#Viktor/reader

[daveth-isnt-dead]

Overlock Stitch Part 3/?

Summary:

Viktor is just trying his best to survive his years as a student at the academy when a girl studying textiles suddenly begs him to let her tailor his uniform. She is right, it doesn't fit, but he isn't in the business of accepting charity from strangers. "Please?" She asks, "It would be fully anonymous on your part and we would both be better off." Then again, but with feeling, "please?" Viktor eyes her again and against his better judgement, presents an undeserved olive branch, "Will you be here tomorrow?" Her smile is so wide it almost makes him want to recoil. He wonders if her cheeks hurt.

Contains: Third person POV, She/Her Pronouns for reader

Word Count: 3,991

Read on AO3

She doesn't see Viktor for a few weeks after that, he came by to collect his uniform and allowed her to take her photos before offering little more than a curt 'thank you' and disappearing through the door. She tries her best not to be too hurt by this, after all, one forced, awkward interaction where she could accidentally stab him with a pin at any moment is not exactly the usual first step in making friends. Not that she has ever been good at following that particular rule-book anyway.

If she pokes her head out at the right time on Thursday she sometimes still catches him on his walk through the fine art wing. One time she was brave enough to wave at him, but he either didn't see her, or did and pretended he didn't. Regardless, she couldn't find the courage to try again. The few times she has seen him, she hasn't been able to resist admiring how utterly stunning he looks in his properly fitting uniform. She just hopes that is has helped somehow, that he gets fewer stares in the hallways and most importantly, that the alterations she made to his trousers make it easier for him to get ready in the mornings. Especially now that the cold outside is biting.

It's still another fortnight before her final assignment for the term is due and she has been working on cataloguing both photos and sketches for all the tailoring work she has done. It is mostly alterations made for her father, some fittings for classmates, one wedding dress alteration, and the work she did for Viktor. The photos of his uniform turned out nicely despite her difficulties getting the film into the camera. Her heart does perform a traitorous little flutter each time she glances at any of them, the photo of his waistline post-tailoring is especially perilous, she tries not to look at it.

It's early evening and the sun has already well set outside the academy, but she knows that she wont get any more work done if she goes back to her dorm. Her radiator has been playing up and she has been avoiding contacting academy maintenance about it for the last few months. She doesn't feel like she belongs here half the time already, the last thing she needs is the academy thinking she is some sort of nuisance. With how cold it is tonight, all she will manage to do back home is climb into bed. So she stays late in the warm textiles workshop, sketching and annotating in preparation for her assignment. It's also nice to have the place to herself, even for just a few hours. She is usually forced to engage in exhausting faux polite conversation with Eliza and her other classmates. It gives her a headache, makes her teeth hurt. She has grown quite comfortable in the silence, sitting in the low light of her worktable's lamp as she works to arrange her portfolio. So the sound of the door to the workshop opening has her yelping and knocking half her photos and sketches off the desk. She whips around, quickly trying to come up with a polite way to tell whatever classmate has interrupted her to get lost, only to freeze in place when she sees that it is Viktor lurking in the doorway.

"Hello!" She squeaks, immediately regretting everything about her delivery of the single word.

Viktor's brows draw together, "Hello. I-" His eyes dart down to the pile of photos at her feet, "I am sorry for startling you."

Oh. She hadn't been expecting an apology. A nervous giggle escapes her, "It's alright, really! I'm easily startled."

Viktor laughs too, it's warm and sounds surprisingly genuine, "Yes, you certainly are."

They both sit in a lingering, uncomfortable silence for a moment. She can't manage to figure out why exactly he is standing here in the workshop, can't think of what she is supposed to say, what he wants her to say.

"I'm-"

"You-"

They both laugh at the failed start, and the energy in the room feels suddenly lighter. Viktor inclines his head towards her, "You first."

"Oh, okay, um." She chews her lower lip, it had been easier to say when it was off the cuff, but now that she's had a moment to think about it, she suddenly feels like it is far too presumptuous, "I'm happy to see you again, that's all." she says quickly, picking at her cuticles.

Viktor hums, his intense eyes peeling back her layers again. It makes her hands grow clammy.

"You did an impressive job with my uniform. That is what I was going to say." He replies.

Her stomach flips and she clutches her hands tightly in her lap, "Th-Thank you, I'm glad." She's nervous and her mouth moves faster than her brain, "I've been thinking about you, I-I mean, your uniform and I was really hoping that it had helped. It means everything to me, it really does."

An almost smirk tugs at the corners of Viktor's mouth, "You have been thinking about me?"

Sudden heat rushes to her cheeks, "About you uniform! That's what I said!"

Viktor shrugs a shoulder, "Suit yourself." he takes a few steps forward, allowing the door to slide shut behind him, "What are your going rates when it comes to favours?" He asks evenly.

She blinks at him, confused, "I'm sorry?"

"Topsiders rarely offer an act of kindness without a charge. The values and complicated, payment does not come back until months down the line when they need something from you." He steps over to her, ducking down and collecting her mess of photographs into a neat pile before handing it back to her, "One of my classmates gave me directions to my first lecture and then about two months later he all but ordered me to complete his assignment for him. I would not assign those two acts equal value, personally, though, maybe topsiders have found a way to charge interest on favours, it would not surprise me."

He speaks clearly, succinctly, and she realises that this is the most he has ever said to her, by a wide margin.

She swallows, hoping that she knows the right way to respond, "Eliza, my classmate, brought me a pastry before the end of first semester last year. She still holds it over my head anytime she needs something from me. The funny thing is, had she just been genuinely friendly to me, I would have helped without the need for threatening pretence." She gains the confidence to meet Viktor's eyes and finds his appraising expression encouraging, "It's exhausting, playing these games every day. I'm just not cut out for it. So my going rates for favours is complimentary, as it should be."

Viktor's lips quirk up in a smile, wide enough that for the first time, she catches a glimpse of his teeth. They're crooked, lacking the benefits of modern Piltover dentistry and she is enchanted by them, can't help picturing the shape of the imprint his bite would leave behind

"That is good." He says with a nod, "Very good."

He leans against her worktable, peering down at where she still sits in her chair, she gulps, averting her eyes, "I take it you need something from me, then?"

Viktor turns his head and crosses his arms. His open, almost playful posture tightens into something far more self conscious.

"I meant what I said." he beings, rapping his fingers against his arm, "My uniform is far more comfortable now and those eh, alterations you made were very-" He brow creases, "Accommodating.'

She can feel herself relaxing, unfurling almost, hearing that her work had managed to help, that it had meant something to someone.

Viktor looks at her out of the corner of his eye before continuing, "I told you I was not interested in charity when we first spoke and that is still true, but I am hoping you might be interested in getting some more practice, as it were."

She smiles wide, she can't help it, "Do you want more alterations? Is that what you're saying?

Viktor's next smile is shockingly warm, "Ah, there is that spark of yours. Yes, the rest of my wardrobe now feels woefully inept."

She quickly darts her eyes up to the clock and back, "The wing is going to be closed in a few hours, it's probably not enough time…but I would love to! Maybe tomorrow? Or the day after?"

Viktor barks a laugh, "I did not mean now."

Her enthusiasm gets away from her, she can't help it, "But if you have time now, then we could, or I mean, you could always-" too familiar, too familiar by far, she freezes, staring down at her toes, "Sorry. Never mind, I'm just overexcited, forget all of that."

Viktor's brows draw together and his jaw tightens, "Stop doing that around me, I am not one of your Piltie classmates, I despise it just as much as you do." He spits, "Do not dissimulate, just tell me what you want, is it really so difficult?"

It is. It is. Every bone in her body tenses and panics and tells her that this is exactly the sort of thing that makes one a social pariah, that gets them ridiculed by classmates for seeing friendship where there is none. She balls her hands into fists, sucks in a deep breath and says, "I have sewing supplies in my dorm. If you would like me to do the alterations now, you can come back with me."

When Viktor doesn't immediately start laughing at her, she gains enough courage to look up at him. His expression is thoughtful and not at all mocking. At the sight of him, all the nervous, electric tension suddenly melts from her body. Unlearning years of Piltover fake politeness feels a bit like pulling out rotten teeth. Painful at first, but a relief afterwards.

