#viktor x oc

[ursawastricked]

Distracting: Part 2

Viktor has been harboring guilt over his accidental thievery of your used champagne glass. At least he had the security that you were none the wiser..that doesn't change that your even harder to ignore now that he spent the weekend studying your lip print 

warnings: More of Viktor's developing crush on you, lots of flashback to after the party, him being soft, some VERY mild suggestive stuff..don’t worry more is to come in the next part 

Read part 1 here

Word count : 2,339

“Is the sun always that bright?” Viktor whined, covering his gaze as he hurried over toward the window, leaning toward it and squinting disaprovingly at the sunny world beyond it, before pulling on the shades and banishing the light. His head didnt exactly pound anymore, but he had a way of ending up hung over whenever he drank, call it his low weight, or the fact that his anatomy consistently seemed against him, if there was alcohol, it hurts the next day.

“I think it always stays like that Vik '' you answer, earning an unimpressed glance your way as he limps toward his desk and places down his bag. You stretch your arms upward, humming lightly as you feel the satisfying crackle in your spine and knuckles. You personally, feel wonderful. After the party over the weekend, you peeled away your dress and were fast to slip into a hot bath, allowing for your sore muscles to relax and let you practically fall into a perfectly restful weekend. You dont recall too much other than resting on your couch, reading the current novel that had infected your every thought, one you had also slipped into your bag for today when the lab was getting a little boring.

“Ugh..” You hear Viktor let out a relch at the sound of your joints popping, “Why, every morning..That isnt good for you, and it is worse to listen to” He lectured, placing himself in his chair, slowly turning to face you so that his point would get across. You mimic him immedietly, a practiced motion, turning to face him, and mirroring his posture and how his fingers laced together on his knee. He flashed yet another disaproving look, this time punctuated with a, “Rude”.

You snicker lightly, returning yourself to face your desk. Unpacking your bag only takes another minute or so, that moment remaining silent as you and Viktor set up for today's work load. The silence was normal, especially with Viktor, but that's why you liked working with him. While you could spend hours talking with Jayce, bouncing back and forth in a hyper focused frenzy, you much more enjoyed the comfortable silence of working next to Viktor. You had developed a ritual of passing back and forth materials and tools as you worked simultaneously on projects.

He was always respectful, never intentionally touching you without reason, and if he did bump you, he was quick to apologize, which you enjoyed only because of how flustered he got when he began to stumble over words so fast he began to slip into his native language. Or when he would tap you lightly with a pencil, and you would turn to see what he needed, only for him to lean over your notebook and scribble something down, like a warning before he did so.

You had caught yourself memorizing his little mannerisms over time, keeping a small tally at the top corner of your pages for every time he had tricked you into letting him fix a note, or murmured a word you didnt recognize when fidgeting with a new project. It relaxed you, like a little grounding tool to keep your mind occupied when you had tired yourself with your work, a healthy distraction. So you lazily flipped open your notebook to the current page, doodling a little box for today's tallies before pulling the sheet off your current project and beginning your busy work. Viktor sat quietly as he began his project, as usual. He had just gone for his wrench when he caught movement in the corner of his eyes, a familiar motion he had memorized, you're playing with your hair again. His gaze tracks the motion, how the tufts flutter about, if he was closer like last time, he was sure he would be able to smell the shampoo you used again..if he was correct in assuming, it smelt like honey. He didnt notice he was staring until you turned your head and caught him. Your eyes lock with his golden gaze for a short moment, a blissful second of eyecontact between you, before he caught it and you watched his gaze flicker around, his head turning swiftly before settling back on his work and his form shrank down far too close to his project to be safe, but successfully he had avoided the chance of you seeing how harshly his face darkened red. His breath was shaky, as he struggled to keep it low enough that you coculdnt hear. How frustrating, it had been getting harder to avoid your prying eyes, more tedious to avoid you catching him logging your smiles, and even harder to keep up conversations without smiling too much, and you had only added another level to it with that damned glass. That weekend, he had smuggled that stupid glass away from the party. He didnt know why, in fact he was sure it was a trance when he walked into him and Jayce shared an apartment, only to find the empty champagne glass still tucked in his palm. Jayce locked the door as Viktor considered what could have happened to end up here, now a thief..through the glass couldn’t be too expensive, it felt rather cheap.

“What's that you got there?” Jayce asked, leaning over Viktor and causing him the flinch, almost hard enough to send the delicate glass shattering across the floor. He gripped it tighter, giving one of his famously annoyed glances. Jayce lifted his brows, motioning specifically toward the rouge lipstain at the edge.

“Oh? Oh hoho..that color there looks pretty familiar” Jayce had started to tease, his chest was starting to bob with a deep chuckle, the kind he had always given when he was preparing to tease him.

Viktor felt the stab of anxity in his stomach, looking quickly between Jayce’s knowing gaze and the glass before he squirmed a bit away, trying to hide away in his room, fast.

“I dont want to talk about it.” He insisted, tucking away into his room and quickly hiding away the used glass in his closet with a slam.

“Talk about what? Did they give it to you or did you mean to steal it?” Jayce practically howled as he leaned into Viktors room, watching as his friend as he struggled to undo his tie with furious aggression, only getting more incense the longer he struggled. With a loud huff he finally undid it, now wrestling with his shirt vest,

“I didn’t mean t- I didnt steal it from them” He insisted, pulled off the vest before landing on his bed and taking off his shoes, “Oh..so you're not denying it anymore?” Viktor froze, his hands ceasing shakily over his cufflinks. Jayce smirked teasingly, suppressing another laugh until Viktor flung a loose shoe toward him. He quickly took the hint, “Okay! Okay! Good night loverboy-” He laughed, slipping away and leaving Viktor flushed violently and gripping his hair as he fell back into his bed. 

At least now he could let his face cool down now that you were no longer watching him, it of course was easier to work and ignore you for a few minutes at a time. Until..

“Hey guys! Sorry I'm late,” Jayce hollered, bursting through the door, nearly tripping over the doorway and spilling the offering of coffe for the trio.

Yes, Viktor was screwed now. Jayce knew, he dditn know to what extent, but he did know. He knew about the glass.

“Here ya go,” Jayce chirped, handing you a coffee with that stupid winning smile.

“Aw, thanks ya goof. You know, you could just not be late, then you wouldn't need to get us coffee every monday.” You explain, sipping the drink as you watch him float off toward Viktor who had frozen solid since the door opened.

“Then I would miss out on your winning smile, you have a very special smile when you get surprised by coffee” He replied, twirling around to the other side of an unresponsive Viktor. He placed the cup beside his friend's hand, leaning over his shoulder to whisper where you couldnt hear.

“I got you the same order, in case you want to ‘swap’ cups again,” He hummed, almost getting hit as Viktor swatted him away. Jayce snickered quietly, slipping away to his own work.

Viktor sat staring at his coffee for a few moments, regrettably reaching for it. Coffee was essential, how unfortunate that it was a gift from Jayce..he drank it non the less, pressing his lips to the lid and gulping down a few mouthfulls and returning finally to an average working pace.

“Vik? Are you there?” Viktor snapped out of his focused state, turning toward the sound before pulling off his goggles and finding you much closer than he expected you to be. You stoof next to him, leaning a little over his side after spending the past minute or so trying to get his attention. You tilted your head, giving an amused huff as you slipped some papers to his desk. “Thank Janna the fire alarm wasn’t going off, you would be cooked by now.” He blinked, glancing from you to the papers a few times before turning to read them better. He pulled them from the table, acutely aware of the fleeting warmth your hands had left. 

“Hmm..yes, and I'm sure in wouldn’t notice the heat or pain either,” he replied, looking over your notes with a similar, less intense, focus.

“I wouldnt be surprised, you kinda run on autopilot when you're zoned out. Once you stole my pencil for the day after fixing my notes”, You pull yourself up on the desk, crossing your legs and watching as he scribbles down corrections to your equasions. “And you have yet to return that novel I let you borrow, you're kind of a clepto.” 

“I am not a ‘clepto’” he huffed, adjusting one of your notes, biting on the edge of his pencil,

“That's my pencil..”

He pulled it away from his teeth, inspecting it for any signs he may recognize. He flipped it in his hand, finding your initials etched into the wood.. 

“Ah..so it is..” he muttered, finishing his edits before offering you the pencil. 

“No, you keep it.” You say, declining the chewed on pencil and snatching up your papers. You hug them to your chest, walking a step or two before leaning down close to his ear, “Add it to your little collection,” you purr, straightening up and hurrying toward Jayce for a final opinion.

Viktor stills in his seat, holding the pencil loosely between his fingers and staring blankely at the edge of the desk. He twitched his hand lightly, unable to do much more after that. 

You were so close..he still felt the warmth of your breath across his throat, the memory of it sending a static shiver down his spine, causing him to lean over his desk and place his head againstt his hands. You were warm, even though you hadnt touched him, and being so close, he could confirm..your shampoo smells like honey.And when you sat on his desk, he had fought every instinct in his body not to look at you, not when you sat above him like that. Your legs crossed, leaned over his work. If he reached over, he could have confirmed another theory, whether or not your thighs were as soft as they looked- Damn it, focus. He coudln’t be doing this, not here. You were no less than a yard away and all he couldnt think about was how good you smelt, how your breath felt against his neck..how your lipstain would look against his skin. He had noticed you were wearing the same color as before.

‘Stop it. They work with you.’ 

He grabbed his coffee, sipping it aimlessly.

The night after the party, Viktor had sat staring at the single stained glass on his desk. He had pulled it out to clean it, thinking at least he could put it in the kitchen and just forget all about his accidentale thievery. Instead, he had ended up watching it, as if it would squirm or come to life if he only watched for long enough. 

He didnt clean it..he let it sit on his desk and continued on with his day. On occasion he would glance at it, sometimes walking over and holding it to closely inspect the print of your lips left on its crystal edge. He always rounded back to it, replaying the memory of you in that dress, giving him the rest of your drink..you smiled..maybe you knew- of course you didnt. Why would you know? He was good about hiding it, right? He didn’t think he made it too obvious, maybe stareing a bit longer than he should have, or that one instance where he had to hide the smile tally from you when you had seemingly manifested beside him.

 Before he had slept that night, he absentmindenly brought it with him to the kitchen..he ment to clean it..but instead he had filled it, nursing down a bit of wine to trick his brain into sleeping. Maybe even allow for a dream similar to the events of the party..with less of him standing alone. 

He groaned lightly to himself, standing and grabbing his crutch before walking across the room toward the door. 

“Everything ok Viktor?” Jayce asked, pulling his attention away from the blackboard,

“Just need some fresh air..” Viktor replied, escaping the lab, and making his way down the hall. 

After a walk his head would be clear enough to work again. He would be able ti at least make some progress on the assignment without his thoughts drifting back to how your uniform looked against your skin, or how pretty your voice sounded when you gifted him your stolen pencil..

“Add it to your little collection..” 

He paused..eyes wide. “Oh..no..” 

[theiauwu]

Can you do head canons for Silco and Viktor with a super anxious partner?

Pairing: Silco x Gender Neutral! Reader, Viktor x Gender Neutral! Reader

Word Count: 289; 300

Genre: fluff, headcanon

Yes I can! Hope you like what I’ve written and I hope you all request for more Silco & Viktor content if you enjoy my writing style!

Content Warning: anxiety

Silco:

I feel like the man would incredibly patient and understanding with someone anxious. Have you seen the way he handles Jinx when she was stabbing his repeatedly in the face with his eye needle thingy?

So reassuring.

Feeling restless and questioning your every action? He senses it as soon as it happens and is quick to provide the comfort you need to overcome it. Everything else can wait.

Depending on where the two are, his actions differ.

If you are in private, he’ll look at you in your eyes with his mismatched ones and tell you that you’re perfect just the way you are. And that you shouldn’t care about what others think. He’d say those words so softly yet with so much conviction, you find yourself believing it.                     

“And if they have any sense of survival, they’ll keep their words to themselves.”

It wouldn’t be him without a quick threat to whatever is causing you such distress.

In public, he’d be more subtle in his actions. He would take your hand in his under the table and rub the back of it with his thumb. Very subtle in his actions but the comfort it there.

Also it wouldn’t hurt to flash a stern glare in the direction of the cause of your anxiety, especially if it’s a person. Would wave for someone to get rid of it if it’s an object and the same goes for the person if the time calls for it.

“Get it out of my sight.”

Wants you to know that you have nothing to be anxious about.

Loves you as you are and he wouldn’t change anything for the world.

“My lovely, you are perfect the way you are, everyone else be damned.”

Viktor:

He is a man of science. Of logic.

So trust me when I say he is not lying when he says you shouldn’t be anxious. Would say it in a way that sounds factual, as if it’s a math formula he’s written hundreds of times on paper.

He is patient as he listens to your concern and he understands it theoretically but is unable to truly understand what you have to be anxious of because he doesn’t see it.

You are perfect in his eyes.

Though he does his best to comfort you despite it.

He will cup your face in his non occupied hand and make you look at him as he whispers words of comfort to you.

“What others think of you shouldn’t matter my dear. If you aren’t harming anyone then why should they care?”

He is a problem solver at heart so when he is made aware of your anxiety, the first thing he does *after making sure you’re okay* is to head to the library and do all the research he can to help you overcome it.

He is slower to detect your anxiety cause the man is not the best at noticing things like this but he learns fast to make up for it.

In the comforts of your home, he’d sit you down and have you tell him about the source of your anxiety and he will debunk it without ever being dismissing of your anxiety.

In public, if he detects your anxiety flaring up, he’d come up to your side and hold your hand tightly in his. Letting you know that he’s there and will support you in any way you need him to.

“I’m here love, if you need anything don’t hesitate to let me know. I am here for you.”

If he’s feeling quirky, might suggest running away.

“If you want to, may I suggest allowing me to whisk you away?”

[mellowfluffy]

An idea like that :)

The girl could be my oc, your oc, yourself, who you want :) I like thé idea you can use it for your fantaisies :3

Thank you so much for all your kind support T_T

[sheepdawgiearts]

Yorea shenanigans (I love the idea of a flustered Viktor ^^)

[astudyincontrasts]

Bury Me Not On The Lone Prairie

Viktor x Fem!OC Reader - Western AU (NSFW)

Just a little gift fic for the kind and lovely @designfailure56 and their sweet, inspiring hee-haw Viktor art, and all their beautiful Arcane art.  Thank you for blessing this fandom by being a part of it and sharing your wonderful talents and huge heart with us all.

Synopsis:  Western AU set on a ranch in the 1800′s, just a romantic, slightly angsty, sometimes steamy little drabble I probably should have cut into three or four chapters.  A young widow struggles to run a ranch in the midwest with the help of one skrunkly, adorable man we all love.  No Y/N.

TW: mentions of death, mentions of sibling death and spouse death, angst, longing, possible allusions to non or dub con, minor bride typical for time period, domestic violence, off screen animal death, sex, oral sex, slight somnophilia.

“Viktor?!”

The heat of the day was sweltering, shimmers of it rising off the baked earth that wasn’t covered in the verge and scrubgrass of the rolling, open land.  Summers out here were nothing like those back in the country you knew in your youth.  No temperate, easy climate here.  Winters were harsh and cold, dumping piles of snow across the land from the storms that came off the mountains, and summers were breathlessly hot.

It wasn’t the verdant green of your island motherland, but the prairies had a beauty of their own.  It was just difficult to see it sometimes, when the sweat rolled stinging into your eyes and even your lightest cotton shift clung to your damp skin; prickly and cloying and trapping the heat in as it rose up under your feet from the baked earth.

But this was home, and it was your own.

Your parents, tired of no prospects and facing down starvation under the thumb of imperial rule, had packed you and all your siblings up and set sail for America, for hope and something new, only to be met with as much if not more derisive bigotry than they’d left behind.  But at least here there were jobs, there was work, and money to be made for those willing to work themselves to the bone.  Your father had joined the railroad teams, and your mother followed with all the kids in tow, moving town to town and work camp to work camp to help stitch this new land together with sutures of iron track and wood ties.

You were the eldest now, after your brother died of an illness borne in the contaminated drinking water in the crossing.  And being a girl, it meant your hands were supposed to help raise and care for the other little ones, until you were old enough to be unloaded.

You supposed your parents had meant well by it; thought they had worked out the perfect way to offer you security and prosperity, things they never had.  Still, you’d barely been 17 when they agreed to betroth you to the old man.  

He owned a vast, sprawling tract of the prairie your father’s team was currently building the railway through, a parcel he’d snatched up back in his own youth during the land grabs.  He used to love to tell that story over and over again, how they’d line up back in town and then when the gunshot rang out would ride or run like devils to snatch the stake or stakes driven into parcels of land.  Him and his brothers had got the biggest stake claims all adjoining and now that he was the only one left alive and they’d had no kin, he had one of the largest tracts of land outside of the nearest town.

The town where he’d spotted you while you lived there with your family as the railroad work was done.  Where he decided a pretty young thing with freckles across her nose was just the remedy for an old man’s lonesomeness in his big home.

He dowered you well, and you did your duty as you always had.  Went and married him at the little steeple church in a borrowed, scratchy lace gown.  Your family made richer for the loss of you.  

They still wrote, from time to time, or at least your mother did.  She was the only one of your parents with enough education to make letters and at least she’d taught you to read and write as well.  But the mail out here came rarely, and you had no way of knowing if the letters you sent back ever reached them or if they had moved on to a new town or camp, well aware the very last you’d ever see them was when the railroad team packed up to move out to the next stop.

The old man hadn’t been unkind.  He was gruff and quiet and set in his ways, but he never beat you or hurt you and he gave you a good home.  He died only three years after you were married, unexpectedly.  Took fever from a slight injury and went fast.  Terrifyingly fast.  It felt unkind to say you were grateful not to have to share his bed anymore, even if it was true… but it also thrust you into the unexpected position of land-rich widow, sole heir of the ranch and home and all the land.  

Your late husband had been a frugal man, and left you a tidy sum.  You could have sold the property and moved on, found a life of your own elsewhere, but you liked it here.  It was wild and free and beautiful.  And in the sweltering summer sun with not a single forgiving cloud in the sky, it was hot.

Many of the ranch hands had their doubts about the young immigrant widow inheriting the old man’s business.  And you still had your accent from your home country, that pretty little lilt that gave you away every time, and inspired no end of sneering or snide comments.  You were used to the precious little respect paid a woman, but you couldn’t understand why other native English speakers should hate people from your island so much, should make such terrible jokes and be so belittling.  And weren’t you all immigrants here?

Most of the help had left the week after the old man was buried, believing you would sell the ranch or else run it into the ground.  A few stuck around.  Viktor had been one of them.  He was young, just a little older than you, and had also been born elsewhere, a country with a language you didn’t know that gave him the most lovely soft accent.  And when he got frustrated and cursed in his native tongue it never failed to make you laugh, though you tried to hide it.

He stayed, and you were grateful.  He was gentle, quiet, good with the animals and so terribly smart.  A keen intelligence that took the place of the physical prowess most ranch hands had to offer, because there was certain hard labor he could not do with the squeaking metallic brace that ran up the lean length of his bad leg.  

It stunted his gait, and when he took it off or got tired he needed the support of a cane, but he could ride just fine, and never shirked in his work.  Found smarter, better ways to do things.  

You liked him very much.

He’d helped you, when you decided the cattle were too much trouble and too much of a risk for you to keep.  Helped you sell them all off at a tidy profit and then purchase sheep instead.  Easier to graze on the land, less work.  Far nicer to keep to sell their wool and the lambs each spring, and less of a target for the cattle poachers.

Viktor was a natural with the animals.  Gentle and quiet, they seemed naturally drawn to him.  You’d gifted him your late husband’s appaloosa gelding when you saw how the horse practically followed him around like a puppy.  How it nudged at his back or tried to steal his hat if he did not pay it enough attention with absent gentle petting.  He tried to refuse but you wouldn’t take no for an answer.  He’d stayed when others left, he was kind when others felt callous, and he listened.  The ranch flourished under you both.  And you had freedom.

He made you feel like… you.  Like your own you.  Not someone’s daughter or someone’s sister or someone’s wife or someone’s widow.  Just you, yourself.

He called you Miss where the others called you Ma’am.  And never referred to you as the Widow Walker, which you heard in town more often than you’d like to and made you feel like an old hag at 22.

He’d smile and it lit the world up a little more.  He’d watch you as you spoke with him, with those soft amber eyes under the heavy dark of his brows and you felt seen.  A little too seen, sometimes, could feel a soft blush creep up under the freckles across your cheeks if his attention stayed on you too long, and hoped your perpetual slight sunburn was enough to hide the way he turned your skin pink.

