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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 11 months

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Hello!

I would like to request a Rocky x reader (romantic) oneshot. A fluffy one with a bit of spice would be nice ;) I don't really have a specific plot in mind, but maybe something on the topic of affection? Whatever the story, i'm sure it will be amazing ❤

Thank u, and have a nice day/night!

Hello, Anon!! Thank you for dropping by!! Your request just so happened to align with an idea I've had, and... I got a bit carried away, I suppose. This is well over three thousand words.

Hope you'll find as much entertainment in reading as I did in writing, anyhow!! (I missed crafting dialogue for this silly cat, even if it's equal parts shameless purple prose fun and an absolute pain in the neck.)

“Absolutely not.”

The pose of cheerful enthusiasm he presented the idea with didn’t falter, although his grin seemed to by a sliver.

“Aww, why?”

“It’s not gonna work.”

“We can’t know that until we try!”

You’d come down before opening hour, when many of the lights framing the red-curtained stage and finely carved pillars hadn’t been ignited yet in order to lessen electricity bills, leaving the grandiose speakeasy hall to ruminate in a mellow, warm late afternoon dusk. Leaning against one of the pool tables webbed with gilded patterns on the sides, you glanced him up and down in half-lidded skepticism. It was brief, yet defeating.

“I say this with all the love in my heart,” you prefaced the ruthless confession with a teasing smile, “but you don’t look like you could lift a cornstalk.”

“And you have a point! But consider this,” he countered, gesturing passionately with his hands as if materializing a vision of success before the both of you, and that’s when you recognized this conversation was about to shimmy beyond the bounds of reality. “What wonders can be achieved through the power of love? It can avail you to weather a sea of infernal blazes, crumble ancient mounts to their innermost cores, compel the course of celestial bodies–”

“But it can’t give you muscles.”

The conjurations of poetic fancies promptly shattered, and he gave you a disheartened look.

“Oh, come on, dearest,” he pleaded, all gleaming blue eyes and droopy ears. “Have you no faith in your one and only chevalier?”

“Concerning any other situation… a hard maybe. Depends if anything flammable’s involved.”

You put a finger to your chin in lighthearted contemplation.

“But this… well, I trust you in pulling this off without either of us getting hurt about as far as I could throw you with one hand.”

“I don’t weigh much,” he perked up assuringly. “You could toss me a good few feet, I reckon.”

“So then we should try this the other way around.”

A glint of curiosity hinted he may not have been entirely opposed. Nonetheless, you could tell he wouldn’t let himself be so easily shot down in his steadfast ambitions, about which you happened to be right.

“Your suggestions are appreciated,” he placated upon your prompt sigh of disappointment, “but in the name of chivalry I must persist with my vision. Because I am certain that there is a way, as there is a will, to achieve it.”

He pondered aloud whilst leant against the pool table opposite to yours, tail swishing figure eights in the air as if stirring up the brainworks.

“Just let me think about it…”

A bit to the left, two of the local employment were spectating from their usual spots by the bar. Zib, who had draped himself half-across the counter while Viktor was cleaning it around him, regarded the scene from under his hat with a caustic glance. The smoke simmering from the cigarette he was languidly tasting occasionally wafted your way.

“Looks like chivalry’s not dead yet after all,” he grumbled, the corners of his lips teasing amusement, “but he’s about to be.”

The burly slovak continued with his somewhat menial task in dutiful disinterest, intimidating all unsightly dirt spots off the wooden surface with an effortless glare.

“Idiot vill break own spine vid effort,” he stated matter-of-factly, then after a thoughtful pause, shrugged. “Saves me the trouble.”

“Oh, such searing pessimism!”

Rocky turned to theatrically retort, rejoining your circles from the far reaches of whatever realms his mind had been venturing.

“Well I regret to inform you, gentlemen,” he gave an easygoing little smirk, “that the only sort of spectacle you’ll be getting today is the glorious display of romance’s incandescent triumph.”

“You should heed your sweetheart’s advice, kid,” Zib warned over his glassful of a somewhat suspicious golden beverage. “Artists like you and I just weren’t built for these kinds of strenuous feats. You’ll get a hernia and then the boss lady will be down one questionable bootlegger.”

“Pff… Nonsense talk!”

He waved off the notion as if swatting away a bug, and you pinched your brow in exasperation.

“Waste not such paltry concerns on me, my friend! You see, it might not leave that impression at first glance…” he flexed a bit to show off his bicep then stared at it with a blank expression once it failed to strengthen his argument, “nor perhaps second… but these spindly sinews are rife with untapped potential! Why, you think the Atlas of mythology had trained in advance to support the whole world on his shoulders? And yet, it still goes ‘round smoothly to this day. Which is to say that, hopefully helped by Fortuna’s favor, the release of a comparable innate strength shall aid me in this fated task of carrying mine.”

Despite his conspicuous lack of visible musculature he gave a grin of such radiant certainty it could’ve powered the rest of the lights. Zib blinked slowly, unimpressed in his fermentative, cigarette-stink skepticism. Viktor kept cleaning.

“Albeit I suppose there’s more point in a show rather than tell.”

Rocky stretched his arms in a somewhat comically overstated manner.

“So the old-fashionated way it is!” He then took up a stance and spread them in anticipation. “Come hither, my darling love, let’s prove those naysayers wrong! Leap into the arms of your favorite bard!”

“I still don’t condone this idea.”

You crossed your arms, resolution as hard as the wood digging into your lower back. Unstoppable force smiling baffledly at the inmovable object.

“You don’t?”

“Not really.”

He pouted. Oh, how you couldn’t stand it when those gorgeous sapphires looked at you so coyly despondent. And of course, he was aware.

“You mean you won’t even give it a chance?” he implored, tail gingerly lowering. “Not even if I’ll sooner have my organs be crushed into a fine sludge than let one hair on your head bend the wrong way?”

“Especially not then.”

Patiently, you stood, the twitch of your ears and your own tail’s gentle whipping behind your legs and brushing up to the smooth block of wood being your only movement. You watched him deflate in a slowly progressing manner not unlike that of a balloon animal leaking from a small opening; you could even imagine the characteristic sound to go with.

You tried not to laugh.

“Not even if,” he attempted once more, “it could be a most passionful pageantry of courteousness?”

“More like foolishness.”

Irritated by his snark for a change, you tilted your head in Zib’s direction. When he earned both of your attention by extension the resident nicotine eater, chin resting on the heel of his palm, flicked a huge ear and leisurely presented his back to you as though he’d never cared.

“Just picture it for a second!” Rocky suggested, snapping back to the conversation and taking your hand in his to help transmit the mental imagery through skin-to-skin contact. “A most consummate culmination of chivalrous custom!”

“Certainly,” you rolled your eyes yet didn’t resist when he snuck up close to grab a hold of your waist with an almost imperceptible delicacy.

“I’d gather you in my arms,” he narrated, “a most beauteous royal rose, pooling in your eyes the glimmers of a star-speckled galaxy, a divine black ether brimming with a variegated, dazzling cavalcade of celestial hues… oh, what fair nobility of ephemeral grace, molded in the realms above from the finest marble and ambrosia by lilium-scented, angelic hands…”

His face was close to yours, and your gazes intertwined; you could be quite sure he was just describing what he saw. You averted your eyes, slightly flustered.

“You sure know your words,” you nipped without any real teeth to it.

“I try,” he acknowledged cheerfully, nonetheless keeping proximate. “And me, no more than a humbled troubadour, a mere mortal permitted by Providence to embrace salvation itself,” you made an inarticulate noise of incredulity, “gentle tethering of your mass serving to remind that this resplendent scene is no meager illusion, a cruel trick of the light, but bona fide reality…”

You squirmed half-heartedly away in your chagrin, yet each bit of distance you created between the two of you he kept closing just as effortlessly, drinking in your expressions.

“In rapt entrancement we’d behold each other’s countenance,” you could feel his words on your whiskers, “honey-glaze lusters dancing across our lips in nectareal beckoning, your arms entangling my nape with fervor as you pull me under to merge our souls by way of osculation in the heart of the Earth–”

“Enough rhapsodizing,” you entreated with a wide, mildly embarrassed smile you couldn’t fight, “you poetaster.”

“Now, don’t tell me you wouldn’t enjoy that.”

You exhaled in a burst, gripping the wooden brim you were leant on. Tail curling and uncurling in thought.

“It sounds fine,” you emphatically minced, “but I don’t require it. You know you can just talk sweet to me like that or give me a kiss when I’m still on my feet and you’ll just as easily sweep me off them.”

“But there’s no harm in experimenting, right?”

“That’s… a very dubious statement.”

“Well, if it does work, it shall surely be memorable.”

Across the way, over ornate red carpet and leather seats, Viktor had since taken to polishing glasses while Zib ever-industriously continued to metabolize the establishment’s embalming fluid reserves in spite of the hour.

“…And if it doesn’t,” Rocky proposed the possibility with great hesitation, “as far as I can recall, bone fractures actually heal a lot quicker than you’d expect.”

With the band backstage, that’d be only two direct witnesses to your loss of dignity.

“You’re not about to let this go until I oblige,” you observed with a heavy heart and patted his arm, “so go ahead. I’ll give you a chance to enter history records as the world’s first cooked pasta-based organism to princess carry a whole person.”

You adjusted yourself in front of him at a roughly ninety-degree angle and put your arm around his shoulders. Enthusiasm flawlessly rekindled he took swift hold of your back in return, biting his lip in anticipation like a giddy kid.

“But if you sprain a muscle, I’m not bringing you the ice,” you stated firmly to his face.

“You can’t sprain what’s scarcely there,” he beamed back like it was of any reassurance.

“Well, alright.”

That obnoxious smoke hit your nose again. Beneath the golden glow of red lampshades, Zib had unexpectedly honored your ambitions by sitting marginally more erect, pushing up the brim of his hat to ensure his sight wasn’t failing him.

“Wouldn’t you look at that,” he grunted, pointy eyebrows raised. “They’re doing it for real.”

Viktor stopped in his surprisingly gentle handiwork and fixed a sharp, singular eye on the pair of you. When your clumsy preparations and nervous fidgeting painted a confirmatory enough picture, he set the glass and rag down with a thud, leisurely slapping two huge paws on the clean oak counter to lean on it.

“Dis vill be amusing.”

You gulped at the audience, blooming in your chest a severe doubt. You squeezed Rocky’s shoulder and felt the pointed conjunction of bones digging into your palm without any real effort.

“Whenever you’re ready…”

He smiled at you with those sweet blue eyes that drew your attention like a magnet, adamant on dissolving your worries within themselves. It almost convinced you that what you were about to do wasn’t both ridiculously asinine and physically unsafe… albeit still rather mild by the standards of dating Rocky Rickaby.

