#machine herald x reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

writingmysanity · 2 years

Text

Sanctuary (Part 1)

@grumpyoutlaw so this... this is what you inspired me to write. i hope you like it. took longer than expected but hey... it got written. i hope your happy with your art living rent free in my head xD "Grumpy made me do it."

Word count: 2791

Pairing: Viktor x Botanist!reader

TW: talk about illness, thinking about death. shit happens, yall.

Master list next>

“How long do I have?”

The silence that has surrounded those words continues to stretch. Friends refuse to match his gaze. Co-workers barely look his way. Professors’ look on in pity.

But none have the answer. Those five syllables fumbling into the depths of the void.

The only wrinkle of normalcy has been the lab. His lab.

And now, Jayce is standing before the door, concern etched into his very being as he tries to stand tall, purposely pushing his shoulders back. Had anyone else seen such a display, they would have thought he was trying to intimidate his friend. And in a way, he was.

“You’re taking the day off.” Viktor scoffs, leaning heavily on his cane.

“Non-sense. There is work to do.” His friend nods slowly, softening, shoulders slumping just slightly. Viktor can see the war going on behind his eyes. He is afraid to take away his best friend’s one focus, his drive- his will to live. But he needs rest.

“And the problems will still be there when you get back,” frowning, viktor straitens. Jayce does too, offering a smile to try and diffuse the energy accumulating between them both. “Unless I solve them first.” It's a jest, a tease. And while Viktor is attempting to be angry that something, or rather someone, is standing in his way of progress, he can't help the small smile that tugs at his lips.

“For… How long?” Jayce, he realizes, is just doing what he can to show him that he cares. Perhaps he can follow along, for now. After all, all things are temporary. Jayce visibly relaxes, a hand clapping down on his shoulder, an easy smile lighting up his features.

“Two days a week,” before he can complain, Jayce holds a hand up. “Mandatory. You can't talk me out of it.” huffing, Viktor nods.

“Any other… mandatory restrictions?” He almost hates how the rueful smile on his friends face makes him crack. He cares. How long has it been since someone cared?

“Mandatory lunch and dinner breaks.” he states, nodding to himself. “No less than an hour, preferably two- but I'm flexible.” snorting, Viktor looks away, taking a deep steading breath.

“And if I refuse?” there isn't even a beat.

“I'll change the locks.” tone flat and even, leaving no room for negotiation. Fighting the frown that threatens to perpetually etch itself into his skin, he sighs.

“And what will I do with these… mandatory days off?” leaning back against the wall, jayce gives him a non committal shrug.

“Up to you, Vik. Rest is usually customary on days off. You should try it.”

Slowly, Viktor just turns on his heel as he heads back in the opposite direction, towards his room. As he starts to walk, Jayce keeps talking, though making no moves to follow his friend.

“Read a book?” he can hear the smile in his voice. Annoying. “Go out and smell the roses… literally. It's spring- and there's a new botanist in town. I hear she's a miracle worker.” he calls out as Viktor rounds the corner, his voice now muffled to a distant cry.

He very nearly makes it all the way to his room before something catches his eye. The fountain, normally quite bland, polished marble with the signature piltover golden trim, stands vibrant. Color seems to reflect off of the smooth surface, new beds wrapped around the lip, melting into new benches- one on each side. Brilliant blues and yellows making the spot seem to have more life than he had ever seen at the academy. Hesitating, he grumbles to himself a bit before making his way over to the new bench.

Perhaps a little sun will be good for him.

Breathing deeply, he melts into the bench, the gentle breeze catching the delicate scents lingering in the midmorning air- fresh baked breads and the ever persistent floral smell that seems to encircle him. The sun shines just above him, the gentle warmth helping ease the stiffness of his joints as he listens to those around him scurry along about their day.

Eyes fluttering open, he spares a look around, curiously. Surely this isn't the only area that has been upgraded.

For once, the sun's gaze isn't reflected back at him from the glossy towers arching well above his head as nearly every surface has some sort of color splashed across its gleaming surface, in every color he can imagine. So many blooms that he can't hope to figure out all of their names, but they were beautiful.

He doesnt stop the easy smile that stretches across his face as he rises slowly, eager suddenly to see more. Bending slightly, leaning into his cane, he allows himself a deeper breath, fingers tracing over the petals delicately. The softness of them almost startles him.

Slowly, he straightens again, glancing around. Not far from him is another station, a tight grouping of tables set out to enjoy the sunshine after the last of winter melted away- students and faculty needing to dethaw. Delicate bunches perched atop each table leave a lingering sense of tranquility as movement around them refuses to cease. Humming contently to himself, he follows the line of flowers. The further he wanders into the city, the more ornate the arrangements get. Bluish veins cascade down from roof tops, brilliant pink blossoms fluttering in the breeze. At his feet, the blooms begin to get bigger, and bigger. Until many are the size of his hands, and one, the size of his head. Perhaps larger, he realizes as he drags his fingertips over each of the petals and leaves, relishing in the different textures.

The further he follows the waves of colorful flowers, the older the buildings get, many having begun to fall into neglectful disrepair, chipped walls and concave roofing tiles hidden behind a forest of plants.

Pausing, he looks around, a thought striking him- he is standing in the original town square. There are no fountains, no expensive polished trims. White doesn't dominate every surface, nor do any of the surfaces gleam. The walls are muted, browning with age, crumbling stones allowing for ivy sprouts to wriggle through the holes, breathing new life into the lifeless buildings long abandoned in the name of progress.

Slowly, he raises a hand to the wall lifting well over his head, its own bones beginning to crumble- walls long faded, letting his fingertips trace over the once brilliant murals that adorned the sides, paint crumbling to dust under his touch until his fingers meet stems. Rivers of Ivy fall in waves over his head, swaying limply in the wind as he stands paralized by his own realizations. He, like these buildings, were built for great things. And they will both fall into ruin, together. And soon enough, no one will remember that they ever existed.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he leans forward, allowing his forehead to rest on the crumbling surface, the wooden beams creaking at the added weight, no matter how slight, screaming at him to leave them be.

Laughter echoes around him suddenly, breaking him from his thoughts. Lifting his head, he stares in the direction of the sound, brows pinching in confusion. He had been the only one around here. Or had he been so preoccupied that he simply did not see them there?

Just a bit further up the street, he figures, is the building he has been looking for. Standing proud despite its age and weakened bones, it is bursting with life. Large walls round out to arching roofs, windows lining the entirety of the front, nearly reaching the height of the walls. A large set of stone steps lead to the slightly crumbling foundation, large ornate columns guarding the thick framed doors, propped open invitingly. Green has very nearly covered every inch of the exterior of the building, rows of rose bushes pressed against the foundation and the steps. Ivies of every variety and color wrapping around the railings, threatening to spill over onto the steps themselves. Spirals of vining flowers encase the archway, wrapping around the windows as several varieties of flowers seem to simply spill out of the open space.

Keeping a decent grip on the railing while attempting to not completely crumble the stems beneath his hand, he makes his way up the stairs. There are more than he anticipated, feeling very near out of breath simply from climbing them. Now that he is on the platform though, he can see the variety of potted plants lining the ancient marbled railings, large palm leaves just beginning to reach the height of the railings themselves. Turning to the doors, he pauses, blinking at the rusting plate adorned next to the entrance.

Council

Humming in curiosity, he slides past the doors, barely taking in the gilding and intricate carvings, ornate flowers that had once been painted vibrant colors now faded to the dull brown as the rest of the door.

Beyond the door is, all things considered, what he imagined life would be like in the city. There are groups of people wandering about, laughter and conversation echoing against the walls looming several stories above his head. To his left are groups of tables, much like those he had seen out in the square not too long ago, but older. Iron seats painted black instead of the brilliant white he had grown accustomed to. Benches seem to line the walls, large potted plants nestled securely between each of the seats. Although, life here seems to have slowed down. People have nowhere to be. They simply exist between the walls.

Lifting his gaze slowly, he marvels at the murals etched into the walls, brilliant pictures staring down at him as if scrutinizing his every move, illuminated by the rows of sunlight filtering in from above, broken sky lights creating fractured patterns on the floor below. Greens, pinks and blues stand vibrant against the walls, adding to the beauty of the architecture.

Across from him is another set of doors, propped open wide like the front doors have been. On the other side, he notices, it is nothing but green. Curiously, he makes his way through the slow moving throngs of people, allowing himself to pause at the doors to take a deep breath, eyes fluttering at the motion. He can smell nothing but the deep grounding scent of freshly stirred earth and the ever growing sweet lingering scent of the flowers surrounding him. Lifting his hand to the door, he allows himself to inspect the carvings this time, rather enjoying the way his fingertips bob through the grooves along its surface. The door itself is thick- perhaps as thick as Jayce's head, he muses, chuckling to himself, knocking on the wood fondly, relaxing as the sound reverberates through the small area.

Turning to look out over the greenery, he nearly laughs at the sheer amount. In the back of the small lot of land is a large greenhouse, large panel glass panes rising several stories above his head, vibrant blooms and tangles of stems pressing to every part of the glass, quite literally overflowing from the front doors that, like those of the old council building, are wide open. Between the two buildings may as well be an arboretum, large canopies of trees very nearly hiding the building itself, cherry vines swinging from their branches, tucked in loosely so as to not lose their spot.

Taking another deep breath, he migrates down to one of the many benches, nearly throwing himself onto the surface, slumping back. There are less people outside, giving him the opportunity to take in his surroundings uninterrupted. There are several paths around the garden, he realizes. Cut through the underbrush, laid like ancient cobblestone, a technique he can imagine they used when building Piltover from the ground up. Only these stones are new. The path under his feet leads to a grouping of trees he's never seen, each bearing a different fruit hanging dangerously low as to tempt those who pass through their branches to take a bite. In fact, many of the trees bear fruit, most he has never seen before.

Surrounding the base of many trees are bushes. Shootings of the same tree trying to expand its territory at first glance, but he realizes soon that those too are fruit bearing bushes meant to accompany the tree for support. Humming contently, he leans back, watching several butterflies bounce from bush to bush, the high pitched chirping of birds dancing in the branches above his head, occasionally swooping down as if to show off.

Sighing softly, he all but melts into the seat, eyes sliding closed of their own accord as silence washes over him- voices and the deep hum of the earth becoming nothing more than background static. The warmth of the afternoon sun warms his limbs, soaking all the way to his bones, easing the pain that has accompanied his existence for as long as he can remember. Boneless and tired, he doses off.

The sound of metal scraping dirt rouses him, the distinct sound happening once more, accompanied by a voice, barely a murmur behind him. Lurching forward, suddenly awake, he blinked owlishly forward, forgetting where he was. Turning slowly, he meets the eyes of another, widened in shock, your body seemingly suspended in time, frozen in place half standing, knees bent- as if attempting to stand. Your hair is tied back into a ponytail, loosened by movement. You become acutely aware that you're covered in dirt, the once wet matter pulling taught against your cheek. Neither of you move for several beats before you clear your throat, offering him a small smile, quickly wiping your hands against your pant legs repeatedly, turning your eyes from his, swallowing trying not to think about how his eyes remind you of the sun flowers you are planting, golden and bright.

“I, uh..” you hum, fighting against your nerves before steeling yourself, turning to meet his eyes again. Even in his seated position, you're not much taller than him, you realize, as he barely has to look up to keep your gaze. “I'm sorry for startling you.”

He just blinks slowly, eyebrows furrowing, like he is trying to find words, himself. As if realizing he hasn't answered you, he shakes his head quickly, dispelling any lingering thoughts, offering instead a small smile of his own. “No problem, that is what happens when you fall asleep in public, eh?” you smile a bit, rounding the bench slowly, rolling your shoulders.

“Well, it is ill-advised at best.” he chuckles, motioning for you to sit, which you do, quickly realizing that you hadnt sat since you started out first thing this morning. There is silence for a moment before he glances behind the both of you curiously.

“You are… the gardener?” stifling a snort, you instead match his gaze again, smiling with more confidence this time.

“Botanist.” breaking eye contact to glance around, you can't help but feel pride at the sheer amount of work you have been able to complete in the time given.

“You… did this?” he motions to your surroundings slowly, pausing to admire a butterfly that had landed on his thigh, slowing his movements so as to not startle it. Grinning, you nod.

“I did, this is my baby.” you laugh softly, picking at your fingernails, flicking the dirt away. He looks at you with silent awe, lips parted slightly, eyes wide- more emotions flickering there than you've seen on anyones face since you migrated your way to piltover.

“It is incredible.” sitting up straighter, preening at the praise, you beam up at him.

“Thank you, that means all of my hard work has been worth it.”

Silence washes over you both, watching as the sunlight filters through the branches above, softening the lighting. Realization hits you a few minutes later that you had not introduced yourself. You catch his attention as you sit up quickly, hand starting to shoot out politely until you catch sight of the sheer amount of dirt still caked on your skin before quickly retracting it, rubbing at your pant leg again. Sputtering for a moment you cough to dispel the embarrassment, sending him another soft smile. Brilliant, ever watchful eyes stay on you, amusement dancing in them like a flame. Without hesitation, he offers his hand, a softer motion than your own.

“I am Viktor,” he offers, watching as you hesitate, not wanting to be rude. He chuckles again, head tilting to the side slightly. “If i was afraid of a little dirt i would not have found myself in your garden, miss…?” smiling back up at him, you take his hand, relaxing significantly.

“Call me Nym.”

_____

@queenxxxsupreme i am told this is better reading lol.

I uh, if anyone wants to be in a tag for my arcane stuff... send a message or comment or something?

#poor sweet viktor #arcane viktor x reader #viktor x reader #arcane viktor #viktor #viktor arcane #viktor arcane x reader #viktor league of legends #viktor the machine herald #viktor x you #viktor my beloved #eskel #the machine herald #machine herald viktor #machine herald x reader

172 notes · View notes

aerynwrites · 2 years

Text

Hiraeth || Part 3

Machine Herald!Viktor x Fem!Reader

A/N: Here is part three!! I hope you all enjoy :)

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: emotional hurt/comfort | angst | Viktor running away from his problems lol | fluff

*Proofread by me, apologies for any errors*

Previous | Next

“My name is Viktor.”

The boy's voice is gentle, something you noticed yesterday. He doesn’t talk much, but when he does it is very soft spoken and gentle, as if he’s afraid of being heard.

You suppose maybe he is.

Smiling at him, you dig your fingers into the sand beneath you and offer your own name.

He repeats it back to you, and you silently enjoy the way it sounds with his accent. The syllables rolling off his tongue effortlessly.

Soon however, his brows furrow in thought, lip tugged between his teeth as he seemingly tosses his words around in his mind before he speaks.

“Why did you come back?”

You’re silent for a moment, the question confusing you. Eventually, you shrug.

“Why wouldn’t I? Friends play together don’t they?” You ask, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

His brows raise now, disappearing behind the few stray strands of chestnut hair that fall onto his forehead.

“Friends?”

You smile at him then, finally understanding his hesitation.

“Yeah!” You reach over and playfully shove his shoulder, smiling wider at the laugh it elicits from him. “You’re stuck with me now, Viktor.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

The dream fades away as you creep towards wakefulness, and you want desperately to reach out and cradle the memory close to your heart.

You want to fall back asleep and see more of the two children that grew up together, became friends together and eventually something more.

You want nothing more than to go back to the time before he left.

Maybe now you have a chance.

Viktor.

That’s his name. The man turned machine who saved you…it all makes sense now. And you want to chastise yourself for not realizing it sooner.

But who can blame you?

His hair is longer, the strands at the front giving way to streaks of grey - a telltale sign of all the time that’s passed since you watched him disappear across that bridge.

He doesn’t need the assistance of a cane any longer, his augmentations relieving him of it.

Hell, he keeps most of his face hidden behind a mask that also cloaks the accent you love so much. Even the beauty marks you’ve always wanted to touch are concealed by the metal mask.

And his eyes, one of the only things revealed to you, are different.

Inky pools of black replace white scleras - but they still hold the same golden irises you could lose yourself in all those years ago.

You should’ve known.

The tug of familiarity, of nostalgia you feel whenever he’s near. The way you want to be with him despite his slightly cold exterior.

When he gave you his name it all fell into place and fell apart at the same time.

What happened to him?

»»————-　♡　————-««

That one question, along with dozens of others, race through your mind from the moment he left and for the days that followed.

But he never gives you a chance to ask them.

After wrenching open the emotional floodgates he had left the room, sending in an automaton to take care of anything you needed after that.

They bring your meals, monitor you as you walk around the room. What they won’t do however is answer any of your questions.

Thankfully, you at least get the same automaton each time.

He’s shaped kind of like a bowling pin on wheels. With a big round bottom and a round head suspended on top of a rotating rod. Two glowing eyes and a little slit for a mouth make up his face.

And as much as you hate to admit it…he’s kind of adorable.

Its name is a bunch of numbers and letters mashed together, so you just take to calling it IO - and he thankfully responds to it nicely enough.

Finally, after three days of walking around your room and talking to a robot - you’ve had enough.

Sitting up in bed you turn to IO.

“Can you set up a bath?” You ask the robot, your voice making him perk up and turn towards you.

“Bathing procedures can be completed by automatons.” He says simply.

You sigh, forgetting how literal the robot is. “Then will you please set up a bath for me?”

You can hear his inner mechanics whirr to life as he immediately moves towards the door. “Bathing procedures initiated. Please follow me.”

Then, before you can even get out of bed, he is out the door and rolling down the hall.

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. While you are still frustrated at being babysat by a robot, you have to admit he brings some form of entertainment.

Once out of bed, you slowly make your way down the hall towards where you know the bathroom is. You can walk unassisted with significantly less pain now, but it still feels off - like your body is still learning to adjust to the new prosthetic.

You’re also not very graceful.

The metal foot thunks unevenly along the wooden floors of the hallway, a stark contrast to the way your flesh one is mostly silent against the same surface.

Hopefully these things come with time.

When you arrive at the bathroom, the faucet is already running, filling the tub with steaming water while IO gathers the supplies. A towel, soap, and a new gown - just like last time.

Once he’s deemed his task complete, IO turns the water off when it reaches a reasonable level and rolls towards the door where you stand.

“Please return to your room when you have finished.” He instructs you before rolling past you and out of the room.

Closing the door behind him, you turn back to the tub and eye the string that still dangles above the surface of the water.

You have no clue if it will work, but you’re hoping that Viktor deems emergencies with his patients as above an automaton's capabilities to deal with.