It wasn’t difficult to admit to yourself that you wanted him, just difficult to admit to wanting anything at all for yourself.  And you’d turned down multiple marriage proposals from men in town or the surrounding ranches, men looking at you as a ways to a means, a conduit to getting their hands on your land and money.  Denied your hand to good prospects in your quiet longing to never be someone’s something again.  

How could you then turn around and want instead to touch and be touched by a young man with no money, prospects, land or even a horse to his name until you’d gifted him one?  It felt impractical, foolish and silly.  Felt irresponsible and just a little selfish in a way that ignited all the quiet guilt both the church and your parents had always told you you ought to feel at wanting anything for yourself.

But god, you did.  You did want him for yourself.  A little more with each passing month since your husband died, and now two years in, it felt like a little more with every passing day.

There was not a ton of work to be done, outside of the usual everyday business of running the house and farm which was sufficient enough to fill a day, in the dead heat of late summer.  And most heavy jobs were confined to the early morning or early evening hours when it was still cooler out or the worst of the sun had faded.  Many of the ranch hands were seasonal, only showing up when it was time to cull or shear, or harvest or any number of the big jobs.  Only a few lived out on the ranch itself at the distant outbuilding where they could oversee the flocks and rotate pasture easily.  

Viktor, as your right hand, stayed closer.  You’d given him the foreman’s rooms, just off the big house.  An adjoining modest cluster of private rooms befitting the position of the person who helped run everything.  He’d tried to turn that down too, but you’d been at such a loose end after the original foreman quit not one day after your husband had been lowered into the ground.  And Viktor had stepped right in without needing to be asked or told, picked up the slack and kept you afloat when the rest of the world felt like rocks in your pockets, trying to sink you.

He refused to come into the big house and infringe on your domestic kingdom, though the large place was so quiet and felt so empty most of the time, you wished he would.  Only the kitchen, for breakfast or dinner when offered, and it was always offered.  Wouldn’t join you at the dining room table, too formal and fine a thing you supposed, for him.  But would happily sit at the little rough hewn kitchen table and have his coffee and eggs with you.   He’d come in at the end of the day and pull a colander full of green beans into his lap and start shucking the peas out of them without you having to ask, chatting away about the day and the plans for tomorrow.

And after dinner he’d go back to his rooms and you’d be left in the big house all to yourself.  To sit before the fireplace or sink into a hot bath if you had the energy to boil and haul that much water, or to lay alone in the big bed and listen to the crickets outside, praying for a cool breeze to lift the heat and stop you sweating through your nightgown.

Left to think about him.

About elegantly long fingered hands with rough calluses and how gentle they seemed.  About dark lashes over amber golden eyes and the shape of his mouth when he smiled.  How all his smiles seemed either shy or sly and nothing in between.  About the soft mess of his hair, the lean strength of bare forearms, the look of fierce concentration that he could get that made all the lovely angles of his face and jaw look like a work of art.

About what his skin might smell like when clean or taste like when sweated.

About how he’d feel between your legs or under your hands.

About him being tender.  Or him being rough.

Thought about him enough that some days it was impossible to look him in the face without blushing hotly, so sure he could read your mind and knew all the horrible things that went on up there.  Could hear you moan his name softly in your sleep at night when all the world was quiet save for the crickets and hoot owls and the distant howl of wolves out in the far foothills.

But if he could, he never let on.  Treated you with the same respectable distance and friendly coolness he had when the old man had been alive.  It made you certain he did not share your longing in the least, and in a way you were quietly grateful for it.  Made keeping your shameful crush all the easier, and keeping those safe boundaries in place simple.

“Viktor?!”

He’d been out in the heat of the day, expanding the chicken coop.  You’d been busy baking the week’s bread, and though the wood oven you were using was outside in the summer kitchen, it had no shade; designed and built by some man who would never have to make use of it himself, of course.  And you were feeling half baked to a toasted golden brown yourself by the time the second round of loaves were in the oven.  

You’d pulled some fresh, cold water from the pump and juiced four of the precious lemons from the crate you’d splurged on at market last week.  Grated sugar into it from the hard pressed little paper wrapped cone you kept, and mixed it all until it was a deliciously cold, tart-sweet lemonade sweating in the pretty crockery pitcher.  

You’d grabbed two glasses and made your way out toward the barn, calling his name.

Sat by the coop, sweat dripping off the tip of his nose and running rivulets down the dust on his cheeks, he looked up from where he was securing the wire fencing to fine posts to make a larger, longer run for the chicken flock.  

His smile sweeter than the sugar you’d licked from your fingers a minute ago.

“I thought you’d like a drink and a rest?”  You held the glasses aloft in offering.

“Oh, yes.  Thank you Miss.”  He rose, stiffly, always cognizant of that bad leg, and nodded toward the open breezeway doors of the hayloft and the shade within.  You followed in his stilted footsteps.

It was slightly cooler within, and the heat made the sweet scent of the hay all the stronger.  He eagerly accepted the glass you gave him and held it while you poured.  Nearly gulped down the first one, exhaling a soft gasp of breath as he drained the glass that had you laugh a little as you poured him a second and sipped at your own.

“That is wonderful, thank you.  This is why you wanted that bitter fruit?”  He asked, savoring the second glass instead of chugging it down.  Lemons were not a terribly common thing found out here, but you recalled little sweet cakes iced with them and served with tea from your youth and had bought the whole crate of them, much to Viktor’s dubious surprise.  “This is not bitter at all.  This is delicious.”

Skeptical of your purchase, he’d grabbed one of the lemons on the cart ride home and before you could stop him had sliced it like an orange and taken a bite.  His puckered reaction and wide eyed stare at you had been priceless, nearly had you pitch off the cart bench in a fit of teary-eyed laughter that had him bashfully sullen the rest of the ride home, pride and tastebuds wounded.  Grumbling occasionally under his breath in his native language in a way that you were sure was questioning your sanity. It only served to make you fight not to giggle more.

You grinned at him over the rim of your glass, feeling quite superior to have finally proved your point that you weren’t mad for spending so much on such silly bitter fruit, and plucked at the neckline of your dress.  Thin cotton clung to skin sticky with sweat.  You watched his gaze fall to it and then skim away quickly, glancing toward one of the hefty hay bales.

“Would you like to sit?  You look overheated.”  Kind words from someone far more sunstroked than yourself.  You nodded, but the prospect of the blades of hay poking itchy through the thin cotton of your dress was not a pleasant one.

“Help me with my apron?”

You turned, and setting the pitcher down on another hay bale, scooped your hair up off your neck and piled it high, holding it atop your head as you stood facing away.

His fingers found the bow fixing it at your lower back first.  Tugged slow until it gave, and then the one up at the nape of your neck.  Fingertips a light graze as he pulled it open.  You pinned the apron to your front with the hand still holding your glass and would have dropped your hair and turned back around, until you felt the soft skim of his fingertips gently tugging sweated fabric of the collar of your dress away from hot skin, and you froze.  Heart climbing up into your throat to lodge like a comfortable beating stone as he inhaled, and softly, softly blew a cool little breeze across the back of your neck, sending every fine hair of your entire body lifting in a tickling, electric thrill.

Your own breath escaped past that pounding heart in your throat as a near silent little shuddering sigh.

He had to have heard it, but he did it again.  Soft little blown breeze gently tickling behind one ear, along the path of your pulse, against the fine baby hairline and down the nape of your neck.  You couldn’t keep eyes open, gaze shuttering as every ounce of focus bent upon the soft breath he blew against sweat-slick skin.  You heard him shift slightly behind you and could only think of dropping the apron, of his hand coming round to pull open the string stays of your dress at the low front neckline, to peel damp cotton from skin and bare the shape of breasts, to graze fingers light as his breath over the aching stiffness he’d made of nipples with those little breezes.

Would he pinch?  Tug?  Tease little touches until you were begging for his mouth instead?  You were shivering, terrified it was visible.

Instead he must have switched hands that held the glass of lemonade, and used the ones cooled by the drink to gently trace down the skin of your neck in slow strokes, dragging the cool touch out so that skin sang for him.

You spun to face him, dropping hair, unable to take the tease a second longer, certain he’d kiss you, fit to die with the need to kiss him.  Only to find him smiling amicably at you, like he was the sole man on earth devoid of desire or want, and all he’d done was offer you a kind respite from the heat as you had done for him.  Meanwhile all your hungry attention was fixed on the shape of his mouth, your own parted embarrassingly obviously, your breath coming in shallow little fits.

He dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at your nose, then up over your forehead and one cheek.  You watching in slow dawning horror at the white smudges of flour that came away on the dark blue cloth.

You’d wandered out to him straight from baking, covered in flour, looking like a silly mess.  Like some kind of white-painted circus clown.  Embarrassment turned your stomach over in a hard knot.

“Keep the pitcher.  I’ll make more.”  It all came out as one continuous word as you struggled to pull your loose apron into your free hand and beat a hasty retreat that was as close to running as the attempted nonchalance of absolutely full speed hurried walking away could manage, leaving him there with that handkerchief still hovering midair.

Stupid, stupid, stupid girl.

Back in the house, in the kitchen, you pitched up against the doorframe and clunked your head hard against the wood of it, repeatedly.  So stupid.  He probably thought you were a simple minded little fool, and who could blame him?  Shivering like that, making those sighs, staring at his mouth like you wanted to be devoured and all the while painted white in erratic smudges of flour.

God, but his touch lingered on your skin though.  Neck still a soft riot of cool fire where he’d grazed it.  

What if he had kissed you?  What if he’d let you push him back onto one of those hay bales and pull your skirts up to your hips, let you climb onto his lap.  His hands gripping your waist as you rode him slowly, watching his sharp chin lift and back arch as you showed him just how well you could ride astride and not foolish side-saddle.  The soft gold of eyes fixed on you as you came undone atop him, as you bounced on the delicious feel of him inside you.

Your hand had strayed down, pressed over your sex between your thighs as you shuddered, tried to compose yourself and failed, just leaning there, living in that daydream a long moment, unwilling to face the embarrassment that waited just outside the door to remind you what a silly idiot you’d been - were being.

You’d nearly dropped the glass you were holding before you finally came around again.  And set to wearing yourself out with chores to keep from thinking of any of it again.  You’d never had thoughts like this before, about anyone, and the intensity of them was a little frightening.

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He brought the pitcher back with him in the evening when he returned to share dinner, and thankfully did not speak of what had happened, or rather didn’t happen in the barn.  Didn’t tease you or make light of it.  Just complimented your dinner and shared the meal in relative silence.  

Afterward, after the dishes were done and he’d scrubbed himself up in the sink as well, washing dust and dirt from face, neck, forearms and hands, you thought he’d retire to his rooms.  Instead he headed off to them only to return with one of the books he’d borrowed from your late husband’s meager library.   Viktor loved to read and he’d regularly borrowed a single book at a time from the old man while he was alive, a tradition you took pleasure in keeping up with him.

“May I choose another?”  He offered his finished one back and you accepted it with a nod, turning to let him follow you into the big house and to the great room.  You fitted the book back in its empty slot in the shelf and watched him browse.  He had to have read nearly all of them by now, it was not a large collection and he was voracious in his reading.  It pleased you to no end to watch him struggle to settle on a new title before you crossed to the little writing desk nearby and turned the brass key to lift its lid.  Took a small paper-wrapped parcel from it and held it out, clearing your throat softly.

Golden gaze ticked from the bookshelf to you and dark brows lifted in surprise, his hand still gripping his chin thoughtfully now frozen there as he stared at the little parcel you held out.

“Something new?”  You offered, the smile spreading on your face almost sly in its pleasure.

Lemons weren’t the only different thing you’d bought at market last week.

Viktor’s attention ticked from the package to your face and back again before he managed to unstick himself from the spot and walk over to accept the gift.  He arched a dark brow at you questioningly as he pulled open the twine and unwrapped the paper.  The book that lay within was gorgeous, leather a deep oxblood red and etched in gold gilt at its spine and front cover, the title gorgeously stylized.

Viktor sucked a breath of delight and turned the book over and over again in his hands.

“Frankenstein?”

“It's a novel about science and galvanization - or something like that.  Whatever that means.  The bookseller highly recommended it.  I thought you might like something new.  Perhaps to start your own library?”  You offered shyly, taking the plain brown paper wrapping and twine from him so that he might enjoy the book unfettered.

As hungrily as he looked down at the book, the expression he turned up to you was more agonized than pleased.

“You should not have done this.  You’re too generous as it is.  This is…  this is a luxury.  I don’t -”

You stopped him there, your pleasure at being able to gift him something he liked so well being soured by his embarrassed attempt at refusal.  Stepping forward and fighting against hesitation, you placed a hand gently on his bare wrist.  Skin warm under your fingers, contact shooting a breathlessly wonderful static tingle straight up your arm.  

“I’ll thank you however I please.  You do much around here, and you’ve always helped me.  If I want to make you a gift of something as simple as a book, that’s my right.”

He gazed down at you in quiet awe and nodded slowly.

“Do you like it?”

“Do I… Yes, very much.”  He seemed to remember his manners the next moment, “Thank you.”

You smiled up at him and with no small effort managed to lift your touch off his wrist.

“You’re welcome, then.”  You watched him go back to examining the fine cover of the book and thumb gently through its new, stiff pages.  “Would you… that is, do you think you might read it to me a bit?  Out on the porch?”

The night was nice enough, the temperature dropping from the heat of the day.  And while you could read and write it was not as well as Viktor could.  You’d tried some of the books he’d borrowed and returned only to stumble over more than half the words and struggle so hard it made you tired.

“Of course.”  Again that lift of heavy brows in slight surprise at your request, but he acquiesced readily enough it left no room for you to feel guilty that you’d somehow imposed on his free time.  “If you like.”

“I’ll meet you out there.”  Another sweet offering of a little smile for him, one he seemed to puzzle over as he left the room.

Up the stairs you went to clean the dirt of the day off yourself at the wrought iron stand in your bedroom that held pitcher and ewer.  Careful to check your reflection in the little glass mounted above it.  No flour or smudges or unnoticed marks to make you look a fool.  You shed the damp dress and left it to hang and air out by one of the open windows, changed out of underthings and pulled on the soft, thin white muslin of a nightdress that bared your arms.  You brushed out your hair and braided it to one side for sleeping, grabbed the thin comfort of a finely crocheted shawl your mother had gifted you for your wedding and shrugged it on for modesty as you padded back downstairs in bare feet.

Outside, Viktor had settled into one of the rocking chairs on the large porch that wrapped three quarters of the house.  He’d lit a little hurricane lamp to read by and sat thumbing through his new novel, waiting on you patiently.

You felt a little pang to see he’d chosen one of the rockers instead of the bench you might have shared together, and fought against the impulse to imagine climbing right into his lap instead of taking your own seat, and settling against his chest in a warm cuddle.  The way your younger siblings used to clamber into your lap when you’d read them bedtime stories from the tatty old book of fairytales your mother had taught all of you to read from.

Viktor glanced up as you approached, and you could watch the sudden, unguarded look of shock pass over his features to see you in your nightthings.  It gave you a momentary pause, to think perhaps you should have been more modest, waited to get ready for bed until after he was done reading, but the day’s heat still lingered a bit and it felt far more comfortable in a clean shift the air could move through.  You simply gathered the thin crochet lace of the shawl a bit more around yourself and sank into the nearest rocking chair with a smile you hoped was more charming than apologetically embarrassed.

Viktor’s mouth parted as he watched you settle, like he was struggling with the impulse of observation or conversation, before he finally gave it up as lost and instead just opened the book and began without preamble.

“Frankenstein  or, the Modern Prometheus.

A Letter to Mrs. Saville, England;

You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil forebodings. I arrived here yesterday, and my first task is to assure my dear sister of my welfare and increasing confidence in the success of my undertaking.

I am already far north of London, and as I walk in the streets of Petersburgh, I feel a cold northern breeze play upon my cheeks, which braces my nerves and fills me with delight. Do you understand this feeling? This breeze, which has travelled from the regions towards which I am advancing, gives me a foretaste of those icy climes. Inspirited by this wind of promise, my daydreams become more fervent and vivid. I try in vain to be persuaded that the pole is the seat of frost and desolation; it ever presents itself to my imagination as the region of beauty and delight… ”

It was lovely, listening to him read.  His voice gentle, warmly accented in a way that made the words feel fresh and soft.  He never stumbled over the words like you might have done, or struggled with the larger ones.  His pace picked up as he reached exciting portions, losing himself and his usual quiet reserve in the thrill of the story, letting that mask slip to reveal a bit of passion underneath.

The bookseller had been right, it was a good book, and you were glad you’d bought it, the tale nearly as enrapturing as the young man reading it to you.  Still, the day had been a long one and the heat took much out of you both.  It was all too soon you were yawning, struggling to keep eyes open but unwilling to ask Viktor to stop so that you might go to bed.  Too greedy for his company and to keep listening to his voice.  Small mercy he seemed to be able to tear himself away from the story enough to notice you fading out and closed the book gently.

“You should sleep.”  As if he himself didn’t look utterly exhausted as well, dark shadows under luminous eyes and lids heavy even as he obviously craved more of the book held tenderly in his hands.  You nodded, stifling yet another jaw-cracking yawn and rose, him following, pausing to blow out the lantern and follow you through the door.

He caught you inside, after he’d shut the door and turned the lock, your foot on the first of the stairs.  The warm grasp of his hand on your bare upper arm where the shawl had slipped stopped you in your tracks, had you glance up questioningly even as you wanted to sink all focus into the feel of his skin on yours, the sweeping lift of goosebumps that ran straight down from elbow to wrist.

He was staring at the floor, at your bare feet and his own boots.  Like he couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eyes for the very first time since you’d known him.  His thumb pressed to the soft of your bicep, and slowly swept a little back and forth arc, and suddenly you understood very well why all the animals seemed to cave and gentle under his hands.

“Thank you again, Miss.”  

Before you could speak or move or even finish forming a rational thought he leaned forward, brushed a peck of a kiss to the soft apple of your cheek.  And your brain became nothing but the static soft sound of rain, entirely blank, an empty void where all that existed was the warm little press of his mouth, the radiant heat of his nearness as he lingered close enough for his nose to brush your cheekbone.

“Good night.”  

And then he was gone.  Touch was gone, mouth gone, the back of him retreating toward the kitchen and his adjoining rooms.  Leaving you stood there blinking, swaying slightly as you clung to the banister with the white knuckle grip of one hand. Struggling to recall how air worked and lungs used it and what a heartbeat was for, if not to deafen you as it hammered away inside the empty hollow where your brain once lived.

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Things settled for the next few days, though that following morning he had just taken his coffee and headed out to chores without sitting down to breakfast across from you or while you puttered about the kitchen.  You supposed it made you feel grateful, not to be subject to an awkward silence or the unspoken tension of what had happened the night before.  As exhausted as you’d been, he’d robbed you of a good night's sleep with that kiss and this morning you were struggling through the fog of starting the day more bone-tired than you’d ended the previous one.  Not a great space for keeping your head on straight and staying coolly collected.

You stuck to the work you could do in and around the house, gave you both some space.  Decided it was a fair day to tackle the laundry and spent hours filling the massive tubs outside, heating water, scrubbing and wringing and rinsing and wringing until your forearms ached and your wrists burned and fingers trembled weakly as you pinned everything to the lines stretched between the sapling trees in the sun of the side yard.

Glad that he’d been busy down at the barn with the coop and caring for the hogs so that you could sneak shoving your face into one of his worn shirts before you washed it, inhaling the scent of him, spice sweat and sharp musk, fresh air and sunshine and him .

So tired after you were done with the washing that you went inside and sprawled out on the couch in the great room, windows flung open, begging for a cool breeze, the scent of the cold, unused fireplace filling the space with the ghost of woodsmoke from autumn and winter fires gone by.  A little nap in the quiet space couldn’t hurt.  So tired your eyes were closed before your head even hit the stiff, overstuffed and tufted cushion.

Your husband slapped you awake.  You jolted upright, startled.  He’d never raised a hand to you before.  The old man stood glowering over you, fists clenched like he was ready to beat you senseless.  Shouting.  Something about betrayal, about being a filthy hussy, an embarrassment, a whore.  The room behind him was crowded, you noticed, to your horror.  Your parents, the preacher, your siblings, the ranch hands, half the town it seemed.  All watching in disgust at you.  The old man had you by the shoulders, was shaking you until your teeth rattled, heaping abuse upon you as the others shouted agreement.

You woke with a start, bolt upright, a scream choked in your throat and tears wet on your cheeks.  The room empty.  No one, nothing, not even the wisp of a phantom dissipating into the stagnant afternoon heat.  The door to the kitchen banged open and closed.

“Miss?  I brought the eggs up.”  

Viktor.  Oh no.  Scrambling up off the couch you panicked.  Not enough time to make it to the stairs and up them, nowhere in the open great room to hide.  Eyes landed on the little door to the understair cupboard and you flew to it, wrenched it open and ducked inside, shutting it behind you and clinging with all your weight to the little knob within.

