#machine herald x you

[everafterfics]

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

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

[writingmysanity]

Rest

Inspired by this lovely fan art!! Please, go and show them some love!! their art is incredible.

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Word count: 1076

A/N: special thanks to this wonderful artist once more for letting me use their image!! Please, go see their work, linked above!! They deserve all the love. As per usual, unbeta'd. We die on this hill. <3

----

A sharp cry echoes throughout the apartment, the sound nearly swallowing the distant click that had just come to rest outside your door. Groaning softly, you shift to slide out of bed, met gently with fingers curling around your arm when you stumble into a chest, barely more stable than your own. Grunting, you look up, eyes meeting golden ones circled by exhaustion.

“Sleep, Dove,” he insists, gently pressing you back towards the bed. “I've got her.” flopping back onto the bed unceremoniously, you huff, eyes sliding shut simply at the comfort of your blankets surrounding you. Fighting the urge to dose back off, you frown. 

“You’re exhausted, Viktor,” you grumble, eyes barely peeking open to gaze lovingly up at him. Chuckling, he rubs circles on the meat of your thigh before sliding down to your knee, giving it a pat. 

“As are you,” he hums, glancing at the door tiredly as the cries start again. “But of the two of us, you have her more. Allow me this time,” his voice is soft, tired but laced with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. “I miss her,” you just nod before curling back into bed, sighing happily at being able to get some more sleep. 

He is out of the door before sleep pulls you back under its warmth, a gentle coo echoing between cries, the sound bringing a smile to your face as you lose your fight against sleep. 

There isn't a peep for the rest of the night, sunlight filtering through the window waking you shortly before the silence rests over you. For a moment, it is blissful, silence and warmth enveloping you until worry crashes over you. Viktor had not come to bed last night, you realize as you look at his side of the bed, still neatly tucked, undisturbed. 

Frowning, you toss the blankets to the side, sliding out of bed. Shivering a bit at the early morning chill lingering on the hardwood floors, you don't bother with your slippers as you would normally as you pad to the living room. 

Nothing.

Nothing is out of place, everything folded neatly so the way you had fixed it before you went to bed the night before. Humming in confusion, you tilt your head towards the kitchen, listening for Viktor making a pot of coffee. The man may be busy, but since the pregnancy, he has not once left without making sure you've eaten, and to kiss you goodbye- yet he is nowhere to be found. You half expected to find him on the couch, arm thrown over his eyes as you normally do when he is too tired, or hurting too badly to make it to the room. 

The bar overlooking the kitchen is clear of his work, as is the kitchen table- everything just as clean as you had left it. To most, it wouldn't be perfectly clean, there are dishes in the sink, perhaps a smidge of neglected food left to crust on Aryn's high chair, a few of her smaller toys left to be tossed to the side in your haste. But it is devoid of evidence of Viktor bringing work home with him. 

Sighing, you slide towards Aryn’s room. It wouldn't be the first time he left without wanting to wake you- but you had hoped that it would have lasted a bit longer of him staying in the mornings. He's spoiled you with it, you muse, a smile crossing your features despite the sting. Just outside the room, you can already hear her sweet coos, soft babble talk from her crib. 

Whatever he did to get her to sleep through the night, you would love to know. You haven't slept that well since she was born. 

Laughing softly at the sheer excitement in her tone, you slide in. Nothing is out of place in the room, though you know there were at least a few things out of place. He must have cleaned them up for you. 

“Good morning, beautiful,” you coo back to the smiling face that pops up over the edge of the cradle, her father’s golden eyes meeting yours as a delighted laugh escapes her, but she doesn't lift herself to meet you like she normally does. You don't think much of it until you get closer. “What are you clinging to, my love?” she tugs up, brown tufts sticking out from her tiny fist- followed by a gentle grunt. Peering over the edge of the bed, you cover your mouth to keep from your laugh, melting at the image of your husband curled up in the baby's crib. A blue blanket settled around his middle, he has his arm wrapped around her body, effectively keeping her from wandering- much to her own delight. His head is resting on his other arm, another grunt escaping his lips when Aryn tugs again, a soft sigh leaving his lips.

“Little one,” he grumbles sleepily. “Please not so hard.” he has yet to notice you, not even actually awake at the moment. Clicking your tongue at her, you lean forward, gently prying her little fingers open to give Viktor a reprieve. 

“Is that any way to treat papa?” you sooth her hiccuped exclamation, lip jutting at the disjustice of being unable to abuse her father’s head. Viktor hums appreciatively, one eye creaking open to look up at you, a sleepy smile crossing his features. 

“Good morning, my love,” he hums, his voice thick with sleep, making his accent thicker. Reaching down, you slide your fingers into his hair, soothing his scalp where she had been pulling, earning a sigh. Tentatively, he shifts his arm from around Aryn, fingers wrapping around your wrist gently as he turns his head to brush his lips over your wrist, making you shiver. 

“Good morning,” you offer back, amusement and pure adoration melting you into the side of the crib, balancing on your toes to see him better. “I thought we agreed she sleeps alone.” you grin at his pout, bottom jutting out much like his daughters. 

“No,” he huffs. “We agreed that she would sleep in her own bed.” snorting a laugh, you shake your head. 

“That would normally mean you sleep in your own bed, as well, my love,” his nose twitches a bit, scrunching up his face before it is broken by your favorite crooked smile. 

“I made no such agreement to that.”