You looked at one of the curling, wrought iron chandeliers and sucked in a resolute breath.

“…Here goes nothing.”

In clenched-fist concentration, you jumped and threw your legs in the air for him to catch. He grabbed after them in wide-eyed startlement and as the momentum flung you at him, you prayed.

There was a grunting noise. Something in-between the squeak of a strangled rubber chicken and the aghast chuff of a scuffed, abused bagpipe as every last square inch of air is violently crushed out of it; you’d heard naught of such a combination before yet were instantly able to identify it. Arms clasped tight around his neck you hung on for dear life whilst he gripped your side and thighs in a no less firm desperation, fingers unintendedly clawing into tense flesh. He stood taut as a bowstring, you could feel as much beneath the clothes, though unfortunately nowhere near as straight and with every slight tremble and corrective squirm you feared yourselves tipping over in his direction and giving the carpeted limestone a sore greeting.

Time collapsed to a halt under the weight of anticipation. Cautious in your breaths, wide-eyed and blatantly uncomforted by his palpable quaking, you watched as his rigid expression of concentration strained on a half-hearted grin for your sake to mask what very much still was mortal terror hatching from amongst the shards of hubris.

And then… nothing.

You blinked a few times. Other than your own heartbeat, and what amounted to the whimpers of a heavy wooden chair being dragged across the floor that you soon confirmed to be coming from him instead, all sounds of impending doom receded. You took a deep inhale of the stagnant cave air and held it in bewilderment, knees squished close to one another.

Well, you’d be damned.

Flush to his torso and clutching the cheap fabric of his shirt, you stared on, trying to comprehend the situation. As was he, evidently, with how amidst his tight-lipped yet valiant bearing of the ramifications his eyes darted around the room as if disaster was running unusually late. No gears turn at such a pace however, for when at last the ice in your tendons began to melt in contemplation of asking whether he could move enough to put you down safely or if you should just jump for it, he exerted a small huff of accomplishment and it changed something, because you began to dip rapidly forward. Some indiscernible profanity escaped your mouth.

At least he gallantly broke your fall… and a rib as well, by the sound of it.

The ground was about as soft as you’d imagined when it kissed your limbs and left you with your hands splayed on velvety carpet. You caught glimpse of your audience and, lo and behold, Viktor for a brief second appeared to possess something of a smile behind the bar. Of schadenfreude, naturally. Nonetheless the witnessing of such an evanescent miracle left you nothing short of humbled.

“Well, that surprised nobody,” Zib sneered, a whiff of smoke leaving his nostrils. “We’ll hold him a tasteful funeral.”

“He’s not dead,” you indignantly countered, blowing tousled locks of hair out of your face, then turned to your knight in shoddy armor just to be sure. “You’re not dead, right?”

With that, you recognized that the reason your posterior ached less than the rest of you was his organs still being smushed under it, so you hastily clambered off. Sweetly enough, he hadn’t mentioned, though it may have just been that he’d yet to recover from getting the wind knocked out of him enough to form a sentence.

“Never felt more alive,” he wheezed in affirmation, clutching his torso. “I’ve come to sense fibers of my physique I didn’t know existed.”

“No wonder. Did you dislocate something?”

Crouched over your boyfriend on all fours, you scrutinized him whilst your tail lashed back and forth in acute concern regarding his lack of attempts to get up despite having him practically caged under you. Considering his talent for looking pathetic while curled up on the floor, you couldn’t be blamed.

“Well, all of my bones are still inside,” he tilted his head without raising it to look over himself. “That’s their designated place, I believe.”

“You’re such a twit.”

Bright blue eyes flicked up at you innocently, arms clasped together in a protective self-embrace. Your features softened with a sigh.

“I heard a crack,” you explained, gaze lingering over his ribcage. “I thought I’d hurt you.”

“Oh, that was just my pride,” he dismissed jovially. “Nothing worth the bewailment. Poor thing wasn’t about to survive the winter anyhow.”

That restless, puffy tail of yours came to a tentative pause upon his knees, drawn only halfway up to accomodate your presence as he squirmed lightly in his restricted position. Though the barely lit murk of underground, his grin still shined as disarming as any other.

“You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.”

Whether he meant that remark as a pacification or a challenge, you preferred not to dispute. You let go of the tension in your shoulders however, easing off to settle down next to him and allow him some space to do the same.

“Well, this was just stupid,” you concluded, listlessly examining your bruised appendages. “I have no idea what drove you to something so pointless.”

He carefully rolled up off the ground then simply sat there, blinking at you in a way that betrayed neither any particular discomfort nor the absence of it. You observed him in ponderance. Due to the lack of any concrete signals from upstairs you decided you’d just have to assume the best.

“Unless,” you teased with a squint of suspicion, minding your volume, “you just wanted me on top of you that bad.”

Now that definitely reached the headquarters. When it did, he responded with one of those downright sinful grins that made the notion of punching him in the face sound vastly appealing.

“It wasn’t according to my plan, per se,” he gestured in a sly manner, “but it’s certainly not a development you’ll catch me complaining about.”

“You cad.”

You regarded him with a scolding glare you didn’t really mean but perhaps should’ve. He stood or, well, sat his ground, and it didn’t take a medium to guess anymore what newfound visions might’ve been stirring on behind that striped forehead of his; you only hoped he wouldn’t start waxing poetics about it.

“Could’ve just asked me nicely,” you murmured with a smirk.

You noted the proximity all of a sudden; his nose couldn’t have been two inches away from touching yours. He peered down at you in awareness, chuckling.

“Ah, but the overture's half the merriment.”

“This place has marvelous acoustics, by the way,” Zib spoke out of nowhere and made every bone in your body flinch, “so you might wanna consider taking this somewhere else before our sparse patronage arrives–”

“Oh, shut it, Zibowsky.”

You snapped at him, ears pinned, feeling rather deserving of some soap in your mouth. Rocky got over the interruption with a more careless ease and disregarded the air of awkwardness he helped create in favor of lighting up in triumph.

“But our labour for love wasn’t in vain, after all!” he exclaimed over your shoulder. “We all saw it, right? My romantically inspired exhibition of unprecedented prowress? I must’ve held on for a good minute there!”

“How long did it last, by the way?” you inquired, watching as Viktor continued cleaning glasses. “I was too busy panicking to count.”

“Two seconds.”

Your face stretched in astonishment. Zib took out a lighter.

“You’re pulling my leg.”

“No, really,” he reiterated, igniting another cigarette with a series of clicks while the previous butt laid crumpled beside him on the counter, “two seconds. I was just about to congratulate you.”

You stared on at the sprawling carpet, befuddled, yet the intricate patterns held no explanation for this anomaly. Time does simply happen to slow to a crawl when you’re fearing for your life, as it turned out. Rocky slumped in dejection.

“Ah well,” he lamented, bushy brows descending. “It would appear that my hopes to beguile you with a debonair display could not come true after all.”

His tail gingerly curled around him, saddened to an equal degree. You pouted along in playful endearment.

“You’re so silly,” you ascertained. “I don’t mind that you’re a weakling.”

You took his hand balled up on the ground, enveloping it with your own. He watched in slight trepidation.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

The two of you locked eyes amidst the magnificent cavern of bygone extravagance; the ‘heart of the Earth’, as he’d put it. Decked in hues of crimson and gold and marinating in a mystiqueful twilight, a regrettably vacant wonder of architectural design honoring the arts décoratifs, all the dazzling sights of the establishment couldn't have hoped to draw you away from the one instrictic extension of it you delighted in looking at the most.

“And I wouldn’t trade you in for the brawniest of gallants,” you pressed a tingling kiss on his cheek, “my noodle-limbed prince.”

#{💌 mod rory 💌}#{didn't remember my mod tag being so extra hahhah}#Oneshot On The Rocks #lackadaisy #lackadaisy x reader #lackadaisy reader insert #lackadaisy rocky #rocky lackadaisy #rocky rickaby #rocky rickaby x reader #{feels good to have made something for you all again. hope you enjoy <3}

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anachrosims · 1 year

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[TS4CC] 18TH CENTURY MILITARY CAMPAIGN SET

Wow! Wowowow!! It's finally DONE!

This set was inspired by 18th century military campaign equipment. This set is really for storytelling, since pretty much all items (aside from the bed and surfaces) are decorative. I'd like to do more add-ons for this in the future, but for now I think we're good as-is.

Some items were converted from the Werewolves pack but are now BGC.

WHAT'S INCLUDED:

43 packages! Nearly all are new meshes! Everything is BGC unless otherwise noted.

Cutlasses - Laying, Wall Mounted, Leaning

Pistol, Laying/Leaning Rifle

Laying, Mounted Tricorn Hat, Dragoon Helmet

Soldier's Wall-Mounted Coat

6 Tents, Large & Small - Each size has open, half open, and closed variants

Short Boots, Tall Boots Laying & Upright

Field Cannon & Powder Keg

Trio of Bottles, Inkwell with Quill, Books with Wax Stamp, Knitting Box (Nifty Knitting Required), Pile of Journal Inkwell & Letters

Printed Posters & Broadsides, Hanging Military Maps, Desk Map with Compass

Large Steamer Trunk, Officer's Dressing Table (Cottage Living may be required), Soldier's Laundry Pile

Soldier's Single Bed, Campaign Chair with Cushion, 2x3 Floor Cloths

Deco Teapot, Knitted Blankets, Box of Matches, Soldier's Rations, Deco Fire Spit (fits OVER and works with most fire pits)

Functional Telescope

I'd also like to thank these people:

historicalsimslife for the pistol which you can get as an accessory here! @historicalsimslife

Viktor Violetta Enterprise for the Ferguson rifle accessory which you can get here! @viktorviolettaenterprises

Steve Henderson at Archive3D for the cannon model, which is here!

revolutionsims for the dragoon helmet hat & British tricorn, which you can get here & here! @revolution-sims

Also, some recommended CC-makers to make your 18th century experience a little more authentic outside the palaces:

@historicalsimslife / @300yearschallenge / @revolution-sims / @edorenelredirect / @simulatedstyles / @peebsplays / @simsfromthepast / @thejim07 / @strangestorytellersims / @historicalfictionsims / @linzlu / @javitrulovesims / @buzzardly28 / @sunlittides / @sifix / @llazyneiph (stays & wigs & mods) / @gilded-ghosts / @joliebean / @lilis-palace / @stereo-91 / @simverses / @bruxel-reign

***

@emilyccfinds / @ts4history / @historicalccsims4 / @allhistoricalcc / @historicalsims4cc / @southernsccfinds / @maxismatchccworld / @mmccfinds

***

-->GET IT ALL HERE @ PATREON, FREE, NO ADS!!<--

EDIT: IT TOOK ME SIX HOURS TO GET THIS POST AND GRAPHICS TOGETHER I’M NOT REDOING THE GIFS Y’ALL ARE FINE I PROMISE

#historical sims 4 cc #18th century sims 4 #ts4cc #s4cc #sims 4 custom content #historical sims 4 #georgian sims 4 #rococo sims 4

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coyotecam · 1 year

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Hyperfixation sandwich! All of this is the og slime rancher cause the xbox is still broke! (╥︣﹏᷅╥)

Here are their slimes and favs imo BIG OL' RANT BELOW!