If he won’t come to you willingly, then you’ll just have to force him.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The water is still warm when you pull the little string, and it’s almost comical how quick the response is.

The door to the bathroom swings open with more force than necessary, hitting the wall with a deafening bang.

The sudden intrusion actually makes you jump, the water in the tub sloshing over the side slightly from the action. You look over to see Viktor standing in the doorway of the room, golden eyes glued to your form, sitting in the tub.

“That was fast.” You say simply, skimming your hands along the top of the water. “I was expecting it to take a little longer than-“

An aggravated huff cuts you off as footsteps approach where you sit.

“Just tell me what’s wrong.” He says, modulated voice meeting your ears for the first time in days.

You look up at him, trying not to look as upset as you feel. You won’t let him have the high ground on this one.

“Nothing is wrong. Well, not physically anyways.”

A sound - something akin to a growl seeps from the mask and sends a shiver down your spine. You silently hope he thinks it’s from the rapidly cooling water.

“So, you called me in here to test my response time? Is that what this is? Because I have other things I need to-“

“No, you don’t, Viktor.” You call his bluff, his name falling from your lips for the first time in years.

A name that stops the man above you in his tracks, rooting him to the tile below his feet.

His eyes narrow.

“What do you want?” He finally asks, voice still harsh.

You huff, leaning back to rest against the edge of the tub, arms resting on the sides. Your eyes never leave him.

“I want you to stop avoiding me, for starters. IO is fine company, but his limited responses really start to get annoying after a few hours.” Your voice is cold despite your joke.

Viktor takes a breath but you continue before he can give another excuse.

“And I know you don’t have any other patients to tend to, because all the rooms were still empty when I came down here,” you say, shoulders sagging as you finally look away from him, eyes falling to the water instead.

“Just…talk to me Vik.” The familiar nickname slips from your lips like an afterthought.

“You just…drop this bomb on me and then don’t talk to me for days. You were my…” You pause, unsure of what you were when he left you last. “You were important to me. Then you left and I had no clue what happened to you. Then, you just suddenly show up and save me and reveal that you’ve been the Machine Herald this whole time and you just expect me to not have questions?”

You look up at him again, finally falling silent, waiting expectantly for a response.

He doesn’t give it to you right away, instead he watches you. Amber irises skating over your form silently before they shut tightly, the corners crinkling with effort.

He sighs.

“I’m not who I used to be.”

You scoff. “Yeah, no shit.”

He leans over you suddenly, metal hands bracing on the edge of the tub so his face is mere inches from yours.

You blink at him owlishly.

“I am being serious.” He hisses. “I’ve changed. Physically, emotionally, fundamentally…I’m not the boy who left you on that bridge. I’m not…good.”

He watches as your eyes soften, and it takes everything in you to resist reaching up to rest a hand against his cheek.

“I don’t believe that.” You say gently. “Sure you look different but…a bad person would have let me die. You didn’t.”

Silence fills the room, and Viktor wants nothing more than to run away, to go back to his workshop and ignore your existence and the mistake he made in telling you who he is.

But as you look up at him, soft eyes taking him back to his childhood…he feels the walls he’s built slowly crack.

He sighs - Again - Before standing to his full height.

“I suppose I owe you an explanation.” He agrees, turning back towards the door. “Get dressed.”

And then he leaves you, this time more hopeful that you’ll see him again.

»»————-　♡　————-««

He actually surprises you by already being in your room when you return, glowing eyes observant as you approach where he stands next to the window on the far side of the room.

“You’re improving.” It’s matter-of-fact. Simple.

Yet another thing that reminds you of the younger him.

A small smile tugs at your lips. “It’s getting easier everyday. Still hurts, but I don’t feel like a newborn giraffe anymore.”

A chuckle, a very quiet one that could be mistaken for a huffed breath, meets your ears. Your smile widens.

“Yes, well…unsteadiness is expected when adjusting to a new limb. I’m good at what I do, not perfect.”

You hum, ushering in a long stint of silence as you both look at the world outside the window.

You immediately recognize the area as Emberflit Alley.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise really. For you’ve heard the location whispered across bar tops and merchant stands for a few years now. The place to go to get help when all other options run out.

He did change the Undercity. Just like he said he would - even if it’s not in the way you expected.

“How long have you been back?” You finally ask, breaking the silence and praying you don’t regret it.

“Longer than I care to count. Long enough to become this…” He gestures to himself, metal plates shifting as he does.

You swallow.

“Why didn’t you ever write back to me when you were Topside? Why didn’t you come find me when you came back?” The words come out slightly broken, the emotion you’ve been trying to avoid finally seeping through.

You’d tried to forget about him. Tried to forget about how one of the only people you truly cared about left and never even bothered to stay in touch. And to hear that he’s been back for years and never even tried to find you…

It hurts. More than you are willing to admit.

Viktor turns away from you, eyes falling to the window sill as he speaks.

“I don’t have the answers you want to hear.” He says simply.

“I became buried under my work when I arrived Topside, always striving for more. And then when I helped develop HexTech…it became even more all consuming.”

Brows raise in shock at this revelation, but you don’t say anything.

You’d never realized Viktor was a partner in Hextech - the scientific understanding of the Arcane. It was such a Topside-centric thing that you never thought to look past the Golden Boy of Piltover whose face was plastered all over the city. Never thought the man standing next to you was an integral part of it.

“I didn’t know you were part of that,” you admit, voice small.

“How could you? I stayed in the shadows for a reason, keeping my head down and focused on trying to perfect Hextech to help the people down here.” He shrugs. “The desire for greatness consumed me. And in the end it prevented me from completing the one goal I had.”

A deep sigh hisses from beneath his mask as he continues.

“It all fell apart in the end. The person I thought I could trust betrayed me and then…I came home.”

Home.

The word brings a pang of emotion with it. There was a time when you considered the man beside you your home, the one person you could go to with anything.

Your happy place.

He obviously didn’t see you the same.

The frustration, the inability to understand, simmers beneath the surface of your skin and it takes everything in you to keep the venom from your voice.

“That still doesn’t explain why you never tried to find me.” You say, swallowing the lump forming in your throat. “I would have…I would have welcomed you back with open arms. You have to know that.”

Finally, he turns from the window, brows pinched in a form of his own frustration. You imagine the corners of his lips are down turned, pinched into a tight line - but you can’t tell because of the mask that’s hidden him from you since you first saw him.

“You don’t understand-“

“Then help me understand!” You cut him off. “Explain to me why you abandoned one of the people who cared about you most! The person who lo-“ you bite your tongue, not ready to lay that all out yet.

Taking a deep breath you inch closer to him, bodies half a foot away from one another as you look up at him.

“I want nothing more than to understand. Because when you left and never came back…” You shake your head. “It killed me. As hard as I tried to forget you, I couldn’t.”

The familiar burn of tears finally makes you stop speaking, focusing instead on keeping the show of emotion at bay.

You expect him to lash out. To call you foolish for relying on him so much or letting him consume you. Expect him to walk away like he has anytime he doesn’t like the way a conversation is going.

But he surprises you yet again.

Gentle, cool fingers reach up, sliding smoothly down your arm before hooking around the palm of your hand.

“I did come to you,” he says, voice soft behind the mask. “You were the first person I sought out when I came back. But…” He trails off, as if he’s weighing his next words.

“I did find you, after asking around. I saw you leaving your apartment, heading to the market I assume. And I almost called out to you.” He shakes his head.

“But I was dying. I was dying and living on borrowed time, and I did not want to come back into your life just to disappear again.”

You squeeze his hand in your own, urging him silently to continue, your eyes never leaving his face.

“So I left. Came here to try and save myself so I could go back to you. And it worked, obviously. But after I fixed my lungs and leg and everything else I deemed wrong or broken…” He pulls his eyes from where they had been fixed on the floor to look into your own.

“I was no longer the person who left you all those years ago. So I did what I do best, buried myself in my work - focused on helping those I could to avoid the one I left behind. A mistake. One I wish I could take back.”

Slowly, once you’re sure he’s done speaking, you reach up to place a gentle hand on his cheek. The metal of his mask is cool beneath your palm, and your fingers toy with the edge just below his ear.

“Does this come off?” You ask softly, eyes searching his own.

Hesitating for just a moment he nods, releasing your hand to reach up and release the clasps holding it in place. He slowly pulls the devices away from him, setting it on the table behind him before turning back to face you fully.

He’s still as you take him in unobstructed for the first time in years.

Metal reaches from his neck up his jaw and into his cheeks before giving way to smooth white flesh.

His face is mostly unaltered, and you can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corner of your lips. You reach up, slowly running a finger over the beauty mark above his lip, before trailing up to the one just below his eye.

His eyes slip closed as you continue your exploration before finally coming to rest against his cheek again.

“We can't change the past.” You say, watching as his eyes peel open slowly once more. “But maybe we can work to be better in the future.”

Golden eyes widen as he searches your face, searching for any sign of deception.

He finds none.

“Why would you want that? I’ve done nothing to deserve it.” His voice, unmodulated and accented just like you remember, makes your heart stutter in your chest.

“You saved me.” You remind him. “And you’re here now. So…that’s enough for me.”

And as Viktor stares down at you, completely in awe at the forgiveness that is being laid at his feet, he vows to earn it.

No matter what it takes.

#arcane viktor x reader #machine herald x reader #machine herald viktor x reader #arcane x reader #viktor x reader #arcane viktor #viktor arcane

256 notes · View notes

sylvie-fics · 1 year

Note

hiiiii congratulations on getting out of tumblr jail, i liked your valentine fic. maybe something with MH as a father? something about that fic just made me think 🥺👉👈 thnaks Sylvieeee

ooo looks someone noticed something in that fic 👀👀👀

this is for you hun, hope its alright!

Word count: 450

Warnings: mentions of violence. reader uses she/her and is referred to as 'mom'

summary: Viktor's daughter is scary

-----------------------------------------------------

He knew early on. There’s a special kind of crazy the two of you shared– and despite his best efforts to stop this from transferring, he’s failed. Miserably. As the world would have it, the combination of two mad scientists with a complete disregard for safety does not create a sane, safe, generally normal kid.

“Hurry up. The doll execution was supposed to happen this morning. The others will riot soon.”

There was a time in his life where he wasn't making child-safe guillotines. Or adding magnets to doll heads so they can be beheaded over and over again– hours worth of fun. Sure, he could just tell his angry five year old, ‘No, I’m not going to make you a guillotine.’ He could. But why would he? How could he bring himself to say no to that?

“Mom still has to paint blood on it.”

He doesn’t know how she ended up like this. Well, he does. Still, it’s not like he didn’t *try*. He’d read countless books on early childhood development, went through all the parenting pamphlets– he followed it all to a tee. She wasn’t even a particularly difficult kid. Sure, she cried– but it wasn’t excessive. She hit all the developmental marks on time, if not early.

It's just… once she started being able to verbally express her thoughts. Suddenly it was ‘dad this bedtime story is boring I want something with more violence.’ And then it was ‘your real name isn’t dad, is it? Do you know what happens to liars?’ and then after that ‘dad can I have your bones when you die?’

The thing that baffles him the most– she’s not like this anywhere else. Her Kindergarten teacher says she's a joy, that she's so kind to all her classmates. The little old ladies down the street say she's the most well behaved kid they've ever met. Hell, she gets candy from the local shopkeeper at the parts store at least once a week.

She’s just like this at home.

He loves this kid so much. Yes, she terrifies him– but if anything ever happened to her, he would kill everyone in the world and then himself. He’s hung up every single drawing. He’s got journals filled with details of their time spent together. Family portraits that he forces the two of you to take multiple times a year– and both of you are huffy about it, but get over it eventually. He can’t help it, he didn’t know ‘fatherhood’ was an emotion. You can’t remove emotions you didn’t know existed.

“Dad stop crying the guillo– the ge– the head choppy thing isn't for you.”

He hates humanity just a bit less now.

#machine herald x reader #machine herald viktor x reader #league of legends viktor x reader #viktor x reader

39 notes · View notes

lightning-bringer · 2 years

Text

Viktor Machine Herold's NSFW alphabet

The gif might be from Arcane but have in mind I'm talking about the 6' feet tall metal guy who shouts GLORIOUS EVOLUTION and shoots lasers at people

A= Aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

Viktor is very attentive in aftercare, as much as he pretends to not have any feelings left and talks about the uselessness of it, he is actually still so full of endearment in him. He will cook breakfast, change his lover’s clothes and the sheets, all while talking about being rational and how that’s jsut necessary (he would massage his partner with the most serious and robotic face)

B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)

idk if it counts as a body part but he loves his height. Despite the events of arcane being canon or not, Viktor for sure wasn’t as big as he is today, so being a very tall guy now is something he likes a lot

and on his partner, as cliche as it is, it’s mouth

C= Cum (anything that has to do with it)

He cums a lot. Like, a lot. Inconveniently so

D= Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory)

It’s more of a fantasy than a secret, but Viktor likes to imagine scenarios in which he just watches 2 people have sex and please himself at the image

E= Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

Viktor has very little experience. A metal man who shouts about the glorious evolution has a hard time getting laid. Even before he went back to Zaun, his mind was always on other things, so sex was not a priority and still isn’t

F= Favorite position

Because he hedn’t had time to try much, it’s definitely something simple like doggie-style

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

Oh this man is very serious, no laughs no jokes if he smiles that is a one in a million ocasion

H= Hair (grooming habits)

I doubt there is any body hair left ‘cause c’mon... if you can change your body with augmentations at will... why wouldn’t you get rid of those? So I bet he has no pubes whatsoever

I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

Viktor is serious, as I said, so he’s quiet and tries to be impersonal (feelings bad blablala) but that’s not really how he feels, so he would kind of lean into being a romantic, being aware of how the machine parts of his body fit with his partner’s

J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

He does masturbate, but not that often. When he does it he tells himself it’s purely out of “hormonal needs he has yet to deal with”, so it’s really just for physical relief (he only focus on pleasure when it’s with someone else, so the man is frustrated)

K= Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

Viktor doesn’t really has many remarkable kinks besides the voyerism, but he would like some roleplay, like professor x student kinda thing

L= Location (where they like to get it on)

Despite liking to see people having sex, he loathes the thought of being seen, so he likes to do it in the safety of his house, in his lab in Zaun at best. This man doesn’t even like to go to brothels or motels

M= Motivation (things that makes them tick/turn ons)

The few times Viktor had sex, it was led by the same thing: shameless and kind of sexually explicit flirting, because he loves dirty talk. He is very quiet during it, but hearing the things someone wants to do to him, or with him, or even better, wants him to do... His emotions and feelings kind of win again then

N= No (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)

Anything hardcore honestly but mostly things that would risk damage to his carefully created machine body, or that would put him in a humiliating position

O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

Oh Viktor is horrible at oral, like really bad, and he also doesn’t like it which makes him a terrible possible student

P= Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

Well, his body is full of mechanical augmentations so... he’s quite literally a machine when it comes to having sex. He can last for a long time, go for as long as his partner wants or needs (he’s not much of a service guy during sex, more after, but he won’t admit being a disappointment)

Q= Quickie (do they prefer fast and hard)

He’s actually not good at quickies because of his lack of experience (he needs some time to get the hang of things with his partner) and he also doesn’t like them much

R= Risk (do they like to try new things)

No, it would be very very hard to convince Viktor to try something knew, even if his lover knows he has fantasies about it

S= Stamina (how many times they can go and how long each round lasts)

Again, mechanically augmented body... This man can go for so long, don’t fucking test him

T= Toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers)

I don’t see Viktor using toys on himself but he wouldn’t be against the use of them in sex. If partner really likes it or insists, he could even try to make some customs for them (but he particularly doesn’t get the fuss)

U= Unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves)

He’s not much of a tease, not to the point of being unfair, but in the areas he has no knowledge (a master of controling speed and strenght) he would like to show off just a little (and never admiting he’s actually showing off) and teasing his lover to show he can

V= Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)

Viktor is generally quiet, but he does let out some groans, mostly in the beginning if his partner snatches off his mask and keeps his face close while they tease him or play with him

W= Wild card (random sincannon of any sort)

If his partner has a penis or can squirt, he will want them to cum on his mask (this is absolutely one of the things that will have to pried out of him with insistence and force because he would never admit it)

X= X-ray (what’s down below in dem pants)

He is big, even though no one would be in his Academy years. He is big, and has never made any changes there

Y= Yearning (sexdrive level)

Viktor has a very low sex drive in general, and has always had despite the changes in his body and brain

Z= Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

Because of his changed brain and body it takes so much to tire Viktor that he doesn’t sleep right after. He might if he feels like it, but it’s more like a nap because he has nothing to do than a recharging tared sleep

#league of legends #lol #viktor #arcane #viktor arcane #viktor league of legends #viktor lol #machine herald #machine herald x reader #machine herald viktor #viktor x reader #viktor x y/n #league of legends writing #lol writing

139 notes · View notes

ploopyoopy · 2 years

Text

I’ve been meaning to make something like this for months but never had the motivation to do it until now! Hope y’all like it<3

#league of legends #arcane art #arcane viktor #arcane netflix #league of legend art #viktor loves sweet milk #lol viktor #league of legends Viktor #machine herald viktor #pov #y/n #machine herald #machine herald x reader

130 notes · View notes

thehistoriangirl · 2 years

Text

It Had to Be You... [1/3]

Yes, you read correctly. I went overboard and the first part was going too big, so I cut it in a cliffhanger in three! :3 I’m working on something for booo, spooky month(s)~ but I hope I can post part two soon.

Also, Anon who requested the soulmate AU with Viktor... I’m sorry. It will get better <3</p>

MH! Viktor x Fem!Reader [Soulmate AU]-----8.5K----SFW, but check the tags bc this one is heavy

Synopsis: Viktor spent most of his life loathing the profetic soulmates’ dream. After all, it was the reason everything good in his life escaped from his fingers. Now he had broken the promise of not seeing you again, even promising he will take care of you against your parent’s debt collectors.

But he can't protect you against the hostility built upon your broken friendship and the nightmarish dream it is supposed to be the long-awaited fantasy made reality. And you can't stop the bitter, resentful thoughts polluting your mind: why out of everyone, it had to be you?

Destiny was cruel, why follow it then?

Why was he following it right now?

Just to found you, he supposed.

It was what Viktor said to himself ever since the dreams come haunting his nights, hiding, pushing them away with every fiber of resolution he could summon while facing the spotless white ceiling of his Academy bedroom. Forehead covered in sweat, eyes fluttering erratically with a mix between horror and hatred.

He feared himself. He loathed the dreams, the soulmate bond that tied his heart with yours.