Viktor thinks her offer over a little longer, casting a considering glance in the direction of the clock before returning his attention to her, "I would have to collect my things first. Give me your address, I'll meet you there."

~~~

Viktor barely understands why he agreed to this. Locking his door behind himself and preparing to navigate the maze-like block of dorms under the cover of darkness. It is a clear night, at least, the moon provides a good deal of light and like the rest of the Piltover's streets, the footpaths surrounding the dorms are lit with streetlights, casting a pale orange light across the ground. His leg complains when he starts walking in the cold air, less than it was complaining yesterday, if that was not the case he definitely would have turned her down. But it's a rare good day and so much of the student body seems to wish they were anywhere other than the academy that speaking with someone who actually cares about what they are studying is refreshing.

Her block of dorms actually ends up being quite a bit closer than the main academy buildings are, so Viktor is at least grateful for that despite the confusion he feels at his own sudden acquiescence. Agreeing to her first tailoring felt a lot like peeling back his fingernails, it was painful, it ached, it was shameful. So what changed, really? She doesn't have any sort of ill intent, that much is plain as day, but there is still no real reason for him to be trudging himself through the cold air in the dark of night. This could have been handled in the morning. It should have been, but when she smiles the way she does, the way that makes his cheeks hurt empathically, he finds it difficult not to keep that smile lit as long as possible. It's far realer than any of that achingly false pretence she slips in and out of, maybe her smile reminds him of home. Just a little.

The set of buttons she had affixed into the inseam of his trousers were another reason he agreed. It was a defensive mechanism, to far understate just how useful he had found them in even just the past few weeks. Despite her insistence that she doesn't charge for favours like so many Pilties do, he still can't shake the feeling that letting her know just how much he owes her would be dangerous. Because he does owe her, he owes her a great deal. Every evening when the cold has left his leg stiff and uncooperative, when he would usually need to spend almost half an hour massaging muscles before being able to undress for bed, he was instead able to unsnap the fasteners with one tug, and the trousers would slide right off. He had been fine without her help, he would have continued being fine without it. But now, he is more than fine, just a little bit, an almost inscrutable amount, a decimal place somewhere within the nebulous number defining just how bad a day can be. It is a small change, but it is one he has noticed and that is significant.

Her dorm is one of the street-facing buildings and on the ground floor, which makes it easy to find. The lights are on in the windows and as she had described very explicitly, there are several bunches of dried flowers hanging from the door frame. Viktor also almost knocks over a dish of water on the doorstep that he can only assume she has left out for the cats he sometimes sees roaming around the academy grounds. The groundskeepers are always trying to chase the cats off campus, but it's no wonder they keep coming back if she is doting on them the way he is certain she is.

She comes to the door just a few seconds after he knocks. He hears the sound of a chain-lock frantically undoing and then the door quickly swings open.

"Hello!" She exclaims in her usual rush, out of breath and smiling wide. Her hair is down, still awkwardly kinked from being in an up-do all day and kicking up around her collarbone. Viktor finds that he likes it a lot more this way and doesn't appreciate how that thought twists at his gut.

"Hello, yourself." He replies, peering past her into the softly lit room beyond.

She follows his line of sight with a whip of messy hair, laughing a little before turning back and chewing her lower lip, it's chapped and red in places, it gives the impression that she is nervously chewing more often than not, "I tidied before you got here. I don't really ever have people over"

He doesn't doubt it. She is dithering in the front door like she isn't even sure how to welcome him inside. Viktor saves her the trouble, taking another step closer and peering down at her. She blinks again, in that mousy way and he inclines his head towards the doorway, "May I come in?"

Her wide smile comes back, "Yes! Please do!" and she quickly presses herself against the wall, motioning for Viktor to walk in through the gap.

He had been hoping for her to vacate the doorway entirely, but the way she clings to the wall and sucks in all her vital organs does at least give him enough room to squeeze past her and into the dorm. From what he can see, it seems to be the same layout as his own room but in reverse, the small kitchenette is off to the left and there's a rickety looking wooden divider separating the small alcove where her bed is from the rest of the dorm. Viktor hears the door lock behind him and she darts out and around him, standing expectantly in the middle of the room with her hands clasped in front of her. She is especially nervous now, it's all over her face.

"Do, um-" her face pinches, it's as if she is trying to remember exactly what she has been taught to say when she has a guest over, "Do you want something to drink? I only have tea, unfortunately, coffee makes me nauseous."

"Tea would be fine." Viktor says, eyeing the large collection of dried flowers in various cups and vases throughout the room, "you don't keep any living plants?"

She blinks, "Um, no I don't. I always over water them and kill them."

Not forgetful, then. Viktor muses, just overly doting.

"I'll go brew the tea, then." She says quickly, "Take a seat on the sofa if you want, oh! and leave your clothes that need altering on the armchair, I'll get to them in a moment."

Viktor nods and watches as she darts her way over to the kitchenette and starts heating some water on the stove. She's still in her uniform, he can only assume that she was so busy tidying that she didn't have any time to change. He finds the armchair sitting by the radiator and removes the clothes from his bag, folding them over the armrest. Now that he is standing so close to it, he realises that there is no heat at all emanating from the radiator, the room is at least marginally warmer than outside, warm enough that he didn't notice anything was wrong at first. He peers over his shoulder, she is in the middle of reaching for a pair of matching teacups from the top shelf, he decides not to bother her. Instead he rests his cane against the armchair and crouches down, careful with the weight distribution on his right leg. It still hurts enough for him to wince involuntarily, but it could be far worse. He turns the valve carefully and finds no resistance.

"Are you having problems with your radiator?" He asks

He hears her squeak from across the room, followed by quick footsteps and the sound of her putting a jar of sugar down on the coffee table, "Yes, I'm sorry. Are you cold? I have blankets."

"No. No I am okay for the moment." He turns to look at her over his shoulder, her cheeks flush involuntarily at the attention, "How long have you been experiencing these issues?"

"Since it started getting cold this year, it hasn't been much of a problem until now because it hasn't been too chilly." She shrugs, "I just, I don't know, I didn't want to make a big deal out of it."

"Have you noticed anything strange when you try to turn it on?"

"Um, it sometimes makes sounds? Creaking or hissing. I was worried I might break it so I've mostly taken to leaving it off."

"Aha. You must have air in the pipes." He stands from the ground, "I can fix it."

"W-Wait! You don't-" She sputters, chasing after him as he heads over to her kitchen

"Your boiler should be in the bottom of the pantry, if your dorm is the same as mine." He says quickly, deciding that it's best to cut her polite refusal off at the root instead of entertaining it, "I'll need to turn it off for a moment"

She stares at him open mouthed for a moment, but then seems to decide pushing back isn't worth it and follows after him, dithering over his shoulder as he crouches down, using the second to last shelf in the pantry for balance and turning off the gas. His heart races when he realises that she is leaning in so close to him that he can feel her hair brushing against the side of his neck.

"Can I help somehow?" She asks quietly, he can feel her breath in his ear.

Viktor swallows, clenches and un-clenches his hands, "Do you have a Flathead screwdriver?"

She shifts backward, and he suddenly feels like he can breathe again, "I have a fork that works in a pinch! Let me see if I can find it."

He peers over his shoulder and waits until he can see that she is busy digging through the drawers before pulling himself back to his feet. His leg complains, a little worse than the first time, but only marginally. He is glad she wasn't watching. As he steps towards her, she whips around with one of her enormous smiles, clutching a fork in her hand.

"This should do the trick, I had to tighten the towel rack in my bathroom and it worked a charm."

Viktor feels that urge again, the one in the base of his stomach that wants him to soften in the warmth of her gaze. The same urge that begged him to call her Myšičko last time they spoke despite the cloying affection behind the diminutive word, "Thank you." He says instead, taking the fork from her outstretched hand and walking back over to the radiator. Resting a hand on it, he finds it quite cool, it must have been that way for a long time based on when she says it stopped working, but turning off the boiler practically negates the possibility of him burning his hands. Working quickly, Viktor sticks the square end of the fork into the screw keeping the bleed valve sealed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips when he realises just how perfectly the fork fits.

"Well you were not kidding about this fork working in- what was it you said? A pinch?"

He hears a laugh from somewhere behind him, the teapot on the stove must have finished boiling because when he looks backward he sees her pouring tea at the kitchen bench, "I told you!"

He exhales an amused breath, "So you did."

It only takes a few turns to loosen the bleed valve enough for air to begin escaping, just as he has expected. After a few seconds a thin stream of water spills down from the valve and Viktor quickly re-tightens the screw before any further water gets lost. Easy.

He stands from the floor with a wince, using the armrest of the chair for balance, "That should work now. Give it a few minutes and then we can turn the boiler back on." He grabs his cane and readjusts himself, turning to see that she is crossing the room with both cups of tea, gently resting them on the coffee table.

"I-" She starts, eyes darting around the room skittishly, "Thank you. I didn't mean to invite you over to fix things for me."

"No." Viktor says, unable to help the smile climbing up his cheeks as he rounds the coffee table and takes a seat on the sofa, crossing his right leg over his left, "In fact, I think you'll find I came around so you would fix something." He shrugs, "I suppose I was feeling generous."

Generous is too non-committal a term for how he is feeling. How he has been feeling all evening. Warm? Comfortable? Something in that realm. Something ill-advised and guaranteed to end in suffering, that's what the terrified voice in the back of his head says, the one that always hears alarm bells where there aren't any.

"Oh! Yes! I'm sorry!" She says in a near panic, darting over to the desk up against the wall and grabbing an embroidered sewing kit, "I was so busy with the tea and being a good host and- wait, you don't have anywhere to be do you?" and then faster, almost out of breath, "You can leave if you need to! I can drop everything off at your dorm tomorrow!"

Viktor leans forward and scoops several spoons of sugar into one of the teacups before grabbing it by the handle and sinking backward into the sofa. He takes a sip and suddenly finds that he doesn't feel like going anywhere at all, "No rush." He says, surprised to realise he means it, "I am all yours."

[runicwhim]

constantly thinking about touchstarved viktor . he doesn't lean into the touch , but he allows it to linger just so , just enough to remember the weight of your palm heating him through his uniform , the tenderness of such touch , the way fingers thrum or curl over his body & meld around his frame oh so perfectly .... he craves it , oh , so bad . a hug would leave him clinging to warmth in the most gentle ways . a kiss would be chaste —- then suffocating & needy . viktor craves touch like lungs crave air .

[dianatrusova]

HANDS

Victor would have cold hands without realizing it, distracted as he is from his work. Only when he places them on yours, perhaps in a spontaneous or distracted gesture, would he notice your reaction, a gasp or a surprised expression, and he would finally realize how cold his hands are. He would probably apologize immediately, embarrassed, trying to warm them by rubbing them together or sticking his fingers in his pockets, as if that would be enough.

But it wouldn't just be a physical issue. Those cold hands would tell something more: a side of him that often forgets to take care of himself, too busy getting lost in his thoughts or his work. This may lead to you holding their hands in yours. He, initially hesitant, would accept the gesture with shy gratitude, letting the warmth of your hands melt the cold of his hands. Thus unconsciously leading to a continuous search for your warmth

[quartz-kilsviken]

I've been loving Written in the Runes! And then I saw your req. for one shot requests :3

How about JayVik/Baker!Reader and how they ask her to date them? I just feel in my bones it would be great.

Word of Mouth

➸Summary: Every day in your bakery is the same—cozy, filled with the comfort of sweet pastries and familiar faces—until Mrs. Talis, a regular, introduces you to her son, Jayce. What begins as harmless matchmaking soon becomes more complicated as you find yourself drawn to both Jayce and his partner, Viktor.

➸A/N: I work as a baker in a french pâtisserie so this being my first request is insane, I had a ton of fun writing this. Thank you for the idea I hope you like it!! (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

➸Pairing: JayVik/Reader

➸Word Count: 2,148

➸Tags: Oneshot, Romace, Fluff, Jayce is so sweet he give me cavities

➸ Slow burn JayVik x reader series: Written in the Runes Link

Word of mouth is the heartbeat of your little shop. Each new customer feels like a gift, walking through the door because someone couldn’t stop talking about your cakes or how your shop feels like stepping into a warm memory. It always makes your heart swell, knowing that something you created meant enough for someone to share it. That’s exactly how your favorite regular had found her way to you months ago. Her presence had quickly become a welcome part of your days—kind, warm, and endlessly sweet, much like the cake you’re carefully packing for her now.

But today’s visit feels different. Her usual chatter has shifted into something... more pointed.

“He works at the academy,” she begins, her voice carrying a little too much enthusiasm. “Very responsible, incredibly smart, and—oh—such a gentleman.”

You pause, tilting your head at her with a knowing look. “I see what you’re doing, Mrs. Talis. Trying to marry me into your family for a discount, huh?”

She lets out a laugh, the kind that makes her eyes crinkle at the corners. “Handsome too,” she adds, digging into her purse, “though I admit I’m probably a little biased.”

Just as you’re reaching for the coins she’s pulled out, a photograph suddenly appears on the counter.

You pick it up, your fingers lingering on the edges as you squint at the image. The boy in the photo is all ears and a wide, toothy grin—he looks like he’s about to burst into laughter at any moment. You chew on your words before finally giving her a pointed stare.

“This is a child,” you say flatly.

“It’s a little old, I’ll admit,” she says, her smile unwavering. “But just picture him grown up.”

You try, but the playful face in the photograph refuses to transform into the image of a distinguished adult in your mind. It’s almost endearing how determined she is. With a soft laugh, you slide the photo back to her and scoop up just a few coins, pushing the rest toward her with a gentle nudge.

“How about this? I’ll just give you the discount, Miss Matchmaker,” you say, your voice light with amusement.

Her grin grows, the sparkle in her eyes showing just how much she’s enjoying herself. Despite the absurdity of it all, you can’t help but feel a certain fondness for her persistence.

It’s been about a month since her last visit, and now, with the coolness of autumn settling in, a breeze drifts through the shop every time the door opens. You feel it—the light rush of air—just before the soft chime of the bell rings through the quiet space. You hesitate, not wanting to break the flow of icing a cake, but when you look up, you pause.

A tall man stands just inside the door, slightly hunched, his eyes scanning the display case with an intensity, like he’s looking for something specific but isn’t quite sure what.

You take a breath and move toward him, offering your usual greeting, but the words falter the moment he smiles.

It hits you—this is what those big ears and that endearing gap-toothed smile look like on a grown man. Mrs. Talis hadn’t been the least bit biased—he’s striking, the kind of handsome that makes your heart skip a beat without warning.

���You’re Jayce!” you say, your excitement bubbling through before you can stop it. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and you take the chance to start packing his usual pastry, already knowing what he’ll want. Mrs. Talis never changes his order and besides, you’ve learned to pick out the perfect match for everyone’s tastes. His—a delicate fruit tart—suits him perfectly.

Jayce snaps out of his daze, his voice uncertain. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

You raise an eyebrow, the corners of your lips curving up into a playful smile. “No, but your mother’s mentioned you... once or twice.”

He rubs his hand over his face, the faintest trace of embarrassment creeping into his expression. “Only good things, I hope?”

“Great things actually,” you say with a grin. “How you’re a genius inventor, incredibly successful, a true gentleman... and, of course, ridiculously handsome.” The words come easily, but the sincerity behind them surprises you. His cheeks flush a little, and you can’t help but smile a little wider.

“I knew it,” he mutters, shaking his head lightly. “She’s been talking up a lot of people lately…”

You lean in a little closer, the teasing smile lingering. “So, I’ve got competition, huh? Tell me, where do I rank?”

“Well... I’d say you’re already pretty high, considering you can put up with my mom’s antics. But each pastry you give me might move you up a little more.” His smile is soft, and when his eyes meet yours, you feel something shift inside you—like the warmth of his gaze lingers a little longer than it should, making it hard to look away.

You slide the wrapped pastry toward him, watching the way his face brightens. You can’t deny the little flutter of something in your chest. He didn’t need to tell you what he wanted, and that small moment of connection fills your heart in a way you didn’t expect. But then he adds, “Actually, I was hoping you could help me with something else. I’m trying to figure out what to get my partner, but I honestly have no idea what he’d like.” He walks back over to the display case, continuing his search.

You watch him for a beat, feeling a small tug of curiosity. Partner. Interesting. “Tell me about this partner of yours,” you ask, your tone a little softer than before.

With each visit, Jayce shifted from just another regular customer to someone you genuinely looked forward to seeing. His stories about work, especially when he spoke passionately about his research, never failed to bring a smile to your face. Of course to keep climbing the ranks, you’d often offer him new cakes to try, many of them experimental recipes. He’d give detailed feedback, always thoughtful and constructive which you thoroughly appreciated. There was something warm about him, a presence that seemed to fill the shop, much like the comforting heat of your ovens. And then, there was Viktor. You’d heard enough about him to feel intrigued—the way Jayce’s face softened whenever he spoke his name, the quiet affection in his voice. The more you listened, the clearer it became: they were the perfect pair, a balance of intellect and heart.

On rainy days, when the shop was quiet and the soft pattering of rain against the window filled the space, you’d often lose track of time, swaying slightly to gentle music you play in the background. It was on one of those days that you didn’t notice the door open, too caught up in your own rhythm.

When your gaze finally lifted, you startled, lost your footing, and ended up flat on the floor, a bowl of flour spilling everywhere.

The man standing just inside the door waited patiently. Though he made a point to look at the wall, his small amused smile betrays his attempt to act as though he hadn’t noticed you.

You huff, scrambling to your feet and brushing flour off yourself as you stumble toward him. But when your eyes meet his, you have to stop yourself from tripping again.

Amber. There’s something in his gaze, a dancing light that draws you in. He doesn’t rush you, just waits quietly as you collect yourself.

You realize you’ve been staring and clear your throat, trying to regain some dignity. “Welcome in! How can I help you?”

He smiles softly, his eyes taking in the shop. “I can see why my partner likes to spend time here. It’s a lovely place.”

It’s the word partner that finally clicks, and you realize who he must be. “Did Jayce send you in here just so he could stay out of the rain?” you tease, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “If that’s the case, I’ll give you two cakes for making the journey—and none for him.”

He chuckles, the sound low and genuine. “I’m not sure any weather could keep him away. He seems quite fond of your pastries—” He hesitates, choosing his words carefully, “—and of you.”

His words hang in the air a little longer than you expect, and you feel a faint warmth spread across your face. But before you can come up with a response, he continues.

“I actually had a question for you.” You watch as his finger taps gently on the handle of his cane, the steady rhythm oddly mesmerizing. You realize, too late, that you’re staring—your thoughts briefly scattered, and you quickly try to pull yourself together. You really need to stop doing that before he notices.

You straighten, leaning a little closer to the counter, giving him your full attention. “What’s up?” Your voice comes out softer than you expected, but you can’t quite bring yourself to care.

And yes, Viktor definitely notices—the way you’re looking at him, your flour-dusted cheek giving you an effortlessly charming air. He can’t help but smile, disarmed by how easily you catch his attention. Quickly clearing his throat, he tries to stay focused. “Do you do delivery?”

You pause for a moment, eyes scanning the room as if deep in thought. “Possibly, but only for my favorite customer.”

“And would Jayce be considered your favorite?” Viktor asks, a little smile playing at the corners of his lip.

“Well, he was…” you say with a teasing glint. “But seeing as you didn’t comment on the fact that I fell on my face earlier, I’d say you’re starting to steal his title.”

—————————————————————

Viktors writing is neat, the directions written clearly show where you need to go but the halls of the Academy seem to be a labyrinth. The multiple boxes of pastry making the journey harder, almost missing the door to their lab.

Balancing the boxes, you knock softly on the door, hearing shuffling from inside. Moments later, it opens to reveal a familiar face, clearly surprised to see you. You can’t help but think you should deliver more often if it means seeing him again, bathed in the soft light of the academy. The lab’s warm hues highlight his features beautifully, and you’re grateful for the stack of boxes that hides your definitely-flushed cheeks. Your name slips out before a distant voice calls, “Don’t be rude, Jayce—let her in.”

Jayce thankfully unloads a few boxes, giving you a chance to take in the two men. Their attire is oddly formal for a night spent working in the lab. “What are you doing here? I mean— not that you’re not welcome. I actually planned on inviting you to our lab, but—” Viktor cuts him off with a gentle pat on Jayce's arm.

“I asked her, I thought it would be nice to indulge in a few pastries before the party. She kindly delivered for me, seeing as I am now her favorite customer.” You have to fight back laughing at the exchange, but especially how Jayce seems to be silently yelling at Viktor with his eyes.

“These are a lot of two people, especially since we’re supposed to leave in 10 minutes.” Viktor is practically glowing, his playful eyes meeting yours.

With a shake of his head, he skillfully morphs his expression into one of disappointment, “Ah— you’re right Jayce, how foolish of me, I supposed I should’ve planned this surprise better.” He locks eyes with you “Though, maybe it can be remedied… would you like to join us? We are just attending a fundraising party, I’m sure bringing your lovely pastries would be welcomed.”

You see exactly what he’s doing now, you can’t help but bite back a smart response “My pastries being there don’t require my attendance as well, Viktor, I don’t want to intrude.”

Jayce finally softens at that, with a shy smile “You wouldn’t be intruding, you’re always welcome.”

Viktor continues “Besides, it would be a great opportunity to get eyes on your business. We would certainly like some of the attention to be on someone else for a night.”

Between Jayce’s soft, hopeful eyes and Viktor’s playful gaze, you can’t help but accept. As Jayce steps out to retrieve something, you glance sideways at Viktor and murmur, “You’re worse than his mother.” A smirk tugs at the corner of your lips.

Viktor’s smile shifts into something knowing. “Ah, yes. She and I do have quite a bit in common.” You laugh, and when you glance up, you notice that his usual confidence has softened, just slightly. As he steps closer, there’s a brief hesitation in his eyes before he speaks, his tone light but carrying an edge. “While her intentions were all about him, I’ll admit at some point mine might’ve turned a bit more self-serving.”

[geebritt]

Birds of a Feather - Chapter 1

Prologue [x] AO3 [x]

The rare feeling of direct sunlight beating down on your skin had your cheeks widening into a large smile as you raised your arms towards the sky in a deep stretch.

“One day, I'm gonna ride in one of those things.” Powder announced in awe from behind you, marvelling at the airship travelling overhead. You turned to grin at the small girl.

“I'd put money on that.” You laughed, ruffling her pretty blue hair. She returned your grin with one of her own, practically bouncing with energy.

“And one day,” Mylo's snide tone had your smile quickly dropping. “I'm gonna shoot one of ‘em down.” He quipped, aiming a finger gun to the ship and mimicking pulling the trigger.

Your eyes rolled in exasperation. “Now that - that's not a bet that I would waste my coin on.” Powder snickered a laugh when Mylo shoved your shoulder, which you quickly returned with extra force.

“Are you sure about this, Vi?” Claggor. Poor, sweet, naive Claggor. As if this was something that Vi could be talked out of. “Look, if we get caught, we're…” Like clockwork, Vi cut off his sentence.

“We're not gonna get caught.” She said with all the confidence that you're sure Vander carried at her age. Claggor looked over to you, as if expecting you to intervene - you instead offered him a shrug of indifference. “We'll be in and out before anyone even notices.”

It was exhilarating. The feeling of sunshine on your face, and wisps of wind running through your dark, shaggy hair, as you leapt from rooftop to rooftop. If it were up to you - you'd spend every day of your life flying from roof to roof. It was the only time that you felt untouchable… truly free.

Following Vi and the boys, you landed, light-footed, on the roof - having launched over from a small balcony homing a plate of pink-frosted cupcakes.

The sight of the sweet treats sitting abandoned had your mouth forming into a sneer. The Pilties were afforded so much privilege that they had no qualms about leaving food out to rot or be eaten by birds - while Zaunites in the Fissures had to fight tooth and nail for what the Topsiders would consider scraps. It wasn't fair.

“Couldn't we have at least just walked there?” Claggor asked Vi.