All in order of favorite to least favorite.

Mikey: Hunters (his favorite cause same <3), tangle, honey, tabby, and pink -- the type of player to just have an entire enclosure of pink slimes and tried to keep tarrs as angry pets. My friend said Mikey would try to feed the echoes to the slimes to see if they would glow and would squish them till they make farting noises. Oh also has all the outfits for the little guys!

Raph: Sabers(After that all of his largos were saber combos) crystals, rock, tabby, lucky, tabby, and puddle slimes(2nd fav) -- the completionist only second to Donnie, collected a bunch of puddle slimes, goes out of his way to give all the slimes toys, and feeds all feral slimes they come across.

Donnie: Glitch and Quantum slimes are his favorite cause the slimy texture of any other slime is icky(same bro same). His ammo other slimes are rad, dervish, and rock. -- seriously...? ugh science guy def cosplays Viktor and he's his favorite character, has all the blueprints unlocked and the entire map is covered with inventions. Number 1 Completionist has everything to 100% and spent way too long trying to find gilded ginger (cries into my singular glided ginger that took 10+ hours to get)

Leo: Phosphor (he says it's mosaics but he gets blown up too much they make funny faces tho), mosaic, quicksilver, fire, boom, crystal slimes. -- has all the damaging slimes and just kinda runs into the enclosures absent-mindedly and just dies (sweats profusely) filled the grotto with echos, and also tried to feed them to slimes.

#coyotecam #hyperfixation sandwich #slime rancher #rottmnt raph #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt leo #rottmnt #crossover #i guess?#this took far too long #10 hours #specifically #rottmnt headcanons #rottmnt shitpost #rottmnt fanart #save rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt raph with tail supremacy

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thehistoriangirl · 6 months

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The Delirium of Still-Lifes [One]

Putting a unrelated gif of the blorbo because I haven't done the headers yet :D and because looook at hiiiim sirrrrr i wanna be ur hexcore--

Happy Halloween! <333

Vampire!Viktor x Fem!Artist! Reader----1.2K---SFW

> MASTERLIST -> Next

Synopsis:

Debts are paid with blood.

After a visit from death and ending all alone, you had no other option than to become like your late guardians—seeking refuge in the shady business where rewards are as high as the risks.

Your latest mission: steal and forge an expensive painting from a secretive private collector to complete the series of your current boss, and thus finally pay off the burden you still carry.

Debts are passed on by blood.

When infiltrating ends up being harder than planned, you have no choice but to apply as a working staff. Though working inside isn’t as easy as it seems, with all the strange noises echoing at night, and the random droplets of crimson staining the floors, the endless hallways with their flickering lights.

There are eyes always watching, whispers carrying secrets—and of course, the hidden painting that would define your life forevermore.

Maybe freedom can be given without the need of blood.

Ruins, fragments of a gilded past that had died with the house’s owner.

The building itself seemed to mourn; the curtains in the gigantic windows dirtying, sending grey hues against the dusty floor that clung to your footsteps, in the need of company after so many years of oblivion.

Yet there were strange signs of life blooming in the corners of the rooms; there where the furniture wasn’t covered in ghostly bedsheets, with no presence hidden behind them, waiting to haunt you.

Your boss was right—someone was renovating this house, which meant you had to find the forgotten painting, and soon.

The house creaked, breathed alongside you the further you went, the flame of your oil lamp flickering with each step, morphing you into a monster just like the ones the stories said haunted here at night.

From the second floor, you heard the slam of a door. The little hairs on the back of your neck rose with a blow of chilling wind, almost whispering to you to run away.

But you couldn't—there was no escape in that rusty gate you crossed, almost devoured by wildflowers. There was no escape out of the life blood that had tied to you, out of the debts death hadn't erased.

Closing your eyes, tucked in a corner with your back against the wall, you remembered the plans of construction for the house. The third floor was the office and library, your last option. In the second, all the bedrooms were divided in the East Wing, for the members of the late Ulhir family; and in the West, for all their guests. Unlikely.

The first floor, however, was meant to be the gallery, the nursery, and the music room.

A burned and draped carpet was laid over the spiral staircase that submerged in the darkness. However, you only need to go so far. An empty music room, a desolated nursery, all but bare of paintings, though the outline of their places hung in the wall prevailed.

Then, it was the shadow.

A dash of black against the discolored grey of the ruins, of something almost alive—certainly, if it moved that fast. From under the stairs like all monsters crawled under beds in those children’s stories, to the ballroom with the broken chandelier at the right.

Your palms were sweaty while taking ahold of the revolver, the metal becoming sticky and hot too quickly.

Monster or not, you doubted something could survive a dozen bullet wounds. If only you could finish with the monsters in your life so easily.

How the thing had been under the staircase? Nothing was supposed to be under it, only the wall where there was barely a corner to hide, or so the house plans said.

Aiming to the dark, the sensation of being accompanied by something had vanished, leaving only a cold void that could taken as relief when you saw the secret door.

Contrary to the other wings in the house, this gallery’s entry was tucked beneath the staircase, similar to the structure of a wooden decorative wall a simple ebony door, almost drowned in the shadows of midnight, with the clock suspended in the south wall of the foyer chiming so hard it made you tremble.

But with the cacophony, you could open the creaky door without a problem, still thinking that someone may be watching you.

The once spotless, dark ebony floor was covered in the ghostly veil of dust, welcoming your presence with avidness, marking each step you took inside as if the gallery had missed company, with all the unfinished portraits looking at you with the impassive gaze of eternity.

You almost dropped the slippery gun, tucking it behind the belt cinching your dark pants together.

All dozens of paintings, gold-framed and slightly crooked hung on the walls, none of them the ones you were looking for. These merged with the chaos of the desk, stains of color, and unfinished lines like paths leading nowhere.

Except for the one ahead of you; free of furniture, with the floor opening a path to show a bare wall where a lonely easel stood in front of a mirror, the canvas barely visible beneath the web of black scratches covering what once was a sketch.

Not only a sketch but a self-portrait, if the mirror was clue enough.

Opaqued by dust, you could barely see your reflection in it, passing your gloved hand over the surface to let you see the shameful image of what you have become. A liar, just like your parents. A thief. Would your parents be proud of you?

Probably. And such realization hurt so much more.

“I wasn’t aware I’d had guests for dinner.” A voice said, its strange cadence echoing in the still room. “And such a familiar one, at that.”

Your scream mixed with the thud of the canvas falling to the ground, turning to see the tall silhouette of a man leaning against a column, barely some feet away from you, two golden beacons as eyes piercing through the dark to keep you frozen in fear.

“W-wh-who are you?!” you said, trembling fingers trying to pull out the lent revolver, unsuccessfully. Part of you tugged at the sudden dèjá-vu, the cloaked man. Death.

It was Mr. Ulhir, of course. The owner of the manor and the one you were meant to steal from. The one that had died… years ago.

I’m talking with a ghost.

“I believe you shouldn’t be the one asking questions, should you? What are you doing in my house?”

“This can’t be your house—this… this place had been abandoned for decades!” You stopped, thoughts pouring into your brain. “Oh, I get what this is. You took this place for yourself and now you feel the owner…” you spat, walking toward him, just to discover that said beacons were too, too high up.

I’m talking with a ghost.

Your grasp on the revolver tightened, his eyes flickering down to where you kept it hidden in your back.

The man chuckled. “Well, this is getting interesting. What are you hiding there?”

Feeling bold at his taunt, you aimed your revolver toward him, only to feel cold, gloved fingers wrapped around your wrist as soon as you raised your arm. His presence leaning against yours, the soft cotton of his shirt brushing your cheek.

He was cold, yet solid.

He was no ghost.

You tried to yank away, but his grasp was like iron. Huffing at the effort, your eyes got drawn to the mirror, hoping the moonlight could at least decipher the outline of this sudden presence.

Alas, all that you could over its broken surface were a dozen of reflections of you, completely alone in the room.

“Truly unfortunate,” the man said, his free hand guiding your gaze away from the mirror and into his face, long fingers pressing the back of your neck as he tilted you toward him. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

See what? There was nothing there—

He was no ghost. He was…

The man sighed. “Nothing personal, little fairy,” he said, pressing the sides of your neck with his fingers, your pulse quickening at the cold, ruthless movement. Your gaze swam toward the ceiling, parched glass ceiling to block the moonlight, and yet you saw him, truly, saw him.

"Ah—!" you tried to scream, but only a gurgle rippled out your mouth, your limbs becoming heavy, heartbeat exhausted, slow.

“Goodnight,” you heard his voice where there was nothing anywhere else, your gaze becoming black, brain shutting down until you were one with the night—all darkness, all void.

#viktor arcane x reader #arcane viktor x reader #viktor x reader #viktor arcane x you #arcane viktor x you #viktor fanfic #arcane viktor fanfic #viktor arcane fanfic #arcane x female reader #viktor arcane x f! reader

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lullabyes22-blog · 2 years

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Zaunites have that swagger...

It’s so much fun to rewatch the series and note the way every Undercity character conveys effortless confidence/cool-factor simply through how they move.

They don’t walk so much as strut.

In Piltover, most of the characters move at a leisurely stroll, oozing a calm complacence that goes hand-in-hand with privilege. They know they’re right where they belong; safe in their gilded bubble.

Zaunites on the other hand, are accustomed to fighting tooth and claw for every scrap of space. It’s conveyed so beautifully through how each character owns their surroundings.

Vi:

- leads with squared shoulders and a set jaw. an unflinching fire in the eyes; mess around and you’ll get burned -

Sevika:

- a well-oiled machine with a spark of malice in the smile and a touch of brimstone in the bones. this dragon lady means business -

Ekko:

- a self-made man's swagger. he’s got places to be and keeps time to his own rhythm -

Viktor:

- a skewed walk paired with a spine of stainless steel. if he can’t find a way, he’ll make one -

Jinx:

- sleek as a phantom. a thing of shadows and nightmares. this is her realm, and you are simply a plaything -

Silco:

- a slithering prowl. A shark in the water; a predator in his element. a torturous end of the line for you -

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itsjustbell · 9 months

Text

Set in Stone

Prologue

Viktor x artist!reader (reader is low-key a self insert but aren't they all?)