Destiny was a twisted path forged by who knows what, stripping him of true free will.

Down his way to the Undercity, Viktor realized how naïve he was thinking his whole existence that he could escape from this very moment. Nevertheless, he did not slow down his pace, hand firmly grasping his cane and eyes squinting to try to focus his eyes on the overcrowded streets in front of him.

You wouldn’t be here, he realized at seeing the packed streets, neon lights coloring the murky air. He had to get down ever further.

Your last mother's note stuffed deep inside his pocket felt heavy when the streets began to disappear, walls of crooked constructions trying to scratch the sky far away, only a few silhouettes outlining in the pronounced corners of the alleyways filled with waste,

If they were looking at him, he pretended not to notice. His clothes were the same ones he used at the Academy less the white vest and the red tie. They were worn out anyway, dark enough not to attract much attention.

The cane was the problem, but it wasn’t an unknown challenge he didn’t face in his childhood and part of his adolescence. He could probably spare some blows with it if someone could think of him as an easy target. Of course, he could always use the Hexclaw to his advantage, but it was the last resource plan.

Luckily, no one tried to block his way down the abandoned industrial area. Following your mother's letter, you went into hiding at the same spot the Chembaron Rey’s minions burn down the unregistered factory with workers inside, your father among them.

Nobody would think of coming back to the same place everything went to waste, which made the building a perfect hiding spot.

Rey’s workers went to lurk into Viktor’s family house, suspecting you would be hiding in it. But in the place was only an abandoned home, with moss crawling on the walls and dusty surfaces. Years of friendship between your parents and Viktor’s surely were a good starting point for the hunt, but the pursuers omitted the broken bond that came to be with the second generation of both households.

You two may be soulmates, but you weren’t friends. Even if you were, before the dreams.

Viktor stopped to read the old signs in those buildings that still got them: canned products, fishmonger, distilled alcohol, mechanical assembling. He went towards the more destroyed looked one, fire had consumed it, where flames had been licking and devouring the material now only a dark ash stain remained. The door was gone, it seemed a mouth was ready to swallow him whole while steeping inside.

His step echoed in the place like a ripple in a calm lake, the vaulted ceiling ricocheted the sound of his voice muttering your name; a strange sound that Viktor hadn't said out loud since years ago.

It felt like blasphemy.

In the entrance, shadows were already sticking their arms towards his figure, eyes lost in the bottomless black ahead of him.

He adjusted the Hex gemstone in his hand, blue light flooding into the space, sketching the edges of the spare parts of metal and broken machines thrown carelessly into the ground. Distracting himself from the obvious, urgent matter, he eyed some metallic pieces that could be of good use, especially now that he would settle in the Undercity for some time.

Until you could figure out a way to flee from the Undercity and Piltover altogether.

Leaning down to take the pieces and examine them, the noise traveled as resounding as thunder. The pieces were mostly rusty, the metal breaking down with the tap of his cane, and his hands were stained with red.

Approaching a pile of metal that looked eerily familiar. With brows furrowed, Viktor inspected it. “A waste-cleaner golem?”

“You came.” He wasn’t used to the sound of your voice anymore.

“It has been some time.” When you didn’t answer, he shifted his position so the Hexclaw towards where your voice came from. Your features were deepened by the almost white light, a childish part of him ached at the sight of the fine line on your lips, eyes drawn low, framed by tired eyebrows. Your expression screamed you were the one who left.

“Are you staying here?” Well, what a ridiculous question to ask.

Your figure outlined against the light, hands firmly tucked against your chest, eyes adverting him. You nodded. “Nobody comes here, they said it’s haunted.”

“Well, let’s go. It’s a long way up to Piltover.”

Your eyes widened, shining like stars he hadn't seen in a long time. “Are you taking me with you?”

He furrowed. “Of course. Why would I come all the way here otherwise?

You shrugged. “I guess I’m not used to… your ways anymore.” Your kindness anymore floated around him with enough power to strand his voice.

“Eh, I believe you would be safer Topside,” he had to say, even if the grasp in his cane intensified, metal clawing at his skin. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Your eyes were darker than Viktor remembered when you gazed briefly at him, his heart leaping euphoric in his chest. There was no smile, only a heavy gaze directed towards the floor after a brief interaction of both stares. You didn’t even ask about the strange light that originated from above his shoulder, the long metallic arm looming over you like a cyclops.

“Thank you, for helping me.” You paused, almost the ghost of a smile appearing in the shadow on your lips. “I own you one.”

Viktor turned, the light directed towards the ceiling, sinking you two in darkness. That way, you couldn’t see the bitter smile contorting his face. “It’s the last thing I can do…” after I abandoned you; “for your mother’s sake.” But he didn't dare to look straight into your adult, unknown face, much less say it audible enough for you. So he only imagined his confession floating around the frozen time inside the factory.

“Let’s go before it’s nightfall," he said instead, already walking away from the golem and you, each metallic thump of his cane disguising the frenetic pulse hitting his ribcage. Viktor only looked back to tend you a bag filled with seeds, dry fruit, and one sandwich.

“Don’t you need to rest?" Mumbling, you followed him, and then again, he pretended not to note all the memories your shadows intertwined cast upon his mind, of a time when the sky shone brighter enough to lay in the riverbank and stargaze until the chilly air of the night made you hug to keep the warmth, or when the flicking light in the living room outlined your figures while trying to sneak inside the kitchen for more cookies even though it was past bedtime.

"The faster we get out of this, the better." Alleviated that you couldn't see his jaw tightened, eyes burning with angry tears. Viktor was cursing at destiny again for ousting him of the only person who could love him entirely for who he was.

Looking back at your defeated, hurtful expression, he hated himself a little more.

*~*~*~*

Life in Piltover wasn’t better, safer, yes, but you weren’t happy either. Viktor and you lived in a small apartment near the Academy District, but you rarely saw each other most of the time. He was too busy developing new Hextech devices, and you were occupied too, first studying to present your Academy admission exam, and then going to classes and making projects.

You still remembered the flicking hope of your heart, thinking that Viktor could be behind the idea.

“Not thank me, it was Jayce’s doing,” he quickly retorted while entering the house. It was way past midnight, and the already cold dinner you used to prepare before enrolling at the Academy looked strangely comical in the middle of the table, a lonely spot prepared. “Goodnight.”

"Aren't you going to eat something?" Tugging at the hem of your pajamas, your stupid heart skipped for an instant while he fixed his golden eyes on you, even if only for a second.

“No. I’m not hungry.”

You stopped trying then. Sure, you may owe him to help you out of the Undercity when the recent assassination of your mother left you with only a burned factory, rage and sadness mixing in a whirling hurricane inside your chest that every day became bigger and monstrous. The house was empty anyway, and Viktor wouldn’t notice the nights or entire days you went inside your room, only to be wrapped around in a blanket, crying with throat-tearing sobs and wails that died down as quickly as the doorknob was turned, his steps echoing in the wood as he made his direct way to his room, the first door in the hallway.

But the tears didn’t go away, only drowned in silence as you tried to pour all the emotions out, only to discover that the otherwise lake scarred in your soul was now an immense ocean, bottomless and dark.

You poured all your being into Chemistry, the studies served as the perfect excuse to avoid each other as much as possible. But even so, they were some points when you had to talk and pretend to be, at least, good roommates. For example, when Jayce visited with dinner under his arm, or every Viktor’s or your birthday.

Those were the worst days, which left you with a heavy presence of sadness inside your chest, jaw stiffen for too much pressure put on it, plastering a supposedly happy smile. But the physical pain was nothing compared with the weighted nostalgia of past joyous days that would never come back.

At least you could say Viktor and you were happy, once.

Then everything became much grimmer. Not even with the two of you trying the path would look straight again.

It was too late.

*~*~*~*

Death didn’t scare him as much as oblivion. But who will remember him? Nobody. Not only because his dreams of making human lives in the Undercity better were so far away his numbered days wouldn't be enough, but because the only people who did see him as something more than a poor genius with a lot of potential probably hated him.

And he wanted you to do that, knowing he deserved your aversion with each cold stare and detached sentences he threw at you as it was a mere obligation. He could see the gloominess clinging to your feature that nothing had to do with exhaustion, it was just hopelessness.

As he debated between dying without giving a fight, meaning you would be safe from the merciless destiny he contemplated every other night in his dreams or trying to survive only because the look on your face after knowing his diagnosis out of Jayce's mouth was enough to shatter his heart even more.

He didn’t think you could cry for him, nevertheless the pain he inflicted with total awareness into your heart. But your eyes were shining with tears, and the yellow light of the lamp on the table traced its way down your cheeks. Hands shaking, still unsure, interlaced against your lap as if to cut off the intention to extend your fingers and touch him.

Could he be more selfish? Existing only to torture you? But he didn’t want to leave you. A part of him that he loathed more than the soulmate’s dream wanted you to touch him, to jump into the side of the bed and hold him, your voice soothing his fears away as he did when you were little. Viktor never wanted to leave you in the first place, but destiny pushed him—or at least that was the lie he tried to stick into his head, but it was all an excuse.

This time, looking at the gleaming Hexcore, he was completely aware that excuses would be useless once he began to walk down that path. And he still did, believing the worst that could happen was losing his own life.

It was at that point he began to fear himself, with ashes staining his fingers, he remembered the dream where they were not grey but red, and they felt not soft against the dust, but sticky and cold, but he knew both Sky and you would share the same amount of guilt inside his mind.

I will do it again, was the only thought poisoning his brain. I will kill again. Viktor could recognize his last cue, appearing as a despairful wall he knocked into, but at least his demise would mean you would have your recovered freedom back.

Right? Stopping in his tracks, with the Enforcers lined up at each of his sides dragging him up the hallway into the improvised Council room. But while the trial developed, Viktor understood once he was cast away, you would be, too. After all, they only barely accepted you because he got Jayce to ask nicely about you joining the Academy. Now the rift between the two cities grew until becoming an unsolvable abyss that would devour you at the first opportunity.

He gritted his teeth at the thought. Once again, he tried to defy destiny, once again you would be dragged into the dirt because of him.

While walking down into the bridge that joined Zaun and Piltover, he wanted to extend his free hand and tug yours that was absently playing with one loose thread of your sweater. Viktor wished to promise that everything would be alright, returning to the Undercity meant nothing, he would never give you away. He will protect you, but would you believe him?

Sometimes, he couldn’t fully convince himself of it. His dreams would disregard, too.

“Not separate from me, yes?” he mumbled instead, the Enforcers escorted them stopping at the middle of the bridge, your steps expanding in the eerily silence of the city border, houses inhabited with their cracked walls and crashed windows. His free hand tickled when you stepped next to him.

You nodded, putting your hands inside the sweater, away from his. When Viktor looked from the corner of his eye, you had the same deep, lost expression the first he saw you inside the abandoned factory.

If the first time he couldn’t pick on it, he sure did now. The remnants of the afternoon sunlight outlining the angles of your face popped in red hues as copper inside your eyes, and hope burned down until nothing was left.

*~*~*~*

In another universe just like this once, he could have died in peace knowing you would remain safe in Piltover, concluding your Chemistry studies and becoming part of the researchers at the Academy with Jayce looking out for you from afar. He’d asked him as a last favor. You’d cried, but the tears would dry away someday, loss filled with work or hope of a better future.

You had forgotten him. And it would have been dreadful, but he'd be relieved.

This, however, was just a punishment.

When people said time would heal everything, they were lying. Even if he tried to fantasize about the possibility, Viktor knew it was of no use. In the end, it was a fantasy, a dream.

Then why did he give so much importance to the soulmate's dream? Much more if he didn't wish to believe in it.

Because he was scared his brashness could end up hurting you, as it happened back then to Sky. And his soulmate destiny prophesized just so. Viktor still remembered the first time the dream weaved together in a logical scene, like a colored movie. He would always remember the stakes he had to lose.

That he would lose you.

He woke up covered in sweat with shaky hands and feeling dizzy and lost every time. Only that he couldn’t go to you for guidance and comfort, not anymore. In this tale, he was the monster.

Time passed, unmerciful, and he did what he must to put you in a safe place—further than at arm’s length. Viktor drifted you apart from him, enrolling at Piltover’s Academy, trying to convince himself all the soulmate-related stories were charades he was actively fighting against. Maybe that way he could forget you and drive away the nightmares that plagued his nights.

But they never left. You never left. Not even now, when his soulmate's dreams were supposed to be long gone.

It was good he didn’t need to sleep as much anymore, a very good improvement.

Sitting alone in his laboratory equipped in the old factory he found you years ago, he contemplated absently the tools arranged neatly on the worktable, the metal shining against the permanently lighten Hexclaw now implanted in his shoulder. His metallic fingers touched the worn-out wood, leaving a slight scratch on the surface.

Viktor could pretend all his augmentations were searching for his prior goal of saving his life, even improving his physiognomy while carving the way into his dream of helping the people of Zaun. But they were secondary, deep down he knew it.

He was trying to outrun the human part of him that feared his dream, that was terrified of death, thinking once he reached a certain point, he would just stop being human, he would stop feeling his stomach fluttering each time he caught a peek of your hair going inside your laboratory.

If he wasn’t human anymore, then he could stop caring about you. But then why he wanted to stop fearing only so he could love you freely again? Fear was the only thing that blocked him from bursting out his feelings for you.

He sighed, a distilled, bright yellow liquid shining on a needle. It was supposed to block temporally the fear receptors in the human brain, your last invention answering his petition. And yet he couldn’t gather the courage to prove it.

Blitzcrank went out the further room localized in the second plant of the factory rustic remodeling using mostly discarded items and the three imaginative capacities to thinker decorations. Viktor saw the golem closing the door with a soft movement of his gigantic hands, almost making no sound at all.

It meant you were sleeping.

The golem’s valvules whistled with released steam when he descended the stairs with muffled metallic sounds thanks to an old carpet covering the steps.

“How is she?" he tried to sound as uninterested as when you talked to him, but the robot was his creation, after all, restless nights upon hectic days between his patients and his side projects, adding the enormous effort he had to make to avoid you, or at least to try not no to engage as much as he could.

"Mother is recovering quickly," he said, eyes flicking while seeing Viktor pondering on his worktable. "Do wish to see her?"

“No, y/n must be sleeping at this point.”

“That’s the reason I ask, Father. You seem to prefer looking at Mother while she doesn’t notice.”

His brows furrowed. “That’s— that’s none of your concern. Go see the patients, Blitzcrank.”

“Mother was right. You are ang—”

“Blitzcrank, now.”

The golem tried to shrug, only sinking his head inside his round body. Viktor noticed him doing it as another one of the gestures he copied from you. Turning around and walking away, he briefly thought you had made a very cheeky, unfilial robot.

Of course, he didn’t dare to complain.

The golem went inside the back room where Viktor's patients were treated, the second bigger room in the house aside from his lab, something like looked somehow like a clinic, even if it wasn't even close to one real Piltovan hospital.

Only when he was sure Blitzcrank was inside the room, he dared to stand up from his stool and make his way into the second floor.

You seem to prefer looking at Mother while she doesn’t notice. He mumbled something under his breath about Blitzcrank being so meddlesome for being a gigantic robot. But Viktor stopped right in from of your room, in the middle of the hallway, between your own little lab and Viktor's bedroom—even if he barely went inside anyway.

It was an unspoken deal, the first plant was his territory, and the upper floor was yours. He barely went up; you seldom went down unless you were required to assist him with some patient while the golem was on his regular missions of cleaning the nearest body of water and recovering some metal spare parts.

Being here felt wrong. But part of him wanted to be sure you were okay. He knew he never should let you go out on a mission with Blitzcrank, after all, the golem was almost indestructible. You were still human. And Chembaron Rey hadn't forgotten the gigantic debt his parents leaked from his Shimmer inventory to create new, more helpful variants. A burned that only fell into your shoulders now.

He could still feel the way his stomach seemed to sink at his feet when the robot entered carrying you in his arms, barely conscious and bleeding. The golem explained that you two ran into some of Rey’s minions while searching for the source of pollution of the river. They recognized you and wanted to take you away to pay for your parent’s deeds that not even death could forgive.

Blitzcrank could defend himself, but he left you out from infiltrating the bowels of the factory, not contemplating some minions were patrolling the place from all angles. Luckily, you were a competent fighter since you were kids, your parents were too self-aware of the dangerous heists they committed, preparing their only child to defend herself when the time comes.

Leaning his forehead against your door, he remembered you didn’t like to fight, though. You two were one of the few kids in the Undercity that didn’t have to fight with nails and teeth to survive.

Until now. But you weren’t children anymore.

“I want to go with Blitzcrank,” you had stated in the early morning, one of the peculiar days you spoke to him directly. “I’m not asking you for permission.”

“That’s not new of you.” Of course, he had to blabber nonsense now. Viktor wanted to take that back, but his pride won't let him. "You're not going. What if you end up hurt?"

“I prefer it that staying here alone with you all day.”

And that commentary made him angry. "Suit yourself then, but not come here to bother me if you end up wounded."

And you didn’t. Blitzcrank entered and he complied to take you to your bedroom after throwing in the ground all the spare parts Viktor asked him to recollect on his way back. Even if he wanted to say something about your clothes stained with blood, Viktor pretended not to care, back hunched into his worktable even if his hands were empty from any tinkering device.

But he did care, perhaps a little too much. That was his problem.

He opened the door and peeked at the dark inside, the Hexclaw misdirecting its light against the wall so it wouldn't wake you up. But Viktor couldn't distinguish your figure on the bed, everything was lost in black.

Thinking about the experimental serum he made, still shining like pure sunlight on the table, he imagined a world where he was valiant enough to inject himself with it, to cross the threshold of your door and sit at the edge of your bed just to see you were sleeping at ease.

Maybe in that world, he would deserve to have you as his soulmate.

Viktor closed the door and went down the stairs. The golem was already there, watching him as he descended each step.

"What did she ask you?" he said stepping to the bottom of the stairs. It was pointless to try to hide the truth from Blitzcrank.

“If you were angry at her, for ended up hurt.”

He couldn't even dare to look in the direction of your bedroom for the rest of the night.

Destiny was cruel, but Viktor was crueler.

That was the reason he despised himself so much.

He should’ve just let you go, but he was selfish. Oh, so selfish. And he was terrified. Every threat here could end up in your death—and he would be guilty of it, no matter how indirect his presence could be.

Viktor would only look back at his dreams mockingly repeating: I told you so.

Now he didn't sleep as much as an average human would need, but he still took naps from time to time, mostly with his head leaned against his folded arms over the worktable on lazy and silent nights like this one.

