jayce, Mel, and two other council members at one of Piltover’s infamous tech demonstrations. Another round of Hextech updates, complete with polished speeches, a catered meal, and stifled yawns hidden behind gold-rimmed glasses. The kind of thing you usually found unbearably tedious — unless Viktor was the one talking.

His voice made it bearable. His hand brushing your knee under the table when he needed your attention made it interesting.

You caught Jayce glancing between you both with a bemused smile, wine glass in hand. “You know,” he said casually, “you two really are like an old married couple.”

You exhaled through your nose, already preparing the reflexive reply. Oh, no, not married—

But before the words left your mouth, Mel chimed in, graceful and sharp-eyed. “I assumed they already were. The way you communicate without speaking? That’s not just chemistry — that’s intimacy.”

That one caught you off guard.

You blinked. Looked at Viktor. He was watching you already, golden eyes warm and quietly curious. Like he was wondering what you’d say next. Like he’d follow your lead.

And then… you didn’t say anything at all. You smiled instead — slow, soft, and just the tiniest bit smug.

“Hm,” you murmured. “I suppose we do give off that vibe.”

Silence.

Jayce blinked. “Wait — wait, so you are—?”

“Not technically,” Viktor said dryly, tone as deadpan as you’d ever heard it. “But functionally? Likely yes.”

Mel’s lips twitched upward. “Took you both long enough.”

Jayce practically choked on his wine. “You’re telling me — you’re telling me — you two have not been married this whole time?”

“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’ with exaggerated flair, and leaned back into your chair. Viktor passed you a napkin as if by instinct when you nearly dropped your fork. Of course he did.

Jayce ran a hand down his face. “Then what was that time you yelled at me for interrupting your anniversary dinner?”

Viktor tilted his head thoughtfully. “That was an important dinner. We were testing the limits of paired Hexcore resonance. Intimate work.”

You snorted. “Also, he wore a tie. That counts.”

Mel arched a brow, curious now. “So are you two… actually together?” Another glance between you and Viktor. Another unspoken conversation.

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “It seems inefficient to define it with a single term.”

You added without hesitation, “But yes.”

=

Later, back in the lab, the world felt quieter again — more yours.

Viktor was crouched beside the Hexcore, fingers adjusting delicate wiring, the familiar glow lighting the side of his face in a way you found endlessly distracting. You sat at the workbench, typing up the day’s notes, though your mind had long since wandered.

“You didn’t correct them,” he said suddenly.

“Nope.”

You could hear the smile in his voice, even if you weren’t looking. “Interesting. I enjoyed it.”

You looked up, head tilted. “Yeah?”

He rose slowly, cane clicking against the tile as he turned toward you. His expression was soft — open in the way Viktor only ever was when the rest of the world fell away.

“We do make an excellent pair,” he said. “May as well let them think we’re married. It simplifies the explanations.”

You stood, walking over until you were toe to toe.

“Well, husband,” you teased, looping your arms loosely around his waist. “Should we pick out rings now or later?”

Viktor’s hands slipped around your waist without thought. “Later,” he said, grinning faintly. “For now, let’s finish building our Hextech empire.”

You leaned in, your forehead resting against his. “Deal. But I’m choosing the colours for the wedding invitations.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

JAYVIK

It was almost a joke at this point.

Three minds, one lab. Viktor, Jayce, and you — inseparable, efficient, brilliant. The trio was known across Piltover and Zaun as the beating heart of Hextech innovation. The Council often joked that you functioned like a perfectly engineered machine: Viktor was the mind, Jayce the muscle, and you the compass that kept them both grounded — a stabilizing force amid their scientific chaos. And it wasn’t untrue.

You kept pace with Viktor’s labyrinthine thought spirals, translated Jayce’s overzealous theories into something less combustible, and they, in turn, learned to listen to your quiet pragmatism with something close to reverence. You were their right hand, their voice of reason, and — let’s be honest — the only one in the lab who remembered to pack extra sandwiches.

So yes, the assumption that the three of you were married was frequent.

It usually went something like this:

Councilor Mel Medarda, lounging in her usual spot during a post-council reception, one brow arched in teasing amusement: “Ah, the Hextech newlyweds return. How charming.” You (without missing a beat): “We’re not married.” Jayce (grinning like it was a challenge): “Yet.” Viktor (dryly, adjusting the grip on his cane): “Don’t give them ideas, Jayce.”

It had become part of the script — a predictable, playful routine that usually ended with Mel smirking behind her wine glass and Viktor muttering something sarcastic about the productivity cost of romantic speculation.

But today?

Today was different.

=

The three of you had just finished presenting a proposal on stabilizing Hextech under extreme temperature shifts — a breakthrough that had taken months of sleepless nights, bickering debates, and your gentle insistence that "yes, sleep is necessary, Viktor." The Council had approved it unanimously. Even the more cantankerous members had seemed impressed.

Jayce was still riding high on the applause, broad shoulders bouncing with barely restrained energy. Viktor, more composed, but not immune to the success, walked beside you with an almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips — and a more noticeable lean into his cane. You kept close, ready to offer an arm if he needed it.

You were exhausted. Your feet ached, your brain buzzed, and all you wanted was to sit down in the lab’s couch-like catastrophe of pillows and half-finished blueprints.

As the trio made your way down the marble steps of the Council Hall, the corridors buzzing with post-meeting chatter, an older academy professor — one of the more traditional types — approached with a warm, familiar smile.

“My, my,” he said, his voice kind, “the married minds of Hextech themselves. Piltover should be proud.”

Jayce opened his mouth, ready to deliver his usual charismatic correction. Viktor half-turned, a familiar breath of amusement escaping him — the sound of a man long used to the assumption. But you?

You said nothing. Not a word. Just a polite smile. A small nod. And kept walking.

Jayce physically stopped. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You didn’t correct him.”

You kept walking.

Viktor’s eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity sharpening his gaze as he looked over. “Did I miss something?”

You shrugged, that same small smirk tugging at your lips. “Maybe I’m just tired of correcting people.”

Jayce jogged a step to catch up to you. “No, no. That wasn’t an I’m tired pause. That was a purposeful silence. A loaded pause.”

Viktor leaned lightly on his cane, voice soft but intrigued. “So… you are comfortable being perceived as married to us?” You didn’t answer. Not directly. But you did smile. And you didn’t say no.

Jayce put a hand over his heart like he’d just been struck by lightning. “This is the greatest day of my life.”

“Better than the day we stabilized the Hexcore?” Viktor asked, arching a brow.

“Obviously,” Jayce said, gesturing wildly. “That day didn’t come with implied wedding vows.”

You rolled your eyes, but it was hard to hide the warmth creeping up your cheeks. The teasing didn’t stop. In fact, it escalated.

By the time you returned to the lab, Sky greeted you with, “Should I be addressing you as Professor Y/N Talis now, or...?”

Jayce burst into laughter. Viktor stared at you, deadpan. “You see what you’ve started?”

Even your assistant left a note on your desk that read, ‘Congrats on the marriage! (Or throuple? Is it a throuple?) Either way, iconic.’

By the time dinner rolled around and the three of you were seated in your usual corner of the Academy café, even Heimerdinger made a comment.

“So,” the yordle professor said, stroking his moustache with amusement, “are congratulations in order?” You sipped your tea, calm as ever.

Viktor answered first. “They haven’t denied it.”

Jayce added, “And I’m not saying I’ve already picked out matching lab wedding rings, but—”

“Jayce,” you warned gently. He winked at you. Viktor smirked behind his cup.

You simply shook your head, but didn’t fight it. Not this time. You leaned back in your chair, feeling the weight of the day ease from your shoulders as Viktor shifted subtly closer, his leg brushing yours. Jayce, across from you, was smiling so wide it was a wonder his face didn’t hurt.

The truth was, you didn’t mind the rumours.

You liked the idea that people saw the three of you as something whole, something brilliant and strange and lovely. Because deep down — beneath the equations and banter and half-finished sandwiches — wasn’t that exactly what you were?

You looked at Viktor, who glanced at you over his teacup, his golden eyes softer than usual. You looked at Jayce, who was already watching you like he was waiting for your laugh to light up his whole evening.

And you thought: Maybe I won’t correct them next time either.

VANDER

The clang of a bottle hitting the Last Drop’s bar echoed sharply through the thick, humid haze of bodies and smoke — a jarring punctuation to the rising argument that had nearly become a full-on brawl. It hadn’t made it to fists. Thanks to you.

Again.

You stepped between the two men who had squared off in the middle of the room, your tone sharp enough to slice through the growing noise.

“Alright, enough!” you barked, your voice carrying with the kind of authority people didn’t argue with. “You want to spill blood tonight, you can do it outside. Preferably not on the doorstep unless you want the next drink served with your own teeth in it.”

The music, the laughter, the stomping of boots — it all quieted as every eye briefly turned your way. Not that you noticed. Or maybe you did. But you didn’t flinch.

The two men wavered. One glanced toward the hulking shape that had just stepped out from behind the bar, arms crossed, jaw tight — Vander. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t have to. His presence alone was enough to make most think twice.

But this time? He didn’t step in. He let you handle it. And they saw that. So the would-be brawlers slunk away like mutts freshly leashed, muttering curses and licking their wounded pride.

You exhaled slowly, brushed your hands off, and turned with a crooked grin toward the man behind the counter.

“Buy me a drink for saving your precious floorboards?”

Vander was already pouring something golden and strong, the corners of his mouth twitching into that small, private smile he reserved just for you. “You do all the hard work around here, I swear.”

“You say that like it’s not true,” you teased, leaning your elbow against the counter. “Might as well let me run the place, old man.”

He slid the glass toward you, his smirk deepening. “You already do.”

And it wasn’t untrue.

You and Vander had become something of a legend in the Undercity — a two-headed force of nature. Where he was muscle and voice and myth, you were the quiet strategist, the handler of chaos, the one who whispered the right names and moved pieces before anyone realized there was a game.

He trusted you with the keys, the books, the politics.

Hell, he trusted you with the kids.

You balanced each other in a way that felt effortless. Like breathing.

=

So maybe it wasn’t surprising when Vi came bounding down the stairs — boots thudding, Powder chasing close behind, Mylo and Claggor not far behind them — and pulled up short when she saw the two of you side by side at the bar.

She narrowed her eyes.

“Are you two married yet or what?”

Everything froze.

A glass clinked as someone fumbled with it. Somewhere in the corner, the music stumbled to a stop as if even the old phonograph had heard it.

Powder blinked, realizing the silence Vi created. She looks confused, brows furrowed like she was trying to remember something she’d once overheard. “Wait… aren’t they already married?”

Claggor tilted his head to the side like a confused pup. “Kinda always thought they were…”

Powder squinted, like she couldn’t remember a time you hadn’t been there. Like it would be weird if you weren’t.

Mylo made a dramatic face of disgust. “Ew. No, seriously?”

Usually, you’d be quick to scoff. Roll your eyes. Say something cutting and playful like “Ugh, please — imagine being legally tied to this lumbering tank of a man” or “You wound me, Vi. I have standards.”

But this time… you didn’t. You didn’t say anything. You looked at Vander. And Vander looked at you. Not confused. Not startled. Just… watching.

One second.

Two.

Three.

And then, with the ease of someone who always had control of the room — even when it was on fire — you raised your glass, took a slow sip, and didn’t correct them. Didn’t deny it. And that silence? Somehow got louder.

Vi narrowed her eyes further, now suspicious. “...Wait.” Claggor’s mouth dropped open.

Powder gasped. “Ohhhh my God. They are! They are, aren’t they?!”

Mylo, sensing blood in the water, pointed between the two of you. “You didn’t say no! That’s basically a yes!”

Vander, damn him, leaned casually against the bar, arms folded, brow raised. “Neither did they.”

“I knew it!” Powder cried, bouncing in place like she’d won something. “I told you they were in love! I told you, Vi! They look at each other like the gross people do!”

You opened your mouth to say something — anything — but your thoughts tangled in the space between what was true and what you hadn’t yet dared admit out loud.

“We’re not—” you tried.

Vi crossed her arms. “Not what?”

“Married or in love?” Mylo said, gleefully twisting the knife. “Gotta pick one, boss.”

You turned to Vander, silently begging for a distraction, a joke, something to steer this train off its flaming tracks.

Instead, he met your gaze with a slow, familiar warmth — that look that always made your stomach flip and your brain forget what language was.

“If I didn’t know any better,” he said, his voice low, “I’d say you’re startin’ to come around to the idea.”

Your heart stuttered.

The bar exploded.

Mylo hooted like a jackass and punched Claggor in the shoulder. Claggor laughed — the kind of laugh that shook his whole frame. Vi looked away with a teenager’s exaggerated gag and muttered something about adults being weird. Powder had already grabbed an empty mug and was banging it like a wedding bell.

“Ding-dong! Married! Ding-dong!”

You groaned and covered your face with both hands. “This is a mistake.”

Strong, calloused fingers curled around your wrist and tugged gently until you peeked out from behind your hand.

Vander’s smile had softened. Something quieter lived behind his eyes now.

“Could be worse,” he murmured, the words meant just for you. “Could be true.” You blinked at him, and your chest tightened. Because beneath the teasing, there was truth.

You felt it in how he looked at you — the way people don’t look at business partners. How his voice gentled when he said your name. How you never had to ask for his help; he was already there.

And maybe the most damning part? You weren’t running from the idea. Not really. Not this time.

Your lips tugged into a soft, slightly wry smile. “Saints help me… maybe I am coming around.”

And just like that, you saw it — a glint in his eyes that was more than amusement. It was hope.

No one else saw that part. Only you.

The teasing continued — Powder dramatically planning the wedding with a straw veil on her head, Vi threatening to puke, Mylo asking if he was best man by default — but all of it blurred.

Because Vander was still watching you.

And you were no longer pretending not to watch back.

SILCO

The air in the dimly lit Chembarons' meeting hall was thick with tension. The swirling purple fumes of shimmer and the low hum of machinery created an uneasy atmosphere as Silco sat at the head of the table. The long wooden table, scarred from years of use, reflected the faint flicker of the overhead lights, casting shadows across the faces of the men and women gathered around it. Their eyes were all trained on him, waiting for him to speak, to give direction—waiting for the man who held the power of Zaun in the palm of his hand.

Around him were the faces of Zaun’s most influential figures: Finn, Renni, Smeech, Chross, and Margot. They were all hardened, calculating individuals, each with their own ambitions. Yet, despite the room’s usual competitive energy, there was a curious undercurrent whenever Silco’s second-in-command—Y/N—was present. Y/N was always at his side, always there, with their calm, calculating presence. More often than not, they were the one who made the final call, the one who managed the logistics, the one who ensured things went as planned. It wasn’t just a professional partnership; it was a bond that everyone in the room couldn’t quite define.

Y/N stood at Silco’s side, arms crossed, their posture just as imposing as Silco’s, yet exuding a quiet confidence that contrasted his commanding energy. They’d been together for so long, both professionally and personally, that they seemed to operate as one. It was almost eerie the way they communicated in the smallest of gestures—silent nods, a glance exchanged, a slight tilt of the head—and the way they could read each other’s thoughts without speaking a word.

The Chembarons all knew better than to speak out of turn in Silco’s presence, but it didn’t stop them from gossiping behind closed doors. They had their theories about Y/N’s relationship with Silco, though none of them dared to ask directly. It was the kind of thing no one wanted to push—too personal, too complex, and, for many, too dangerous to question. But the chemistry between Silco and Y/N was undeniable. The way they moved together, the way they always seemed to be on the same wavelength—it made them question whether there was more to the dynamic than just business.

"Silco," Finn finally said, his voice breaking through the silence. He leaned back in his chair, eyes glinting with curiosity, "I trust you’ve come with news for us. New developments, plans... something actionable."

"Always," Silco replied coolly, his voice carrying the weight of authority. His gaze flickered to Y/N, the unspoken understanding passing between them. Y/N gave a slight nod, a silent confirmation that things were progressing smoothly. Silco’s lips curled into a small, approving smile, the kind he reserved for moments when things were going according to plan.

"Then," Renni interjected, her tone deliberately casual, almost too casual for the high-stakes environment they were in, "I suppose your partner will be handling the finer details, as usual."

The comment hung in the air like smoke, the words making everyone at the table pause. The shift in the room was immediate. Eyes darted between Y/N and Silco, and for a heartbeat, the air seemed to thicken.

Y/N's hand twitched at the mention, but they didn’t flinch. They were used to these assumptions, used to the way people assumed their closeness meant something more. They had corrected it a hundred times—joked it off, deflected with humor, explained away the whispers. But this time… this time something inside them was different. They felt the weight of the moment, the subtle pressure of all eyes on them. And for once, they looked at Silco.

Silco met their gaze, the smallest of smirks playing at the corner of his lips. His eyes glinted with something—something that was hard to define, but unmistakable. It was a silent challenge.

Y/N took a deep breath.

“Are you married?” Chross asked bluntly, breaking the silence. His gravelly voice held the weight of skepticism, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Just curious, because I never hear you two talking about it. Ever."

The room fell deathly quiet. Every eye in the room flicked back and forth between Silco and Y/N, the anticipation thick enough to cut with a knife.

Y/N felt their heartbeat pick up, but they didn’t look away from Silco. There was something in that silent moment—a conversation that was happening without a single word being spoken. Y/N gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug, their lips curving into the faintest of smiles.

"Does it matter?" Y/N asked softly, their voice smooth, yet edged with something unspoken. The smile that lingered on their lips wasn’t entirely friendly—it was playful, like a secret shared between them and Silco alone. The question hung in the air, an invitation to question what had always been assumed.

The room went absolutely still. Every Chembaron, every observer, seemed to hold their breath. The usual buzz of whispered conversation died. There was a charged silence, and even the flickering of the shimmer lights felt distant. No one dared to break the quiet, afraid to provoke something they couldn’t fully comprehend.