“Gotta stay outta sight for this one.” Vi told him in a serious tone. You considered telling the pink-haired girl to lighten up a little, and take a moment to enjoy the journey there. But you knew that she wouldn't want to hear it, so instead, you kept the thought to yourself and stayed quiet.

You clapped a hand on his back with a laugh. “Where's the fun in that, Clag?” He huffed a small laugh in reluctant agreement.

Vi suddenly looked away from Claggor. You followed her line of sight with your own eyes to see Powder still on the roof across the divide. Fear was evident in her big, blue eyes.

“Called it.” Mylo announced smugly, causing you to look over in his direction with narrowed eyes. “This is on you, Vi.”

“Does your trap ever shut, Mylo?” You called to him, receiving a glare of daggers from him in response.

“I'll get her.” Claggor said, beginning to stand from his crouched position.

“No!” Vi stopped him - looking to Powder with determination. “Powder, look at me.” You looked back to Powder to see the nerves still evident on her face. “What did I tell you?”

“That…” She took a deep breath, and when her eyes opened, the fear had been replaced with a bravery that had you smiling proudly. “That I'm ready.” She declared.

“That's right. So?” 

You whooped loudly, calling out in encouragement, “Go Pow-Pow. You've got this!”

Powder managed the complex manoeuvre just barely. The jump ended with her hanging off the edge of the roof, with Vi holding onto her hand securely - a proud smile adorning her face. Your heart would have been warmed if it weren't currently in your throat, having jumped up in fear while watching the little girl nearly fall to her demise.

“Phew.” Powder breathed. “Thanks.” And you had to fight the urge to thank Vi for catching her too - though you knew that there was no way in the world that she would have let her little sister fall.

The panic in you slowly dissipated, and pride took its place. You laughed as you high-fived powder - congratulating her on a job well done, while she smiled in delight.

Your eyes followed another airship flying overhead as your small group scooted alongside a narrow edge of the penthouse's roof.

“What if Vander finds out we're all the way up here?” Oh Gods, don't even say that, you thought with a grimace. You couldn't bear putting up with another one of Vander's infamous ‘I'm disappointed in you’ lectures. Sure, you were older than the others, but that didn't mean you could control them. If they were going to be out pulling off dangerous jobs, you'd rather be out with them watching their backs than trying fruitlessly to talk them out of it.

“Look around you.” Violet gestured to the lavish city below you. “You think anyone Topside's going hungry?” The answer was obvious. “And besides, this is exactly the type of job that Vander would have pulled when he was our age.”

She wasn't wrong. The stories that Felicia shared with you about their ‘wild escapades’ while growing up always had you giggling - that was before Vander had caught wind of it.

‘And that's about enough of those stories.’ Vander had said one evening, as you and Felicia sat gossiping at the bar. ‘The last thing that we need is another me running around causing trouble.’ The words had been said with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, but under his amused tone, you'd been able to sense the seriousness to his words.

Felicia had tried to spiritedly argue back that you would find out one way or another, but Vander had pointed a finger at her and playfully accused her of trying to corrupt you.

After that, though, the stories of their ‘Wild Child’ days became fewer and far between - much to your disappointment.

“I'm going. Are you with me or not?” Vi already knew that you had her back, and obviously Powder would follow her to the ends of the Runeterra - this question was clearly for the boys.

Clagger's loud sigh gave his answer before his words. “Vander's gonna kill us.”

Before you could agree with him, Vi retorted, “Yeah, only if we screw up. So don't screw up.”

Expertly, Vi swung down from the roof, and once she called the all clear, you were all quickly following down onto a rather spacious balcony. Oh yeah, this belonged to a rich Piltie - that's for sure. You just hoped that the loot from this job would be enough to satiate the girl for a while.

“Remember, guys.” You did your best to put your ‘Big Sister Pants’ on and set the ground rules. “Twenty minutes - in and out. Any - and I mean any signs of someone coming, and we're out. I don't care if it's been two minutes. No loot is worth getting arrested. No man left behind.” You knew that the only person truly taking your words on board was little Powder. Smiling as you pinched her cheek - you were grateful that she hadn't reached her rebellious teenage years yet.

The door was quickly opened - thanks to Vi’s boot, and not Mylo's lock-picking skills. Much to his annoyance - which he voiced by calling the rest of you ‘animals’ - earning him an amused snort from you as you brushed past him.

Your jaw dropped as you entered the large room - you span on your heels to grasp the full extent of it. The room was jam-packed with books, gadgets, and trinkets - oh yeah, you had definitely hit the jackpot here. 

As the others began ransacking the room and filling the rucksack with loot, your eyes were drawn to a small connecting walkway. “Hey, I think there's another room. I'll go check it out.” You announced.

At the end of the small corridor was a closed door. Approaching it quietly, you pushed your ear to the surface, listening intently to be sure that no one was on the other side. Once you were satisfied by the silence, you quietly pushed it open and stepped inside.

“Whoa.” You muttered, stepping further into the small room and admiring the trinkets lining the shelves. A couple of shining, gilded objects caught your eye, and you quickly scooped them up, admiring the weight before stashing them safely in your pockets.

“Find anything good?” A small voice chirped, and you nearly jumped out of your skin, whirling around quickly to see Powder in the doorway.

“I don't know. Could be trash, could be treasure.” You grinned as she entered the room. A quiet whoop left her mouth when she discovered two sandwiches sitting on top of a large blueprint. Quickly, she rushed over, picking one up and taking a large bite out of it, sighing deeply at the taste.

“What sort of heathen abandons a perfectly good sandwich?” You muttered, picking up the second sandwich and biting into it. You had to admit - it was one damn good sandwich. While you chewed the food, you lifted up the blueprint off the table; eyes squinting, trying to decipher it. If engineering was your strong suit as opposed to physics, maybe you'd be able to decode what this person was trying to build.

“Huh?” At the sound of Powder's voice, you dropped the parchment and followed her gaze to a large chest sitting on the table. You almost laughed when she tried to drag the chest from the table - letting out a punched out sound of strain at the effort.

“Pow-Pow.” You giggled. “What have I told you? Work smarter, not harder.” Your deft fingers scanned the chest for a latch before feeling a small ‘click’ on the side. Both your and Powder's eyes widened as you watched the chest open. Contained inside, glowing ominously, were six electric-blue crystals.

“Whoa.” You both breathed simultaneously in awe. Inquisitive as always, Powder reached in and plucked one of the crystals from its cradle, lifting it up to her eye to inspect it closely.

Curiously, you reached into the chest to pluck one of the remaining gemstones from their cradle, only to let out a yelp at the shock of an electric zap to your finger when it made contact with the blue stone.

“Ouch.” You mumbled, sticking the affected finger in your mouth, causing Powder to giggle.

Suddenly, your heart stopped as you heard a rattling at the door to the entryway, and Vi's desperate instructions of, “Guys, we gotta go!”

“Hello?” You could hear the concerned voice of a man through the door - the handle rattling as he tried to open the barricaded entryway. “Is someone in there?” The rattling grew more forceful as the voice morphed into a panicked yell. “Hey, open up!”

Powder's nimble fingers quickly collected the six stones, jamming them into her pouch as you pulled her towards Vi at the doorway.

“Wait!” She gasped, and your eyes followed hers, watching as one of the gemstones fell to the floor and began to roll away.

“Go. I've got it.” You told her as you passed her to Vi's arms. There was no telling how much these stones were worth - you'd bet they were worth more than any of the trinkets lining the shelves. “I'll be right there.” You assured Vi, seeing the worried look in her eyes. She nodded and turned, dragging Powder with her - the younger girl looking back with unbridled anxiety in her watery eyes.

You quickly turned on your heel, running back into the room to retrieve the crystal that was rapidly rolling away. Hastily, you dropped to your knees and scrambled towards the stone as it rolled under the bed, before…

-

-

You don't know what it was that your brain comprehended first. The blinding flash of light filling your vision. The weightlessness of being thrown like a ragdoll through the air. The unnatural feeling of a foreign, unfamiliar electrical current pulsing through your veins. Or, possibly, the agonising pain coursing through the back of your skull, emanating from where it had made impact with the wall.

The room was silent - save for the static buzzing in your ears - and you had to blink a few times to clear the spots from your vision.

You felt light and fuzzy all over, boneless, almost as if you were in a dream. Your pounding head unwillingly lolled to the side, and you winced in pain as you felt the hot, sticky, uncomfortable sensation of blood running down the back of your neck. 

A large hole was now in the door - drawing your eyes through to meet a pair of hazel hues. The dark brows above said eyes furrowed, as the man slumped against the wall looked at you in shock and confusion. It was only a moment or two of staring - but it felt like much longer - before his eyes began to roll back, and he collapsed to the side, unconscious.

You barely registered yourself being tugged to your feet by two sets of hands, and the cottony static in your ears dissolved away until you could hear the sound of your siblings shouting your name. The look of fear in Vi's eyes was palpable as she held your cheeks in her hands, lightly slapping the skin in an attempt to break through your shock. A few more blinks of your eyes, and suddenly - as if being plunged into cold water - you came back to yourself.

“Come on. You're okay.” Vi was muttering, looking over your body, checking for any injuries that would prove otherwise. The words were directed at you, but you could tell that she was subconsciously trying to reassure herself that you indeed were okay. You nodded to her - quelling her fears. “We gotta go.” She told you with a sharp intensity.

You nodded but didn't answer - allowing yourself to be pulled out by Vi and Claggor to the balcony.

“Shit!” You heard Vi hiss as she looked down at the Enforcers below, peering up at you all and shouting. Turning to you, she grasped your shoulders tightly. “Are you going to be able to run?” She asked you frantically.

You nodded, then grimaced at the responding pain from your neck. “Y-yeah. I'm good.” Vi swallowed and nodded back at you.

You honestly don't know how you had all managed to escape Piltover - relatively unscathed. Never would you have thought that you'd be so happy to be laying in a heap of garbage in a landfill, covered in filthy sludge - but evidently, there was a first for everything. 

You honestly don't know how some of the Enforcers’ Bolas hadn't captured at least one of you. The precision they'd been thrown was immaculate. You'd had to thank your lucky stars each time the contraptions had veered off course at the last moments.

“Your nose is bleeding.” Powder muttered, crawling over the filthy rubbish to reach you. You reached up to touch the blood leaking from your right nostril. “Oh, I didn't even notice.” You replied with a small laugh, grateful that it had seemingly stopped of its own accord.

Powder gently reached out to wipe away the blood with her fabric arm bracers; nodding to herself when she was satisfied that she'd sufficiently cleaned you up. You smiled softly and ruffled her hair fondly.

“Thought last time was the last time we were gonna do this.” Mylo grumbled from his place in the litter, and you had to roll your eyes. Of course he would find something to complain about after pulling off the heist of the century.

“Well, this time's the last time.” Vi affirmed. You had your doubts.

“Guys, what was that? What the hell happened back there?” Claggor stammered, obviously still shaken by the whole ordeal. You really couldn't blame him - your whole body still trembled from the adrenaline. Both boys turned, looking accusingly at Powder, causing your brows to furrow deeply.

“I don't know. I didn't do anything.” She retorted, looking as offended as you felt for her.

“You could fill a damn library with all the things you didn't do.” Mylo shot back with a tone of annoyance.

“Hey, Mylo. Shut the fuck up, okay? You're making my headache worse.” You groaned, flopping back to lie against the trash. The skin on the back of your neck stretched uncomfortably, the dried blood beginning to flake off.

“Oh, I'll really make your headache worse if you’re not careful.” He snarked back, causing you to snort and hold up a middle finger towards him. That boy was all bark and no bite.

“Guys,” Vi leapt in to diffuse the tension. “We just emptied a Piltover penthouse right under the enforcers' noses.” Heist of the century. “So, if you're done beating yourselves up, let's get this home.” She announced proudly.

As you made your way back to the Undercity, you silently mourned at the fact that you would soon be apart from the sun once more. You loved your home - you really did - but a part of your soul always longed to be above the world, basking in the soft, warm rays of light. 

Trailing behind your four siblings, you couldn't help but smile as Claggor slung an arm playfully across Mylo's shoulders. Your family was your entire world. You'd sooner snuff out the sun than ever leave them behind.

“Nice haul?” A smug voice drawled as your group walked past. You turned to see that the source of the voice was a young, blonde thug lazing on a wooden box. His eyes locked onto the bag on Vi's back with a slimy grin. As your eyes narrowed, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck begin to stand on end.

“You could say that.” Your stare snapped to Mylo, and you had to suppress your immediate urge to punch him. Idiot.

“C’mon, let's go.” You muttered, ushering the rest of the group to keep moving forward.

“I heard there was some action across the river.” You all froze at the boy’s words. News had travelled quickly. This wasn't good. Your eyes shifted to him again, narrowing sharply as he nonchalantly flipped a coin over each of his knuckles. “Someone really kicked the nest, huh?” He mused with a dangerous smirk in your direction.

“Is that so?” Vi responded coolly - her poker-face was something to be admired. Turning to brush him off, she hesitated, and you looked up to see that two more youths had moved to block the path. A dark chuckle had you clenching your fists.

“But now, you're tracking this mess of yours through my streets.” You scoffed, cracking your knuckles.

“Your streets? What makes you think-” Vi started incredulously, before Claggor quickly cut her off, trying to defuse the situation.

“Listen, we don't want any trouble, okay?” He stated, but a laugh from behind you had you gritting your teeth.

“Hear that, Deckard? They don't want any trouble.” As a new voice spoke, your eyes flicked over the approaching miscreants, silently counting their number. Your mind raced, calculating the odds - would your group walk away unscathed if this turned violent?

“You know,” Deckard drawled. “In my experience, trouble finds you. There's no reason this has to get ugly.” He lilted. Your nose crinkled into a sneer when he sent a smirk your way before turning to address Vi. “How about you share a little taste of your treasure there, and we'll call it even?”

“No, no, no,” Mylo spoke up. “We worked too hard to-” He was cut short by Violet grabbing his shoulder as she stepped past him.

“Just a taste?” She asked Deckard softly with feigned innocence.

Oh, this was happening. You cracked your sore, stiff neck, readying yourself for the inevitable brawl. Some warning so you could limber up would have been nice, you thought with an amused huff.

“Just a ta-” Deckard didn't even get to finish the words before Vi had swung the heavy bag of loot to crash against the side of his face, effectively knocking him to the ground. Said bag was quickly launched into Powder's arms as the rest of you raised your fists, ready for the incoming onslaught.

Hearing heavy footfall behind you, you spun around just in time to dodge a fist aimed at your head. Ducking, you moved quickly and fluidly - the punch sailing over your head. With a sharp pivot, you spun on your heel, using the momentum to bring your knee up into your attacker's stomach. He doubled over, coughing, but recovered faster than you expected. Before you could move out of the way, the heavy fist of your attacker was ploughing into your cheekbone painfully.

You stumbled back, hand over your cheek, and steeled yourself to attack again, when a flash of blue caught your attention. Powder was running away through the street - bag of loot secured on her back - being quickly pursued by one of Deckard's gang members.

“Pow!” You yelled, side stepping your assailant to run after them. You didn't get more than five steps away when arms wrapped around you from behind, pinning your arms to your side and tackling you to the ground. A loud groan of pain sounded from you as your chin smacked the rough surface of the pavement.

“We're not done here.” A gravelly voice growled from behind you. An enraged scream tore through your lips as you kicked and squirmed, trying fruitlessly to knock the weight off your back, pinning you down. A breath tickled the back of your ear as the boy holding you down spoke, “Not so tough now, hmm?”

Taking a deep breath in through your nose, you quickly snapped your head back, effectively ramming the back of your already-abused skull into his nose. You both simultaneously let out a roar of pain, and you felt the wound on your scalp open back up, allowing fresh blood to run freely to the ground.

With a loud grunt, you pulled yourself to your feet - hands holding the back of your head in pain.

“Fuck you, you motherfucker.” You screeched ferally. The thug kneeled on the ground, bent down almost as if in prayer - howling in pain and cupping his obviously broken nose. Raising your leg as high as your tendons would allow, you screamed in effort as you snapped it down with force, bringing the heel of your heavy boot down onto the back of his head. The pained howling stopped as his head cracked into the pavement below.

Not wasting any more precious moments, you took off running in the direction that you had seen Powder heading only minutes ago.

Following the path, you continued to run while yelling out to Powder - your anxiety increasing with each step. As you ran, a large plank of loose wood perched against the wall of the alley - as if sent by the Gods - caught your eye. Your hand closed around it without breaking your stride, and it was quickly slung over your shoulder as you broke through to the docks - just in time to see Powder tossing the heavy bag of treasures into the lake. You let out a loud battle-cry as you launched yourself towards the teen boy who was leaning over the railing, desperately trying to spot the heavy bag sinking into the murky waters below. Swinging the plank with all your might, you couldn't help but grin maliciously as it collided with his head, and he collapsed to the ground.

“You okay?” You asked Powder after a moment of silence, panting heavily with exhaustion.

“Yeah.” She replied sadly, her big eyes beginning to well with tears. “But, I threw the bag. I-I didn't know what to do.” You dropped the wood next to the unconscious boy and wrapped your arms around the sniffling girl.

“It's okay, Baby Blue.” You soothed, rubbing her back - trying to ignore the feeling of your stomach sinking faster than the bag in the water. “There's always plenty more where that came from. We only have one Powder.” She nuzzled her face into your chest. “You made the right decision. You're worth more than any treasure.”

Her arms tightened around you. “The others will be so mad with me. Mylo-”

You cut her off. “Just leave Mylo to me. It'll be okay.” She looked up at you, and you smiled. “Come on, we'd better get back to the others.” Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, you began to walk back to your siblings together - stepping over some scrap metal that you recognised as a detonated Mouser. 

By the time you reached the others, the sun had begun to set. Vi had run to you both, thoroughly checking over Powder for any injuries.

“I'm fine.” Powder assured her, wrapping her arms around her big sister's waist as Vi hugged her tightly.

“Where's the loot?” Mylo immediately jumped into interrogation, noticing the bag was missing.

“I-” Powder started, but you quickly cut her off.

“I lost it.” Mylo's jaw dropped, and he looked at you incredulously. “Tried to wrestle it off one of those thugs, but it fell into the harbour.” You explained it matter-of-factly. There was no changing the situation, so no use arguing over it.

“You think I believe that?” He yelled, and you felt Powder grab your hand. “You don't make mistakes like that.” He pointed aggressively at Powder. “That jinx does.” He spat venomously.

“Give it a rest, Mylo.” You sneered tiredly. “Unless you feel like going for a swim in the harbour too.”

“I tried to fight him off with Mouser, but... she didn't work.” Powder muttered, half-heartedly trying to defend herself.

“Yeah, who saw that coming?” Mylo sneered, raising his hand in answer to his own question. You rolled your eyes.

“Ugh, We never should have gone over there.” Glaggor groaned, and you couldn't help but silently agree.

Vi spoke up from beside Powder. “Doesn't matter. The stuff's gone.” She pats her little sister on the shoulder. “It's all right, Powder. At least you're okay.

Vi opened the door to the housed elevator - the entrance to the Undercity - and you all piled in.

“Okay? What about us?” That grating voice again. “I get my face bashed in, and she just gets a pass?”

You dug in your pockets for the two small, yet heavy trinkets that you had stashed from the penthouse. “Here.” You pegged them hard at him. “For your troubles.” Mylo yelped, ducking at the last second to dodge them as they flew directly at his forehead - but quickly bent down to collect them as they clattered to the floor.

The five of you piled into the elevator, shuffling awkwardly to get comfortable, before it began to descend, and the dank smell of the Lanes filled your nose.

The door to The Last Drop had an infuriating knack for squeaking at the worst times, always betraying your attempts to sneak out - or back in - much to your frustration. Tonight was no exception. Your eyes scanned the pub briefly before locking onto Vander - who was seated with Huck at a table, opposite two shady seeming characters. Though in Zaun, shady characters were the opposite of far and few between. Vander’s eyes suddenly locking onto yours had your face morphing into a grimace as you averted your gaze to the back of Vi’s head, following her to the basement.

Once you'd safely arrived at the basement, you all immediately flopped onto the couches - all absolutely exhausted from your escapades.

You closed your eyes and tried to ignore the thumping in your head, made only worse by the sound of your siblings bickering.

“Guys.” You moaned. “Can we just relax? It's been an intense day and-” Your voice trailed off as the basement door opened. Vander stood at the top of the stairs, calmer than you'd expected. Maybe he hadn't heard about the explosion in Piltover.

“Everyone alright?” He asked softly, looking over you all - assessing your injuries.

“Never better.” Mylo answered for you all with a sigh.

“Good.” Oh, you'd know that tone anywhere. “I don't suppose you can explain why it is that I'm hearing about an explosion and a foot chase Topside? Five children fleeing the scene.” And there it was. You could never be so lucky. He stopped to look at Vi. “What the hell were you thinking?” You didn't know if you should be relieved that he wasn't addressing you, or be jumping in to defend your sister. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but before you could let loose any words, Vander stopped you with hand. “Uht, don't you even think about speaking right now.” At the words, your mouth immediately closed, and you held up your hands in surrender. Vi was on her own with this one.

“I was thinking that we can handle a real job.” She responded stubbornly.

“A real job?”

“We got our own tip. Planned a route. Nobody even saw.” Digging your grave, Vi. Stop while you're ahead. You'd played this game enough to know that it never ends in your favour.

“You blew up a building.”

“It wasn't the whole building.” You interjected, receiving a glare from Vander. “Okay, yep, shutting up.”

Vander turned back to Vi. “Did you even stop to think about what could have happened to you?” He gestured to the rest of you. “Eh? To them?” Oh, she was getting the whole ‘Vander Guilt Trip Special’ today. He sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes with malaise. “Where did you even get this tip?”

“We just heard it at Benzo's shop.” Powder answered with a squeak - obviously trying to take some of the weight off Vi.

“From?” He looked at you, and you looked away.

“Little man.” Powder answered. Vander sighed again, and you had to wonder how he had any breath left in his body at this point.

Vi stood abruptly. “I took us there. If you wanna be mad, be mad at me. But you're the one who always says we have to earn our place in this world.” Oh, you really didn't have the energy for the conversation right now. Your skull throbbed violently as if agreeing with you.

“I also told you time and time again, the Northside's off-limits.” He's not wrong. Piltover being off-limits was a near daily discussion in the household - a rule that was quite often broken without Vander's knowledge. “We stay out of Piltover's business.”

This had your head snapping over. “When have they ever stayed out of ours?” You snarked. The tone in which Vander growled your name had you sinking back into the couch with an irritated pout, your arms crossed over your body displaying your annoyance.

“Why? They've got plenty, while we're down here scraping together coins.” Vi asked with vitriol. The thought made your blood boil. “When did you get so comfortable living in someone else's shadow?”

Vi's words caused a hiss of air to rush through your teeth as you grimaced. That was a step too far. A low blow. You could tell everyone else in the room had the same thoughts, judging from the shocked expressions on their faces.

“Everyone out.” Vander muttered coolly, though he may as well have screamed it with the speed that everyone got up to evacuate the room.

“Gladly.” You scoffed, sliding off the couch. You spared Vi a sympathetic look before you left the room with the rest of your siblings.

Powder had quickly made herself scarce, announcing to you that she was going to scavenge for more scrap metal. You'd told her to be careful before sitting next to Claggor on the steps outside the basement, to wait for your sister.

“Got a good shiner there.” You grinned at him, leaning over to playfully poke at his swelling eye. He hissed in pain and slapped your hand away before letting out an amused laugh.

“Yours isn't too bad either.” He mused, quickly bringing up his other hand to poke your darkening cheekbone before you could react. You'd yelped at the sudden pain, but it quickly turned to a laugh.

“Shh, I'm trying to listen.” Mylo hissed, and you looked over to see him holding a listening device to the door. You rolled your eyes.

“You guys did good today.” You told them earnestly. Mylo looked at you with surprise at the unexpected praise. “You looked out for each other. Today could have gone a very different way if you hadn't.” Claggor wrapped a big arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side.

“How are you holding up?” He asked with a smile, but his tone was one of concern. “You had a pretty nasty collision with that wall.”

You snorted. “I'm fine. Had a worse headache from a hangover.” You lied through your teeth. Your skull was screaming in pain, and the uncomfortable electrical pulse lingered behind your eyes and in your teeth. You felt like you were going to vibrate out of your skin. Claggor nodded, but didn't look convinced.

Suddenly hearing Vander's heavy footsteps coming up the stairs in the basement, Mylo nearly jumped out of his skin, quickly moving to act (unconvincingly) like he'd been leaning against the wall the whole time.