Once again, he was woken up by Blitzcrank moving his shoulder slightly. The golem couldn't show emotions, but his words always highlighted his mood.

“Do you still have dreams, Father? Mother told me she lost them years ago.”

I don’t think she’s talking about the same dreams. “Yes, I do.”

“And how dreams work, Father?” The golem sat on the ground in front of Viktor’s table, attentive to everything he could say.

“I’m not well versed in that matter, but I believe we pick up elements from our everyday life and then we mixed it with past experiences and any strong emotion we could be feeling.” He paused, unsure to continue. “They… they tend to be illogical.”

Blitzcrank stretched his fingers. “Then they can’t be trusted.” Viktor nodded. “But why do you trust yours so much then?”

Maybe it was the eerie silence that extended, not even Blitz’s valvules filling them, or perhaps the culpable was himself, finally surrendering to reality.

“There’s only one dream that would become reality, Blitzcrank. That’s why I trust it even if I don’t want to.”

The robot seemed cautious now. “May I ask what the dream it’s about, Father?”

"I…" his voice faded out. "She… she dies in my dream." Swallowing, with a broken voice, he added, as if to cut off any doubt, even if every syllable was coated with the bitter acre taste of blood. "She dies right in my arms."

It's my fault, if I love her, she would die right in my arms.

If only it were so easy to fall out of love with you.

*~*~*~*

Blitzcrank was out on a mission when you woke up the next morning. It could be a possibility Viktor was the one behind such a tricky plan, but you quickly discarded the idea. In your slumber last night, you heard the door cracked open, and even if an immature, stupid part of you wished it were him.

“Blitz?” you muttered, sitting down at the edge of your creaking bed. But the robot wasn’t at the threshold holding a glass of water. “What are you doing?”

“You slept in, so I came to check if you are alright.” He looked slightly flustered, fidgeting with the glass rim, and tapping at its bottom.

"I'm alright, thanks." Your side screamed in agony as you tried to stretch your left leg into the ground, with lips pressed firmly together, you went on moving as if a sharply burning bolt wasn't traveling all the way from your waist into your head. "You can go now, I'm sure you're busy."

He was always for you, anyway.

"In fact, Blitzcrank told me to help you stand up until he could go back." It was a half-lie, but you didn't have the chance to verify until the return of the golem.

You blinked slowly, a sarcastic laugh trying to bubble out your throat. “I don’t need to go out anywhere.” Please just leave me alone. "Besides, you told me not to bother you, so I won't." Each one of your words made his adverting eyes wider, and you knew that if he could still blush, his face and neck would be painted with hot pink.

"I didn't—I didn't mean it," his voice sounded strained. "I'm sorry."

"You should leave," you said softly, tucking your legs inside the covers and turning your back towards his figure standing half in the hallway and half in your room, that way he couldn't see the wince of the pain of your rash movements, feeling the stitching in your waist began to damp; "before I began to believe you still care for me. It's wicked."

You heard his sharp inhale before the door was shut closed.

When tears blurred your vision, you blamed the stab wound.

Hours passed, and the light began to dim, but the golem didn't return. Anxiety rose from the pit of your stomach to your throat. You heard familiar steps going up and down the stairs, but always stopping midway into the hallway before going back.

You were losing blood with every minute you kept laying in bed, and you were aware of the stupid mortal situation yourself was placed into. Too proud to call Viktor for help, too weak to stand up and do the stitches yourself, too unlucky to hope for an early arrival of Bliztcrank now that you needed him the most.

But another part, the one that every day contaminated with thoughts of giving up slowly crept into your mind, turning off the rapid heartbeat rushing in your ears, dimming the sunlight, and filling in with penumbras the little bedroom's surroundings.

Sweat covered your brow, a fever running into your veins, but you never felt colder. Every blow of air from the ajar window made your teeth clatter.

You tucked further into the covers, shallow breaths barely moving the fabric. Perhaps it was the best, that way you would stop pestering Viktor. This almost half a decade had been a complete hell for both of you, and you knew you were the only guilty part.

Your mother should never ask him for help, the old golden days were gone since the first time the damned soulmate's dream made itself clear. A sad smile broke into your dry lips, thinking of all the possibilities when another stranger ended up being your soulmate, someone far away from Zaun or even Piltover. You would be like those hundreds, maybe thousands, of people who never met their soulmates.

And it would have been better. But of course, it had to be him. The only friend you could maintain over your younger days, he had to be your soulmate and he had despised you since he, too, realized.

But then why did he come back? You couldn't avoid hating him, even if only a little. What a such grim life, and all for what? You weren't sure.

If you don’t love me, then let me go.

Shivering, you closed your eyes when fatigue sieged each limb. The wound stopped pulsing, and the sounds traveled from far away, muffled as if you were underwater.

If you don’t love me, then let me go.

Years trapped inside this bedroom, this floor, this factory. You finally glimpsed an exit, outlined in bloody bedsheets and sweaty clothes. You could almost touch the dark, cold handle.

Further away, in another world, someone shook you up.

“…bleeding out… infection…”

“…urgent intervention.”

You wanted to push the hands away as they pick you up, descending the stairs. No! You didn't want to go. You were too tired to pretend you could endure this life.

“…let me… go," you tried to babbler, but you could barely move your lips. Everything was too further away to try and grasp it.

You thought it was another one of your delusions, only talking in your head. But then the one carrying you spoke back, putting you on a cold metal table, and the icy surface imprinted in your bones.

“I can’t,” Viktor muttered, nearer than his voice could ever be, hands cupping your cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

*~*~*~*

Blitzcrank went to retrieve Shimmer, among other tools. Both of them knew your aversion to the neon pink drug, but your wound was too deep to pretend it could heal on its own without a real doctor and proper care.

It was the only way to survive, and sure you did. Viktor made a mix between Shimmer and other substances to recreate the one running for his own body—and the dozens of patients he’d helped.

When you woke up you felt the energy filling every cell of your body, senses sharp and ready to snap at the minimum stimulation. The place was unknown, you weren't in the common intervention area, but it wasn't your room either.

Which only meant…

You jumped out of the bed, of Viktor’s bed, to be precise. The room was almost bare except for some piles of books tucked against the wall and a closed closet, curtains drawn, the room was dark.

“Where are you going?” His eyes lighten up like golden traps ready to snatch at his prey. “I believe you aren’t completely recovered.” He was sitting on a chair in the darkness, one of his legs resting against his left knee, Hexclaw turned off.

“You inject me with Shimmer.” The reclaim wasn’t as much for the drug as for the fact he saved you even when you told him explicitly not to. “My parents died for the thing traveling down my veins and you still put it inside me?"

“I didn’t have a choice.” Your jaw clenched while he adverted your pink glare.

“You had always had a choice regarding me, why not now?” You decided to despise me; your words felt like acid, hatred buried down for years resurfacing now his familiar face couldn’t lead you away with self-piteous memories of the past. “I never thought you could be so selfish.”

“I can’t let a patient die if is in my hands to save—”

“I’m NOT your patient!” You laughed, and your dry throat went sore. "I'm nothing to you, I guess I shouldn't even be surprised."

"Did you really want me to let you die?" If the curtains were open, he would've seen you cry.

“You can’t pretend you don’t know the answer,” you snarled, nails digging blood from your palm, the sudden pain distracting you from crying. You were too tired to shed tears for nothing. “Do you enjoy making me miserable? Answer me!”

There was a knot installed in your throat, making every word out and tearing your voice in irregular notes. "You kept me like a specimen, close enough not to lose it, but as possibly far as it could be because it’s repulsive.”

He scoffed. “For things like this is why I wish you weren’t my soulmate.”

Silence expanded, consuming any reply that could be forming. Hot tears accumulated on the border of your eyes. Furious fingers went for the doorknob, the cold metal welcoming a hurt, raging body.

You opened the door and gray light illuminated the veiled look of pure hostility you gave the sitting shadow behind you.

“If you wished so, then you would have let me die.”

He blinked, resentment dimming in his twin golden flames. “Wait—"

“Your people are being killed because Rey wants to lure you into giving me to him,” you snorted barely, a low sound that was muffled with the creaking of the door. “But you do not seem to care? I want to know why.” Your nails dug in the wood, but the tears weren’t stopping. “If you hate me, you should let me go. All your problems would solve if I leave.”

"Then you would end up dead," he retorted, stood up, and went with two decisive steps towards you, not too close to feel your warmth, but enough so the light could bathe him too. “I make a promise to your mother to keep you safe.”

“She’s dead!" you yelled, feeling the strings on your heart being pulled to a breaking point. “Ghosts don't matter, Viktor. They’re in the past, just like… like us.”

His eyes widened, lips before pressed in a thin line, now falling into forming a slightly open 'O', eyebrows arched, he looked like a child, and you couldn’t hate him more for it.

”We… we were happy before, I'm sure we were." With voice broken, you tried to search his eyes for an answer, where all that disdain originated from, unsuccessfully. “But we’re not those children anymore, we will never come back. ”

You had to lean into the door for support when you lost your balance, cold wood against your boiling brow; a pulse in your side remembering to not push you too hard.

“You didn’t have to love me, not like that. It would have been enough for me to remain friends. But you… retreat, you left. And I would never know why,” you chuckled, succumbing to the sobs piling up in your throat. “I remember when I had nightmares in the old apartment, I comment that darkness wasn’t as scary as what Rey could do to me when he finds me, but guess what? This is much worse.”

He called out your name, like a plea for you to stop.

“Then you should have let me rest in peace! ” your wail caught him off guard. His nose wrinkled when he growled:

“I did it to protect you!”

“Don’t pretend you care for me after everything—” you swallowed, throat went sore but you were nowhere done. “Viktor, you aren’t responsible for me or my actions by any means. Death is out of your control, no matter how much you want to convince yourself it isn’t. My death is always present. I’m not like you, I’m going to die sooner or later because my body is built that way. Neither it’s an accident or an assault, it’s not your fault not your duty to stop it.” Your voice was a mere whisper, thin and broken. “I don’t want you to stop it.”

He loomed over you like a dark giant, burning gaze and tense muscles, but he didn’t say anything.

“Please just let me go,” you said blatantly, slipping into the hallway to the first plant and then inside the back room. Not even once you looked back.

Not even when you felt his gaze follow your every step down the stairs.

*~*~*~*

It was another empty, boring afternoon with neither patients nor any new project to work on. Viktor went out after some minutes you went inside the back room and closed the door behind you, making no sound besides the clear slam of the metallic door, and Blitzcrank was out on a mission, retrieving more Shimmer and other solutions, as you could peek into the crooked shelves hanged in the south and east walls of the room, empty glasses shining with the residuals of the pink drug.

The metallic table when Viktor and Blitzcrank treated you was still dirty, a worn-out fabric that once was part of one of your shirts tossed into the surface stained with black spots where your blood spilled and dried.

Your hands answer your plea to distract as you went to retrieve some clothes to clean off the place and wash the empty glass vessels, occupying the last hours of clear light before the windows built in the superior part of the wall tinted with a dirty red, almost brown.

It was dark when you closed the door of the back room, the laboratory dimly illuminated by the emergency lights, nor was the golem or Viktor coming back yet.

The place never felt more bigger and solitary, thinking that in the shadows of the factory loomed the ghosts of those restless workers that were only trying to help their people.

“Dad?” you muttered into a dark corner, your voice echoed pitifully into the void. "I'm sorry. Please tell mom that I’m sorry, too.”

Your steps became lighter against the concrete up the stairs, your ears attentive to any new sound coming from the main entrance. The hallway was dark as you stumbled into its end, opening Viktor’s room. Ignoring the sour memories of your last conversation, you approached the window, barely locked with a rusty hook that gave up with one light pull.

You looked back at the unmade bed, the seat Viktor occupied while you were unconscious directing your vision towards the closed door. But you climbed the window’s sill nevertheless.

It was too late; it was too much.

Hoping outside, the cold air of the night gave you chills. You waited for a few blinks to your eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness, the edges of the buildings illuminated by faint moonlight.

It had been a long time since you used your skill to slip out of your parent's house when unwelcomed guests arrived, breaking the door, and raiding the place. Those times you ran away into the alleyway that, after jumping at the other side, began in a street that led you straight into Viktor’s home.

We’re not those children anymore, we will never be again.

With a sad smile, you jumped.

*~*~*~*

Viktor had a lot of time to think over the soulmate dream once he put you in his bedroom and closed the door to let you rest. During all the procedure his hands would've shaken if they weren't augmented, but the fear never let his side, leaving chilly breaths in the back of his neck every time he saw your pale face, lips partly open.

Your last words shook him so deeply, it was probably his pretended shell that was affected with some cracks once he finished.

Would the dream be over now that he got you dying in his arms? After all, it was exactly what the dream foretold. There was blood covering his hands, and you were pale, with fluttering eyelids.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror, a defeated expression washed over his face as a grimace, flat lips in a tense line, furrowed brows, and dropped shoulders. Was it over? But at what cost?

Viktor wanted to cry at the new shocking discovery that destiny wasn’t cruel, he was the heartless one. In other circumstances, if he would've just pushed aside his fear and taken on any other challenge, this would've never happened.

Putting harshly aside the strands of hair falling onto his face, he rolled against the wall into the floor, legs falling against the cold tiles. In another life, he would take you to Piltover to live there together until they both decided to come back into aiding your hometown. He probably would’ve married you if you’d had him.

But now? Even if he wanted to start over, he knew you would never let him. He hoped you didn’t.

You weren’t friends anymore, and every day you became more enemies than strangers. He heard the hatred in your voice, and as much as his heart shattered, he knew he deserved it.

He had lost you, and probably the thing that hurt the most was that he was an active part of it—he was the only reason. Your love could only go so far facing cold disdain and fake courtesy.

What to do? He was stuck. Viktor didn’t have the guts to apologize, because what an apology could do? And he dreaded to tell you the truth, how would you see him if he told you that in the soulmate’s dream, he let you die?

He didn’t even know if you considered him a monster now that he wasn’t human anymore. How much of a monster can he become in your eyes?

Viktor was already stressed out when you opened your eyes, but his nerves rise to a breaking point when you told him you wanted to die.

Wasn’t destiny so twisted?

He didn’t wander far, staying in front of the building in case you wanted to go out without him or Blitzcrank, tucked against one crumbled wall of an old factory of canned food. My death isn’t on you, you said.

Was it the truth? He should tell you, about the dream. But Viktor wasn’t thinking straight since your procedure. He did everything wrong, from the beginning, and now it didn’t seem like it could deserve a return point.

When he entered the factory, it was dark and quiet.

He sat carelessly in front of his worktable, the Hexclaw illuminated in a golden hue the instruments and part of the stairs, and the clock in a wall chimed midnight while he was thinking about how to proceed.

You were quiet, too. The golem that used to make your company was on a mission on the opposite side of the city, from where he wouldn't be supposed to come back until tomorrow afternoon. Should he go to check on you? But what if you were still awake?

The needle with the yellow liquid enlightened with the artificial light was mocking him. A solution as desperate and ridiculous as he felt.

Viktor was beginning to think he couldn’t stretch this situation much longer, not when the bitter sensation of almost losing you still made his chest press despite trying to convince himself it was only a reaction to extreme stress.

The reality was he was more aware than ever of how important you were to him. But he didn't have the guts to go talk to you after the terribly wrong encounter you two have earlier. He took a couple of deep breaths, taking the cold metal of the syringe, heavier it was supposed to be.

It wasn’t the first time he tested his, or your, formulas on himself, but this one the first occasion he would do so while fulfilling his agenda.

He didn’t make a sound when the needle pierced over the tube that would make the drug travel down his entire body.

When he sprinted upstairs, fearing how much time the effect would hold, the heavy sensation seated in his stomach intensified when you weren't in your lab. Your notes weren’t there, just as some of the vials filled with tested liquids.

Frowning, he knocked into your dormitory. Nobody answered, not even when he pronounced your name. Opening the door, only the bare bed welcomed him with a dried-blood stain on the mattress.

You weren’t there, not in the bathroom, not in the back room when he ran downstairs, hoping to see you napping there.

Could it be? A ball began to tangle in his stomach, made of rusty wire and scraps of pointy metals, picking into every muscle and organ, fabricated or not. It was fear, dread making its way up his throat, accelerating his breath, making his pulse rage in his ears.

His bedroom was empty, too. But he caught the window open slightly, wind moving the tied curtain.

You were gone.

A gasp escaped his lips as he collapsed to the ground, both hands deep against his scalp, pulling his hair out of desperation.

“Collect yourself, she can’t be very far.” Before he could know what he was doing, Viktor was already sprinting out of the factory, metallic echoes navigating between the building corpses that looked like their broken windows, laughing at him.

The streets were as empty as his heart felt, depleted of adrenaline once he encountered the end of the industrial zone. Running, his breath got out like fog with each pant he gave, but the gigantic industrial zone was deserted no matter how many times he circled each corner.

You aren’t responsible for me or my actions by any means. Was that your way to tell him…?

He stopped.

“What did you do?” he grumbled, but for once his fury wasn't there when he wished to vent. Replaced by unfathomable hopelessness. “Oh, Janna, what did I do?”

#dedicated to my impostor syndrome #arcane viktor #viktor fanfic #arcane viktor x reader #viktor/you #arcane viktor x you #viktor/reader #machine herald x reader #Viktor the Machine Herald #arcane fanfic #machine herald viktor x reader #arcane angst #it had to be you it'll always be you #my thingies :)

79 notes · View notes

togetherhearted · 2 years

Text

Hi! Just leaving the most self indulgent Machine herald x reader here. My little heart beats for this augmented man.

MACHINE HERALD X READER-SNUGGLES

Viktor never felt the need to rest. His new augmented body made him more like a cyborg than a human. He got rid of plenty of emotions and some urges but for you he could try to take some time off work.

He jokingly said you seduced him into healthy patterns. You were flattered in all honesty.

Still, even if he was trying to take a better care of himself, he reluctantly left his lab most of the times. He was dedicated to his work and his idea to help Zaun.

You could hear his heavy steps approaching the bedroom. You put the book on the nightstand and waited for him with a little smile.

Once in the room he got rid of the mask to nervously kiss you. He wasn't accustomed to affection yet. Then he laid down next to you.

You honestly thought that the bed was reaching the point of cracking under his weight. His metal body wasn't as heavy as a feather.

Viktor looked at you in silence and, like a cat, put his head against your hand. A silent sign he wanted to be pampered. You snickered and caressed his hair.