“Miss?”  Viktor’s voice in the room just outside a second later.

You balled up your apron and shoved it into your mouth, willing the choking sobs left from the dream to subside, struggling mightily to regain calm or at least not cry audibly.  One ragged breath, two, before you trusted your voice.  

“...Yes?”  It still cracked slightly, and you winced.

“What are you -”  Puzzled, just outside the little door, you felt him give the knob a tug only to find it immovable with all your weight thrown behind it.  A long moment’s pause and you could practically hear him trying to figure out just how to ask what the living hells you were doing in a cramped dark cupboard with the door shut.  Trying to figure out if you’d gone mad and how, if you had, he ought to proceed.

“I brought the eggs up.  And a pail of milk.  I’ll… I’ll leave them in the kitchen?”

“Yes ok.  Thank you.”  You managed to get out, and strained to hear the footfalls of his boots as he at last turned hesitantly away and made his way back to the kitchen.  Unwilling, unable to relax until the kitchen door banged again on his way out.

Releasing the doorknob, you collapsed on the cramped floor of the cupboard, pushed your whole face into your apron and screamed soundlessly.

You could not stop your hands shaking the rest of the day.  And it was your turn to not be able to look him in the face when he joined you for dinner in the evening, picking at your plate only to finish early and head up to bed with a mumbled good night before he’d even finished his meal.  Convinced your face was still splotchy and eyes still puffy from the tears earlier.  The dream confused you, sickened you and set you on edge.

How could something that felt so good bring on so much guilt?

But that’s how you were brought up, wasn’t it?  Don’t want, don’t need, don’t ask for anything.  How dare you have desires, you who were made to be daughter, wife, mother, worker, caregiver.  

The following two days were better, more normal, full of so much work that there could be no distractions, no lingering or fantasizing or dreaming.  From sunup to sundown nothing but the daily toil, falling bonelessly into bed each night exhausted into a blissfully dreamless slumber.

But the heat had increased each day until by the third it was positively baking.  

Too hot to move, to think.  Even the animals refused to come out of the shade.  All you could do was offer cool water, give them their feed and then hike it back to the house to sit on the porch and fan yourself as sweat rolled down and stung your eyes.  Viktor sat sprawled uncomfortably in one of the rocking chairs, fanning himself with the broad brim of his hat, unable to even open his new beloved book for fear sweat-damp fingers would smudge and ruin delicate ink and pages.

“Enough of this.”

You turned to blink at him.  It was possibly the most declaratory statement you’d ever heard out of him.  Heat had a way of raising tempers, not that he sounded mad, just agitated and exhausted with sweltering away into dust.

“There is a watering hole by the stream.  I am going swimming, do you wish to come?”  He rose, slipped his hat on and stepped off the porch, waiting for an answer before he headed to the barn to get the appaloosa saddled.

Swimming, god yes.  The stream that cut through your lands, which by rights was more like a small river in places, came down from the snowpack high in the mountains.  Always cold, always fresh and clear.  You nodded absolutely elated agreement and jumped up, hurried into the house as he made his way for the barn.

Grabbing a basket, you packed sandwiches, fruit, two cold bottles of beer left in the root cellar from the fall brewing, and then ran upstairs to pull on the best approximation to a swimming costume you owned; a pair of muslin bloomers that came to just above your knees and a thin muslin underbodice, a sleeveless shirt made to go under the frippery of a corset, an item of clothing you’d stopped wearing except on trips to town when you had to look a proper lady.  It laced with fine thin ribbon in the front, gathered at the bosom and fitted neatly from ribs to waist, matched perfectly to the white thin fabric of the bloomers, both cool and soft against skin as you pulled your dress back on, shoved two towels and a blanket for sitting on into the top of the basket and headed out the door.

Viktor waited by the porch on the appaloosa, the horse blinking unhappily in the searing midday sun, its tail flicking flies from its flanks restlessly.  He hadn’t saddled it, just tossed on a bridle and lead and sat waiting bareback.  He rode up to the stairs, offered you a hand and helped pull you on behind himself.  Silly side-saddle of course.  You balanced as best you could, kept the basket clutched tight in your lap and one arm snaked round his chest.  

He kept the pace sedate, probably as much for the horse’s sake as for you own, and the appaloosa, surely part quarter horse mingled with the wild ponies of the plains, had a sufficiently broad backside and rump that the ride, whilst swaying, was comfortable enough.

Out into the open fields, past some of the older grazing herd of sheep kept close to the property and not further out in the grasslands with the ranch hands, he picked a meandering path toward the river and its watering hole, a half hour’s ride at this slow saunter.  Were it not for the hot sun beating down, blinding you, turning the very surface of skin to sizzling pink, you might have enjoyed the distracting nearness of him, of your side pressed to his back and arm round him, your hand splayed on his chest.  Instead the heat made every point of contact a sweaty, sticky nightmare.  Increased heat to unbearable levels so that by the time you drew up to the watering hole and its shady bower of leafy trees you felt like you could drink the entire stream and still not regain all the water you’d lost on the ride over.

Viktor swung his good leg over before himself and slid down off the horse to reach up and take the basket from you, then offered you a hand as you slid off yourself.  You took the basket back and Viktor had just about enough time to relieve the appaloosa of its bridle, leaving just the halter and lead rope looped round its neck, before the horse had left you both to go drink deeply from the water.  Once sated, it waded to the other side of the stream and lowered itself unceremoniously onto its side to roll in the lush, tall grass that grew in the shade.

You found a rock by one of the trees and left the basket in the shade there to sit down and fuss with the button hook closures of your boots, prizing them open carefully before kicking feet free joyfully.  Viktor had settled a little distance away and was undoing his brace.  You both struggled not to watch the other undress, no cover or shrubs to duck behind in order to preserve modesty.  Thankfully all you had to do was lift your dress off and be done with it, left in your pretty, frilly white underthings and bare feet, you bent to gather your hair and pin it up in a messy little twist, then picked your way toward the little waterfall that tumbled down into the basin of the watering hole and took a seat on the slippery rocks to dangle your feet into the cool waters.

The hole was large enough to almost qualify as a small pond, shallow at its edges and deep in the center and near the waterfall.  The banks were soft, sandy loam scattered with pebbles rounded by their trip down the stream, marks of animal prints here and there told of the sheep and deer and cattle and coyotes come to slake their thirst.

Viktor pulled off boots, and you struggled not to be too terribly noticeable about how you watched him undo his shirt buttons, about how you memorized the hunch of broad shoulders as he focused on the lower ones and worked upward, straightened and shrugged out of it and then pulled loose his belt.  Eyes darted down hard into the pools of water below you as he remembered his audience and glanced up before turning his back to open his pants and shuffle out of them.  Left you struggling not to laugh at the hop he did on one leg as he got caught on removing the other.

He heard you though, and shot a heatless glare over one shoulder that had you jerk eyes up to the sky in feigned innocence.  Clearly too preoccupied with watching the cloudless sky to have possibly been laughing at his undressing antics.

Free at last of his pants and left only in his drawers he hobbled carefully to the waters’ edge and gradually minced his way into the chill pool.  Hands up by his shoulders, arms bent outward like folded wings, teeth bared as he bit by agonizing bit inched into the cool depths in the most hilariously fastidious manner you’d ever witnessed.  It had you rolling, snickering unabashedly at his suffering as he tried to acclimate to the cold water.  And at last when you couldn’t take it any more you scooped one dangling foot into the pool and kicked an enormous, soaking splash at him that left him frozen in place, drenched and dripping and glaring balefully off into the distance before he rounded on you with mock-irritation.

“Aya!”  He shook dripping hands like a cat who’d gotten its paws wet, only earning him another heavy splash from you that left him more drenched.  He glowered, and without another word dove deep into the pond, leaving nothing but a ripple behind in the dark waters.

You waited, watched.  Time stretched, cicadas buzzing, the birds singing overhead and the appaloosa noisily munching lush grass while it lay lazily on the bank.

The hand from the depths closed on your ankle with a yank and you toppled into the pool of water with a delighted shriek.

Laughing hard as you surfaced, you splashed furiously at the water-blurred shape of him, only to feel him grab hold of your wrist and drag you under, a dunking in retaliation.   Once more a gasp of laughter as you broke surface again, treading water messily, feeling a foot kick his shin and his hands close on your waist as you blindly found purchase with your hands on his bare shoulders.

The world stilled, laughter dying, trailing from a quiet giggle to nothingness as you floated against him, nose to nose.  Watched a bead of water run down over the freckle of a beauty mark under his one eye and reached with your thumb to dab it away in a light stroke.  Felt the fine long fingers of his hands slide to span your ribs as the two of you just stared at the other, watching water roll off skin and drip from noses and chins, watched how it made a gloss of lips and clumped dark eyelashes.

Your legs rose automatically and hooked round his lean hips to keep afloat, keep from kicking him again.  His skin warm against your own in the cool water.  You could feel his hands tighten and release on your sides, and by some small mercy kept from shivering as his thumbs grazed the outer curve of breasts over soaked fabric, a touch that had you winding arms slow around his shoulders.

Kiss me, please kiss me.

The pleading played refrain over and over again in your brain as you watched his gaze fall toward your mouth, only to feel him lift a hand to reach up and tug loose your hair pin, letting the wet of your hair down, letting it fan out in the water over your shoulders as you bobbed against him, tightened the grip of your thighs ever so slightly.  Fully incapable this time of repressing that soft shiver at the little friction and pressure of being pressed against him, sex bare save for that thin, wet cotton between you.

Kiss me, please.

Your hand cradled his face, shaped to the hollow of cheek, and once more you wiped away a little shivering drop of water, this one clinging to the underside of his lower lip.  You could have licked it away, if only he’d just tilt his face forward a little bit, part his mouth and take yours.

His gaze ticked up to catch your own again and you couldn’t stand it one more second, couldn’t keep staring into his face and not do something foolish.  Instead, you wrapped arms all the tighter around his shoulders and leaned your head past his in an embrace.  Held the warmth of him close in the cold water as you laid your cheek against his damp hair.

You felt his ribcage expand and contract in the huff of a silent sigh as he wrapped arms around you as well, the slow stroke of his hands along your back a soothing caress nearly as good as having tasted his mouth would have felt.  The point of his chin came to rest in the hollow between your neck and shoulder, and the pair of you floated.  Suspended, silent, entwined.

It felt a little bit like heaven, a little like purgatory.  So close.

Even from the safety of this you felt tempted.  And after a while, rocked your head lightly against his, turned ever so slightly to nudge the shell of his ear with the tip of your nose.  Felt him exhale again hard as his hands fell, scooped under your bottom and brought you hard and tight against him in a way that had you gasp a little breath.

That seemed to break him out of it and he disentangled slowly, mumbling something that sounded apologetic in his native tongue.  You let him go, unwound your arms and swam away, under the hard pound of the cold waterfall to let it wash your hair back and drum away the feeling of his hands, his skin, his heart beating up against your own.  Not that it did any good.  They were branded on you now, and you’d feel them in your sleep, you knew it.

Back into the water you dove, paddling about as Viktor climbed to the shore, shook out the blanket and laid it down in the grass, setting the basket on it and stretching out as he dug in its depths to pull out an apple and take a bite.  He was all long, lean lines.  A whip thin shape even with the benefit of clothes.  Clad only in dark drawers, he made a taut, tall slice of a figure.  Skin pale save for face and throat, hands and forearms where the sun had kissed it more golden.  The soft dark trail of hair from navel down into drawers was distracting, enticing, had you keep your attention fixed on the water before you as you swam about, reveling in the cool wash that sucked the heat right out of skin and bone.

“You swim like a fish.”  He called from the shore, had you cast a smile in his direction and paddle toward him.  Sandy loam squelched under your feet as you set them down and rose, walked out of the watering hole and toward him, watched something in his face flicker before he carefully schooled it to stillness and turned his focus on the apple in his hand as you took a towel and wrapped it around yourself to sink down beside him, the basket between you.

“Did you learn how to, where you came from?”  He asked, taking another bite of the fruit before glancing toward you again.

“Mmhm. You?”  You dabbed at your chin and face with the towel, knees drawn up to your chest and the dry cloth wrapped round you as the summer heat slowly sunk back into chilled skin.

“No, I learned here.  I was quite young when we left the old country.  I don’t remember much of it.”

“We lived in a city near the sea.  It was always cold water and never very hot like it gets here, but when you are a child, all you want to do is play in the waves.”  You could still taste the bitter salt spray, hear your siblings laughing and begging you to toss them in the water, as your elder brother had tossed you.  Airborne in flight for a breathless second then a plunge into the pinching cold.  Prizing mussels and cockles off the slippery rocks and taking them home in baskets for mother.  Lips blue, teeth chattering.  Sand in your hair for a week until bathtime next.  

“Do you miss it?  Your home?”  He asked, watching you caught in the reverie of distant childhood.

You offered him a little smile and took a sandwich wrapped in brown paper from the basket.  Pulled the two halves of it apart and held one out to him.

“No.  This is my home now.”

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You had realized later what it was that had earned you that slightly wide-eyed look of his as you had walked up the bank.  When you rose at last to finish drying off and put your dress back on you realized the white muslin cloth of your underthings had gone completely transparent in the water.  Even slightly dried as they were now they still clung close and obvious to skin, translucent where they touched you.  It had you pulling your dress on quickly and struggling to repress the heat of embarrassment that you’d paraded your practically naked self up out of the water toward him.  

You gave up putting your boots back on, incapable of rebuttoning them without the button loop, and tossed them in the basket instead.  Dressed and back astride the appaloosa, Viktor took the basket in one hand and offered you a hand up with the other.

This time when you climbed up you sat astride, bloomers and the lack of saddle keeping it from being uncomfortable, though your dress did bunch and ride up a bit.  You took the basket back in one hand and looped the other arm around him as the horse set off for home.

The sun was sinking lower, the worst of the heat passed, and the water and shade had done the trick to suck the swelter out of you both, leaving behind only a warm sleepiness that always seemed to follow swimming.  You settled against Viktor’s back and let your cheek rest between the broad span of his shoulderblades.  

Against his chest your hand stretched wide, and you could feel that slow pound of his heart again in it.  You felt him shift the grip of reins to one hand and then the trail of his fingers along the underside of your arm, a soft and stray drag until his palm pressed over your own, kept it tight to his chest.  The pair of you swayed with the horse’s gait, moving a bit faster in its walk, eager to get home to its evening ration of grain.

Back home he helped you off the horse again, letting you slide to your feet behind him with a hand, and rode back to the stables to finish the evening chores and put the appaloosa away.

The heat of the day lingered inside the big house, and you left the basket in the kitchen to head upstairs, strip out of damp underthings and rinse off with a cloth dipped in the ewer of water.  Redressed, and headed down to start dinner.

He joined you just as you were finishing setting the table, and the surprise of his hand on the small of your back stopped you in place.  For a heart stopping moment you were flooded with the notion he might gently push you down onto the table top.  Hitch your skirt up and slide those lovely calloused long fingers of his between your legs.  That he might speak in that language you didn’t know, lavish you with quiet praise you couldn’t understand as he stroked tenderly through slick folds.  That he might take you there, rattle the dishes off the table as he thrust into you, hand gripping your hip, the other pressed to your back, pinning you down as he fucked you into the table, its rough hewn edge cutting along the tops of thighs with each thrust, listening to you moan his name like a litany and only beg to have it harder.

Instead you felt his hand lift, and he caught up the spill of your nearly dry hair, twisted it gently and pinned it atop your head with the hairpin he’d pulled from it earlier.  You’d forgotten all about the little trinket, forgot your hair was down like you were a child, drying in soft waves and curls.  He pulled one of those curls free behind your ear, and for a moment the warmth of his hand rested tenderly across the nape of your bared neck.

Made you feel ashamed for what you’d just imagined, for the heavy weight in the pit of you and the hard throb between your legs.

Then his touch was gone and he was scrubbing up for dinner at the sink, leaving you to try to scrape yourself together and get the meal on the table.  You had an appetite after the day, but you couldn’t do much more than pick at your food as you sat wondering in silence if there was something truly wrong with you.  If you had some kind of brain fever, or something.  Maybe… maybe it was just the heat, the lonesomeness of the open land, the big quiet house.

You glanced up and found Viktor watching you, saw the way his mouth curved in a shy half a smile, the pretty cupid bow shape of his upper lip made all the more lovely with the softness of that smile, the distracting little beauty mark just over its curled edge stealing all your focus.

“Should I read again tonight?”  He asked lightly.

Another evening of listening to his voice?  That soothing gentle timbre and soft lilt that tickled just as well as his errant touches did?

“Oh yes.”  You offered him as sweet a smile as you could manage, feeling like a terrible, disgusting snake in the grass.  He was kind, and lovely, and you were consumed with nothing but the most wicked thoughts for him.  If he knew, he’d leave, and rightly so.

Once more you left him to finish the cleaning up after dinner, went upstairs to change.  You wanted to brush your hair out and braid it, but it looked so pretty the way he’d pinned it up, you left it instead.  Grabbed a shawl to cover your thin nightgown and padded downstairs in bare feet.  You could see him through the windows, sitting out on the porch, the hurricane lamp already lit, glowing warmly in the darkness beside him.  You hesitated in the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of the cherry wine, uncorked it, and chose two tumblers before heading outside.

You found him sitting on the bench settee instead of the rocker, and it would have given you pause had he not glanced up with another of those darling tilted smiles the second he heard your bare feet on the floorboards, and you had no choice but to come, sit down right beside him and smile in return.

He accepted the glass you offered, though with a bit of a puzzled look.

“You shouldn’t waste wine on me.”  He protested as you poured, and you shook your head, totting out a glass for yourself as well before setting the bottle aside on the floor.

“I don’t like to drink alone, Viktor.  And I have no dinner guests or parties to throw.  Besides, cherry wine tastes best in summer.”  You clinked your glass gently against his and took a long sip, watched him do the same and lift those heavy brows as the tart sweetness of it hit his tongue.  He laughed softly with a little cough as he lowered the tilt of the glass, surprised by the thick sweet of it, but he still took another draught.

You settled in beside him, shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh as he opened the book and found the place you’d last left off.  In the far distance, over the mountains, lightning lit the sky in lazy, slow bursts of light behind deep purple clouds.

“When I had attained the age of seventeen my parents resolved that I should become a student at the university of Ingolstadt. I had hitherto attended the schools of Geneva, but my father thought it necessary for the completion of my education that I should be made acquainted with other customs than those of my native country. My departure was therefore fixed at an early date, but before the day resolved upon could arrive, the first misfortune of my life occurred—an omen, as it were, of my future misery. ”

He read and read as the storm rolled in slowly over the plains, unhurried.  His hand that held the glass of wine came to rest it upon your knee, and he stole swallows between paragraphs as you sipped yours slow.  Had time to refill both your cups three times before the cool, rushing winds preceding the storm reached you both.

They blew in sudden gusts, cool off the mountains, but you were both warm sat together, and feeling deliciously moreso with bellies full of wine.   You’d be feeling pleasantly heady if it weren’t for how the horror of the story was picking up.  Grave robbing, crimes against man and nature, a man gone mad with the power of his own mind.  You pulled the shawl tighter about yourself and huddled a little closer as a hard clap of thunder shook the porch under you both.  It did not help that the man in the story was readying himself to reanimate the dead in a thunderstorm of his own.  Your skin crawled with the notion, hazy slightly drunken thoughts creeping toward your long buried husband, climbing and clawing his way out of the grave, stitched together with a horrifying mess of other body parts.

Another blindingly brilliant streak of lightning kissed the plains and the deafening clap of thunder had you jump.  Viktor laughed softly at your side but you wound a hand tight around his upper arm and held close.  It was just a story, just a story and just a storm.  You willed the hard hammer of your heart to stop its erratic, frantic rhythm but it refused to obey.  Another clap of thunder and another reflexive little jump.  You shoved your face into Viktor’s shoulder with a soft cry and he stopped reading.

“Miss?  Are you… maybe we should stop for now.  Get the windows shut before the rain begins?”

You nodded and practically jumped up, leaving the empty dregs of the wine bottle behind to hurry inside as the rain began to patter down on the dry earth, the scent of petrichor strong and heavy in the cooling air.  

Viktor helped, once inside, closing the open windows to small slats to still allow the cool air in but keep the rain from ruining the sill or floor within.  You ran to the second floor while he managed the first, and found no comfort in the darkness up there broken by jagged flashes of lightning.

He found you once you were both done, huddled on the steps, shawl wrapped tight, trying not to shiver or look like the frightened rabbit you felt like, jumpy and tipsy and convinced there were monsters in every shadow.  Not since the dark fairy stories your father used to tell around the fireplace late winter evenings had you been so terrified by a simple tale.