The door opened, and Vander emerged carrying a large sack over his shoulder. “Get up, Claggor. We're going out.” He announced

“What, now?” He asked in dismay, clearly exhausted. You patted him on the back in sympathy. Vander ripped the metal contraption out of Mylo's hand and stuffed it in the sack.

“Hey, hey. That's mine.” He protested. You couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him. In the Undercity, it was rare to have your own possessions - especially if you were a kid. Losing an item, even one as trivial as that, stung.

“You wanna be treated like adults, right?” He threw the heavy bag into Claggor's arms - the boy staggering at the unexpected weight. You threw a frown at Vander. “Then you should know better than to come back from a job empty-handed.” You stepped out of the way, glaring as Vander walked past you - he saw the glare but ignored it. “I'm gonna have a little word with your informant.” He told you all in a ‘don't try me’ tone.

You moved to sit back down, but Vander stopped you. “You're coming with us.” You could have screamed with frustration but knew better to argue. All you wanted to do was sleep, but of course, you weren't that lucky.

The trip to Benzo's was mostly silent after Claggor had explained what had happened Topside. Vander had looked at you from the corner of his eye when Clag got to the part about the explosion, but remained quiet.

When you arrived at Benzo's, Vander had instructed you both to stand guard outside the front door.

“No one comes in.” He'd told you both, giving you one last pointed look before entering the shop and closing the door behind him.

“Ugh. I can feel a lecture approaching.” You groaned, and Claggor huffed a laugh. A large hand patted your shoulder comfortingly.

“I'd offer to take your place, but I don't want to.” He told you with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood. You rolled your eyes and knocked his hand off your shoulder.

“Can't say I blame you.” You said with a toothy grin, moving the lean against the building.

The door to Benzo’s swung open, and Ekko stumbled out, his arms full of boxes.

“Hey, Claggor.” He exclaimed excitedly.

“Hey, Little Man!” Clag replied with enthusiasm. You pushed yourself off the wall, and Ekko noticed your presence - exclaiming your name happily.

“Hey Bug!” You greeted, walking over to the little boy, ruffling his short cropped hair, and lifting the top box from his arms.

“I was hoping you'd be working today.” Claggor mused, but Ekko quickly changed the subject.

“Did you guys go?” He asked, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Sure did.” Clag replied. “Hey, listen, how did you find that place?” You listened intently, interested in this piece of information yourself. The answer was quickly lost, though, when Claggor slipped his goggles off, allowing Ekko to spot his rapidly blackening eye.

“Whoa! Did you fight the enforcers?” He asked excitedly, earning a snort from you.

“I wish.” You laughed. “Though I think we'd be a little worse for wear if we did.”

“No, just some bums.”

“That's what they smelled like, at least.” You grinned at Ekko, causing him to cackle.

“Did Vi kick their asses?” He asked, grinning widely. You should have known that would be the next question. Ekko absolutely idolised Vi, and you couldn't blame him - your little sister was a badass.

“Yeah, we wouldn't be here otherwise-”

“Oh, she showed me a couple of moves to practice. Look!” Ekko practically threw the remaining box in his arms into Claggor's hands. With his own hands now free, he bounced on his feet, energetically throwing uncoordinated kicks and punches, finishing with a karate chop and a ‘yah!’ that had your dimples deepening with a giggle.

“Yeah. It's- it's coming along.” Claggor offered, and you punched him lightly in the shoulder.

“You're doing great, Bug. Keep at it, and I'm sure you'll be kicking asses with Vi in no time.” Ekko smiled wildly, no doubt imagining himself knocking down enforcers and thugs one by one.

“Hey, so how'd you find that place anyway?” Claggor tried again.

“Oh, this weirdo came into the shop.” This caught your attention. “Bought a whole bunch of stuff that Benzo only keeps there for display.” You looked at Claggor and quirked an eyebrow. “He paid in gold and didn't even haggle.” Suspicious. “I charged him double the price. Sucker.” You openly laughed at this. At least someone got something good out of the deal - you only ended up with a busted cheek and chin, and a headache.

“But, how did you know where he lived?” Clag asked.

“Uh, followed him. How else?” You helped Ekko carry the box to his bike.

“You shouldn't be going Topside alone, Ekko. What if something happened to you?” You admonished him, and he snorted.

“You're starting to sound like Vander.” Ekko snarked, and you lightly clipped him upside the head with an open palm. He laughed before his eyes widened, looking into the smog down the road, as two silhouettes approached.

“Shit.” You hissed as your eyes made out the unmistakable blue of the Enforcer's uniform. Your eyes darted wildly from the Enforcers to Claggor, to the door inside which Vander was.

“They'll be fine. Go” Ekko whispered frantically as he pushed you and Claggor in the opposite direction.

“Go back to the others.” You told Claggor quietly, but urgently. “I'll be back soon, I promise. I've gotta make sure they're okay.” He looked like he wanted to argue, but the look in your eyes stopped him in his tracks.

“Okay.” He whispered. “Be careful.”

“You know I will.” With the words, he was sprinting back to the pub as you slipped into the alleyway beside Benzo’s shop. 

You leapt onto the discarded crates, using the extra height to grip onto the thin piece of wood lining the window, and climb onto the awning of the building - stifling a snort after hearing Ekko's ‘suave’ greeting to the officers.

A few minutes after the Enforcers entered the store, you heard the tell-tale sound of the door opening once again. Shimmying yourself forward to check if it was Vander leaving, you inhaled sharply and quickly ducked down, seeing that it was one of the Enforcers, grumpily reapplying his gas mask. You sneered. You wanted to rip that mask right off his stupid face and force him to breathe in the same putrid air that you and your people had to breathe every day of your life. Pig.

“Psst.” You almost missed the soft sound, but looked up to see Ekko standing on the roof above you, eagerly gesturing you to follow.

Nimble as a mouse, you climbed the wall, using every tiny nook and crack to your advantage, till you reached the boy. “This way.” He whispered, signalling you to follow him. After a moment of scurrying along the side of the building, he pushed a loose plank aside and motioned for you to enter.

You whistled lowly as you entered the room above the shop. “What is this? You little Peeping Tom.” You poked him in the ribs as you looked at the large panes of glass hovering over the lower floor's ceiling.

Ekko shushed you, rushing over to a large, mismatched device that seemed to be an ‘Ekko-original’. A large looking-glass rested on the top of the metal, as he tinkered, it slowly adjusted correctly, so you could both see Vander and Benzo, sitting next to one of the Enforcers. A warbling, distorted sound emanated from a metal funnel near Ekko's head, and he gave it a smack, causing the sound to morph into words.

“Don't mind the kid.” A rough, yet feminine voice said calmly. “Doesn't know when to pipe down.”

“Some things are the same Topside and Bottom.” Vander replied casually. It shocked you that he was speaking so informally with the officer and not just sending her away. Your brows furrowed as you continued to listen.

“You know this crossed a line upstairs.” You felt your stomach sink. This was supposed to be an easy job - in and out - but the consequences were quickly mounting up, each one more dire than the last.

“Was anyone hurt?”

“A building was blown to bits. What do you think?” Sure, but if it had been a building blown to bits in the Undercity caused by Topsiders, no Piltie would so much as blink an eye. 

Vander sighed. “Those who did this will be dealt with.” You didn't question that for a moment. After this effort, you were pretty sure that you'd never be allowed Topside again, not that it would stop you.

“That workshop belonged to the Kirrammans.” You didn't know the name, but by the look on Vander's face, this was very bad news. “You know the kind of stuff they had in there? Makes this place look like a candy shop.” That explained the ‘sucker’ that had come into Benzo's and been swindled by Ekko. Rich Pilties with more gold than they know what to do with. “The council needs someone to make an example of.” 

This had your stomach plummeting - nausea swelling in your panic. This was serious. If the Council had ordered this. It wasn't going to be able to be swept under the rug.

“People need to feel safe.” You ground your teeth at the statement. Most of your people hadn't felt safe a day in their lives - yet that was just considered the status quo in their eyes. It was disgusting.

“Yeah, Topside people.” Vander scoffed, and you felt a surge of pride in him.

“We had a deal, Vander. You keep your people off my streets, and I stay out of your business.” You felt your blood run cold with betrayal. How could he be making dealings with the Enforcers? Knowing full well what they've done to the people of the Undercity. The thought of it made you sick, and you had to blink back tears of anger. 

“Give me a name, and we'll do things quiet.” She said, and you felt the urge to scream in rage. “No one will know you're involved.” A lump was quickly forming in your throat, and it took a lot of strain to swallow it down. You knew that he would never give any of you up, but the knowledge that you'd been kept in the dark hurt - almost physically.

“I can't do that.” Vander replied with a tone of resignation. Another pain in your chest. You had caused this. You had hurt him too.

“You don't seem to grasp how serious this is.” The woman said - you could tell she was growing frustrated. “If I don't put someone behind bars tonight, the next time I come down here, I'll have an army of enforcers with me. We both know how that will go.” Ekko looked up with fearful eyes that matched your own, and you wrapped an arm around his shoulders comfortingly. Your own heart was pounding as you tried to think of ways to fix the situation, but coming up blank.

“I'm sorry, Grayson, but I can't offer up my own people.” Vander told her resolutely.

The woman - Grayson - sighed. She remained silent for a moment, before producing a gilded pneumatic tube. “If you change your mind, this will reach me.” She handed it to him. “And only me.” And with that, she was walking away - leaving Vander to sigh in worry, and you to bite your nails with anxiety.

After waiting a few minutes to be sure that the Enforcers were indeed gone, you'd scaled back down the building and trekked home. The door to The Last Drop squeaked loudly as you entered, a dejected look adorning your face.

You only got a few steps in before a booming voice behind you had your heart leaping into your throat. “Pub’s closed for the night. Everyone out!” Vander. Wow, that man could be silent as a ghost when he wanted to be, which was incredibly surprising for a man of his stature.

A chorus of groans and protests rang out at the announcement, but, surprisingly respectfully, the patrons began to file out. Hiding amongst the incoming crowd, you began to sneak back to the basement, but were quickly stopped in your tracks by a large hand grabbing you by the bloodied scruff of the back of your shirt.

“Not you.” Your eyes screwed shut, and shoulders raised defensively. “Bar. Now.” Vander’s voice was calm but firm, and you knew not to argue. You let out a deep sigh and moved to the bar, sitting down heavily in the wooden stool. It was a few minutes before the pub was cleared, but soon, there was the comforting sound of silence - interrupted only by your own pounding heart.

Vander was silent as he locked the door and walked slowly behind the bar. You waited with baited breath for him to speak, and when it didn't come, you quickly broke the silence.

“Come on then, out with it.” You urged with a false air of confidence. “I know you want to yell at me.”

Vander paused, sighing, before fetching two glasses from under the bar. He remained quiet as he poured a generous helping of whiskey into each glass and slid one towards you. You caught the glass with ease and returned the sigh, tapping the bartop three times with two of your fingers.

Vander huffed with amusement. “How could I forget?” He asked with a small grin, reaching back under the bar to retrieve a small jar of honey and a spoon, before sliding it over to you. You unscrewed the lid to the jar and used the spoon to scoop out a small amount of the rare golden treat, drizzling it into your liquor.

“How much did you hear?” Vander asked, leaning against the bar, taking a sip of his drink. Oh, this isn't how you had expected this conversation to go.

“Enough.” You muttered in response, refusing to look him in the eye.

“Then you know how serious this situation is.” You nodded. You didn't think that your stomach could sink any lower, but apparently, it could. “I thought you were smarter than this.” Offence at his words hit you harder than you thought it would.

You scoffed into your glass as you took a sip, appreciating the burn on your tongue - the smoothness of the honey quickly bringing the burn to a smoulder as it ran down your throat. “Yeah, and I thought you were smarter than making deals with Enforcers. Guess we're even.”

The words made him flinch - his hands balling into fists. You could tell that he was fighting to keep himself composed.

“That deal is what keeps you and your siblings safe.” He countered roughly. “Every damn thing I do is to keep you lot safe, and it feels like you're all fighting me every step of the way.” Worrying your bottom lip with your teeth, you took another sip from the glass. You wanted to be angry with him, you really did, but it hurt you seeing him in pain. “Sometimes I need someone on my side. I thought you'd be the one to keep them grounded.” His voice raised, and you knew that his anger stemmed from his disappointment in you.

“Why, because I'm older? That's bullshit.” You were caught between immense guilt, and feeling the need to defend yourself. “Have you met Vi? You know once she's decided to do something that it's impossible to talk her out of it.”

“Did you even try?” He asked pointedly, sounding exhausted - a man beyond his years.

“Well, no-”

“And why’s that?” Vander cutting you off sent a flash of rage through you, tipping you over your boiling point.

“Because I can't lose them, okay?” You yelled at him, jumping at your own volume, and it was then that you realised that it wasn't Vander that you felt anger towards. It was yourself. “If I let them go out there without me and something happens, I'd- I'd never be able to forgive myself.” The words came out harsh, angry, and with a frown, but your dark eyes told a different story, welling with tears. “I can't lose any more people.” Your voice cracked, and fat tears began to run down your cheeks. “I just can't.”

“Oh.” Vander muttered quietly, his tone now rang with sympathy. Quickly, he moved around the long wooden surface to spin your stool around and stand in front of you. You refused to make eye contact with him; hands balled into fists as you angrily wiped away the tears with your forearm - embarrassed and frustrated with yourself.

Vander said your name quietly, tenderly, before gently cupping the back of your neck and guiding you in for a hug.

Your silent tears turned to sobs as your arms tightened around him - the weight of the day finally taking its toll on you.

“I know.” Vander whispered, his hands rubbing soothing circles into your back. “You've had to deal with so much death already, and it's not fair.” He didn't let go, instead he squeezed you tighter - and though you couldn't remember it well - the caring hug, and grounding scent of Vander brought you back to the day you'd first met him, fifteen years ago. “But I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. They're not going anywhere.” You could hear his voice wobble. “I'm sorry that I wasn't there for your mum - that I couldn't save her. But I promise you, we'll figure this out. I'll protect you all. You're not going to lose anyone else.”

By this point, your sobs had subsided, and you reluctantly removed your face from Vander's shirt, instead tilting up your head to look him in the eyes. His large palm came to rest on your cheek, thumb brushing against the dark purple bruise marring your cheekbone.

“You know, you look more and more like her every day.” His eyes were misty, but he gave you a soft smile that you returned. “She'd be proud of you, you know that?” His words caused another tear to slip down your cheek.

When he was sure that your tears had fully subsided, he spoke up again. “Let me take a look at that,” Vander said, nodding toward the back of your head as he stepped back behind the bar. He returned with a rag, a small bottle of alcohol. You'd almost asked him how he knew of the wound on the back of your scalp, before remembering that the upper back of your shirt was stained with dried blood.

“I'm fine.” You tried to convince him, before he spun your stool again and dropped himself in the stool behind you. You couldn't help but flinch when he parted the black hair at the back of your head - the matted hair caked in dried blood pulling at the wound.

Vander tsked at the sight, using his teeth to uncork the bottle of alcohol, before pouring a generous helping on the cloth. “Hold still.” Was the only warning he gave before gently pressing the rag to the wound. You hissed through your teeth at the sting, but let him continue without complaint.

“You're lucky. This won't need sutures.” He muttered after a while, the white rag now stained red and pink. 

“I told you, I'm fine.” You repeated yourself.

“You know, you don't have to be so tough all the time.” Vander mused.

“What can I say? I learn from the best.” You replied cheekily, earning a snort.

“Alright, tough guy, time for you to get some rest.” Oh, sleep sounded heavenly right now. You downed the last of your drink before standing up.

“Good night, Vander.” You paused, putting a hand on his shoulder. “And- thanks.”

Vander smiled, covering your hand with his own. “Any time. Have a good sleep.” You dropped your hand and began to head downstairs to the basement, pausing only when your name was called once more.

“This doesn't mean I'm not angry with you. You'll be punished, same as your brothers and sisters.” The words seemed harsh, but you could tell they'd been said with a grin. You kept walking, pretending you hadn't heard it.

After washing up, you'd crept into the room of sleeping kids and climbed into your own cot. Exhaustion burned your eyes and sank you into your hard mattress - though as much as you longed for it - sleep evaded you. Instead, you stared at the ceiling, biting your nails - anxiety bubbling over at the thought of what tomorrow would bring. The electric pulse hovering below your skin seemed to grow more incessant, feeling although it wanted to burst through. 

Today would have consequences, but whatever tomorrow brought, you'd face it head-on. You had to. You didn't have a choice - the curse of being born in the Undercity. As the faint hum of Zaun's undercity buzzed outside, a thought continued to play on your mind, keeping you awake. How much more could you lose before it broke you? Could Vander really keep his promise?

————————————————————————

Jesus Titty Fucking Christ! 9k words for chapter one?! Who the hell saw that one coming? Certainly not me! Sorry it took so long - it takes me FOREVER to write. 😭

Some things I want to say before the story goes on. I'm trying to stay away from using '(y/n)' because I feel like it can drag you out of the story sometimes. Also, this is a reader story, but as you've probably read, I do use some appearance descriptors. These are part of the story, but if it bothers you, please feel free to disregard them. 💛

Also, going on in the story, more specifically, post episode 3. Things are gonna get D A R K. There will be a lot of triggering topics covered - so please be aware. There will be trigger warnings at the beginning of the chapters, but I don't want anyone to get their hopes up in the first 3 chapters, and have to abandon it after that. This poor gurl is going to be SUFFERING.

Also, I will try to cross post this to AO3, and properly format these Tumblr posts asap. Please hold tight, and I'll update them when I get the chance. 🥰

Thank you so much for the love. I've never stuck with writing a fanfic like this before - and all your love has helped immensely. Nothing has ever stuck with me like Arcane either, so that also definitely helps, haha.

Again, sorry for my shit grammar. Ehehehe.

Love you all to bits. 💛

[beesincognito]

Perfect Strangers- part fifteen: The Theater

Viktor x Fem!reader (slight NSFW)

part fourteen part sixteen     (start here!)

Takes place before Arcane and works its way there, did my best to combine the different versions of lore. (nsfw in parts)

(you and Viktor meet on your first day at the academy and bond over being habitual, awkward loners. The story revolves around class issues and a sense of belonging mixed with lore and Arcane plot.)

*slightly implied NSFW- very brief *

Word count: 5,089

******

Bags were packed for a weekend trip you were dreading. Not that it was getting in the way of work, nor was it a trip of severe inconvenience. It was a stressful venture; you would rather trek alone instead of having to bring Viktor in hopes of shielding him from what may come.

     Your parents were in town again and had asked you and Viktor to stay at the family estate that weekend for a friendly visit. Of course you wanted to prevent ruffled feathers after the last time you were all together, so you obliged after discussing it extensively with Viktor in private. Feeling out his nerves with every shift of his eyes or fidgeting of his hands in yours. 

     “It’s not too late to back out,” you finished checking the rooms, ensuring everything was tidy for your return, “we can bow out after the theater.”

     Many outs were given to Viktor, but he was adamant on going along with your parents’ request in hopes that they would warm up to him in the future. He insisted once more that there was no issue and he was looking forward to seeing your childhood home. That prospect alone made you almost as anxious as having him around your parents. 

     Entresol was far from the lavish lifestyle you were brought up in. The fissures were toxic, a hazard to raise a child in, and most people were never given a choice about living there. You wondered what he would think of your wastefully large home and how stifling it was. Surely after all of those years together, he would know you were far removed from the mindset of your parents and the estate should not reflect who you had become away at the academy.

     A car was waiting for you on the edge of campus which you did not request, only accepting your mother’s offer to have a driver sent as opposed to leaving an hour early to walk. Pistons fired as the vehicle bumbled down the lane on the way to the theater after your bags were loaded into the back seat by the driver. All of the pampering felt widely unnecessary.

     The crowds were large and the driver dropped you off at the front steps to the theater which was in a thrall over the spring program. Usually the Winterfest was the highlight of the year for the theater, but, from what you remembered growing up, spring concerts could attract a healthy sum of people on opening night. Obviously your parents wanted to attend on opening night despite the overwhelming number of people. 

     Your family’s wealth did not provide for a private box, but there were handsomely placed seats in the nosebleeds that allowed ample viewing of the stage unobstructed. There your parents were, waiting for you with drinks already ordered and seats saved for the four of you. There was a table for standing just behind the seats and you passed it before settling into the space next to your mother. 

     “I almost thought you were going to be late, it would have been a waste of ticket money,” your mother was charming as ever with the way her passive aggressive words edged on the line of cynical in tone and nature.

     After fruitlessly arguing with her to assure her you had plenty of time before the concert began, you listened to her drone on about work and home. Staff was getting more disagreeable by the day and she blamed it on them being from the undercity which you were quick to politely reprimand her on without sounding too upset. Apparently there was an accident at one of the manufacturing plants and protests ensued, leading your father to lay off over a dozen workers without a proper investigation. It was vile, and you felt your leg shake with agitation while trying to remain calm. 

     Beside you, Viktor’s knuckles were white from gripping the neck of his cane between his knees as he looked on at the empty stage, curtains still drawn in a red velvet wall, down below. He was attempting to go unnoticed and to not make a scene since he felt another trap brewing from your mother, egging him on by spitting on the undercity in such a benumbed manner. 

     There was no room for you to comfort him, even silently, since holding his hand or leaning on him around your parents would most likely result in a painstakingly grueling lecture about “public decency.” If you were with someone from Piltover, then the story would have been very different, but you chose Viktor and for that you would receive no grace. 

     “Let’s not talk about work,” you smiled at her as best you could, playing the role of loving daughter for her sake. 

     “One last thing,” she tapped your father on the arm, prompting him to hand her a small letter from the inner pocket of his suit, “this came a few weeks ago. We forwarded the message to you in a letter, but you never responded so I assume you never read it.”

     A broken seal told you exactly who it was from. The Galgaridon crest looked up at you in two torn pieces from the folded piece of paper. Just as the music was beginning from the orchestra pit, you unfolded it and began reading its contents; you read at an angle so Viktor could eye it if he wanted to.

     Caston Galgaridon wrote to your family home to explain his recent honorable discharge from the Noxian military after an injury sustained on the battlefield rendered him incapable of continuing his service. Part of you knew he must have put himself in harm's way on purpose after your last talk. Whatever the reason, be it accidental or intentional as suspected, he was informing your family of his new position in becoming the new head of the foundry your parents helped build all that time ago. Meaning they would be working directly through him for their Noxian transports and business ventures. 

     At least he had the decency to not write to you directly and respect your wishes for space. Little could be said for your parents as time crawled on. 

     “Why does this concern me?” you folded the letter with its familiar creases and reclined in your seat.

     “We thought you ought to know since you will be working with him once you’re done with schooling,” your father leaned forward to see past your mother who stared at the performance with feigned indifference, “and it’s important to maintain our partnerships.”

     “I don’t see how working in Noxus is relevant to my future career endeavors.”

     “No one ever said you had to relocate to Noxus,” his dry laughter said more than you needed to know, “regardless of your living arrangements, correspondence with the young master Galgaridon is still an important partnership.”

     Down on stage there were ballet dancers leaping across the polished wooden stage over fake prop pieces of florals and grasses moving in imaginary wind as violins encouraged them on. As chimes echoed in the background, you stole a glance at Viktor who turned just as you did, perfectly in sync with your movements without a word needing to pass between you. Honey colored eyes reflected the lights of the stage in the near darkness of the theater and they were full of a sweetened understanding that you could have melted into if you were back in your rooms with him. You were itching to feel him in any kind of embrace at that moment, but the desire to keep your parents’ feathers silky smooth kept you grounded in your nauseating discomfort.

     The past always had an ugly way of dredging itself up at the most inopportune time, but at least in that moment it was less of a real threat and more of an uncomfortable suggestion from your parents. It was a sour attempt to get you out of Piltover and away from Viktor, an obvious stabbing betrayal even if you were unsure it even counted as such when they had been so open with you about their disapproval already. 

     This is lovely, you had quietly remarked, pointing out the performance, leaning towards your parents. The little gestures were your only salvation it seemed.