----

Arcane taglist:

@grumpyoutlaw @thehistoriangirl @rainbowpitofdoom @wizarrdofooze @uniquedeerwitch @ace-of-zaun @aerynwrites @queenxxxsupreme @beeblybub @ears-queers-gears-n-fears  

If you would like to be added to the tag list, please send me a message or ask or something.

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

[hyperesthesias]

Can you actually write something smutty for Viktor? Or just a guide on how to? I really want to write some Viktor smut, but I'm worried I won't do his disability justice as I'm able bodied and a dumbass

Of my twelve years on this webbed site, this has got to be the best ask I have ever received lmao

I would be happy to help, friend. I'll answer this in two parts.

Yes, I am planning on writing Viktor smut for Viktor x Anya. I had a lot happen in the year since I made the post you're referencing, but I've finally been able to get back into fandom stuff. I wanted to lay some backstory with them first though, as I am apparently a PWP kind of person lmao. It's coming soon! (No pun intended).

You've taken the first great step in recognizing that your experience and knowledge may not be congruent with potential portrayal, and therefore asking for advice. I don't mean to sound patronizing at all. I am an author and I have seen many professional authors that don't do this, so you're already ahead of the game! I wouldn't consider that dumbassery in any way, shape, or form.

I'll put the rest under a cut due to the nature of this post.

*Disclaimer to this is, of course, I don't speak for every disabled person, this list isn't extensive, and these are my opinions.

I, personally, operate under the assumption that Viktor has Post Polio Syndrome. Looking at photographs (x, x, x) it's pretty clear the animators used PPS as a framework for Viktor's movements and posture, as well as his mobility and assistive devices. People with PPS often develop need for braces, canes or crutches, and treatment for scoliosis -- all of which Viktor has. You are more than welcome to headcanon something different, as I don't believe the writers or animators have ever confirmed or denied PPS, but based on my own experience and research, I would bet money on it.

That being said -- regardless of PPS, or otherwise -- the first thing to consider when writing smut for any disabled character is fatigue. It may not be the obvious thing, as mobility devices often are the first thing to catch an observer's eye. But there is so much that goes on beneath mobility devices. Fatigue is a big one.

Consider the worst flu you've ever had -- all the time, every day, even in your sleep. It can be maddening, like you can't get any relief -- even if you take pain reliever or use other analgesics. Most people with a severe flu aren't exactly in the mood to be frisky, especially spontaneously. Many physically disabled people rely on preplanning. Having a date night where they can plan for extra pain reliever, or where they can schedule the rest of their day or week to conserve energy for a special night. The psychological energy that people need to conserve alone can take a lot of effort. Being disabled is also mentally exhausting, especially when you have a partner and their needs to consider. Giving a disabled person time to prepare for sex (or other tasks) is essential.

Related to that, is the fact the energy levels aren't always consistent. A disabled person and their lover could be going at it like rabbits for a while and then suddenly the disabled partner may need to stop because their "battery" (their physical energy levels) has run out. They may need a break for a few minutes, or they may just need to end the sexual encounter altogether.

The worst thing you (or your character) could do is take this personally. It has nothing to do with their partner, it's their body that is (frustratingly [on many levels]) not cooperating.

Something to toy with (no pun intended) when writing characters with energy level deficits is vibrators. Twice the work with half the effort. Don't be afraid to write smut with toys and vibrators -- it doesn't even have to be kinky. Toys and vibrators are normal and vanilla, all things considered. The only reason they haven't been normalized is because of patriarchal standards as to what sex is and is supposed to be.

The second thing to consider is physical limitations of positions and potential discomfort. I've seen several fanfic writers describe situations and positions that Viktor simply would never be able to do (e.g. lifting his partner onto a table or desk).

Viktor doesn't have a lot of strength. That's not to say he can't be rough or that all smut has to be vanilla. But realistically, it's absurd to think that he can lift someone else or manhandle them with any force, or thrust at the speed of light (💀). He also doesn't have any balance whatsoever post Act I. During Act I, he's able to hobble somewhat without his cane, as long as he has something to hold onto, as seen in episode three. But in Acts II and III, his balance issues combined with scoliosis would make any positions where he has to stand much more difficult.

Therefore, if you're wanting to write a scene somewhere outside of a bedroom (e.g. the lab, his office, etc.), he'd need something to balance himself. Seated sex is a great concept to play with -- very disability friendly and offers many options for all sorts of scenes. Desk/table sex is also realistic, as long as your character lifts themself onto the desk or table, and he's able to lean on it.

Scenes that take place in the bedroom also have their own limitations. He has zero use of his right leg, which means he'd need more time to get in and out of different positions. Missionary would take a toll on his back, I'd imagine, from being hunched over -- not that he couldn't do it at all, but that was more of a sidenote. Having your character straddle him, while his back was supported, is probably the most comfortable position I can imagine. Or spooning. Or maybe doggy, though I think his back and hips might get tired. But I'm just spit balling at this point. Utilizing objects from the setting is important -- pillows, having your character bent over the back of a couch, etc. This is where creativity comes in -- it's just important to keep in mind where his limitations are located on his body: his back and his leg/hip.

There are also adaptive devices for sex and disabilities.

One final thing I want to say is: don't overcorrect. This is common. It's one thing to keep a character's disability in mind, but it's another to make a disability the entire character. Just because Viktor is disabled doesn't mean he can't have the filthiest, most disgusting, raw, life changing, I-should-visit-a-confessional type of sex. However you headcanon him to be in bed is exactly how he can be. If you see him as a cruel Dom, he absolutely can slap the shit out of whoever has the pleasure of being beneath him, while he makes them beg for his mercy -- with his back and leg supported. If you see him as a bratty sub, he can be that, too -- while he lies there with a back pillow to relieve pressure off his spine. If he's the plainest, blander-than-vanilla type of lover, that's exactly what he is -- while he takes a few extra minutes to move from one position to the next. If he's any combination of those things, more power to you.