Your man didn't need to sleep that much anymore, but he closed his eyes and snuggled with you.

A chuckle left your lips and kept stroking his locks.

It was a matter of time you joined him in a peaceful slumber.

#viktor #viktor x reader #viktor the machine herald #machine herald x reader #machine herald #lol #lol x reader #league of legends x reader #leagueoflegends #league of legends #x reader

139 notes · View notes

madschiavelique · 2 years

Text

𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐝𝐲𝐬, 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐲𝐬

mentions of : alcohol - being drunk, blood, death, murder, war and battlefield moments, fights, crushed jaw, general violence summary : reader is very drunk, and when Machine Herald comes back from negotiations, he is very surprised to find them in such a state some extra information on this : gender-neutral reader, I mostly use Viktor instead of repeating Machine Herald in this, viktor tends to reader's wounds from a fight they had, kind of an enemies to lovers situation, "who did this to you" author's note : hey besties hope y'all are doing well :) this is a little treat for y'all, currently working on some multiple chapter fic with our fav skeleton material man but for the moment u can have this 10,4k word thing hehe enjoy! (also sorry if you find any grammar mistakes English is not my native language so hfehjxs yeah)

( @wincestisasincest here is a treat, mwah <3)

The flickering fluorescent blue liquid from your bottle of Nedys glows in the darkness. It's a vibrant blue, a jellyfish blue. You wouldn't think at first that this drink was made of brewed Thal. At least if you didn't know the drink was made of blue crabs you wouldn't have guessed it. It looks like a mixture of milk and water that has been dyed, and if you didn't know what it was you might have bet on a coloured kid's juice. This Nedys is not bad, it apparently comes from a tiny countryside called Celirr whose presence on this continent you barely remember. But you didn't ask yourself any more questions about its origin or its producers. What interests you in this bottle is its content and its effects, that is to say: to make you a minimum of sober up. You spent your whole night downing bottles of Carmethys, you don't even remember where you put them. Anyway, it's effective. It's strange, alcohol, it numbs you, tickles you, and turns you into a child. A few shots and you're as happy as a newbie passing his first engineering exam. A few more and you become as sentimental and depressed as a moon or a retrograde. And if you continue, you can even become dangerous, temperamental and angry. As far as you are concerned, you are in the middle of the stage that could be considered the pensive state. It is in these moments that your mind starts to pull out topics and memories, to lose yourself. You go so far as to wonder what the last thing you ate was and then think about how long it would take you to start a Thal farm yourself and brew your own Nedys.

Thinking about it, you take another sip of the drink, putting the bottle back on the floor. You rest your head against the cool wall, your legs stretched out and slightly apart on the floor. You must look like a poor puppet, a slouching marionette without the bonds that hold it together. And that's how you feel, like a puppet manipulated by something bigger. This feeling has been running through your mind since today, since a few hours in fact. The revelation hit you just before you started your chain of black bottles of Carmethys. You feel like a mere pawn in Singed's Machiavellian chessboard. You are lucky... You giggle alone like an idiot in the silence of his flats. You are lucky to have graduated from the College of Tecmaturgy as one of the first in engineering, an inconsiderate and incomparable privilege that has opened many doors and opportunities for you. Pfft, let them take that damn degree back, you don't want it, you don't want it anymore, you never really wanted it anyway. It's brought you nothing but trouble so far.

Eight months ago, that 'benefactor' Singed took you on as an apprentice. What apparently turned him on to you were your skills that you were willing to contribute for the good of Zaun and not Piltover. You never really appreciated it, but the opportunity was golden, how could you not jump on it? To be housed, clothed, fed, for the modest sum of existing. You couldn't find a better deal.

Of course it's not enough for you to breathe the filtered air of his laboratory compared to the polluted and dusty air of Zaun's bowels, no.

These last few months of your life have consisted of nothing but things that never change, only their order varied: assisting Singed in his work, training to fight, killing your 'enemies' and spending time in the lab developing new technologies for the sake of Zaun's Glorious Evolution. Some of these points are not much different, the violence performed is almost the same. It seems that it is this attraction to advanced and revolutionary technologies that justified him taking you on as his second apprentice. You would be surprised if he took you on for your physical appearance and subtle charms. Yet the previous months had begun to rebuild your body and its abilities, taking you from puny and malnourished to athletic and healthy. Why as a second apprentice? Well, because there's that other idiot who was there before. The tall, dark, gloomy guy who rocked the whole Entresol Level and destroyed the Pilties by taking on their Golden Boy and his armies.

The one who hides behind a helmet and perpetually rebuilds his body, the one who thinks he's the most powerful and glorious, to whom everything is owed, and who thinks he's right no matter what he does when he's blinded by this lust for change. He's probably going to hate you when he sees the state you're in and where you are... Not that it changes anything about the relationship. It's quite simple, from the moment you arrived as Singed's second apprentice, our dearest dark-haired man never stopped thinking of you as the dirt on his perfectly polished leather boots from whatever droid he designed: the sticky dirt that you have to get rid of in order to get everything back to normal, the dirt that bothers you, that's hard to clean. What an asshole... However, you feel betrayed by that inner limb, the one that pumps blood, the one that decides whether to keep you alive or to stop everything, and the one that against all odds condemns you to enjoy other souls more than you need to. For your attraction to him is now undeniable, which is one of the reasons you're drinking tonight among others. You think it's far too harsh a realisation with the fact that you no longer want to be Singed's apprentice. All that killing, that blood soaked into your hands, staining them. Painful to get rid of on your skin and clothes, but tattooed with indelible ink in your memory. If you close your eyes you can still see the little spark of life in the eyes of an innocent disappear as quickly as a flake melting on the heat of your tongue.

Your nights are haunted by the screams, by the sound his third arm makes, slicing the air with its laser, piercing skin as easily as a knife through butter. Its buzzing, sizzling, humming like a death whisper, invades your rare moments of peace. And that smell... that smell of grilled flesh, of smoke, that metallic scent of blood makes you sick to your stomach. But you restrain yourself from spilling your insides, you don't want to soil mister's beautiful, clean and polished polyurethane floors. Because yes, in your absent-mindedness and drunkenness, you found yourself in his chambers instead of yours. "He's going to kill me..." Your voice is slightly broken, you screamed the day before yesterday on the battlefield as someone kept coming back for more. The alcohol doesn't help, of course, with its heat in your throat, but it does have the advantage of numbing the painful parts.

Alcohol numbs everything. Thoughts, nightmares, sensations. But it strengthens your emotions, makes you melancholic, maybe joker who knows. The effect varies for everyone after all. But that's why you fill yourself with it tonight, to forget everything, to numb everything. You don't want any more of this, you don't want your own thoughts to make you want to vomit, you don't want murder to be your daily routine, you don't want to feel forced to leave the room when the other one is around to prevent him from trying to probe your vitals and discover the hidden truth of your feelings for him. You're hopeful that your thoughts will be clouded enough that he won't notice, but you're probably dreaming. At this point you don't care, he could shout the worst insults in the world at you and you wouldn't react. Alcohol also has that effect, giving you courage, or underlining your madness, your silliness and your weaknesses. You look down, staring at your chest, face to face with your heart. "What were you thinking, you idiot… why did it have to be him, hum?" What a fool you are, talking to your heart, what the hell. Your eyes return to the void. Maybe you'd better move before he returns. He's due back today from negotiations with the same enemies you were fighting the day before yesterday. Or maybe it's morning? It's hard to tell when you spend most of your time in a city deep in the ground, it's always dark outside the lab windows.

And now you don't know what to do.

Leave? You don't even know if you have the strength to get up, you're tired and there's too much alcohol coursing through your veins. The effort would probably knock you out and you would have even more problems when you wake up. Stay and face your "teammate"? Staying risks a lot, one of the last sometimes unpleasant virtues of alcohol is that it unties your tongue. You might say something you'd regret. You'd be kicked out, at least he'd have helped you move, if he deigns to help you. And as you continue this inner monologue, weighing the pros and cons, you hear the distinct sound of a pad being keyed with a security code and an airlock opening. Damn, he's back. Viktor. Heavy footsteps echo on the smooth floor, the heaviness of leather and metal is incomparable, there is only one pair of boots with the same heaviness in this city. The airlock closes with a sound of sucked-in air.

Viktor always has this weight in his step, as if he is constantly carrying all the crimes he has committed. There are so many of them, and some in which you participated willingly. But his gait is by no means melancholic, it is dark and threatening. He's so hard to follow, his long legs always moving at twice the pace of yours, his cloak flapping in the air on missions and his arm twisting mechanically like a third eye that sees everything as a target. You'd step on his damn cape, it would strangle him a bit and surprise him, although his throat isn't really fleshy anymore...

It's so complicated to detect emotions under his helmet, this mask he wears and that changes him so much. The famous one he wears almost constantly, obscuring his voice, making it sunless and static. From what you can hear so far, he didn't take it off when he came in. The lights switch on suddenly, causing you to squeak and groan. You squeeze your eyelids tightly, grumbling. He could have left the lights off.

Your complains must not have been the quietest, because you hear his heavy footsteps coming towards where you are slumped. It's surprising that he didn't sense your presence as soon as he entered, as he is so sensitive to heat sources and the presence of those within fifty metres of him. He has this bad habit of trying to get into the mind of everything that moves, which is obviously most annoying.

Among the many improvements to his body that Viktor had been able to make during his evolution, he had managed in a way that escaped you to allow him, via particular waves, to read the thoughts of others – an improvement particularly useful for his enemies and concerning other negotiations that allowed him to test the sincerity of potential allies. At the beginning of your cooperation, he was constantly intruding into your mind. You quickly learned to block him by creating a chip that developed magnetic fields capable of interrupting this enhancement. Keeping some semblance of privacy within Zaun is an imperative, albeit complex, thing. You have repeatedly caught him trying to break in, without success. Your body was alerting you to a change in the waves surrounding you to warn you of his attempts. And that's for the best, he doesn't need to see your weaknesses and even less to know that he's part of them. " What are you doing here?" His mechanical voice, slightly pierced by a static hum, sounds annoyed, cold. His accent is as always monotonous, separating each syllable as if his tongue cut each one distinctly and took little care in pronouncing the vowels.

You open your eyes again, he's standing two meters in front of you, his eternal helmet in place and his cloak floating slightly above the ground, his third arm examining you. His tone is visibly exasperated, not surprisingly, he would probably have preferred to spend a quiet evening without having to deal with the second apprentice who is drunk at the moment. "Do you really care?" You push slightly on your voice, raw and cracked. You don't really like the situation, though you are your own executioner. Letting Viktor see you in this weakened state upsets you. Why is he so stoic, so inexpressive with that mask? He is motionless, not moving a millimetre, his cloak stabilising in the absence of movement. There is a small silence, your answer apparently does not satisfy him. "What are you doing here?" he repeats, his tone slightly different but not deviating from his irritation. You take your bottle of Nedys in hand and take a sip to help your throat respond. You are lucky enough that he did not raise his voice. You put the bottle back down. "I think it's pretty obvious. I am sobering up." He says nothing again, who knows the way his eyes look at you through his helmet.

Honestly, you don't know if you'd rather find out, it's probably better that way.

The show must satisfy him : you, his daily pain in the ass, completely wrecked to Carmethys.

"How did you get in?" You don't even think you know the answer to his question anymore. Both of your flats open with codes that you enter on a HoloPad. Maybe you opened it with an accidental malfunction? You don't remember, alcohol scrambles your mind. "How were the negotiations?" Bravo, deflecting the subject, it will get you out of the question if he doesn't push more on this one. He knows full well that you have no interest in negotiation discussions, which is why he takes care of every meeting with the other councils in Zaun and other regions. And of the two of you, he is undoubtedly the most convincing. There is a silence, you wonder what he thinks. Although you probably have the ability to rack your brains and produce an improvement similar to Viktor's for penetrating minds, you had never started a construction like this. Obviously, you had been curious about the ideas in that skull of his, but you had never tried. His meddling in your mind makes you feel as if he always knows everything, ready to say "I'll crack your head open like an egg and fry your thoughts".

Compared to him, you are still under-trained. Your mastery of various weapons and technologies is improving, and you will soon be able to build a weapon for your own use and of your own design.

You made some progress in chemistry, helping you greatly in some of the advances in biological weapons. Singed says that you need to call upon the biggest darkness, the deepest shadows within you and transform all these aspects into your motivation. You never thought it would be so complicated, you just have to be angry. It makes you wonder if Viktor has been intentionally playing on your nerves from the beginning to release your hatred and drive forward your training as a devotion to your work... No, Viktor doesn't help, he gets rid of the things that get in the way of his plans as quickly and efficiently as possible. He's probably already thought about killing you. Maybe he's thinking about finishing you off right now. What a perfect opportunity, with you at his mercy : weak, drunk, and unable to defend yourself. You are going to be wiped out, like a word on a blackboard, one swoosh of the duster on complicated equations because you are the problem in the problem.

It would be a thorn out of his side to remove you. Maybe he'd do it the easy way, a quick, smoking hole betwee, your eyes with his third arm. Or if he's feeling theatrical and sadistic he might eventually want to thrust his sceptre slowly into your flesh, revelling in your disappearance from his life and the end of the little spark in your eyes. Right now your inner euphoria is ebbing, fading, you're starting to feel sad now, gloomy. You feel Viktor trying to intrude your mind, but your chip still manages to push him away. "Are you drunk?" It doesn't take an upgrade or enhancement to figure this out, your attitude and what you said earlier certify his words. Nevertheless, his tone suggests surprise. "We can't hide anything from you." He remains motionless, probably wondering how he will get rid of you. Supposedly, he could throw you out of the room, his anger would be enough to lift you off the floor and move you. But would he spend his energy and time to do such an action? Especially if it involves you? You doubt it very much. This voiceless observation of each other is beginning to bother you. Viktor is not chatty by nature. Whenever you get together it is for training or on the battlefield. He doesn't really like to collaborate with you to build anything, totally preferring to be alone in his laboratory and make his own advances. In any case, you don't get together to chitchat. The few times you do meet, the peaceful state doesn't last long and one of you starts an exchange of reproaches and insults, or one of you leaves before the other has had time to say anything.

But occasionally he doesn't wear his mask for training, which surprises you every time. His features are not graceful, but the depths of his eyes could consume you like acid, and his hair looks so soft against the harshness of what he presents. His eyes... you want to see them, right here, right now. Contemplate their honeyed amber colour, their sunny hue. Those same irises that transform when anger consumes them and turn them into a lake of ink with golden, dark, deep reflections. Your reignited fever prompts you to say: "Can you take off your mask?" Your voice is tired, terribly small, vulnerable. And Viktor remains as imposing as ever, towering over you as if you were a miserable ant that he could simply crush under his heavy boots or disintegrate with a beam. It's as if he's barely breathing, inaudible. After all, you're not even sure if his lungs are real or metallic and cold. He takes a small breath, as if he's about to say something... but you cut him off, almost surprised by what you're saying but not letting it show, at least you hope not... "Please..." You feel exhausted, but you resist sleep. Your physical and inner discomfort keeps you awake. Time stands still, is he hesitating, or is he just frustrated by your state? It wouldn't be news if he was exasperated with you. He lets out a sigh, his shoulders barely drooping under the movement. You wait for his move, will he refuse? Probably, what were you thinking when you said that... As if he would listen to you. And yet you wait for his next gesture, without promising yourself the moon of course.

It's painful to get your hopes up, especially with Viktor, but sometimes he's so unpredictable that a part of you still foolishly hopes that something will happen. Then, suddenly, he tilts his head slightly forward. You don't leave him, eyes wide open, mouth closed, just waiting for what he's about to do. He slowly raises his gloved hands to his mask. You have rarely seen his hands, he often wears his gloves even during training. To tell the truth, you only know Viktor's dark clothes and his rarely visible face, you don't know his torso, you don't know his legs, you don't know his arms. Everything is covered and uncovered in an indefinite mix of metal, fabric and armour that never lets you know where the machine begins and the man ends. You remember the first time you saw him without his mask. You expected an older man, in his late forties, but when you saw him you didn't expect to see a remnant of youth. How could anyone be so tough and hardened? Why did he always have to show only his fortress and never who he really was?

Was he ashamed of it? In the moment, the question seems absurd. Pfft, ashamed? Viktor? You think you would never have put those two words in the same sentence before. But what if he is really hiding, what if he is simply ashamed, even afraid? His hands look so big, you are sure they are bigger than your head. He places them on either side of his head. You look at those two slits where his eyes should be, they seem to burn with a fierce, angry fire. He places his thumbs on the sides of the helmet and presses two buttons that you cannot. The gesture causes pressure and a sound of rapidly blowing air can be heard coming from the mask. The central part of the helmet, a sort of geometric heart of meticulously polished steel, moves forward and upwards as you hear Viktor take a breath, still modified by the device. The mechanism makes a small metallic noise, like air on a blade, like a knife being sharpened. Then he lifts it, and you look at him like a child desperate for an answer to its question. Thick chocolate-brown hair falls in front of his face, shiny, parted in a central parting and combed back with an unconscious charm. You then discover his pale forehead, calm, proud, leading to arched and slightly frowning eyebrows.

With his eyelids closed at the moment, you discover his nose. It had never been thin, in fact it was quite prominent, and you find yourself thinking that it might be a physical complex. What if he was hiding his face for this? No, that's absurd. His sharp cheekbones meet the metal, accentuating a jaw marked by the matte steel. A mole sits under one of his bluish rings. A sharp cupid's bow leads to his thin, shaped lips, contrasting their pale pink with the light tone of his skin, a mole placed above them. You regain his eyes and hold your breath. Under drooping eyelids are hidden his two irises, the same colour as an autumn leaf caressed by the sun, as beautiful, luminous and dark as two solar eclipses. And these eyes, they look at you, contrite, curious, annoyed... and yet you seem to discern something else in their reflection, under those lashes that protect them. It takes you a while to work this out and you decide to ignore it, but he seems to be unwilling to admit something: he looks worried about your state. The mutual contemplation is silent, honestly you don't know if asking him to take off his mask was a good idea. He unsettles you, and you know that the feeling is not only due to the alcohol.