Instead of tsk over your silliness Viktor sank down beside you and had an arm around you, both arms around you, drawing you in tight.  You caved to it, shoved face into the crook of his shoulder and caught a tight hold of his shirt.  The thunder outside shook the beams of the house.  You were convinced the next strike would take the roof, or hit the chimney and bury you both in stone and rubble.

“I don’t want to be alone.  Don’t leave me alone.”  You heard yourself pleading.  You hadn’t meant to say it out loud, just another of those little mantras, little silent prayers running chorus through your brain.  This one had found its way out while you weren’t paying enough attention.

“Okay.”  Viktor helped you to your feet, slowly.

So grateful he didn’t try to take you upstairs, but instead walked you through the kitchen to his rooms.  Left you standing alone just long enough to light a lamp and dim it, and then to pull back the covers on his narrow bed to let you climb in.  

You’d been in his sparsely furnished rooms before, to clean or collect laundry or change the bedsheets, but never stayed long or poked around.  It felt too much like an invasion of his privacy.  The writing desk was littered with papers, more tacked to the wall above and around it.  Sketches, drafts that looked like engineering or architectural work, endless lists and scribbles you didn’t understand.  A small collection of his own second hand books piled on the nightstand.

You climbed into the bed only to have him tuck the covers over you and you realized with a start that he meant to let you have his bed and sleep himself in one of the uncomfortable straight backed wooden chairs, or else slumped over the desk.  Watched as he toed off boots and reached to take a folded throw off the foot of the bed.  

It was a tatty thing, one of your mismatched yarn crochet jobs - never as skilled at it as your mother.  It was uneven, only generously to be called square in shape, and with gaped holes where you’d dropped stitches or packed others too tightly.  You thought you’d thrown it into the basket of scrap fabrics and yarns to be unraveled and redone when you had nothing better to do.  Never realized it had gone missing, that he had it.  

Something about it clenched your heart tight in your chest.

He reached for the lamp on the nightstand and you caught his hand by two long fingers, stilled it, stilled him as you gazed upward and he looked down at you, expression unreadable.  His thumb grazed your knuckles and you gave his hand a silent little tug.  

He hesitated a single, heartrending second before he relented, took a moment to undo his leg brace before he climbed in over you to settle behind you, between you and the wall.  Slid one outstretched arm to pillow under your head and wrapped the other around you, let you tuck it under your arm and pull his hand tight to your chest as he fitted close to you, over the sheets.

“I’m sorry if the story scared you.”  He murmured and you shook your head, mumbling back reassurances even though you knew he could feel how you still shivered slightly.  He only gathered you a little tighter, hummed a tuneless, quiet little song.

The rain pounded against windows and walls, the winds buffeting the house and thunder echoing outside in loud rolling booms that rollicked across the open sky overhead.  Sleep closed in slowly, had to slide its interminable fingers in under the door of your irrational panic to get the latch open and come creeping on silent feet.  But it did come.

Still, you woke in the middle of the night, most likely at another all too close clap of thunder, the storm still lingering outside, rain having eased from a downpour to a steady fall that beat gently against the windowpanes.  Viktor had at some point gotten cold and climbed under the covers, still spooned you closely even if his grip was not as tight.  His broad hand a gentle flat splay over the soft, vulnerable stretch of your stomach.  

You stroked fingertips over his knuckles lightly and heard him murmur.  Felt him press his hand tighter to your softness and start a slow caress lower that closed your throat in terrified excitement.  Fingers paused just above your sex.  All it would take would just be a little nudge, a guiding push to ease touch lower and he’d have a light grip of you.  It felt so terribly wrong to lay there and think of doing that to him in his sleep, to have his fingers pressed over you as you suffered the throbbing ache redoubling under his touch.

Instead he shifted and mumbled again in his sleep, hand skimming back up to settle a cupping cradle to one breast that did nothing to stop how your head spun and breath hitched.  His palm big enough to fit the entire curve within neatly, touch warm.  Against the nape of your neck the press of his face nestled in and you swore you felt the graze of his mouth on your skin.

And then his thumb moved.  Little, erratic metronome, just a tender back and forth, right over the stiff, eager little nub of your nipple.  A moaned, low whine escaped you like a prisoner making a jailbreak, eeking out as you shivered sweetly, struggled not to arch.

He squeezed the softness in his palm and stroked again, still speaking nonsense in his sleep, killing you by inches and completely unaware.  And then his thumb caught that sensitive little bud between it and the edge of his hand, tender pinch, as his hips shifted a slight roll, pressing him to your backside.

You were huffing breath, struggling to not moan again, not to writhe back into him or shove your own hand down between your thighs to press against that glorious, painful ache between them.  Not to tug the ribbon of the neck of your gown open and let his hand find its way in.  Not to wake him and beg, beg him to touch you, taste you, let you have him.

Hot little tears traced slow, silent tracks down your cheek, dampening the pillow under you as you lay there, suffering, drowning in want, dizzy with how good he felt holding you.  Why had you asked for this?  Wouldn’t it have been easier to have just gone up to your room and been a little scared for the night instead?

He mumbled again behind you and his nose tickled behind your ear.  

Your chest felt tight enough to collapse, like your heart was determined to crush itself to dust instead of suffer one more second of longing for him.

So much harder to sink back to sleep after that.

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He was not in bed in the morning, and you had a bad feeling he’d woken and discovered how he’d groped you in his sleep and leapt from the bed in mortification at his transgression.  Then you had an even worse feeling that he’d let you oversleep, too embarrassed to come back and wake you.  You rose, made the bed, folded that pilfered throw of yours at the foot of the bed and headed out to the kitchen.

Coffee in the pot, kept warm and waiting on the stove.  

A cup could wait while you went upstairs to dress for the day, comb out your hair and fix yourself so that you looked less sleep deprived, make the faintly bruised purple shadows under your eyes look less obvious.  Only then did you go back down, get yourself some coffee and head out to the porch to survey any damage done by the storm.

Viktor was on his way back up to the house from the barn, smiling up from under his hat when he saw you leaning on the porch post, mug steaming in your hand.  In one fist he held a riot of color, a thick bouquet of wildflowers in a mad array of violent, beautiful hues from chill cornflower to deep bloody poppy.

Swaying pace took him up the steps and he held the bouquet out in offering, practically shy about it, as you set down the mug on the railing and accepted them in silent shock.  They smelled heavenly, petals still wet from the rains.  

“T-thank you.” Gaze ticked from the flowers to him in utter confusion.  “But… why?”

He’d never so much as picked you a daisy before.

Viktor tugged at the brim of his hat, attention fixed on his boots until those luminous amber eyes glanced up at you from under the broad brim that had been obscuring them.  Shoulders lifted tensely as he reached forward, caught your free hand in his, the leather of his work glove rough against your skin as he gathered up your fingers.

“I believe it's called… courting?”

Mouth open, head empty, you stood there.  Felt your eyelids flickering, felt your heart a hard, steady pound in the hand he held.  Felt the world turn under your feet.  Unable to think, speak, to answer him.  Lost in the gold of those eyes under the shade of his broad brimmed hat, in all the softness in them as they looked down at you.

You drew breath to speak.  The hard pounding thunder of hooves and shouted cry of greeting stopped the words in your throat.  Hands held between you and Viktor jerked apart as you both turned to watch the two riders incoming.

Ranch hands of yours, ones that lived out in the far pastures with the roving herds of sheep, watching the flocks and ensuring they kept their grazing confined to your lands.  Their horses looked winded, breathing hard and nostrils wide as they wheeled up and dismounted.  The riders didn’t look much better.  It could take days to ride from the backlands in to the ranch and the men had precious little kit on them, had been sleeping rough and traveling hard.

You and Viktor both came down off the porch to meet them, you hesitating a moment before setting your bouquet of flowers aside on the seat of a rocking chair.

“What’s wrong?”  Viktor got the question out before you could.

“There’s a pack ‘a wolves come down the foothills.”  The less breathless man explained to you both, pulling his hat off to wipe at sweat beaded brow.  “Three big’uns.  The dogs can’t seem to scare ‘em off, especially now that the buggers kilt one of ‘em.”

“They’re gettin the herd in a panic.”  The other man filled in, handing off the reins of both horses to you.  “With only three of ‘em they can’t take too many but they’se sneaky as the devil and it seems they get another each night.  We can’t spare a hand to hunt ‘em down, it’s all we can manage keepin’ them chasin the herd up into the foothills.  Two nights ago they managed to cut half’a the herd and chased ‘em out toward the slopes.  Half’a us gotta go find the missin’ and then we gotta bring em all down closer to the inner fields for a time an get rid’a the wolves.”

Viktor’s gaze cut towards you the same instant you glanced to him.  There was a silent, tense second before you watched him nod, eyes still on you.

“I’ll get the gun, and my things.”

Your heart sank, even though you understood very well there was no other option.  His determination snapped you into action.  No time to wallow, to worry.  Not that it stopped the hot bile of it rising in the back of your throat.

You gathered the reins you held and turned back to your men, forcing the no-nonsense tone of authority you’d perfected when corralling your younger siblings, and only refined as the sole woman running a large ranch.  It didn’t matter how much your knees felt like water or your stomach like lead, if you could sound in charge, then you were.

“Boys, get yourselves some water at the pump.  Refill your canteens.  I’ll get you fresh horses.  Ask Viktor to show you the pantry and help you restock for the ride back out.  Go on, now.  And don’t let him forget the extra box of shells for that gun.”

The men split for the house and pump respectively as you turned to walk the huffing, winded horses to the barn.  You pulled saddles from them both, then bridles, and turned them out in the small paddock in the shade, giving each a small bucket of water to suck thirstily.  They could have all they wanted to drink from the wellspring trough in the big paddock once they were cooled down.  Too much water now might colic them or worse.

You grabbed the appaloosa and two fresh horses, bridled and saddled all three and led them up to the house as Viktor and the two ranch hands were headed back out with full packs and canteens.  Viktor had a bedroll tied to his pack and your husband’s big shotgun in its soft leather holster slung against his shoulder.  The gun was a monster with a kick like a mule but its double barrels could and, legend had it, did once take out a bull moose at full charge.

The men took the reins of their fresh mounts from you and slung up into saddles as you held the appaloosa, standing close to its neck, fingers tugging, toying nervously with its mane as Viktor tied the gun to the back of his saddle along with bedroll, shouldered his pack and slung canteen over saddlehorn.  One careful hop on his good leg and he was up into the saddle.

Your heart was in your throat, eyes stinging for some reason.

“Viktor…”

You put the reins in his hands, felt him grab hold of your fingers in a little squeeze.  You couldn’t stand to turn eyes upward, to look up at him.

“Be safe.”  His voice was low, quiet, strained.  You stepped back as he dug heels into the horse’s sides, felt the large animal shift hard back on its haunches and then thunder past.

Nothing to do but stand there as you watched the three men ride off.

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Days stretched into a week.

The time crawled, minutes passing as hours.

The flowers he gave you withered in the grey crockery pitcher you’d used as a vase, no matter how frequently you changed the water.  You’d chosen a select few of them, the prettiest ones, and pressed them in one of the thick books of the library, between sheets of brown paper, before they could wilt.

The silence in the big house was deafening.

You found yourself waking earlier and earlier, up far before the sun. Laying in bed, waiting until the pale grey licks of dawn to started to touch the sky, sitting alone on the porch with your coffee, watching the thick mists that enclosed the ranch, gauzy walls of obscuring nothingness that cut you off from the entire outside world, as it slowly burned off and evaporated with the rising sun.

Like a ghost lifting, taking flight with the morning sun, only to return night after night to stretch cold fingers toward the house again.

Be safe.

It's what you should have said to him.  You should have told him; be safe, be careful, don’t go, I love you.  You’d realized that last one with a jolt at the end of the fourth day alone.  You loved him, loved him terribly, and it filled you with fear.  You’d sat alone over dinner and sobbed into your napkin so hard it felt your ribs would break and eyes would leak out over your cheeks with how much the tears came and how bitterly hot.  What if he never came home?  Accidents happened every day.  It didn’t have to be a wolf that took him out, it could have been any number of things, small things.  His horse taking a misstep into a prairie dog hole and toppling over on top of him, crushing, thrashing.  Getting turned around in the endless stretch of grasslands and running out of water.  The gun misfiring.  Bandits or livestock thieves.  A simple wound turned septic.

The possibilities played out over and over and over in your head until you felt you’d go mad with them.

Be safe.

You threw yourself into both your chores, filling the time with his work and your own, and more.  So that you did not lay awake at night but rather had to drag yourself up the steps and collapse into bed, every muscle aching, every joint crying out for mercy.  Still, you felt him there, warm against the back of you, your heart beating in his hand, skin singing soft songs of his name on every fingertip, his breath a cool breeze on the nape of your neck.

The work didn’t stop your mind either, only focused those thoughts, gave them outlet.

Courting.  You hadn’t had a chance to get a word out.  To say yes, or anything at all.  To ask him why.  The initial thrill of it so spoiled by the almost immediate looming threat of danger and need for action that you still hadn’t truly had time to process it.  What if… what if he was only asking because he felt obligated?  Because you’d forced him to share his bed and now he felt beholden to maintain your honor by asking for your hand?  Or because you were so obviously lonesome and Viktor, so sensitive and kind, felt there was nothing else he could do that might help save you from yourself besides this.  So many reasons he might not have meant it, or why it might be disingenuous in spite of his good natured, serious, quiet kindness.  

But what if he did want you, the way you wanted him?

That felt like the most terrifying thing of all.

You tended the animals, slopped the hogs, fed the chickens, collected the eggs, cared for the horses, baked the bread, milked the cow, tended the vegetable garden, mended the fences, cleaned the house, did the laundry… the list went on and on ad nauseam.  Always something to do, more to clean, to fix, to keep hands busy.  And the days stretched.

One week started to reach toward two and you lapsed into a silent fugue.  Numb, empty.

When would the riders come back and tell you something terrible had happened?

How long did you have to wait to find out this quiet hell was permanent?

Instead of putting it through the laundry, you took one of his shirts upstairs with you one night.  Draped it over your pillow and pushed your face into it.

Took a book out on the porch with you and struggled to read it, to hear it in his voice.

Two weeks had just about passed when you began debating riding out toward the distant ranch house.  It was foolish in the extreme, you could not leave the animals here alone or the big house unguarded and empty.  The not knowing was killing you though.  But you’d never make it out there and back and not have something go horribly wrong back home.  No matter how many crazy ways your brain tried to come up with a way to make it feasible, make it safe, you couldn’t go.  

And the last thing he told you was to be safe.

The light was starting to stretch toward evening as you plodded up toward the house from the barn, shadow long behind you, pail of eggs in one hand.  Knees and back a dull ache from the day’s mucking out.  You’d made it up the steps of the porch and had your hand on the doorknob when you heard the unmistakable thud of hooves in the distance pounding closer.  Nearly dropping the pail, you whipped around, went running down the long stretch of the side porch out toward the front.

Yes.  Yes!  Yes, it was him!  Tall lean figure on the black and white dappled appaloosa, leaning over its whipping mane as they cantered up.  You practically flung yourself off the porch as he drew up, and hopped down, albeit stiffly.  

Caution, modesty, manners, doubts, all of it forgotten as you careened into him hard enough to knock the breath from him audibly and have the horse beside you both shy away with an unhappy whickering.  You did not care.  Face pushed to his chest tight enough to suffocate yourself, arms iron bands around him, squeezing.  Real, real and here and back and alive and safe and solid.

“Viktor-”  You began as he prized you off of himself stiffly, turning your face up.  Only to have him catch the shape of your jaw in both hands and bend to kiss you.  Kiss you hard enough to knock his hat to the ground, to mash the tip of his nose into the apple of your cheek and nearly split your lip against his own.

He did not stop.  Did not let you go as you both opened mouths against each other’s, as he tried each lip in slow, hard sucks, caved to the invitation of your tongue and slipped his own against it in eager taste.  As he suffered your gentle bite and tug and caught you up all the tighter until you were both breathless, panting, his forehead pressed to yours as you dared to open eyes to find that precious amber gaze an inch away.

The callus of his dust covered thumb stroked slow along your cheek, tracing the spangling constellation of freckles.

“I should have done that before I left.  I should have done that a long time ago, too.”

His words raised a tight lump in your throat.  Two simple, quiet sentences that washed away all the grit of horrible doubt that had nearly worn your heart to a smooth, cold stone.  The hot tears that shivered on lashes and streaked down cheeks betrayed you.  Had his brows knitted and hands cupping your face, wiping them away as he fussed and you tried to wave it off only to have him catch your mouth up again and you melted into it, into him.  Fists closed tight at his sides in the fabric of his shirt, humming a soft moan against his mouth.

Even covered with the dust and dirt of the fields he tasted better than you had ever imagined.

He shifted uncomfortably in a little hop on his bad leg and you broke away from the intoxication of that kiss to look him over worriedly.

“Are you hurt?!”

“No, no.  Just stiff, and tired.  It was a long ride back.  I brought you a gift, though.”

Something large wrapped in his bedroll tied to the back of his saddle, if his glance was any indication.  You bent to pick up his hat for him, beat the dust out of it but kept in in your hands, loving too much the wild mess of his chestnut hair, wanting very badly to run your fingers through it, to see what he did when you tugged, or if he’d sigh when your ran nails ofer his scalp.  

He was smiling down at you, that precious half tilt curve, and you went up on tip toe before you could stop yourself to kiss the little beauty mark at the zenith of it.  It made him blush, fiercely, and you couldn’t stop your smile.

“Take yourself and your things inside.  I’ll see to the horse.  A bath’s what you need after that ride.  Go get a drink of something cool and sit down.  I’ll be in.”

He collected his pack and roll and the gun off the back of the saddle, accepted his hat back, and limped up toward the house without argument, though his hand did trail long down your arm, caught your hand and let fingers slide away lingering under his own as you stepped away.  It was no fuss to unsaddle the appaloosa and turn him out with an extra handful of grain in its bucket and a kiss on its forehead, for whatever part it may have played in bringing him home safe again to you.

Back up at the house you pumped full the largest galvanized tub that sat up on wrought iron grating and shoved tinder under it, lit a fire to heat and fed it until it was glowing hot coals and licking flames.  Back inside the house you pulled the big copper tub out and pushed it before the fireplace.  Lit a small fire in the hearth, just enough to keep any chill off from the bath, though the heat of the day still lingered.

It took a few trips to get the tub partway filled with cool water, the rest would come after the tub outside had heated through and the water was nice and steaming.

You lit the two hurricane lamps in the room, offering a dim glow to the quickly fading dusk, and gathered soap and towels before heading to find Viktor in the kitchen, bad leg stretched long and brace off, a glass of cool water in one hand as he slumped back against the wall in his seat, looking exhausted.  He sat up the second you came in the room though, that lovely smile back in place.  

You fixed him a plate, just something quick and cold for the time being, but most likely more filling than anything he’d had out in the plains.  He caught your wrist as you set the plate before him, looking like he had a great deal to say but no idea where to start saying it.  You gave him a gracious out, stroking free hand back through the thick tangle of chestnut hair as you gently pulled your captured wrist up, freed it from his grasp and brushed a kiss to the heel of his palm.

He watched you in a kind of silent awe that made your heart stutter against your ribcage.

“Eat.  The bath will be ready soon.”

Bucket after bucket of now hot water hauled up the porch steps and into the great room until the tub by the fireplace was full and steam rising up off it thickly.  You turned to find Viktor standing in the doorway, watching you dump the last bucket in.  You straightened and huffed a little laugh as you wiped the sweat off your brow with the back of a forearm, the steam curling the loose tendrils of your hair in soft, slightly frizzy spirals.  

“I’ll… I’ll give you the room.”  You tried to back toward the door, give him privacy to soak sore muscles and wash off the dirt of the road.

“No, wait.”  He hobbled in, that bedroll under one arm, and set it in your arms.

You put the pail down to unwrap the roll curiously.  Three massive wolf pelts lay within.  Fur soft and gorgeous, white as driven snow in patches and ticked with ash grey in others.  You opened the bound roll of them in awe and Viktor helped you lay them out over the couch.  They were massive, almost terrifyingly so.  Gave an awe-inspiring glimpse into just how large the creatures were up close, and made you very grateful indeed you hadn’t had the opportunity to ever meet one in the wild.  

You ran your hand up through the thick lush of the fur, savoring the soft tickle of it through spread fingers.  Not nearly as soft as the back of Viktor’s finger as it stroked down your cheek, had you turning face toward him where he stood alongside you.

“G-go, uhm.  Go ahead and get your bath.”  You insisted, unable to focus on coherent thought with the way he was looking down at you, and backed away again to grab the pail and hustle out of the room.  Sucked deep breath of air outside on the porch, and another but still couldn’t stop your heart from hammering.  You wanted to feel foolish for all the time you spent worrying and fretting but were too elated to feel anything but the sweet rush of joy that hadn’t ended since he’d hopped off that horse.