Silco leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving Y/N’s. He said nothing. There was no correction, no rebuttal. He simply watched, as though he were savoring the moment. His expression, usually sharp and commanding, softened slightly, and the glint of approval in his eyes was unmistakable. He was giving Y/N the space to speak for themselves, to define the moment as they saw fit. There was no need for him to speak; the silence between them was louder than any words could be.

The Chembarons shifted uncomfortably. Smeech, ever the inquisitive one, squinted, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“You’re not denying it,” Smeech said slowly, the words laced with hesitation. "But you never admit it, either. What’s the deal?"

Margot, who had always been sharp and perceptive, chuckled, a low, knowing sound that rang through the otherwise silent room. “Well, this is new. I’ve never seen Silco this quiet about it. This could be the most honest thing I’ve ever heard from him.”

"You’re reading too much into it," Renni scoffed, though there was a hint of nervousness in her voice now, something that hadn’t been there before. "Whatever's going on, we’ve got business to discuss."

But the curiosity didn’t die down. It lingered in the room like the scent of smoke, thick and ever-present. The Chembarons kept glancing between Y/N and Silco, exchanging unspoken questions and doubts with each look.

The meeting continued, but it wasn’t the same. The usual business-like rhythm had been broken, replaced by an undercurrent of tension and intrigue. Everyone was aware of the subtle shift that had occurred in that moment. The way Y/N had responded. The way Silco hadn’t corrected them. There was something between them—something far deeper than mere business.

It wasn’t marriage, not in the traditional sense, but there was an understanding there. A bond that transcended mere titles. It was more than a partnership—it was a connection. And for once, Y/N didn’t feel the need to correct anyone. They didn’t need to explain. Not today.

The unspoken understanding between them was far more powerful than any simple declaration could be. And for the first time, the Chembarons were left to ponder what it really meant.

STEB

In the bustling streets of Piltover, a city where precision and power ruled, there were whispers of a strange partnership. The duo was often seen together, moving through the shadows, and every interaction between them flowed seamlessly. Y/N, sharp and unflinchingly loyal, was the right hand of Steb, a towering, imposing Vastayan fish. His silent, yet powerful presence only complemented their quiet, tactical genius. To the untrained eye, they were more than just partners—they were a force of nature, unbreakable and untouchable.

And as everyone knew, Steb was not one for words. He communicated with sharp gestures, subtle shifts of his gills, and an intensity in his gaze that could silence an entire room. Y/N, however, spoke for him. They interpreted his every need with startling accuracy. Together, they were a machine of perfection, a duo so tightly intertwined that it was hard to imagine them as separate entities.

Their movements were so synchronized, their minds so attuned, that it often seemed as though they shared the same brain. In truth, Y/N had become half of Steb’s mind. Every strategy, every decision, was filtered through them both, and they were rarely seen apart. It didn’t take long before rumors began to circulate.

People whispered in taverns and alleys: “Are they married? You’ve never seen one without the other.”

Most people believed they were married—after all, who could possibly be this close without that kind of bond? But Y/N would always laugh it off, quick to correct the assumption. "No, we’re not married," they'd insist with a half-smile. "We’re just... very good at what we do."

But today, something was different. Today, when an old acquaintance called out as they walked by the bustling market, "Hey, Steb! Y/N! How’s married life treating you?" Y/N didn’t correct them. They just gave a soft smile and glanced at Steb, who, as always, stood next to them, his eyes glowing with that deep, quiet understanding.

"Not bad," Y/N said, their voice calm, a subtle shift in their demeanour. They didn’t feel the need to add anything more.

There was a pause, a beat of silence, before Steb gave a low, rumbling sound that could have been the equivalent of a quiet chuckle. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to send a chill down Y/N’s spine. They looked up at him, eyes meeting his for just a moment, an unspoken agreement passing between them. They were something more��something that didn’t need to be defined.

And just like that, the world around them shifted.

It didn’t take long before the rumor mill was churning in full force. Everywhere they went, people whispered, casting glances at the silent fish-man and the mysterious enforcer by his side. Even the enforcers themselves began to notice something different in the way Y/N and Steb interacted.

"Did you hear that?" one of the officers said, a young woman with a keen sense of observation. "Y/N didn’t correct anyone. Do you think they’re...?"

"I dunno," another officer murmured, glancing at Steb. "But they certainly act like it. There’s no one else they trust like that. And Steb—he never talks, but they understand him better than anyone."

"You think he could ever...?" the first officer asked, voice dropping to a near whisper.

Y/N and Steb continued through the streets, their presence commanding attention wherever they went, but now, something had changed. No one dared question their bond. They had grown into something greater than the sum of their parts, and the enforcers—and the rest of Piltover—knew it.

=

Later that evening, the two stood before a table in one of Piltover’s darker corners, a map laid out before them, the soft glow of a lantern illuminating the room. Y/N took a breath, finally breaking the silence that had been thick between them since the incident in the market.

"You know," Y/N said softly, their fingers brushing over the edges of the map, "they might be onto something."

Steb remained quiet, watching them with his usual intensity. His gaze softened, almost imperceptible, before he dipped his head in agreement.

Y/N chuckled under their breath, their heart pounding a little faster. "I suppose we’re pretty inseparable, huh?"

Steb’s lips twitched slightly—whether it was a smile or simply the way his lips pulled back, it was hard to say. But the gesture was enough to make Y/N’s heart flutter in their chest.

Just as the warmth of their unspoken moment hung in the air, the door creaked open, and a familiar figure entered the room. Caitlyn, Piltover’s sharpshooter and a frequent nuisance to Steb and Y/N, stepped in with her usual confident stride.

"Looks like I caught you two in the middle of something important," Caitlyn remarked, her sharp gaze flicking between Y/N and Steb. "Or are you two just plotting world domination again?"

Y/N’s smile didn’t falter, though their eyes narrowed in playful challenge. "Something like that. You’re welcome to join us, though I’m not sure you’d be much help."

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. "You’d be surprised."

Steb’s eyes flickering in Caitlyn’s direction. He wasn’t one for words, but his presence was loud enough to speak volumes. Caitlyn was well aware of the bond between Steb and Y/N, and as much as she admired their skill, she also knew they were unpredictable, dangerous, and—at times—impossible to read.

"I take it the rumours about you two are getting out of hand, huh?" Caitlyn asked, settling in near the table. Her eyes briefly softened as they landed on Y/N, her voice taking on a more sincere tone. "You know, some people might actually believe it, you know. The whole ‘married’ thing."

Y/N met her gaze, their lips curling into a teasing smile. "Would you believe it if we said we weren’t married?"

Caitlyn’s eyes flickered to Steb, who gave her a look that spoke more than words ever could. His silence didn’t intimidate her, but there was a certain weight in the air that made her pause.

After a moment, Y/N surprised both Caitlyn and Steb by saying nothing, simply offering a small shrug as if to say, Maybe it’s not worth correcting anymore.

Caitlyn blinked, her sharp mind quickly catching up with the subtle shift. Her smirk faltered, a quiet realization dawning on her. It wasn’t the words, nor the relationship that defined these two. It was the understanding—unspoken, unwavering—that they shared. It was something far beyond the surface.

"You two…" Caitlyn began, her tone shifting, "You do make a pretty damn good team."

Steb’s lips curled once more, though this time, it seemed less like a smile and more like a knowing acknowledgment. He glanced at Y/N, his gaze softer than usual, before his attention returned to Caitlyn.

"Maybe we are," Y/N finally replied, voice low. "But sometimes, a partnership is more than just what people see."

The conversation shifted as Caitlyn took her seat, eyes narrowing as they got down to business. But in the quiet corners of Piltover, where the streets hummed with tension, the quiet whispers continued to swirl around Steb and Y/N—two souls so entwined, so seamlessly connected, that nothing, not even words, could truly describe their bond.

And as the rumours continued to spread, the world around them began to shift. The enforcers, the underworld, and even Caitlyn knew one thing for certain: Steb and Y/N were untouchable. Together, they were invincible.

Maybe, just maybe, they were more than a partnership after all.

[evieelyzabethh]

If it’s okay to request, may I request something in modern au (viktor x reader, established relationship) where jayce is hosting a costume party and reader dresses in something that makes her look super pretty (maybe I even suggest, her dressed as cowboy barbie, cause my bi self is obsessed with that look) and viktor gets handy with her. If you’re comfortable, can you make it nsfw or at lesser suggestive?

Definitely projecting as someone whose personal fav holiday is Halloween, but I imagine reader to be super stoked about it. Like the set up gets a big makeover that she forces Vik to help her with, there's a bunch of spiders and skulls and spooky decor all over the place, the ambient music transitions to creepy organs or the instrumental soundtrack of one of those old Hollywood horror movies. You definitely spare no expense when it comes to costumes, sometimes even going as far as to make it yourself.

Jayce isn't the biggest Halloween guy; he just likes the decor and the movies. While you went as cowboy Barbie, he definitely went as a plain cowboy, walking around shirtless with a huge cowboy hat atop his head and a lasso attached to the leather belt he's wearing. The denim jeans he wears are flared, just barely showing the brown boots that he bought to match with the suspenders the rest on his bare chest. The party is rather intimate, nothing more than a bunch of mutual friends, a bunch of pizza, and at least a gallon of Jungle Juice.

Now, you knew that Viktor wasn't going to be Ken. Even though his costume wouldn't be a matching hot pink, he thinks the fringe is silly and totally not his vibe. To be fair, he hasn't done a matching costume with you since you went as a Playboy Bunny, and even then, he only showed up in a suit and tie. He didn't even name the costume; he just went along with what everyone else assumed. That year, he was a man of many costumes: Men in Black, James Bond, Hugh Heffner, a bodyguard. Someone even thought it was a Legally Blonde reference, and he was Emmett. This being said, he has no issues with you going as cowboy barbie or any of the other skimpy costumes you've worn throughout the years, as long as he gets to tag along and see you in it.

He doesn't even have to worry about jealousy, it's incredibly clear who you came with. He doesn't force you to stay by him, but the way your gaze travels to him at parties, the pretty curls you spent hours on bobbing around as you move around to find him in the crowd makes it incredibly obvious who you're tethered to. The pink, starred ascot that had been around your neck had been undone by a bathroom make out session and could now be found around his wrist. When you talk to friends, you make yourself cozy next to him, the drink you've been nursing for the better part of an hour in your hand as you lay your head on his chest, squirming deeper into him as what he whispers in your ear makes you shiver.

And you think you're being slick, but the way his hand plays on your thigh and the look in your eyes getting farther away says everything. So, when you abruptly say your goodbyes, no one is surprised that your car stays parked out front for at least a half hour.

It's really not the most comfortable arrangement, knee deep in the passenger seat or whatever Chapel said. Your head keeps bumping into the steering wheel, even with the seat being pushed as far back as it'll go, but his hand at the back of your head absorbs most of the impact. You hear it in his voice when he hisses extra loud, his eyes closing as he weighs out whether or not it's worth it to pull you off and drive home. He knows if he asks you, you'll just tell him to drive as he sucks you off and he is desperate enough to do just that.

Especially with the way you look right now. He's always been the type to initiate eye contact, and with how good you look right now, your make-up miraculously intact thanks to whatever waterproof mascara you use, spit dripping from your chin to the top of your tits, your cheeks red, eyes a bit gone from the lack of oxygen, he could cum just by looking at you. His little reminders, "Don't forget to breathe, doll. Through your nose, you can do it.", are quite necessary with your refusal to pull off until he spills down your throat, and fuck is he thankful. If you were in a teasing headspace and decided to edge him now, tears already in his eyes, half his energy going to steadying his own breath so he didn't pass out and the other half trying to keep him from bruising the back of your esophagus, he would probably cry.

You'd been going at it for a while already, pay back for all the lingering touches throughout the night and looking too good in that suit. The languid licks trailing from his leaking tip to his balls couldn't even be hurried along by his hips shallowly bucking into your mouth. You were in your own little world, moaning around his cock, hands pressed firmly in between your thighs as you buck into nothing while his honeyed praise goes through one ear and rattles around in your brain and spills out between your legs.

"Just a bit more. Doin' so good. So close.", he groans, so good. And he really doesn't last much longer, spurts of his cum shooting down your throat as he shudders and whimpers through the aftershocks. That post-nut clarity hits like a semi-truck when he looks out the very foggy windows to see Jayce out the window holding the clutch you left behind, looking entirely too shocked to have just walked up to the window. It's the scariest thing he saw all Halloween.

[ecstxsyy]

XOXO. | VIKTOR ❦

Viktor just couldn’t help himself.

based on this ask.

18+ mdni!

viktor x fem!reader

warnings: m!masturbation, p in v, riding, oral (f&m!receiving), cum eating, switch!viktor, switch!reader, viktor is a whining mess for majority of this.

requests for v-day event are closed!!

cupid’s candy hearts masterlist

───── ⋆ ⋅ ꨄ︎ ⋅⋆ ─────

VIKTOR OFTEN found himself thinking of you with his hands down his pants, it wasn’t his brightest moment, but he truly couldn’t help it. You were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. It also didn't help that your and Jayce’s faces were everywhere, Hextech took off tremendously once the three of you launched it, and though he was proud of what you all had created; he preferred to stay out of the limelight.

You and Jayce had just arrived back at the lab with a stack of photos that the two of you just got done having taken of you that needed to be signed and sent out. You let out a loud sigh once you let the stack thump onto the desk, your back was killing you from hauling them around.

It took you and Jayce hours to finish signing all the copies of the photos, your hands sore and achy from all of the writing. Once the two of you finished, you left your stacks on the desk to be mailed out tomorrow. You both waved Viktor goodbye and started to head back to your apartment.

Once Viktor was sure the two of you were gone, he made his way over to the photos to take a good look at them. He pulled the first copy off of the stack and studied over every detail of your body in the frame, you were standing slightly facing towards Jayce so your ass was in the frame just enough for him to get a good look at it in those slacks that fit you just right. He began to feel the blood rushing from his head to the growing erection in his trousers, it was humiliating how one picture could get him so riled up.

Viktor took the photo over to his work chair, pulling his trousers and undergarments down to his mid-thigh to let his cock spring free against his stomach. He got to work immediately, spitting in his palm to use as lube. His hand jerked his cock quickly, his whines and whimpers uncontrollable as he scanned over every part of your body and face over and over again.

Little did Viktor know, you’d forgotten your cloak and it happened to be quite chilly out. You huffed and turned on the balls of your feet, moving quickly to get your things so you could go home and sleep off the day. You reached the heavy doors of the lab and paused, muffled sounds coming from the inside.

You pressed your ear to the door trying to hear what the noise was coming from, the sound of your name made you even more curious. You slowly pushed open the door as quietly as you could, seeing the last thing you’d ever expect. Viktor’s hand was strangling his cock, loud whimpers of your name falling from his lips. The part that shocked you the most was the photo, he could deny saying your name all he wanted, but the photo in his hand was cold, hard proof.

A smirk rose to your lips as you slid through the crack in the door, you crept closer slowly and waited for him to whimper out your name again.

“Yes?” you responded to his call of your name, visibly startling him from his place in his chair. Viktor scrambled to cover himself, trying to get at least his undergarments on. You giggled at his feeble attempt, moving closer to him to stop his hands.

“I- I’m… It’s not what it looks like?” Viktor said as more of a question, trying to save himself from any more embarrassment than he was already feeling.

“It’s okay, don't stop just because of me,” you said, gesturing to his erection. “I know you want to cum.”

Viktor nodded, a desperate look on his face. He moved to uncover himself hesitantly, he’d never touched himself in front of anyone before and it made him feel shy.

“Will you help, please?” Viktor asked.

“Well, how can I say no when you asked so nicely,” you said, cupping the side of his face with your palm. Your other hand moved to wrap itself around his aching cock, stroking it slowly. Viktor's hips bucked, trying to gain any bit of friction. You moved your hand from his face to his hip to pin him in place to the chair beneath him, Viktor let out a small whine at this.

“Please,” the boy begged, desperate for some sort of release. You obliged and moved your hand faster, using your mouth to suck on his sensitive tip. This drew a strangled gasp from Viktor, his moans becoming more and more frequent the closer he got to cumming.

“Look at how much of a mess you are for me, you can barely even think straight,” you teased. Viktor’s cheeks flushed red, he couldn't even open his mouth to defend himself because he knew you were right.

You finally moved to take all of what you could of him into your mouth, gagging a few times before finding a steady rhythm. Your head bobbed up and down on him, his cries getting louder. The way your tongue circled his tip made him feel like his brain was turning to mush, the only thing on his mind being to chase his high.

“Please, please, please,” He begged, his orgasm getting closer with every flick of your tongue. Just as he was about to reach his peak, you pulled off of him with a pop, leaving his tip a soft purple color.

“Why did you do that?” Viktor practically cried, his eyes brimming with tears.

“Wouldn’t you rather cum inside of me?” You asked, standing to your feet to unbutton your slacks. Viktor's eyes went as wide as saucers, his head moving up and down before he could even think. You giggled and pulled off your pants and panties, baring yourself in front of him.

Viktor stared in awe, you looked better than he could have ever believed. You were beyond flattered at his reaction, no man had ever looked at you like this before. You silently moved to straddle Viktor’s lap, sliding yourself down into him slowly while you used your thumb to wipe away the tears in his eyes.

The two of you gasped in unison, the feeling was like no other. Viktor filled you so perfectly it was like the two of you had been made for each other, his cock filling you to the brim. You sat in place for a while, adjusting to his size before you started to bounce slowly in Viktor's lap.

Viktor’s moans were pathetic and you loved it, the way he sounded like he was going to fall apart at any second made you soaked. His hands found your hips and guided you, setting you to the perfect pace for the both of you.