Summary: To commemorate the success and completion of the Hex Gates, Councilor Merdarda has decided to commission an up-and-coming artist to sculpt a statue of Jayce and Viktor.

Warnings: none

A sea of shuttering lights blinded Viktor almost completely as he struggled to maintain his best attempt at a “winning smile”. The urge to turn away and shield himself from the cameras was strong, but he fought against it. He didn’t want to be confronted with his scrunched up visage in the newspaper tomorrow: “Co-founder of Hextech shown sneering at unveiling of the new Hexgates.” Jayce would never let him live that down if he became the new shining headline for Piltover’s press. This was supposed to be a joyous occasion for the two of them. The news of the new gates would surely bring in a lot more investors, which meant more funding, which meant better equipment and more amenities to further their research. Gods forbid history look back at him as being disgruntled– no, ungrateful, at the event of their success. So Viktor smiled and waved against the onslaught of camera flash.

It seemed years before Councilor Merdarda appeared once more in all her gilded glory to say a few words before leading them offstage. Viktor’s face immediately dropped as soon as they were out of sight. His cheeks hurt immensely, even more so as he tried to wrangle them back into some state of normality.

“I was starting to think my face would become paralyzed,” He said, holding his jaw. Jayce clapped his shoulder with a hearty laugh.

“It’s a sign you should smile more then!” Viktor rolled his eyes, a more natural smiling snaking its way onto his face. He didn’t expect Merdarda to comment as well.

“Perhaps you should,” She chimed, “I imagine the press will be swarming you both for a while after this.”

She stopped in her tracks as some assistant of hers gave her a clipboard of papers to look at. She flipped through them half-heartedly before giving her signature and handing them back.

“Not to mention, there’ll be a lot more ‘smiling and waving’ at tonight’s gala. I do hope you’ll both be joining us. It’s in your honor, after all.”

If her tone was anything to go by, the two didn’t have much of a choice. He hoped his discontent wasn’t obvious on his face. Parties were never his forte, let alone the formal, lavish ones that the councilor seemed to enjoy. Jayce looked at him knowingly.

“This’ll be good for us, Vik, relax.” He wished he could share in Jayce’s optimism.

“Good indeed, there’ll be investors from all over and enough food and drink to fill your… tiny scholar stomachs for the next month,” she added, “I’m sure you’ll find a way to enjoy yourselves.”

“Well, if we can get more funding, I’m sure this night will prove worthwhile,” Viktor sighed. He supposed he might as well make the most of the night. It wasn’t often that one got invited to one of these after all, let alone had one hosted in their honor, as much as he despised them.

“It’s all business with you, isn’t it?” Merdarda remarked. Viktor shrugged. Jayce chuckled almost awkwardly next to him.

“We’ll be there. Thank you again, councilor.”

“Please, just Mel is fine, we’ll be working together more I presume after all. No need for formalities.” She smiled.

Viktor had an inkling that was directed more so at Jayce than himself. He didn’t like the idea of getting ‘chummy’ with Piltover elites.

Her gaze pricked up at the sound of her name being called.

“Duty calls,” she said, dusting her dress. “See you boys later.”

And with a lingering hand on Jayce’s shoulder, she was gone.

It was going to be a long night.

- ⧫⧫⧫ -

Viktor tugged on the collar of his shirt absentmindedly. Combined with the overwhelming crowd of people, laughing and boozing, it felt suffocating. He’d long since tuned out of the conversation Jayce was having with some potential investor, mind wandering instead to how many tiles were on the floor or how feathers seemed to have reached the height of fashion amongst the higher echelons of society.

He didn’t mind at all letting Jayce take control of the conversation. Even though he was chided for being all “business”, Jayce seemed to be a natural at it. He supposed his familial background had something to do with that. Besides, all the investors seemed to gravitate naturally to Jayce anyway. Once he said his little introductory spiel about what Hextech had to offer, they seemed to forget he was even there… he tried not to think too much about how his own background played into that.

He didn’t care much for the opinions of uppity politicians, anyway. If they didn’t want to talk to him, fine. He was happy enough to use Jayce as a social buffer whilst he sipped glasses of whatever sparkling wine the waiters walked by with. Merdarda hadn’t lied, the refreshments indeed flowed freely and the hors d’oeuvres were impeccably plentiful. Oh, speak of the devil—

“Apologies, Mr. Windsor. Do you mind if I steal these two for a moment?”

And there she was, dressed in shimmering black. It seemed the feather trend had reached even to her. Her gown reminded him of the crows he used to see on the outer parts of Zaun, where the smog was not as thick, with their almost oil slickened iridescence. He was sure Jayce was enjoying the view it provided of her bosom. From the corner of his eye, it almost seemed like this Windsor fellow was as well.

Not one to argue with a councilor, Mr. Windsor didn’t have any problem making himself scarce.

“You needed something?” Jayce asked. Viktor noted how his chest puffed slightly now that she had her attention on them.

“I have someone I want you both to meet.” She said, already walking into the crowd.

Soon, Viktor found himself standing at the entrance of one of the many balconies that lined the upper floors of the building. Leaning on its railing was a young woman, who’s clothes, though elegant, seemed simple when compared to the extravagance of those in the main ballroom. It was almost refreshing to see a lack of feathers.

Merdarda tapped you on the arm to get your attention, before corralling you towards them with an arm behind your back.

“I’d like you to meet the talented Madam Brisbois,” She beamed at the young lady. “She works in the Art and Design branch of the academy. I’ve decided to put her skills to use.” Viktor exchanged a look with Jayce.

“I wasn’t aware the academy even had an Art branch,” Jayce said.

“I-it’s a very small branch,” you said with a quiet laugh. Merdarda hummed in amusement.

“To commemorate the success of the gates, I’ve commissioned her to craft a statue of you two to be placed in the academy.”

A statue? That was a first.

“Oh wow, thank you, Mel, I don’t know what to say.” Jayce said.

“Yes, it is… far too kind of you, Councilor,”

“Oh please, you act as if you boys haven’t made history!” She laughed. “I’ll be leaving you to discuss details, I have other matters to attend to now.”

Of course, she did.

…

“So,” Jayce began. “How do these things usually go?”

You chuckled awkwardly, “Well to begin, I’d like to… shadow you while you work if that’s alright— to help understand how you two interact.”

Jayce looked at him. He shrugged. He couldn’t really find any reason against it.

“I don’t see why not, though I can’t guarantee there’ll be anything interesting happening.”

“Yes, you’ve caught us at a bit of a lull in work. We’ll mostly be working out the next steps for Hextech.” Viktor added. You waved a hand in the air as if to dissuade worry.

“Just getting the chance to work with you is more than interesting enough. I still can’t believe the Councilor has even asked me to do this!” You laughed nervously, before clearing your voice.

“Sorry, um, where are my manners?” You held out a hand for them to shake. “I look forward to working with you— or well your likenesses that is.”

For the first time of the night, Viktor found himself laughing as well. Even if it was more of a short puff of air than anything else. Jayce clasped your hand loudly with a firm shake. “We look forward to working with you, too. I’ve never worked with an artist before.”

“Yes,” Viktor said, shifting his weight on his cane. “ It’ll be interesting to see how this turns out.”

Interesting indeed.

#arcane viktor x you #viktor x reader #Viktor x you #Viktor x artist!reader #Set in Stone #I was so nervous to post this like omg #This is going to be my first multichapter fic #the idea has been swimming around in my head ever since i had the idea on my art blog #art by me #I'm planning this to be a slowburn but we'll see how it goes #can't guarantee a consistent update schedule cuz im just like that #I also can’t guarantee art with every chapter

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mollysunder · 6 months

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One of my favorite things about the Gilded skin universe is that it shows that in a place 2ith no socioeconomic pressures, Ekko's a fun and flirty guy.

Look at him, Ekko's just on his way to make it to the Progress Day gala. In the card description he's using his chronobreaker to make sure his friends and him have the best time getting to the party.

When he gets there, Ekko's sitting and chatting with his friends having a good time, all the while multiple timelines of himself are flirting with the guests. It's all got a nice carefree prince aesthetic going on. And this is why in any college/shonen/shoujo au or something Ekko should be placed as campus prince.

Sidenote: It is interesting they gave Ekko pink eyes in this, technically in this au Zaun doesn't exist, but maybe Shimmer still does. Except that without the stigma of Zaunite poverty and Silco's brutality, Shimmer probably has wider mainstream use and regulation.

The Gilded universe definitely takes certain suprrficial elements from Arcane. For example, they used Ekko's motorcycle which we only saw in the Enemy music video. This au also explicitly did leave a design for Viktor out, probably because Viktor's Arcane version of the Machine Herald is getting a redesign. How much these illustrations go at potentially hinting at season 2 developments depends on the amount of copium you're on.

#arcane #ekko arcane #ekko lol #league of legends #legends of runeterra #gilded ekko #jinx is at the same party #invite status unknown andmaking a nuisance of herself #as she should

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thedreamlessnights · 2 years

Note

For the writing prompts,

I’d love to see 128 with Viktor!! I could see either him or reader saying it and both have so much potential haha

Thank you and @glitteriztical for requesting... the exact same prompt! Prompt 128: "You're pretty." - "You're drunk."

I've drunk the wine of ages || Viktor x Fem!Reader || 6.4k || SFW

Warnings: angst related to rejected affection (with a happy ending), mentions of alcohol and drinking, some self-deprecation related to loneliness and bad decisions.

You’ve had one too many drinks tonight.

In your defense, this night has been hell, and the honeyed wine has been a salve for all your suffering. A balm that soothes the ache that’s sat in your chest all night - one that had throbbed against your ribs even before this event started.

Yearning. A familiar feeling, but especially strong tonight. Especially painful.

Peace has been nonexistent since you met Viktor. You’d deemed it infatuation at first, but it’s something more simplistic than that, beyond even admiration, or devotion.

You truly care about him. More than you’d like to admit. No matter how hard you try to shove your feelings behind the guise of professionalism… it just won’t go away.

Earlier tonight, though it feels like years ago - when Jayce had been teasing you and Viktor had quietly been straightening his tie in the mirror - that familiar pain had bloomed its way into your chest. Strangled you, like that of a weed. Fisted its ravenous roots around your lungs.

Even in the mirror, above the deep blue of his blazer, the gold of Viktor’s eyes glittered - matching the delicate embroidery on his suit. A simple framing of gold fabric against cobalt, with layers of embellishments - gilded buttons, aureate thread.

I need a drink, you’d thought, when he’d turned around. Handsome, in all his glory, hair combed neatly but still fluffed out around his ears. He met your eyes with a smile - though, he always hated things like this, and you knew him well enough to see his annoyance written under the soft turn of his lips.

At the time, you’d thought that would be the end of your pain for the night.