You waited a sufficient amount of time and even peeked through one of the windows to make sure he had disrobed and settled into the tub.  Then snuck back inside and hovered in the doorway nervously.

He glanced up from scrubbing one long arm with the soap.

“Is the water hot enough?”

He laughed a little.

“Yes, I think I might be cooking, actually.  If you wish to make me into soup, I won’t complain.  I think you’ll want salt instead of soap though.”

Your cheeks burned with his gentle teasing and you turned to go back to the kitchen, to leave him in peace.

“No, please.  Come sit.  I spent all these days thinking of you…”  He trailed off, like he was unsure how to finish that sentence or if he’d said too much already.  

You came in, tucked the skirt of your dress under yourself and took a seat on the couch beside the wolf pelts.

“Thank you for these.”  You said, petting one again softly, “And for coming back.”

He sat back in the tub and smiled shyly to himself, continued scrubbing for a while before he shared the story of his time out there.  You sat rapt, listening to the wild ride back out to the far fields, the terrifying stalking and hunt, the hard and long search for the lost half of the flock.  And how they almost realized too late it was not three wolves but four.  How one of the lads had been quick and sharp enough to grab the gun as Viktor was struggling to free a lamb stuck between two rocks, unaware of the final wolf rushing up behind him.  Took it down a scarce pace away, jaws open.  He’d left that pelt, and rightly so, with the lad, as bragging rights for life.

Your knuckles had gone white on the wolf pelt under your hand, head a slow, dizzy spin to think how close it had been.  How close you’d come to the worst.

He rinsed himself and you shook off the reverie to reach for the towels, handing them over before excusing yourself back to the kitchen to let him dry off in privacy.

Fingertips trembled on the tabletop as you stood there staring at his empty plate.

So close to loss you could taste it, bitter on the back of your tongue.

You crossed yourself, a helpless ingrained custom at this point, and totted out a saucer of milk, left it on the windowsill over the sink, a gift for the fae or brownie or pooka that had kept him safe from mischief.

No sooner had you set it down then you felt the heat of gentle hands on your waist.  The warmth of a mouth on your ear, your cheek.  You spun and Viktor caught your mouth again in a kiss much softer and slower than the mad rush of the one he’d given you outside.  Hands found his skin bare, still damp from the bath, towel tucked around the narrow of his hips. Arms wound up over his shoulders as he steered you with that grip on your waist, until your backside hit the kitchen table.

You broke the soft, sweet suckle of his upper lip to clamber eagerly back upon the table, only to watch him stall as he took your face in both hands.  Watched him release a heavy breath, those dark brows drawn tight over the soft fire of eyes.

“I’ve wanted you since you first came here.”  He admitted it like a confession, and it had to have been a stone around his heart if he’d carried it for nearly five years now in silence, watching you be another man’s wife for three of them.  “Wanted to kiss you for so long.  Wanted you as my own.  But… are you sure, miláčku?”

His gaze cast aside as he frowned slightly.

“A poor cripple, from a country you don’t know?  I will always be an outsider here.  I don’t have a name, or prospects. I simply have my work… and I believe in myself.”  He glanced up, leveling you with that gaze once more, fingers tracing your jaw.  “Are you sure I’m what you want?”

You were nodding emphatically before he even finished the question, sucking the taste of him off your own lower lip as you pulled him close, stole another kiss before your hands fell, tugged open the ribbon at the scooped neckline of your dress and tugged the three buttons below it open before turning pleading eyes back to him, to find him breathless, face flooded with want.  

Those fine hands of his came down off your jaw, slid into the part of fabric and cradled the shape of the outside of each breast, his breath a soft fan over your skin as thumbs you could see trembling teased gently over the proud little push of both pale nipples.

“Do you have any idea how badly I wanted you, the day we went swimming?  You looked like a mermaid, and that - your clothes.  Wanted to lay you on the blanket and peel them off you, let me actually see this pretty pink with nothing in the way.”

His hands cupped, thumbs making a teasing, squeezing little pinch of sensitive, singing little buds.  Left you unable to help the way your head rocked back and legs hooked round him where he stood between the spread of thighs, unable to stop the soft noise of want that climbed up, deep out of the core of you and up your throat.  

He pushed you back onto the table, the fall of his hair a tickle against skin as his mouth traced warm tracks over one rising curve and then the other.  When he finally caught a slow, sweet suck of one sweet nub you bucked against him, hand slapping to the table top and all the years of polish upon it peeling up under the bite of the curling dig of your fingernails.  He licked, flicked tongue in a way that had you cursing in the old language you never used, arching under him as he paid the same lovely attentions to the greedy eagerness of the other nipple.

God, and it was sweet.  The electric rush of it heady, sensation pouring out like soft fire lit under skin, a pink flush creeping across your bare chest and up your throat as you sunk fingers into his soft mess of hair and listened to him groan with his mouth full of you.

And then both your hands were sliding between the pair of you in a frantic struggle, him to get your skirts up and you to tug his towel loose.  You each got what you wanted, but he won out, getting his bared hips clear of the grab of your hands as he got a hand under one of your thighs and lifted till the heel of your shoe hooked the edge of the table, forced a wider splay of legs as he braced an arm on the table and gazed down at your bare skin.

Fingers stroked you slow, gentle sweep over soft skin under navel,  over the soft V inward from hips, slow caress over lips before your gasp had him parting you, stroking tenderly through the slick wet of silk soft skin.  It had you lifting into each caress, practically ready to beg before he dipped down.  You were stuttering, startled, ready to ask him just what he thought he was doing when he spread you wide and you felt the warm, ticklish flick of his tongue hit some sweet part of you that you’d only felt when you pressed the agony of your hungry throbbing against your own fingers.

You arched hard against the table top and heard the empty plate go clattering, to smash upon the floor as you pushed up into the soft circling flick of his tongue.  Nothing, nothing in your life had ever felt so good.  You caught a fitful grip of his hair again, not wanting to tear at it but struggling to be gentle as he licked at you and that wanting ache within just doubled and doubled and doubled until your core clenched tight, hot little flutters that felt like heaven had exploded within you, every muscle strung taut as a bow and sweet stars in your veins as you gasped his name.

He rose over you, wiping the gloss of you off his chin as he gathered you to him with a grip on your hips, leaning over, watching you suffer sweetly for panted breath, eyes glassy and unfocused as you tried to offer him a sweet smile.

“Are you certain?”  He asked, voice hoarse, and you could feel the hard length of him slide through the wet parting of your sex as the backs of his fingers traced the shape of your jaw from chin back to ear, to slide a cradle to the back of your head against the hard surface of the table.

“Yes, Viktor, please.  Yes.”

In spite of your begging agreement he kept that little tease up, sliding himself along you, taking a grasp of your bent up leg in a one armed, tight hug.

“Do you want me so badly?”  He asked, sly teasing nearly ruined by how breathless he was, by the burn of hot flush over his pale cheeks as he gazed down at his cock sliding over your eager little sex.  You moaned softly for him, reaching to grip either edge of the table as you rocked hips invitingly.  How could he doubt it?

“Speak to me, miláčku.”   He murmured, gaze ticking up once to offer you the wicked tilt of that smile of his before eyes fell again to watch as he pressed to your entrance, pushed slow.  

“Hnn, Viktor, please.  I want you in-!”  Ah, it stung at first.  Ready as you were, as much as you wanted him, it had been so long, and what had passed between your husband and you had not been like this, not in the least.  The stretch hurt, but so good.  Had you humming, moaning soft encouragement, though he refused to do anything but take his time.  

“Ah…  yes…”  He wanted words but you were too gone to find any save the ones to beg him to keep going.

He kept the hold he had on your bent leg pressed to one side of his chest as he settled deep and began a slow, small rock with his hips, a deliciously tormenting see-saw that had you writhing as he stroked one broad hand down and back the open splay of your other thigh laid out on the table’s edge.  

You’d wanted, in your wild little daydreams, for him to watch you come undone for him.  But none of it compared to how wonderfully wicked you felt actually watching him gaze down at you, watching his mouth drop open slightly as he felt your walls clench eagerly around him, at how he thumbed over that amazing little bundle of nerves he’d licked so well at, making your hips jump again and stomach tighten.

“Please tell me this is mine, you are mine.  Tell me, miláčku. ”  He was hoarse, voice seductively thick and dripping his own want that had you smiling blissfully.

“Yes, yours.  Just yours, Viktor.”   However he wanted, whenever he liked.  

It earned you the first hard, deep thrust, sent eyes rolling back in your head and mouth open in a strangled, ecstatic little gasp as he did it again.  Doubtless that the pair of you both wanted to keep this dirty little tease going, draw it all out and pour every ounce of those years of waiting and wanting into it, but it proved too much for the both of you after a moment, and instead became a mad rush.  Wonderful, jarring hard thrusts of his hips that had you eager to meet him, had you gasping out mewling little sounds each time he filled you up.  

He was no better, the soft sounds that escaped the clench of his teeth delicious, something you wanted to commit to memory and find further ways to drag more out of him.

More, you wanted more, the both of you, and he dragged you to the end of the table till your bottom was near hanging off of it, let your leg unfold to wrap around him as he gathered up your hands, fingers laced pinching tight between his own desperate ones, pinning them up beside your head and just barely catching your mouth with his as his pace staggered, went erratic and stalled, your nails digging little biting furrows between his knuckles.

He spilled hot inside you as you claimed the prize of his kiss, sweet treasure yours to keep at last.  His.  Yours.

No more ghosts, no more silence.

[swellinnit]

.............just testing out a new drawing app and I got carried away..........yeah :(

[unluckiestmember]

Viktor X Clingy! Reader

Characters: Viktor, Heimerdinger and Jayce

Tags: Clingy! Reader, physical affection, precautions, established relationship, Viktor being Viktor, Flustered! Viktor, shenanigans, fluff and just borderline cuteness.

Warning: None. SFW.

A/N: So my beloved requested this bad boy to me, but I accidentally deleted the ask. My bad, big screw up on my part. Regardless, this one is for you, my love! And I hope you all enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Viktor finds the fact that you are so clingy to be cute… Most of the time.

When you both are together and relaxing, he loves having you close.

You can ask him to cuddle you or hold you close and he will do exactly that.

Sometimes your time together can be as simple as holding hands or escalate to the both of you sharing the bed together.

But at work? It’s kind of... Awkward...

You have to constantly remember that Viktor is Heimerdinger’s assistant and Jayce’s right hand man, two men in the council of Piltover.

Not to mention he is a man of endless progress.

So he doesn’t exactly have time to hug you, cuddle you or shower you in affection during his experiments.

You can whine as much as you want, but in his own words, he won’t be distracted…

… Until he gets distracted.

Words won’t exactly do wonders for him, but that’s why we have actions.

Hold his hand and he’ll squeeze it back, only for a second though.

Want to hug him or hold him from behind? That works a little bit since he rubs your arms but goes back to work.

Sitting in his lap? Nuclear option.

Just your weight on his body and the way your arms wrap around him with the addition of sweet nothings in the form of whispers can prove to stop his progress.

Either Viktor will get all red and nervous or he’ll become a stuttering mess.’

Regardless, his work will not get done when you get in this position. So victory is yours!

He will be more stern on touch and clinginess if he’s working on something rather important and dangerous, i.e. the Hexcore.

He knows you mean well most of the time and that you love him so much. He loves you too and loves to hold you and kiss you even more.

But if he has to keep his space for your safety, he will.

Besides! You always have after work to cuddle, kiss and embrace one another to your heart’s content!

Arcane requests are currently open! :D

Likes and retweets are always appreciated! I love you all, be safe and have a good day!

[hyperesthesias]

Aphelion

Notes: Honestly, this is more of a self-insert because I feel horrible & I want Viktor to take care of me and make me coffee. :') If you'd like listening material while you read, Once Upon a December by Emile Pandolfi is what I wrote this to. (I am looking forward to writing the next part, where they attend the ball. I already have the music planned.💖)

Context: Anya is Viktor's childhood friend, and a wealthy potential donor to the Academy. She is a mage and a theoretical physicist. She has been using her knowledge of magic to help with HexTech. Viktor has been put in charge of being her Academy liaison throughout her donation process, and they have been spending time reconnecting while he 'courts' her on behalf of the Academy. She is a different humanoid species.

potential warnings: poverty.

AO3 link.

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It was the beginning of July and the soft warmth of Spring had melded into the torridness of Summer. The Sun was high in the sky, and despite it being the weekend, Viktor was nearly finished running his list of errands for Heimerdinger, though he did not venture either home or to the laboratory when he checked the last item off of his list. Instead, he had one more errand to run, this time one of a semi-personal nature. He was tasked with formally inviting Anya to an Academy Philharmonic event that was to take place three weeks from that day. While it was technically still Academy business, Viktor derived personal pleasure from speaking with Anya, and thus he saved this errand for last, hoping to spend the most of his time talking with her or enjoying her company. 

They had been reconnected for nearly two months, and it felt as though that time had passed as both years and merely days. He knew enough about her to answer any question any stranger might pose to him, and still he knew not enough about her to satisfy his own want to understand her most inner workings. He was grateful for any moments he could spend with her, especially privately. 

He went to her home to greet her with the invitation – he had driven her home once before, and remembered where it was and how to find it. It was a large mansion, secluded in the forests on the outskirts of Piltover, where the treelines and the soft hills seemed to line the edge of her property, right up to the verandas and balconies around the perimeter of the home itself. Woodland animals sometimes came to peer into the windows and came to eat the flora and vegetation she had planted, she said. Anya cared little for symbols of wealth, but the one and only thing she had afforded herself in excess was a large home, she told him. She had grown up in a tiny home – nearly a hut; from it, her mother had healed ill clients, and provided them with charms and spell bags, making all of her tinctures and oils right there in their family kitchen. There was little space for her to exist outside of the small corners of her parents’ workshop, and what constituted their home. Viktor did not disparage her for her desire for more space, especially when she could purchase it without debt and without harm to anyone else.

He arrived and stepped onto the marble porch, tapping on a bronze knocker three times. There was a delay in any response, and for a moment he feared he had come at an inopportune time, and that he had missed her. But as he debated whether or not to leave, a small voice came from an intercom just at the side of the large double doors of the entrance.

“Hello?” it called, staticky and rough.

Viktor hesitated, uncertain who was on the other end. “I am Viktor, calling for Anya,” he said.

“Viktor, come in, and take the elevator to your right.” He knew the voice to be Anya’s – it spoke in their shared language – but it sounded different and laden with fatigue.

A harsh buzzing sound came from the door, and the lock was released. Viktor opened the door and wandered into the foyer; though he had driven her home once, he had not been inside the mansion itself. It was spacious, made almost completely of marble, with tall windows along the back edge – the light of the midday Sun bounced off every surface and created a vibrant environment inside the home. It seemed to be only two floors, though each floor was twice as tall as a normal home’s structure, making the entire building feel cavernous and empty. It was deathly quiet, and he could hear no other sound from any other living thing inside. He turned right from the foyer, and stepped down a short hall, where he saw the entrance to an elevator. It had three buttons: one for a floor above, one for the floor he was on, and one for a floor below. 

“I’m up here,” the voice called from above him.

Viktor rode the elevator to the second floor and followed a stream of light nearby to an open door. He peered inside and found it was a bedroom, with a figure lying curled into a nebulous ball in the middle of the bed. “Anya?” he whispered, worry striking him as he tempted the threshold. 

The amorphous figure lifted its head and greeted him with a smile. “Viktor,” Anya murmured and tried to sit up; she had little strength to do so, and instead laid back down.

Quickly, Viktor hurried to her side and stood watching the weakness in her face; the honey of her skin was now pale, and the vibrant, rosy color of her lips was gone. “Anya – I will call for a doctor,” he said. He pressed the back of his hand against her forehead, but she had no fever; she was warmer than he, though her elevated temperature was normal for her species, and the nerve damage throughout his body accounted for his own chill.

“No,” she shook her head. “I am okay. I need sleep.”

“If you are ill, you must not wait to be treated.” There was urgency and fear in his voice.

Her eyes settled on him, and the memory of when he was a child, stricken with polio, lying helpless in her mother’s care passed quickly over her mind. “I am not ill,” she reassured him, doing her best to allay whatever memories of his own that plagued him. She reached for his hand, and held it, taking his fingers gently and stroking his knuckles languidly with her thumb. “What day is it?” she asked.

He was taken aback by the oddity of the question, and he needed a moment to recollect the calendar. “It is the second of July.”

“It is nearly aphelion,” she said. 

There was an astronomical clock at the Academy, but Viktor had only ever paid it little mind throughout his years there; though with his recent work with the crystal, and with runes and magic, he had briefly stopped to study it on occasion. The Sun and the Earth would be farthest from each other in two days, according to the calendar, marking the day of aphelion. “This makes you ill?” he asked, in ignorance and in worry.

She breathed with agreement. “Tired. And hungry. We take our energy from the Sun. When it is farthest, we are weakest.”

“What can I do?” he asked, his hand moving to caress her face; her skin was dry and thirsty, yet still soft and pliant. 

Anya nestled into his touch, and her eyes fluttered as the callouses of his hands traced the features of her visage. He was gentle with her, despite the roughness of his hands, there was not an ounce of pressure in his fingers, but he touched her like porcelain. “Stay,” she whispered. She had no one to keep her company, no one with whom to commiserate. All of her kinfolk were huddled in their own homes far away from her, with their own families and their parents and their children; after the deaths of her parents, she had no siblings, nor any cousins, and no other adopted kin. She had only Viktor. 

Viktor sat on the edge of the bed, caressing her arm as she began to fall back into slumber. He recalled the Summers they had spent together as children, and he found it difficult to remark the absence of something: the absence of his friend at a specific point in time, especially when he had no concept of its meaning at the time. He and Anya did not see each other regularly anyway, that to recall a specific week where she was not with him was almost impossible. He wished he had known then. 

Her long, dark hair was spread across the rest of the bed, and he was careful not to touch it as he fixed the blanket over her. 

There was a sitting area at the far end of the bedroom – and it was less a bedroom than it was a suite – there was a couch and two cushioned chairs, and a small library filled with books that were of most importance to her: books on her people, their cultures and their needs, their magic; there were books on physics and astronomy, astrological maps and charts rolled into scrolls at the top of each book shelf; there were books solely of art and photographs of statues from distant lands; books of poetry and mythologies from all cultures, not only her own. Each book had frayed edges and worn pages. He took the liberty of pulling a few from her shelf, hoping to ask for forgiveness in place of permission. He read them carefully and in her voice, reading each poem as though she were reciting it herself; reading each fact of her culture and of her species as if she were detailing it to him. He stayed and read and thumbed through books as she slept, and as the Sun moved from midday to late afternoon, as the shadows elongated and cast themselves as spectres throughout her bedroom.

Anya woke with a start and a gasp – Viktor immediately stood and made his way to her side, he leaned on furniture to aid his steps. 

“What is it?” he asked.

Fear gripped her eyes and she fought for her own breath. 

His hand caressed her face again – she was hotter this time. “A nightmare, myš’a?” 

Her breath shuddered in and out of her lungs and she managed a nod. The terror inside of her began to quell itself at the presence of her friend. His hand was cool, and it staved off the heat of adrenaline. 

“What should I get you?” he offered, a thought out loud for himself, trying to remember what kindnesses had been offered to him by his mother when he was a boy, when nightmares had crept and stolen from him sleep and peace. 

“Coffee,” she said. “I would like a cup of coffee.”

He nodded. “Alright. I will be back with coffee.” He pulled the blanket over her shoulder as he began to leave, taking his cane with him. 

“The water is clean,” she made a point to say to him as he disappeared from the doorway.

Its significance was not lost on him. He had a paranoia of unclean water – a phobia developed in young childhood after his disastrous encounter with polio. As a growing child and adolescent, he could not consume water that had not been boiled before his eyes; and as a young man in Piltover, once his fortunes and his means of income changed, he had deliveries of purified water brought to his apartment at the Academy twice a month. It was an additional expense he was not willing to relinquish.

The kitchen was broad and well organized, a pour-over coffee maker and a stained mug sat beneath a cabinet next to the stove, upon which rested a well-used kettle. He opened the faucet and hesitantly filled the kettle with water from the tap, the stream of water was perfectly clear and it gave no foul odour or pungent taste as he tested it: there was no tinge of metal, neither any grit left on his tongue. The water was crisp and almost cold, despite the Summer heat outside; it tasted like pure, soft minerals. As a child he could never have imagined a place to live where water was safe to drink from the tap itself, he doubted it, even still; his apprehensions about it were only allayed in that the water needed to be boiled anyway. He set the kettle to flame, and searched the cabinet above the pour-over, where he found various grounds of coffees organized alphabetically. 