The two of you moaned in sync, your fingers moving to rub your clit in quick circles. You watched Viktor’s face closely, the way his mouth fell open when you swiveled your hips and the way his eyebrows bunched together when he looked to watch where the two of you connected.

The sight of your pussy swallowing him completely made his orgasm hit him like a freight train, his warm cum spurting into you for what felt like minutes.

“You did so good baby, you came so much,” you coed in his ear, stroking over his soft hair. Tears fell over the edge of his amber eyes as he finished cumming, his legs trembling beneath yours.

“Let me help you finish,” Viktor said with a frown as you stood up, “you didn’t get to cum.” You laughed and kissed his cheek.

“That’s okay, you don’t have t-” Before you could finish, Viktor was dragging you over to the couch as quickly as he could. He set his hand firmly on your sternum and pushed you back, letting you fall onto the couch.

Once you were seated, Viktor kneeled to the ground to spread your legs. Before he started, you handed him a pillow for his leg. You knew kneeling on the hard marble floors would cause him some trouble.

The gesture made his heart flutter as he grabbed your legs and pinned them to your chest, he dove in immediately, licking and sucking at your sensitive clit. The sight of his pretty brown eyes looking up at you from between your thighs nearly made you cum on sight, his tongue lapping at you quickly.

The thought of him licking his cum out of you drove you insane, your hips grinding your needy cunt against his face. Your hand found the back of his head, pushing him further into your wetness. Viktor accepted it with grace, if he was going to suffocate between your thighs he would die a happy man.

Your orgasm began approaching, your back arching up off of the couch. Your moans got louder and louder the closer you got.

“Viktor,” you breathed out, your orgasm washing over you with an immense feeling of bliss. Small trembles ran through your thighs as Viktor continued to suck on your clit, his fingers joining the assault to fill your tight hole.

“Fuck, wait, wait,” you cried out, trying to pull your hips away.

“I’ve already waited long enough for this, I’m not going to squander this opportunity,” Viktor smirked, returning his tongue to its place on your clit while pinning your hips to the couch.

You were going to be here all night.

───── ⋆ ⋅ ꨄ︎ ⋅⋆ ─────

[thehistoriangirl]

Hi!

Could you write something for Viktor in this Father's Day please??

Thank you so much, have a great day 🖤

Hi anon! For sure :3 I hope you like it

Little Genius

Viktor x Fem!Reader---1.4K----SFW

Tags: Established Relationship (they're married) | Pregnancy | Fluff | Viktor would be such a great dad yall can't change my mind | Happy Father's day to all who celebrate :3 | This is not proofread at all bc Father's Day is over in less than an hour i'm sorryyyy ;---; |

Viktor felt your head nudging against his side, making him lower the book he was reading since yesterday—since you had finished it without waiting for him to read it out loud. A small betrayal Viktor washed away with your extra long session of kisses after dinner.

He reached to turn off the lamp, your hand brushing his before he could pull the tiny rope. Golden eyes took in your alert face, body wiggling closer to him so Viktor could rest his right leg over your hip.

His hum reverberated in your whole body due to the closeness of your cheek and his chest, heart beating content as you melted against the soft touches, the nonsensical patterns he drew against the thin, worn-out fabric of your pajamas.

“Not tired yet?” he asked, looking at the clock hung on the wall almost reaching midnight.

“I want to show you something,” you said, fiddling with the loose threads of his favorite blanket, the one he packed from his house in Zaun and kept in Piltover, even now.

He mourned the sudden loss of your warmth once you incorporated in your elbows, reaching for the nightstand on your side of the bed. Though curiosity made his golden eyes twinkle as your fingers scouted the insides of the last drawer.

“What is it?” Viktor peeked over your shoulder, seeing your hand gently cradling a small, white box tied close with a golden ribbon. “Are you going to propose, my love? Because I’m sorry to tell you this, but I beat you to it around two years ago,” he chuckled, rubbing with his thumb over the golden band decorating a finger in your left hand. Soft, slightly dry lips kissing the reverse of your palm once you glared playfully at him.

“You’re not funny,” you said, thought your curved lips testified completely the opposite.

“I hate to argue with the love of my life, but I am. Otherwise I wouldn’t have win you over.”

“Well, what if I say that you win me over with your terrible jokes?”

Viktor feigned a deep betrayal just like they were represented in the Opera House; hand clutching his shirt over his heart, closing his eyes while his face twisted in a grimace of hurt. “Your words break my heart.” His hands enveloped your waist, pulling you against his chest. “You better have a plan to wound up my poor heart. Your devote lover is very sensible.”

You beamed at him, eyes crinkled in crescents. “I do have one.” Wriggling against his tangled hug, you sat with your legs crossed, settled right in front of Viktor, putting the box on his chest. “Open it.”

The mysterious object was covered with a layer of paper, and for a few moments all that it could be heard inside your shared room was the wrinkled paper being pushed away to reveal the gift.

“Huh?” Viktor frowned, his fingers brushing the softest fabric as he raised the clothing out the box to see it against the light of the bright, golden lamp.

A vivid, burnt yellow bib made of crochet in a pattern oddly familiar for his own baby clothes kept inside a bag under his mother’s bed back in Zaun. The lettering read: Papa’s Little Genius.

He gazed at you, founding your expression of pressed lips about to burst into giggles. “My love?”

“Do you know what day is today?” you said, brushing the empty box away to straddle his hips.

“Sunday?” He could barely articulate any words with your comfortable weight pressed against him.

You lowered over his chest, nuzzling your nose in the crook of his neck and nibbling on his ear just for the fun to see his pale skin flush deep crimson every time. “It’s Father’s Day,” your voice sent shivers down his spine, goosebumps traveling all over his body as his body torn between your allure making pool molten desire down his stomach, and his brain scrambling around by your shushed words.

“Father’s…” he said, holding your shoulders as he looked down toward you and over the bib resting on the pillow next to him. His golden eyes opened, a gasp hitching his already quickening breath. “Are you… you… I… we…”

You burst out laughing, your vision became blurry with the halo of tears pooling in your eyes. “Yes...,” you whispered, as if it were such a delicate thing, a dream, almost, that if talking too loud about it would make it disappear. “You’re going to be a Papa very soon.”

His teary eyes matched yours as he hugged him flush against him, taking in the smell of your hair, how perfectly he feels blessed at just basking in your presence. And now, not only had you given him your whole body and soul and heart. No, you were about to give him a legacy—a future carved in his blood and flesh.

A child.

His child.

His rough fingerpads caressed your cheeks, wishing to take in every little detail about this moment so he could treasure it for eternity.

“I thought I was the luckiest person in the whole world when you accepted to be my spouse, but now?” He laughed, wiping your tears away. “Now words can’t describe how I feel knowing that you’re carrying our baby.”

Viktor chuckled, his smile that one of a child’s that had just discovered the wonders of life for the first time. His hand cradling your belly.

“Hi, little one,” he muttered, almost afraid to cause a bad impression to his unborn baby. Fingers gently caressing the soft skin under your shirt. “I’m your Papa. Hi,” Viktor repeated, finding himself in a loss of words. “I… I promise I’m going to read a lot of books about parenting, and that I’m going to come up with pretty toys for you, and I promise that I will make daily time to play with you… and sing to you… and tucking you to bed,” his voice broke, a knot straining his throat. “I don’t know anything about being a father, but I promise you I will be the best for you, little one.”

With a groan, he sat on the bed, lowering his head to kiss your belly, hands interlocked in the small of your back. “Only the best for you and your stunning mother. I hope you look just like her,” he said with a chuckle. “Though I will struggle to ground if that occurs… hmm, just be easy on me, alright?”

He looked up at you, eyes full of wonder and pure, unfiltered adoration.

“I just know about them, but I already love them so,” Viktor confessed, caressing your hair, his hands pulling down your chin so his lips could encounter yours. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” He mumbled between kisses of all kind—as soft as the brush of a feather, bold ones with his teeth biting your bottom lip, his tongue exploring your mouth in a slow, sensual dance. “I love you. I love you both,” he corrected, patting your belly.

“Do you like the bib?” you hummed, and he laughed. “Your mother scold me a lot because I kept getting lost while knitting the pattern.

“I knew I recognized that style.” He scanned the bib, arching a playful eyebrow toward you. “Little Genius, eh? Pretty high standards, don’t you think?”

You roll your eyes, swatting his chest lightly. “You say that as if you won’t let them see all your blueprints and chalkboards full of equations the moment they’re born.”

Viktor’s heart fluttered at the thought. He would have to babyproof his studio—and for sure his child wouldn’t step inside the lab without a full-body protective uniform, but the thought of sharing with someone else besides you about his vision of the world and the place he had in it made him feel like he was inside paradise.

A personal goal to make this world much happier, and safer, and fairer.

His baby’s world.

“I love you,” he said, kissing your whole face with delicate kisses that poured out everything words could never express. His devotion. His love. Everything. “I will never be able to pay you back for this…this miracle.”

“I don’t want you to pay me back,” you said, hands resting over his quickly-beating heart. “I love you, too. And your love for both of us is more than enough.”

He smiled widely, showing you that grin you adored so much, that made you melt and wish you could, too, give him the whole world.

“How lucky I am,” he hummed, settling you against his chest. “To have my whole universe safely resting in my arms.”

[hivemuthur]

Can u request something with modern au with viktor where there’s an established relationship between reader and him and readers an artist? You can write whatever you want whether it’s dating hcs , fluff, nsfw !!

Dear Anon, I took the liberty and added a small, but significant detail to this request - the Reader is visually impaired. It is not implied why, as it wasn't relevant to the one shot, but you can imagine their vision to be compromised to the point of having to use a walking cane and being able to only recognize shapes/shadows. The picture for it is Hephaestus, as he is the godly representation of Viktor for me, just read about him. Having said that, here is: Hand of the Beholder

viktorxgn!reader mature! some suggestive content, Reader has a sight disability, Viktor is their muse :') A small fic, in which Viktor discovers that softness feels nice.

edit/author's note: I treat Elliott as a gn name in general (I might be wrong, but well). And Bono the dog's name - it's a reference to a pin Sinead O'Connor was wearing during one of her interviews after she had met Bono. It said Bono in short legs shock! and I think it's hilarious :)

word count: 3,3K

—

A loud thump, followed by the clatter of something wooden on the pavement. Then, “Are you blind?”—a voice exclaimed with utter irritation, one very familiar to you—followed by a gasp. You always loved that part.

“Partially. Getting there,” you replied, flashing a sweet smile in the direction of the voice. Kill them with kindness—that was the usual strategy.

What was odd was that the voice—and the vague shape you assumed was its owner—didn’t move from the spot where your clumsy dog had knocked them. Either you’d made an astonishing first impression, or they were too stunned to move.

“Forgive me, I—I am usually less… rude.”

“That’s alright, no need to beg for forgiveness on your knees,” you said, offering a more genuine smile. “I’m sorry about Bono; he’s a bit awkward in crowds.”

“This is embarrassing, but I might need your help getting up,” the voice admitted, followed by an awkward chuckle.

Once he accepted your hand and scrambled to his feet, he kept hold of your palm just long enough to give it a quick shake. “Thank you. I’m Viktor.”

You almost introduced yourself when your friend Elliott emerged from whatever pound shop she had left you in front of. “Oh God, this dog! He’s going to get you killed one day,” she huffed, grabbing the leash from your hand.

“Bono. So… are you a U2 fan?” Viktor asked. Smooth, Viktor. Very smooth. He felt his face twist in cringe but decided to own it, smoothing his clothes with his hands to distract himself.

“Ah, definitely not. But I’ve been told he has short legs, so there it is,” you replied with a chuckle, crouching to give Bono a pet and a treat. The dog licked your face in return, and you groaned in mock offense.

“Alright, is everyone fine? Can we get moving?” Elliott pressed, clearly eager to move on. Her ‘just a second’ stop had already turned into twenty minutes of snooping through junk.

Viktor, utterly confused, felt words pushing their way out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Or, I could buy you a coffee? For the inconvenience? If… you’re not busy?” His voice rose slightly with each question, and again, he decided to own it by gulping down on this weird lump in his mouth and producing a smile.

“I feel like I should be the one buying you a coffee, Viktor. But yes, sure,” you replied casually, though truthfully, you just wanted to hear that warm, accented voice for a little longer.

Later, at the café, Viktor found himself absolutely baffled by your bluntness and the merciless jokes you’d thrown in his direction. He wondered where the hell his sass had gone. His legs were continuously bumped by Bono, who had clearly taken a liking to him and wouldn’t stop drooling onto his lap. When Viktor tried to joke about service dogs, usually more collected, he learned that Bono was, in fact, just a dog, and his only service was being a good boy.

Everything about this was so surreal and unlikely that his curious mind wouldn’t let him not ask you out again.

And this was how you met, two years ago, give or take. Two three-legged creatures connected by another, four-legged one, whose short legs seemed to give him matchmaking superpowers.

What had been the strangest feeling in the world for Viktor was being seen in a way he had never been seen before. Without a single question about his looks, without prying touches or purposeful exploration, you had managed to put together all the pieces that made him who he was. And suddenly, his cane didn’t matter, the way others looked at him didn’t matter. What mattered was the warmth of his hands, the tone of his voice, the feeling of soft jumpers, and his mind—the most brilliant thing you’d ever had the pleasure to explore.

And Bono got so many treats for it, his legs seemed even shorter as he grew fatter.

Which is why Viktor agreed to do something that, ordinarily, he would nervously laugh off before fleeing the country. His wobbly legs carried him to the sculpture workshop, late enough for it to be private and unoccupied.

Seeing you setting up the materials around an inconspicuous clay figure, he walked up to you from behind and draped himself over your back, his arms cradling your shoulders, palms connected at your sternum. You could feel his heart thundering against your spine and asked, “Are you nervous?”

“A little,” he murmured, pressing his nose into the crook of your neck. “Is this me?”

“Not yet, for now it’s a dummy. Though, the frame was constructed to depict your figure,” you said quietly, placing your palm over his hands, your head leaning back to place a kiss on his temple. You could feel his scent filling your nose­—clothes that are just clean and a faint smell of shampoo lingering in his hair.

“Is it empty inside?” he asked, and you only nodded, brushing your nose against his cheek.

“Hmm, philosophically ironic, don’t you think?”

“Love, if I were to sculpt your liver, I doubt this experiment would prove useful,” you chuckled, hearing Viktor let out a bemused huff. “Besides, it would be very heavy.”

“Pity. I’m sure my liver is magnificent,” Viktor tried to deflect, but his breath betrayed him. The room was unbelievably warm, and he could feel his hands starting to sweat.

“And where do you want me?”

“Right beside me. We’ll do a lying pose, with your hands on your chest. I’ll show you, roughly,” you said, your own nervousness beginning to grow as you realised this was probably far more intimate than anything you’d experienced together before. Suddenly, all the sex you’d had in strange places didn’t seem so insane.

After a short presentation and a couple of awkward chuckles, Viktor splayed himself on the couch beside you, while you sat down by the worktable. You needed to mark the key points of his body to keep the proportions intact, so the first obvious choice was his face.

You placed your hand on his cheek, and he hummed softly, relaxing into your touch. Your fingers traced the structure of his bones, his nose, eyelids, the curve of his mouth, assessing the distance between them with one hand and marking them on the dummy with the other. You couldn’t help yourself and exclaimed, “Oh Viktor, you are so beautiful! All this time and I had no idea.”

Viktor let out an uninhibited cackle and playfully bit your fingers. “There it is—superficial vanity. And here I was, hoping someone would finally love me for more than my looks,” he said in mock offence, making you bite your lower lip to stifle a laugh.

“Of course I do. But at least now I can say things like, ‘Thank God you’re pretty,’” you grinned at him mercilessly, and he laughed again. When the laughter faded into a comfortable silence, you took a deep breath and made sure once more. “Are you absolutely confident you’re up for this?”

“Positive,” he said firmly. “Should I—?” The unfinished question was answered by his hand landing on his shirt, pinching it expectantly—a force of habit stronger when his nerves showed.

“Just the torso for now. It’ll take a couple of sessions, I think. And after that, who knows? Maybe you’ll abandon me and become a world-famous model,” you mused, attempting to hide your own anxiety.

Viktor only huffed in response and obediently slid his shirt off. Taking your palm, he placed it flat against his chest. “For some reason, I feel very close to a heart attack, but I have a feeling you do too,” he said gently, the brave honesty in his voice completely disarming you.

You exhaled softly, leaning in to kiss him on the lips—a lingering, delicate gesture meant to reassure rather than ignite. “Thank you,” you murmured against his mouth, your voice warm and sincere. “Remember, we can stop at any moment. Just say the word.”

Viktor nodded, though words seemed to escape him now. His eyes followed your every move as you shifted closer, warming your palms by rubbing them against each other. You began your work, one hand ghosting over the sharp line of his jaw, the other placed on the dummy to mirror his shape.

Your touch was deliberate, slow, and almost reverent. Your fingers started at the hinge of his jaw, ghosting over the texture of his skin. Most of it was smooth, with the tiniest bit of grain, like a piece of glass worked by the sea over the years. You paused, mapping the angle where his jaw met his neck—the hardness of bone giving way to the flexible tendon beneath. You tapped on it delicately to test the bounce of his muscle—here his skin was silky, and firm and you could smell the faint scent of cream he applied after shaving. You gave it one more lingering touch, before moving to the earlobe, tracing it with your thumb, your fingers brushing against his hairline. Viktor let out a breathy exhale, and you smiled under your nose.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Mmm, you have no idea,” he hummed, placing his palm over yours instinctively. His hands were warm, and you could feel the heat radiating off his cheek onto your wrist.

You slid your hand toward the hollow beneath his cheekbone, pausing on the beauty mark under his eye to mark it on the dummy. It had a faint rise over the rest of his face, and you did your best to depict it’s shape. You could feel his cheek rising in a smile.