Everything is so much more expressive all of a sudden, but one thing remains in your mind: he really listened to you, he took off his mask. You know for a fact that since he is in his flats, he would have taken it off sooner or later, whether you asked him to or not. However, he could very well have continued this exchange with it, as he always does. And it's strange that he listened to this request, he who is usually stubborn and doesn't listen to anything you might say. "You're wounded." At first you don't understand his sentence, if it's a question, if it's a statement, you only understand until when you frown and your head hurts. Before he arrived, the alcohol had completely anaesthetised you, it had annihilated your sensations, dulled your senses. But you feel in the moment, as you crease your forehead, that it's pulling, it hurts in three places. One of the pains comes from your forehead near your hairline on your right, the second spreads over part of your cheek, and the third is on your lip. The lip, you noticed. It hurt every time you brought the neck of the bottle to your mouth. You had to cut it open. As for your forehead, you had an idea of how that pain and potential bruise had come about. "What happened to you?" You don't want to answer his question, simply because you are ashamed of the answer. You didn't help yourself to these bottles from Singed's storage room. Amongst all his vials and strange elixirs, you didn't want to risk taking something that wasn't supposed to be consumed to get drunk. So you went to The Last Drop to buy a few bottles.

There were, as most evenings and times, Zaunites. However, luckily, the bar was not very full, just a few drinkers and other shimmerers having a good time. You weren't really going to The Last Drop often, because drinking while working with Viktor and Singed is not a common thing. After all, why would you want to spend precious time of your life having fun and pleasing yourself in a selfish way when you could be putting your knowledge to work on something revolutionary and great like the Glorious Evolution? But you had made an exception for tonight, just this once. All you had to do was to go there, get your things, and leave as quickly as you had come. You were originally going for a single glass of very strong alcohol to quench this feeling that was eating away at you unpleasantly from the inside like a rat digging its way out from a fire. One of the civilians had called you. A group of some competitors, some with chemtech and some with simpler gear, had invited you. They were running some kind of shot contest, similar in principle to all other drinking competitions. They asked you to join them, wondering how one of Singed's apprentices could handle alcohol. You had come to get drunk, you were not losing anything in exchange for this commitment, so you simply accepted.

While three guys had already rolled under the table and others had given up, you were affronting the last one still standing. He was wobbling, his eyes fighting the irresistible urge to close his lids and fall asleep. You weren't far from surrendering to sleep either, but probably less so than he was. You took the next shot, not taking your eyes off each other. You were getting tired of this game, it was getting late and who knows what your schedule would look like the next day. As you returned your glass on the table, lining up with all the others in a grotesque group, you let out a simple but convincing: "you look exhausted, wouldn't it be better if you stopped resisting? And, as if he was absolutely manipulated and obsessed by your words, he let go. He fell head first onto the table. Except that one of his comrades, staggering with alcohol coursing through his veins, thought he noticed a shortcut to victory. He accused you of having taken advantage of a technology that could put others to sleep. While denying it, you kept his idea in the back of your mind. You were nearing the end of your latest invention in the lab, and developing a soporific weapon could perhaps lead to something useful. A violent and heated argument between hammered people, including yourself, broke out. The dispute escalated quickly, you felt your arm being firmly grasped, and that was enough to start the fight. You gave a violent punch in the ribs to a guy who was sent against a wall, crushing a chair or two in the process. One of them gave you a loose but powerful blow on the skull with his fist, sending sparkles in your skull and stars in your eyes. You threw your fist in his face and knocked the table over him with all your strength. Another one leapt on you, sending a right on your cheek and partly on your mouth followed by a big knee in the stomach, bringing you inevitably to the ground. You grabbed one of the broken legs of a chair and with it sent him an impressive blow in the belly and then the back of his skull. Breathless, he fell back to the ground, swallowing large gulps of air, better than he swallowed alcohol. Your strength increased by various personal improvements is so much easier to use under alcohol and anger. Everything pulses through your veins like a frenzied drum encouraging you to hurt more and hit harder. You looked at the damage and then spat into one of your old shot glasses: saliva mixed with the carmine of blood, your lip had split open. The Last Drop looked like a small battlefield. No other civilians would step forward. They were right, it seemed you were having trouble controlling yourself. You then made your way to the counter one last time. The bartender seemed startled, but this was nothing new to him. You asked him for a bottle of Carmethys. Slowly he told you that he had no more, as you and the group of competitors had finished all the bottles.

You sighed and took a deep breath. The rest of the room was holding theirs. You then asked for a bottle of Nedys. You had to curb the alcohol for tonight, Nedys would probably help you sober up a bit. He hastily placed a glass bottle in which the famous blue glistening liquid was floating. You reached into your pockets for a credit. After the tiny massacre you had just made in the room, you could at least tip the poor barman. You put the golden coin on the varnished steel. Bottle in hand, unsteady, you walked back to the exit under the gaze of all the drinkers. Indeed, telling Viktor about this disreputable episode was something you wanted to avoid. You simply replied: "You will probably hear about a slight incident to The Last Drop that is not of my making." He tilts his head back slightly, as if he doesn't dominate you enough. The judgment in his eyes is so intense that you struggle not to look away. He is displeased, there is no need to ask. If you condense your glamorous actions so far, they can be summed up as you drinking quite a lot of alcohol with simple Zaunites, starting a fight that resulted in several people being injured and furniture having to be replaced, and breaking into Viktor's flat without his permission. All this, in one evening. So yes, you don't need to read his mind or posess any enhancement to know that all this nonsense was done in record time during his absence. He must even wonder how much stupidity you could have done during the rest of his stay. Two days, it had only been two days since he had left and you were left in a pathetic state. The consequences would probably fall on him. As apprentice number two, and a "newbie" at that, you couldn't carry all that responsibility. You looked very silly there, with your bottle of Nedys, of which you had only drunk a third. All the alcohol coursing through your veins was beginning to carry all the regrets, and the traffic was smooth on the highway of Guilt. He seems to be detailing your scratches, it's not something new on your body. The blows from some training sessions sometimes form clouds of bruises on your skin, staying for weeks. And yet, you still feel like he's holding back. "What have you been drinking?" His question sounds like an order. The second part of his interrogation would probably have been "to end up so wasted that you thought coming here would be a good idea?" You don't answer him, feeling ashamed and afraid that the next part of his question is about quantity.

However, as strange as it may seem and despite all this, you and Viktor understand each other. You can't stand each other for more than a couple of minutes, but you do have occasional moments of strange understanding, moments when you don't care how the other one will take it. You start to stare at him, he looks tired, his shadowy circles darkening his eyes and looking even bluer than they usually do. You feel guilty, the two days he's been gone must have been really hard, especially when you know that Viktor sleeps very little. He always comes to training sessions with dark circles on the rare occasions when he's not wearing his mask, you doubt he's getting a full night's sleep. He is often busy with battles, experiments, reports and letters for negotiations... He never seems to get a full night's rest, and here you are, annoying him when all he's probably looking for is rest? What an egotistical, stupid person you are. Your attention drifts to his hair, so sombre. It looks like the calm black current of an oil stream. It must be so soft to the touch, slipping through your fingers, caressing your palm as it escapes.

Suddenly he asks: "Why are you looking at me like that? And there are so many things you would like to say to him, that you would like to scream at him until your voice fails you, that you would like to cry until you have no more tears to shed, so many, so many... How can you tell him that his gestures and his voice fly you miles above the clouds? But you could hardly speak, your heart was so full that even those works seemed to choke you. It must be something wrong with your lungs, for you don't seem ever to get enough air when you're around him. Always that same feeling, that warmth that takes place when his eyes meet yours. And you can't think of anything else to say in response except a weak question that surprises you almost as much as it does him: "Where has your smile gone, Viktor? You have never, ever seen him smile, heard him laugh, seen any joy other than satisfaction in him. You had only seen his eyes crinkle in anger and hide under his bushy eyelashes, his lips curling up like a wolf's and showing his fangs to prepare to shout. Joy for him seemed to be a commodity that consumed more energy than it provided, like a chemical drink not strong enough to keep his circuits constantly energized, a fuel too expensive and luxurious that he could not afford to consume regularly. His favourite oil was fuelled by painful things: regrets and secrets. For it is well known: Pain is as cheap as clay, and twice as common. What matters is what you do with it. And Machine Herald had decided to make it its constant and inexhaustible source, its purpose. With all the atrocities he was causing, perhaps he was denying himself joy. Perhaps the problem was simply that a constant guilt forbade him to be happy.

He has lost his smile, and you have never seen it. His eyes glow like a cat's, like lights in the night. "Are you in pain?" This answer surprises you even more than your previous rhetorical question, because of all the possible possibilities it is probably the one you least expected. You were rather expecting a "get out" or a "does Singed know ?". You almost thought he would have left without saying another word and let you sleep there. You expected everything but this: that he would ask you how you were. So surprised, and so dazed, you feel amused by the situation. It's like a little pink bird chirping in your chest, its giggles rising up into your throat. You breathe out of your nose, then start to laugh slightly. Your mouth stretches into a smile, but your suddenly stretched split lip sends a burst of burning. You squint one eye and wrinkle your nose at the sudden and sharp pain. Your laughter has made you breathe too suddenly and your red knuckled hand comes to your belly where you can still feel the blow of the knee cutting off your air. Some nice bruises are likely to show up in a few places on your body unfortunately. " A band-aid and off I go " you lie, gritting your teeth as you rest your head against the wall and close your eyelids firmly.

You'll get an extra bump, most likely. You open your eyes again, your gaze drifting to the leather of Viktor's boots. Clean, aged with time, and heavy, so heavy. You saw them kicking, walking on land you had never seen before. You saw them crush the head of a fallen soldier who probably didn't deserve to die squashed under the weight of boots like his. You didn't come on missions very often, and have been trying less and less lately to come specifically for these reasons. At night when you dream and are not busy with various inventions, you find yourself in the gallery of scenes from your life. It's a focus, where your eyes zoom in on moments, skip them, try to avoid them or loop some of them - maybe because they please you, or maybe because you want to remember the horrors you committed with him. In the darkest, most shady corner of the gallery, you hang up all the pictures of him, all the battles he's been in. Close-ups of his hand as he aims his third arm at his victims, the great judge of life and death. Landscape shots where pools of blood feed the ground. And like in a museum, there is a description and sometimes even an audio recording. It's the same ones that come back: his accent, the buzz of the laser, the howls of rage and fear that intermingle with the harsh clash of iron against iron. You wish you could find the rain that would erase the past. You look at that wave that will never reach the moon, like it, you lie down and remember

You hear him sigh, the sound even more dramatic than if he were wearing his mask. You dare not meet his gaze. You don't have the strength to raise your eyes and meet his. Your eyes still riveted to his legs, you notice another move you have never seen him make towards you: he bends his knees. His cloak hits the ground like cherry juice, folding into shapes you don't notice in your peripheral vision. You still watch the leather crack and pucker like wrinkles on aged skin. He is close to you, knees bent, facing you, you know it but you still don't look up. You are immobile, unable to move. He is unreadable in his silence, and that is undoubtedly what frightens you the most. You have rarely seen him so unpredictable, but it was probably unpredictable for him to find you slumped over, there in his flats, drunk and moreover injured. You don't know what to expect. Will he stand there, at your height, knees bent, facing you so closely for a long time? Because for you the seconds seem as long as minutes. Everything passes without transition in your head. Maybe he will finally kill you, do as you originally thought and finish you off right there with his third arm or his sceptre. Maybe he had asked what you had done that night, only to come back the next day and tell The Last Drop that such an incident would not happen again because he had taken care of it personally. Perhaps he had finally asked if you were in pain so that he could enjoy playing with you even more when he killed you. His favourite oil was fuelled by painful things.

It applied both ways, after all: his pain, and the pain he was inflicting on others. You were going to end up under one of his boots, your jaw crumbling under the heavy weight of steel, your teeth cracking on the ground like pearls in a pool of blood as his would show from beneath his lips to finally smile. And the only smile you'd ever see from him in your life would be the first and last one before you died. You shudder as an ice-cold sensation lifts your chin, bringing your head up. His index finger has just raised your chin. And when your eyes finally meet his through your eyelashes: you feel as if they are burning your skin like two suns, warming your cheeks with their heat. He is close, so close that you can feel your own breath washing over his face. He details you, or at least he details your wounds. His eyes are locked on your forehead, where dried, crimson blood has run down your brow like a small waterfall. The wound must have reopened because you feel an intense burn emanating from where the cut should be. His other hand comes to pull a strand of hair out from in front of the cut, and you inhale through your teeth as his finger ventures too close to it. It stings, very hard, but somehow the spawn of his metallic hands tenderizes your swollen flesh. His eyes drop for a brief moment to scan yours, then he continues his gestures.

He must have taken off his gloves in your moments of loss on his shoes, leaving his fingers, a combination of light studs and cables, to take the air. You watch him, your head still held up by his other hand. He looks upset, but who wouldn't be? His fingers continue down to your cheekbone, a large bruise seems to form there, as he presses lightly on your skin with his thumb your cheek feels throbbing, feeling stiff and firm. You press your lips together in a thin line but even so a burn catches you as the cut on your lip tugs. It must have reopened when you smiled, because you can distinctly feel its metallic taste spilling into your mouth. You breathe quickly, the pain on all sides seeming to scorch you everywhere. But a sudden chill sends a jolt through you and your eyes flutter from the shock. The thumb of the hand Viktor was using to hold you in place has just landed on the cut on your lip. Your mouth trembles with pain, and you're sure that your trembling is spreading to the fresh metal that the skin of your lip touches. A flap of flesh in your mouth is bitten between your upper and lower canine teeth, trying as best you can to prevent a few complaints and groans of pain.

But what is he doing? Is he doing it intentionally? That's probably it, yes, it can't be anything else. In any case, your face can't escape, his other hand kept on your sore cheek. You can feel clicks whispering under his palm. Your eyes stop their blinking frenzy and return to his. He is definitely angry. His eyebrows are furrowed, his nose wrinkles. His upper lip is slightly raised and twitching. And his eyes, oh, his eyes - they are burning as ever. He parted his lips, his thumb coming slightly away from your own, but not leaving its place much. "Who did this to you?" His tone is almost scolding, his accent becoming even more jerky and clipped. He's probably annoyed that the novice apprentice got screwed like that, shaming the Glorious Evolution by strutting to The Last Drop and engaging in combat with civilians who aren't even worth a glance. Yeah, that's probably why he's so angry... isn't it? He would never care about you and your physical health... would he? "You don't know, neither do I."

His face does not change, his gaze never ceasing to dwell on your cheek and lips. A muscle tenses near his eyes. He's probably thinking that this will teach you a lesson, that after all it's your fault that you got into this situation, not his. He is not satisfied with the answer you give him, but he moves on to the next subject as he has understood that you could not answer any further. "Can you stand up?" Here comes the moment when he's going to get you out of his chambers and let you go back to your own so that you don't disturb him anymore. "There's only one way to find out." You place your hand on the floor, your second one slowly and boredly following its twin's gesture. You bring one knee towards you, the second following with the same delay. Viktor gets up with ridiculous ease compared to the trouble you are taking to raise yourself. Your feet push against the floor, your back pressing further against it to allow you to push off your legs and slide onto the cool surface. You stagger slightly, and your teammate's hand grabs your forearm to hold you up. His grip is firm, but it doesn't hurt, it only supports you. As you stand up, you realise that you've been a bit heavy on the drinks. You feel heavy, as if you have leaden bones. You feel that if you try to take a step, you'll just collapse and never get up again.

"I think staying on the ground and crawling would have been easier," you gasp as your gaze seems to widen and give you the impression one moment that the ground is closing in on your face very quickly and the next that you're standing on top of the Old Hungry. Viktor is ranting at himself. You've been nothing but trouble for the last few minut-months, yes for the last few months. "You could have drunk a little less..." is all he mutters before he stoops. And the next thing he does surprises you even more than the rest of the evening you've just spent. One of his hands goes below your knees, the other behind your back. It feels strange, as if your whole body is made of cotton and his hands are just water, refreshing you and grounding you in this reality where you feel light and volatile like the flame of a candle. A hiccup of surprise escapes your lips, mingling with a complaint, as he lifts you off the ground. He couldn't have looked more disinterested than he does now, as if you barely weighed anything. You often forgot that not all his limbs were made of flesh and bone, and that most of them were made of aluminium and steel, so that the strength he possessed was far more committed and powerful than mere ordinary muscles. You might have expected him to have an iron fist, but he seemed to hold you as if a fragile spider's web was woven between his fingers.

Your eyes were glued to him, and you wondered if you had hallucinated or imagined the whole of the previous exchange and in your drunken delirium you had dozed off until you finally fell asleep. Your tired mind must have done the rest and dragged you into this strange fantasy. But the cracked and painful parts of your body keep you far too awake for it to be the fault of the dreams. He moves forward, slowly, out of his chambers. It's dim in the hallway, contrasting with the stark, blistering light of the room. His flat is not very big, yours is a carbon copy except for a few details. For example, Viktor has no kitchen. It's quite simple, with all the improvements made to his body, his internal organs had been affected and replaced by various artificial substitutes. As a result, the nutrients he needed were not up to your or any other nutrition standards. You had made some enhancements to yourself as well here and there, but you were far from Viktor's stage where almost his entire body had been replaced by mechanics. You wondered what was left of his humanity, what he had kept since then. Of course, he still had his head, but what about his abdomen? And what was below... You refocused yourself as best you could to avoid keeping any libidinous thoughts in the moment. It would not be good if he tried to probe your mind again while you were thinking such things. As you gazed at him with half-closed eyelids, he stopped. His eyes were down on something in front of him. You followed his gaze. He seemed to be having a determined staring match with your HoloPad. Perhaps he thought he could disrupt it via a magnetic field that some kind of enhancement might have launched?

He must have managed to hit some of the circuits, because the blue grid of numbers set for you to enter a code had gone out, leaving instead a small plate a few inches wide. He frowned even more. "What's that?" He looked frustrated, but mostly curious. There was no way he was going to get past this stage of the code though, Viktor didn't know the subtlety of it. How could he after all, he no longer possessed one of the necessities that activated the mechanism. You hold out your hand, bringing it close to the plate. You place your thumb on it, a white ray passing underneath it before it glows green. You hear a sound of air being sucked in before the door slides open on its own into a slot in the wall. " Digital imprint," you whisper to him. He looks singularly surprised. Of course he would never have thought of that.