He returned to the bedroom with a freshly brewed cup of coffee in the mug that had been set aside on the counter. He found Anya sitting upright in the bed, surrounded by a pile of blankets and pillows, all pliable and cleanly – none of them were torn or patched. It was impossible to not notice the absence of things that were constant in their daily lives before, and he wondered how foreign it all must have felt to her.

He sat beside her on the bed again as he handed her the hot mug and rested his cane against his side. “Are you hungry?”

She breathed in the bitter scent as she took a sip. “I am. I am famished.” She took another sip and gave her companion a glance. “No, I should not say that. We both know what it is to starve. Never should I compare myself to it again. Not without honesty.”

“May it never be so,” he said. 

“Forgive me, Viktor. I have not asked why you came to see me.”

He shook his head, insisting she needed no forgiveness. “It was nothing urgent. It can wait until you feel better.”

“Give me something else to think about,” she beseeched him.

He looked at her again and saw the clutches of whatever nightmare that had invaded her, still holding their talons inside of her psyche. He nodded, devotedly, and made from his vest pocket an envelope. “I was instructed to give this to you,” he said.

She took it, gracefully, and opened it as her mug rested in her lap. “What is it?”

“It is an invitation to the Academy Symphony Ball. It will be hosted three weeks from now, hopefully you will feel more yourself then. It is a charity event for the Music Department, to raise funds for instruments and scholarships.” 

Anya smiled as she read it. “I always wanted to learn to play violin. We could never afford it.”

“I only learned to play piano after I moved to Piltover – to the Academy. I would practice in the music room at times when I could not concentrate on my studies.”

She looked at him and chuckled. “In that case, I would be happy to donate. Will you be attending?”

He drew a breath and looked away as he thought. “I have not received a formal invitation.”

“Are you not my liaison? You must attend, then,” she coaxed.

“It is white-tie, Anya, I have nothing to wear.”

“That is an easy remedy. I won’t go without you.”

He breathed out sharply, staring at her with a flatly amused expression – he was recalling now her sweet stubbornness. She had a way of pulling him out of his hermit’s shell, and the cramped spaces in which he felt most sedentary, if not comfortable. “And I suppose I cannot refuse you?”

Her expression softened, not wanting her friend to feel forced neither taken for granted. “You are free to do whatever you would like, Viktor. Free.” Her hand caressed his face, feeling the coarse patches of skin along his jaw, left behind from when he had shaved the day before. “But know that I enjoy your company, more than as my liaison. I had hoped to attend as your friend and companion.”

Viktor felt himself stuttered with surprise and uncertainty that she had spoken such feelings of friendship aloud. He had known, of course, the boundaries of their professional relationship had been obscured by their accord as childhood playfellows – and encouraged to be so by Heimerdinger – but he had not known if his desire for casual conversation and company had been reciprocated. He found his internal balance to be askew and stunned that she would want to associate with him further.

“Very well,” he said with a stiff nod.

She smiled, happily. “I will contact a tailor for your tuxedo.”

“No, Anya – that is too much.”

“I told you it was easy to remedy.”

He sighed again at her stubbornness.

“Besides, what if you accompany me to some other function? You will need something to wear then, as well. Consider it an investment,” she teased.

He managed a scoffed chuckle and he shook his head.

A lull of silence hung between them for a brief moment, and Anya watched as many thoughts passed over her friend’s face; he looked into the distance, she saw him trace every carving in the marble of her home, she saw him read the titles of books on the other end of her room, she watched as he stared at nothing in particular. She was not the only with nightmares, nor ghosts that haunted her – even in waking. Her wealth had cured her of many ails, it had ceased the bleeding of many wounds, but still, scars remained. She knew it to be the same for Viktor.

“Thank you for staying,” she said.

Viktor turned to his friend with a wordless agreement. 

She reached for his hand, and took his fingers. “You are the only one who understands what it is like, to be here.”

“I do.” He took her fingers and graced her nails. “And I am happy to be here.” He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. 

Viktor stood and gathered himself to leave, not wanting to outlast his welcome as a guest, but more so feeling a quickened desire to flee – that if he stayed any longer, he would be consumed with the want for her companionship, for the longing in the affection and knowledge of her soul and her mind.

“You are welcome to stay in a guest room, if you would like,” Anya offered. “It is getting dark, the roads can be unsettling at night. I would not mind the company.”

Neither would he have minded. But Viktor refused her. “I will check on you tomorrow.” He saw a color of disappointment in her eyes as he stood in the doorway of her bedroom. He wanted to stay, and sit at her side, to ask about her thoughts and her theories, he wanted to expound upon himself, he wanted to learn of her. But it would be purposeless. He cherished her friendship – he always had, even as a young boy – and he had resigned himself to a spouseless life; but he intuited himself well enough to know he would desire more than friendship from her. Theirs was a professional relationship, he reminded himself; and he reminded himself what he had read and understood again earlier that evening: she would long outlive him. Friendship was far more suiting for them both; playfellows was all they had been, and all they would be.

“Goodbye, Anya.”

Anya knew her friend well enough to know sadness on the lines of his face. She wondered what nightmares haunted him, what fears wound themselves like rope around his neck. She wished to cut it and set him free. But it was his rope to share, and she did not take it from him; only that she wanted to share it. She wanted to share everything with him, no matter how unwise it might have been. 

“Goodbye, Viktor.”

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

LOOK AT THIS MAJESTIC THING @lennuidevivre MADE FOR ME!!! it’s inspired by my silly little chess fic that you can read starting from here.

I’M LEVITATING THIS IS SO GOOD I LOVE THEM SM LIKE LOOK!!!!!!

[kkyos]

was rewatching ep 4  and the need to praise him for his hard work was a lot 🥺❤️

[ursawastricked]

Distracting: Part 4

You have infected most of Viktors thought by now. And unfortunately he can not find solace in his own home, not when his growing “collection” he realizes, contains a remnant of you that he had forgotten about..and the distraction follows him further then just his brain.

Wordcount: 3,081 (I had too much fun)

THIS CHAPTER IS 18+ MDNI

Warnings: Pining, cute memories, Smut, Solo Viktor, Male masterbation, Viktor being soft and oh so distracted

It wasn't uncommon for Viktor to be locked in his room after returning home, however he was much more annoyed at the current moment then he would usually be.

Now, on any other occasion, one where he found himself stuck between his desk and his bed, he would just continue to his desk. But no, instead he had been standing in the center of his empty room, starting an increasingly aggravating item in his possession.

He held the light weight glass in his grasp, leaned over it while sitting cross legged on his floor..somewhat, his bad leg was stretched out in front of him, it had been aching since he jumped to grab you earlier, another event he was planning on ignoring. He tilted his head as he turned over the glass in his hand, he had not yet noticed the light gold trim at the edge of it, nor the chiseled texture of the handle..it was clearly expensive which only worsened the guilt of having it. He wondered momentarily if he would be in trouble if they came looking for it, however people probably stole from those parties all the time. He knew they did, because at your first ever banquet, he had caught you slipping one of the china plates in your bag.

Viktor chuckled lightly, you were so quick to try and drag him into your scheme after he had caught you. At that point he had only known you about a month, and you had just started being actively social in the lab, mostly with Jayce, however you had said your fair share of ‘good mornings’, ‘goodnights’. It was charming, in a childish kind of way, and despite not assisting you, he hadn’t said anything and you still had the plate in your cabinet. He had seen it when you had invited him and Jayce over for some dinner. He ate off it, but didn’t comment on it, you winked at him and he smiled..

He leaned his head back, looking at the ceiling and analyzing that night as a whole, he recalled dinner, eating, drinking a bit..yes he definitely remembered drinking, because he had woken up in his own bed the next day with the same pain he imagined was felt after falling from a building, all settled in his skull. Lucky for him, he had beat Jayce to the chance of blacking out, so Jayce had gotten the honor of carrying him home. He had spent most of that day dragging himself between his bed and the bathroom, taking many showers, lots of vomit, and lots of sleeping. He had somehow ended up still with one of your scarves in his bed after he had passed out. He had learned from Jayce after asking about it, that he in his inebriated state, had put it on and tied it around his head to do what he thought was a very funny impression of you, but was actually a lot of gibberish and him not being able to stop laughing.

Did he..ever give that back to you? He wasn't sure..but as he stared at the lipstain on the champagne glass again, despite how faded it was after he had secretly drank from it during the nights, he had wondered if you missed it. After all, the cold season would be coming soon, and he couldn't stand the idea of you shivering because he had drunkenly stolen another thing from you..maybe you had a point, maybe he was a little bit of a kleptomaniac.

He groaned as he stood from the floor, grabbing his cane and pulling himself to stand. With a bit of effort he was able to leave his room and head to the hall closet, where he and Jayce kept their winter coats and such when it wasn't cold. With his free hand, he tugged the sliding door to the side and began to filter through the thick collection of fabric that was hanging in the far too small closet. It was truly ridiculous how many things Jayce chose to keep in this thing..but soon enough he had found it. A long, thickly knitted crimson scarf, squishy too the touch and clearly well loved as it was a little beaten up at the ends, or at least he hoped, if moths had eaten away at it while it was in his care, he would be quick to pay for a new one and spend the rest of the cold season trying to make up for ruining your property. He pulled it from its hanging state, feeling the weight of it settle against his palm as he inspected it for any details that would cause him worry, he couldn't remember if he had vomited on it, but either way, it would be polite to wash it before returning it. He sighed, throwing it over his shoulder so he could close the closet..when it hit him.

It wasn't gentle, it was an intense waft of smell that hit his senses. It was honey, lavender..the slight alteration of an oaky, maybe smokey smell that he then recognized as your perfume. He paused, closing the door to shamefully lift the fabric to his nose, not sure if he had any control over the carnal motion of holding it to his skin and inhaling deeply. He had missed the hint of caramel, the kind you always put in your coffee, and probably had spilt on this very scarf. His eyes were closed, senses blurring as the sensation of buzzing settled in his chest and let loose a sigh from him, one he would have hidden if he had noticed Jayce down the hall, apron tied on and holding a spatula covered in fudge from the brownies he had insisted on making that night.

“Vik, what's that you got there? Is it cold in here?” He asked, over the giggling noise of Mel who had arrived without warning to Viktor. She too came into the corner of Viktor Gaze as he yanked away your scarf from his nose and closed the closet the rest of the way.

“No..just remembered something..and wanted to check,” he replied, lazily glancing between Jayce and Mel as he crept toward his room, tossing the deliciously scented scarf too his bed before closing his bedroom door and standing facing it for a moment..He wasn't quite sure what had happened, but the buzzing in his belly had subsided only partly, and he could feel his body craving another huff of what he had just discovered. However he instead moved toward the kitchen, it was better to not feed into something that felt addicting.

He limped into the shared kitchen, seeing Jayce still stirring a bowl of fudgy brown putty, and his..guest as Viktor would put it..lounging on the stool, looking over Jayces work. She turned to smile at Viktor, and he gave his best attempt, despite how aggravating it was to be surprised with company when you didn't want to be.

“Viktor dearest, I couldn't help but notice that scarf you were holding down there,” she hummed, twirling glass of wine in her hand, a much less pretty glass then his he would note, “It looks a bit like the one your other lab assistant work..what was their name?” He was quick to spit your name back at her, almost instantly, like he was waiting for someone to ask. Mel glanced at him, a little spooked, “Yes..yes them. I saw them wearing the Yule ball, is that it?” she asked, sipping his wine with the elegance of a queen.

Viktor had almost forgotten about the Yule ball. Though now that he thought about it, you had worn it then, that was until you took it off and had revealed a golden collar around your neck..purely decorative, however he now wondered if you often wore things like that–

‘Stop that,’ he silently chastised himself, clearing his thirst to give a real answer, “Yes..they had lent it to me a while back..I wanted to pack it in my bag so I can return it” he murrmered, leaning over the sink and filling his usual cup with water.

Jayce giggled lightly, clearly amused by his next words before even saying them, “You gonna write a note for when you return it?” he asked, Viktor furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, “Maybe some hearts, an invitation to steal yours next?” he teased, sending heat fast to Viktors face. His hand gripped the cup, avoiding anyones gaze as he stepped to the side,

“Of course not! Why would I ever offer that?” he huffed,

“One of your shirts would fit them pretty nice, don’t you think?” Jayce purred, only barely avoiding the water that spilled from Viktors mouth when he had missed his sip at the thought of you wearing his shirt, all sleepy and comfy, hiding yourself in his clothes,

“You..are an evil man Jayce Talis, a vile and disgusting creature–” Viktor choked, wiping his chin from the spittle that had fallen down it, turning his face away from Mel as she stared at the pair.

Viktor wasn't lucky enough it seems, as he had caught a smirk of understanding spread on mels painted lips. “Has our Viktor found himself a little playmate?” she hummed,

Jayce nodded, mouthing an exaggerated ‘Oh yeah’ which resulted in the hard thump of Viktors cane against his shin. Jayce yelped, hopping on one leg and holding his injured one and settling his forehead against the counter,

“I do not have a ‘playmate” Viktor grunted, tucking his cane back under his arm,

“Are you going to wash it at least? The scarf?” Jayce panted, settling his leg back down and leaning into Mel as she rubbed his shoulder for comfort, like he was a wounded puppy.

“Of course,” Viktor insisted, turning and making his way back down the hallway too retrieve it,

Jayce leaned down the hall as he went, “Hey uh, Mel is gonna sleep over, ok?”

“I assumed,” He yelled back, slipping into his room and closing the door.

As much as he planned to get right to your scarf, he had gotten distracted with what he thought would be a quick adjustment to his notes. He looked up to notice he had somehow ended up filling what was left of his notebook..he sighed, rubbing his temple and lifting himself toward his bed. He needed to sleep, so he tripped what was tight around his form, and rolled into his mattress. He laid on his side, and let out a deep sigh as he settled into the soft sheets..he was much more annoyed to hear the muffled noise of Mel and Jayce on the other side of the wall. He inhaled deeply, covering his head with his hands and trying to block out any further signs of their intense “conversation”.

His breath hitched as the feeling of his back hitting the bedroom door, your form standing close, blocking him from moving away. His gaze was lingering on your face, a bit disheveled from the rush into the apartment. He sighed, cupping your face as you tuck your body closer to him, the velvet of your vest brushing against his chest.

“Janna..your so lovely,” he huffed,

“You're so beautiful Viktor..” You whisper in reply, only to be cut off by the weight of Viktors lips colliding with yours. You both pant into each other, Viktor wrapping his arms tightly around your hip and using the other to cup your jaw, and keep your lips locked in a passionate embrace. Your combined weight sends you both tumbling to the bed. You land almost perfectly, Viktor slotted between your legs and pressing his weight into your pelvis. You let out a pathetic whimper as Viktor grabbed hold of your thigh and tucked it over his hip. He pulled his lips away briefly to mutter your name, 

“Your perfection..ever since that party..with that lovely gown..I can't stop thinking about you, about everything you do..” He panted between kisses to your impossibly soft lips, and when he couldn't handle muffling your sounds any longer, he pressed his lips into your throat, greedily licking at your sweat dappled skin as if he would die of thirst. You moan out his name as he rolls himself into you, groaning at the sensation of your plush behind against his bulge.

Your nosies only continued to spill from your throat, each shriller than the next, until he swore you began to sound like the creaking of his bed frame..

The creak of said bedframe is what met him when he fluttered his eyes open and found that rather than your, in his words, ‘Plush behind’, he had dug his hips into one of his pillows..He grunted, pulling himself to sit up and rubbing his face drearily. His brain was foggy, another groan from his bed sending a shutter down his spine and into his hips.

He didn't want to look, but like a drone, his chin dropped to his chest and he was met with the unmistakable outline of his throbbing cock, pressing against the fabric of his  boxers. He sighed, falling back to the mattress and combing through his hair with his hand, until he felt a soft texture crush his fingertips. He turned his gaze lazily, his gaze caught on a familiar crimson color. ‘Your damn scarf..’

He reached for it, flushing a bit in the cheeks as he brought it to his face..another instinctual move he had no control over. He deeply inhaled, feeling the smell trickle down his lungs into his stomach. He shuttered lightly, opening his eyes lazily and staring off at the cieling as the sickening feeling of shame flooded into his barely conscious mind. He knew it wouldn't go away, you wouldn't leave his mind, and because of it, his little..not so little, problem would also remain stubbornly active.

He closed his eyes again, maybe if he didnt see the scarf he would feel less guilty about the effect it was having. His hand pressed the fabric closer to his face, the other free hand slowly sneaking over his hip bone and causing him to involuntarily jut upward. He exhaled that first deep breath as the weight of his hand settled against his bulge and sent a muted humm of pleasure into his thighs. He took another moment to move again, a moment to at least settle on what to think about. Of course the only thing in his mind at the moment was you, that excited look on your face from the dream, the way your hair felt between his fingers as he kissed you..his hand slipped beneath his waistband, hurrying top push them down enough that he would ease the ache of his cock that was needily pressing into the now tight fabric. His grasp was light as he held himself, feeling the weight against his palm and considering himself for a moment..

Your voice invaded his imagination, a scripted coo into his ear, a fantasy of your sing songy tone, ‘excited Viktor?~’

His grip tightened around his shaft, he made one slow pass over it, making him inhale sharply through his teeth. He pressed your scarf to his mouth, taking in another intoxicating breath of you, his hand starting its slow, lazy pace as he squeezed his cock lightly with each stroke.

The scarf proved extremely effective in muffling his moan, one he didn't plan on, brought out as he pictured your hand rather than his, rubbing a bit faster. He felt a slight burn, lifting his hand away from his shaft for only so he could drag his tongue over his palm, giving himself a fair bit of saliva to better lube himself up with, before bringing it back to his cock and returning to a less lazy pace. The heat of his saliva brings an image of your perfect lips pressing into him, against his throat, against his hips, his cock.

His hip twitched into his tightening grip, sending an increasingly shocking amount of sensation through his stomach. He was shivering, the smell, your smell was all he could breathe in. It was as addictive as he anticipated it to be, sweet, strong, the intensity of pleasure it brought him was humiliating, especially knowing how much more noticeable it would be when he had to see you tomorrow. He wasn't sure how he would handle seeing you tomorrow.

You had smiled 15 times yesterday, the number tripled after he had touched you..oh and that touch was exquisite. HIs hand quickened, his breath was heavier, and he could feel the rumble of his groans as they sank into the soft fabric against his lips. Janna, he wanted to touch you again. With one touch, he had earned the luxury of knowing that, for a fact, your waist was as soft as he hoped..and the feeling..the squish of your flesh..it was enough to send a whimper from his throat. A shivering sensation spread down into his hips, his thumb pressing teasingly against the swollen head of his cock. He was shaking now, the weight of your body against his palm, he squeezed tighter around his shaft, his pace quickly becoming irregular. He groaned into the scarf, whining helplessly into the soft yarn, sighing shakily. His hips thrusted into his fist, greedily pushing himself toward the edge. He gritted his teeth, arching his back against the mattress as one last memory of you flooded into his psyche..the slight smile on your face after he let go of you, the little lean you made to chase him after it, the smallest sign of your returned affection.

He whimpered your name, the scarf not able to hide it as he held it tight to his chest, and white hot pleasure coursed through his body, down into his stomach and shooting through his hips as warm cum freckled his bare stomach.

His body collapsed into the mattress, his breath heavy and desperate, his release cooling soothingly against his belly as he fluttered his eyes open and started up into the night.

How was he going to look at you tommorow..

He couldn't figure it out in the morning..for now he reached over to his bedside table, gripping cold glass and sipping from the last remnants of your stained glass.

[theiauwu]

Tragic Reunions, Tearful Realizations.

Pairing: Viktor x Female! Reader, Machine Herald! Viktor x Female! Reader

Word Count: 6.4k words

Genre: fluff, angst, one shot

GUYS I'M STILL ALIVE AND DOING REQUEST DON'T WORRY!

A HUGE thank you to hypocritic-trash-baby for requesting this story and honestly full credits go to them. I had so much fun writing this and it's been an honor to write this masterpiece of a plot.

I hope all of you out there enjoy!

Content Warning: pregnancy, kidnapping, some blood, loss of life, minor depression, killing, Machine Herald Viktor

Sighing, he finally tears his eyes away from the papers in his hands. Allowing himself to process the information that had been revealed to him.

Setting the doctor’s report aside, he leans back onto the wooden bench located outside the hospital. His chronic illness was worsening and without a cure, there was little he could do as death loomed upon him. At least that had been what the physician told him.

Viktor stares forward blankly with a steely gaze, he was determined to overcome this sickness of his that was so hell bent on ending his life. Thinking hard, he begins to formulate different plans and ideas of how to do so.