A foolish thing to think, considering, but the thought had been genuine. In fact, you’d actually been grateful when you’d first gotten to the event, thinking that the amount of people there would give you some relief from your aching. That you might be free of Viktor’s presence on your mind for a night, and enjoy yourself.

Instead, you watch as piles and piles of people flit around him the whole evening, eyeing him the way you wish you could. Unabashedly, with want written behind their gaze. The higher, light voices carry over to you. Laughter that’s too strong. An unnecessary touch on the arm. A man leaning into his ear to deliver a witty quip. A woman, eyes focused only on his lips.

That’s all you can take before you pour yourself a drink. It turns into two more.

Then you lose count.

You’re a bit of a lightweight, but this wine is not meant for drunkenness. With a couple drinks, it only delivers a light buzz, if anything. And, to your credit, you can barely keep your eyes off Viktor, so it’s not exactly like you’re keeping track.

It’s not that many, really. You’re not drunk. Yet.

But your thoughts are disturbed by Jayce’s presence at your side. He calls your name, gripping your shoulder.

“Hey, are you alright?” he asks softly. “Do you want me to walk you back to your room?”

“I’m fine, Jayce,” you hiss. But it’s too late. It seems like everyone in the room has heard Jayce’s words, and they all seem to look at you with the same expression. Ridicule. Pity. Condescension written behind their eyes.

When you realize that even Viktor has taken notice of you, embarrassment floods you whole, hot and prickling at your neck. He gives you a questioning look, but you just shake your head, grip tightening on your glass.

“I can handle myself,” you say, more for yourself than anyone else, and you ignore Jayce’s protests as you make your way across the room.

Alright, maybe it was two drinks too many. Your feet feel unstable. The room rocks itself around you, and you have to fight to keep yourself upright. Still, you make it to the balcony safely, and dump the rest of your wine into the bushes below you.

It’s probably not good for the plants - but then again, it’s fermented grapes and honey. How bad can it be?

Emotion hits you suddenly, and you find that you can't breathe. The fresh, cool air isn’t even helping. All you want is to be with Viktor, for him to want you the way you want him, and for everyone else to know. Is it so hard for someone to want you? Are you so unlovable, that no one should ever look your way, and want you in the way you want them?

You want to be home. You’re sick of this party. Why had you even come, anyway? What were you expecting?

From behind comes the sound of your name, and its softness makes the aching flame up again. Viktor. Your emotions have become fiery, boiling into your blood, raging through you uncontrolled. You wish you hadn’t dumped your wine.

“Are you alright?” Viktor asks. “Jayce is worried about you.”

You almost say something you regret. Something harsh and cruel, and admittedly unwarranted. You only just manage to reel yourself in.

“Thank you, but I’m alright,” you say. You just barely have the aftersight to be proud of yourself.

You can hear him hesitate - the shifting of his weight before he sighs.

“Are you?”

Your grip on the fencing of the balcony tightens. Does he have to be so persistent?

“Yes.” You take in a breath, trying to cool your mind. “Thank you for checking on me, but you should get back to the party.”

There’s a beat before he answers.

“Normally, I would,” he starts, “but it doesn’t seem as if you’re really as alright as you want me to believe.” He pauses for a moment. “May I stay with you for a moment?”

Tears sting at your eyes as he settles in next to you, and they refuse to be blinked away.

“Viktor, you don’t understand,” you say, voice cracking - more humiliation, seeping down your spine. And he really doesn’t understand, can’t, in fact. He can’t know the way it hurts you that you can’t have him - or, how the millions of signs that he doesn’t want you have ripped you to shreds over the years. Even just looking at him hurts.

“Perhaps not,” Viktor replies. “But I can listen.”

The tears are streaming their way down your cheek by now. Viktor reaches out to wipe them away, but you flinch out of his reach. You don’t know what you’d do if he touched you right now, but it wouldn’t be good.

“What don’t I understand?” Viktor presses, his tone gentle. It should be soothing - sweet. Instead, it cuts through you. Bares you away, piece by piece. You can’t find it in you to respond.

“Let me walk you home,” Viktor tries, and this time you nod.

You want to be home, tucked away safe under your blankets. You want it to stop hurting. You want Viktor to be far away from you, to give you space to suffer as you please.

When you wipe your cheek, you find mascara smeared along your hand - and, presumably your face. On the menu tonight, death by a thousand cuts of humiliation seems to be your main entree.

Viktor, meanwhile, has retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket, and approaches you again.

“May I?” he asks.

Which is worse? Viktor touching you, or the whole floor of people seeing that you got drunk at a party then cried?

You’ll take the touch. You nod.

His touch on you is gentle, the brush of the fabric tender against your cheek. It almost makes you cry again, but you’re thankfully spared on that account. Then, Viktor gives you a smile - eyes crinkling at the corners - and tucks the cloth back into his pocket.

“There,” he says. “Now, let’s get you home.”

You almost make it home without embarrassing yourself. You get all the way to your door in complete silence, but Viktor hasn’t seemed to let up on his stubbornness yet.

“I know there are some things I don’t understand,” he starts, voice soft as velvet. “But I am here. For anything.”

Those words make your chest ache all over again. How could you ever explain?

“Viktor, I…” Your words trail off for a moment. “You just don’t have any idea. What you do to people.”

Well, that came out wrong.

His eyes widen, and you’re immediately trying to correct yourself.

“I don’t - I mean, not in a bad way. I just… I mean…” You have to stop for a moment, trying so desperately to think of how to redeem what you’d just said. “It’s not your fault, I just…”

There’s a terrible, helpless moment as you try to find words but none come.

“I think we’d better call it for the night,” Viktor says, and his tone has taken on a certain tightness.

“That’s not what I meant, Viktor, I just - I mean that you’re… distracting. You’re really smart, and nice, and… you look nice, too. You’re… pretty.”

“And you,” Viktor says softly, “are drunk.” He gives an exhale, shaking his head. “It’s best not to continue when you’ll regret all of this in the morning.”

“Viktor- ”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “Tomorrow, I’ll act like nothing’s happened, and you won’t remember any of this. Good night.”

You watch him walk away. ─────────────────────

The next morning when you wake, a fuzz of nausea and a pounding headache, you find that he was wrong. You remember everything in excruciating detail.

The party. Getting drunk. What you’d said to Viktor.

You’re spared on no account. It won’t stop playing in your mind, over and over again, as though you might be able to reach a hand into your memory, grasp the words you hated so much, and shift the outcome. To stop yourself.

Will he hate you now?

It’s bad enough not having Viktor when you want him. It’s so much worse to lose him completely. It’s not like you can kid yourself that you’re somehow not the weakest link of Hextech - without you, they’d be fine. They’d built up this company from nothing but an idea and some loose experiments, and you were a convenient addition. They could probably find someone else for the job today, and you wouldn’t blame them if they did.

You’d embarrassed them. Both of them, at a Hextech event.

Oh, Janna.

Please don’t let them fire me.

You’re already late for the work day, and you know that you must look like a complete mess right now. You’d collapsed into bed with your dress and makeup still on, and you’re pretty sure you look like a zombie.

You might as well take a little longer and at least look somewhat presentable.

Sitting up brings a round of dizziness, but you ignore it in favor of your determination to make things right. You swallow down some medication for your headache, drink ridiculous amounts of water, shower and dress in something professional, and make yourself some breakfast.

At the end of it all, you almost feel like a person again.

Now comes your redemption. Somehow.

When you’ve arrived, you push open the door of the lab and find that it’s completely empty.

Of all the scenarios you’d prepared yourself for, this is not one of them.

“Jayce?” you call. “...Viktor?”

There’s no response.

You release your bag onto your desk with a distinctive clunk, the sound echoing in the emptiness of the room around you. The silence is thick in the air. It even seems to eat at your lungs.

The harshness of your breathing is jagged against the void of nothingness, but it’s better than the silence.

Smoothing down your clothes, you take a seat and open your notebook.

It’s fine, you tell yourself. They just went out for coffee. They’ll be back soon.

Five minutes tick away into ten, then into twenty. You can’t stop tapping your pencil against your paper. Every time you write, your notebook rips.

“Okay,” you say, eyeing the glittering gemstone a few feet in front of you. “They’re not coming back.” You let it sit for a moment, then go on. “If they were even here.”

Pushing your chair away from the desk with a screech, you gather up your things, sling your bag over your shoulder, and leave.

At least, you mean to.

Then you see Viktor, leaning against the wall in the hallway. The white button down he’s wearing is slightly wrinkled and rolled up to his elbows, a hint of his clavicle peeking out from underneath the maroon of his vest. He’s holding a cup of coffee, a bag of pastries draped over his elbow, and his other hand placed on his cane. His attention is fixed toward the kitchen - where you can hear Jayce excitedly rambling about something.

You do what you know best.

Panic.

Unfortunately, that panic means that your legs start moving toward him, despite all your logic telling you to move away. There’s a moment where he sees you and his face falls, and you really think that might kill you.

“Good morning,” he says. “Or… afternoon, rather.”

“Made it out of bed?” Jayce asks, grinning at you from the doorway of the kitchen. “I know I almost didn’t.”

“Yes,” Viktor states dryly, “Jayce is nursing a… tender hangover today.”

As much as you want to, you can’t talk to him here. Not in front of Jayce. How the hell are you going to get him alone? You need to properly apologize, or you’ll never forgive yourself.

“I have some medication in my bag,” you offer Jayce, but he just shakes his head.

“You look like you need it more than me,” he says.

You wince.

“Besides, that’s what coffee is for, right?” he continues.

“Right.” You laugh awkwardly, then go quiet.

The moment turns sour as more silence settles in. None of you seem to know what to say.

Viktor looks pointedly at the wall. Jayce pours himself more coffee. You reach for your bag, pulling at it to relieve the strain on your shoulder.

“Do you guys know if you’ll be coming back to the lab soon?” you ask.

“Definitely,” Jayce replies. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but any progress is better than none. Maybe just… more coffee first.”

Both of you look to Viktor.

“Yes,” he says. “I’d better… head in now.”

You leap at the opportunity, trying not to seem desperate.

“Do you mind if I come with you?” you ask.

“You don’t have to ask.” He meets your eyes briefly, then looks down to adjust the bag of pastries.

“See you two in there,” Jayce says, tilting his mug instead of waving. Then he draws a hand over his face, grimacing - perhaps at the harshness of the lights.

That’s the last you see of him before you’re rushing after Viktor, watching the repetitive motion of his cane clicking over the floor.

“I’m sorry I was late,” you say breathlessly, pulling the bag further up your shoulder. It’s really beginning to ache now, but that can be ignored.

“You don’t have to be sorry about that,” Viktor replies. “Jayce was late as well.”

“Yes, well, there are a lot of things I’m sorry for.”