He walks through your flat, stopping in your living room. It's dark, and the only things that light the way are the little orange emergency exit light boxes scattered on some of the walls acting as nightlights. "To the left, last door in the corridor," you murmur. You don't dare speak loudly. It's as if, by raising your voice, you risk chasing away this moment. If it's a dream, you don't want it to burst like a bubble. You don't dare admit it out loud, and you probably never will, but you feel good, there, in his arms. You're almost lulled to sleep by the muffled whirring, clattering gears and purring engines that blow through the steel of his body. His embrace is cold, but comforting. You've never had such closeness with him, so you try to think of every possible detail to make a new picture that would end up in the gallery of your life. He arrives at your room, where the door is already half-open, allowing him to enter the room. He brings you in and lays you down on your bed, gently, and even though everything seems to be blurred like the horizon by the heat, you know that he is taking the greatest care to lay you down. He sets you up so that your back is against the wall that touches one side of your bed. "In the next room, the bathroom, the cupboard above the sink..." you stammer, as if your lips were long like waves and tangled as they tried to wash up on the sandy shores of speech. You give him this information because, after all, Viktor does not heal himself as you do. His improvements don't require medical attention or bandages like yours. He's given up disinfectant alcohol, plasters, ointments or medicinal pills a while ago. The advantage of not being 100% human anymore, you suppose.

But maybe he's not going to fix you, maybe he's going to leave you there to sleep and he just wanted to get you out of his flat and have a peaceful night. He leans over to turn on your bedside lamp, leaving you grumbling again. And then he leaves you and goes out into the hallway. If the light wasn't there and on like it is, you would probably have crashed from sleep right away. You still wonder what it must be like for him to sleep. You always see him with dark circles, but does every mechanism in his body really need to sleep or rest? Does he sleep? Is he constantly awake? How could you know, you hardly see him these days. He leaves, you stay, and it's been a while since his presence at the labs diminished. He's always out of town, you pass him two days a week, and you find yourself feeling lonely. He comes back into the room, a whole kit in hand. He lays out all his finds on the cover of the bed: a pack of cotton balls, a large bottle of disinfectant alcohol, healing strips, a tube of ointment, a pan with metal tweezers and a plate of painkillers. You look up, in his hand he is holding a glass of water which he hands to you. You reach out to grab it, holding on to it with both hands to make sure it doesn't fall in your lap. A sound of thin aluminium breaking, and Viktor hands you a tablet. You take it without hesitation, its floury feel leaving an unpleasant trace in your throat which you chase with more sips of water.

"Did you go to the toilet?" he asks as he uncaps the bottle of disinfectant and grabs cotton balls. On the spot the question almost makes you laugh, but although your mind is muddled you soon realise that the question is a medical check. It would be a pity if you ended up in an ethylic coma. You think back to the evening. You remember that on several occasions during your trip to The Last Drop you went to the toilet between shots. "Yes," you mumble. The care and attention to detail with which he prepares the necessities to treat you is remarkable. He then moves considerably closer to you, a metal clamp holding the alcohol-soaked cotton ball. "Ouch," you complain as he presses it to your forehead near your roots. He doesn't press like a madman, he's not a brute, but he's very careful. He squeezes the cotton wool enough for a trickle of alcohol to run in a straight line down your forehead. The first few moments seem to be as hot as two fires meeting and bickering in the square. Viktor then changes the cotton pad, and you can see that before he puts it in the iron cup, it is all red with scabs stuck between the white filaments. He dabs gently with the second pad, and the fire at your hairline lessens, the cotton leaving your skin feeling like kisses of thorns and feathers. You look at him, entranced. Viktor was a man devoted to his work, living for it, and the concentration he showed when he attended to something with interest was unyielding.

You understood him. It was as if, around him, the world became silent, that only his spirit reigned over the place and that neither time nor energy directed him, only one thing: devotion. "How many were there?" His question cuts you off in your contemplation, bringing you back to reality. "A real fierce army of three soldiers," you babble, "but be aware, they were this big and this tall," you mime, spreading your arms like a child who is still old enough to count the days in sleep. "Stop moving," he hisses, annoyed by your childish behaviour. "Anyway, I won the shot contest," you laugh to yourself, "they were so lame. But one of them made a very pertinent remark." You pause to regain your composure and not lose the idea you had on the tip of your tongue.

"He accused me of having chemtech that put his mate to sleep. Can you imagine, chemtech that could put anyone but yourself to sleep around you?" you smile naively as you lower your eyes to his chest. "It would be useful, it would prevent fighting and killing." "If there's no death or casualties, people don't retain anything." "A big scare would be enough," you sulk. "No, they have to understand that we are ready to take action and kill if the opportunity arises," he says, placing a simple white sticky bar bandage horizontally on your wound to help it close better. You don't like this idea, it's too radical, too violent and without any search for a potential agreement that would spare the bloodbath. He grabs the tube of ointment, squeezing a dab of the colour of morning mist onto his metal index before reaching for your swollen cheek. It feels like someone has aggressively smashed a handful of blackberries and cherries into your cheekbone. You feel the coolness of his fingers applying the cream, and although the sensation is not the most pleasant, it is not as bothersome as you might expect. Your eyes are still riveted on his torso, watching the patterns that the metal alloys form in a finely crafted and symmetrically ordered assembly of sometimes matte and sometimes polished plates of his armour. You know it, alcohol loosens the tongue. So you can't help the question that escapes from your mouth like soap from wet hands : " Did you keep your heart? "

The question is sincere, so sincere that Viktor's fingers stop massaging your sore cheek. His eyes finally meet yours. Since he took you in his arms, he hadn't looked you in the eye once. But for some reason you don't know, this simple question was enough to stop him from his rigorous task. His eyes seem to detail yours in a strange way, with a look you can't quite define. He blinks suddenly, restarting his task to properly massage your cheek and apply the ointment to the entire bruise. "No," is his simple answer. No beating heart, no blood pumping through its veins, no hidden organ like the one you have. Only a motor linked to clusters of tubes that propel energy substances and enough electricity through his body to keep him alive. " Did someone steal it from you?" It's at this very moment that you ask yourself: did Viktor ever love?

Has he ever loved someone who made him smile constantly? Has he ever loved someone so much that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with them? Has he ever known what it feels like to be afraid of death for the simple reason that it has the power to take away the person he loves?

A heart doesn't carry emotions, it carries life, that's why we love it so much: it keeps those we love alive, and we dread the day it stops beating.

You feel like a child who asks "why?" at every opportunity, and Viktor, having now finished applying the ointment, replies:

"I changed it."

Of course, nobody stole it from him. You can't fear that death is lurking for him in the same way as it is for you. You can only fear that a cable will blow, a bolt will unscrew, or his skull will be hit.

It's not fair, he stole your heart.

He wipes his ointment-coated fingers to pick up a pair of clamps and a clean cotton ball again. The next and final step is your split lip. With his free hand, he gently grasps your chin.

Compared to the rest of your wounds, this one requires surgical attention and patience apparently.

He squeezes the compress tenderly, and your head reflexes to turn. But Viktor's firm grip holds you in place. You feel his thumb press gently into your cheek, the skin inside your mouth meeting the side of your teeth.

He continues to press the cotton lightly against the wound.

You feel as if a warm cloud is spreading in your belly as he looks at your lips. It's as if they, despite all the words they've spoken in your life, have never had as much attention as they have at this very moment.

Perhaps it is this sudden attention that lets them say the following question:

"Have you ever loved anyone?" you wait until the cotton is no longer on your lip, "can you still love?"

Alcohol apparently makes you chatty, but at least you can use it as an excuse. Tomorrow when you see Viktor you can always say, "Sorry I was drunk last night, I probably didn't mean what I thought." Maybe that will be enough.

His movements have stopped. His eyes leave your lips, gaining your gaze. They are full of secrets, full of spleen, full of things he lets fly in his eyes but you can never make out what they are.

He's so close, so close... He takes a breath, and you can feel the gears underneath the metal hissing and sighing. His gaze is tender, while he still hasn't let go of yours.

Maybe his heart has already been stolen, after all, robbed and destroyed with a hammer. Maybe he took his heart back, and ripped it out so hard that he had to fix it with bolts and try to harden it because it hurt too much.

His cool fingers come to walk over your blue cheek one last time, bringing his thumb close to the end of your eyes where he dreamily runs it over the film of oil on your lid, the grip he has under your chin has softened.

He moves both hands away from your cheeks, gathering all the things he had brought with him into his fingers and arms. He leans in close to your bedside table one last time, speaking softly in a voice like amber, fluid and wispy.

"Good night."

And the light went out, giving you just enough time to see something you never thought you would: he was smiling.

ps : had to try to post that bad boi 3 times i'm in pain

#madschiavelique ⟢ ݁ ˖‧˚₊ ☁︎#viktor #arcane #arcane viktor #viktor x reader #machine herald viktor #machine herald x reader #machine herald #viktor x you #arcane viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader

230 notes · View notes

everafterfics · 2 years

Text

Unsaid Emily [Viktor x Reader]

I’ve been sitting on this one for a little bit now. It is inspired by the song Unsaid Emily from Julie and the Phantoms. I wanted to try something a bit different and write something thats got a bit of angst to it. The entire fic is written from Viktors point of view. It is a female reader, but there is no use of Y/N

youtube

Summary: Viktor reflects on his departure from Piltover after he transforms himself using the Hexcore

Warnings: a little bit angsty, not an overly happy ending, but its not an angsty ending

First things first

We start the scene in reverse

She was the light of my life. The shining sun that brightened my darkest days. And she was the only thing on my mind as the council room ignited. I had felt pain before, but it was nothing compared to that day. The searing flames that enveloped me left me wishing for death, but I had spent so long fighting my own demise that I couldn’t let it end like this. Not for myself, and certainly not for her.

I was rushed to the hospital along with the other members of the council. Somehow Jayce and councilor Medarda made it out unscathed, if only I was as lucky. I could hear voices, of Jayce and the doctors, and hers most of all. She pleaded for the doctors to help me, but I heard them doubt that I was even worth it. My body was already dying of disease. Those burns and broken bones only helped to speed up the process. They were unsure if I would even survive.

That was not the first time I had heard doctors predict my end. The hardest part perhaps was hearing her reaction to the news. Wailing sobs that echoed through my heart. Unfortunately I could do nothing. My mind swung between sleeping and waking but my body refused to move nonetheless.

She spent countless nights at my bedside after that. Her soft hands grasped my own scarred ones, never letting go. I could hear her crying for hours. The final catalyst to will my body to finally wake was hearing her words, desperate and sorrowful.

“Please Viktor. You have to wake up. I’m not sure my heart could survive if you die. You were so close to curing yourself, it just isn’t fair!”

My eyes had finally opened to see her. I caressed her cheek with my hand, cold and metal from the Hexcore, but unscathed from the explosion. A thought passed through my head at that moment. She couldn’t bare to see me die, but I couldn’t bare to see her suffer at my tragedy. There was a solution, but one that would drastically change me forever…

No time for goodbyes

Didn't get to apologize

Pieces of a clock that lies broken

After weeks of me being in the hospital she finally left my side to sleep in her own bed, content that I was on a path to healing. This was a lie, I could feel my body getting weaker.

That night without her was dark and quiet. Somehow I was able to bring myself to my feet. My body could move just enough to walk, ehh limp, back to the lab. I had made a decision, a selfish one, but it was my only option.

I practically collapsed when I entered through the doors, but relief had struck me to see that Jayce had yet to destroy the Hexcore. I crawled my way towards it. Once I had reached the desk I weakly extended my hand to the Hexcore. Either it would heal or destroy me, but a deadman has nothing to lose. The Hexcore whirred to life with my touch, the scarred runes etched into my skin glowed, and I could feel it changing me. Magic coursed through my veins allowing me to stand. Strength returned to my whole being. I took the Hexcore in both hands, invigorated by my newfound health. It was working! Until it began to happen…

My muscles changed, encouraging my skin to as well, to become metal. The more I tried the harder it became to remove my hands from that cursed invention! The more the changes progressed the more my body was wracked with pain.

Was it luck? Or perhaps it was misfortune that there was nobody near the lab to hear my cries? Nobody to help tear me away from the Hexcore. Yes, it must have been luck. For anybody that tried would have ended up like Sky. With a final flash of light I found myself on the floor.

As I came to I noticed just how much I had changed. Like my leg and altered hand from my first uses of the Hexcore, it was as though my muscular structure and skin had merged. My body had become a sort of living metal, some sort of cyborg abomination. I quickly made my way to a mirror in the lab to see what changes had become of my face. Most of it seemed unchanged, aside from my sclera becoming black, my golden eyes now glowed in the dark room, and up to my cheeks retained the same purple metal as the remainder of my body.

It was an interesting development. And while I had felt stronger than I ever had in my entire life, I knew that here in Piltover I’d be seen as some sort of monster. And I feared that she might see me the same. So I took to Hexcore and ran.

I ran from Piltover to somewhere I presumed I would be alone, my old childhood home on Emberflit Alley… in Zaun. I was honestly surprised to see it still empty after all of these years. The structure was not the most sound, and cobwebs filled every nook and cranny. But I thought I could stay for some time. Until I decided if I wanted her to see me as I am now. Just some time…

If I could take us back, if I could just do that

And write in every empty space the words "I love you" in replace

Then maybe time would not erase me

How long had it been? A month, maybe two? Perhaps longer? Time was irrelevant when all that matters was progress. And I had made much progress since returning to Zaun. I adapted to my new metal body, creating augmentations to myself to improve my body and my mind. I augmented others as well, when they desired. Although only the truly desperate ever sought me out. Unfortunately my new position in Zaun earned me a strange nickname amongst the people, the Machine Herald. I didn’t mind the name so much as I thought it unnecessary to use such a thing. Not matter, all of this was simply a distraction.

While my goals to help the people of the Undercity had never changed, my reasoning had become warped. I simply longed for a way to distract myself from the thought of her. From my guilt of leaving.

I have hated myself for not leaving a note, for not telling her what happened. For not even going back to let her know I’m alive. I cant bear to think about the grief she must have suffered on my behalf. Perhaps she worried herself sick looking for me before Jayce finally convinced her to let me go. A part of me selfishly hopes that she still believes I’m alive.

As I tinker with a new project at my desk those thoughts echo in the back of my mind. How come the past never ceases to haunt me?

A light knocking echos through my small house. I stop my work and listen. Usually the knocking continues if someone truly wants my help. Instead I hear a voice that makes my blood run cold.

“Hello?”

For a moment I remain at my lab desk. The voice that resonated from the other side of my door leaves me paralyzed. Then it comes again. The wrapping of knuckles lightly on the front door followed by the familiar cadence that has plagued my mind since leaving Piltover.

“Hello? Is this where I can find the Machine Herald?”

I place my mask over my face and rise to my feet. My hands remain planted firmly on the desk, unsure if I can answer the door. How can I face you like this? As a man changed beyond recognition. As a man that was supposed to be dead. Surely if you find out who I am you will be furious. Perhaps it would be better to just ignore you. Again those knuckles found themselves knocking my the door, drawing me from my thoughts.

“Hello? Is anybody-“

I whip the door open a lot harder than I mean to. Immediately, I regret my decision to face you. You were like a small rabbit cornered by a wolf. I had forgotten that my augmentations came with an enhancement to my height. My looming figure must have caught you off guard. I try to soften my stance, but it is rather difficult to soften a figure made of steel.

“Are you the Machine Herald?” Your voice squeaks with terror the likes of which I have never heard from you before.

I have to take a moment to compose myself before I answer. “Yes.”

You hold yourself steady but there is no denying the trembling of your legs. How my heart aches to know that I frighten you so.

“Please… I need your help.” You sound so desperate. It takes everything in my power to not show how worried I am for you. Perhaps I should let you know who I really am? But would that help? Or perhaps make whatever you are coming to the Machine Herald for worse? I gesture for you to come inside. You spared a small glance as you pass into my home, one of fear and distrust.

I lead you into my lab, keeping a careful distance from you. I pull up a chair for you and take a seat myself beside my desk. “Please, what’s wrong? Why have you come here?” I ask, perhaps with more concern in my voice then I meant to add. And for a moment I see something in your eyes. A glimmer of recognition behind them. Perhaps my voice, though modulated by my mask, was enough to tip you off to my identity. But as quickly as I saw it, it faded into a look of hopelessness.

You open and close your mouth, take a deep breath, and answer. “I’ve heard that you can remove a persons emotions. I’ve been plagued by mine for too many months now. I can’t bear it anymore. Please mister Machine Herald, can you take them from me?!”

If you could only know I'd never let you go

And the words I most regret are the ones I never meant to leave

Unsaid Emily

I have to grasp my desk to stop myself from jumping to my feet and consoling you. “No. I can’t do that.” I can hear my voice waver, much to my own dismay.

“But I-“

“What you heard was merely a rumor. Nasty things… rumors” I avert my eyes so that I don’t see the disappointment that I’ve caused, though I can hear you start to sob.

“What can I do? I can’t live without him! I tried, truly I did. But I just can’t!”

My heart can’t bear to hear you sobbing, especially knowing that I am the cause of such heartache. Damn the consequences! Even if you hate me for what I’ve done, that hate would be better than seeing you in such despair.

“I did try to get rid of them.” At the sound of my voice you look up. “Not too long ago I decided to do something that I’m not proud of. Using a dangerous invention of mine I was able to save my own life from fatal injuries and disease. I didn’t intend to leave my home, but looking upon my changed form I knew that I no longer had a place in Piltover.” I stop to breathe out a sigh at the memory. “Unfortunately, in the process of saving myself, I lost the woman I love. How could I have left her behind?” I spared a glance towards you. The wheels in your head were clearly turning. I continued on, pain evident in my voice. “What I’d done caused me so much guilt that I wanted to get rid of my emotions. I had begun research on how I might achieve that, but in the end it was my emotions that convinced me to stop. I’d already hurt you so much, it is only right that I live with my guilt. It is what I deserve.” Your eyes widen and a stuttered gasp leaves your lips.

“Viktor…” you whisper, the recognition settling in your sad eyes.

I remove my mask and set it to the side. “Yes, my love.” I say as I look at you through my own teary eyes.

“How?” I expected anger from you, but instead it was like I had broken your heart all over again. Your words came out in sobs. “How could you leave me behind? Why did you let me think you were dead? Why did you hide who you were when I came here?”

I reach a hand out to you but rescind it. I don’t have the right to touch you after what I’ve done. “I’m sorry. I was afraid and I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” You say with surprise. But now comes the fury I’d expected from you before. “Look at me and tell me that what you did didn’t hurt me! You left me alone! You didn’t say where you went! You just disappeared from the hospital! Ive cried over you every night since you disappeared! Jayce and I assumed the worst. We looked for you for over a month.” It doesn’t seem like you can keep your rage flowing. The melancholy starts to seep into your voice. “I held out hope for so long that we’d find you alive. I think Jayce was at least hoping to find your body so we could put you to rest. To actually grieve you.” You stop and there is a deafening silence that I’m not sure I want to break. Finally you speak again, voice hoarse from shouting. “Why didn’t you come back for me? I would have left Piltover to be with you Viktor. You knew that I would’ve gone to the ends of the world for you.”