His most recent research on Hextech had seemed promising so perhaps he should start there. And speaking of Hextech…

Progress day was closing in as well, he realized. Very soon, in fact.

There was already an infinite amount of things on his plate with more continuously piling on top of it as time passed. He still had much to accomplish, so many people to help and he wasn’t going to lay back and allow this illness to stop him.

As he was still deep in his thoughts, he failed to notice a nurse approaching him looking concerned for him.

Y/N had just been given a break from her duties and was on her way to lunch when she saw the man hunched over with his eyes staring blankly forward with a scrunch between his eyebrows.

And judging by the papers beside him on top of the building behind her, she knew that he probably wasn’t doing too well. With her experience as a nurse in training, it was something she saw more often that she liked.

Hesitating in her next action, she decides to speak up.

“Um sir? Are you alright?” A soft voice called out to him, snapping him back into reality.

Looking up, he sees a pretty woman in what he concluded was a nurse’s uniform talking to him. It was then he realized she was referring to him and he has yet to respond to her inquiry.

“Oh, um, yes. I’m fine.” He takes a quick glance at the papers lying next to him when saying this, the subtle action not escaping the nurse’s attention.

Not wanting to invade his privacy, she leaves it at that before moving onto a different topic. She didn’t understand what had come over her, but something inside of her told her that she couldn’t just leave him alone.

“You know…I’m on my break and was about to get hot cocoa by myself. Care to join me?”

Viktor raises an eyebrow at this, feeling slightly confused and apprehensive at the invitation but he finds himself agreeing unconsciously. Something about the woman intrigued him and plus, he didn’t really want to be alone with his thoughts at the moment.

Perhaps a distraction would do him some good. Especially in the form of sugar.

“Great! I’ve been meaning to go to this café for a while now to try this cake they have but it’s too big for one person. Maybe we can share it!” Her eyes lit up at his acceptance to her invite and Viktor could feel himself getting excited as well at her words.

The nurse eagerly waited for him to gather his belongings before making their way to the café together. The whole walk there was spent engaged in a lighthearted conversation as they got to know each other better.

Before he knew it, he had fallen completely head over heels for her.

Through their many conversations, he discovered that she had originated from a humble background and had clawed her way through nursing school. Her passion for the field earned her a scholarship in the academy which allowed her the opportunity to study, something she wouldn’t have been able to do without the financial aid.

Their similar background made him feel as if she could understand him to a certain degree. And he admits, it was nice to finally have someone to talk to that actually understood him.

Something that not many people were capable of in his life.

Not only that but she was this empathetic, stubborn and passionate woman who quickly became a source of comfort to him. It wasn’t difficult for him to have fallen for such a wonderful person that he found so much joy in spending time with.

Before he even knew it, he had begun formulating plans on how to woo her and started with making small gestures to suggest that he was trying to court her whenever he was graced with her presence.

He had complimented her appearance, made little trinkets for her and whenever his busy schedule allowed it, he would invite her out for little outings to cafes with the purpose of trying out new desserts.

If her shift made that impossible, he would deliver said treats to her workplace himself if he could.

Little did he know, she had felt the same all this time but because of her dense nature, all his attempts had gone unnoticed much to his frustration.

He loved the women but Janna she was oblivious.

Finally having enough, he gathered all his courage and bought a bouquet of her favorite flowers before meeting up with her for their weekly meeting.

Slowly approaching her figure with the flowers clenched tightly in his available hand, her back facing him as she stares at the notes in her hands.

And as he nears her, she must’ve heard the sound of his crutch clanking against the pavement which prompted her to face him. Her eyes immediately pointed towards the item in his hand.

Not allowing her a chance to speak, he forces the words out of his mouth.

“(Y/N), my dear. I must confess that I have been harboring feelings for you for the longest time.” He held out the flowers to her and he finally met her shell-shocked gaze. “If you wish, would you like to move our relationship forward and become romantically involved with each other?”

He didn’t need to wait very long for her response as he felt a force slam into him, making him stumble a few steps back whilst trying very hard not to fall over on his behind.

“Viktor of course!” Tackling him into a crushing hug, the woman happily accepts his confession which makes him breathe out a sigh of relief. He had somewhat concluded that the woman had felt something for him but he still had his doubts.

How could anyone blame him? (Y/N) was a stunning and brilliant woman who could have anyone of her choosing. And she picked him.

Looking down on his bad leg, he swears to himself that he would do anything to overcome the illness that was plaguing his body.

He finally has the woman of his dreams in his arms, one that loves him back nonetheless which was nothing less than a miracle itself. He hadn’t even entertained the thought of having a lover before her, long having banished the mere thought of it believing that that life would never be his.

Yet here he was with her wrapped around him, the two still feeling the high of the new advancement in their relationship.

Now with another person to live for, someone that he could envision spending the rest of his life with. He needed to find a cure and he will do so at any cost.

As he was thinking that, he wasn’t aware of the downward spiral that awaited him in the future. One that would bring him nothing but regrets and pain.

“VIKTOR! Where is he?!” A woman bursts into the front desk of the emergency department running up to the counter before frantically asking for the location of her lover.

A mere hour ago, she had just woken up that morning alone in bed. Feeling confused by the empty space, she heads out to search for him after she was sure she wasn’t going to collapse in public. She hadn’t been feeling well for the past few days which was why Viktor had confined her to bed with strict instructions not to overwork herself.

Remembering his weakened state, she shook her head in exasperation. How hypocritical of him. Always caring for those around him but never himself.

He had been working late into the night these past couple of days but had promised her he would be back today after resolving something concerning the negotiations regarding the rising tensions between the two cities.

After exiting her shared home with Viktor, she had only been walking for a couple of minutes before stumbling upon the news about the council tower being blown to pieces with the councilmen still inside.

Knowing exactly that had been where the inventor was, she immediately rushed to the hospital that she knew would be housing the victims of the incident. It had been the one she worked at after all.

Checking the chart located to the right of her, the nurse behind the counter scanned the list briefly before her eyes came to a stop. Her lips thinned at the words presumably written next to Viktor’s name.

“Ma’am, we have no idea where that patient is. But in amongst all this chaos, honestly, I wouldn’t be shocked if he died and someone had his room cleared out for another patient.” The nurse gave her a sympathetic nod before rushing off to complete another task that required her immediate attention.

Leaving a dazed (Y/N) standing there all by herself. The words that had been just uttered to her are still sinking into her head.

Dead? Viktor?

The two words put together in the same sentence was something she was able to process.

Sure he had been looking ill these past few days, but he had promised her that he was so very close to a breakthrough. 

He had looked so sure of it as he lay on that hospital bed a couple of days ago. His skin pale as the sheets he lay on, his cheeks sunken as if he had been starved for weeks.

But his eyes when he said those words to her had looked as bright as the day she met him. Brimming with fiery determination as he grasped her hand with as much strength as he could muster at that moment.

Refusing to believe the nurses words, (Y/N) continues to search high and low for the love of her life but no matter how hard she tries. Her efforts had proven to be unsuccessful.

Not even Jayce, the man of progress himself, could locate the Zaunite. It was as if he had vanished into thin air, leaving a shell of a woman behind.

Sitting on the edge of their bed, the nurse could only stare at the broken remnants of a cane that once belonged to the man who had stolen her heart.

It was the only thing they could find at the site that solidified the fact that he had been at the tower when it was attacked.

But the question remains, where is he?

No one knew the answer to that question and had assumed the worst. (Y/N) had refused to believe it at first but as days passed, she allowed her rationality to sink in and it became clearer to her that the man had most likely perished from his injuries.

Tears began to well up in her reddened eyes as she clenched pieces of the cane tightly to her chest. It didn’t take long for the room’s silence to be filled up with the cries of a grieving woman.

Over the next few days, she became more and more ill as time passed. Initially, she had passed it off as some stomach flu or perhaps the lack of self-care.

With the lack of sleep, fearing the nightmares that plagued her the moment she gave into the darkness or the dread of waking up with the space beside her cold and empty on top of the lack of appetite to eat. She wasn’t expecting her body to be in the best shape.

But with the increasing amount of familiar symptoms paired with the absence of her monthly flow, such as the morning sickness, the fatigue and her tender breasts. It became obvious as to what sickness had plagued her body.

She had seen it in so many patients in her days as a nurse but never to her. Never had she expected that she would be experiencing the same things as they did, especially not now.

Clutching her stomach, she feels her knees buckle as she slowly descends onto the ground while realization sinks in.

She was…pregnant?

Viktor’s child was growing inside of her.

They will never be able to meet their father and she will never be able to share this experience with him. Of course she had envisioned this several times in the past but Viktor’s presence had been consistent in those visions.

Her heart clenched tightly at the thought of it but she resists the urge to break down at that very moment. She wouldn’t allow it.

She had been so luckily blessed with one final gift from her love who had departed this word. One final reminder of the love they shared together and she will do right by them at any costs.

She cannot fall apart now, not while she had their child growing inside of her.

They need a strong mother and that’s exactly what she will be. That’s the least she could do for her unborn child.

They had already lost a father, they couldn’t lose their mother as well.

Many months later, inside a lab hidden deep inside the city of Zaun looks away from their work while their back tenses up at the news that had just been revealed to him.

“She’s…pregnant?” Singed hums in confirmation, allowing the information to sink in for the man sitting across him.

“And it’s mine?” The older man nods his head. “…I see…” The room returns back to its former silence, the atmosphere tenser than before.

“This offspring of yours could be beneficial for you Viktor.” Frowning, the supposed dead man looks at his former mentor but does nothing to show any objection as to what he was suggesting.

Remaining silent, he allows the man to continue.

“I understand that you have been having trouble eh…experimenting on yourself as of lately. Perhaps your child could be a solution to that?”

Viktor allows the suggestion to ponder in his mind. Ever since escaping the hospital after that blast, he had been spending all his time working endlessly on overcoming his chronic illness.

After spending all this time with Singed and along with his close encounter with death itself, he had finally understood the man’s words completely. And he had ingrained those words into his head.

Love and legacy are the necessary sacrifices for the sake of progress.

He had allowed these words to carve itself into his mind and body. Completely forgetting about the love he had so desperately tried to live for in the first place as he slipped further and further away from the man he used to be.

Replacing flesh with metal, fortifying it with the energy he harvested from the Hexcore. He had been stronger than he ever was before.

However, as with the path that comes with progress, comes with challenges. And this time, it had taken the form of a wall in his research to immortality.

And with the new him, he finds himself agreeing with the plan to use his own flesh and blood for the sake of progress.

All he had to do now was wait.

The sounds of a baby crying pierced through the air. (Y/N) had chosen to give birth alone within the comforts of her own home without knowing that this would be a decision she’d come to regret very soon.

As soon as she had lifted her newborn into her arms, their sobs slowly faded as they settled into the warm embrace of their mother.

Then, the doors of her house were slammed open with a loud bang.

The sound immediately alarming the exhausted mother and scaring the infant who soon began to wail again, however this time, it was in fright.

Clutching her baby to her chest, she tries to get up from her bed only to stumble down onto the ground. Her legs were unable to support her weight as her body was still weak from the recent birth.

Before she could even attempt to stand back up, she hears loud heavy footsteps making its way to the doors of her bedroom. Oddly enough it sounded metallic, as if the intruder had adjourned a full body of metal armor.

Clink.

Clank.

Clink.

Clank.

It wasn’t long before the doors to the room burst open to reveal a familiar face attached to an unfamiliar metallic body.

His bony limbs now replaced with something thicker, stronger with glowing purple markings shining through the metal plates. The corners of his jaw were covered with the same material, making his face seem harsher than before.

And his eyes…

He was so different now and most importantly, he was standing before her.

That’s…not possible.

He was dead.

How?

“Viktor?” Happiness begins to fill her heart but it quickly turns to dread when his face remains emotionless while he stares down at her fallen figure. She couldn’t see an ounce of love in his dark eyes. If he still had any love left for her, it wasn’t visible to her at that very moment.

And that terrified her.

His eyes landed on the small bundle in her arms before he began to make his way over, his intent feeling malicious to her. A sinking feeling in her gut told her that this was no longer the man she loved all those months ago.

He’s changed, not just physically.

“Viktor? What are you doing?” Trying to hold her daughter away from the man she once knew so well, she questions him nervously but it was met with a cold silence.

She knew the answer to her own question but she had remained hopeful that her intuition was wrong. But a mother is never wrong when it comes down to her child, at least not this time.

She tried resisting him, she really did.

But her weakened body was no match for the new and improved physique of his forged from the most durable metal.

Pulling back her shoulders, he tears the baby away from her arms with a harsh tug much to her horror. 

“NO-give her back! Give me my child!” She cries and begs but he pays no heed to her nor to the child now in his clutches crying for her mother.

(Y/N) attempts to scramble to her feet but she is unable to find the strength to get up at that very moment. Not noticing the blood pooling below her.

“VIKTOR PLEASE!” She desperately tries begging him but that only succeeded in him pausing at the door for a brief moment before he continued to walk away.

Leaving her screaming and crying for her newborn baby that was stolen from her, merely minutes after having her in her arms for the very first time.

And she may never get to hold her again.

The moment she was able to muster up the ability to stand, (Y/N) quickly pulled on a coat that covered the filthy gown she had worn for the birthing of her child. Wasting not a second longer, she limps as fast as she could all the way to the home of a man she knew that could help her.

Upon reaching her destination, she begins to pound her fists onto the front doors.

“JAYCE! JAYCE PLEASE! HELP!” The man had been resting on his living room couch when the yelling came. Jumping to his feet, he quickly rushed to the door and fling it open only to find the lover of his former best friend.

“(Y/N)? What’s wrong?” Her coat unravels by itself to reveal the blood on her nightgown, the sight of it alarming the man. “What happened to you?! Are you oka-“

The frantic woman cuts him off before he could finish his sentence. “HE TOOK HER! OH GOD-HE TOOK MY CHILD!!”

Escorting the hysterical woman into his home, he tries to soothe her to the best of his abilities but his attempts prove to be futile.

It took several tries before the new mother was finally able to make out a few coherent sentences and Jayce was able to quickly piece the puzzles together.

Despite feeling overwhelmed by the news of his best friend being alive, he wasted no time to ease the woman into his living room coach before grabbing his hammer that lay almost forgotten in his closet.

He took a few seconds to take it in, remembering the incident that took place the last time he had wielded it in his hands, the blood it had shed under his guidance.

He shakes the sinking guilt off of his mind, he had other priorities at the moment. Lifting the weapon into his grasp, he rushes to the front door before pausing for a brief second to look back at (Y/N) who returned his gaze.

“Please, bring her back.”

Without any hesitation, he nods.

And with that he rushes into the night, time was of the essence and he’d be damned if he fails this woman again.

Now alone in the lab with no one but him and the whimpering infant, Singed’s words echoed in his head.

“I see you were successful in your endeavor.” The masked man pauses to take in the sight of the baby. “Well, I’ll leave you to it then. I believe with its help, I’m sure you will have no issues unlocking the secrets to your immortality.”

And with those encouraging words, he turned and left.

While laying the baby onto the cold metal table, he hesitated as he pondered on whether or not to strap her down to the surface. Looking over to the blood stained leather straps located to the right of him, he winces slightly at the history that came with it.

After all, he had been partially responsible for them.

Your tearful face flashed in his head for a brief moment. He could still hear your cries begging for him to return your daughter echoing through his mind. He remembers feeling a small clench in his chest when seeing you in that state, but then Singed’s words roared loudly in his head which once again reminded him of his ultimate goal.

Perhaps a small mercy for the child. He thinks to himself before opting that the straps were better left alone.

Picking up a needle filled with a familiar pink liquid, he turns back around to face the newborn who had already laid her big innocent eyes on his form which made him pause. The shade of amber perfectly matching the ones that used to color his own amber irises, now replaced by an unnatural glowing gold surrounded by a dark murky black.

She tilted her head to its side. Not knowing why, he had mimicked her action and reached out to poke her plush cheeks before his mind could comprehend it.

It was…soft.

All of a sudden, the infant bursts into fits of tiny giggles that fill the silence of the lab. With her tiny hands, she grabbed onto his finger that had touched her and began to wave it around as if it had been a toy of some sorts.

Slowly, Viktor begins to tremble as a feeling of guilt begins to creep up on him.

“…why are you smiling?” He asks her, despite knowing that he won’t receive an answer. Sensing the rising hesitation within him, he speaks up again. “Why can’t I…”

He had been working so hard to survive, and yet when the solution was right in front of him, he found himself struggling to continue.

“This is my natural right! This child is mine and mine alone! I can do with it what I please! Can I not?!” Frustrated, he yells to himself. “I endured this pain and suffering for so long! Didn’t I?!”

He shakes his head, trying to rid of the guilt that was beginning to overwhelm him. He was fighting a losing battle.

“I mustn’t waver!” He tries to hold on but his resolve quickly crumbles into nothing as he looks down, he sees his daughter still smiling at him. The infant had been completely oblivious as to what he was about to do to her just moments ago.

 “Stop that…” Her smile resembles yours almost identically. He sees your face flashing next to hers, your features almost identical had it not been for her amber eyes, flashing him the same bright grin that would never fail to make his squeeze from a delightful ache.

The baby happily coos at him while tears begin to fall from his eyes. “Please stop smiling!” He begs.

Looking at the needle that was still clutched in his other hand, he quickly hurls it away from him as if the mere touch of it burnt him.

Quickly shoving all the equipment away from his baby and off of the table, they fall to the ground with a clang, some shattering into a million pieces. He lifts her tiny body and clutches her close to his chest as he begins to apologize profusely.

The weight of his actions finally hit him at full force, shattering the fog his mind had been under the last few months.

“I’m so sorry little one. I-I” Stuttering, he holds her tighter as he remembers the exact plans he had for the child, his child. The pain she would’ve gone through because of him.

Her own father.

He begins to sob silently while holding onto her, unable to comprehend what he was about to do to the life that he created with you.

The woman he had supposedly loved with all his being.

He was a monster.

Jayce runs through the quiet streets of the Undercity, in search of the whereabouts of the father daughter. With help of a few crude threats, he was able to get an idea of where Viktor could be located.

As he nears his destination, he encounters a badly scarred man whose coat covered the lower half of his face. He pays him no attention. Trying to run past the man, he finds himself stopping after hearing the words that came from him.

“You won’t be able to save him, you know?” Singed muses which angered the man.

“What are you talking about?” He spats, turning to face the scientist with his fist clenching tightly onto his weapon.

“Viktor, I assume that is who you’re looking for, yes?” Jayce’s eyes narrow at the question but says nothing. “I’m afraid there’s nothing to save your friend from.”

Singed continues to explain himself. “He finally truly understands that progress comes at the sacrifice of legacy and even love. I too had learnt that lesson, though it had been a hard pill to swallow. It was necessary.”

“Viktor was the kindest man I know, he would never-“ The man pauses mid-sentence, hesitating briefly as he wonders if his friend had truly changed for the worst, despite not wanting to believe it. He remembers the look on your face when he opened his door.

The terror and the sheer panic.

“Are you so sure about that?” It was at this Jayce had looked up to see Singed gesturing to an emotionless Viktor walking out of a broken down building while holding a small bundle to his chest.

He had barely been able to recognize the man with all of his bionic enhancements. If his face had been concealed, Jayce doubted he would be able to identify him.

“As you can see, Viktor isn’t a man that needs savi-“ Singed is quickly silenced by something unexpected from his apprentice’s part.

Feeling suffocated and a dull throbbing pain that came from his chest. He slowly looks down to see a metal claw piercing through his torso from the back and as Viktor removes the metal limb from his body, he falls to the ground limply. The life instantly fading from his eyes.

A quick death.

“I’m afraid there was an error in his observation that he failed to see. It’s a shame seeing as though he died because of it.” Viktor stated nonchalantly while looking down at the corpse. “No matter what the sacrifices I make, nothing can make me harm my own child.”

He looks back at the sleeping infant who nuzzled her little face deeper into his chest. “And I won’t let anyone attempt it, not as long as I’m breathing.”

Despite feeling shocked at the turn of events, Jayce couldn’t help but feel happy to have his friend back.

Nervously, (Y/N) slowly paces back and forth in the living room of her house. Her mind plays thousands of different scenarios in her head, each making her more anxious by the second.

Unable to stand the sight of the door, she returns to the nursery that she had spent months building and perfecting for the arrival of her baby.

Wanting to bask in the comfort it brought to her.

It had been the room she spent the most time in during the whole of her pregnancy. The presence of her child filled it and without her baby in her arms, this was the closest thing to it.

Then just when her nerves begin to settle, she hears her front door slowly open with a creak that she was familiar with.

Immediately snapping her head in its direction, her tiredness fading instantly as she becomes high on alert. Her mind replaying the traumatic incident that just hours ago.

Paralyzed by fear, she remained still as she stared at the door. Hearing slow heavy footsteps approaching closer and closer to the room she was in. The very ones that haunted her since the earlier events.