     Polite conversation was able to spark between the four of you once you managed to get the first few pleasant words out about anything other than responsibilities. Managing to make your parents smile at you and Viktor during comments and jests felt like pushing a rock up a steep hill, arduous, but greatly rewarding once you reached the top and were able to rest at its peak.

     By the end of the concert the choppy waters felt unusually calm, whatever storm that had been brewing was either passed or on hold. The cab that came around the front of the building, to collect the four of you, already had your belongings strapped to the rear of the large carriage. 

     The trip back to the estate was long, as the hours passed, you all dozed off at different times. All except Viktor who took to admiring the changing scenery through the window even if the night outside prevented him from seeing much past the vague silhouette every now and then once you were out of the inner city. Housing towards the edge would range from modest dwellings to smaller unkempt apartments and eventually largely spaced out manors. Wide gaps in wealth were evident even topside it seemed. 

     He couldn’t help but think those lackluster apartments were right up your combined alley when it came to affordability since you refused to use your family funds. Over the last half year, you both were more frugal with your finances. Accepting that the y/l/n family fortune could be pulled out from under you at any moment made you both carefully calculate your means of living and you made sure to stay within those boundaries.

     Viktor also knew this weekend trip was a performance at its core and he was determined to play his part as quietly as he could manage. Willing to seem invisible for your sake and to not stir your parents’ emotions into barring down on you with their unrelenting barrage of disapproving opinions. Difficult as it was, considering he was usually emboldened at the academy, more confident in his field and among his colleagues. 

     Thankfully he managed to speak to your parents about his work when they appeared to ask with a genuine interest, prodding him to reveal his plans. 

******

Lush green hedges surrounded the property, or at least the innermost part of the property that contained the main house and gardens; it did not include the long drive up through manicured rolling landscapes and trees spotted throughout the scene. Leaves and twigs were collected in muslin sacks for disposal after the annual pruning and new buds were well into blossoming in time for the season. Birds skirted across a pond, rippling through the glass surface with beautiful disturbance coupled with their cacophony of squawks and honks. 

     Home was back at the academy for you, but there would always be a bittersweet nostalgia in returning to the estate for visits and this time was no different. You stepped out of the motorized carriage first, followed by Viktor and your parents in succession. Moonlight and lanterns provided a glow that came off in a haze against the evening mist. Starlight dappled in the blanket of night overhead and you wished to spend more time outside with Viktor in the fresh air, but you were hurriedly rushed inside by your parents who were too eager to show off their abode to a newcomer. 

     Even if Viktor was not their ideal guest, they were desperately trying to save face. Most of their disdain of him had been private comments made directly to you, so they must have thought he was none the wiser regarding their opinions of him.

     Given the late hour, the tour was rather short. They only showed him where they would be dining for breakfast, should you both like to join them that early, and the parlor where they spent most of their free time. Free time did not come often for your parents, but you assumed this weekend they would be lounging for once since they insisted on your staying over.

     “Don’t be shy about exploring. I’m sure y/n will take you around at some point as well,” your father passed through the large double doors that opened into a corridor not too far from your room. “Your things have been brought to the bedroom already, so you may retire if you wish.”

     Bidding your parents goodnight, you accepted their offer to be excused and took Viktor with you. 

     “I wish they were this nice all of the time,” you mumbled over your shoulder to Viktor once you were a few turns and rooms away from them. “They were so polite to you, why can’t it be real?”

     “Don’t concern yourself over things you cannot control.” Viktor followed you through the doors to your room, pulling the handles closed behind him with a low snap of pins falling into place and the lock setting. “For now, let's just be happy we’ve made it this far.”

    He was right. Fretting over wishes and complaints were never going to amount to anything and you were feeling more at ease being alone with him in the privacy of your room.

     Something you could control was at your fingertips. It teased at your tongue as you were feeling too shy to openly ask for anything explicit. Sitting on the edge of your canopy bed proved more than enough for a hint when Viktor joined you without suggestion. Evening clothes began to feel suffocating as you lost yourselves in a tangle of limbs and pleading whispers.

******

Morning came with a vengeance. You were undisturbed by maids or your parents, left to rest at your own leisure with Viktor in your bed and the curtains were still pulled back from the night before. Neither of you thought to close them which let the blinding white reflection of the sun wake you since you were facing large glass doors across the room. Scenic lawns softened the blow of the harsh sunlight and you blinked against its glow as a few squirrels sprinted across the window sill in leaping bounds, cheeks full of their gathering spoils.

     Blankets tempted you to remain in bed, but the idea of any staff or your parents poking in to check on you prompted you to drag yourself from the plush den and get ready for the day. Pushing open the double doors and opening the remaining curtains to let in more light, you wake Viktor up in the process. 

     Despite how sleepy you both still felt, there was something in the air that you couldn’t explain. It was like the hotel room when you got a taste of domesticity away from the academy together, playing pretend for a little while before having to return to work and research all while feeling like teenagers in adult bodies. 

     “I could get used to this,” Viktor held your hand with a reverence that made you blush when you sat next to him on his side of the bed where he was still laying.

     “The nice house?”

     “No,” his eyes closed, still tired, “this feeling, in this room. It’s like we’re married.”

     “Would you want to?” You moved your two hands together further implying what he just said.

     “Eventually.”

******

Easels with abandoned paintings were pushed into a corner of glass and plaster, leaving room for a large open space of stone that made up the floor to the old studio. Days were once spent toiling away at those easels much to the behest of your family, pouring your soul into the pieces that could only be referenced from the windows beyond your enclosure and images you had seen elsewhere during excursions or from books. There were plenty of those to go around in your home, but taking your art supplies out of the estate and beyond the property grounds was restricted. Encouragement for your creative hobbies was nonexistent since it was only seen as just that, a hobby and nothing more. Cursed be the day you first asked your mother for your beginner set of paints and a canvas. Over time your parents softened to the idea of you pursuing a meaningful pastime, giving you a wide berth for creative study under the guise of it remaining a hobby and you played that part as well as you could for years.

     Windows made up a wall of glass, an old sunroom connected to your bedroom through a short hallway only accessible to you. It must have once been a modest sitting room before the estate grew too large for it and it was abandoned until you burrowed your way into it as a child while exploring. Ivy still grew on the back of the house unlike the front where it was completely cleared away for structural integrity. 

     You were not about to thew Viktor in the history of your home and meaning of all of the rooms. Bringing him to your old studio was more of a thing of boredom and meandering through the halls with him until you thought to visit the old room which felt so strange after all that time away. Dust dated the years you were away despite your infrequent visits to the estate, the studio went on abandoned. 

     Chatter about the room ranged from explaining what mysterious containers and cups contained, since you were awful at labeling things outside of a shared classroom setting, to shyly tucking away old lackluster art that once left you for want of improved talent. 

     “It’s a time capsule,” Viktor looked around with curiosity, pretending he didn’t notice you stuffing a large drawing between canvases to his side. Those small graces were everything to you even if you knew full well you couldn’t get much past him even if you tried.

     “You can say that.”

     “You’ve always been an artist. I find that inspiring, to have held onto a passion this long with the opposition you’ve received because of it.”

     Red creeped up your face, or at least that was how it felt when your heart hammered at his words. Inspiration was a dry well and your addled mind was unable to accept that Viktor found it in you in some way. How you had managed to keep the man before you in your life for so long would continue to elude you and you were just thankful he showed no signs of leaving anytime soon. 

     “Where do you see us,” it was too late to retract once the words fell out of your blabbering mouth, “in a year or so?” His comment from that morning was worming through your brain.

     His sudden stoic expression, deep in thought, did nothing for your nerves so you continued to drone on in the hopes of answering your own stupid question or forcing him to move on and not answer you at all. The latter would have been better.

     “I mean, nothing serious, I’m not talking about- um - future plans with you and me,” you rubbed your forehead aggressively trying to find the right words to not scare him away. After a minute or so of rambling you gave up trying to sound coherent. “Forget I said anything.”

     “I’m assuming you only want me to respond regarding our careers, though I’d be glad to entertain ideas of what we’ll be in the future together,” his confidence in your relationship was unclear in the way he answered you so you asked him to not elaborate and instead let him talk about what you both might be doing once schooling was over. 

     With academics nearing a close, you wondered where he would work and if you would both become so busy you would belong to your jobs and lose time to live in the real world. Both of your fields were demanding and not conducive of a healthy atmosphere for maintaining a proper relationship if you were not careful with time management. 

     Viktor knew not to lose himself in his work, but you hadn’t a clue what the future had in store and how he would change, how he could change if circumstances forced his hand. Just the thought of losing the man in front of you made your stomach turn as you chatted through these possibilities without sounding too desperate for all of your curiosities to be answered in confidence. 

     “What if I hold you back?” You lamented, leaning against the glass overlooking those grassy fields you memorized as a child. “I want you to be great and belong to your work however you see fit without worrying about…me.”

     Whether you wanted to admit it aloud or not, you were unsure if this blissful companionship with Viktor would outlast your school days once you were both free of the academy should you both get jobs away from its labs. No matter what you did, Viktor would most likely become a successful researcher and inventor which would take him to the workshop guilds while your mother had hinted you’d be traveling to Noxus once you joined the family business.

     The future didn’t look prime for you and Viktor. 

     Arms encircled you, secure and warm in the room of glass. 

     “I am yours,” his face was set and calm in the effort to assure you without having to give you any grand speeches, “entirely and unconditionally.”

******

Entirely and unconditionally swam around your mind sweetly for the rest of the day and gave you some reprieve as you entertained your parents even though you and Viktor were supposed to be the guests. Instead of feeling as if it were the other way around, you were the one up in front of the couches by the grand fireplace telling them stories about school and from books much to your parent’s delight. 

     Animated gestures and vocal cues made their faces lighten up with a childish glee even when Viktor would chime in on your stories from where he sat in the overly ornate armchair. Despite having your parents there, it was nice to relive your memories from the academy with Viktor. 

     “Do you have any stories from the Kiraman labs?” Your mother leaned forward on her elbows as you turned the events of your lab over, organizing your thoughts to see if there were any comical stories. 

     “Not many involving me, but there have been a few explosions here and there from the other researchers,” your eyes glued to an ugly wall decoration across the room as you thought over it. “Well I was working on a project recently and the whole thing fell over into a mess of parts and gears.”

     You went on to tell them how that day had been an inventor’s disaster and you were at your wits end with the way your projects had been going and you detailed the whirlwind that was your office. It got to the part where you bumped into an old classmate that kindly assisted you with repairing your project, helping you progress with it further than you had before if ever fell.

     “So you do have friends,” your father jested. 

     For some reason it made you uncomfortable to think of it that way especially when you kept Jayce’s name out of it, “no we were just classmates a long time ago.”

     “But they remembered you anyways, must’ve been a memorable class,” your father let out a blubbering chuckle. “Who was it anyways?”

     Your neck felt cool from sweat and you regretted finishing the story, wishing you had left it after the part where you stormed away from the fallen project, “It doesn’t matter. No one important.”

     “Oh come now,” he leaned back in his seat and blew out a thick cloud from his pipe. “Worried I might know their parents like when you were a child?”

     “No it’s just he-”

     “A gentleman!” Your mother chimed in like you were all playing a guessing game.

     “And he works at the Kiraman labs, dear,” your father chattered away with guesses with your mother as you rolled your eyes, grinning uncomfortably at Viktor, “must be from a prominent family.”

     “Wrong again,” you teased knowing full well Jayce was from a lower house like you, but it was not as full of grandeur and prestige as your father was imagining.

     “Well play fair then, give us some decent clues,” your mother was all smiles and you managed to mirror her enthusiasm even if it was much calmer in comparison. 

     You stopped the makeshift game before it really took off, throwing yourself into another story that featured you and Viktor having lunch with Sky during the school trip so long ago. It seemed to satisfy their cravings for drama when part of the story was about a conversation the three of you unwillingly heard from a table over at the restaurant. 

     Throughout the rest of your social time with your parents, you’d occasionally catch Viktor looking at you with knit brows. It was unusual for him to stare at you like that and you knew it was because you refused to give up Jayce’s name during the storytelling. You hadn’t really told him about that day in the lab aside from having a hard time and he didn’t know who Jayce was at all, as far as you knew, since it seemed their paths had never crossed. 

     Inevitability gave you fair warning that he was going to ask you about who the mystery classmate was that night when you were back in your room trying to sleep. 

     Dinner time was easier since your parents had their friends join all of you that evening. This time you weren’t the only one telling stories; now it was your parent’s turn to peacock and entertain. Whether their friends actually cared was another matter since a few of them continued to mutter about business if the room would grow too quiet. 

     When it was loud with laughter, you had some semblance of privacy being able to talk with Viktor where you were both tucked away at the edge of the crowd. There you could talk about what you were going to do once you were free of this place and back at the academy. 

     Viktor seemed different, not upset, but tired of being around people who must have been weighing him down from how loud they were. The mystery classmate was in the back of his mind even if he knew it was irrational to worry. Keeping secrets was something he never did to you besides the occasional white lie that he wasn’t tired, he wasn’t in pain, or a new dish you worked hard to make was definitely not burnt. But this felt different in the way you held his hand in reassurance and gave him your full attention when he so much as cleared his throat. 

     “Relax,” he whispered after you asked him if anything was wrong for the fifth time that evening. It wasn’t a command and more of a sweetly delivered suggestion which put you in some ease, or at least stopped you from asking again. 

******

It was left unsaid, all of your shared thoughts over Jayce. You didn’t want to tell him who it was and part of him didn’t really want to know despite the curiosity. 

     “You know you can be honest with me,” Viktor said more so to the cloth above then directly to you, staring at the velvet canopy of your bed in the near darkness. 

     You were reading by your dimly warm bedside light when he broke the quiet. Closing the book carefully, you set it aside, “you’re talking about the story… from the lab.”

     His silence was your answer.

     “He was just an old classmate,” you leaned back, “I didn’t like my parents prying.”

     “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to do the same,” he sighed, “but I know he wasn’t just a classmate.”

     Hammering in your chest did nothing for your nerves and you tried to keep your breathing level once you remembered nothing got past Viktor. 

     “I didn’t-”

     “I know you didn’t cheat,” he laughed a little which put you at ease, “but you have history with him-” you covered his mouth, but he easily freed himself, “and that’s ok. I was just curious.”

     Talking helped. From gasps of surprise to laughing about things that were once very painful, Viktor told you about a night years ago where he came to see you late at night before you shared a dorm and before you ever began seeing each other exclusively. You listened wide eyed realizing he never brought it up with you before because he knew it was none of his business. He’d even forgotten about it until the mysterious classmate was brought up and he connected the dots since he knew you never really slept around back then either. There was no room to do so since you used to be attached at the hip even as friends. 

     “I’m so embarrassed,” you laughed at yourself thinking of that night you had answered the door as a disheveled mess, knowing Jayce had been hiding in the blankets.

     Viktor caught his breath after his own bout of laughter at something you said. It felt good to finally let go of the guilt even if he still didn’t ask you who the man was and you were content with keeping it that way. 

     We should get married, you could’ve sworn you heard him whisper as you were in and out of sleep after what felt like hours of joking around fighting it off. 

     Rational thought told you marriage was not in your future and you didn’t care much for the idea anyways. The tradition and pressure was an uninviting thought and you itched at the image of your parents weeping for the loss of your status by marrying down. It wasn’t like marriage would make much of a difference in your shared lives anyways.

     In the morning you both got up early and left when the fog was still thick across the grass fields and trees. It was a long drive back to the academy and you were ready to return to the dorms and close the curtains on this whole affair of entertaining your parents. 

******

[eroswmorals]

so i wrote arcane fanfiction

it's a hurt/comfort viktor/reader oneshot for my boyfriend @even-moderner-prometheus

here it is

it's under my old username from here lol

also i am in no way a writer lmfao i like never do this but i js kinda felt like it i was bored

[onheil-ferguson]

Words: ~1k, Complete

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Viktor/Unspecified Partner

In another life, another time, Viktor might have dedicated his to music.

What instrument might he play, then, in this other universe? What piece of music has become his signature performance? Some tune of the trenches to make the topside elite swoon?

“An original piece, then?” Viktor asks.

“Yes, of course.” His gaze is heavy like the air before a summer storm. “It’s you, after all.”

“And how would I play it?”

[ NOTE: Viktor has one unspecified partner, no physical description or pronouns in direct reference. ]

[ilumin]

I've binged entire serie in one go, please, please, please, give this creator love they deserve RAH VIKTOR MY BELOVED

Signed, Viktor | Table of Contents

Summary: Viktor x Reader, letters finding their way from desks to hearts Disclaimer: Tumblr version different (has more content and photos) from AO3/Wattpad Warnings: None

━━━━━━━━━━

✑ Letter 1

✒ Letter 2

✑ Letter 3

✒ Letter 4

✑ Letter 5

✒ Letter 6

✑ Letter 7

✒ Letter 8

✑ Letter 9

✒ Letter 10

✑ Letter 11

✒ Letter 12

✑ Letter 13

✒ Letter 14

✑ Letter 15

✒ Letter 16

✑ Letter 17

✒ Letter 18

[shoot1ngst4r]

going out of your way to search up [insert character] ANGST and all you get is smut

[charliepoopyfart]

They made having blue hair and pronouns illegal in piltover

[daveth-isnt-dead]

RPF

Summary:

She had sent two hundred pages of unedited erotica directly to her colleague's printer and that isn’t even the worst part. The worst part. Is that she sent two hundred pages of unedited erotica to the very person it was written about. The hot professor in her manuscript, the man who fucks the main character on practically every surface, is Viktor in everything but name. His accent, his hair and eye colour, even the cane. If it was possible to plagiarise a person then she had done just that.

Contains: Third person POV, She/Her Pronouns for reader, Modern AU, Explicit Sexual Content, Professor Kink (kinda, reader isn't a student but viktor is a professor)

Word Count: 11,462

Read on AO3

He can’t know, she reasons, clutching tightly to her binder as she walks down the halls of the university. It’s early evening, so the walk is silent but for the sound of her heels clicking on the tiles. A few students with late classes will still be around, but other than that, the university is dead. She swallows nervously, heart racing in her chest as she rounds the final corner and comes face to face with Viktor’s office door. He asked to review the supply manifest for his class next semester, to review it in person which seemed very strange. The two of them have a largely friendly (albeit professional) relationship and if he just wanted a reason to talk he would have said so, which is what makes this situation so odd. 

“This definitely could have been an email.” She mutters to herself, dithering in front of his door.

There must be a reason, and it can't be the one she is catastrophising about. Because he can’t know. She takes a few quick breaths in through her nose and wipes her sweaty palm on her skirt before reaching out and grabbing the doorknob. She inches the door open, peering around the frame. Viktor is sitting at his desk where she had been expecting him, the setting sun casts an orange light in through an open window and the gentle breeze tangles around the curtains. He’s in the middle of writing something, grading papers, she assumes. One of his hands rests against his head, twirling his hair around his fingers. 

Her heart begins racing again, stomach churning. He can't know, she asserts and gains the confidence to clear her throat. 

Viktor doesn't startle, he takes a second to finish his sentence before slowly inclining his head up in her direction. She half suspects that he knew she was there the whole time. 

“Hi!” She says, a little too perky, “You wanted me?”

A smile crawls across his face, too self-satisfied for her liking, “Yes, I did. Thank you very much for coming.”

She steps into the room proper and holds her binder up with an awkward smile, “I’ve brought the manifest with me if you’d like to take a look?”

“That would be appreciated, yes.” He stands from his desk and she clutches tightly to the binder. He’s wearing a burgundy sweater and the crisp white collar of his shirt is several buttons undone, tie hanging loose. A very appropriate outfit for lecturing, despite the way it makes her eyes dart briefly down to his barely exposed collarbone. Viktor rounds the desk, leaning on his cane before inclining his head towards the door, “Close the door, would you?”

“Yep, no worries!” She replies quickly, gently pushing it shut behind her and trying to ignore the churning anxiety she feels at being alone in a closed room with him. A ridiculous feeling, because they know each other, she would even dare to call him her friend if someone were to ask and finally, because he can’t know. There’s no reason for this to be anything other than a meeting, a work meeting. So she ignores the nervous patter of her heart and steps over to the desk, opening the binder to the relevant page and waiting for Viktor to make his way over to her. 

It might just be her already hair-trigger nerves, but it feels like he stands a lot closer than is required. Her hands grip tight to the edge of the desk when his shoulder bumps against hers and she sucks a deep breath in through her nose. At this rate, he’s going to start wondering why she is behaving so strangely and that would likely be the death of her. She steadies herself, and gestures to the manifest on the desk, “Everything is all as you previously requested, I was worried about having trouble with one of the suppliers, but I managed to make it work, so no biggie there.”

Viktor hums and leans in closer to assess the manifest, running over the well-laid-out (if she may say so herself) spreadsheet with his pointer finger, “This does seem to be more than adequate.” He says evenly, tilting his head to meet her eyes, “And I appreciate your colour-coding.” Her cheeks flush and she feels immediately embarrassed at how flustered a compliment regarding her spreadsheet makes her. She chews on her lower lip a moment and then replies, “Thank you. Um, were there some changes you were looking to make, or am I free to go?” “I would like a moment to review it, if that is alright.” He inclines his head towards the chair usually reserved for guests to the office and says, “Have a seat, if you would like. I don't plan on being long.” “Oh, sure, thanks. I will.” She says quickly, stepping away from him and taking a slightly awkward seat in the chair. She gets that uncomfortable feeling again, that it is strange for him to want extra time to review a manifest that he just called ‘more than adequate’ and that it’s even stranger for her to wait around while he does so. But she is just being paranoid, and there is no reason for her to be, because he can’t-

“How are things at the administration office this time of year?” Viktor asks, still leaning over the desk. 

She braves a look in his direction and then quickly regrets it when she takes stock of how well-fitted his trousers are. She swallows and looks at his bookshelf instead, “Quiet, mostly. I’ve already gotten through most of the admissions work for next semester, so work won’t really pick up again until the new students start arriving after break.” her eyes unwittingly dart back in his direction, he has most of his weight on his right elbow where it rests on the desk and his sweater has rucked up just enough that she can see half an inch of his white shirt where it tucks into his slacks. She looks away again, “How are things for you? Finals just wrapped, didn’t they?”

“Busy, a lot of grading to do, as I’m sure you can imagine.” it sounds like he is smirking when he says, “I haven’t had much of a break since that faculty party last week.”

Her heart kicks into high gear, the faculty party is the last thing she wants to talk about. The real reason that she worries he might know something he shouldn't, that he can't know, is because she said something very stupid at that damn party. Wringing her hands in her lap, she forces herself to give a polite laugh and replies, “I was surprised to see you there, you’re not usually so…sociable.”