Moving to the slight curve of his lips, your fingertips lingered there for a moment longer than necessary. You pressed on the plushness of his mouth and felt Viktor leaning into your touch, his hot breath fanning your skin. Your finger trembled, when you found the tiny bump crowning his upper lip and Viktor pouted slightly, as if leaving a peck against your skin.

“Your bone structure is ridiculous,” you murmured absently, your voice hushed as though you were speaking to yourself, your fingers still pressed where they were.

Viktor’s throat worked as he swallowed, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm he was no longer in control of. “Ridiculous good or ridiculous bad?” he asked, his tone half-teasing, though the rasp in his voice betrayed how affected he was. You could feel the movement of his lips under your hand and a hot breath coming out, warming you up.

“Ridiculous perfect,” you replied simply, fighting your brain to focus on the clay in your right hand rather than on Viktor’s soft mouth under the mercy of your left.

You took a steadying breath and worked your way up to his brow, your thumb grazing the bushy ridge, your palm cradling the side of his face as you turned it slightly to study the other angle. You could make out the first wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, and the more prominent ones of his forehead, reinforced regularly by a thoughtful frown he wore so often.

His skin warmed under your touch, the heat blooming wherever your fingers roamed. Your other hand shaped the first layers of the structure of Viktor’s face in clay, its coolness a stark contrast to what your left one was going through.

As your hand slipped down to trace the lean column of his neck, Viktor couldn’t help the quiet exhale that escaped him. The feel of your fingers—gentle but firm, your nails just barely skimming over sensitive skin—caused him to tense up in places he didn’t expect himself to, not in this context. Your thumb and index finger examined his Adam’s apple, and it slipped away from your touch as he swallowed and chuckled awkwardly. The pulse in his neck quickened under your hand, and you paused for a moment, your lips curving in a soft, knowing smile.

“You’re doing great,” you whispered, your voice soothing, though you couldn’t help the subtle tone of praise he had granted you so many times when his hands travelled across your body with equal care. “Just breathe.”

“I am,” Viktor replied, his breath there, yet hitching as you moved to his collarbone, the tips of your fingers brushing the hollow above it before trailing the length of the bone. His skin prickled under your touch, and he found himself sinking further into the couch, his limbs loosening as if you had found a secret way to unlock him.

You kept working, holding on to your focus, but Viktor couldn’t take his eyes off you. The way your hands moved—deliberate, confident, as though you were committing every inch of him to memory—was so utterly erotic, so private. The soft furrow of concentration in your brow, the way your lips parted slightly as you worked, the occasional tilt of your head as you checked your progress against the clay—all of it was unbearably intimate, the dummy becoming a labour of love under your steady hand.

His own reaction caught him off guard. His breathing grew heavier, less controlled, his chest rising and falling with a rhythm he couldn’t mask. A flush crept up his neck, and he wondered if this was what you felt like when he had you pinned to the mattress.

You paused, brushing your thumb against the side of his throat. “You’re warm,” you remarked softly, tilting your head toward him. “Is this too much?”

Viktor smiled stupidly to himself, though his voice was low and rough. “Not at all. Just—unexpected.”

You chuckled lightly, your breath skimming his cheek as you leaned closer to reach the other side of his neck. “Unexpected— good or bad?” you asked, echoing his earlier words.

“Unexpected perfect,” he murmured, placing his hand over yours and craning his neck to kiss your jaw. It was utterly disarming—what it felt like to be touched for the sole purpose of being memorised.

You smiled to yourself as your hand moved lower, homing in on the flow of Viktor’s form. The tips of your fingers trailed down his chest, pausing to trace the curve of his clavicle before brushing over the flat planes of his sternum. You gave it a firm press, mechanically forcing out the breath Viktor had been holding. You could feel his heart thundering under your fingers, and it made you lick your lips. Here, his skin was thinner, more flexible, with a speckle of tiny bumps you knew to be his freckles.

Viktor exhaled under the pressure of your palm, and you could hear him chuckle nervously. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you allowed your hand to ghost over the defined ridges of his ribs, your fingers tracing just enough to make him shiver under the tickle. The motion was slow, deliberate, your palm spreading over the warmth of his chest as though mapping the heartbeat beneath.

“You’re tense,” you murmured, your eyebrows arching, cheeks rising in an involuntary smirk.

“I wonder why,” he replied, his voice softer now, laced with dry humour and vulnerability he judged was not worth hiding anymore. He felt himself slowly being disassembled to parts, the tiniest fractions of his being, each held to the light in the safety of your hands.

His cheeks were burning and his forehead dampening as you took your time, letting your hand move lower to the flat plane of his stomach. His muscles tensed instinctively, his tummy sucking in as if too shy to be touched, his body responding before his mind could catch up.

“Relax,” you coaxed, your voice as gentle as your touch, and he let out a quiet, shaky exhale as if obeying your command.

The curve of your fingers moved over his stomach to the sides, giving him a firm squeeze to follow your words. His breath steadied only for a moment before you slid your palm flat on the V-line of his underbelly, tracing the trail of hair disappearing under his trousers. Viktor let out a breathy moan, his spine flexing into your touch as he murmured an embarrassed, “Sorry,” the sound catching in his throat. His hands gripped the edge of the couch, his knuckles pale as he worked to steady himself. “I don’t believe I’ve been this flustered in years,” he laughed breathlessly.

“I shall make a mental note of that,” you whispered with a smile, and you could hear him chuckle again.

Your fingers continued their roam, brushing along the sharp lines of his hips, where the bone protruded just enough to catch the light. The fabric of his trousers shifted slightly under your fingertips, and Viktor shifted with it, a quiet gasp leaving him before he bit down on his lower lip.

The warmth beneath your hand grew, heat radiating from him in waves. His chest rose and fell in an unsteady rhythm, and his eyes—half-lidded and hazy—watched your every movement as if he couldn’t look away.

“You’re quite sensitive, you know,” you teased softly, the curve of a grin in your voice. You could feel the dummy slowly giving in, moulding into the shape of Viktor, his curves and sharp angles, as you mirrored each of your movements.

“Sensitive, am I?” he rasped, though his tone lacked its usual sharpness. It was warm, pliant, as if every word came from somewhere deeper than his throat.

Your fingers brushed the ridge of his hipbone, and Viktor’s breath faltered again, his hands twitching as though he wasn’t sure whether to still them or reach for you. “You’re certainly proving it,” you replied, your voice low, tenderly teasing.

Viktor swallowed thickly, his head tilting back against the couch with a soft thud. “I think I need you to kiss me,” he murmured, his accent thickening as his restraint faltered further.

You chuckled quietly, withdrawing your hand but letting it rest lightly against his side. “Hmm. Do I have your consent?”

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips. “W-what? I just asked you.”

“Well, I’d rather make sure. I am no Picasso. This was supposed to be professional; I will remind you,” you said, your feigned seriousness accentuated by taps of your finger against his belly.

Viktor’s eyes darkened slightly at that, his gaze dropping to your lips as he said in a pained voice, “Please don’t tell me you would touch anyone else like this, because I will lose my mind.”

You leaned back, your hands stilling for the first time. “I would never,” you whispered. You pulled out your clean hand to caress his cheek, but his arms were faster as he yanked you into a hungry kiss, smearing some of the cold clay on his chest.

Still holding you close, Viktor let out a soft laugh, running his fingers through his hair as if to ground himself. “I think I would be a terrible model,” he joked, though his voice carried the faint tremor of someone not quite recovered.

“I think you did wonderfully. And I’ve learned a thing or two,” you hummed, your lips finding his nose to place a peck on it. Which reminded you, “Oh. I forgot to trace your nose.”

“Shall I book an extra session for that?” He teased, his tone coming back to himself as his hands slid up and down your back.

“Definitely. Though I think this particular session we should move home. I am feeling very inspired.”

[sweetflanfiction]

Asymetrical Symphony - Part 21

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10 • Part 11 • Part 12 • Part 13 • Part 14 • Part 15 • Part 16 • Part 17 • Part 18 • Part 19 • Part 20

• ··········· • ············ •

The night was bright, the moon and the stars illuminating the room at the Academy you were now standing in. You were sitting on a wheely bench, swaying from side to side, your fancy attire contrasting with the uniformed man sitting beside you. 

The blackboard in front of you was filled with a familiar chicken scratch. You grinned at it. Man is a genius, but gods forbid he wrote anything legible. There was a 3D schematic next to the list. 

"What was that shape again?" You asked, smiling mischievously, and heard the Zaunite scientist chuckle low after sighing.

"It is a dodecahedron."

"Say it again."

He snorted, looked you dead in the eye, and said it again, accentuating every syllable.

"Do-de-ca-he-dron."

"Sounds much better when you say it." You winked and saw his face redden quickly. It was cute, and you had recently found you enjoyed his cuteness. You wanted to pull this side of him out more.

You’d met a while ago; you being one of Jayce’s old friends, he took no time to introduce you to his new lab partner. And you two took no time in becoming entangled. You didn’t believe in love at first sight, but the attraction was there.

Looking away from the man, you studied the blackboard. Your head tilted to the side, your perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowing in curiosity.

You’d been drawn to it as soon as you entered the dark Tallis Lab. The dinner at the mansion had become boring, and you'd decided to disrupt Viktor's evening with your presence. Not that he minded; at least it wasn't what his tired smile told you when he opened the door to the lab to find you there, staring with an overly innocent smile on your face.

He had invited you in and told you to wait for a couple of minutes until he was done with his work. That had been an hour and a half ago, and at some point, he stopped apologizing.

And now here you were, hypnotically staring into a badly erased blackboard, with something written on it and a schematic that did nothing but fill you with curiosity. So much so that you got up from your seat next to Viktor to stand in front of it.

“It is not a painting in a museum, you know.” His voice came from behind you, the telltale sounds of him getting up and walking toward you loud in the empty lab.

"I do have to find something to do while waiting for a certain Undercity scientist to find out I'm waiting on him." You bit back at him and heard him chuckle as he limped towards you. “Besides, exactly how many museums have you ever visited?”

His hand snaked around your waist and stayed there, pulling you gently into him. You felt the scent of oil, parchment, and coffee coming out of him along with a smile on his lips as he breathed you in and nuzzled up to your neck, the ghost of a kiss near your ear making you smile.

"Maybe you'd like to take me to some sometime."

"Sure, should I schedule that before or after your 24-hour shift in the lab?" You looked sideways at him, and he shook his head; a tired sigh was the only thing that came out of him, though.

“What is it anyway?” You felt him place his chin on your shoulders, and you grabbed his forearm, making soft circles on his skin. “Not the shape…the whole thing.”

“The core facets of the arcane.” He simply hummed, his fingers drawing lazily, stroking your waist as he swayed you both gently from side to side. “It is for a project I’m working on. But most of these we add to the hex gems for them to work.”

"And what is this project you are working on?" He shrugged.

"I cannot say. If it all goes well, it can change everything."

"Everything?" He nodded confidently. "Well, reaching for the stars, aren't we?"

"Well, funny enough, one of those symbols is for the moon." He traced a symbol in the air, and you realized that the bullets from the bullet list were, in fact, symbols. 

“You need to get better at writing so that someone else can read it.” You squinted at the blackboard.

“Jayce can read it, and that's all that matters.” You felt him shrug nonchalantly.

If Viktor's words were a pain to read, the smaller scratches next to them were downright impossible to decipher. 

“What are they? The facets I mean.”

He straightened up but didn’t move, only adjusting his crutch and his grip on you to find a good position. The back of your head rested against his chest, and you felt his slow breathing.

“The first are the natural facets: air, earth, fire, and water. Then the heavenly bodies: the moon and the sun. And then the forces of magic: chaos and order.”

“That’s eight of them. The dodecahedron has twelve sides. You finished the question with a kiss on his jaw. 

“We are still trying to figure out the rest.”

“I guess you two have to do something inside this big room to warrant the absurd amount of money you are being given by the Academy.” You joked and looked at him as his eyes dropped to you disapprovingly. “I’m joking. Tell me more.”

“We have come to some conclusions.” He started, his voice becoming animated. “For example, magic in itself cannot kill or give life, because you cannot kill a rock or bring a rock to life. But if certain sediments find themselves in the right order, a rock can be created, the same way that if something chaotic happens in the process, the rock may not be a rock at all. It becomes corrupt.”

“Are we bribing a rock now?” You joked, and he moved his fingers on your waist, tickling you and making you shriek.

“Not that type of corruption. Think of it as any condition that can deteriorate something.”

“Why aren’t those two in there? Create and corrupt?”

“Chaos and order…”

“No…” you argued, lifting a finger to shush him. “Chaos and order are different things. Chaos doesn’t necessarily corrupt, and order doesn’t create. You can create through chaos and corrupt through order.”

Viktor stayed silent for a while, biting the inside of his cheek in contemplation. After a few minutes, he disentangled himself from you, and an impressed expression showed on his face, which you returned with a smug one. He walked over to the board and wrote what you assume were those two words with white chalk.

“If we add corruption as something that deteriorates…then we must add what deteriorates the most.” He pointed the chalk to you, and you raised your eyebrows. “Time.”

“If you add time, you might as well add space. Like... physical space... distances, dimensions, measurements, and whatnot.” You walked over to him, grabbed the chalk, and added your suggestion. "If you physically place a rock in a location with the right conditions, it can become a pebble."

“I’ll make a scientist out of you someday.” He grabbed your hand and placed the chalk on its little sill under the board.

“Yuck.” You grimaced dramatically. “And be stuck in this dark hole with y’all without getting the chance to leave whenever I want? Blah... thanks, I’ll pass.”

“I could make your time spent in this lab very much worth it." He took a small step towards you. "After hours, that is…”

You raised an eyebrow at his forwardness. This whole thing between you two was weeks long, and although Viktor's demeanor was a little cold and collected most of the time, he liked to throw these jabs just to see your reaction. 

“Why spend that time at the lab when there's a perfectly good mansion?” You grinned, and he rolled his eyes jokingly.

Viktor’s cold hands came up to your face and held it, gently looking into your eyes with a loopy, tired smile, his thumbs caressing your cheekbones. He moved a piece of hair from your forehead, gently caressed the space between your brows, and placed a kiss there. 

“What if it is just a little bedroom over at the Academy dorms?” He whispered into your ear, and you smiled, moving so you could look at him.

“It'll do, I guess...” You joked, and he laughed, grabbing your hand and moving you towards the workstation. 

You saw him go around the lab turning machines off, placing schematics in drawers. He grabbed his satchel and placed a couple of those in there with his notebook and pencil.

Before walking out the door, you looked back at the board, still curious about that subject. Your neat handwriting in the middle of Viktor's.

'Space'

"Are you hearing me?" Viktor asked, snapping you out of your reverie.

"No... I never do really. I'm just here for the pretty face." He blushed and grabbed your hand, pulling you out of the lab, already rambling about the hexgate inauguration and how much he didn’t want to go.

• ··········· • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @kitewa @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty @lansy-4 @ayupfrogg @sammypotato @wnbrw @lucycarlisleswife @noxturnalmoth @ren-ren23 @furblrwurblr @kapitankarate @mynicknameisgasoline @octo-octopie @birbwithhat @kneelarmhstrung @dedicated2viktor @elvishstudies @iamfandomnerd

[seancekitsch]

hellooo hello, can I request Viktor with journalist!reader?

“Hello?” A soft low voice calls from the doorway of your workspace. You do not have to look up to know who it is, but you still do, your smile widening as you see the scientist darkening your doorway. He looks deadly serious, but when does he not? He’s out of his usual academy lab wear, opting for a thick wool coat that he drapes on your coat rack and a deep burgundy shirt. 

“Oh, Viktor! Come in! Did you see the article?” you usher him in as he shuts the door behind himself, getting up to turn on your kettle for him. You turn your back as he rests his cane against your writing desk, sitting himself in the cozy upholstered velvet chair you had dragged into the room once it was finally announced this would be an office for you instead of shared space. You get his tea bag ready and grab a lemon so he can have a fresh slice in his cup, having memorized exactly how he takes it. 

“I did,” he pauses, and you stiffen, lemon in hand and little knife glittering untouched. 

You inhale deeply, already anticipating the rest of his sentence.

“…But I do have some notes.”

You sigh deeply, turning around without a teacup in hand. He sits smugly, perched upon the chair as if it was made to be his throne, looking better in it than you ever have. Without a further word, you sit back down at your desk and pull out your original draft of the article from your files. Your handwriting is penned neatly across the pages, edits in the margins and additional notes pinned meticulously to the edges. Viktor reaches across the desk and snatches them from your hand before you can begin to read them out loud. You huff, but it falls on deaf ears, Viktor now pouring through the draft of the article. 

“I believe I gave you due credit, despite the fact that my bosses told me it was about the Man of Progress himself and only his contributions,” you argue, though he has yet to say anything. He gets to the sixth page of your draft before looking up at him. You remember the tense conversation you had with the editors, their disdain for his “undercity upbringing” and yet you had to remind them of where you had also come from. It was work to get Viktor mentioned in the article, but it was effort he deserves.

“Men of progress, I liked that," he tells you, and flips a page, "And this part? You described the color of the Hexcore incorrectly, it is more of a... cyan," he smirks slightly as he criticizes one of the notes, and pulls one of the additional notes off the corner of the page, "You refer to Jayce as handsome three times. Why is this? The words you use for me are maven, mastermind, sage. Why? Am I not also handsome?”

Any nerves you have dissolve at the playful smile that graces his hollow cheeks. His lips pale and chapped, but still a thing of great beauty. 

You giggle, and snatch the notes back from him. 