The point of writing a scene, is the point you're trying to make. Meaning: a lot of writers worry about conveying ideas and settings perfectly and with detail, while losing sight of the main point of their story. Rarely will you ever have to add paragraphs to a piece of writing in order to convey something, especially if it's not the main point. Often, it only takes one or two sentences. Keep the main point of the scene in mind. If you're writing a fic where Viktor and your character are secretly getting it on in the lab, then the point and the idea of that scene is the forbidden sex they are having. Not necessarily his limitations. You can easily acknowledge Viktor's disability by saying something like: 'Viktor sat on a chair at the far end of the lab, away from the door's line of sight. He leaned his back against the seat, allowing his spine to settle, before he coaxed his lover onto his lap. His lover straddled his legs, reaching to kiss his neck, while his hand trailed up their thighs...' You've successfully conveyed the limitations he has in two sentences, while maintaining the focus of your scene, and without reducing Viktor to a caricature of his disability. Less is more throughout your fic.

As a side note, which is completely my headcanon -- and something I've vaguely alluded to in my Viktor x Anya fics -- is that Viktor also has erectile dysfunction as a result of the PPS. Polio is a neurological virus, meaning is attacks the nerve cells, the main cause of the atrophy in PPS. It isn't common, but it's not uncommon for males with PPS to struggle with ED. As such, in my own personal stories, I have mentioned that Viktor takes medication to help with it. Sildenafil (the generic for Viagra) is a medication that specifically targets nerves.

That's my own person interpretation, though, and has no bearing on what we seen in Arcane lol.

To close this off for now, I want to reassure you that your efforts count and they matter. No one will write any depiction of disability 'perfectly'. Disability is unique to every person, and one person's spinal disability will look different to another's. Even people with the exact same diagnosis and prognosis will differ in how they experience it. You're not a dumbass. You're very intelligent to recognize the need for external resources. Enjoy yourself, enjoy the work you write, and keep asking questions.

If and when you decide to write your Viktor smut piece, I would love to read it. And likewise, if you'd like to read what I write I'd be happy to send it to you! If you're comfortable coming off anon, you can message me privately and we can talk more!

#viktor #viktor arcane #arcane #netflix arcane #viktor smut #viktor x reader #arcane viktor x reader #arcane viktor x you #viktor x you #arcane smut #disability #disability advocacy #disability awareness #viktor the machine herald #viktor fanfic #viktor fic

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hi, can I order yandere Viktor Arcane with a reader who is yandere for him too? Please 🥺

Yandere Viktor x Yandere Reader

You’re similar to Luciane in that you softly pine for him

Watching his back as he crawls to the greatest feat science will ever come to know

Except you don’t stop if he waves you off

You persist, noting the blood that he spits up as he further tests the boundaries of Hextech

When Jayce or anyone attempts to heed his progress you intercept them

“I don��t think that’s a good idea…Victor’s working really hard on this! Don’t try to stop him, now.”

But what can lowly scientists do at the hand of the council and the public

So even as his health fails you join him in his pursuit 

Finally getting his eyes to look at you

You don’t identify with his plea to help humanity; you appeal to his health and success

Which may mean sneaking into the Hextech labs to retrieve however much he needs

When he cures his condition or at least gains the new power with his…advancements

He works on something else

Something that will leave you at his mercy+ keeps you by his side

Whether you retain your employment in his stead or are running within the shadows 

He still feels far from you

Too far

So when he gives you a bracelet or ring with a blue glow you best not take it off

“I’ve lost a  lot (Y/n) but I’ve gained a lot as well. And I will not be losing any of the progress I’ve made now.”

#yandere arcane #yandere reader #yandere arcane Viktor #yandere viktor #yandere machine herald #yandere viktor arcane #yandere x yandere #Yandere Arcane #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yanderexrea #yanderes #yandere

[therabbitthatpostthings]

Might fully write this as a whole story one day.

You come to Viktor with a serious inquiry:

“Do you know a doctor that can perform Hanahaki removal surgery?”

He was stunned at first. He didn’t even know you had feelings for someone but to ask for this?

“You know how risky that is, you could lose all love in your heart.” Viktor stated.

“Of course I do. That’s why I came to ask you. It’s been done, a successful removal. Sure the recovery period is long but I get to keep my memories with you guys. I’ll take the chance.” You were steadfast in your decision. This was the only way to rid yourself of this retched disease. You weren’t exactly happy about it either, the chance that you would lose all love for Viktor and Jace was high. However staying in love with someone until your heart breaks or you die is worse (of course you wouldn’t actually die though).

Viktor sighed, “Who is it, it you don’t mind me asking?”

You were almost too embarrassed to mention it, “Remember Sterling…”

Viktor sat up fully in his seat to really grasp the situation. Sterling was someone you both knew from your Academy days and he was a piece of work. A ‘Grade A’ jackass and flirt. It sucks that his looks matched his brains, being one of Piltover’s elites. He was destined to inherit his families company and live a life of luxury. And this, amalgamation of every stereotype rich boy, was the one causing you so much pain. Viktor could hardly believe it.

“Don’t look at me like that, I’m not proud of it either!” Your face flushed bright red. “It just…happened. We were talking and things got real for a second. I thought I saw a different side of him but it’s…ugh! It’s complicated Viktor!”