He halts for a moment, seeming to know what you’re saying, then shakes his head.

“I should be the one apologizing,” he says. His tone softens. “I was… very rude to you. I’m sorry.”

“I was the rude one,” you protest. Viktor opens the door of the lab for you, and you hurry in, dropping your bag on your desk before turning back to him. “I know I was drunk, but it… it came out wrong. That’s not what I meant.”

Viktor gazes at you a moment, brows pinching together. Then he carefully sets down the pastries and his coffee at his desk and gives a sigh.

“May I ask what you meant to say, then?”

Your lips part, intent on answering him, but a sound behind you halts your actions. The door swings open and both of you freeze.

“Alright,” Jayce says, rubbing his hands together. “Time for progress.”

Two hours bleed by, each second wearing you thin. You feel like a shell of yourself by the time Jayce groans, plopping his head on the desk.

“I’m not even making progress,” he says. “I’ve been rereading the same sentence for the last two hours.”

“Go home, Jayce,” Viktor prompts, voice gentle. “Rest.”

Jayce doesn’t need to be told twice. He rises, stretching his arms up toward the ceiling, grabs his things, and waves.

“See you guys tomorrow, then?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, hands beginning to clam up. “See you then.”

The door closes after him, and it leaves the two of you in an ear-piercing silence, pinning you to your chair. It must last maybe ten, fifteen seconds before Viktor speaks.

“You were saying?”

“Right.”

You clear your throat, fear fluttering in your stomach, your grip tightening on the desk. Can’t get any worse than last night, right?

“What I meant to say is that - that…” And your voice hitches, and your heart feels like it’s breaking your ribs, and you can’t, for the life of you, meet his gaze. “I like you, Viktor. A lot. So, when I said that you - do things to people, I meant that they… want you. Like me.”

“You… want me?” Viktor repeats softly.

You can only nod, finally meeting his gaze.

“I - I…”

He hesitates, and the wait eats you alive. Please, you manage to think. Don’t hate me.

Viktor takes in a deep, methodical breath, drumming his fingers against the desk as if deciding what to say. “I am flattered,” he decides on, “but I… feel that… our… relationship should remain - strictly professional.”

The way your stomach sinks is unlike any other. Unprecedented. You’ve heard those words before, conjured up in the back of your imagination, words you’d give anything to unhear. You’d known this was a possibility, but it’s so much worse in the flesh.

So much worse having to respond. Knowing that this is your reality - that any dwindling hope you might have had is washed away, swirling out of you, carried in the foamy waters of Viktor’s words.

“Of course,” you manage, words shaky. “Of course.” And you immediately take to burying yourself in your notes, tears burning at the rims of your eyes. It takes every ounce of your being not to cry - to invest your mind into your work, instead of what Viktor said.

You know that the moment you’re alone, it’ll hit you like a brick, but he’s already seen you cry once. You’d rather not repeat that experience - not when the touch of his handkerchief had burned you like a poker, searing against your cheek.

When it finally gets late enough for you to leave, you pack up your things, hands still shaking, a lump knotted into your throat, pulled tight, like a ribbon. As soon as you undo it, you know it’ll tear you apart.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you breathe, pushing your hair out of your face.

Viktor gives you a nod, barely looking at you before returning to his notes.

Shit.

The tears are flowing even as you walk down the hallway, trying to compose yourself but failing miserably. Thank Janna no one sees you on your way out. The halls are deserted at this hour.

Returning home like this is somehow even worse than last night. You could kick yourself for getting drunk like that. And now, telling him you’d wanted him. Why hadn’t you just… said that you admire him? How could you be so stupid?

He’s never going to talk to you again. You wouldn’t even be surprised if this was the final straw into you losing your job.

You’d give anything for this not to be real, but the pinching of your arm brings a very real, very sharp pain that you can’t deny. This is happening, no matter how much of a nightmare it seems.

In an attempt to distract yourself from the unbearable amounts of grief you’re experiencing, you find yourself scouring through job listings, tears streaming down your cheeks, puffing up your face.

Somewhere far away from here, you think. Where Jayce’s face isn’t plastered over every building. Where you won’t be reminded of the way Viktor barely looked at you every time the Hex Gates get used.

A few listings catch your eye. A dock worker for Bilgewater. A secretarial position in Noxus. A librarian for Piltover. Not ideal, but, well… better than Hextech. You send in your applications, grab a bottle of wine, and cry instead of drinking it.

You don’t ever want to be drunk again. You know that you’d only feel worse, and the way you’re feeling is bad enough. His words keep playing back to you, over and over again, relentless even as you clasp your hands over your ears.

A useless shield from your own thoughts.

He doesn’t want you. He hates you. You ruined everything.

And you have no defense from yourself. His expression had been so… shut off when you’d left. You’ve never seen him like that. Even when you’d been drunk, when he’d thought you hated him, he hadn’t been so closed off.

So you cry. And cry. And cry.

Your eyes swell, and your head aches like it’s been cracked open, and your nose won’t stop running - deeming the need for tissue after tissue, tossed into the trash. And even after all of that, it doesn’t soothe the deep ache in your chest, the hurt that seems to bleed out of you.

You just can’t stop.

Eventually, you change into the comfiest pair of clothes you own, tuck yourself into the blankets, and cry yourself to sleep.

─────────────────────

The next few weeks are hell.

You don’t get fired, but you don’t need to. Viktor barely speaks to you - not unless he has to. That lump in your throat remains permanent, and most nights you go home, you end up crying yourself to sleep.

Unreciprocated feelings, you could deal with. But this? Acting as if you’re strangers, or worse? Knowing that Viktor must despise you?

It makes you want to carve your emotions out of yourself with a butter knife and set them down neatly on a plate, never to feel again. Numbness cannot be worse than this. You’re absolutely sure of that.

Another formal Hextech event passes. This time you don’t get drunk, but it hardly matters. Viktor stays on the other side of the room, people fawning over him all night.

And that’s the final straw. You can’t stay here any longer, not when it’s like this.

But how the hell do you just… quit? What are you going to tell Jayce? Where will you go?

And two more days pass, the words choking in your throat, not wanting to escape your lips.

And then, one day, a letter comes for you. A thick letter, with the shining gold symbol of Noxus imprinted in it.

You’re opening it right away, eyes flitting over the words without any mind to where you are. It’s about your application for the secretary position, but it contains something even better. An offer to work among the Noxian scientists. They’d seen your experience with Hextech, and they’d pay you well.

Very well. More than you make now.

And not here, with Viktor’s silence tormenting you every day.

You must reread it a dozen times, hands shaking as you process the fact that you’ll have to leave. To likely never see Jayce or Viktor again.

“A letter from Noxus?” Viktor asks. You look up to find his gaze fixed on you, golden and deep. He’d been observing you the one time you hadn’t wanted him to.

“Is it about Hextech?” he adds.

Jayce has turned his interest toward you as well, gazing keenly from you to the letter you’re holding.

You quickly set it down.

“I- It’s a job offer,” you say softly. “They’re… offering me a position in the Noxian labs.”

Viktor’s expression doesn’t imperceptibly change, but there’s something that shifts in him as you say that, something you can’t really explain.

He gazes at you for a moment, then inhales deeply and gives a brief nod of his head.

“Ah. I see.”

There’s a silence as he returns to his notes.

“Are you going to take the job?” Jayce asks.

The disappointment in his expression makes you feel incredibly, awfully guilty. You don’t even know how to answer. You can’t pretend it isn’t tempting you. But is it really worth it?

Yes, your mind sings. No more pain.

At your silence, Jayce clears his throat. “I couldn’t blame you if you did,” he says. “There are a lot of opportunities at Noxus. And… Well, I know they must pay more. So. If you wanted to leave, we’d understand.”

You turn your gaze to Viktor, whose grip has tightened on his pencil. He continues to write vigorously, the harshness of it tearing through his paper. Then the pencil snaps.

You all flinch, including Viktor, whose cheeks have flushed, soft pink against porcelain.

“I…” Viktor says, but he doesn’t finish. He just shuts his eyes, pinching his brow, still holding half of his pencil.

“Vik?” Jayce asks, concern pressing into his brow. “You okay?”

Viktor just shakes his head, taking in a shaky breath. “Excuse me,” he finally says, reaching for his cane. “I have… pressing business to attend to.”

He’s leaving before you can even reply to what he’d said.

You don’t see him for the rest of the day. Wherever he’s gone off to, he doesn’t appear to be coming back.

His absence drives you insane - an itch deep under your skin that you can’t scratch. Is he upset with you for leaving? What else are you supposed to do - tolerate his coldness? Pretend like it isn’t ripping you apart every time you see him, a new dagger of ice in your ribs every day?

No. You can’t. Not like this. Not when he treats you as if you aren’t there most days. Not when you both know how you feel. Even Jayce had said that he’d understand if you left.

Hope flutters under your ribs for a moment. Could Viktor be upset because -? but you shove it down.

No. He’d given you his answer.

When it gets late, you pack up your things, bid Jayce goodnight, and head home, tucking the letter under your arm.

It takes you two hours to decide that you’ll do it. You’ll quit, and take the position at Noxus. Two hours of remembering how these past few weeks have been - how cold, how awful, how dejected.

You write your acceptance letter to Noxus, packing it into a neat envelope before sending it out. Then you pen your resignation letter for Hextech.

You try not to think of how crestfallen Jayce had looked, or the way Viktor’s pencil had snapped. You try not to think of the flush on Viktor’s cheeks, or the undeniable bitterness behind his words before he’d left, or how much you still want him, even after everything.

You’re so tired of crying.

You put up a shield instead, masking your feelings behind logic. You’re allowed to take this job. It pays more, Jayce had said so himself. You’re not an awful person for leaving. You’re only doing what’s best for yourself.

That logical mask remains until the next day, when you find Viktor alone in the lab, looking unkempt and exhausted. Dark circles rim his under eyes, his hair sticking up in all directions. You look away briefly, then gather the strength to meet his eyes. You’d hoped that you’d be handing this to Jayce, but since he’s not here, you have to work with what you have.

“I… wanted to hand in my resignation,” you say. “I’ve decided to take the position at Noxus.”

Viktor gently takes the paper from you, eyes flitting over the words before he sets it down. His shoulders seem to slump, but you pretend not to notice, a lump growing in your throat.

“Thank you for this opportunity,” you manage to choke out, the rehearsed words spilling from you. “I can’t tell you how helpful it was.”

Viktor just nods, his gaze still fixed toward your letter.

“You’ve always… stood out,” he says. “Your talent. Noxus is right to see it.”

He doesn’t sound bitter, like he had the day before. Instead, he sounds… exhausted. Worn down. Like he’s lost all the fight in him.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “I appreciate that.”