“Do you really think I’d use my writing to tell all of Piltover that you’re mine? Thats quite a large personal bias, it would detract from my ethics. I’m a professional, you know,” you joke with him as you’re getting up from the desk to move around it, now resting your ass on it as you lean in front of Viktor. You reach your hand out, fingertips outstretched and quickly met with his own, dancing in the space between you. 

“No, I am just… messing with you,” Viktor winks as he finishes his sentence, his other hand coming up to brush against your hip. 

“The article was good, I am glad you spoke about the ways our research can be used for medical progress,” he admits, “So many of the Councillors have their own agendas they’d like to slap onto my work.”

You lean into his touch, your fingers curling around his as you slide off the desk and perch yourself instead on the arm of the chair. You hope that the article portrays your pride for him, albeit hidden within the punctuation rather than out loud. 

“I know what the geniuses intentions are,” you tell him, "And that you two are the key to our future."

"Is that so? Maybe you should be the one in charge of our funding then," he looks up at you, eyebrow raised as he continues teasing.

"Please," you gently slap at his chest as you lean further into him, "on my salary? Your lab is nicer than my apartment."

"Speaking of which..." he trails off, looking at you now expectantly.

"You want to come back to mine?

"Unless you'd rather I sleep in my lab tonight. You did say it was nicer than your apartment."

The kettle whistles, and you lean down to kiss him.

[cannedsandwichh]

Jayce headcanons

I need more Jayce headcanons to fuel me so here we are. some are x reader but they're all pretty random lmaooo

hear me out jayce is a really big reader- or at least he was back in his high school days. he loved to read, almost about anything. he enjoyed everything from fantasy to sci-fi, and of course about non fictional stuff too, like physics books to try to figure out more about hex tech.

i feel like he'd be the same way about movies too. like he'd looove sci-fi type movies and binge watch documentaries as well.

he'd HATE horror movies though. he'd like being jump scared, but not for two hours straight.

jayce would be a big music nerd. I will die on this hill. like, while he was working on hex tech before he met Viktor he'd always have music playing. he didn't like the silence, it messed up his thoughts.

going off that note though, he hates silence while he's working. he needs some noise, may it be you, viktor, or himself talking, he needs it to stay sane and make him feel less lonely.

I feel like the poor baby didn't have many friends going up. all the kids thought he was weird since he'd talk about magic so much. he'd always act like he didn't mind what the other kids thought but in reality it always bothered him.

btw he'd loveee thinking out loud to whomever. he wants to rant to someone about his thoughts and hex tech. he'd ramble on for hours and you can just listen to him get excited about hex tech or a new discovery he found.

that being said, if he had a romantic partner, jayce would never shut up about them. someone would bring you up in a conversation and he'd just start yapping non stop about you.

you being his partner would be a lot to him, so he'd just talk about you a lot in general.

he always will make sure his partner is safe as well. seeing his mom almost die in front of him gave him a huge fear of losing anyone close to him.

if you got hurt he'd make such a big deal about it. you could have the common cold and he'd bug you about taking you to the doctor the whole time. he'd baby you the entire time as well, nursing you back to your original health.

while we're on the topic of romantic partners I'd like to note he'd fall for just about anyone really fast. you could just look at him and the poor boy would start catching feelings. thinking 'oh, they're cute'

i know everyone says this but I'll say it again because its true, jayce is a portable heater.

he'd give the nicest, warmest cuddles. he'd definitely wanna be the little spoon though, he likes being held. but if you like being the little spoon as well, he'd be very open to take turns

[leannswritings]

Our Designer - part 2

Syn : after that crazy dream you had of Viktor, you end up talking to friends about it. Now do you confess or let it go.

Warnings ! - Smut, slight slapping, choking, and whatever else I wrote that I can't remember...

Word count - 2.5k

A/N : Ngl i find Viktor so relatable as someone that has health problems..lwk understand why he almost took over the world. Anyways sorry if there's any misspelling + if the smut/confession isn't good it's been a while since i wrote so let me know what yall think I could change in the future, enjoy ♡ p.s should I make another part that's just fluff orrr...

A couple of days after the dream, you decided to talk about it with your closest friend, Caitlyn. You both had finally had an off day together, so you decided to head over to her house to hang out and catch her up on everything.

"SO let me get this straight..you had a dream, and not just a dream, but a wet dream about him? BUT you can't even ask him to go out with you."

Cait said as she walked back and forth in front of the bed you were sitting on. You nodded as you picked up a piece of fruit.

"Why don't you just ask him out...or sleep with him..."

She slightly whispered the last part. You immediately dropped the fruit in your hand to reply.

"Cait. I'm not gonna ask him to randomly sleep with me...are you okay? Are you feeling all right? Because you don't seem to be thinking clearly."

"I don't see the problem; maybe he wants it too; ever think about that."

She said with a shrug as if she knew something, you on the other hand, were in every way trying to convince her not to say such "nonsense"

"Cait..Caitlyn I'm not going to randomly ask Viktor to fuc—"

"Am I interrupting..?"

Jayce walks into the room with a smile on his face; at this point, you could've guessed he heard the conversation and was just creepily waiting behind the door. He quickly came and sat on the bed beside you, before reaching over you and grabbing fruit.

"I think you should. There's plenty of possibilities of what could happen if you confess, plus the worst he could say is no...as if that would happen "

Realizing he just said the last part out loud, he shoved the fruit in his mouth and turned away from you just for you to pull his face back towards you and hit him in the throat, forcing the fruit to come out his mouth. He choked a little before looking at you with those same puppy eyes he always does when he does something wrong.

"What did he say to you? What do you mean, wait? Wait, just tell me what he thinks about me; you already told me a little, so just tell me."

Curiosity and Joy were overflowing within you, and everyone could tell that you were starting to freak out. Jayce quickly ate some fruit and swallowed before getting up and backing up from you, before refusing to tell you anymore because he realized saying that little bit was enough. You chased him around the room, trying to get more information out of him, which failed even after you pinned him down.

"What if I said I told him to stop by your place tonight...I got tired of both of you."

"What. You asked him to come over to MY place, even though your apartment is RIGHT next door.?"

You quickly let go of Jayce, and started slightly freaking out before he explained that he convinced Viktor to go to your place for "research purposes" and by saying everyone would be there. Of course you didn't even know if he was even telling the truth by saying that, but either way it slightly freaked you out because you realized that your room was covered in papers of design and other future ideas for hextech, leaving a horrible mess. You quickly ate some fruit, hugged your friends, and left, realizing you had plenty of work to do at home.

————

You finally finished cleaning up what you thought made you seem messy, rearranging other things that might be slightly off-putting. You looked around worrying about what else you could change around as if he hadn't been over to your place before, including when the floors were covered in paper (which is now in a messy stack on the table since it's the topic of the meaning anyways), as soon as you tried to find something else to move you heard a knock at your door.

You quickly ran over to the door, looked around to make sure everything was in place, patted your chest to calm down, and opened the door. Your eyes met with his amber eyes, his eyes always looked as if they had glowed no matter the time of the day.

"Is Jayce here yet?"

He said as he walked in, looking around to see if Jayce would appear out of the blue. You shook your head, and then both headed to your room. In your room there's a floor table in the center that has all of the paper stacked on it, you moved some of the papers slightly to the side so Viktor had somewhere to write. You reached into your closet and got some pillows to sit on. Viktor just stood there and stared as you walked around the room getting things, saying nothing the whole time.

An hour had passed that you guys were studying and going over hextech and the future of the hex. It was really hard to focus on the papers and conversations that were held, Viktor had to snap at you multiple times to catch your attention. It seemed that Viktor was slightly getting annoyed at the fact you kept getting distracted by the littlest thing; if the temperature changed by 1 degree, it was like you could tell and immediately start moving around or talking about it.

"Do you have something to say?"

Viktor caught you staring at him once again; this time, you absolutely couldn't help it; you really liked the face he made when he got frustrated. You moved closer to him, leaning into his bubble until it popped, now inches away from his face.

"Yeah."

That was the only word you could sigh out before leaning into a kiss; you leaned back after realizing what you did. The feeling of regret rained down on you as you saw Viktor touch his lips in shock before he made eye contact with you. You immediately stood and tried to confess, yet out of fear, you apologized.

"I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to. Viktor I reall—"

At that moment, got silent as Viktor pulled you by your arm, forcing you back down and into his lap. The silence was so loud, you were sure at this point he could hear your heartbeat, and feel the other one. Viktor gave you this look that you couldn't even explain before leaning into another kiss. This kiss felt so different from others in the past, the way his hands traced your face, how sweet the kiss felt, and the fact you could feel him under you. You fixed your position and threw your legs on both sides of him,centering yourself, your hands holding his face. His hands traveled down your body, tracing your outlines before stopping at your waist. You broke away from the Makeout to catch your breath, the fact that this was happening was pretty overwhelming. Viktor moved down your neck leaving kisses in every spot that he could, your body reacting to his every move, as your hips started to rock. There's been plenty of times you've stared at your ceiling but this time...you have never been so glad to be looking at the same o,ld ceiling.

"Vik-viktor hold on.."

You pushed yourself off of him and stood up, you helped him up and sat him on your bed. It'll be much more comfortable and more spacious than being on the floor, but you didn't have any time to say anything as you immediately went back to the sweetness of his lips that you liked so much. He pushed you onto your back and continued going down your neck, unbuttoning your shirt as he laid kisses down onto your skin, finally reaching the top of your pants, unbuckling your belting, and pulling your pants off. He looked up at you, his fingers traced around your hips and thighs holding off on actually touching you where you wanted. He really liked to see that pathetic look on your face when you couldn't get your way, he smiled before he slid his fingers in you, his thumb fooling around with your clit. He went back up, laid on his side, and continued playing with your lips as his fingers played inside of you. You moaned against his lips as you pushed your legs together trapping his hand there. Maybe being a workaholic and toying with things all day was worth it in the long run because now his fingers that usually fondle with metals,pens, and paper are now fondling with you. It didn't take long for you to have an orgasm; you've never had one that fast; maybe it was due to the built-up feelings and lust, or maybe it was just his touch. Your legs finally opened up, letting him remove his hand.

"Already..? That's disappointing.."

Viktor had this smug look on his face; if he could say more, he would, but he seemed to be holding back for now. You pushed him to lie on his back, taking a stressor off his leg. You both reached for his pants at the same time, rushing to take them off. Viktor was a very introverted person, not one to boast about what he achieved or has, but man this was something you think was reasonable to boast about. You sat on top of him; his tip, which was slightly sticking out of his underwear, was already starting to leak pre-cum. Your hand rubbed his face; your thumb found its way into his mouth; Viktor's tongue and your thumb had a short battle as he suddenly bit down on your thumb. You had a sudden and quick reaction, you withdrew your thumb and slapped him. The expected reaction was disgust or him being upset, but instead, you got a smile, and his face fell back into your hand. Viktor looked up at you that with those gorgeous amber eyes; it seemed that at, the moment, he viewed you as other-worldly.

"Shit..Viktor you're disgusting.."

You gave a soft laugh in response. "so he's one of those," was your thought process at the time; the thought of being roug,h with each other was such a turn-on; now the real question was, is he going to be rough with you? Your body continued to rub against his due to the thoughts running through your mind. Viktor laid kisses against your hands and wrist, his gaze was intense. His eyelids were low giving him this desperate look, his hands moved from yours to your hips. His grip on your hips was so tight, you were sure it would leave marks, he had pure control of how your body moved at this point. His hands made you grind against him at a slower pace than before, this annoyed you, you were already close to asking for him to fuck you point blank. Of course he did this on purpose, how else would he have fun if he couldn't see you annoyed or desperate for a feeling.

"You seem..ann-annoyed"

Viktor stuttered, it seems that his accent gets thicker in situations like this.

"I don't have time to play with you viktor.."

"Really? I have plenty."

A smart-ass just like his friend. This wasn't a joking matter for you, the hunger and need was hard to ignore or just toy with at this point. You needed Viktor bad, you needed the pleasure. You couldn't help that a few tears fell from your eyes from how annoyed you were.

"You really are that..desperate.."

Viktor seem to give in after seeing a few tears, he loosen his grip on your hips, giving you time to take his out his dick and line it up with your entrance. You were planning to go slow, but at that moment, he grabbed your hips and forced you down, and let out a loud moan. You immediately covered your mouth to try and suppress your voice, though you didn't do a very good job as your whimpers could be heard echoing off the walls. At this moment you could only hope Jayce and your other neighbors weren't home. The sounds of skin touching skin and voices harmonizing covered the room. You continued the bounce on him, hoping the roughness wouldn't leave him with any pain. He fit perfectly inside of you, as if he was made for you, rubbing against your insides. You could only hope this would go on forever as he continued hitting your G-spot. One of his hands left your hip and went to one of your hands that was on his shoulders, Picking it up and leading it to his neck, letting you know what to do.

"Vik- you're si-sick"

Even though that stumbled out of your mouth you didn't refuse. You wrapped both your hands around his neck as you continued to ride him. His reaction made you realize something about yourself you didn't think you wanted to know, adding the cherry on top of the knot in your stomach. Viktor eyes went from staring at you with such love and lust to starting to roll to the ball of his head; he seemed to be getting close,the pressure from your hands adding to the pleasure he felt from your warmth. Without any warning, you felt him coat your insides, and as a reaction, you let go of his neck. Soon after you hit your climax, it seemed like heaven on earth, the pleasure was something you've yet to experience before. The room was greeted by heavy breathing and other soft sounds. One more round wouldn't hurt..or a couple.

———

The sun shined through your bedroom window, both of you were supposed to be in the lab hours ago but decided to stay lying together. The sun shined just enough for Viktor's eyes to glow from the light, his lashes draped over his eyes in such a beautiful way. You moved your head from his arm to his chest so you didn't have to look him in the face, even though you've already seen more of each other than the average person it was still hard for you to explain what you wanted to truly tell him last night.

"V—"

"Y—"

You both called out at the same time; despite you telling him to go first afterward, he still waited for you to speak.

"Viktor, what I wanted to say last night is, I really like you and working by your side. I can't and don't want to see myself in any other place other than by your side. Cheesy I know but I seriously mean it."

Silence. Silence was who greeted you, you would've felt embarrassed if you were laying on his chest. His heart told on himself, it getting louder by the second, it was beating so fast you wouldn't be shocked if it exploded at that very moment.

"I- me too"

A few Czech words slipped out in the beginning but he just kept his answer simple, you guess his brain just went back to his native because of the situation. It was cute seeing him all nervous, something you've yet to see before. Something about the tenderness and comfort you got from each other was different from before, you never would've guessed such a quiet nerdy dude would be so...comforting and awkward.

[counterblows]

📄 𝐋𝐚𝐲 𝐌𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲

Jayce Talis x Fem!Reader

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.2k

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Angst, Exes to lovers, Broken relationships, Emotional baggage, Eventual smut, Semi-Public Sex, Fingering, Aftercare

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Piltover’s elite gather to celebrate Hextech’s success, with Jayce hailed as its visionary. But the night takes an unexpected turn when he crosses paths with a former lover — you.

Jayce wiped the dew of sweat on his forehead and adjusted his collar again— for what must have been the seventh time. There wasn’t anything out of place, but that didn’t stop him from fussing.

It was a habit— Jayce had always taken pride in making a good impression. That started in how he carried himself. Even back in the Academy, he made sure his uniform was perfectly pressed, boots shined, and hair in place.

Presentation was everything. His mother had drilled that into him early: look sharp, and people will listen. He even wore his signature musk, subtle but distinct, enough to linger when he left the room.

“You’ve been checking your reflection in that panel for the last five minutes,” Viktor said, not looking up from the notes in his lap. “Nervous?”

“It’s not nerves,” Jayce replied, tugging the collar again. “Just… making sure I don’t look like a complete ass in front of half the city.”

Viktor’s eyes flickered toward him, his tone dry. “No one’s here to see how polished your collar is. They came for your progress, not your posture. Though the golden pin is convincing.”

The gala was being held in celebration of the upcoming Hexgate expansion— a monumental leap in technology and trade for Piltover. The entire city had a vested interest, which meant half its elites would be attending. And as co-founder of Hextech, Jayce would be at the centre of it all.

So yes, maybe he was nervous.

He’d rehearsed his talking points, anticipated every possible question about crystal stabilisation, practiced the confident tone expected of a councilman. But it never got easier— the weight of all those eyes, the expectation to be both brilliant and charming.

“You should come, you know,” Jayce said, though he already knew Viktor’s answer. “It wouldn’t hurt to be seen.”

Viktor didn’t look up. “I prefer to let the science speak. Besides, those galas are loud. No one listens to them. They only toast.”

“Well,” Jayce muttered, half to himself. “Sometimes you want someone there who does listen.”

They’d built Hextech together— late nights, impossible problems, breakthroughs and failures. Viktor was as much a part of it as Jayce was— maybe more. And though Jayce had always been the one in front of the cameras and councils, part of him wished Viktor would step forward too. Just once.

But Viktor never liked the spotlight. He was content staying in the wings, letting others speak for what he built. Jayce had learned to respect that, even if he didn’t always understand it.

A soft knock tapped against the door, followed by a subtle click as it opened— revealing Mel. She was already dressed— and she was, in every sense of the word, a knockout. Not just in beauty, but in a commanding way she held a room before even entering it.

Being the wealthiest woman in Piltover— and carrying the weight of her Noxain aristocracy— it reflected in every inch in her attire. Her gown shimmered like molten gold, flowing with each deliberate step as if it were alive, designed to catch the light.

Everything about her outfit screamed elegance, from the fine embroidery traced the curve to the train that swept the floor behind her. As she moved further into the room, her heels clicked with measured rhythm.

She offered Viktor a curt nod of acknowledgment before turning her full attention on Jayce. A smile tugged at her lips, equal part amused and knowing, as she took in his anxious tics.

“You clean up well,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “But don’t mistake polish for power. Tonight is about presence and perception.”