Still in disbelief, Viktor adjusted himself on the chair. He collected his thoughts before looking back up at you. “I will ask Professor Heimerdinger for help. Don’t worry, I’ll find the best doctor there is. You won’t lose a precious memories, I promise.”

“Thank you Vitya.” You smile. Viktor felt a small ache in his chest but ignored it. You said your goodbyes and Viktor started to draft his letter to the Professor. Your memories and friendship was on the line so he felt compelled to write as soon as possible.

Professor Heimerdinger reported back by the end of the day. He was deeply concerned with Viktor’s wellbeing. This disease was no joke! He had lost many a friend to the flower disease and Viktor was far too young to fall ill with it. Viktor stopped him in the middle of his speech as he explained the treatment was for you and not himself. He was very confused at first but agreed to contacting a very good doctor. Before Viktor leaves, the professor urges him to be careful and be kind to himself.

Viktor didn’t understand then. You met with the doctor and consulted with her many times. She was kind and truly understood what it meant to be afflicted. After the consultations, Viktor would be your shoulder to lean on. On the nights you were too sick, you would stay with him. Viktor’s apartment became your second home. Viktor was slowly starting to understand the Professor’s warning. He couldn’t think about that now, he needed to be here for you.

Around two weeks before your surgery you were walking to your scheduled visit when you saw him, Sterling. He was chatting with another girl when he said some choice words about you. He threw in a couple comments that you’d only get far in this world because you “suck up” to the HexTech guys. It didn’t just sting he thought of you this way, especially after this long but he dared to badmouth your two best friends as well. For once, your coughing stopped and you noticed a bud had landed in your hand. You took this to the doctor and she was intrigued. She examined it closely and came back with a smile on her face.

“Congratulations, you’re falling out of love.”

“What?!”

“Calm down, it’s only been reported in the last 60 years or so but there are cases of people falling out of love with their intended person. It was mostly reported in relationships that turned sour after years but yes, even crushes can die out.”

“Does this mean, I will lose all love in my heart?”

“Not necessarily, you’ll feel reluctant and wary but as for your friends and family, you will love them just the same. You may even fall in love again one day.”

You get somewhat relieved. The doctor continued, “About the buds in your lungs. You can have the stem cut but that runs the risk of the original surgery. Best I can do for you is give you some medicine for nausea, pain killers and recommend you take on less physical work. Also, if you don’t mind, I’d like to continue our consultations with a therapist present so I can monitor the after effects.”

“Right…”

You left the consultation feeling lighter. Honestly seeing the doctor so excited over a bud, the proof that love dies, was amusing. The very thought of Sterling did fill your heart with a pit but one of disgust. Such an awful person who doesn’t know himself had the audacity to speak about you and your friends. The nerve!

You walked into the office and huffed into the seat next to Viktor. Without looking up from his notes, “You seem energetic today.”

“I’m not having the surgery.”

He almost fell out of his chair. Why would not have the surgery!? Have you fallen in love with Sterling?! Did he accept you?!

“I heard that jerk talking about me to another girl and he had the nerve to bring you and Jace into it! I don’t know it’s like- it’s like all my affection just died right then and there!” You explained what the doctor had said and how you would continue your rantings. Viktor felt a swell of pride in his chest. The fact that you were so annoyed on his behalf meant no matter what, your feelings would remain.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” he smiled.

“Honestly good riddance.” You scoffed “He doesn’t compare to you guys! You work so hard Vik, even when you were taking care of me!”

“I’d do it all again.” Viktor said. You sighed, finally relieved of your anger. You thanked him again for all he’s done and excused yourself to let him get back to work. Viktor waiting until you were out of the room to completely heave over the waste bin. It was filled with red stained petals.

How could he bring himself to tell you? Not now, not while you were free of this burden. He can wait it out, now that he was sure love dies.

#shitpost #shitposting #writing fanfics at 3am #cringe- #arcane #lol arcane #viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor x you #short drabble #viktor the machine herald #viktor my beloved #hanahaki disease

[jinxgrenades]

I FUXKIN CANT

#viktor arcane x reader #viktor x reader #viktor arcane #viktor the machine herald #viktor x you #if the creator is here please tag them #I wanna kiss them

[saeneryis]

Random NSFW Viktor Headcanons

Machine Herald Edition.

Includes: Viktor (as the Machine Herald) x Reader (Gender Neutral) Warnings: dom, possessiveness, nsfw, begging, praise, toys, topping.

• Viktor is lowkey kind of possessive. He loves feeling like you’re his, and will often find himself begging you to let him cum in, or over you— depending on his mood, of course. Showering you in kisses, praise, and giving your body the respect it deserves is his #1 priority. No one is as beautiful as you, in his eyes. He can get a little jealous seeing you talk to other people, but at the end of the day, he knows you know who you belong to.

• He’s a full time scientist, not afraid of trying anything, and although he would rather use this energy to decipher the mysteries of the world, Viktor usually always gives in into your requests. You guys have a ton of sex toys— and he’s into that. Vibrating, moving, or even with sound effects (please, don’t ask) he’s open to anything you want to do to him.

• But usually, he’s gonna top the shit out of you. Especially after a long day of trying to figure a breakthrough out. He claims it helps him think better. With his new, enhanced body— physical limitations are no longer. A few of his favorite positions are doing it while he’s standing up and holding you mid-air, and letting you sit on top of him. • He's still Viktor under all those upgrades, ignoring the metallic implants that exist all over his body— his face still looks just like it always did. The only person who's seen him after he went full on machine herald was you, hence, you're the only person he's willing to ever sleep with.