Viktor hums quietly, pushing back up off the desk and turning around to face her. Her eyes dart down to his hand on the grip of his cane and then quickly back up to his face. The shift of his eyes is appraising, almost curious and the corner of his mouth lifts in a smile when he responds, “That is quite hypocritical of you, as I recall, neither are you.”

She laughs a little, he’s right. She usually tries to avoid faculty parties, they’re loud and full of people she doesn’t know, but she had heard from some of the other professors that Viktor was planning to make an appearance and that swiftly changed her mind, “You’ve got me there.” She replies, standing from her chair and smoothing down her skirt. She swallows, “Well, I hope you’re able to get some rest over the break. You’re um- You’re an incredibly hard worker, you deserve it.”

He shrugs a shoulder, “Eh, I do what I can.” and then, more sincerely, “Thank you, though, you are very kind.”

Her toes suddenly become the most interesting thing in the room, “Oh, uh, well, I try to be.” her hands fidget at her sides a moment and then she adds, “If you’re finished reviewing the manifest, I can let you get back to your work for the evening.”

Viktor reaches behind himself, grabs her binder and snaps it shut, then he takes a deliberate step towards her and holds it out. Her hand shakes as she reaches out to grab it, clutching it tightly to her chest. Viktor is standing very close to her, she has to crane her head up to meet his eyes, “Th-Thank you.” she says quickly, already preparing to dash out into the hallway and catch her uneven breath, “Email me if you need anything else, okay?” “Before you go,” Viktor begins and she gets the sudden, disquieting feeling that she’s walked into some sort of trap, “I would be interested in eh picking your brain.” She laughs a little, “There’s not all that much to pick, unfortunately. That’s why some of us are working admin and not lecturing.” she shuffles her feet, aware that she’s laying the self-depreciation on a little too thick, “Sorry, how can I help?”

A slow smile crawls across Viktor’s face and he leans in just a bit closer, “Do you remember last month when I asked for the updated meeting timetable and you so kindly sent a copy directly to my printer?” he asks, voice low and even She has no idea where this is going, but her heart races at his close proximity regardless, “Yes, I do…” “Well…” he begins, voice quiet and even, “About an hour after that, something I had not requested came through on my printer. It was quite an inconvenience, I couldn’t print anything myself until the two hundred or so pages finished coming through.”

Her stomach drops like a rock, her hands grip white knuckle tight to the edges of her binder and her throat goes completely dry. Oh no. Oh nononononono.

“That’s um…That’s very strange…” She replies, trying to keep the nervous laugh building in her throat clamped behind her teeth, “Did something go wrong with your printer, maybe?”

He shakes his head, “No. No, I do not believe so. If anything, I presumed the error may have been on your end.”

The laugh escapes, a nervous little giggle that does her attempt at composure no favours, “My end?”

“Quite. The print order did come from your computer, after all.”

She isn't sure whether it would be a better idea to go sprinting out of the room right now or to try and find something heavy to knock Viktor out with first. He is right, of course. A month ago she did print him a copy of the meeting timetable and then an hour or so after that, she attempted to print the very thing he can’t know about. It comes back in a rush, remembering that when she first hit the print button, nothing happened, her printer didn't wake up. “Oh god…” She mutters, inching the binder up to hide the lower half of her face behind it, “I- I thought my printer wasn’t working, I didn’t realise.” 

She had sent two hundred pages of unedited erotica directly to her colleague's printer and that isn’t even the worst part.

“I have some more supplementary questions if you wouldn't mind,” Viktor says casually, too casually. 

She squeaks out a quiet little, “Okay.” and continues cowering behind her binder, preparing for the moment when he reveals this has all been an elaborate sting operation to get her disciplined by HR or fired. 

“I didn’t realise it was yours at first.” Viktor clarifies, “You use a pseudonym. Truthfully, I assumed that it was a PDF you had downloaded and decided to print for better reading. A wise idea, by the by, much better for your eyes.” He hums quietly to himself and readjusts briefly into a more comfortable stance for his leg, “Incorrectly surmising that it was a piece of already published literature, I presumed there would be no harm in me reading it-” A shocked gasp escapes her at him admitting that he read it. There’s no way out now, she finds herself praying that he lost interest a few pages in and then threw it out and that maybe he only asked her here to complain about the quality of her writing. The corner of Viktor’s mouth curls at her shocked expression, and she quickly darts her eyes away, heaving a shaky breath. 

“As I was saying,” Viktor continues, “I did not realise the work was yours for some time. At least not until I began noticing certain, shall we say, similarities.”

The worst part. Is that she sent two hundred pages of unedited erotica to the very person it was written about. The object of affection in her manuscript, the man who fucks the main character on practically every surface, Professor Novák, is Viktor in everything but name. His accent, his hair and eye colour, even the cane. ‘Similarities’ is putting it lightly, if it was possible to plagiarise a person then she had done just that.

At first, she hadn’t even realised she was doing it, she was just creating her vision of the ideal professor archetype and that just happened to be quite a bit like Viktor. It was harmless, nothing to be even slightly concerned about. Then the more she wrote, the more details she added, the more she rounded him out the more and more his features settled into a shape that looked exactly like Viktor. 

She briefly considers the likelihood of survival if she dives from his third-story window, and then wonders if it might actually make things easier if she dies on impact. As she is mulling this over, Viktor walks back over to his desk and she feels like she can finally breathe, at least until he lowers himself into his seat and pulls a heavy stack of paper out from one of his drawers. She mutters a quiet, “Oh no…” under her breath when she realises that the stack of paper isher manuscript.

“Would you mind telling the class why Professor Novák walks with a cane?” Viktor asks, cocking his head to the side.

The mix of emotions she is filled with hearing that, a combination of arousal at him using his lecturer voice and complete and utter terror at this line of questioning, is discombobulating. She panics, she can feel sweat beading at the nape of her neck and she just manages to stammer out,  “I write for a very specific audience of House MD fans.”

Viktor chuckles, “Not the most defensible argument, but I am willing to accept it.” He hums aloud, “The accent then, explain that.”

“Eastern European is in right now?” She defends weakly.

“No no no. You were hardly casting such a wide net.” Viktor picks the manuscript up in one hand and she realises with horror that he has it annotated. He flips deftly to a page marked with a blue tab, “Here on page seventy-two it’s specifically described as Czech.”

“You…” she collapses backwards into her chair, suddenly feeling like her legs can’t hold her weight any longer, “You read all the way to page seventy-two?”

He chuckles, “Oh, no no. I read the entire thing.”

She grips tightly to her binder, staring at Viktor with wide, blown-out eyes. Her whole body shakes with some horrific amalgamation of both dread and arousal. Clenching her thighs and shifting in her seat, she lets out a weak little breath, “You read it a month ago and you didn’t say anything?” another nervous laugh bubbles up and out of her, “And you acted so normal the whole time, I don’t-”

“I had dismissed it at first” Viktor clarifies, closing the manuscript and crossing his arms on the desk, “After all, what you write in your spare time is none of my business, even if you accidentally send it directly to my printer.” He rests his chin in the palm of his hand, leaning forward just a little, “And then, last week at the faculty party, you said something very intriguing.”

This is the worst possible sequence of events. A scenario devised from her nightmares. She can’t even think of a single word to say, she just stares at him open-mouthed, hands clenched. She remembers exactly what she said that night, so innocuous, so easily defensible if not for the other mountain of evidence he has already provided. A few drinks deep, alcohol buzzing in her veins, she was watching Viktor speak with her chin in her palm, paying little attention to what he was actually saying, swaying side to side and just absorbing the way he gesticulated as he spoke. At some point, he asked her a question that she didn’t even hear and then, likely in jest, he sternly asked if she was paying attention and in her lust-drunk stupor she had replied: Yes, Professor.  

“D-Did I?” she responds, playing dumb even though she knows it won't save her.

“Yes, you did. You called me Professor.” Viktor says slowly, and the way his accent wraps around that word has warmth building in her stomach, “Normally, that sort of thing could be dismissed as a joke, a little eh playful mockery towards a man who’d just used his ‘teacher voice’ at a party, but no. I remember the tone of your voice far too well and there was not an ounce of sarcasm in it. In fact, and this may be presumptive of me, but I do believe you nearly moaned it.” he smiles, and then whispers, “How was I supposed to interpret that? Especially after those two hundred pages of highly descriptive erotica I already read. It is not so much a hypothesis as it is a conclusion. Even the way you greeted me when you entered the room this evening, points towards only one possible outcome.” he says quietly, “You wanted me?” he parrots, sending an ice-cold chill down her spine.

She hadn't even realised she’d said it like that, why had she said it like that?

“You seem to be wondering the same thing as me, hm?” Viktor continues, rising up from his chair and resting his palms flat on the desk, “Why on earth did you decide to word it that way? Unless of course, you wanted me, to want you.”

She did, god she did. For some time she tried to convince herself that what she wrote in her book and her personal feelings were not entangled. Illogically she had spent months on end writing and rewriting scenes of Viktor in every sexual position imaginable and clung to the idea that it was all just for the book, that there wasn’t any sort of emotional reason for her to choose Viktor as her incredibly vivid inspiration. Maybe it was because she hadn’t dated in years and the idea of confronting a real person was terrifying, or because part of her always thought that she was beneath him somehow. 

“Is that how it is, then?” Viktor breathes, grabbing his cane before rounding the desk and stepping towards her, “Do you want me to play the part of your professor, like in that book of yours?”

Her next exhale is shaky and wanton, her thighs press together in a fruitless attempt to calm the ache between them. She suddenly gets the sense that he has no plans of reporting her to HR. Her head tilts backwards to meet his gaze above her and she swallows thickly before whispering, “Would you be,” she cant believe this is happening, “opposed to that?”

“No. Not at all.” Viktor replies, reaching down and running his index finger along the cut of her jaw, a smile tugging at his lips when her breath hitches, “Do you think those fantasies of yours haven’t assimilated into my own? Do not be mistaken, I would not have pored over a novel’s worth of smut had I not found it so prepossessing.”

“Prepossessing?” She repeats timidly.

“Incredibly.” He responds, “You write very vividly.”

She mutters a quiet, “Thank you.” under her breath and musters up enough confidence to say, “That would be because my thoughts are very vivid too.”

He hums and he’s standing close enough that she can hear the sound rumble through his chest, “Are they, now?” He asks, gently grasping her chin in his hand and letting the pad of his thumb brush across her lower lip. She whimpers, inclining her head up towards him, desperate for him to touch her more.

“Allow me to be candid with you, for just a moment.” Viktor says, hand sliding away from her skin as he stands upright and takes a step backwards to lean against his desk, cane tucked into the crook of his elbow, “I do not usually do this. Intimacy between coworkers can be eh complicated-”

“W-We’re not technically coworkers.” She says quickly, “Different departments!”

Viktor chuckles, “There is no need to try and convince me, if that is what you are doing.” He looks her up and down, slowly, “I am already quite certain of what exactly I’d like from this encounter. I would just like to be sure that we are both on the same page, as it were. So, to be clear, if you change your mind at any time, you are free to leave and we maintain our professional relationship, no harm done.” He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows and her eyes dart down to his bare forearms, “Do you understand?”

She nods, staring abashedly at his hands.

“Words, please.”

“Oh, sorry!” She exclaims, “Yes, I do, I’m good, I don’t uh-” she swallows, “I don’t want to leave.”

That smirk comes back and she feels it all the way down to her toes, “Good girl.”

Her breath catches in the back of her throat and her heart thumps hard and fast. She can feel herself growing wet already, the heat at the apex of her thighs is becoming unbearable and her professional work outfit feels tight and restrictive. Viktor notices, she sees his eyes dart down to her tightly pressed-together knees, to the way her chest swells with her heavy breath. She realises quickly that she likes being embarrassed like this and that her long drawn-out humiliation was practically foreplay. Then it hits her that Viktor already knew that, of course, he already knew that, he read two hundred pages littered with her own wants and desires, both subconscious and conscious. A little whine escapes her lips as she realises that he entered this encounter with ample ammunition and surely intends to make the most of it.

“Stand up for me,” Viktor says quickly and she practically leaps up out of the seat. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and then he adds, “Binder on the floor, please.”

She bends down just enough to drop it down onto the carpet, suddenly missing having an object to hold onto, realising she has no idea what to do with her shaky hands. Lacking something else to grab, she clutches to the fabric of her pencil skirt, bunching it up on either side of her thighs. She inhales sharply through her nose when Viktor takes a few slow steps towards her, stopping less than an arm's length away. At first, she tries to meet his gaze but quickly finds it too intimidating, too observant. So her eyes quickly dart back down to her toes, trying to find some way to slow her rapid breathing. 

Then she feels something under her chin, slowly inclining her head back to meet his eyes again. It’s the handle of his cane. She lets out a whimpering little sound at that knowledge, thighs clenching and hands gripping tighter to the fabric of her skirt. She remembers this. Chapter Seven, page twelve. Viktor must see the gears turning in her brain, because a satisfied smile crosses his face, “Eyes on me, please.” He says quietly, slowly returning his cane to its place at his side. 

“You paid attention,” she says in near disbelief, “To the book, I mean.”

He chuckles and she finds that she loves the sound of it, loves the easy, half-lidded set of his eyes and the almost boyish way his hair curls over his ears. Viktor takes another step forward and she has to tilt her head back even further to maintain their eye contact, “I did.” he replies easily, “I wanted to do this correctly and a little thorough research goes a long way, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes,” she answers, breathless and wanting. He must see it in her eyes, because his head tilts slightly and his free hand reaches out, sliding his fingers through the hair at her temple and then pressing tightly against the side of her head. 

He slowly leans over her, close enough that she can feel his breath on her face. Her eyes dart from his own, down to his lips and then quickly between both of his moles. His head inclines downward enough that their noses are almost touching and she can feel her heart pounding through her entire body, her knees grow weak and her palms sweat. Viktor’s thumb slowly rubs a comforting circle over her temple and he whispers, “May I?”

It’s embarrassing how quick the rush of, “God yes, please Viktor, please.” comes bursting forth from her mouth, but luckily the senseless ramble is quickly cut off by his lips pressing against her own, slow but hungry. She melts into him, restless hands gripping tightly to his shoulders, mewling at the sensation of his hand in her hair and the addictive softness of his lips. The kiss is languid, slow and wet. There is little urgency to it, even though his hand slides around to the back of her head and holds her firmly in place, any desperation on Viktor’s part is exhibited in his thorough exploration of her mouth, more so than in his vigour.

His kisses are explorative, testing a bite to her lower lip, testing how she might react to him sucking on it instead. She practically hangs off him, gasping out little moans in between each re-connection of their lips. Viktor lets out a pleased little hum when her mouth opens beneath his and her nails dig tight into the fabric of his sweater when their tongues meet in a brief, tentative flick. She allows one of her hands to slide up from his shoulder and into his hair, it’s soft and she is very pleased to find he makes a very pretty sound when she tugs on it. 

When he pulls back, Viktor is a vision with kiss swollen lips and wide eyes engulfed by the black of his pupil. A smile plays at the corner of his mouth and she watches enraptured at the bob of his throat when he swallows. 

“Forgive me for the interruption.” He breathes, “But I believe now would be a prudent time for me to lock the door, yes?”

She nods loosely, unsure she can even manage words at this point and when Viktor turns to move over to the door, she spins around so she can continue watching him, bringing two disbelieving fingers up to her lips to convince herself that what happened had really just happened. The click of the lock sends an entirely new shiver down her spine and Viktor must see it on her face when he turns around because he looks incredibly self-satisfied. Her heart begins to race as he makes his way back over to her, desperate to be touched again, only for her to blink down at him dumbly when he walks past her and takes a seat in the abandoned chair in the middle of the room. 

He tuts at her, leaning forward and resting an elbow on his knee, “There is no need to look so disappointed.” He says slowly, “I have many plans for you.”

She lets out a shaky breath and stammers out, “S-Such as?”

Viktor reclines back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other, “I’d like to watch you touch yourself.”

Her breath hitches. Chapter Nine. Page Three. Her heart beats wildly in her chest, she feels lightheaded and cloudy. She swallows thickly and responds, “You…You would?”

“Yes.” Viktor confirms, hands lifting to loosen his tie some more, undoing enough buttons that she has a full view of his prominent collarbone, “If you would be willing to do that for me.”

“I would,” she replies after some time, willing, but timid and then because she has already gone this far, she adds a cautious little, “Professor”

Viktor moans at that, and the resulting zip up her spine at having said the right thing is addictive. His slouched posture in the chair makes her eyes widen, one of his arms flung over the side of the chair, the other gripping tightly to his thigh. She wants nothing more than to climb him, ride him, but she is aware there is a part she is playing and admittedly, the role had very much been written with her in mind. So she sucks in a nervous breath and averts her eyes to his bookcase as she begins unbuttoning her shirt. It’s difficult, her fingers shake on the buttons, but the way Viktor’s breath catches when the garment falls open and catches on her elbows has her desperate to continue. She is aware that her underwear is nothing to write home about, she had been anticipatinga slow, boring day at work, after all. Her bra is at least lacy even though it’s otherwise plain white (anything else would be visible through her shirt) and she almost wants to apologise for not offering a better show, but when her eyes cautiously dart back to Viktor she finds him watching with such rapt attention that she suddenly feels less inadequate. 

His eyes are blown wide, his cheeks dusted with pink and she can see the way his chest shifts with his heavy breath. It’s enough that she manages to feel a little confident, even. Deciding not to divert her eyes back to the bookcase and to peer shyly in his direction instead. The bob of his throat is what catches her eyes at first, keeping her attention as she finishes the buttons on her shirt and allows it to fall to the floor. Then the tight dig of his blunt fingernails into the fabric of his slacks, that keeps her occupied through the process of unzipping her skirt and letting it join her shirt with a quiet rustle. It’s the vision of Viktor’s teeth biting down on his lower lip that gives her the confidence to reach around and unclasp her bra, and then the sound of her name leaving his mouth in a teetering whine that allows her to drop it entirely. 

Viktor hums approvingly at the sight of her in nothing more than her underwear and sheer black stockings, “You are a vision.” He croons, eyes half-lidded and intense, “But I do believe I asked to watch you touch.”

She closes her eyes, nerves returning in a rush, but not strong enough to fight back the coiling heat of arousal, “Yes, Professor.” 

At first, she is too self-conscious to even open her eyes, chewing on her lower lip as one of her hands slides up from her hip and over the soft weight of her breast. Viktor makes a sound, something between a gasp and a moan, she takes that to mean she is doing well and so gently squeezes her breast in her palm. When she finds the confidence to circle her thumb over her nipple, she releases a keening moan that she quickly tries to silence with her other palm. She is already so unbelievably, shamefully sensitive, that even that one tentative touch of her own hand has her legs shaking beneath her. 

“Eyes on me, please.” Viktor says again and she grits out a whimper from between her teeth before doing as asked. 

The sight of him, has her moaning again. One of his hands is now tightly pressed to his chin, his teeth chewing on one of his prominent knuckles. His other hand remains on his thigh, gripping somehow even more tightly than before. Most significantly, he’s uncrossed his legs, thighs hanging wide open and making the strain of his slacks blatantly obvious between them. Her head lolls to the side and her next moan is more wanton, liberating. She pinches her nipple between finger and thumb, rolling it between them and lets her other hand fall from her mouth and rest instead at the waistband of her stockings. 

Viktor lets out a slow breath as her fingertips slowly edge down into her stockings and then further down into her conservative underwear. Black, not white. Maybe she would have put some effort into locating a matching set, if she had any inclination of this happening, though Viktor doesn't seem at all bothered by her mismatched undergarments. He hums, chewing on his knuckle some more as his eyes dart down to the shift of her hand inside her underwear and when she finally dares to run a finger up the length of her sex, her resounding whine has him biting down hard enough that she is sure it will leave a mark.

“Are you wet?” He asks, gaze shifting back up to her face.

She scrunches her eyes shut, embarrassed at the more than obvious answer to that question, “Uh, I-I” Her finger bumps against her clit and she loses her train of thought.

Viktor chuckles, “A more coherent response, please. If you can manage it.”

“I-I am.” she gulps a breath, feeling just how easily her finger slides between her folds, “very.”

It's hard for her to stay upright, every feather-light touch of a single finger has her suffering a full body shake. She's so wet that she can feel the gusset of both her underwear and stockings have been soaked through, clinging wetly to the back of her hand as she continues her tentative ministrations. She very nearly sobs when she adds a second finger and rubs a slow circle around her swollen clit, her legs quivering under her weight and hips stuttering out towards her hand.

"Look at you…" Viktor says breathlessly, hooded eyes darting between her hand between her thighs and the pinched expression on her face, "You're barely able to stand, aren't you?"

Her head lolls forward into a boneless nod, biting down on her lower lip as she slides her fingers backward to tease at her entrance, her insides fluttering at even the promise of penetration, "I'm sorry, I-"

"No no, do not apologise." Viktor insists, his voice thick and addictive, "It has been quite, hm, stimulating, observing the way your legs shake, but, I may have a suggestion to make this a little easier for you." He shoots her a smirk and pats his left thigh, “Take a seat.”

Chapter Five. Page Eleven. She gulps a breath, sliding her fingers out from beneath her stockings, shivering as they brush past her clit on the way up. Viktor regards her intently as she takes several shaky steps towards him, reclining further backward against his chair when she positions herself with his leg between her own, still a few inches away from contact. Then, without warning, Viktor takes her hand (the one that had just been down her stockings) and brings it to his mouth, opening his lips and taking her two slick-covered fingers inside. Chapter Seven. Page Fifteen. She moans at the warm wetness that is the inside of his mouth, whimpering at the feeling of his tongue sliding between both of her fingers, his head bobbing forward and then back just a little, encouraging her to fuck his mouth properly.

"F-Fuck…" She stammers, hips quivering, desperate for any sort of friction as she begins to slowly thrust her fingers in and out of Viktor's open mouth. He peers up at her, eyes hooded and releasing a moan that she can feel around her digits. She quickly grows more generous with her fingers, sliding them back out until barely her fingertips remain between his lips and then languidly pushing back in until they are hilted all the way to the final knuckle, deep enough that she can feel them at the back of his throat. Viktor moans again, and she curses under her breath at the sight of his red cheeks and the saliva accumulating at the corners of his mouth.

One of his hands slides up the side of her torso, coming to rest on her shoulder where it then presses down firm. Encouraging her to do as he asked earlier and take a seat. Her knees shake as she slowly lowers herself down, a gasp catching in the back of her throat the moment her aching clit presses down on his thigh, even through three layers of cloth. Viktor lets out a pleased sound around the intrusion of her fingers, lifting his leg just a little and grinding it up against her. She stutters out a moan, writhing impatiently on his thigh, so wanting that she spares only a brief thought for how her wetness must be ruining his slacks.

Viktor pulls back far enough that her fingers slip from his mouth with a perverse wet sound, he takes a few seconds to inhale some heavy, rasping breaths before grunting out the words, "That's it, good girl." and occupying himself with the side of her throat instead. She chokes on a whimper, grinding her hips desperately against his thigh, eyes nearly rolling back in her head with the white hot pleasure that lances through her. Her hands jump up to grip his shoulders, desperate for purchase as her legs shake under the relentless, rhythmless speed of her hips. All the while, Viktor is leaving wet and messy kisses the whole way down the length of her throat, sucking lavishly against the pulse point under her jaw before moving down to her shoulder where he bites. Her hips stutter at the feeling of his teeth, and then again at the soothing lathe of his tongue a moment after.