Every word was delivered with purpose as she spoke.

Jayce stiffened slightly, managing a faintly amused expression. “And here I thought it was about celebrating Hextech.”

Mel stepped closer, until there was barely any space between them.

“Oh it is,” she said. “But most importantly, it’s about securing people's faith in it… and in you. So, try not to pace like a man waiting for judgment.”

Her hand reached up to smooth the line of his collar, a delicate yet pointed gesture.

“Confidence suits you better than nerves.”

Jayce could only nod, though the nerves didn’t fade. Still, her words settled something inside him. A quiet reminder that he wasn’t walking into this alone— not entirely.

He just had to keep his footing once the speeches began. After all, this was his life’s work. His passion. And tonight, it wasn’t just being celebrated. It was being seen. And Jayce had every intention of showing what Hextech, and himself, were capable of.

~

The soft sound of a string quartet music floated through the air, weaving around the crystalline glow that refracted from the suspended Hex crystal above. The Grand Hall of the Academy had been transformed for the evening event— its austere stone now draped in elegance.

Shimmering banners of deep blue and gold hung between marble columns. Gold-trimmed tables lined the space, each one adorned with champagne flutes and trays of delicate hors d’oeuvres. Everything from the presentation of the food to the cut of each guest’s attire gleamed with precision.

It was a few hours into the evening, and Jayce stood near the centre of it all, his Council pin catching the light like a badge of triumph. Around him, patrons and fellow councilmen mingled in conversation. He smiled, nodded, even laughed on cue.

The taste of champagne sat flat on his tongue. The warmth of the room— part ambient magic, part too many bodies in tight proximity— began to cling to his skin.

But Jayce couldn’t leave. Not yet. This event was, after all, in celebration of Hextech— the very achievement that bore his name.

His gaze swept the room absently behind the rim of his glass, eyes searching for escape through distraction. And then, he caught sight of a familiar figure.

He saw you. Or at least he assumed he did.

At first, he thought it was the trick of the heat or light, some familiar illusion conjured by his exhaustion. But then you turned, every so slightly, and his breath caught in his throat.

It was you.

Years could pass, and he would still know the shape of you in a crowd. But what were you doing here? And who had invited you? Piltover’s elites didn’t exactly welcome outsiders, let alone anyone from your part of the city.

His fingers tightens around his glass. A spike of something— a mix of guilt and yearning— rose in his chest, making his heart hammer harder against his ribs. Even from across the room, you still had the power to knock the air out of his lungs.

Would you look at him the same way? Or would your eyes narrow the second they meet? You had every right.

Yet, something tugged at him— an ache he’d buried long ago. The more he tried to convince himself to let it go, the harder it became to stay still.

He ran a hand through his hair. Then again. Straightened his collar for the umpteenth time. Useless fidgeting to stall the inevitable. But eventually, he caved in and crossed the floor. His pulse thudded like a man about to walk straight into war.

He still had no idea what he would say. He only hoped it wouldn’t make you walk away again.

But every step Jayce took toward you, you seemed to take two steps away.

As if you could sense him behind you— your body pulled deeper into the throng of people, into the maze of gowns and glitter. He tried to keep pace, weaving around patrons and murmuring conversations, but you were slipping through the seems like water.

Then you vanished, slipped through a set of doors without a sound.

Jayce pushed after you, struggling to keep up. Frustration was mounting in his chest as he gritted his teeth.

He called your name, voice strained with something that sounded too close to pleading— but you didn’t stop. If anything, you moved faster. Your heels clicked in rapid rhythm against the marble floor until the last echoes of string music faded behind you.

The air outside was a relief, crisp and clean, against his flushed skin. He saw you at the far end of the stairs, sliding down the rails with ease like someone who’s done it a thousand times. You didn’t look back.

How were you able to walk fast in those shoes? Jayce was slowly losing his calm demeanor. He yanked at the button of his cuffs as he chased after you down the quiet streets.

Suddenly, you disappeared between two brick buildings, wedging your body into the narrow space. Then, with no fear, you scaled up the walls.

Jayce stopped in his tracks, completely dumbstruck.

“What—” The word tumbled out of him.

You were halfway to the rooftop already, gripping crumbling bricks, using momentum and muscle memory he never knew you had. In a formal dress. Without breaking a sweat.

“You’re insane,” he muttered to himself, still stunned. Hands rested on his hips as he watched you disappear.

You were long gone— but not out of reach, yet.

He wasn’t going to give up.

Jayce scanned the alley, eyes narrowing until he spotted a fire escape ladder tucked behind a stack of crates. For a second, he hesitated, thinking of the consequences of all of this.

Councilman Jayce Talis, caught climbing unauthorised property in the dead of the night… the tabloids would have a field day for sure.

But the thought of not seeing you again— that you might vanish into Piltover’s veins and never resurface— was far worse.

He grabbed hold of the latter without a second thought. The metal groaned beneath his weight as he ascended, one hand on the cool rails while the other braced against the brick wall. Every rung felt like a gamble. But he kept moving.

Determined to find you. And this time, he wouldn’t let you slip away. The wind grew colder as he climbed higher, brushing across his skin. From this vantage point, Piltover glowed below in gold. The Hexgates stood tall in the distance, the blue light pulsing steadily in the night.

He found you perched on the ledge of the rooftop, your back to him. Legs dangling into nothing. Reckless as always. Just as he remembered.

His boots scraped against the rooftop gravel as he pulled himself up fully with a groan, chest still rising and falling sharply from the chase.

“Why are you doing this?” he called, voice rough with breathlessness. “I know you saw me back there.”

Silence. Just the wind and the beat of the pulse in his ears

“It’s not obvious ,” he said when the silence stretched. “So enlighten me. Why is it that the moment I show up, you take off like a bat out of hell? You didn’t even give me the chance to speak.”

Still facing the city, you said quietly, “You didn’t have to. You already said everything when you left me behind.”

Jayce inches closer, cautious in his steps. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Yes. You did,” you interrupted with restrained fury. The edge in your voice cracked “You chose to chase the glory— of Hextech. And you got it now, didn’t you?”

Jayce winced at the bitterness in your tone, but he knew it came from a place of hurt he had caused.

You had met back in the Academy— two ambitious students who swore they’d change the world together. You were the one constant in his darkest moments, especially when his dreams of harnessing magic were mocked and dismissed by the very scholars he idolised.

Everyone turned his backs on him, saying it wasn’t possible. But you stuck by him.

You’d spend countless nights in the lab, curled besides him as he scribbled down theories, his blueprints illuminated by candlelight and crystal glows. This night melted into stolen kisses and whispered promises between sleepless study sessions.

But all good things were temporary. And promises were weightless in the name of progress.

Even when he stood on the brink of banishment of Piltover, you stayed. You believed in him more fiercely than he believed himself. But when the Council took him in and the spotlight found him, he didn’t look back. Not once

All you could do was watch him rise to prominence from a distance. The same hands that caressed your face now clutched onto awards instead.

And after that speech he gave on Piltover’s Progress Day, you never heard from him again. And your name— your presence— was quietly scrubbed from the story.

You finally turned to look at him, the city lights catching the shine in your eyes.

“Do you know how frustrating it is seeing your face on every poster? Every merchant hawking your invention like they were a divine gift. You were everywhere, the Man of Progress. And I had to pretend you weren’t the first boy I ever gave a damn about.”

The raw emotions in your voice was enough to make his resolve falter. Jayce didn’t say anything for a moment, his throat tightened with guilt, a lump forming making the words impossible to speak.

He hadn’t thought about it from that perspective— how seeing his face everywhere reopened old wounds, the same face that once shattered your heart.

He had been so preoccupied by ambition, he never stopped to consider how his success might’ve tormented you.

Finally, he found his voice and had the courage to speak up again. “I thought I had time. I thought I could make something of myself and then come back to you and—”

“And what? Sweep me off my feet? Apologise while wearing that damn fancy gilded council pin like it means something?” Your eyes burned. “It doesn’t matter now… I’m just another stepping stone for your success, right? Something you left behind once it got in the way.”

“Please don’t say that, you mean more than that,” he said, the words thick with desperation.

He slowly took another step closer to you— though he longed to reach out and touch your face. But he knew he didn’t deserve that intimacy with you anymore.

“I may have the Man of Progress title, but it means nothing if I couldn’t bring the one person I care about along with it.”

You stayed quiet. The silence between you was almost suffocating, despite the open air of the rooftop. The hum of the city faded, and for a moment, it felt like the world narrowed to just you and him.

He wanted to say more. Wanted to reach out. But the fear of losing even this fragile thread between you held him still. The urge to close the distance was getting harder to ignore. Instead, he shifted his weight, tension coiled tight in his chest.

You turned away again, a gesture that felt like a rejection. Jayce knew that there was nothing he could say that could convince you to stay, and he felt his chest fill with anguish.

But then you spoke again, barely audible. He almost missed it.

“Prove it.”

Jayce blinked. “What?”

“If you really mean it—” you ran across the rooftop like a fleeting shadow before you took off and leapt, landing on the neighbouring rooftop. “—catch me!”

And you kept going.

Jayce let out a strangled noise. “Are you serious—?!”

But you were already gone, disappearing over the tiled rooftops. Your silhouette sliced through the moonlight like you belonged in the wind. Your dress flowed gracefully around your body, catching the wind as you moved.

Jayce was frozen in place, stunned by what just happened. Part of him debated the logic of chasing you across the unstable rooftops in formalwear. How widely unsafe and maybe illegal this was.

But watching the distance between you kept growing, and with it, every doubt in his mind was drowned out and replaced with a rush in his blood. The wind, the night, you. It all pulled him forward.

He stepped toward the edge, his gaze dipping to the streets below— too far down. The height twisted in his guts like nausea. But then he looked up. You were still moving.

Your last words echoed in his head, the adrenaline coursing in his bloodstream.

He took a few steps back, then launched himself forward. His body soared through the air and landed on the adjacent rooftop with a jarring thud. His eyes locked onto your figure ahead, all focus now funnelled into one purpose.

You may have had an advantage in terms of dexterity— which came apparent as Jayce pursued you across the rooftops. But he had muscles, stubbornness, and regret that was catching fire in his chest.

Even so, he struggled to keep up. Every time he gained ground, you veered at the last second, changing directions like you knew the rooftops better than your own heartbeat.

No matter how fast he ran, you always seemed to be just a few steps ahead— like a tantalising tease.

One sharp turn nearly sent him stumbling, throwing him off balance and causing him to lose his footing briefly. He cursed under his breath

And then, your laughter reverberated in the night air behind you— light and free. Like you were enjoying every second of this. Like the chase was your vengeance and your flirtation all in one.

It only pushed him harder.

His limbs burned, his formal jacket was restricting, and he’d definitely pulled something. But Jayce pressed forward, leaning into every stride, teeth clenched, muscles screaming.

Finally, he saw his moment. The gap narrowed.

His long legs propelled him forward one final time in a powerful stride, his focus solely on closing the distance and finally capturing you.

With his outstretched arms, he lunged forward and managed to wrap his arms around your waist, anchoring you to him. Your body slammed against his chest and he held on tight.

His grip was firm yet not overbearing— his breath ragged, chest heaving. The heat of your bodies pressed flushed together, your back against the ventilation shaft, his body caging yours.

Your face was close enough to feel each other's breaths— though his was hotter, laced with adrenaline and effort.

Lactic acid burned through his legs, but he barely noticed. His eyes scanned your face, trying to read something behind your maddening calm.

“Your hair’s a mess,” you murmured, glancing up at him. Too composed, too amused.

Jayce instinctively ran his fingers through his hair, only now realising how disheveled it was from the wild goose chase. Wind-tossed. Sweat-mattered. An utter mess.

“Thanks for the reminder,” he huffed— his voice was dry, but hoarse. “It’s not like I’ve been chasing you across half the rooftops in Piltover or anything.”

Despite the sarcasm, there was an undeniable fondness behind his words— exasperated but sincere. Your comment made him acutely aware of his hair. He tried to fix it again, then gave up with a frustrated sigh.

“Your face is flushed too,” you added, your voice remained casual. “Kinda remind me of when—”

“Shut up…” he cut in quickly, face heating further.

His voice was a low grumble, but the vulnerability underneath it gave him away. He didn’t need reminders of those intimate moments, not when you were so close and every part of him was aching to close the distance between you again.

“Don’t…don’t bring that up.”

“And why not?” You tilted your head, your tone playful but prodding.

“Because it’s irrelevant,” his voice faltered. The sarcasm cracked just enough to reveal the truth behind it. “That was a different time. A different situation. We’re not the same people we were back then.”

But even as he said it, a part of him screamed at the lie. You knew it too— he could see it in your eyes. The weight of everything unspoken still hung between you. The love that never really left.

“So why did you chase after me?” you asked, voice growing more serious.

Jayce hesitated, clearly not prepared for the question.

“Because…” his voice dropped to something more fragile. “Because I couldn’t let you go again, not when there’s so much unsaid between us.”

He leaned closer, his forehead nearly brushing yours. Not quite touching, not yet. But close enough to feel the magnetic pull.

“I never stopped loving you. And if you ran again, I would have chased you for another thirty minutes… or thirty years.”

Your gaze didn’t waver from him. You studied him silently, unblinking, almost daring him to mean it. He could almost feel the weight of your scrutiny.

“You look like you’re about to collapse,” you finally said.

Jayce let out a tired half-laugh. “I feel like I’m about to collapse.”

“So why didn’t you stop?” your tone sharpened, just slightly. “You could’ve gone back, cleaned yourself up. Pretend none of this even happened.”

Jayce flinched— not outwardly, but something in his gaze shifted. His smile faltered.

The truth of your words hung heavy before him. He could have turned back. He could’ve smoothed his collar again, walked into the gala, and let this moment vanish into the night.

Carried on like nothing ever happened.

But he didn’t. A new wave of guilt washed over him. He could see it in your expression— you still thought he might.

You still thought he’d choose to walk away. And the worst part was, he couldn’t even resent you for it.

He had walked away once.

Knowing you believed he might do it again hurt more than he expected.

“Because… It's you. I couldn’t stop if I tried,” he replied quietly, less guarded.

His arms were still wrapped around you, holding you close. Slowly, cautiously, he lifted a hand and cupped your cheek. Half-expecting you to pull away. Bracing for it.

But you didn’t.

His pulse throbbed hard— not from exhaustion anymore, but from hope. Longing. And your close proximity.

“I missed this. I miss all of you…the way you used to look at me,” he admitted softly.

For a moment, he thought you leaned closer to him— just a fraction. It could’ve been a trick of his desperation, wishful thinking disguised as movement.

You tried to scoff at his words, but it came out thin and airy. “That was a long time ago, Jayce.”

“Don’t tell me you never thought about it, too.”

You didn’t say anything. But he could sense the words digesting in your mind— the pause in your breath, the flicker in your eyes. He knew you couldn’t lie to him. Not about this. After all, there must’ve been a reason why you even attended the gala, knowing he would be there too.

One of your hands hesitantly reached up, not quite touching him. Testing the tension. Jayce didn’t move, didn’t speak— just waited, letting you decide how close was too close.

He wasn’t prepared for the way you surged forward suddenly, tugging him down by his collar and pressing your mouth into his. It was soft, almost shy at first— but his heart still nearly gave out at the sheer rush of it

His eyes widened, shocked by your sudden boldness— but the moment your lips moved against his like it used to, muscle memory kicked in. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him.

The nostalgia of the intimacy soared through him. Your bodies slotted together like memory, muscle, heat and breath. You sighed into his mouth, and he parted his lips instinctively, letting your tongue brush against his.

He kissed deeper, needier, hungry like he was afraid you might vanish. He didn’t want to miss a single moment that you were giving him. Your hands threaded through his hair, and he melted beneath them.

When you finally broke apart, your nose still brushed— close enough that he could feel your shaky exhales against his skin. His hands had already started to roam down your sides, fingers trembling with need.

“Let me make it up to you,” he rasped with raw want. “please.”

You could only nod— one slow, steady tilt of your head.

He tugged at your dress higher, the fabric bunching around your waist. Until the soft swell of your thighs and the edge of your panties came into view. He saw your shiver, not just from the cold but from anticipation too.

If this were a different scenario, one where you were still together, Jayce wouldn’t be so open. He would never touch you like this out in public. Not where someone could see— not like this.

But you always made him forget his caution. And tonight, the rooftops were empty. The streets below were almost remote. Piltover was at the gala, completely oblivious to the reunion that was happening above them.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth as his fingers brushed your inner thigh, then slipped higher, gliding along the dampened fabric of your underwear from your arousal.

“God…you’re dripping,” he murmured in awe, thumbs stroking lightly over the wet patch darkening your panties.

He pulled the fabric aside, watching as the strands of your wetness stretched and thinned between your core and the cloth, until you were completely bare to him.

His fingers moved in, brushing deliberately over the bundle of nerves he knew would elicit a reaction out of you. Slow, deliberate strokes— drawing the sensation out like a secret.

Your body tensed beneath him, a gasp lodged at your throat. Just a few touches, and already you were so responsive. It only made him want more.

His fingers slid through your folds, gathering your wetness on the pad of his fingers. He started with one digit, easing inside of you, and his breath hitched at the feeling. Warm. Familiar. He watched your face, devoured your reaction like a starved man.

He slowly dragged his fingers out, then sank back in, building a steady rhythm. Your walls fluttered, already clenching, aching. But he didn’t want to rush things yet.

It was the first time in years he got to touch you like this. Feel your body against his. It had been too long and he was planning to savour it.

He added a second finger, groaning under his breath as your body welcomed the stretch. His mouth trailed down your neck, pressing a kiss there, like he was reacquainting himself with every inch of you.

“Tell me you missed me…as much as I missed you,” he voice was low against your skin.