I let out a deep sigh. “I was ashamed of my new body. I feared that you might have seen me as a monster had I returned to your side.”

“I would never have-“

“I know. But it took me too long to realize that. I suppose I was projecting the feelings i had of myself onto you. It was my own way of punishing myself.” I looked to see some sort of reaction from you, but for the first time since entering my home I couldn’t tell what you were feeling. “As the days past I knew I should’ve gone back to you. But I also realized that if I did go back, you’d hate me as you do now. And as selfish as it was, I didn’t think I could bear you hating me”

“I don’t hate you, Viktor.” You look at me now with softer eyes. “I am upset, but I have every right to be. And you’re right. It was a selfish thought.”

“If I could go back and change the past I would never have left you.” I let a single tear roll from my eye.

“And I truly believe that Viktor.” You give me a quick smile before sighing. “But we can’t change the past.”

There is a moment of silence between us before I speak up once more. “What can we do? How can we fix us?”

“We could start over I suppose.” You shrug. Then you look at me with those doe eyes of yours, a soft smile gracing your lips. “Although, I never stopped loving you.”

With those words I felt a warmth in my heart that I haven’t felt since I left Piltover. I smiled at you, “And I never stopped loving you.”

You scoot a bit closer to me and place a hand over my own. I look down at you, again you’re on the verge of tears. “I missed you so much Viktor. I need some time to process all of this, but I want us to get back to where we were”

Placing my free hand onto your cheek I wipe away your fallen tears. “I want that too. Please take all the time you need.”

You smile at me before standing. “Id like you to visit me topside. Maybe dinner tomorrow? We can work on us.”

#arcane viktor #viktor x reader #reader insert #arcane reader insert #song fic #machine herald x reader #machine herald viktor #arcane machine herald #viktor x you #machine herald x you

26 notes · View notes

dervampireprince · 1 year

Video

youtube

ASMR | Arcane - You Help Fix Machine Herald Viktor [M4A] [Spicy Patreon Preview]

[M4A] [Established relationship] [Can be interpreted as sequel to 'You Came Back'] [Wire play] [Sub/Switch Viktor - Flips to Dom Viktor in the last minute] [Begging]

OOPS I forgot to edit the title in the thumbnail, it's meant to be called 'Wires'. The first of this month's two fledgling audios. Luna Vix requested 'anything Viktor related', RazzlyD and NotSo Kiwi requested 'more Machine Herald, on the more submissive side, maybe a bit of glitched voice modulation as he gets close', Sazzy NK requsted 'Viktor', Cello Moon requsted 'Machine Herald with wireplay elements!', Rheic Arts requested 'Anything with the machine herald again'.

Custom audio commissions are open! Full spicy audios on soundgasm and Patreon. Downloadable versions, exclusive spicy audios and Discord on Patreon. I also stream on Twitch 3 times a week @ dervampireprince . [minors + ageless blogs dni. this blog is for 18+ only.] [do not repost/reupload/edit my audios/videos]

#viktor x reader #viktor x listener #arcane viktor #viktor #arcane #machine herald x reader #machine herald viktor #machine herald #nsft audios #nsft audio #mlm nsft #lgbt nsft #the vampire whispers #viktor arcane #headcannons #imagines #arcane x reader #audio roleplay

14 notes · View notes

aerynwrites · 2 years

Text

Hiraeth || Part 2

Machine Herald!Viktor x Reader

A/N: part 2! Thank you to @thedreamlessnights for reading over this and proofing for me! ❤️ I hope you all enjoy! P.S. the past few days have been kind of crummy - So I would love to hear from you all on this chapter!

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Very very slight pining? Discussion of rehabilitation and pain, more slow burn.

Previous | Next

Being under the Machine Herald’s care turns out to be a lot of waiting.

Waiting while he works on your leg.

Waiting while he works on other projects at his workbench.

Waiting while he’s off doing…whatever he does when he’s not with you.

And waiting turns into a lot of sleeping. Sleeping and healing and dreaming.

Most of your dreams are about the riot at the marketplace. Terrible nightmares filled with screams and pain and fire that result in you waking in a cold sweat.

So, you try to avoid sleeping for a while - until you simply have to sleep, unconsciousness pulling you under involuntarily.

Eventually the dreams morph into something better. Gentler and sweeter than the nightmares. They feel like memories more than anything - like tangible things you can reach out and touch if you try hard enough.

A mechanical toy boat, chestnut hair ruffled beneath your fingers. Wide eyes with amber iris’s that stare up at you when you tell the little boy you’ll come back to play with him the next day.

When you wake, the dreams dissolve along with your sleep, scattered and fragmented like leaves swept away with the wind.

But you hold onto what you can remember.

Your childhood wasn’t something you tried to think about often, more bad memories than good ones. So you want desperately to hold onto the feeling of nostalgia these passing memories give you.

The more you have the dreams, the more you start to remember the boy that appears in them. He never played with the other kids your age, but to be fair, neither did you.

You stuck to yourself and your own devices. Until one day you saw him emerge from a little cave with a toy boat cradled in his arm, leaning heavily on his crutch as it struggled to take hold in the shifting sand of the river bank.

You had approached him then, asking about his boat. And after some hesitation on his end he was happily showing you his invention, letting you run after it before returning it to him to do it all over again.

And when the sun started to dip below the horizon, he gave you a weak smile.

“Thanks for playing with me.”

You nodded, smiling. “Can we do it again tomorrow?”

He looked up at you then, surprise etched onto his boyish features. “Again?”

You scrunch your nose. “Yeah? I can bring some of my toys. They aren’t as cool as yours though.” You shrug, looking back over your shoulder at the setting sun.

“I have to go. So meet here tomorrow? After lunch?”

The boy just nods mutely, mouth agape. You smile and wave at him as you turn to run back home.

“See you tomorrow!”

It's only when you approach your parents’ small apartment do you realize you never asked the boy his name.

———

While you appreciate the more pleasant memories, you can’t help but be confused as to why they are coming to you now.

It’s been years since you’ve thought about your childhood friend. The boy with the cane who loved to tinker and was determined to get out of the undercity to make real change.

You huff and look down to where the Machine Herald is doing some tinkering of his own on your leg.

It’s been several days since he turned off your sensory receptors and he’s been doing much more work than you anticipated.

He glances up from the wires at your quiet outburst and raises a brow.

“Does something hurt?” he asks. Ever since the mishap a few days ago, he’s always checking in.

You shake your head. “No. Just…thinking.”

You expect him to leave it at that, but he surprises you by inquiring further.

“Anything in particular?”

You pinch your lips together, not wanting to bore him with stories of your childhood. Especially when you can’t even remember it clearly.

“Just about a dream I had. More of a memory, I guess. Of a friend from when I was younger.”

This makes him pause. You assume he will respond, but instead he closes up the panel he was working on and sets his tools aside.

“Would you like to try walking?”

Well, that’s the end of that conversation obviously.

But the prospect of getting on your own two feet pushes away any curiosity as to his avoidant nature.

You nod eagerly, pushing yourself to sit up straighter. “Walking? Yes, yes I want to try!”

“Slow down.” His words come out harsh, like a parent scolding a child, and it stops you in your tracks.

“I have to turn on the sensory receptors again,” he informs you, grabbing the tools he will need before reaching for the appropriate panel on your leg. “I cannot promise it won’t be painful. But you need to be able to feel in order to walk.”

You swallow thickly at the thought, but push it away. You need to do this.

“Okay. Can I let you know if it gets too much, or something?”

He nods, eyes never leaving the task at hand as he swiftly reconnects the wire he had cut several days ago.

“Of course.”

The moment the two ends of the wire touch, a wave of sensation washes through your left side, down to the tips of your toes. You can feel everything again, including the dull ache of pain.

You wait patiently for him to finish and set his tools aside before trying anything. He stands back a bit from the edge of the bed and gestures to you.

“Try to stand.”

He says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

The look you send him is meant to be scathing, but it comes off as bewildered.

“That’s it? You aren’t gonna help me?” You reach your hand out for emphasis. “That didn’t go too well last time, in case you forgot.”

His brows pinch together in frustration. “That is because your leg was not ready. It wasn’t finished or calibrated or many other things.”

He gestures towards your legs now. “It’s completed now. So, no. I will not be assisting you at first. I need to see what you are capable of on your own.”

You huff, and sit up straighter, bracing yourself. “Fucking prick.” The words are grumbled under your breath, and you watch as the man stiffens out of the corner of your eye.

“What was that?”

You shrug, biting back a smile. “Nothing. Just talking to myself.”

You don’t miss the sigh that slips from beneath his mask.

“Enough talking, more…walking.”

You huff out a laugh. “The jokes again?”

He doesn’t respond, just crosses his arms and looks at you expectantly. This time, you heave a sigh of your own, bracing your arms on the bed beside you as you sit up.

The result of your last attempt makes your belly roil with nerves. What if this doesn’t work? What if it fails and you won’t be able to walk?

These questions and more race through your mind, so you decide to start small. See if your leg will even listen to you.

Focusing on trying to move your ankle and wiggle your toes, your eyes widen when it listens. The little metal toes move just like you thought they would, and your ankle too.

Holy shit, this is weird.

It’s almost effortless how well the limb moves and listens to you, as if it seamlessly connects to your biological nervous system. Which it most likely does.

Slowly, much slower than you’re sure the Machine Herald likes, you shift to move your legs over the side of the bed. Your bare foot touches the floor at the same time as your mechanical one, and you're immediately struck by what you can and can’t feel.

The floor is cold against your flesh foot, making a shiver race up your spine. However, while you can feel the pressure of the floor against your metal appendage, there’s no temperature input. No hot or cold or tickling sensations. Just pressure.

It’s odd. This whole thing is weird. You can hear the quiet whirring of mechanics coming from your leg and the shifting of metal plates at your ribs as you shift weight onto the leg for the first time. Everything adapts to adjust for this new movement. All of it stretches to accommodate the way you straighten as you stand, just like regular skin would.

“Woah.”

The single word is whispered reverently as you wobble slightly on your new leg, one hand falling back to the bed for support.

You haven’t fallen yet though, and that sparks an eagerness in you that you probably should suppress.

But you can’t.

Quickly, much quicker than you should, you move to take a step forward with your left leg. While it works, and your leg obeys, the white hot pain that races up your side causes you to stumble.

A sharp intake of breath is all the sound you manage to make before you topple forwards. You expect your hands to meet hard ground, but two arms wrap beneath your own, stopping your descent.

This action sends another pain through you, like white lighting crackling through your veins. The sensation forces tears to your eyes, and you’re unable to stop them from spilling over.

“Stop, stop, stop!” The words spill from your lips in a rush, your hands gripping his shoulders as he leans you back to rest against the bed. “It hurts.”

“I told you it would.” The mechanical voice is surprisingly gentle as he pulls away from you, eyes searching your face.

You take deep heaving breaths, trying to quell the pain that now throbs all across your left side. “It feels like I’m falling apart,” you tell him, wiping at your tears. “It’s just…pulling at me.”

He nods. “Unfortunately, this is common. Your body is not used to the new weight of a foreign body. You’re also still healing.” He pulls at the edge of your gown until the area where skin meets metal is revealed.

The skin is puffed up and pink where it meshes with the metal plates, looking much angrier than it had a few days ago. The man before you runs cool metal fingers across the exposed skin, presumably searching for more damage. But the relief of cool metal against the heated skin makes you sigh.

He pulls away then. As if he’d been burned, and avoids your eyes as he steps away from you, your gown falling back into place.

“Again.”

———

Despite what he told you earlier, he does end up assisting you. You manage several, painful, but sturdy steps away from the bed before being ready to quit.

However, he convinces you to continue if you are able to lean on him for help. Hesitantly, he approaches you on your right, wrapping a solid arm around your waist before leading you slowly around the room.

You’ve barely made it through lap two and you are already drenched in sweat, strands of hair sticking to your face and neck.

“Can this thing get wet?” You ask, swallowing the pain and trying to focus on conversation instead.

The man beside you nods, adjusting his grip on you. “Of course. It would be very ineffective if it could not.”

“Okay, cool. That’s good to know.”

He glances down at you then, one brow raised. “Do you have plans to jump into a body of water that I need to know a about?”

You bark out a laugh. A sound that comes out more pained than entertained. “I can barely walk, let alone swim.” You bite back a groan. “No. I want to take a bath. Or a shower, or something. I’m gross and sweaty, and have no clue when the last time I bathed was.”

“Well,” he begins, turning you both back to head towards your bed. “Personal hygiene is important in this line of work. Preventing infections and keeping wound sites clean, so I can assure you that you have not been unclean this entire time-“

“So you saw me naked?”

Your words cause his grip on you to falter, as he freezes in place. He stumbles over his words, searching for some way to respond to your brazen remark.

Only your laughter soothes his stuttering.

“I’m fucking with you.” You say, tugging at him so he will walk with you again. “I don’t care. You saved me, the last thing I care about is that.”

The man beside you lets out an agitated sigh as you finally approach the bed, and he eases you to sit on the edge.

“What?” You ask, eyes playful despite the pain. “You can make jokes but I can’t?”

“My jokes aren’t crude.”

You huff. “Yeah, well. You took me apart and put me back together again. Nothing’s off the table anymore, right?”

He doesn’t offer a response, instead he turns towards the door, only glancing briefly at you over his shoulder.

“I’ll have something prepared.”

And then he’s gone.

———

It’s only after you finish dinner does he lead you towards the promised bath. Outside of the large room you’ve been in this whole time, you realize that it looks to be an old house.

It doesn’t hold much in the way of creature comforts, and it looks as if it’s been redone to accommodate multiple people at once. You pass several rooms similar, if not a bit smaller, than the one you’ve been in.

All of them are empty. Beds made neatly and tools organized on tables beside them.

“Are you the only one here?” you ask as you pass another empty room, once again leaning against him for support as you walk down the hall.

“You’re here.”

You roll your eyes. “You know what I mean. There’s so many rooms, how do you manage if you have more than one person here?”

“I have a few automatons. They help where they can. Delivering meals, changing IV drips. Menial things I do not have time for,” he tells you, slowing as you approach a door at the end of the hall.

Brows furrow at his words. “I haven’t seen an automaton. Just you.”

He pauses again. And you know by now that means you aren’t going to get a response.

Instead, he turns the knob of the door and pushes it open, lending you into a room with a tub full of steaming water. There’s a small table sitting next to it with a bar of soap, a towel, and a fresh hospital gown.

You’ve never seen a sight so welcome.

“Oh, thank god.” You practically moan at the sight of the tub, breaking from the man’s grip once you’re close enough to lean against the edge.

“Take as long as you need,” he says, before pointing to a small string dangling above the tub. “Pull this if you need assistance with anything.”

“Help with what? Washing my hair? Because I do love it when someone else washes my hair,” you say, a teasing grin on your lips as you look over at him.

You see him roll his eyes this time. “It is meant more for emergencies…”

That wasn’t a no, you think to yourself before waving him off.

“I’ll pull the string if I start to drown,” you joke again, smiling when a small huff of laughter meets your ears.

You hear his footsteps retreating and turn to call out to him before he can leave.

“Hey!” Your voice echoes in the small room, and he glances over his shoulder at you. “Thank you.”

He nods, and then leaves you to your own devices.

———

You end up staying in the bath until the water turns cold, chill bumps raising on your arms. Once you towel off and slip the new gown over your head, you call out for him and he comes back in to help lead you back to your room.

As he’s helping you back into bed, you finally voice the thoughts that have been plaguing your mind.

“Why haven’t you used automatons with me?” Your voice is loud in the otherwise silent room, and you honestly expect to be left unanswered once more.

But he surprises you.

“I do not have any other patients.”

Your eyes never leave him, his words not quite ringing as completely truthful. Instead of pushing that line of questioning you bring up another topic, one that is bothering you more than anything else.

“You remind me of someone,” you blurt out. And for once the man adjusting your blankets doesn’t pause.

“Oh?” The single word his hardly a response, but it is a response. And one that prompts you to continue.

“I just…” You trail off, unsure of how to voice the mess of jumbled up memories and thoughts in your brain.

“My friend that I mentioned earlier. He was always determined to help people, it was why he…why he left. He wanted to help others, with no gain of his own. I don’t know.” You shake your head, eyes falling from the man beside you to the blanket under your fingers. “You’re the same in that way. Wanting to help people.”

“What makes you think my help is entirely selfless?” The modulated voice is quizzical as he looks over to you.

“You would have just let your automatons take care of me if you didn’t care,” you point out. “And I’ve heard the rumors. You hardly ever take payment for what you do.”

He looks away from you again, and that’s enough to tell you that you’re correct.

“What happened to your friend?”

You're taken back by the question.

He hasn’t actually inquired about you since you woke up. Only asking questions about how you feel, your pain, and so on.

But now…he seems genuinely interested.

“He uhm…I don’t know, really,” you admit, your brain is trying to conjure up fuzzy memories. “He got accepted into the academy topside. I wrote letters to him for a while but he never responded so…I don’t know. I guess he’s still up there.”

The memory of that, a memory you had apparently buried deep away, makes emotion well in your chest. So you clear your throat, avoiding the golden eyes boring into you.

“Or maybe he’s dead. I haven’t seen any of the changes he talked about wanting to create down here, so…I don’t know.”

It’s silent following your words, and you assume this is where the man beside you wordlessly leaves. But once again, to your surprise, he speaks.

“Maybe you have not looked in the right places.”

Confusion swarms your brain. “What?”

You look over and see him shrug.

“Maybe the change is right in front of you, and you just haven’t seen it.”

What does that even mean?

You don’t get a chance to voice your question, because he must deem the conversation over. Something you’re silently grateful for. He turns to leave when you ask one last question.

“What do you want me to call you?” you ask. “Machine Herald is kind of a mouthful.”

He stops at the door, hand on the knob. It takes a moment longer for him to answer, and you yet again expect to not receive and answer.

But he does answer you, and his voice is gentler than you’ve ever heard it. As if he's revealing a secret that no one else should hear.

And when his response finally registers in your mind, it brings on more questions and memories than you’re prepared for.

“My name is Viktor.”

#machine herald x reader #machine herald viktor x reader #arcane viktor x reader #arcane x reader #viktor x reader #arcane league of legends

276 notes · View notes