Writer’s Note: Something small to lighten the mood. I love robot Viktor, kind of a shame there isn’t a lot about him here. Writing is hard, dude. I wish there was a way to make my other works faster, ahh.. so many drafts... can't complete them all! I have like 4 more ideas and I stopped one midway. Got uninspired :')

#viktor x reader #viktor smut #viktor x you #arcane smut #arcane #viktor machine herald #viktor arcane x you #viktor arcane x reader #viktor headcanons

[theiauwu]

Tragic Reunions, Tearful Realizations.

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

Word Count: 6.4k words

Genre: fluff, angst, one shot

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

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

I hope all of you out there enjoy!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He loved the women but Janna she was oblivious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dead? Viktor?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the question remains, where is he?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was…pregnant?

Viktor’s child was growing inside of her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Remaining silent, he allows the man to continue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All he had to do now was wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clink.

Clank.

Clink.

Clank.

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

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

And his eyes…

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

That’s…not possible.

He was dead.

How?

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

And that terrified her.

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

He’s changed, not just physically.

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

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

She tried resisting him, she really did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And she may never get to hold her again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, bring her back.”

Without any hesitation, he nods.

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

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

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

And with those encouraging words, he turned and left.

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

After all, he had been partially responsible for them.

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

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

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

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

It was…soft.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her own father.

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

The woman he had supposedly loved with all his being.

He was a monster.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The terror and the sheer panic.

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

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

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

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

A quick death.

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

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

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

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

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

Wanting to bask in the comfort it brought to her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How dare he?

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

Especially after what he had done.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And she saw it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Would it be wrong for her to say yes?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I forgive you.”

And that was all the words the two needed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Their little champion.

Author's note:

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

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

#arcane #arcane netflix #viktor #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #arcane league of legends #viktor x you #viktor lol #viktor x y/n #viktor x oc #viktor x reader #viktor headcanons #arcane viktor x you #arcane viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x female reader #pregnant reader #machine herald viktor

[bruh-anator3000]

Guess who is also severely ill rn and has been throwing up non stop???

Spoilers!!!! its me.

So let me grab Viktor by the hair and pretend hes taking care of me, c'mon psstpsstpsst vikki come here

Warnings: throwing up, on the nose references to that one dream I had and Machine Heralding, probably really bad writing since my vision is kinda going wonky, cringe self indulgence bc i need it

...

Welp, there went your lunch.

Down the toilet, leaving you heaving for air. Fat tears rolled down your face as you sat back on your heels. Panting, like a boa constrictor was tight around your torso and throat. Dabbing pathetically at your drool, snot, and tears.

Your light meal of saltine crackers with some ice chips lasted about... 10 minutes? Maybe more, since you had time to get up and go to the bathroom this round. Wincing, you buried your face in the towel, a godforsaken headache throbbing at the front of your head.

What the hell did you do to deserve this? The stomach virus had been going sround but you knew better than a silly virus. This was the virus plus your insane stomach that could never cooperate teaming up with your migranes to form the worst day in history.

No anti-stomach acid pills worked, none of the prescribed medications for your pains stayed down long enough, and half of them needed food to accompany them before being digested.

Who decided to make that a rule? You wanted to meet up with the pharmacist who decided you had to eat something first to make your stomach stop hurting. You wanted to ask if they knew what chronic stomach pain meant. Possibly hit them with a chair but that was if you had time.

But seriously, how were you supposed to keep prescriptions down when you could hardly stomach fucking crackers?

You eventually pulled your face away from the towel, rubbing your eyes raw, at the sound of the front door opening. The tell-tale sign someone else was home, quickly being accompanied by your cat greeting them in cheerful meows. You could hear Viktor call out your name. And you could feel, if you tried to say anything above a whisper back, the breakfast you never had was about to join your lunch.

Rio knocked over some pill bottles, guessing from how multiple clattered and rattled to the floor. The tsk that followed a better indicator that your cat had cleared off the kitchen table, while you hid in the bathroom. A bottle or two was picked up before the comforting tap-tap-tapping of a cane neared the master bathroom.

Tap-tap-tap against the door. "You're sick again, aren't you?" Viktor's accented voice carried through the door. You only nodded from your seated position against the wall. As if he could see you. "Can I come in?"

You tried for an affirmative hum that quickly soured in you throat. Viktor heard it nonetheless, and gently peeked his head through the door.

"Have you eaten anything?" He was aware not eating could cause this reaction. Eating could cause it to be like this, too. Or worse.

"Nothing stays down." You managed to choke out. He walked in, leaving the door a tad open for your cat to slide in behind him.

With a small groan, he joined you on the floor. Back sliding down the wall til he sat right besides you, hand curling over yours in your lap. Rio came trotting behind, finding her place in between both yours and Viktor's knees. She curled her paws beneath, creating a rushed loaf as she bumped her head against you.

You wanted to pull your hands apart, wrap one with Viktor's and have the other one run down Rio's back. But every movement, every flicker of the bathroom's light, it made you even more nauseous.

Reading your mind, Viktor squeezed your hands in his, speaking softly, "It's alright. Rio and I will take care of you." He smiled, teasing in a little humor despite your unforgiving state.

You leaned into his shoulder. A tear rolled down your face. "It hurts."

"I know."

"I'm so sick of this, Vik."

"I know," He sighed, letting his head drop. "We'll figure this out someday." His eyes glared at his leg. He could feel it protest against it's crossed position as he sat with you.