“I shouldn’t—” you breathed between moans, voice trembling as you felt his thumb circling your clit “But I did.”

That did something to him.

He curled his fingers inside of you, angling it until he found the spot that always made your body jolt— and when your hips jerked forward and your fingers clawed at his biceps, he knew he found the jackpot.

His fingers didn’t leave your core for a moment, working you open with the care of someone who knew exactly how you liked to be touched. And the hunger of someone who never thought he’d get again.

Eventually, he withdrew his fingers, with your essence still clinging on. He looked down at them, not quite ready to clean them off yet.

You were still catching your breath, chest rising and falling heavily, but your gaze never left him. Slowly, you reached out, fingers finding the button of his shirt— undoing them one by one with a shaky blend of nostalgia and impatience.

You didn’t take his shirt off completely, just enough to part it, revealing the heat of his bare chest. Your hand pressed against him, palms sliding over muscles that taut beneath your touch.

Jayce shuddered.

Your touch was soft, so soft. It was torture. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into it, absorbing every second of contact. He had dreamed about this— you, this close, touching him again— and now that it was real, it nearly undid him.

The heat coiled in his lower stomach, arousal flooding through him like an inferno. You reached lower, fingered brushing over the hard shape straining against his pants.

He whined lowly as you palmed him through the fabric. Your movements were needy when searching. His hips twitched up into your hands.

With trembling urgency, he fumbled to undo his own pants, and the moment the last clasp came free, his dick sprang out— already leaking at the tip. The sudden release of pressure left him lightheaded.

The cool night air kissed his overheated skin, but the heat radiating from his core only grew stronger. When your hand delicately brushed over his length, skin-to-skin this time, his hips jerked instinctively— an unrestrained twitch that betrayed just how wound-up he was.

Your fingers wrapped around him, stroking him with slow deliberation, your thumb swiping over the slick bead of precum that had gathered at the tip. The sensation was enough to break his composure. But he didn’t want to come— not yet— but the way you touched him made him feel dangerously close.

His hand caught your wrist, gentle but firm. But his retrains were slowly thinning like thread unraveling from a seam. It was hard to stay grounded with your touch clouding his every thought.

“I’m not gonna last if you keep touching me like that…” came out an airy whisper from him, his voice sounding like a wreck.

The corner of your lips twitched up in a faint, knowing smile. But you stopped.

He didn’t waste another second to hook one arm beneath your thighs, bunching your dress up again guiding your legs around his waist. His other hand braced you against the cold metal of the ventilation shaft.

He hadn’t meant for his movements to come out rushed and frantic, but the desperation was clawing at his control.

His cock, hard and aching, pressed against your entrance. He could feel your wetness painting his tip. You were soaked just for him and only for him— just as it should be.

And that was when he paused.

Not from doubt. But from the sheer weight of the moment.

The gala that was still going on. The rooftop chase. The defiance in your eyes. It was all catching up to him. And now he was going to take you, in the open air where only the stars bore witness to you, suspended above the city that didn’t know how the world was tilting back into place.

His mind was at war with itself. One part still clinging to caution— not only about the location, but about whether this would really heal what had broken between the two of you.

But the rest of him burned with a different truth. Maybe it wasn’t about the place. Maybe the recklessness proved it was real. That he would go to the ends of earth— or the edge of the rooftop— just to be close to you again.

His gaze dropped to yours, searching. Your eyes were already silently pleading for more, but he still needed to hear it from your lips. Even if his hips ached to move.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed, barely holding it together now. “And I will.”

There wasn’t a shadow of doubt from you. “Don’t you dare.”

Your words rang in his ear as he slowly pushed the tip inside of you, feeling the tight resistance of your walls give way around him.

He started slow— partly to keep himself from finishing too quickly, the pent-up tension nearly tipping him over. And partly because of the precariousness of the rooftop, forcing him to stay balanced. He couldn’t risk slipping, or worse, you slipping from his grasp.

But once he adjusted to the angle and your weight in his arms, confidence returned to his movements. He gripped you tighter and pressed deeper, hips rolling in rhythm that grew more reassured with each stroke.

The rooftop rocked beneath you. Wind swept across his sweat-slicked chest, cooling his burning skin. And beneath it all was the heady relentless sound of skin on skin. Carnel and raw.

Your bodies moved together in sync— like they hadn’t passed at all. Like every year apart had simply been a pause. Now, everything came flooding back. The feeling of your walls clenching around his cock with your wetness. Your bated breath fanning his lips. The way you clawed at his back.

It only encouraged him to thrust in deeper, until he felt drunk on the feeling of you — his balls pressed against you.

“You’re so perfect— fuck, look at you,” he panted, forehead pressing to yours. “Look at what you do to me.”

You couldn't even form a response, too far gone, too blissed out. Every moan that trembled from your lips only drove him further into you.

“Jayce—” you finally gasped out. “I… I can’t think straight when ah—”

Your words cracked around the sharp thrust that followed, breaking off into a cry. His name trembled from your lips again, unfiltered and messy— like it was the only word you still remembered.

And God, the way you said it.

You were a mess beneath him, breathless and clinging, just as wrecked as he was. All because of him.

How was he supposed to walk away from this and pretend he didn’t still belong to you? Pretend he hadn’t spent years missing this exact feeling?

The painful memory of him neglecting you twisted in his mind, feuling his every thrust now as if he could make it up to you in the way your body responded.

But he was losing rhythm, his body was too close to the edge. Especially when your legs locked tighter around his waist. The high of it hit him like a wave.

All the accolades, the praises, the reputation he’d built. None of it compared to the sound of your voice falling apart on his name.

The sound of wet slaps filled his ears. Then, he saw white and felt blood quickly rush into his ears.

His vision blanked out for a second as his release tore through him. He managed only a few more stuttering thrusts before he spilled inside you, his breath catching as the tension finally broke.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Just let himself stay buried inside you, letting the haze simmer through his body.

But then reality returned, and panic punched through his chest. You hadn’t come. Your face was flushed and you still pulsed around him.

He leaned back to look at you.

“S-shit. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” his words got tangled. “I didn’t mean to finish so quickly, are you okay?”

“Shh, it’s okay ... .really,” you ushered, soft and reassuring. Your hands reached for his face, thumbs gently brushing over his cheeks. “I wanted this, don’t apologise.”

Time seemed to freeze at that moment. The gravity of what just happened sank into his bones. You hadn’t pushed him away. Your hands were still on him— still reaching.

Slowly, he eased out of you, his softened length settling between his legs as the high faded and clarity started to slip in. You let out a hiss at the loss, but didn’t pull away.

He helped you adjust your dress, smoothing down the fabric gently. The way he touched you now was reverent— like he was in awe that you let him have you again. Then he fixed his pants, buttoned his shirt, and ran his fingers through his hair with a distracted glance toward the skyline.

Before the distance could creep back in, he wrapped his arms around your waist again, drawing you in. You rested your hands on his chest, his heartbeat still racing under your palms. Even now, your touch made his sense flicker like sparks off embers.

The air between you wasn’t awkward anymore. Just quiet. Peaceful.

Fragile, but still healing.

“Come home with me,” he uttered, barely louder than the wind.

You didn’t respond with words, just leaned in and kissed him, slow and sure. He let himself smile into it before he could stop.

~

It was his internal clock that woke Jayce naturally. As sleep ebbed away and the familiar outline of his room came to focus, so did the memory of last night— lingering like a dream he was scared to believe.

And then, his ears picked up the soft sound of breathing beside him.

He turned over and saw you curled on your side, still asleep in his bed, facing him. He couldn’t believe you were still here on his bed.

Despite knowing you weren’t the kind of person to leave without a word, a part of him had expected to wake up alone. It would’ve been fair, even deserved.

He quickly shook the thought away— there was no point getting pessimistic. It wasn’t like him.

His hand hovered over your waist for a moment before settling there gently. The morning light spilled through the window and lit your features more clearly than the streetlight glow from the night before.

He took in every detail— the slow, even rise and fall of your chest, the way his dress shirt hung loosely over your frame, paired with the shorts he’d given you.

Something about seeing you in his clothes stirred something in him all over again, a pang of yearning or a glimmer of hope.

You started to stir, and your breathing shifted before you opened your eyes and looked back up at him. Neither of you said anything at first. The silence felt fragile, like one wrong word could shatter the thread between you.

Eventually, he broke it. “You stayed.”

“Only for the night.” Your voice was curt, guarded. It landed in his chest like a stone.

Jayce could feel his heart sink a little at that. “I see…”

You hesitated, picking out your next words before you spoke. “This… doesn’t erase what happened. You hurt me, Jayce. You left me behind.”

You weren’t looking at him with the same tenderness from last night. Like the kiss you initiated hadn’t even happened. There was warmth that lingered but it dulled beneath the layer of pain. It hurt him harder than anything else had.

Perhaps you had a change of heart. That the adrenaline and desire from last night had been replaced by something colder. Logic. Caution.

“I know… I’m sorry,” he said quietly, the remorse was apparent in his tone. “I was so focused on trying to be everything for everyone else… I didn’t see what I was losing.”

“You did see it. You just didn’t stop it.”

Jayce only sighed, low and heavy. He knew he couldn’t argue with that— not without lying to himself. Had he really been so blind? Or had he just refused to face his own failings, hiding behind duties as an excuse?

You deserved better than that.

Even if you chose to walk away, at least you’d know he regretted what he’d done. But God, how he ached for more than just closure.

“I was foolish. I should’ve fought for us. But instead I let you go and now…”

He was met by your silence and the next words came out shaky— like the truth itself might snap the connection between you both.

“Will you ever find it in yourself to forgive me?”

“It’s just…” you paused. Jayce waited patiently, hanging onto every word. “I’m not ready to fall into it again without thinking.”

He had a feeling you were going to say that, he expected nothing less and he respected it. One night of passion wasn’t going to fix everything. Still, the door wasn’t shut, and that was something.

“I get it…” he murmured. “I’m not asking you to trust me blindly. But I’m willing to do whatever it takes to earn it back again.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you want to get out of this?”

“I want to show you that I’ve changed, that I’ve learnt from my mistakes.”

“So, a second chance?”

Jayce nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. It might’ve been too much to ask, but he’d rather you know his heart than wonder.

“Yes, a second chance. I know I messed up, but I want another chance to show you that I can be the man you deserve.”

“Are you just saying that so I would stick around in your life, or… do you want more?”

“No, I want more. I want us to have what we had before. The intimacy, the connection, before I ruined everything.”

“But why? Why do you still want me after everything?”

Jayce smiled sadly at that, as if the question itself pained him. If he had truly shown you what you meant to him, maybe you wouldn’t need to ask. But clearly, somewhere along the way, he failed to make you feel seen. And now, all he could do was try harder.

In your eyes, he probably had it all. Hextech was thriving. Piltover finally applauded his brilliance. From the outside, it looked like he could move on— anyone in his position might. That thought struck a nerve.

Had you moved on? Or were you still holding on by a thread?

How many times had you given him the chance to fight for you— and he just… didn’t?

Jayce reached for your face, cradling with a touch so gentle it nearly trembled. His thumb traced your cheeks as he looked into your eyes, grounding himself in the person he’d been too blind to protect.

“Because I’ve never had anybody have faith in me in the way you had, even when I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t realise how much that meant until you were gone. Everything else just… kept moving. But without you, it all felt hollow.”

His voice caught at the edge of honesty as he continued.

“But…after seeing you last night, it reminded me of what I was missing. And I would do anything to bridge that gap and be better for you.”

Jayce shuffled closer until there was hardly any space between you. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, then paused. He took in every part of you— your breath, your softness, your eyes.

Your eyes.

They’ve always been his favourite feature of yours. It expressed more emotions than words ever would. They never lied. Not even when the rest of you tried to.

“You’re more beautiful than I remembered,” he murmured in awe. “Even now, when I’ve done so much to hurt you, you’re still the most stunning person I’ve ever seen.”

You gave him a look, not of distaste but something softer. “You’re not so bad yourself, I guess the councillor circle rubbed on you a little.”

Jayce grinned, a little too pleased at the subtle compliment “You think so?”

“Don't let it get to your head,” you said dryly— though that didn’t stop the ghost of a smile on your lips.

“Too late,” he quipped, his feigned arrogance peaking through. “I already feel my ego growing exponentially.”

He found himself chuckling for the first time in a long while. It came out naturally, light. A silver of joy breaking through the ache. The weight in his chest began to lift, just a little. The tension between you easing like the morning sun slipping through the curtains.

“I thought you were going to make it up to me. Not gloat,” you huffed, though your smile was unmistakable. “Is this how you treat all your guests? Laying around in bed all morning?”

“Are you implying that I’m a lazy host?”

“I’m starting to believe it.”

“Well.” He rose from the bed, the sheets slipping around his hips. “If I start off with making breakfast… will that help with my redemption?”

Your expression softened— visible this time. The guardedness you wore like armour was loosening.

“That’s a start…”

[mistiell]

“Ten, nine,”

The radio crackles as people count down the seconds until the new year, no doubt crowding the streets of Piltover in throngs. You can’t imagine how loud it must be, as you look out of one of the large windows in the lab. Luckily, its quiet where you’re perched on Viktor’s desk, save for the distant hum of electricity in the background, and the clinking of metal as Viktor tweaks the bolts on a recent gadget.

He’s enraptured by his task, brows knit with concentration and lips pressed into a line, brown tresses tousled and sticking up in rather comical directions. In the low, evening light he looks like a dream, edges softened by the warmth of the nearby lamp in a way that makes him look ethereal. You could sit here and look at him for hours.

“Eight, seven,”

“You’re staring.” He states, gaze still fixed on the task at hand, though there’s a playful quirk to the corners of his mouth.

Caught, you reply with cheeks aflame, “Hard not to.”

“Six, five,”

He cracks, a smile spreading over his features as he huffs a tired laugh through his nose, finally setting down his tools. “Flattery will get you everywhere, my love.”

Rolling his chair a few inches over so that he’s in front of you, his hands find your hips, thumbs rubbing sweet lines into the seam where your thighs meet your pelvis. Humming, you card your fingers through his hair and watch his eyes slip closed as he leans into your touch.

“Four, three,”

“Its nearly midnight.” You whisper, hands sliding from his hair to cradle either side of his face. He opens his eyes, and you watch the gold of them be overtaken by black as his pupils blow.

His grip on you tightens, and he pulls you forward with a surprising strength given the angle, palm settling on the side of your neck as he tilts his chin up and looks down to your lips as you dip your face in closer, “Then let us start the new year off right, hm?”

“Two, one, happy new year!”

Your bottom lip slots between both of his as you hear fireworks ignite and explode somewhere in the distance, his thumb caressing the line of your jaw and the warmth of him pressed against your knees a balm.

Sliding his hand to your nape, he presses his forehead against yours, murmuring, “Happy new year, miláčku.”

Heart full, you couldn’t picture anywhere you’d rather be or anyone else you’d rather be ringing in the new year with. Smiling like an idiot, you steal another kiss before replying, “Happy new year, Vik.”

[thefandomsfervent]

Personal Pigments Viktor x Reader (Part 2) - Burnt Umber

Find the premise and first part of the fix here. Find my imagine that inspired it here. Thank you for reading <3

╔═*✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧-✦-✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧*═╗

An enforcer led you down the long hallway. Your footsteps echo out of time with his. You were supposed to have met with the Dean two hours ago but Piltover’s council had a meeting that ran long. You can’t imagine the stress of all those titles, yet it still irks you that he barely spoke to you before passing you off to an enforcer promising to “be there in the turn of a cog.” Something about the enforcer’s gruff sigh tells you he must say that a lot. The air of the hallways seems still, and you can’t tell if your nervousness is what puts an eerie feeling on your walk or the lack of people. For a city of progress, you figured the Academy would have more bustling inside the walls. But you do appreciate the peace, hands tracing the spine of your portfolio as you follow alongside the man in blue. 

“Is it usually this empty?” You chance the question.

“Mm, it’s break season ma’am. You’ll see more people in a couple weeks.” Right. This was technically a school. Students would be making up most of the populace. 

“Do you enjoy the quiet?” Small talk attempted.

“I do.” The same sigh he let out in the Professor’s company follows the two words. Small talk denied. 

You hum in acknowledgment, tightening your grip on your portfolio. The awkward silence that follows is broken up by sounds of boots on tile, someone ahead of you. Another enforcer by the looks of it, she glances at you before giving your guide a terse nod. He returns the gesture before slowing his pace in front of a door. He waves his hand towards it and starts walking away. 

“Shouldn’t we wait for the Dean?” Mostly you just didn’t want to be left alone in this huge building for another hour if the Dean loses track of time again. Another sigh, much more exasperated than the last two. He turns around to face you, annoyance on his face. 

“The Dean,” he practically hisses the word, “will be here eventually. Do not wander, just wait here.”

You just nod as he turns around again. Damned enforcers. This day is off to a wonderful start. He goes around a corner a dozen feet away and you drop your shoulders. You didn’t realize that your jaw was clenched either, opening your mouth to unflex the muscle. After waiting about ten minutes and not seeing anyone the annoyance of the day settles in your feet. You’ve kept an eye on either end of the hallway and go to lean against the wall when you realize the lab door isn’t fully shut. The locks are half jutting out, keeping one door barely propped open. You knock on it, hoping someone was in there. For company to pass time with, or to at least introduce yourself to the duo you were hoping to spend the foreseeable future with. 

“Anyone in there?” You say against the crack in the door. Nothing. The doors are heavy though, and you half wonder if anyone could even hear you. Tucking your portfolio under one arm you reach for the handle and give it a tug. Like it takes convincing, it takes a moment before it moves. 

“Hello?” Your voice isn’t loud but it startles the man inside, a head of fluffy brown whipping up from his work.

“Who are you?” The man is sitting at a desk and abruptly stands, reaching for a cane propped up next to him. 