"God, Viktor!" She grits out from between her teeth when he sucks a purple mark on her collarbone and then his mouth moves down to capture one of her nipples between his lips and that makes her go nearly boneless against him. Her hips grind and rut and fuck almost without her permission and her head falls slack against his shoulder, nails digging into the fabric of his sweater as she feels her stomach coiling with an unbearable arousal. Having her head buried in his shoulder makes her take notice of just how good he smells and the endless grind of her clit against him is making her lose herself, unable to even think about being embarrassed anymore. Viktor nips at her breast and she mewls in response, moving faster, faster, her breath coming heavy, mind completely lost to the pleasure. The sounds escaping her mouth are unfettered and increasing with pitch and fervour with every passing second. Her pleasure is so intense that it nearly aches, she is so close but still so far and a grunt of frustration escapes her that she tries to hide by biting down on Viktor's sweater.

Then, his hands clamp down on her hips, tight enough to impede her writhing. She whimpers, lifting her head up from his shoulder and one of his hands instead moves to cup her cheek while the other works hard to keep her locked in place. Viktor tilts his head to the side and brushes his thumb across her cheekbone, "I apologise," He coos, kissing lightly against her collarbone, "but this is not how I wanted you to finish."

She whines, grinding against him as much as she can, which is no longer very much, "H-How, then?" she manages to force out between her rapid breaths.

"Do you recall the events of chapter six?” Viktor asks against the side of her throat, “I found them to be particularly enthralling.”

"God yes, so did I," She responds breathlessly.

He chuckles, pressing his lips to her jugular, “Would you like to get on the desk for me, then?”

"Yes"

Viktor leans back, tilting her chin to meet his eyes, "Yes, what?" He asks, a playful mirth shining in his eyes.

Her heart races behind her ribs and she forces herself to swallow before whispering, "yes, Professor."

Viktor sighs pleasantly, thumb tracing her well bitten lower lip, "Such a good girl." He breathes, pressing a quick kiss under her jaw and giving the side of her thigh a quick tap, "Up, please."

She does as asked, rising on her shaky legs and giggling shyly when she needs to rest a hand on his shoulder for balance. Once she is steady, Viktor takes that hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of her knuckles.

"Stockings off, if you would be so kind.” he whispers against her skin.

"Oh! Yes, of course, sorry!" She kicks off her shoes and scrambles to roll the offending pantyhose down her legs without tearing a hole in them, struggling a little when they get down to her ankles and she has to stand on one foot to yank each side off, “Sorry.” she mumbles, shaking the last bit of the offending garment off her toes, “That part is always much sexier in writing.”

Viktor laughs warmly, “Do not worry. I appreciate the touch of realism.” he inclines his head towards the desk, “Up you go.”

She feels her cheeks flushing but does as asked, taking a few steps backwards and hoisting herself upwards so her legs are dangling off the desk. Viktor smiles and then slowly stands so that he can push his chair forward until it is right between her thighs. He rounds the chair and leans his cane up against the desk just beside her leg and then returns to his seat.

The anxiety comes back in a sudden rush at the sight of him settled in between the open invitation of her thighs, her breath races away from her and she struggles to catch it. Viktor's expression shifts, eyebrows pulling together in a concerned furrow.

"Are you alright?" He asks, rubbing a comforting hand on her knee that feels far more platonic than anything else has this evening.

She nods loosely, "Y-Yeah, I'm fine. Just uh…overwhelmed?"

"Would you like to stop?"

"No!" She replies a bit too quickly and then let's out a nervous laugh before correcting, "I mean- No, I wouldn't. Thank you for asking, though."

He hums under his breath, "If you ever do need to stop or take a break, just let me know, alright?"

"I will, promise" She responds, managing what she hopes is a coy smile before adding, "So don't worry about me, do whatever you want to."

"Oh?" Viktor answers playfully, smirking up at her from between her legs, "I suppose I should pick up where I left off then, shouldn't I?" He inches in a little closer and she squeaks at the feeling of his lips pressing against the side of her knee and one of his hands sliding up and under, holding her leg slightly aloft. He hums against her skin, placing another kiss further up on her inner thigh and she grips tightly to the edge of the desk to ground herself somehow. A shocked little whine escapes her mouth when he nips gently at her thigh, and then a whimper follows as the feeling of his tongue lapping over the bite.

In between kisses, Viktor mumbles, “If would indulge me, I have some questions to ask.” against her skin.

“O-Okay.” She replies, a little too shocked at their positioning to really understand what is being asked of her. 

He makes a pleased sort of sound, his next kiss so far up her thigh that she can feel his warm breath through her underwear, “When you were writing this scene, the one in chapter six.” another kiss, on the opposite leg, “Did you have to take breaks?”

Her mind is so addled at the feeling of his mouth so close to her sex that she doesn't even manage to catch his implication,“W-What like to eat? I try to, but sometimes I get distracted and forget.”

Viktor chuckles into her thigh, “No.” he begins, sucking gently on the skin there before continuing, “Did the process of writing that scene, of committing it to paper, ever fluster you so much that you had to leave your desk to relieve yourself?”

Another swirling of aroused humiliation begins in the pit of her stomach, her thighs quivering on either side of Viktor's shoulders as she tries to maintain composure, “Yes.” She admits, voice shaking, “Sometimes.”

“Sometimes or often?” Viktor insists, the hand under her leg sliding upward and toying with the leg of her underwear.

She curses under her breath, squeezing her eyes shut, “Often.” She corrects.

"Good." He responds, his delicate finger running up and along the lacy hemline, gentle enough that she can just barely feel it, "Though I would prefer that I do not need to request clarification again." he bites at her innermost thigh, right at the join to her pelvis, "So please do try and be honest with your responses, yes?"

She nods loosely, still too overwhelmed to open her eyes, "O-Okay, I will, I promise."

"Good." Viktor answers, his voice low and utterly addictive, "Then allow me to ask my next question." He whispers and she feels his breath right at the apex of her thighs, "When you did this, when you took the time to…recuperate before returning to your writing. Was it him, Professor Novák,you were thinking about?”

Her hips stutter upward just a little and she bites down on her lower lip to silence a moan, “No.” She says unevenly.

“Who then?” He asks, as if he doesn't already know the answer.

“V-Viktor you’re embarrassing me.” She stammers, her heart climbing its way up her throat, her sex growing shamefully wet with each of his meticulous, prodding insinuations.

He laughs fondly, palm rubbing a warm circle on her inner thigh, “There’s no need to be embarrassed, I just want to hear you say it, that's all.”

"You." She whispers.

Something a little bit like a whine escapes Viktor's mouth and his hands move to either side of her underwear, "Open your eyes for me." He breathes and then adds, "Please."

She does, slowly and nervously, still chewing away on her lower lip. Viktor peers up at her with something almost like reverence, his summer-gold eyes wide and his cheeks flushed. His throat bobs and he slowly starts tugging her underwear down over her hips, she lifts herself up for him as they slide down her thighs, her knees, her calves and then catch on her left ankle where Viktor seems content to leave them.

He leans forward, close enough that she can feel his hot breath directly on her wetness. She twitches and Viktor lets out a soft groan, peering up at her from beneath his eyelashes, "Tell me again." He croons, lifting one of her legs up over his shoulder, "Tell me who you were thinking about."

She releases a shaky breath, unable to pull her eyes from his despite her nerves begging her to, “You, always you. Every single time.”

"Fuck, zlato" Viktor hisses out between his teeth, sucking a mark on the inside of her thigh as his free hand inches up the other leg, gripping to the uppermost part of her thigh, his thumb inching so close to where she really wants it, "Such a good girl." He drawls, the words rolling around delectably on his tongue, "So good for me."

She shifts her arms, hands flat on the desk behind her, head lolling backward at the duel sensations of his mouth on her thigh and his thumb lingering so close to her sex. When she suddenly feels the warmth of his breath brush her wetness again she mumbles a sudden, "Please." and rolls her hips up towards him.

"Please, what?" He asks, still fully committed to his role even as she hears his voice losing it's even tone.

An utterly pathetic whine escapes her and her hips roll again, "Please, Viktor. Your mouth, please, I-" his hand slides up the join between her thigh and pelvis and she whimpers, "I've been good, please!"

Viktor's next moan is low and deep, all the way in the back of his throat and her head shoots up at the sudden eruptive pleasure of his tongue against her swollen clit, gasping at the sight of his head buried between her thighs. She curses under her breath as he draws slow circles around her clit, his tongue is so wet and warm and the uncombed tips of his hair tickle her inner thighs. Her arms shake beneath her and it takes every ounce of energy to not collapse backwards onto the desk, but she doesn't, she refuses to, because it's Viktor between her legs and she can't bear to stop looking at him.

Then, his second hand joins his mouth between her legs, one of those devious fingers teasing at her entrance and she feels her insides clench involuntarily in anticipation. Viktor grunts against her, sucking on her clit as his finger slides all the way inside in one fluid motion. Her eyes nearly roll back in her head, her hips cant up to meet his ministrations, the whole room filled with the slick sounds of his fingers and mouth, she knew she was wet, but god she is wet. She's lets out a rasping gasp when a second finger joins the first, the both of them curling up in just the right spot to have her seeing stars and then Viktor has the gall to look at her, his eyes blown wide, peering up at her over the curve of her belly. A third finger, then, as his eyes are still locked with hers. The stretch is addictive, she can feel tears beading in the corners of her eyes and her teeth are grit, breath huffing desperately in and out through her nose. Viktor moans against her and the vibrations of that have her quivering, the effort of holding herself up is starting to take toll, she can feel her stomach muscles burning with the strain, but she can't stop looking at him.

She yelps at the feeling of another finger sliding inside of her, the protrusion obvious but still so easy and not at all painful. Viktor pulls his mouth from her for just a moment, just long enough for him to praise, "That's four fingers, zlato." he pumps them in and out of her, slowly enough that she feels the gravity of it, "And I barely even had to work for it."

She's close now, fuck she's so close. Her arms finally give way behind her and she manages to catch herself before she hits the desk, shakily lowering herself down onto the wood. With her hands free, the both of them quickly jump up to grab at Viktor's hair, tangling in it, holding him firmly against her as she grinds her hips into his face, her mind utterly lost, the very concept of shame vanishing as all four of his fingers fuck her and his tongue works its magic on her over sensitive clit. He grunts when both her legs hook up behind him, her feet locking behind his head, "Fuck fuck, please, m'close, so close, fuck please." she pleads, her moans beginning to sound like desperate sobs, tears streaming down her cheeks with exertion.

Viktor takes the hint, fingers moving faster, lips locking around her clit and suckling ravenously as she shakes and grinds above him. His fingers crook up just the way she needs them to and her back arches up off the desk as the pleasure coiling in the belly snaps and shoots from her centre all the way out to her fingers, leaving her quivering and wrecked. Viktor slows, carefully removing his fingers and gently lapping at her with the flat of his tongue, at first even that feels like too much, her hips twitching with every swipe of his tongue, but after a little bit the feeling starts settling warm in her stomach and she regains the energy to unhook her feet and sit back up.

Viktor lifts his head up, resting it on her thigh and giving her an utterly salacious smile. His fingers take the place of his tongue, not touching her clit directly, but slowly sliding up and down the full length of her sex, "Do you think you have another in you?" He asks.

She assesses for a moment, considering how the fingers between her thighs feel. Good, she surmises, "Yes. I think so." and then, a little boldly, "Chapter nine, then? Since I'm already on the desk."

Viktor practically purrs, nipping gently at her thigh before rising from the chair, "Ah, like you read my mind." he says, smirking and wiping the bottom of his face with the back of his free hand. His fingers continue their slow movements against her sex and she slides her hand up the side of his neck around to the back of his head.

She tastes little more than herself when their lips meet, but Viktor hums a moan into her mouth that tastes far sweeter. Her tongue runs behind his upper row of teeth and then she sucks gently on the tip of his tongue when it ventures into her mouth in return, he grunts in response adjusting his weight to rest further forward on the desk all while his fingers continue stroking up and down the length of her. She bites a moan, pulling back from him and drowning in his lax, lust drunk expression for just a moment before jumping her hands down to the hem of his sweater and yanking it up as best she can.

"A little help?" She says, struggling to get it past his arms.

Viktor laughs good naturally, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before leaning backward and pulling the sweater up over his head on one swift motion. She reaches up and quickly undoes a few more buttons on his shirt, enough that she can see down to his sternum and becomes suddenly distracted by the expanse of skin that she pauses in her effort of undoing the rest, instead latching her lips to his exposed collarbone, sucking and kissing the length of it. Her lips travel upward, licking at the side of his throat when her hands return to their task, undoing the rest of his buttons and then shoving the shirt down off his shoulders. Viktor quickly yanks his tie up over his head and she shuffles forward just a little on the desk, wrapping her arms around his middle and tugging him up against her, relishing in the feeling of her breasts pressing against his bare skin, leaving a trail of hot kisses from the protrusion of his shoulder all the way up to his jaw. Viktor releases a shaky sigh, two of his fingers between her legs tentatively dipping into her, just to the first knuckle to test her sensitivity. When she doesn't immediately recoil he inches them in a little further, all the way, at the sound of her breathless moan.

"It seems as if you are ready for me, don't you think?" He says against the side of her throat, sucking a mark beneath her jaw.

She moans a little at even the thought of it, "Yes, please, I want you so badly."

Viktor coos at her, the hand between her legs moving instead to his belt, quickly working to undo it as his other hand cups her cheek, "Oh, I know you do, zlato. I read all about it."

She laughs despite herself, the sound is easy and bubbles right up and out of her. She covers his hand on her cheek with her own, leaning into the warmth of his palm, "Viktor?" she asks cheekily, "When you were reading my manuscript," she cocks her head to the side, "did you ever have to take breaks?"

His responding laugh is warm and not at all embarrassed, instead he raises their interlinked hands to his lips and places a kiss on the back of her knuckles, "Not during the first perusal." he replies evenly, "I did not quite realise the gravity of what I was reading at that point." he releases her hand, needing two to undo his trousers and inch them just far enough down his thighs, "Ah, the second time however, that is a different matter entirely."

She can't resist quickly darting her eyes downward, hissing a breath through her teeth at the sight of his hand wrapping loosely around the base of his cock. It looks almost painfully hard, flushed red and dripping. Her breath hitches when he nudges against her, just barely, a minuscule pressure against her sensitive clit that sends a quiver through her legs. Viktor hums, watching her intently as he moves his right hand to balance his weight on the desk, compensating for his right leg, she assumes. His left hand remains somewhere between their legs, but he's now leaning in so close that it's difficult for her to see what is happening down there anymore.

"Would you like to hear some more about my second reading?" He asks smoothly, slowly running his tip up and down her slit, lathering it in the accumulation of wetness between her thighs.

She whimpers, nodding her head, "Please."

He sighs, a wide and loose smile playing around his lips, "My second reading, was a great deal more eventful, because by then I had more than a suspicion of just who you were writing about." the head of his cock stills at her entrance, the heat of him, the promise of penetration has her biting down on her lower lip. Viktor's eyes are wide and dark, he leans down to nip at her throat and continues, "It became increasingly difficult to maintain focus, as you might imagine, when I realised that I was reading about you, on your knees, sucking my cock." he grunts, his cool demeanour betrayed for just a moment as his hips stutter forward.

She wriggles her hips, a breathless sigh escaping her throat, "Chapter four?"

"Yes." He responds lowly, hand on the desk gripping tight as he inches himself inside her, connecting his lips to hers so he can swallow the sound of her resounding moan before pulling back with a heavy breath, "I did not survive chapter four, at least, not at first."

She curses under her breath as he continues pushing in, a few more inches, but she is already so sensitive from her last orgasm that even that has her desperately panting, grasping wildly at his hair, his shoulders.

Viktor still mostly maintains his composure, despite the fucked out mess of his hair and the way it clings to his sweaty brow, "Chapter four would not be the last time that I put your writing aside and-" he slides in the rest of the way, a grunt escaping his teeth when his hips slot against her, "-fucked my hand to the mere thought of what you had written." He leans in, his golden eyes broiling, so close that their noses touch and their breaths intermingle, "You, zlato. Are an outstanding writer."

She moans into his mouth when his lips collide with hers, looping both of her arms around his shoulders and tugging him closer to her. Viktor's left hand grabs tightly to her hip, his tongue meeting hers in an utterly filthy writhe and his hips finally start to move. Despite the intensity of his tongue in her mouth, the pump of his hips still remains slow and methodical, a gasp escaping her lungs each time he sheathes himself back inside, his tip grinding against that perfect spot inside of her. The feeling of his bare shoulders beneath her grasping hands, and the hitches in his breath with each thrust keep her grounded, solidifying that it really is Viktor inside of her. She pulls her mouth from his, admiring the focus in his eyes, the intense furrow of his brow, his kiss bruised lips. The sun in the window behind her has well begun to set, painting him in shades of pink and orange, catching in his tangled hair and the beads of sweat on his forehead. He is unfairly beautiful. So she fully wraps herself around him, clinging tightly to his shoulders and encircling his waist with her shaky legs, encouraging him to move faster with a nudge of her heels.

"Ha, impatient?" Viktor manages to say in between panting breaths, his voice is raspy and deep, accent curling delicately around the word.

She whimpers, burying her head in his shoulder, licking at the skin there, "Want you to finish, need you to."

Viktor let's out a shaky sigh, and his hand slides from her hip to down between her legs, rubbing a quick circle around her swollen clit, "Not without you."

Even that slight touch has her gritting her teeth, breathing in hard through her nose, hips twitching. It's so much, it's too much, but somehow it isn't nearly enough, "I-I don't know if I-"

"You can. You will." He responds, his thrusts growing faster, his fingers on her clit applying just the right amount of pressure to have her hissing and gasping into his shoulder.

"F-Fuck!" She exclaims, the heat is nearly unbearable, her legs shake with each circle of his fingers and it's like all of her joints have locked around him, she couldn't be pried from him if he tried. His next thrust has her nearly sobbing, gasping aloud at the feeling of herself clenching down on him and the again at the moan he releases at the sensation.

Viktor bites a curse in Czech, all sharp consonants, the pump of his cock increasing in speed, gradually losing rhythm, "That's it." He grunts, "Such a good girl, zlato. You can do it, I know you can."

She feels his praise deep inside her, it makes her walls flutter, her legs tighten around him. She releases an aching moan against the side of his throat, kissing, biting and tonguing at his skin in equal measure. Barely coherent, she just needs her mouth on him, any way possible, "I-I'm close." she nearly sobs, burying her head in his shoulder.

"Look at me." He grunts, and then again, softer, "Please, look at me."

Her head feels heavy and her lower lashes are wet with tears of exertion, but she manages to loll her head back upward, biting back a whine at the luxurious way Viktor's golden eyes dart around her face. She rests a hand on the desk for balance, inhaling a shaky breath as she lifts her other hand to his cheek. He huffs a breath through his nose and leans into her palm, eyes fluttering closed and then reopening with a pointed intensity that she could drown in.

She feels his fingers slip down to her entrance, sliding quickly inside and then back out in the gap between his thrusts, before gliding back up to her clit, newly wet with her arousal and circling faster and faster. Her teeth grit, her jaw so tight that she can feel it in the base of her skull. She struggles to keep her eyes open, barely able to gulp down enough air to keep her brain functioning as her hips twitch and stutter with each touch of his fingers, the knot in her stomach growing tighter and tighter with each of his thrusts.

A rising crescendo of moans starts forcing it's way out from behind her teeth and she sees Viktor's eyes blow even wider, his own breath going uneven, "Are you going to come for me?" he rasps

She barely manages a nod, whimpering as she teeters on the edge of her orgasm, hand on his cheek moving down to grip tightly at his shoulder for purchase, grinding her hips upward to meet his on each thrust, "F-Fuck, Viktor I-" she's cut off by a moan, struggling her way through a near incomprehensible sentence consisting nothing but curses and pleas of his name. It feels so good that it nearly hurts and with a few more desperate panting breaths and utterly wild writhes of her hips, she feels her climax taking over her body. She shakes, she quivers, her legs lock around him impossibly tight and somewhere amongst that she feels Viktor follow her, leaning his head in to cover her mouth with his own and swallow down her moans as he jerks against her, cock pulsing warmly deep within her sex.

Then she goes limp, head collapsing on his shoulder as she slowly starts catching her breath. Her body feels lethargic and weak, but incredibly good, warm and loose and soft. Remarkably, not at all sore - especially given the less than orthopaedic status of Viktor's desk. She lets out a little giggle into the side of his neck, feeling warm and affectionate.

Viktor laughs too, a warm chuckle that he follows with a kiss to the crown of her head.

"Are you ready for me to move, zlato?" he asks and she gives him a tired nod, wincing slightly at the feeling of him sliding out of her, even though he does it very carefully. She watches as he leans back from the desk and works on getting his trousers and underwear straightened.

"You don't have a sink in here?" She slurs, very tired.

"Ah, no." Viktor responds, almost sheepishly, "It is not ideal, but I will at least need my clothes back on so I can make a trip to the faculty bathroom across the hall and steal some towels."

He does an awkward sort of hop, adjusting his clothes but avoiding putting any weight on his right leg. She quickly realises that he probably overexerted it and either hadn't noticed or just trying his best to ignore it. She frowns, "Just hang out with me for a sec, don't go yet."

He smiles, "That is very kind of you, but there is little appropriate room for me to eh, 'hang out' as you put it."

"Wait, one second." She manages to shuffle herself to the side a little, tapping the free space on the desk with her hand, "Hop on up."

Viktor gives her a warm sort of look and takes her up on the offer, lifting himself up onto the desk and then letting his upper half lie flat. She does the same, laying back on the desk and staring up at the ceiling, an overjoyed smile tugs at her lips when his hand quickly finds hers, thumb tracing the back of her knuckles.

"Remind me to give you my number when we get back down." He says warmly, squeezing her hand once.

She turns her head and gives him a quizzical look, "I already have your number."

He levels his gaze with hers, smiling, "you have my business number."

"Oh…" she mutters, feeling her cheeks grow warm.

"There is a lovely little cafe a few blocks away, I will have to show you sometime." his smile turns mischievous and he whispers, "You could always bring your laptop, if you intend on getting some more writing done."

She giggles and leans in to press a kiss to his cheek, "So long as you promise to read it when I'm done," and then, because she suddenly feels hardly nervous at all, she winks playfully and adds, "Professor."

"You will not be able to call me that during office hours." Viktor answers with a telling flush on his cheekbones, "I like it too much."

She smiles warmly, "We should meet up outside of office hours more often, then." she chews her lower lip, "Not uh, not just for sex, I-I mean-"

Viktor reaches his hand out, running the backs of his knuckles down the length of her cheek, "I'll admit, I have done this all a bit out of order, but I would like to take you on a proper date sometime." his eyes crinkle when he smiles, "Maybe after I finish grading finals?"

"That sounds perfect." She replies, unable to stop smiling, "And then, after that…" she says coyly, shuffling a little closer to him, "We never made it to chapter Eleven, did we?"

"No." Viktor replies, eyes growing wide, "We did not."

[runicwhim]

kissing along the scattered constellations of viktor's moles ; he's not quite used to such paroxysm of adoration when it's inflicted onto him , but over time , he beings to melt into it . he's molten molasses , heated glass : easily melding into whatever shape his lover desires when they're in bed together . breathy laughter , shy whispers of amor , tender affliction of affection that tints his cheeks pink and softens the score of his ochre eyes . viktor giggles with each featherlight press of lips against his skin & jokes that his lover must be a cartographer given each time they've mapped his skin with their mouth & tongue & teeth .

[dianatrusova]

Small habits

The laboratory was immersed in a deafening silence interrupted only by the continuous rustling of pages and the rhythmic noise of the pen scratching against the paper. Viktor was bent over a series of formulas, his eye alert and focused with his hair disheveled from the long day. Every now and then, in a completely unconscious gesture, a hand would leave the pen to curl a lock of hair between the fingers, before returning to writing. He was aware that he hadn't always had this habit of playing with his own hair. It was a gesture that he had acquired, almost without realizing it, during the long afternoons spent with you, in his laboratory, while you were both immersed in your own research. You, with your light smile and eyes always looking for hidden details, often noticed details about Viktor that not even he himself perceived. You had the habit of reaching out for his hair, absentmindedly playing with a lock as you reflected on a calculation or a formula that you couldn't figure out. Viktor was aware that you didn't do it with the intention of distracting him, but rather that it was an involuntary gesture, your way of calm down, to find a thread between your thoughts and arrive at the solution to the problem. Yet, every time he felt your fingers in his hair, he couldn't help the smile that grew on his face. That small gesture had become a source of calm and comfort for him. Over time, without realizing it, he had begun to replicate that gesture when he found himself alone. Now, in the quiet of the laboratory, while the dim light of the lamp reflected on the sheet full of calculations, Viktor continued to play with a lock of his hair.