You hesitate, wanting to say more, but not knowing what to say.

“Viktor…”

“Good luck at Noxus,” he says. “I don’t doubt you will excel.” ─────────────────────

You might resist the urge to cry when you pack up your things from the lab and hug Jayce goodbye - he’d found you in the hallway as you were leaving - but by the time you’re home, you’re sobbing again.

“Oh, for Janna’s sake,” you mutter. “Haven’t I cried enough?”

But this feels different. This feels utterly permanent. Sharp pain, not dull or throbbing. You can barely hold yourself together, and for some reason, despite all the logic you’d had last night and this morning, it feels like you’ve made the wrong decision.

Still, you can’t exactly go crawling back to Hextech. You’d accepted the job at Noxus, and you’re leaving, for better or worse.

You work your way into the night - packing up boxes, throwing things away, trying not to cry at the sight of memories. A picture of you and Viktor - one that Jayce had taken when you’d first started. He looks so different than how he’d looked today. For one, he’s smiling, eyes bright. You’re smiling too. You’d been so excited to get the position - it had been your dream.

You’d worked so hard. Been so nervous in the interview that you’d spilled coffee all over yourself, leaving a sepia stain on your skirt.

But the two of them had been so friendly. Viktor had grabbed you some napkins to help clean up. Jayce had dabbed up the coffee that’d gone on the floor. You’d all laughed it off, and spent the night talking about research until Jayce finally told you you’d gotten the job.

How had it come to this? Sitting alone on your floor sniffling, packing up to leave, never to see Jayce or Viktor again? How had you been reduced to a nobody with a crush on Viktor that hurt you so badly that you couldn’t even focus on your work?

Maybe Noxus will be a good thing. Maybe there, you’ll have a fresh start, and you won’t have to worry about anything else. Maybe.

That thought is the only thing that keeps you packing.

It starts pouring rain outside - heavy, pounding down against the pavement. It’s so rare that it rains here. Eventually, it lightens a little, but it’s still coming down. You can hear the patter of it against your windows.

What if this isn’t the right choice? What if you’re making a horrible mistake?

And, as if on cue, a knock sounds at your door.

You start, getting to your feet before moving to open it. Is it Jayce, maybe? Had you forgotten something at the lab?

But when you pull it open, you find Viktor. He’s soaking wet from the rain - completely drenched, his white button-down plastered to his chest and see-through, strands of dark hair clinging to his forehead. He’s tossing his cane back and forth in his hands - a nervous habit of his that you’ve seen too many times to count.

“Viktor?” you ask. “What are you doing here?”

You’re too shocked to say anything else. Instead you stay frozen at the door, looking at him.

He gazes at you desperately, but only says your name.

He’s shivering.

“I… wait, what am I doing?” you ask, stirring from your trance. “Come in out of the rain! I’ll get you a towel.”

You leave the door open behind you, and Viktor follows you in, dripping water onto your floor.

You’re immediately rushing to find a towel among the half-packed boxes, pulling out a clean, fluffy one for him to use.

“Here,” you prompt, handing it over to him. His hand lingers on yours as he takes it, tucking it under his arm but not using it.

“Thank you,” he says. He goes back to fidgeting with his cane.

You’ve never seen him like this. It’s scaring you.

“Are you alright?” you ask. “Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor? Should I call someone?”

Viktor just shakes his head.

You hesitate, then take a seat on the couch, watching him.

“Can I… ask what this is about?”

Viktor takes in a deep, shuddering breath, closing his eyes and pinching his nose, just like he had yesterday.

“I…” he starts, the word hesitant. Then he shakes his head again, steadying his cane on the floor, opening his eyes and looking directly at you.

“I’ve been trying for these past few months to shut my feelings away, but I can’t. These past few days, especially. I - I know the offer at Noxus is very, very good. I should want you to take it. But I don’t.”

He breathes in, hand shaking on top of his cane, voice going soft as he continues.

“What you said to me those weeks ago… I've never been able to get it out of my mind. I've felt the same, always. Since you started. But I never had the courage to... pursue those feelings. Now you're leaving, and I can't help but feel that I've made a horrible mistake.

“I cannot tell you how sorry I am. How much I regret the way I’ve behaved. I cannot make up for it enough. Please. Allow me to tell you how fervently I admire you.”

His chest rises and falls again - another inhale.

“I love you,” he says. “I can’t pretend I don’t anymore. I do. I don’t care if - if I’m not being professional. If there's any part of you that still wants to stay, I must be selfish and ask you to remain at Hextech. Stay."

Your shock is beyond words.

It pins you to your seat. Freezes time. Turns you to ice, then the consistency of syrup, then roaring flame. All you can do is stare at him, feeling like you’re melting into your couch. This can’t be real.

But it is.

His eyes are wide as he waits for you to answer, still trembling, face white as a ghost. You know that feeling. You’ve been there before. Everything he’d just said - every single word - it’s what you’d been wanting then.

He wants you.

Loves you. He’d told you he loves you.

Janna. Is this real?

You pinch yourself again. There comes the pain. The sharp pain, but this time it’s not a nightmare turned real - it’s a lovely dream.

Viktor huffs as he watches you, a dry, disbelieving chuckle, but remains where he is.

Real.

And so you finally manage to get to your feet, albeit unsteadily. Daring to approach him as he breathes in, still out of breath. The want in his gaze is unmistakable.

You don’t have words for him. Those aren’t coming to you quite yet. So you give him what you can.

Cautiously, you place a hand on his chest, still soaked to the bone. Then you lean in a little closer, nose brushing against his.

Viktor gets the message. He kisses you.

How does it feel like to kiss someone who’s soaking wet? Someone who survives on coffee, and probably hasn’t slept in a good twenty-four hours?

It feels wonderful.

You don’t care that he’s wet - you don’t care that you’ve started crying, tears streaming down your cheeks. All you care about is the way he reaches for you, entangling you in his arms, cane clattering to the floor.

Despite everything, he’s warm - warm lips pressed to yours, warm skin under your palm. Your hands tangle in the mop of his hair, and you pull away to laugh, nudging your nose against his cheek.

“You’re really good at making me cry, you know that?” you ask, brushing tears from your cheek.

Viktor frowns, but you pull him in for another kiss before he can start apologizing again.

Then another.

Beneath the coffee, you taste alcohol on his tongue - just a hint, but unmistakable.

“Are you drunk?” you pull away to ask, slightly out of breath.

“No,” he says, scowling. “One glass of wine. For courage.”

“It must have warmed you up,” you tease, reaching down for the towel that’d fallen out of his grasp. You take it in your hands and towel his hair until it’s some semblance of dry. It fluffs up, looking wild until you manage to tame it into its usual disarray - sticking up by the ears.

Viktor leans into your touch, keeping his eyes closed until you’re done.

“I don’t think that rain is stopping any time soon,” you tell him. “Why don’t you stay the night, and tomorrow I’ll write to Noxus to let them know that I won’t be taking that position?”

“Yes,” Viktor agrees, giving you a soft smile. “I like that plan.”

He entwines his hand with yours, grip warm and firm against your palm. Then he hesitates.

“That night - when you were drunk. You said I was… pretty. Do you really think that about me?”

You laugh, cradling his cheek with your free hand.

“Of course,” you say. “I’ve always thought that.”

“You… you were drunk,” Viktor says, and his cheeks have flushed a deep pink. “I wasn’t sure if I’d even heard it right, much less if you meant it.”

“I definitely meant it. I love you, too, you know.”

All the tension releases from Viktor’s shoulders.

“I am very glad to hear that,” he says.

And he pulls you in for another kiss.

─────────────────────

Two weeks later, things have gone back to a relative state of normal.

Jayce had accepted your re-application to Hextech with a bone-crushing hug and a huge smile.

Noxus, on the other hand, had expressed their deep disappointment at your refusal, extending an open-ended invitation to come back if you ever wanted, though you doubt you’ll ever take them up on that.

As for you and Viktor, well, the two of you have spent the last two weeks with hardly a moment apart.

It’s a little strange to confess your love before a first date, but you wouldn’t have it any other way as you wait on the corner, bouncing on your heels with excitement.

Coffee. Of course he’d invited you out for coffee.

He looks tired as he approaches, but he lights up when he sees you, pulling you in for a quick kiss.

“Ready, my love?” he asks.

“Always.”

And the two of you head into the coffee shop, notes from the lab tucked under your arm, ready for another day of Hextech.

#viktor x reader #arcane viktor x reader #arcane viktor x you #viktor x reader arcane #arcane viktor #viktor #mywriting #viktor arcane

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beesincognito · 1 year

Text

Perfect Strangers part one: The Academy

Viktor x Fem!reader (SFW)

part two

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

(you and Viktor meet on your first day at the academy and bond over being habitual, awkward loners. The story revolves around class issues and a sense of belonging mixed with lore and Arcane plot. The story will split at some point and you choose which ending you want to read. Kind of self-indulgent... Based on interactions in platonic and romantic relationships with the men in my life.)

*no warnings for this part*

Word Count: 2,857

******

Viktor was anxious, but masked it with a newfound sense of ambition as he stepped onto the grounds of The University of Piltover for the first time. He was only twenty and in a completely new city. Between his life in Entresol, and now Piltover, it was incomparable. He already knew he was capable of excelling with his work after already improving peoples’ lives back at home. It was only a matter of using the facilities and resources here to greatly expand his research. Then he could help people on a much larger scale instead of improving a factory here and there back in Zaun.

He followed the crowd of new students, taking in all of the chatter and splendor surrounding him. The university was so unnecessarily grand above him as he passed through an obnoxiously large doorway gilded in gold. Inside of the first hall the chatter grew to a low roar as every sound began to echo off of the walls.

******

That morning had been anything but exciting for you as you struggled to get out of bed. Filled with a sense of dread as you were stepping well past the point of no return. Today was orientation day at the academy as well as the last day to respond to the artists’ guild. Piltover’s guilds were nothing to scoff at, especially now when you had been so close to becoming one of their apprentices.

Stale hotel furniture greeted you as you finally sat up in bed and gave your aching back a much needed stretch. You couldn’t believe you weren’t going to the guild and there was nothing you could do about it at this point. Arguments had filled your family home for years about what you were going to do with your life. Applying to the artisan guild without your parent’s knowledge was your first act of rebellion in your golden-child life. Getting in didn’t even seem like a possibility until you had received a letter, only days before orientation, announcing your acceptance into the apprenticeship program.

You had already accepted your seat at the academy by then, which your parents were overjoyed by after getting what they so desperately wanted, for you of course. Your family had always been from Piltover, as long as you could remember, but your parents believed in building your own legacy before joining the family business. Generations of your family had made names for themselves, all separate from the business. It was up to you to maintain your life and status in Piltover. At least they weren’t trying to use you for their own gain, they were just worried about giving you the best life possible by building character. Being an artist was not character building in their eyes

Taking your sweet time getting ready was your last act of a subtle rebellion for no one else to see or know about. It wasn’t like you were even running late, sleep had eluded you all morning once the sun peeked its ugly face through the useless sheer curtains; if anything you were early.