Viktor hears those heavy doors open, and he’s expecting Jayce. Heimerdinger or even Councilor Medarda would have been expected over this person in front of him. You don’t have time to give him a reply before a voice answers. 

“This is Miss L/N. It seems I’ve lost track of this particular project, but she’ll be here to work with you boys.” Heimerdinger shuffles in behind you and Jayce behind him. 

“What? With all due respect Professor we don’t need more minds for Hextech. Viktor and I have it covered.” He walks past you and stands next to Viktor. The lithe man nods curtly.  

“You misunderstand me, she is here in accordance with a collaborative project with the Arts Institute.” The yordle turns to face you. “I am sorry my dear, I was supposed to have briefed them days ago, but as you know a scientist’s mind can be full of conclusions just waiting to be reached. We do not always fully think about the paths to get there.” He gives the two men a knowing look and you offer a small smile in return. “Perhaps you could explain it better.” He gestures to your portfolio still tucked under your arm. 

“Yes, I, uh,” You reach for it, fingers undoing the string that keeps it shut. “Your Hextech invention has sparked a lot of conversations across Academia as I’m sure you know. So much that it reached the Arts Institute. It seems that the Academy has been looking for a new art hall, several of my peers are meeting with your best students and researchers here.” You gesture to a relatively clean table with a “May I?” 

Viktor just looks at you but Jayce nods and Heimerdinger finds a step ladder to stand on. You begin to remove several papers from the carrier you’ve brought with you. A few blueprints of a new art hall, some letters from the Academy and from the Arts Institute, and finally some of your work. 

“The idea is the artists will make entirely new pieces for the gallery hall that’s to be unveiled at an eventual Progress Day, to do that we stay close with the scientists. It’s thought of as both an experiment and a hopefully beneficial relationship.” Viktor steps closer, cane tapping lightly on the tile of the lab floor. He picks up one the blueprints, his amber eyes scanning them over before handing them to Jayce. 

“And what exactly about this relationship would be beneficial?” He asks, he is looking over the letters now. It doesn’t go unnoticed by you that he hasn’t even looked at the art you’ve brought with you, or really you for that matter. Jayce is still looking over the blueprints when you answer Viktor.

“Mixing the Arts and Sciences, new ideas for both groups? On a larger level it helps both schools with funding and connections. It can help smaller artists get out there, being in an Academy art hall is huge and can get them connections to very profitable commissions and galleries. As for you inventors, it can memorialize you and your accomplishments. It gives your work a face! Er, well, faces in this case.”

“We have no need for this,” he’s shaking his head. ‘Hextech is to better lives, not be some glorified art project.” he flicks the corner of a letter. The dismissal stings, but you know something he doesn’t. 

“I am sorry my boys, but it is a non negotiable! Hextech may be to better lives, but it has caught a lot of attention. This is only the first step to controlling its image in a public way. You boys will be doing more dinners and speeches and galas and the like. It comes with the territory, trust me.” You notice he gesticulates a lot, and it's honestly endearing. His small fur covered hands moving around with one finger in the air. 

“The sentiment is appreciated, Professor, but what does Art have to do with us or Hextech.” Jayce asks as he puts the blueprints down and takes the letters from Viktor’s hands. 

“Art and Science have always mixed!” You do your best to subdue the frustration rising in your chest. “Take fractals, golden ratio, your craftsmanship starts with craftsmen. Surgeons learned how to create sturdier and safer stitches from fiber artists. If what the Dean has told me is true, you both should know better than anyone that sometimes an extra perspective is all that it takes for an idea to shine.” Heimerdinger gestures to your work with both hands, nodding his head encouragingly. When they both start looking at the pictures of your larger paintings and the smaller scale sketches on the table you try to keep speaking with the same confidence. 

“As you may have read in the letters, it’ll also be good to secure you more investors. You guys are going to need promotional materials as well. Not everyone who wants a piece of your pie can make the journey to Piltover but they want some of it regardless. It can be expensive trying to make progress, adding your faces or prettying up proposals can help secure that. Council support is one thing, but you also need the support of people.” 

They still haven’t said anything, just sharing looks as they spread the images out on the table.

You wring your hands together behind your back. This is stressful, and you’d like to go back to the institute soon. “To be honest with you, I’m one of several candidates to do your painting. If you don’t like my work, my style, what have you, I’ll leave. But someone else will be back to bother you two at some point about it.” 

A silent beat passes, and you’re wondering if the walk here was even worth it. Eventually they both lift their heads from the table and Heimerdinger leans towards them expectantly. You try not to do the same. Jayce looks at Viktor and the pale man gives a simple nod. He turns to you, and what he says has you sighing in relief. 

“What do you need from us?"

╚═*✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧-✦-✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧*═╝

---------------.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ Part 1-.-Part 3.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .----------------

------------‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙· Master Fic List *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊--------------

[requiemofthewinds]

OUR LOVE : VIKTOR X M!READER

you and viktor adopted the sweetest little girl, and you love them both with all your heart. figuring out parenting is hard, but it's easier when you're figuring it out with the love of your life.

──────────────────────────────

A little less than a year ago, you and Viktor adopted a little girl. You both had always wanted kids, despite both being male. It didn’t matter to either of you, but after talking about it for truly not that long, you had decided to adopt. There are so many children, Zaunites and Piltovians, that do not have the protection of a guardian. Viktor, having not grown up with parents— besides Singed, who was his only father figure— was eager to adopt, to be a father, like one he never had. You, on the other hand, had your reasons for adoption, but you didn’t tell, and Viktor never was one to push you to share your ideals.

So, a few months after talking about it and going through all of the paperwork, you came home from the undercity with a beautiful daughter. Viktor was practically shaking with excitement on the way there, and you swore you’d never seen him as happy as he was when he met her. Well, maybe besides when you got married, but that’s beside the point. 

As you opened the door to your apartment and she stepped inside, taking in her surroundings. You and VViktor followed behind her, watching her expression closely. 

— Welcome home, Sola.

──────────────────────────────

The first few months were rough, but you were both prepared for it. You and Viktor had gone through a lot together and alone. What was parenting compared to that? Well, more than you expected. Her being hard of hearing probably made it harder on your part, but it’s not like you’re not experienced with disabilities. Though a bad leg and lungs aren’t the same as not being able to hear properly, the frustration is still the same. 

Viktor and she are pretty similar, honestly. They both get nightmares from time to time, and there are more than a few nights that she comes into your and Viktor’s room, loudly sobbing. But that’s the thing with being hard of hearing, you guess. You don’t know how loud you're speaking, and then if you ask them to speak up, it's way too loud, and then you’re overstimulated. You and Viktor have found the perfect volume to speak to her, not too loud, not too quiet. She can sort of lip read, but it makes it harder when it’s the middle of the night.

You sit up, rubbing your eyes. You notice her and quickly roll out of bed and pick her up, shifting the comforter and weighted blanket so she can squeeze in between you and Viktor. You face her and Viktor, patting her head and rubbing her back as you hum her favorite lullaby.

Viktor finally stirs, and he lifts his head, resting his head on his arm, watching you cuddle and soothe her. Sometimes, you curse how he sleeps. He’s so peaceful, but it’s like his body can’t decide if it wants to sleep light or not. Sometimes, even just rolling over in bed will wake him up, and other times, you swear you have to shake him so violently you think you might hurt him.

He sees how you look at him, even in the dark. And you see how he looks at you. It’s the look of complete and utter love, and you both know it. It’s the most wonderful feeling, being able to have this life with Sola and him. He wraps his arm around you and Sola, spooning her as he watches you play with her hair, both of your wedding rings weighing heavy on your left ring fingers, your vena amoris.

──────────────────────────────

The next morning, you wake to an empty bed and the sound of soft shuffling of fabric outside the bedroom door. You pull yourself up after a few minutes of staring at the ceiling, rubbing your eyes as you grab the door handle. It slowly creaks open, and you peek through to see Viktor sitting on the couch, Sola on the ground in front of him. 

You lean on the door frame, watching them. Sola has Vik’s old cane in her lap in front of her, sheets upon sheets of stickers splayed out on the coffee table. Viktor’s fingers are intertwined in her hair, slowly braiding the strands together. The radio plays quietly in the background, both of them humming along to their favorite song. 

The life that we live,

And the love that I give to her,

Each day grows, more and more, 

I’m sure, it shows,

Well, (our love) is a bubbling fountain,

(Our love) that flows into the sea,

(Our love) deeper than any ocean, 

(Our love) for eternity, 

Viktor looks up as you push off the door frame and sing along with the radio. He and Sola smile up at you as you spin around the living room, dancing to the beat, and you bop your heads to the beat of the tune. It’s the song that played during your wedding, and you and Viktor both know every word by heart. This is your favorite part, the part when both of the singers do a call and response, following each other– the two voices twirling around each other like they were made for each other. 

Like Sunday, I’ll pray our love will always stay pure,

While the world turns around, he holds me down for sure,

Our love is a bubbin’ fountain, 

Our love, it flows into the sea,

Ooh, our love, deeper than any ocean, 

Our love, for eternity,

— And after all,

After all,

— The rain will fall, 

The rain will fall,

— On us too,

Us too,

But I’ll keep movin’ on,

— Moving on,

Proud and strong, with

— You,

With you.

With you. 

──────────────────────────────

© 2025 | all works are property of 「 @songofthepines 」 written by sen : do NOT steal, translate, repost, or plagiarize my work on any platform.

[captain039]

Two sides of a coin

Viktor x reader x Jayce

Jayvik??

Warnings: Age gap, student/teacher, swearing, abuse, fat shaming, bullying, older Viktor, Older Jayce, plus size reader, reader has chronic pain, possessive Viktor, needy Jayce, sexual, smut, bondage kink, spanking, kinda dark, modern AU

I’m reading Dark Notes and found my taboo again XD

Heavily inspired by dark notes lmaooo

First day, you can’t be late, can’t show the pain you’re in, and can’t wake anybody up. You’re quiet in the old creaky house hoping nobody hears you shuffling around trying to grab your bag and tug your shoes on. You hear loud snores coming from your dad’s room confirming at least your father is asleep. Whoever he brought home last night is hopefully gone or still sleeping, you don’t need that awkwardness in your life.

You manage to slip out into the cold air, goosebumps quickly covering your body, the cold chill settling into your bones in a dull throbbing ache. It’s persistent as you walk to the bus stop, you’re ever thankful for buses having heaters as you step inside. You greet the old busman with a smile as he gives you a good morning before the doors slide shut and you sit down near a heater. Your stomach churns as it takes off making you close your eyes briefly. You arrive at the academy, the large old building suddenly all too real and looming. You steal your nerves, you worked hard to get here you’re going to fucking do it.

With a small nod you walk onto academy grounds feeling out of place instantly at the large array of legs just say well loaded young people walking around with their crisp uniforms, phones and expensive backpacks. You feel a little nausea as you walk through the large doors trying to ignore the bustle of students. You feel mildly stupid, this isn’t high school, people have grown up, and well you hope they have anyway. After high school, you swore off ever going back to school, but when your mother died you had nothing to do, no one to look after or take up your time, no one to protect you. So here you are, doing something with a debt of student loan your dad can never know about. You walk the halls a bit taking in the old magical feel you get from the old-style architecture. This academy isn’t about honing in on one skill and following a specific path, it’s more about exploring all paths, building on skills you already know as well as exploring harder subjects they didn’t teach in high school. You wander a bit till the bell rings and you head to your class following the map you got in the mail with your welcome package. That was the fastest you ever ran to the letter box and your room in years. You find your class finally a little embarrassingly late seeing as everyone is already in there. The professor looks at you as you stand in the doorway and you tense. He looks too young to be a professor at first glance, the wavy brown hair, golden honey eyes high cheekbones, shaven and slightly squared jaw and thick brows. He wears typical academy colours of cream and red, in a suit with a vest and a cane hanging in the crook of his arm.

“Sorry,” it’s an automatic response one that makes him raise his eyebrow before waving you off with an annoyed sigh. Right… well, here’s one teacher you’ll try to avoid talking to and doing everything not to fail in his class. Mr. Viktor, so you find out his name is, you’re not sure if his first name is Viktor or his last name. During his lesson it’s hard not to get distracted by how he moves and speaks, his accent sometimes thickens when he gets into something or maybe it’s just you. You watch how he contains his limp, and only uses his cane occasionally. You can’t help but watch his fingers though, slender and elegant as they write on the board with chalk. You realise he’s an old-fashioned professor in the sense of no technology besides a laptop on his desk, the rest is papers and books. His eyes are captivating and easy to see from the front row which heightens your anxiety but seeing as you got here late you didn’t have a choice. You’re also wondering if he’s annoyed you came in late because his eyes narrow every time they fall on you. You also notice the moles on his face you feel like someone placed them so delicately on his face just to enhance his beauty even more. Beauty? Is that the right word for a man? Handsome seems too roguish, pretty to feminine, he’s a beautiful man no doubt about it you’re just trying to place a word for his beauty. Ethereal? Hmm, not quite there he’s too real for that, elegant? Maybe, Charming? Eh, you think he’s glared at every student who breathed too loudly. You jolt when he snaps his cane to the ground his eyes hard and you realise he’s looking at you, not only that he’s standing in front of your table. What did you do? You didn’t do anything? You just sat there and tried to find a word for his looks.

“Name” you frown it isn’t a question it’s a demand so you give it.

“Pass these out” he orders lying papers on your desk and you feel like you’re in primary school again helping the teacher pass out papers. He stares and waits when you don’t move right away before you nod and redden before handing out the papers, geez way to lose all confidence or whatever little you had left. Apparently, he is also the type to hand out assessments on the first day which really removes all points from your books.

Your next class you’re not late, thankfully. You sit in the third row, a safe space to the window. You also realise the teacher isn’t there making you frown a bit.

“Settle down everyone” Your eyes look to who just walk in and freeze again. Are all the professors good-looking? Stupidly so? He’s tall and broad muscle, also clean-shaven but he has a shadow of a beard on his face, he’s got strong features and a few scars on his face, his dark hair is shaved at the sides and neat on the top.

“I’m Mr Talis,” he says before he begins the lesson. Mr. Talis seems more laid back than Mr. Viktor, he smiles and engages with his students rather than glaring at them. He actually introduces his teachings and class instead of diving head first into the histories of…. You forgot what Mr. Viktor was even talking about, too busy trying to word his looks. Mr Talis is handsome, no doubt about it in a Greek god kind of way of sculpted muscles, cheekbones and jaw and his tanned complexion. You should really focus on the introduction but fail miserably, you find yourself watching Professor Talis, the slight dimple in the left side of his mouth, the way flexes his arm when he smiles like he needs to use his whole torso to do so. Wouldn’t surprise you it’s a damn good smile.

The bell rings too soon, saving Professor Talis from your ogling. You feel stupid now it’s over, hoping you weren’t too obvious. Your other classes aren’t distracting thankfully, and so far it’s an easy day despite the lingering pain, the day has gotten warmer so the chill isn’t in your bones anymore. This uniform feels a bit much though, but it’s your only one till you can buy another. You stare down at your laptop and notepad as you sit under a large tree. You don’t want to go home yet, staying here it feels quiet, and peaceful, despite the throb in your hips you close your eyes a moment and listen to the breeze. Your brows furrow though as you think back to your home, well your father’s home as he says, it isn’t your home. He’ll probably be drunk, without his medication, or fucking some random woman he picked up from the bar. You sigh and open your eyes noting two figures walking through the courtyard. You see Professor Viktor and Professor Talis, you’re shocked to see them together, they’re opposites, then again opposites attract and Professor Viktor could just have a cold stern teaching mode. You watch them walk, Professor Talis slowing his stride for Professor Viktor you see Talis smile and laugh at whatever Viktor said. You should look away of course professors can have friends, but this- you frown a bit watching Professor Talis’s hand rest on Professor Viktor’s lower back as they stop. That explains it, you look away giving them privacy figuring they think they’re alone. You look at notepad scribbles with random things before closing your laptop and sighing. You shove it all back in your bag and stand awkwardly wincing at your hips before your eyes glancing to the professors once more only to stand stock still when you see Professor Viktor staring in your direction. You glance around stupidly, nobody else is here and he is definitely looking at you. Did he see your awkward hand climb up the tree to stand up? That’s embarrassing, also why isn’t he looking away? You stay rooted for a few minutes before you finally find it in you to walk, well waddle considering your hips.

Jayce is talking but Viktor isn’t listening his eyes are on you, you were staring at him the whole lesson, not with the normal gaze of lust or awe, but like you were genuinely trying to figure him out, he didn’t like it, the way your calculating eyes ran over him, he couldn’t read you. He could read everything else about you but what you were thinking, you kept it so well hidden. You’re new, he hasn’t seen you before, most of the other students are returns so he knew most of them, but you, you weren’t like them, your backpack wasn’t expensive, no phone in sight, your laptop was cheap as well, you wore no makeup either. The way you sat indicated pain, constant by the way you weren’t reacting to it like you were used to it. The instant sorry you said when you arrived a few minutes late told him more than enough as well.

“Viktor?” Jayce brings him back with a hand on his back. He watched you stand using the old tree to balance yourself up, he watched your lips pursed in pain and he had a sudden urge to walk over there. Jayce follows his gaze to your retreating form.

“New student huh? She’s in my class too” Jayce says smiling before it falters.

“What’s that look for?” He asks.

“What look?” He’s quick to defend making Jayce’s frown deepen.

“Viktor” Viktor sighs at the way he says his name his shoulders relaxing a little as your form disappears.

“She was late,” he says stupidly.

“You’re pissed she was late?” Jayce snorts.

“She’s new she probably got lost give her some slack” he smirks and nudges his side gently making him grumble.

“Keep an eye on her” he says before continuing walking not bothering to explain himself to Jayce.

Next part ->