You sighed, letting your heap drop to your knees. "How was work?"

"Mmh, nothing extraordinary." His thumb rubbed soothing circles over your knuckles. "Jayce nearly blew his hand off." He lilted. "His hand got stuck in the Atlas Gauntlet and instead of just taking the Hex crystal out, he panicked and almost blew off his arm."

You hummed. "So regular day?"

"Pretty much."

You sighed. "Do you think if I ate a hex crystal, my stomach pain would go away?" Viktor snorted.

"I very much doubt that."

"Well, you're the scientist." You pouted. "Build me a stomach that won't violently protest everything. Like a... hex-stomach or something."

"A hex-stomach?" You nodded. "Hm, I'll ask Jayce what he thinks, but it may turn calories anf sugars needed for your body to function into magic."

"I'm supposed to not like that?"

"I can't think it to be pleasent to vomit magic." He winced.

"The point of the hex-stomach is that I will no longer throw up." He squeezed your hands again, thumb brushing your knuckles still.

"We'll figure out something less... risky." He said

...

As if we don't know his doomed narritive. Doomed little guy. Kay im gonna go throw up now, i hope you are having a great day, if not at least better than mine.

Let me take the suffering from you since I'm already in the depths of it. You go enjoy your day.

#do u think he would test on you if you asked? #can he please build me a bettef stomach #this glorious evolution donf sound half bad #replace failing body parts with machine? #uh yes #maybe my dream was telling me if I did eat the hexcore i would be healed #machine herald viktor #viktor arcane x reader #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #arcane #machine herald if youre reading this please build me a new stomach

[buttermynutter]

Signed, Viktor | Table of Contents

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

━━━━━━━━━━

✑ Letter 1

✒ Letter 2

✑ Letter 3

✒ Letter 4

✑ Letter 5

✒ Letter 6

✑ Letter 7

✒ Letter 8

✑ Letter 9

✒ Letter 10

✑ Letter 11

✒ Letter 12

✑ Letter 13

✒ Letter 14

✑ Letter 15

✒ Letter 16

✑ Letter 17

✒ Letter 18

#signed viktor #arcane x reader #arcane fic #arcane fanfic #arcane league of legends #league of legends x you #league of legends x reader #arcane #league of legends #arcane x you #arcane viktor #viktor/reader #viktor x reader #viktor #viktor x you #viktor arcane #viktor league of legends #viktor the machine herald #viktor/you #jayce arcane #jayce league of legends #jayce #series #letters

[royal-tea-blogs]

Really cool JayVik idea incoming but just bare with me for a second.

There’s an old Chinese folktale about the goddess of the moon being banished to earth with her husband, loosing their immortality. They manage to find an elixir to give them their immortality back, but only enough for one of them. Not being able to bare leaving the other behind, they store the elixr away and make the best of their now mortal lives.

Near the end of the story, some asshole tries to break in and steal the elixir, and in the ultimate sacrifice to save her husband the goddess downs the elixir to ensure the villain couldn’t get it.

No let’s swap out the elixr for the Hexcore. I want a story where Viktor gets it be the knight in shinning armor for Jayce. I want the ANGST.

But I’ll probably never write it so here I am on tumblr word vomiting.

#here you go lol #fanfic ideas #arcane #arcane spoilers #arcane league of legends #jayvik #vikjayce #jayce x viktor #viktor x jayce #viktor arcane #jayce arcane #arcane viktor #arcane jayce #arcane jayvik #hexcore #arcane fanfic #arcane fanfiction #royal rambles #machine herald viktor #machine herald

[writingmysanity]

Laundry Day

Pairing: Viktor x Reader

Word count: 1863

Requested: NO, purely self-indulgent

A/N: Of course, as always, not beta'd- we die on this hill. Also, I have been mega in my feels. Satan's waterfall has visited, I detest this time, so I am making do with writing fluff and domestic goo. Please enjoy.

“Leave him be, my boy,” a voice comes with slightly too much joy in your taste, as you're sure of the subject of the conversation- Viktor. He hasn't been home in 4 days, and you're sure he hasn't gotten more than 10 hours of sleep in total during the entirety of his absence. Huffing, you're about to barge in, long sleeve shirt rolled up to your elbows already in preparation when you pause at the second voice. Jayce.

“Professor, with all due respect, Viktor hasn't slept in what I can almost assure you is days,” he sounds stressed but is hiding it well. “I can't let him continue work on something that could harm him,” and at that, you step in, making your presence known. 

“I concur,” you hum, obvious irritation on your face, looking down at the furry menace you've come to question in Viktor’s life. Thus far, he has done well for your caffeine addicted work-a-holic, but as of now, he is being nothing short of an enabler. 

“But he is close to a breakthrough,” he stresses, eyes narrowing at you. Cocking an eyebrow down at him, you snort.

“Or a breakdown,” you grouch. “He hasn't been home in four days-”

“We have made sleeping arrangements at the lab for him,” he cuts you off, which irritates you further. Jayce, catching wind, steps back slowly, knowing that look in your eyes, sending a pointed look at his mentor screaming If you value your life, shut UP.

But he misses it. Or ignore it. 

Nodding slightly, you offer a small smile, hiding the heat prickling along your skin.

“Has he used it?” Heimerdinger pauses, shrugging.

“Im sure-” 

“He hasn't even considered it,” you finish for him, watching the yodle walk away, his poro skittering off behind him. As soon as the door shuts, Jayce sighs, shoulders sagging. 

“Thanks,” he offers you a tired smile, bags under his eyes bruising, the redness lining his eyes making you frown. 