[quartz-kilsviken]

Written in the Runes

Chapter 4

➸ Synopsis: Ekko, your mischievous yet endearing local troublemaker, trails a wealthy academy student from the topside. When you end up with the student’s satchel, you find a notebook filled with intriguing magical research. Unable to resist, you embark on a quest to uncover the secrets of this mysterious scholar.

➸Pairing: Jayvikxreader

➸Chapter word count: 2,009

➸Tags: Slow Burn, yearning, eventual smut, not

canon compliant

➸Notes: One more short chapter for today, because I had the day off and needed to continue getting my thoughts out. ∧( ‘Θ’ )∧ Oh, Heimerdinger, how I love your whimsy.

➸ Previous Chapter: Pt.3

➸ Next Chapter: Pt.5

The sunrise tells you it’s been hours since the three of you were told to stay in Heimerdinger’s lab. The noise of students starting their day in the courtyard is a small comfort, familiar in its chaos. Has Benzo noticed you’re missing yet? The thought tightens your chest. You used to slip away all the time, always returning just in time for one of his lectures. Back then, you thought his anger was just routine, but now you understand it was more than that. After your mother’s death, you didn’t believe anyone could be bothered by your absence. In the Undercity, that kind of concern is rare, and it took a long time to see how much it hurt him when you disappeared. The idea of causing him more trouble, of making Ekko worry too, weighs on you.

You can’t leave, though. The councilors made sure of that.

A loud snore breaks your thoughts. You glance over at Jayce, slumped against the wall, his face relaxed in deep sleep. Despite being in an unfamiliar place with two strangers, he’s completely at ease, his breathing steady and untroubled.

Viktor, who had paused his writing, watches Jayce with a faint smile. But when his eyes meet yours, something shifts. “He’s had an—” Viktor hesitates, then finishes, “…eventful few days.” His words are light, but there’s a quiet weight to them, a flicker of sadness that fades before you can fully place it.

You hum in response, imagining what happened between his visit to Benzo’s and your arrival the next night. You had seen the pieces of his devastation—the frustration in his research being taken from him. It’s a loss you understand too well. Your own connection to magic was ripped away, taken from you in ways that still sting, an emptiness that lingers. But you hope that, like you, the events of last night will help fill that void for both of you.

The click of the door snaps you from your thoughts as Counselor Medarda steps into the room. You quickly move to wake Jayce, his face still soft with sleep. She watches with quiet amusement as he jolts awake, clearly embarrassed, and straightens to attention clasping his hands behind his back. Viktor stays seated, unshaken, waiting for her to speak.

Her presence fills the room, calm and commanding despite the small group. “The three of you will present before the council today, in one hour.”

Her words hang in the air, and a tight knot forms in your stomach. Viktor’s voice breaks the silence, sharp with concern. “That’s not nearly enough time. What do you expect us to present, Counselor?”

Medarda’s gaze is unflinching as she smooths out the tension. “It will be an informal presentation—no need for preparation. Simply share your recent developments, and we’ll discuss further research. It will also be an opportunity for you,” she fixes her eyes on Jayce, “Mr. Talis, to have the incident involving your explosion retracted.”

Jayce exhales deeply, visibly relaxing, but you exchange a worried glance with Viktor. Neither of you feels ready to stand before the council—especially under these rushed conditions. Medarda adds, almost as an afterthought, “I’ll handle most of it. You’re expected outside the council chamber by 10 AM.”

You exhale a quiet sigh of relief as the door begins to close behind her, but the moment is shattered when Counselor Heimerdinger enters in a whirlwind. Before anyone can speak, he hurries straight up to you with a gleam in his eye. “Come with me, dear,” he says, his voice light and almost musical. “No time to dawdle!”

You hesitate, frozen in place. He stops, turns back, and gives you a knowing look as if he can read your discomfort. “You’re not in trouble, my dear, not in the slightest,” he adds, as though that should make everything better. But you wait for an explanation, and of course, there isn’t one. He simply smiles, waits, and then motions for you to follow.

Reluctantly, you move. To your surprise, Viktor and Jayce both follow. Heimerdinger notices and his eyes twinkle mischievously. “Ah, no need for a crowd!” he says, waving his tiny hands dismissively. “Only her. Don’t worry, boys. She’ll be back in no time!”

Viktor quickly moves to hand one of Jayce’s notebooks to him. “Professor—” he starts, his voice tight with concern.

With a dramatic flourish, Heimerdinger grabs the notebook and nods at Viktor before hustling down the hall. You follow, a little dazed. Students pass by, their eyes lingering, but Heimerdinger moves with such speed you barely register their gaze.

He leads you into a smaller office—thankfully empty—and you immediately notice how much more intimate this space feels compared to the Lab. He takes a seat behind the desk, dropping the open notebook in front of him with a dramatic flair. That’s when you realize, with a sinking feeling, it’s the same notebook you’d written in.

Heimerdinger flips through the pages, humming absently, unaware of the dread rising in your chest. “Where, pray tell, did you learn to transcribe Runes?” he asks, his tone light and casual, as if discussing the weather.

You swallow hard, trying to steady your nerves. You give the answer you’ve been giving everyone else: “I just have an interest in it.”

Heimerdinger pauses, peering over the top of the notebook with a raised brow. “Ah, interest—yes, of course,” he muses, clearly unconvinced. “But I do wonder—what else do you have an interest in? Sciences? Mathematics? History? Language?” He leaps from his chair with a sudden burst of energy, gesturing widely, as though he's narrating some grand spectacle. “Tell me, what do you excel in, hmm?”

The questions whirl around you, and you struggle to make sense of them. “I… I suppose I’m average?” you offer, unsure.

Heimerdinger’s eyes widen with exaggerated interest. “Average!” he exclaims, his hands flinging into the air. “Now that’s a word that means a thousand things, doesn’t it? What does it mean for you?”

You hesitate, trying to gather your thoughts. “I have a basic understanding, I wouldn’t say I ‘excel’ at any” you say, the words coming out slower. “But… History and Language have always been my strengths.”

Heimerdinger nods, clearly delighted by your answer before disappearing into a small closet. “Aha! History and Language! Excellent! But tell me, my dear, do you prefer trousers or a skirt?” His voice rings out from the closet, muffled by the door.

Your head snaps up, confused. What? Before you can process, Heimerdinger reappears from the closet with an enormous grin on his face. “Well, come now! What’s it going to be?”

“Uh—skirt?” you stammer, unsure where this is going.

Heimerdinger nods in delight, his voice suddenly taking on a dramatic tone. “Perfect! Perfect!” He strides over to the desk and places a stack of clothes in front of you, then skips over to a safe, unlocking it with exaggerated care before pulling out a gleaming key. “Now, you must be ready. The new semester begins soon. And you, my dear, will begin your studies in just a few weeks. The council will want you to start working on Hextech right away, no doubt. So!” He claps his hands together, startling you. “You’ll have early access to housing.”

“Housing?” you repeat, your voice strained with confusion.

He simply waves off your concern. “Oh, don’t worry! The room number is on the key. I’m sure the boys will show you the way once the council meeting completes.”

The confusion only deepens. “No, sir, I haven’t applied to the academy,” you say, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

He stops, blinking up at you. “Ah, well, last night was quite a remarkable application, wasn’t it?” His eyes gleam with mischievous delight.

Your heart sinks, and the ground beneath you feels like it’s giving way. You never wanted any of this. The academy? You’ve always known it would be safer with Benzo in the shop, keeping things predictable. But now—now everything is changing, and you feel like the universe is forcing it upon you. No longer a soft whisper leading you, but rather a hard shove. “I can’t afford tuition,” you stammer. “Even if I keep working while researching Hextech…”

Heimerdinger stops, considering you for a moment. Then, with a soft sigh, he closes the notebook and pushes it toward you gently. “No need to worry about that,” he says, his voice far kinder now. “Counselor Medarda has offered to sponsor your tuition. It’s clear you have a brilliant mind, one that deserves to be nurtured.”

Your chest tightens. You can’t believe what he’s saying. The world feels like it’s tilting, and the weight of everything presses on your shoulders.

Heimerdinger’s voice cuts through the spiraling thoughts, calm and reassuring. “The choice is yours, but I urge you to think about what you could become.”

The words hang in the air like an invitation, and despite the panic rising within you, you find yourself nodding. “Yeah,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him. “Yeah, sure. I’ll do it.”

Heimerdinger’s grin is back, wide and beaming. “Brilliant!” he says, practically bouncing with excitement. He scoops up the clothes, key, and notebook, shoving them into your hands with practiced flair before hurrying out the door.

You walk back toward the lab, the weight of your decision heavy on your chest. Heimerdinger suddenly stops in front of you, causing you to nearly run into him. He gestures toward a door. “Restroom’s here,” he says breezily “I suggest you change before meeting the council.”

Before you can respond, he twirls around you with a flurry of motion. “Not that your outfit isn’t lovely, mind you, but the uniform might be a tad more fitting for the occasion!”

With that, he dashes off, leaving you standing in stunned silence as students pass by, their gazes lingering.

Back in the lab, Jayce paces nervously. “Maybe we should check on her—”

Viktor leans back, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Heimerdinger won’t do anything rash, Jayce. You shouldn’t worry.”

Jayce stops mid-step, his brows furrowing. “You worked for him, so you’re biased. I almost got banished by him.”

Viktor’s lips twitch, his own worry creeping into his expression.

Jayce continues, “We’re the ones who convinced her to come here anyways, so doesn’t that mean we’re like— responsible for her?”

Viktor grimaces. “Eh— maybe we should find them, just to be safe.”

But before they can leave, you barge in the door with a huff. “I thought the Undercity was a maze, but this place was designed by a drunken architect.”

After changing into the uniform and throwing your cloak over it in an attempt to hide the blinding color, you stepped out of the restroom—only to realize the professor had really left you to figure your own way back to the lab.

“Jayce, Can I borrow your bag again?”

Without waiting for a response, you start shoving your clothes into it. The action paused as the silence in the room makes you glance over your shoulder.

It looks like the two of them are deep in a silent argument. Jayce finally breaks away and steps in front of you, clearing his throat before speaking. “So, uh, you’re wearing a uniform now?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s called a cloak, Jayce,” Viktor says, his voice laced with a knowing tone.

Jayce turns back to him, seemingly picking up where their silent exchange left off, but his tone is more curious than annoyed. “Oh, is it? Then what would you call the clothes under the cloak?”

Viktor’s lips curl at one side, moving to gather items for the presentation. “Perhaps an attempt at blending in for the council?” He pauses, eyes glancing toward you, waiting for a response.

“It’s not blending in if I’m already, uh, in,” you reply, unsure of how they’ll react. You hope they won’t be too shocked—after everything that’s happened today, you can’t take any more surprises.

They both share a final, quick glance. Jayce smiles softly. “Well, alright then.” Viktor gives a subtle nod, clearly pleased.

[geebritt]

Birds of a Feather - Prologue

Chapter One [x] AO3 [x]

It was small amounts of food going missing that first alerted Vander that something was amiss. At first, he thought it was rats robbing him blind - after all, this was Zaun - rats were a given almost anywhere. But after three days of rat traps, hyper-vigilance, and a great deal of frustration; the morsels of food continued to disappear - much to the large man's chagrin. The Last Drop had a reputation of being a haven for Zaunites, a rare escape from the grit and grime of the Undercity. A reputation that Vander prided himself on. The last thing he needed was to deal with a rat infestation.

It wasn't until one chilly morning, four days after he first noticed the missing food, that the source of the thievery was discovered.

The bar was empty, which was not unusual for the start of the day; being that most of Undercity's population would be outside, attempting to bask in the small amounts of sunlight that filtered down from the Topside.

Vander was wiping dry the freshly washed ale glasses from the previous night, when he heard the telltale sound of the pub's front door open and quickly close. Entering the main room to greet his patron, he paused - a perplexed look crossing his face when the room seemingly remained empty.

A very slight movement at the end of the bar caught his attention. A tiny, pale hand tentatively reached up from below the front of the surface and began to pat along the stained wood until it landed on the half-eaten bread roll that had served as Vander's breakfast. As quickly as they located their target, the tiny fingers curled around the stale bread and yanked it down into the possession of the tiny thief.

Quietly, and cautiously, Vander stepped to the side of the bar to identify the bread burglar, only for his stomach to drop.

Looking up at him fearfully through wide, chocolate-brown eyes was a tiny, emaciated little girl. The black hair poking out from below her hood resembled a stringy rat's nest, barely managing to conceal the dark circles beneath her almost too-big, strangely familiar, sunken eyes. Vander's chest clenched as he realised that this girl couldn't be more than five years old, and seemed to be completely alone.

The girl stood frozen, save for the fearful trembling of her body, as her eyes darted from Vander's own, to the door, and back again, before finally landing on her escape point. Before he could even utter a word, she had already broken into a sprint towards it - her bread prize already stowed safely in her tiny satchel.

“Wait!” Vander called after her, before quickly dropping the rag from his hands and taking off in her direction. He was surprised; for such a frail, skeletal girl, she was fast, and nimble as a mouse.

Vander was thankful that he'd had the foresight to flip the pub's ‘OPEN’ sign to ‘CLOSED’, as he tore through it in pursuit of the little girl. For a moment, he lost sight of her, only to find her again when he heard an enraged shout. A street vendor was standing over an overturned basket of fruit, yelling obscenities at the retreating child. In her haste to escape, she had evidently tripped over the basket, giving Vander the precious moments needed to close the distance and tail her. The opportunity to approach the situation with stealth as opposed to charging head-on would only benefit the little girl - the last thing that Vander wanted was to further frighten the obviously already traumatised child.

The minutes ticked on as he quietly followed the child through the streets, getting further and further from the main district of the Undercity. He could see that she was still on guard - glancing around constantly - jittery and nervous, and pulling her tiny, threadbare cloak closer around herself.

The longer they walked through the labyrinth of Zaun, the more difficult it became to follow her and maintain his cover. With each block they passed, crowds thinned, and structures grew scarce. Vander began to wonder if he would have to abandon his stealth mission to approach the girl directly - until she stopped in front of an old, chipped wooden door. Her dark eyes darted around one final time - causing Vander to quickly duck behind an abandoned market stall - seemingly satisfied that she was alone, she opened the door and entered.

Vander surveyed the shack-like hovel that the girl had entered. Walking to the side wall, he noticed a small, cracked window, streaked with dirty, child-sized hand prints. 

His gut clenched at the unmistakable scent of death wafting from the cracks in the glass - a scent that he'd become all too well acquainted with on the streets of Zaun. 

A deep, heavy sigh deflated his chest as he turned away from the window, ready to make his way to the front door.

“Mama.” A small, strained voice stopped him in his tracks. “Mama, I'm back. Are you awake yet?”

Vander stepped back and peered through the filthy glass into the residence. From his vantage point, he could see a small bed, multiple blankets heaped over a slumbering figure.

“Look, Mama, I got some food.” The same small voice squeaked, and he saw the little girl run into the room, stumbling as she tripped over the cloak she'd hastily pulled off her body. Without the cloak, it was even more evident just how emaciated the child really was. Even through the grimey window, he could tell that she hadn't had a proper meal in a while.

The dark-haired girl held the bread in her hands, beaming as if it were a bar of gold, and clumsily climbed onto the bed where the figure lay covered in fabrics.

Vander watched as the girl ripped the edge off the bread roll and nibbled it - obviously trying to savour the moment of the morsel of insufficient sustenance hitting her belly - before holding out the rest of the bread to the still figure.

“This piece is for you. Please eat it. You must be very hungry.” It was jarring hearing the words in such a tiny, childish voice - especially when the voice began to wobble wetly. “Please wake up, Mama. I'm scared.” It was that sentence, sniffled out from the girl that finally prompted Vander to leave the window and quietly walk around to enter the house through the front door.

Upon opening the door and quietly stepping inside, Vander couldn't help but let out a deep retch. The smell of death and rot was much more potent inside of the house, causing his eyes to water. He pinched his nose and moved from the entryway, towards the small bedroom that he had seen through the window; the rough floorboards creaking under his heavy boots.

Stepping into the room, he had to suppress another gag as the smell of decaying flesh mixed with the odour of rotting food burnt his nostrils. The source of which he could see scattered on the bed next to the sleeping figure. Pieces of long since spoiled, mostly mouldy food sat on the filthy mattress. Some bits remained whole, while other had small bites or tears taken from them.

The girl was nowhere to be seen. But that thought was now pushed away to the back of Vander's mind as he slowly stepped closer to the bed. The vile smell, the moulded food, all of it seemed to disappear as his eyes came to rest on the lax face of the figure under the covers. His ears rung with static, and a large lump formed in his throat. 

Though her eyes were closed, and her pallid skin had already begun to take on a greenish discolouration - he would know her face anywhere.

“Oh, Elisabeth.” He choked out mournfully. He knew she had long since passed. His old friend. Gone. His, Silco's, Felicia's, and Connol's friend. Gone. The friend that they had all grown up with - the same friend that had up and disappeared from their lives without a trace just over five years prior. Gone.

Some part of Vander had held onto hope that he would see her again. That she had left on some wonderful adventure; and one day she'd bound back into The Last Drop as she had done so many times before - all wild blonde hair and dark-chocolate eyes - and pull him into one of her warm hugs, pinching his cheeks as her own widened showing off deep dimples. But he realised now, as a tear ran down his cheek, that had been nothing more than a stupid fantasy. A stupid wish.

The thought was short-lived though, as a weight fell on him from above, and tiny fists were suddenly driving themselves into anywhere that they could. In any other circumstance, Vander would have laughed. The fists barely felt more than a tap against his skin - but the screamed words of “Stay away from her!” were what caused the real harm to him.

“Hey, hey. It's okay. I'm not here to hurt you, or your Mama.” Vander spoke softly through the lump in his throat.

“You're lying!” She screeched. The barrage of tiny hits only subsided when she lost her grip on him and fell heavily to the floor. Quickly, she picked herself up and ran to the opposite side of the bed to hide behind the covered body of her mother.

“Mama! Wake up!” She wailed hysterically, pushing against the body, attempting to rouse her ‘sleeping’ mother. “Please wake up!” She sobbed, pounding her fists into the mountain of blankets.

Vander couldn't help but shush her. Though he didn't have children of his own, that didn't mean that he didn't have a paternal nature - and it wasn't part of that nature to see a child in distress and not help. He slowly moved to the foot of the bed and knelt down, leaving enough room for the little girl to still feel a degree of safety.

“I know your Mama. She's a friend of mine. Her name is Elisabeth, right?” He held out his hand and kept his voice quiet, as if calming a wild animal.

Her sobs quickly subsided, and she scrubbed her eyes with grimey little balled-up fists. Nodding, she looked at him warily.

“We grew up together, me and your mum.” He moved from his kneeling position to sit with his back against the wall. The heaviness of the situation quickly draining his energy. “She was a real firecracker when we were kids. A lot like you, actually.”

Vander huffed a laugh to himself as he looked down at his hands, struggling to absorb the grief. What would he tell the others? What would he do with this child? He couldn't leave her here, not in the deteriorating state that she was in. 

“Do you have a dad, kid?” The girl shook her head, looking at the floor. He heaved a sigh - there wasn't any way that he was leaving the house without her. Maybe he could take her to Felicia and Connol. They already had little Violet. Maybe they wouldn't be opposed to taking in the girl. The girl in question had slowly stopped trembling and dropped to her hands and knees to tentatively approach Vander's side.

“What's your name?” He asked her. She hesitated for a moment before telling him. Hearing the name brought a small smile to his face. It was the same name as Ellie’s late mother. “And how old are you?” He asked her softly.

“I'm four years old.” She squeaked proudly, holding up four grubby fingers.

The lump returned to his throat. She was even younger than he had first thought. This child - barely older than a toddler - had been alone out on the streets, trying to find food for her dead mother, who she thought was asleep. The poor girl wasn't even old enough to understand what death was, yet she was fronting up to a grown man to protect her mother.

“What's your name?” Her small voice broke the silence once again. 

“Vander.” He looked up at her and gave a comforting smile. Her jaw dropped, and she practically crawled into his lap, reaching up to cup his bearded chin in her tiny hands.

“Vander?” She marvelled, and he nodded. “You're Mama's best friend, Vander!” She exclaimed, practically jumping on his lap in excitement. “Mama told me about her best friend, Vander!” The girl struggled to contain her excitement - smacking her hands against his chest in a subconscious effort to regulate her outburst of emotion.

“You can help me wake up Mama! She'll wake up to see her best friend, Vander!” She cried out, grabbing his large hand in both of hers and stood, attempting to pull him over to her mother's still form.

“I'm sorry, but your Mama isn't going to wake up.” Vander had hesitated before saying the words to the little girl.

“What? Yes, she will.” The girl replied stubbornly, a streak of anger in her tone. He could tell that subconsciously, the child knew he was right. Vander softly tugged her back into his lap and wrapped his arms protectively around her tiny, cold form.

“No, she won't.” He countered softly. “Sweetheart. Your Mama… she was one of the strongest and bravest people that I've ever met - and I know that she would have done everything she possibly could to keep you safe.” He felt her face nuzzle into his chest, as if she could hide from his words. “But sometimes…” he had to swallow down the lump forming in his throat once more. “Sometimes strong hearts get tired.” He heard his voice crack. “And when that happens, they can't wake up anymore.” Tears began to make their journey down his cheeks, dripping into the girl’s hair.

“But she has to wake up. I need her.” The warbled words broke Vander’s heart into pieces. “I need her.” She repeated, her voice cracked, and he felt her tears begin to seep through his shirt.

“She's not gone, though, not really.” She sniffled as she pulled back to look into his eyes with her own big, wet orbs. “She'll always be with you, here.” He tapped her on the chest directly over her heart, and she looked down in wonder. “Every time you think of her. Every time you remember her. Even if you can't see her - she'll always be with you.”

The little girl put her hand over her heart as her eyes filled with fresh tears.

“It's okay to feel sad.” Vander whispered, putting his large hand over hers. “And it's okay to miss her.” He assured her. “Your Mama would understand that - but she'd also want you to remember how much she loves you, and for you to know that you're not alone. I'm here now - and I'll do everything that I can to make you feel safe and loved - just like she would.” The wind was nearly knocked out of him at the force in which the girl hugged him, and he hugged her back earnestly - wishing he could shield her from the pain that she was feeling - that they both were feeling.

After a time, Vander stood. The sobbing girl - small enough to carry in just one of his arms - had since gone quiet, the exhaustion of grief lulling her into slumber. He spared one last look towards the body of his lost friend before moving around the room to collect some of the little girl's items - just enough to keep her warm for the day. He would come back tomorrow to collect the rest and lay his friend's body to rest.

Vander bent to the ground to collect the girl’s small satchel and cloak when a small leather-bound book, half-hidden beneath the bed, caught his eye. He tentatively reached out and picked it up, flipping it open to the first page. A charcoal sketch of The Last Drop's sign was delicately sketched into the parchment - and he realised, sadly, that this was what had most likely brought the little girl to his pub in search of food in the first place. A chance meeting - but one that he knew had already set his life on a new path.

He rested his forehead against the girl’s as he tucked the book into his jacket. This wasn't the time to stop and ponder what-ifs - he needed to get his girl somewhere safe and warm.

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

Okay, so, Hi. I hope this isn't total trash, but this fic has not left my head since I watched Arcane. Tbh, I don't even know if this is something that anyone would read - or even something that I'll have the motivation to continue, lol.

If this continues, it's going to be a Viktor/Reader fic. I've never written a /Reader fic before- so ohhhh lordy, it would be interesting, lol. If continued, the next chapter will begin at episode 1 of the series - so 15 years after this chapter is set - and from thereon will be written in second person perspective.

I honestly reallllly struggle with concentration and motivation for writing, (this one prologue legit took me a week to write,) so I can't make any promises, but this fic concept is keeping my brain ACTIVE rn.

Sorry if my grammar is shit. I haven't been in school for like 15 years, and my brain is rotting away. 🥹

Also, I'm in my music feels atm, so there will probably be song lyrics snuck into the dialogue. Obvis the title is based on the Billie Eilish song - because my brain has been singing this song about Viktor for the past month. 😭

Please, if you like what you've read and would like it to continue, drop some love... or don't... I'm not your mum. 😘

Love y'all. 💛🫡