Uniforms were nothing new to you, getting ready without having to think about your outfit choice was one less thing to worry about. At least the uniforms made you feel more confident, it was almost like a status symbol. You were one of Piltover’s “finest and brightest” like your parents kept saying for years every time your school reports were sent home. Sometimes you wished you never tried so hard in academics, then maybe you’d be at the artisan guild learning how to beautify the city, and possibly beyond, instead.

Just in case boredom occurred, you tucked your latest sketch book into your, mostly empty, bag. Shoving your feet into the standard school loafers, you gradually made your way out of the hotel room and through the lobby. Breathing in the fresh air, or at least as fresh as a concrete city could feel.

People were everywhere, walking and talking like they belonged. Obviously they did, but something so mundane never came easy to you. You couldn’t help but stare too long at others or everything around you, overthinking about everything, as you kept your stride slow and controlled. Getting worked up wasn’t on your list of things to do before classes even began. You hadn’t even moved into your dorm yet.

There was a crowd in the courtyard of the campus. Not a huge crowd, but it must’ve been the new students. Imagining a sea of uniforms was overkill now that you could see everyone in person and realized not everyone who applied was accepted into the academy. Something about that made you feel special, especially when this whole situation was never your first choice.

Walking towards the lecture hall filled you with a good kind of excitement for the first time during this whole ordeal.

That was when you first saw him all those years ago. You were just trying to survive the crowd as you were pushed back and forth between people that seemed to tower over you. Maybe it was just your social anxiety making everything seem so much larger than it actually was. The noise was almost overwhelming. Entranced by him, from across the crowd as everyone began to pour into the lecture hall, you felt calmer. Remembering you needed to feign some sense of grace, these people were going to be your peers after all.

Even though he didn’t tower over everyone else, you kept seeing his tousled chestnut hair peeking out through the crowd when you’d lose sight of him.

He was handsome. Shamelessly, but still inconspicuous enough to not be noticed, nudging your way through the crowd you finally found yourself close to him. Given that it was your first day on your own, you no longer had childhood classmates alongside you to keep company with which meant you needed to try and make real connections. Orientation was the way to start. Familiarity wasn’t going to get you anywhere at the academy. Plus, he seemed shy, with the way he was looking around and avoiding people, and so were you usually. This sneaking dance through the crowd was a first for you and it made you a little giddy, not in a romantic way. Maybe you were a little proud of taking the first steps by yourself for once.

When you had your bag settled under the seat behind your feet, you noticed he was holding a cane between his knees as he continued to look around the spacious building in awe. The way he seemed to be soaking everything in told you he wasn’t from around here. Maybe he’d just never seen the university before. You let your gaze linger for too long around his eyes because he turned suddenly and caught you staring. You couldn’t do anything else besides pretend you were staring at the scene behind him and awkwardly grin as you turned away. Suddenly you were uncomfortable with the situation you created.

“Big room,” you practically have to squeeze out when it was your turn to feel his continuous stare.

“Yes, it is.” He smiled as he spoke which put you at ease.

“I haven’t been here for a while, I did a tour a few years ago.”

“So you’ve had your sights set on this place?”

You hesitated and waved your hands awkwardly while trying to formulate an answer that didn’t insult everyone in the room, “You could say I have ambitious parents. I don’t hate the opportunity even if it wasn’t my first choice.”

Your answer seemed to intrigue him, “What would you rather be doing? Wasn’t it hard enough getting here?” There wasn’t sass or judgment in his questioning, just curiosity.

“It feels wrong to say it here, but I was training to be an artist. My academic skills were somewhat ‘impressive’, or at least that’s what they said,” you couldn’t help but roll your eyes and it felt rude immediately. You made an awkward waving gesture with your hand to try and focus, “eh, so I was encouraged to pursue a more academic route. I’ve settled on mechanical engineering for now and yes it was very hard for me to get here.”

“Whether you wanted this or not, you have enough passion for it to have worked out so far.”

His words were encouraging and he seemed sweet which was already making you feel flustered inside. “Thanks, now we just have to see if I survive.” You gave a small shrug and slouched in your uncomfortable seat.

You both continued to whisper comments here and there throughout orientation. It was long and you could hear a snore every once in a while as quotes about progress and innovation flew over your head. You figured you would be seeing him occasionally as your tracks had a lot of similarities so there was no rush to ask for his life story.

When you had stopped talking you sketched in your book, occasionally feeling him shift to watch you work. The fresh smell of his body wash made you blush when you were so used to being around your fathers business partners smelling like cigars and expensive cologne. It made you tuck into your seat further as you furiously sketched people around you in the lecture hall. Ignoring the intrusive thoughts you had about this stranger.

“What’s your name?” you whisper once your nose was able to part ways with your sketches.

“Viktor,” he straightened his back, sitting up from watching you work, “you?”

“y/n.”

“That’s a nice name,” his smile made you blush as you went back to your book.

When orientation ended you offered to walk together and continue talking. Students wouldn’t be moving into their dorms for another week so you both had until then to explore this part of the city. Your parents hadn’t been keen on traveling back and forth twice just to get you moved in so they had set you up in a hotel for the week. However Viktor said he was already moved into a room given his circumstance, but admitted he appreciated the company.

“I figured you were from out of town,” you teased as you meandered around the grounds.

“What makes you say that?” his eyes felt so intense to you. From his perspective he thought he didn’t stand out too much at a first glance.

“Everything seemed dazzling to you back there,” you gestured to the lecture hall you had both just left. It was a fancy building, but when you grow up around everything looking luxurious you don’t really notice it anymore.

“Well… you’re right, I’m from the edge of… Entresol, I transferred from the Academy of Techmaturgy,” he didn’t look at you as he said this. Almost as if he was awaiting some sort of judgment.

“Wait, that's… in Zaun. You must have worked so hard to get here,” you grinned and continued to walk in an effort to make him feel at ease being so far out of his element. “Was there somewhere you wanted to go? I can leave you alone if you’d like; we’ll most likely have some classes together anyways.”

He considered doing what he always did, which was spend the rest of the day, and following week and a half, alone before having to attend classes. He was pretty set in his ways of just working all of the time in his lab in Zaun. Even as a child he was often alone, not intentionally. It couldn’t hurt to start interacting with someone, you seemed nice and not overbearing. What he feared was potential friends losing interest in his company if he couldn’t keep up with them physically. For him that just meant working more to prove himself.

His grip on his cane tightened and his knuckles were whiter than his already pale skin. “It would be nice to have company. I was going to visit the library before calling it a night.”

As you both walked along a quiet path, listening to the city around you hum, the occasional tapping of his metal cane against the hard ground kept you both at the same steady pace. Your time at the library was relaxing as you looked through research books that you undoubtedly would have to reference later in the semester. There were private study areas that Viktor seemed to especially enjoy as you both were habitual loners.

You both finished off the evening with a stop to get a couple of hot drinks before you intended to part ways with him and leave it up to chance to run into him again eventually. It was a large campus.

“I’ll see you around, Viktor,” you give him a soft smile and slowly stand from your shared café table.

“Wait, y/n- I uh was,” the clatter of his cane stopped you in your tracks as he reached to pick it back up, “I’ll walk you back to your room.”

This took you by surprise as the intentions of his innocent offer were lost on you, making your mind wander elsewhere. You stammered and made a quizzical gesture with your hands.

“You wanted to come back to my place?” you teased. Maybe you were emboldened by your change in scenery being far from your strict parents. It wouldn’t hurt if he really did want to come back to your room.

Embarrassed at the realization of what he must have implied, he raised his free hand and waved it nervously with a forced smile.

“No not, ehm, not like that. I-” he sheepishly chuckled as he stood from his seat slowly and you both shared toothy grins as you walked away from the café. Laugher cured whatever awkwardness Viktor had felt for that short moment.

Part of you felt a little disappointed, but you knew he was just being a gentleman so instead you chose to be amused. This whole day had been out of your comfort zone and contrary to your usual behavior, throwing caution to the wind was far from off the table if Viktor changed his mind by the time you reached your door. Perhaps it felt freeing to expect jumping into bed with someone you just met because there wasn’t much to lose, no long relationship to ruin, only a budding one.

Walking back to the hotel wasn’t awkward in the slightest, if anything it was more jovial than the entire evening had been. A metaphorical baseline had been drawn and you both settled in comfortably as perfect strangers.

******

The rest of the week was the most socializing you’d ever done with a person one on one, especially with someone you just met. Viktor was different, he was emotionally complex and passionate about his research. It was inspiring to hear him talk about his life in the undercity and how he only wanted to help people in need. Listening to him felt like a kind of meditation just letting his mind wander as you drew.

Viktor hadn’t intended on seeing you every single day of the week, it’s just how it happened. The following morning you had seen him reading by himself on a bench and you greeted him awkwardly. He was polite and asked you how you slept, which made you blush. You thought he was just being polite, but he was honest and said you looked stressed.

“I didn’t really sleep, I stayed up to read. Couldn’t pass out afterwards.”

“Nervous?”

“Always, it seems…” you tried to quietly laugh it off with the roll of your eyes as he smiled at you. That damn grin. You’d never interacted with someone like this before even though it was probably simple for most people.

He offered to go for a short walk and you both got tea at the campus café. That short walk turned into a late lunch, which turned into reading together in the library, and then more walking. Not before long, you both realized the entire day had passed you by, but it didn’t feel wasted and you both felt rather relaxed instead.

Viktor, quite the gentleman, offered to walk you back to your hotel room again, but you could tell his leg was bothering him. He was good at hiding it most of the time, slowing down instead of swaying against his cane or expressing discomfort. You just patted his arm and let him know he didn’t have to even though it was nice.

The rest of the week pretty much went that same way where you would either run into each other exploring the campus or meet up at a spot you agreed upon the previous day. It was intoxicating getting to be with each other even though you’d just met that week, but it felt like so much longer already.

There was nothing romantic in the air as far as you could tell, just having this new platonic friendship, where he seemed eager to be around you as well, was wonderful.

At night when you were alone in the dark and struggled to sleep, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander to Viktor.

******

Thank you for making it to the end :) more to come soon!

#arcane #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #reader x viktor #viktor #arcane viktor #viktor/reader #reader/viktor #viktor arcane x reader #arcane reader insert #first time sharing a fic and I am so nervous and scared I have most of it written out because I was too scared to share it #arcane viktor x you #viktor arcane x you #viktor x you #perfect strangers

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