“When was the last time you slept, Talis?” he chuckles, shrugging. 

“More recently than Viktor,” he raises his hands in defense. “And the moment you get him out of here, I'm out, too.” you grin a bit.

“You have much faith in me,” you muse, glancing across the lab, the open layout letting your eyes settle on his darkened figure hunched over whatever he is working on. He just nods.

“Well earned, let me tell you. I've never seen someone able to convince him out of the lab before,” he hums, a smile stretching to a grin. “You've got the magic touch.” laughing, you start over to Viktor.

“I'll leave the magic working to you two,” you throw over your shoulder as you come to lean over Viktor's, watching silently as he works for a moment. He doesn't even know you are here yet, despite not even attempting to hide your presence. After a few more moments, you decide to announce yourself. 

“Viktor,” you purr, your voice carrying in a sing-song tone not more than a few inches from his face. You take pleasure in how he shudders as he drags his eyes from his work, a tired but pleased smile softening his sharp features. 

“Ah, My dove,” he hums, head tilting to gently knock his head to yours affectionately. “What brings you here?” slowly, he sets the prototype down but doesn't turn to face you. Smiling softly, pressing a kiss to his hair right above his ear. 

“It's laundry day,” you hum. He frowns, shaking his head.

“That is on Thursdays,” he grumbles, looking out of the skylight windows, eyes narrowing at the light streaming through. Laughing softly, you nod. 

“It's friday,” you supply gently. He freezes, guilt passing in his eyes quickly before he sighs.

“You’re late,” he teases, making you laugh softly, tugging on his sleeve.

“I figured I'd give you some time,” you say softly, straightening. “But, i would greatly appreciate you to come home.'' In truth, he doesn't really help much other than helping sort the clothes, but you use it as an excuse to allow him to rest. Normally, if not presented with a problem or project, and given more than a few moments of time to sit comfortably, he passes out. 

Sighing again, he nods slightly, looking at his partner who is pretending to work on something, totally not watching the two of you. 

“I am heading out,” he announces, wincing as he stands up, accidentally stumbling into your arms slightly, his legs giving out at the pressure of his weight, asleep from the inactivity. Immediately, your hands jump to catch him, one on his elbow, the other settling on his waist, until he gets his barings moments later. 

“Perhaps… I should not have sat so long,” he groans when his body pops a few times as he stretches, his cane being gently set in his hand. You nod, raising an eyebrow. 

“Movement is good,” you pause before grinning. “Do you need a piggy-back ride back to the house?” he flushes at Jayce’s bark of laughter, nose scrunching up in playful distaste, fighting his own smile. 

“I believe I will be able to make it on my own, thank you, Dove.”

Shrugging, you press a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips, tsking him gently when he moves to chase your lips. 

“The offer is there,” you muse, turning to start towards the door, smiling to yourself as you hear the click trailing behind you. There is a pause behind you, making you stop at the door, not turning towards him.

“No work,” you remind him, earning a soft whine but you hear the stack of papers flop back into the desk with a grumble. Jayce fights the grin until VIktor is at your side, no longer able to see his toothy smile.

“Take tomorrow off,” he calls to you both. Viktor is about to argue, but looks down at you, guilt washing over him again, so he sighs.

“Thank you,” he calls, following you out the door. You grin at Jayce, sending him a wink playfully. He laughs, shaking his head.

Magic, he swears. It has to be.

The trip home is relatively quick as you crowd him inside, gently tugging at his vest, helping him out of it. He allows you to tug it off his shoulders before fingers start pulling at the buttons on his burgundy shirt, a crooked grin stretching across his face.

“There are easier ways to get me out of my clothes,” he jokes despite the exhaustion practically etched into his very frame, shoulders slouched more than usual, deep purple bags under his eyes almost comically large. Humming in amusement, you brush your fingers gently down his chest, nails gently scraping at his skin, making his eyes flutter.

“Maybe once you've slept,” you purr, tugging his shirt off his shoulders gently, letting the fabric fumble to the floor as you lift your hand to cradle his face. He melts into your touch in relief, lips parting slightly when you run your thumb along his bottom lip. He just nods, looking at you through lidded eyes, the deep honey color glittering in the mid-afternoon sunlight. 

“Promise?” he asks weakly, tugging you closer. You melt into his hold, nuzzling your nose into his throat, lips brushing along the skin there.

“Promise,” you whisper against his skin. “Now go take a bath, I will collect your clothes and then once you're out, perhaps we can take a nap together.” The breath that escapes his lips is shaky, tired.

“Yeah,” he smiles, nodding. “That sounds wonderful.”

The next several minutes are spent in silence as you help him settle into the bath, throwing in some of your salts to help with his muscles before pressing a kiss to his crown and snatching up the remainder of his clothes. Gently, he catches your wrist as you go to stand, running his thumb along the skin there, sending you a thankful smile. Turning your hand in his, you squeeze his hand gently before stepping away to let him relax quietly, watching him from the door as his head droops back, eyes closed. 

Setting some milk on the stove, you wait for it to start to warm before dropping in his favorite mix- cinnamon, vanilla, nutmeg and clove. Christmas in a cup, he mused once. Smiling to yourself, you divvy it up once it's done before setting both mugs on the coffee table and moving to set out his favorite lazy day home clothes- a simple loose shirt with some sweatpants.

By the time he is out, you are still sorting out the laundry, humming to yourself. He stands behind you silently, taking in the sight with a smile. You only spot him when you turn slightly to grab another piece, jumping slightly at his sudden presence, hand coming to rest on your chest with a hushed laugh. 