The door soon swings open to reveal Viktor with her baby girl safely wrapped up in a raggedy blanket and tucked in the crook of his arm.

A guilty expression was splattered on his face but she remained indifferent to it, still feeling wary and untrusting towards the man before her. His saddened face did nothing to melt the ice and fear that sat in her chest.

Where were these emotions when he left her on the floor, crying and begging for him to return the child she had so dearly loved? Practically soaked in her own blood.

Her motherly instincts were screaming for her to snatch her child back from him but her fear of hurting the baby in the process stopped her from doing so.

Observing him closely, she realizes that he was being so gentle with the life he helped create. He looked almost, nurturing.

A stark contrast to the man who stormed her house just hours before.

Despite the anger brewing inside of her, she allows him to place the baby into her cradle. Her anger almost boiling over when he reached over to take her hand in his and began to quietly beg for forgiveness.

“(Y/N) I- I have no words to describe how sorry I am for the way I treated you. The way I took our-your daughter away from you. I have no excuse-“

“Damn right you have no excuses.” She hisses while he is mid-sentence.

How dare he?

How dare he come in here with her child and act so…human. So remorseful.

Especially after what he had done.

“And that is a weight I will carry on my shoulders until the end of my days.” She wanted to yell at him so bad but something about the way his teary eyes looked at her made her pause. “But I want you to know that I am so terribly sorry about what I’ve done.”

He had almost looked like the Viktor she’d known. The one she’d loved.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me. Janna knows I don’t deserve it.” Taking a shaky breath, he continues with his apology. He owed her that, at the very least.

“I had been in a trance all these months, so lost in the desperation to escape death that I’ve forgotten the true reason why I had been so desperate to live in the first place.” With a small pained smile, he turns to look at their sleeping child who was still peacefully sleeping away in her cradle.

“But after looking at this little miracle that we made, it made me remember.” He looks back at the woman in front of him, who was visibly struggling to keep her tears at bay. “If you allow it and only if you allow it, I wish to have another chance. Another chance for us to be a family.”

Sensing the hesitation on her face, the conflict as she battles between two different voices screaming in her head. He leans back away from her but his eyes are still bored into hers. As if trying to show how genuine he was at that moment.

And she saw it.

“I-I expect nothing from you. I have been so-“ He struggles to speak through his shuddering breath that was holding back a sob “horrible to you.” Images of your bloodied state flashed through his head and the way he had responded made him sick to his stomach.

(Y/N) was now looking at the man before her. A man who was clearly different from the one that had severely traumatized her and finally seeing one who she was more familiar with. One she had been yearning after for so long.

“If you do not wish to see me again, I will respect your decision and leave.” He closes his eyes, allowing the tears to fall at the thought of never seeing the two again.

Desperately hoping that he hasn’t lost the both of them now after just finding his way back to them again after so long. But he knew that the decision wasn’t up to him. He didn’t deserve to make that choice.

Allowing the question to sink in, the woman remained quiet as her thoughts roared in her head. 

She had been so desperate to have him back in her life all this time, aching to be a family that was complete. She had dreamt of this so many nights only to wake up cold and alone with no one next to her.

The bitterness and the countless heartaches she had experienced when seeing happy families out and about. The envy.

Was she expected to decline him? Did she even have the strength to do so?

Would it be wrong for her to say yes?

If being wrong feels so good, then (Y/N) doesn’t want to be right.

Finally allowing her true emotions to show, she sobs as she lowers herself to join Viktor on the ground and holds tightly onto him. Trying to ground herself to the newfound reality, hoping that this wasn’t a dream or a hallucination.

With one hand, she reaches up to cup the side of his face and tilts his head back up so he could face her. His eyes are just as teary as hers. However rather than the relief that filled hers, hesitance and remorse filled his. 

She slowly leans and allows for her lips to gently connect with his. And Viktor’s body stills, momentarily feeling as though nothing of the moment was real. And yet after a few seconds had passed with her lips still lingering against his.

He realized that this wasn’t a cruel trick from his mind.

Quickly overcoming his shock, Viktor tearfully smiles into the kiss and pulls her close to him using both arms. Wanting to hold her close and never let go.

“I forgive you.”

And that was all the words the two needed.

Later that night, the couple laid on the carpeted floor together whilst leaning their backs against the wall, cuddling against one another. Together, they reminisce about the past before the incident and learnt more about what they had missed in each other’s absence.

Until something caught (Y/N)’s attention.

“Oh..” Viktor tenses at this. The tone of her voice made him uneasy.

“What it is? Is something wrong?” Laughing softly at his apprehension, she waves him off.

“Nothing, it’s just that all this time we have been referring to our child as ‘our child’, ‘our baby’, ‘she’ and so on. I just realized that I haven’t had the chance to name her yet.” She senses his slowly returning guilt. “I’ve gone through so many names these past few months but nothing ever seemed right.”

Hearing her explanation, he allows himself to relax slightly. But the guilt lingers.

“I wanted the name to mean something, to both of us.” Her words sent a flutter to his chest. Elated that she was so thoughtful of him, even in his absence.

After pondering for a while, Viktor picks out a name that stood out in his mind. “What do you think of the name, Nikola.”

(Y/N) repeated the name to herself, finding that she had liked the way it sounded.

“It means ‘people’s triumph’.” Looking at the sleeping bundle, he smiles. “Something about it feels right.”

“I love it.” She leans on his shoulder with a happy sigh. As if the missing piece in her heart had returned and everything was finally complete.

“Nikola it is then.” He leans his head to rest on hers, feeling eternally grateful to have his family by his side. Swearing that he’ll do whatever it takes to earn that right. He will make it up to them, he swears.

Finally, their bodies had finally allowed for events of the night to sink in as the two surrendered to their fatigue.

Tomorrow, a new day will arrive and they will begin their journey as a family. Once separated by tragedy and fear but now reunited with their love in the form of their daughter, Nikola.

Their little champion.

Author's note:

I hope you liked this and once again, a big thank you to hypocritic-trash-baby for allowing me to write their story.

Also for those who want someone to rant to about Viktor, don't hesitate to spam my inbox. I also desperately need someone to talk to about how amazing this man is.

[heygreyyart]

God Can you make my heart stop Honey with your kill shot baby I mean it so serious. Stolen nectar Misadventure Something like a death kiss Growing cold, under your control

short snipet of a comic where viktor begs ella to stop missunderstanding his words and allow him to show his true feelings for once.

[sheepdawgiearts]

I love that people design their own Viktor's before Arcane came out so I thought to myself, why not make my own too?

First 3 were from a month ago but the sketches I did the other day and basing him off Kyle MacLachlan.

[smol-lydia]

Salty Sweet: Viktor x Fem!Reader, SFW

Summary: You are set up on a blind date by Jayce’s sister, no matter how many times you tell her you have no time in your busy academic life for dating. Both Talis’ are determined to prove you and Viktor wrong, and you hate that they just might be right.

A slice of life fluffy oneshot that’s anime/school inspired that was heavily inspired by this recent anime artwork of Viktor that you can find here!

A/N: just a note that Jayce’s sister is absolutely a kogal/gyaru Aka a school gyaru and my OC is a jirai kei girl because my j-fashion bullshit strikes again. No y/n here; reader has a name! Hope that isn’t too off putting

“I don’t do blind dates!” You hang off the stairwell railing like a monkey—unbecoming as a senior and part of the student council but you’re feeling some kind of way, your twin tails dragging on the ground.

“He’s sweet, I promise! He’s my brother’s best friend.”

Your friend pulls up her loose socks—she’s a walking dress code citation, with her loose socks and false lashes and heavy tan and makeup, snapping her gum. You and her could not be more opposite.

“Yua, why do you do these things to me?” You right yourself and adjust the collar on your sailor blouse.

She blows you a kiss. “Because I love you.”

“Sounds more like hate to me,” you grumble.

“Oh, stop being such a sourpuss.” She bumps her hip against yours. “You’ll like him, I promise. And I’ll be on the other side of the cafe the entire time, making sure nothing goes wrong.”

“Spying, more like.”

“Spying, looking out for you, same diff!” Yua takes your hand to pull you along. “Now come on, Miss Sourpuss! Let me at least do your makeup before we head out, kay?”

Your stomach churns with nerves, as though you’re heading to an execution. You might as well be, as far as you’re concerned. “Aren’t we gonna get in trouble for ditching our last study period?”

Yua shrugs her shoulders as she pushes open the restroom door, the small space occupied by fellow delinquents in a cloud of cheap perfume and illicit cigarettes. “Hasn’t stopped us before. Besides, we gotta get you looking cu-yute for this date!”

You manage to convince Yua to go easy on the makeup. While her gyaru style is perfect for her, with her brash personality, that confidence and self assured attitude that certainly seemed to be a hallmark of the Tallis family, it feels foreign to you.

You’re the quiet, unassuming type. Still, she manages to coax you into some pink lip gloss, and you brush out your hair, retying your signature twin tails and bangs.

“Don’t you want to do something different?” Yua asks, pulling an energy drink out of her backpack to sip on.

You shake your head. “If he doesn’t like me as is, then what’s the point? I’m not going to pretend to be someone I’m not. Who is this guy, anyway?”

“He’s in my brother’s class, 77-B.” Yua’s twin brother, Jayce, always ended up in the opposite class as her, an effort by teachers to keep the two apart.

It rarely worked, but it was still a tactic that was attempted year after year.

“And?” You pull out the clothing Yua had requested you bring today. You had wondered why she had asked this of you at the time—now you knew.

“His name is Viktor. Quiet. Keeps to himself mostly, except for Jayce and another girl in the class, Powder.”

You feel something stir in your chest at the mention of another girl and you try to shake it off; you can’t be feeling jealousy over a girl you don’t know, about a date you never met, a date you are reluctant to go on. You were being ridiculous and all the cigarette smoke must be going to your head.

You slip your dress over your head, balling up your school uniform to put in your knapsack. Normally you would fold your uniform neatly, but you’re feeling agitated. Your dress is a dusty rose, with black bows, the epitome of the jirai fashion you wear whenever you’re off school grounds.

Stupidly, you find yourself wondering if Viktor will like it.

You fiddle with your hair in the mirror, butterflies forming in the pit of your stomach. “What made you think we would be a match, then, hmm?”

Yua shrugs her shoulders. “You both got that sensitive melancholy loner thing goin’ on. And Vik doesn’t waste his time with idiotic people.”

You frown at your mirror self. “Well, thanks for not thinking I’m an idiot, I guess.”

Yua snaps her gum. “I only speak the truth, sweetness. Now let’s go get you laid.”

“Ew. Don’t say anything like that again.”

—-

The ten minute walk to the cafe that Yua chose for this little tete a tete seems to take forever, at least to you. Your heart is hammering wildly in your chest, and you wipe your sweaty hands on your skirt for what feels like a hundred times.

This shouldn’t be as intense as it is but only Yua knows the truth: you haven’t been on a date at all. Ever. Eighteen years old, a senior at the Academy, and you kept your nose solidly to the grindstone, focused on academics and extracurriculars like Student Council.

You told yourself you didn’t have time for dating. Plenty to keep you busy, lots to concentrate on without the distraction of pesky feelings getting in the way. However, you could barely admit to yourself that you froze up when it came to asking anyone out: how could your classmates do this with such confidence and ease?

Keeping Yua around was more than a breath of fresh air; her wild and bright attitude forced you to step out of your comfort zone sometimes. Like right now.

She took a seat at the back of the brightly themed cafe, a popular hangout for Academy students, winking at you over her fashion magazine. Not long after her twin joined her, and you rolled your eyes. Great, Jayce was here to witness your humiliation as well.

You debate pulling out your phone for something to do to pass the time, but decide against it. That would look rude, wouldn’t it? Instead you settle for staring down at the scratched wooden table, years of wear and tear in small notches. Fascinating.

The sound of clicking against the tiled floor catches your attention and you briefly look up. The stranger is tall, impossibly so, lanky and leaning on a crutch. Sharp cheekbones that could cut glass, thick, untamed coffee-colored hair that you want to sink your hands into. And oh gods his eyes: the most delicious shade of warm honey, framed by thick, dark brows, a small beauty mark under one. Despite his pensive gaze, there’s a kindness lurking beneath that has you melting. Between that and the second beauty mark above his lip, you’re a goner, those butterflies multiplying, warmth pooling at the pit of your stomach, an insistent throb of arousal between your legs.

You’ve never been hit by your hormones this badly this quickly and it’s enough to make you want to run and hide. Instead, you find yourself frozen to your spot, mouth slightly agape until you remember how your jaw works to close it.

This cannot be Jayce’s friend.

And yet, he looks at you with some kind of expectation, finally speaking in a soft accent that has you falling even deeper under this enchanted dream-spell.

“Sasha? You are Jayce’s sister’s friend?” Apologies if I am mistaken. I was told to look for someone with your description.”

You nod, and try desperately to recover your voice. “Y-yes.”

Well, it’s a start.

“May I sit?” He asks.

“O-of course.” You wish you could stop stammering. He’s just so beautiful you find the words dying on your tongue. Mouth dry, you lick your lips and try to force the words anyway. “You’re Viktor, I assume?”

“Yes,” he replies. He puts his school bag on the ground, and rests his crutch against the back of the chair.

You take a deep breath, exhale slowly. “It’s nice to meet you. Even if this whole blind date thing got sprung on me all of sudden.”

As soon as the words leave your lips you regret them. Way to let him know you didn’t want to date him! He probably gets that all the time with his disability, and you feel like the scum of the Earth. His leg, in a metal brace, doesn’t bother you in the slightest, and you hate yourself for seemingly implying otherwise. Spots of color appear on your cheeks, not out of flustered blushing, but embarrassment and frustration at yourself for once again putting your foot in your mouth.

Much to your surprise, Viktor gives you a shy smile. “You aren’t alone in that experience. The Talis clan can certainly be…persistent.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s a word for it.”

Viktor chuckles and the sound is music to you, sending a swooping sensation down through your body, your entire world off-kilter.

Get it together, Sasha. You’re being ridiculous.

You’re desperate to have something to focus on other than how badly your body craves him.

“Do you, um, want to order?” This cafe had one of those tablets mounted to the side of the table, where you can place your order and pay with ease.

Viktor nods, and you both lean in to look at the screen, succeeding only in colliding your head with his.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You rub the sore spot on the side of your head and look at him from under your dark bangs.

“It’s quite all right,” he says with a wince.

“I’m a mess.” You don’t know why you’ve said that, but it’s honest and you’ve already made several mistakes so you figure there’s no way this date is going to be a success.

“If that’s what you consider a mess, I would say you’re actually doing quite well,” Viktor replies wryly.

This time the flush on your cheeks is absolutely because his words have you flustered, and it takes you a few seconds to recover.

“I can order you whatever you want,” you offer. “So I can stop causing you bodily damage.”

That earns you another chuckle, and he asks, “do they have sweet milk?”

“I think so.” You punch in a few things on the touch screen, and sure enough, sweet milk. You wouldn’t have pegged Viktor as the sweet tooth type but it’s endearing. “I guess that’s something we have in common.”

You order a parfait, one of those with lots of whipped cream and fruit, a cute marshmallow animal on top. You know that girls are supposed to be self conscious about eating on a date, but you don’t care. You’re hungry.

As you both wait for your orders, the conversation picks up to your studies and you find that this is where you and Viktor truly connect; his face lighting up as he describes his senior project.

You haven’t found anyone else with the same love of knowledge as you, even if it’s in different subjects: Viktor is science and mechanical focused, whereas you excel in the study of the mind itself.

“I'm curious as to what makes people respond the way they do,” you say, talking with your hands, as you often do when you’re excited. “Especially in cases of extreme behavior.”

“Extreme behavior?” Viktor takes a sip of his sweet milk.

You point your spoon at him. “You know. Things such as lust killers, that sort of thing. What drives someone to that point.” You lick some whipped cream off of the spoon and noticed Viktor’s eyes on you as you do.

Quickly, his gaze flits away and there’s an awkward pause. You swallow your treat.

“So, what are you excited about?” You ask, warmth creeping up your neck and into your face as you notice Viktor gazing at your lips again. You hope you don’t have whipped cream stuck in the corner of your mouth again.

“Uh. Yes.” Viktor launches into an explanation of something he was working on with Jayce, and you listen, chin in your hands, spoon placed back in the parfait dish.

You don’t understand the math or the arcane Viktor is describing but you could listen to him talk all day; you realized with a thump in your chest that you could easily become addicted to spending time with him.

Damn Yua for being right; she would never shut up about this.

And watching Viktor speak in and of itself was distracting, with the way his amber eyes lit up with a spark of passion, the beauty mark near his top lip even more prominent as you focus on his lips. You find yourself wondering what it would be like to kiss him, and blush, wishing you could crawl under the table and hide forever. Gods, this is hopeless.

“Sasha?”

“Hm?” Your name sounds so good in Viktor’s accent, like a warm hug.

“Is it all right?”

“Huh?” You blink, uncomprehending, and Viktor flushes.

“I was, um, wondering if I could try a little of what you ordered. I really enjoy sweets.” He says this last part with a small part of what sounds of shame, and that won’t stand. There’s not much left in the dish anyhow, and you push it in his direction.

“Please, go ahead!”

He takes a small amount on the spoon and slips it into his mouth and dear gods you didn’t know someone licking a spoon could get your mind going in a completely different direction until now. He closes his eyes while doing so, as if he’s savoring the sweetness, and you find this so impossibly cute that your heartbeat picks up.

He smiles when he finishes, and puts the spoon in the empty dish. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Viktor glances over towards the back of the restaurant, and you follow his gaze. Jayce and his twin sister are sitting at their table, trying not to be obvious but clearly are. Viktor sighs.

“Um, Sasha….you are free to say no of course…but would you like me to walk you home? Maybe get some….distance?”

You nod eagerly and reach for your soft jacket that’s draped over the back of the chair, the black one with the hood that had the bunny ears and ribbon edging.

Viktor stands, makes a small wince as he stretches his leg with the brace, which he quickly covers with a neutral expression. You step back, intending for him to walk first, but he makes that gesture with his hand indicating he wants you to walk ahead, so you do.

As you do so, you can’t help but notice how elegant his long, slender fingers are.

The near-winter air is crisp and you shiver a little as you both begin to walk down the street.

“Are you cold?” Viktor asks, and you shrug.

“It’s not a big deal. I’m only a few blocks away from my building.”

Viktor gives you an incredulous look. “Are you certain?”

You look up at him, your heart racing. He’s leaning on his crutch with one hand, looking so impossibly handsome in his school uniform that it hurts and you’re afraid if he touches you, you might implode. Behind him, the maple trees flash a brilliant red, like fire.

You stick your hands in the pockets of your bunny jacket. “Uh-huh. Yup.”

Viktor seems almost….disappointed? At your response, and continues the walk down the street. You have to race a little to catch up with those long legs of his.

“I like this time of year best,” you offer as a concession.

“That does not surprise me,” comes Viktor’s clipped response.

Nothing else for three blocks and you’re sweating bullets. Oh god, oh fuck, you’ve really screwed this one up. In your nervousness you’ve probably got him thinking you don’t like him. And now there’s no time to correct this misconception as you’re in front of your apartment building.

“Viktor—“

Viktor won’t look you in the eye. “It was nice to meet you.” Cold. Distant. You can’t stand this. He’s holding his hand out to shake, and you’re trembling as you take it, every nerve in your body screaming at you to stop. And yet your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth and you feel stupid and stuck, your platform Mary Janes plastered to the sidewalk as he turns away.

No, no, no.

“Viktor!” You somehow stumble around your thick tongue. “Wait!”

A pause. He doesn’t turn around, but he stops walking, and you’ll take it. You move with every ounce of strength, a courage you don’t have, skidding in front of him. Even in your platforms, you still aren’t quite tall enough and you have to stand on the tips of your toes, grabbing onto his waistcoat to pull him towards you.

“Sasha?” Those honey-whiskey eyes widened.

“For someone so smart you don’t get it, do you?” You whisper.

Who is this Sasha, bold, drunk on wanting? You don’t know and don’t care as you plant a hard one on him. For a brief moment, Viktor stiffens up in shock, but he quickly relaxes into it, wrapping his arms around you as he kisses you back, lips soft against your own.

When you part for air you’re both giddy and dizzy.

“They’re never going to let us live this one down, are they?” You ask.

Viktor’s hands are on the small of your back. “Not in the slightest.”

[spectralmagpie]

Finally finished my character outfits for my other arcane reader insert/oc 💕

She is a Chirean from Zaun and is Scar’s sister; she attends the academy and studies old/primitive technology and how it can be reused/repurposed.

She also, begrudgingly has a big old crush on a certain tired scientist who thoroughly enjoys sweet milk.