“You startled me,” you admit, making him grin.

“I am sorry, my dear,” he hums, leaning down to press a kiss on top of your head, a drop of water dripping to your cheek, towel thrown over his shoulder. “I couldn't help myself.” rolling your eyes at his teasing, you pull back to get a better look at him. Some color had returned to his cheeks, even the bags under his eyes had seemed to ease. He looks exhausted, but much more comfortable. 

Without another word, he settles into the couch across from you, eyes settling on the mugs before him, eyes lighting up.

“Sweet milk,” he beams, grabbing the mug you had given him as your gag gift for christmas- #1 scientist scrawled across its front. He had loved it unironically, realizing you had made it for him.

They just don't make enough about scientists, you had pouted, nearly melting when he swore he loved it. 

He does.

In fact, he rubbed it in Jayce’s face.

Chuckling at his childish wonder, you nod, pausing to take a sip of yours. It is only another few minutes of quiet as he sips on his drink and you sort laundry before he is tugging on your sleeve with a yawn.

“Darling?” you pause, looking up at him. He is lounging back, bad leg propped up slightly, head flopped on the pillows you keep on the couch for him, arms open pathetically as he throws you a sleepy smile. Giggling at just how cute he is, you nod, abandoning your task to settle into his arms. Humming in satisfaction, he physically wraps himself around you, nose burying itself in your hair as he hauls you to your side. 

Squeaking, you grab onto him, burying your own face in his chest, grinning when you feel his chest rumble with his quiet laughter, arms tightening around you. Sighing happily, you set your chin to his chest, looking up at him through your lashes. His eyes are already on you, drooping with sleep.

“Sleep, Vik,” you hum, running your fingers over his arm gently, watching his eyes slide closed, a soft snore following not long after. Laughing softly to yourself, you cuddle closer, allowing the warmth to wash over you, tugging you under as well. 

____

Arcane taglist:

@grumpyoutlaw @thehistoriangirl @rainbowpitofdoom @wizarrdofooze @uniquedeerwitch @ace-of-zaun @aerynwrites @queenxxxsupreme @beeblybub

If you would like to be added to the tag list, please send me a message or ask or something.

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

[hyperesthesias]

Machine Viktor, except Y/N calls him Daft Punk.

#machine herald viktor #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader #viktor the machine herald #viktor arcane #viktor #viktor x you #viktor x y/n #viktor x yn #arcane #arcane viktor #lol viktor #league of legends #the machine herald

[madschiavelique]

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

[self-medication13]

S t i t c h e d

Returning to this post, i decided to try my hand at writing this prompt... Obviously, TW for a lot of things, this is still a WIP and i will go over it multiple times. lmk what you think x

#self-medication13 #arcane #viktor #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #fanfic #viktor x reader #arcane viktor x reader #viktor x you #frankenstein #arcane x reader #arcane x you #horror fanfic #arcane league of legends #league of legends #LoL #the machine herald

[zomaeliet]

Implied Viktor x AFAB reader, no pronouns mentioned for reader, uses words describing female anatomy, wet dreams, drabble, minors DNI!

I very fucking much wrote this at 3 in the morning falling asleep at my desk and I have no recollection of writing it

You feel the ghostly touch slide deliciously from the center of your knee to the pliant and plush give of your inner thigh. Your breath catches in your throat, a subtle whine leaving your kiss-swollen lips as long, slender fingers press to the soaked fabric of cotton panties - playing you like a talented pianist as you keened and your back arched toward the man before you, but the bonds kept your bare skin to the cool wooden chair as goosebumps erupted over your body. You felt warm breath fanning against your shoulder and neck, the accented whisper of the man you loved murmuring sweet nothings and gentle praises, though your eyes were useless with the blindfold, you still knew those honey-whiskey eyes bore into your skin from the flame you felt in your cheeks and between your legs.

A warm and searching tongue licked one long stripe along the side of your neck, canines grazing the side of your jugular as you called out to him, a desperate, pitiful plea for simultaneously more or less pleasure as your mind went into overload. The sweet scent of mint mixed with the earthy tones of coffee and sweat were intoxicating to you - growing ever more infatuated with the charming, intelligent and vaguely dorky brunette you had somehow gotten to come home with you after months of begging for a single date.

Viktor ground against your plush thigh as his fingers dove beneath your panties and plunged knuckle deep into your drooling cunt. He groaned at the feeling of your walls squeezing only two fingers, biting your neck as a muffled cry from his own ecstasy slipped from him. You felt him prepping you for his cock, his fingers slowly pistoning as his thumb reached your clit, not satisfied until you came on his fingers just once - luckily for him you felt your release bearing down on you like a bullet train, the straining bulge in his slacks as he ground into your bare thigh caused your voice to be rather breathy.

Just as the coil began to stretch, and stretch, and stretch - just before bursting - you wake up drenched in a cold sweat, your alarm blaring as you throw the blankets off of you in favor of rinsing yourself off in a cold shower, trying to scrub the obscene thoughts of your coworker from your flesh as well as your mind, hoping the water will wash it away before you have to face him at work while the thoughts creep back up on you.

#viktor x you #viktor smut #viktor x reader smut #viktor arcane smut #viktor arcane #arcane viktor #viktor arcane x reader #x reader #x reader smut #machine herald viktor #viktor lol #league of legends #arcane #viktor x reader arcane #i am in love with this man #not kidding #would die for him #yes im writing this absolutely sleep deprived #im so down bad #down bad #down horrendous #zomaeliet writes