One of my favourite things when reading fanfiction is when you click with an author's style so much that you adore the fanfiction you're reading, and once it's over you need more. So you go to their page and hope that there's more for any fandom you might know- only there isn't any. They've written for other fandoms you aren't familiar with and never would've thought about before.
But you're down so bad for their style and talent that they got you wading in like:
young!Silco x AFAB!Reader; Word count: 1706 Words; Rating 18+ MDNI
AO3
It’s early days in the Zaunite’s smuggling empire, and you’ve tagged along for a deal.
Deeply, deeply inspired by the young!silco concepts.
Contains: Public Sex, dom!silco, smoking, rough sex, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, exhibitionism/voyeurism, gun play (if you squint?? The FMC is never threatened with it).
Another drop.
Silco and I sat in the alley, waiting for Vander to finish the sale inside, which was pretty fucking novel, if I’m honest. I rarely joined runs, and Vander playing the businessman was even rarer. Unfortunate for us all, the fucker we were selling to happened to hate Silco—Shocker, I know—though clearly not enough to avoid our business entirely. I was reminded of why as I watched the man before me fish a cigarette out of his pocket. The little pill.
“You shouldn’t do that,” I narrowed my eyes at him. He froze, hand cupping the air as he cocked his brow.
I shot a leading glance to the crate he was seated on. He knew full well what manner of shit was stuffed within. One wrong ember…
“Life’s short,” he shrugged, fixing me with a wicked grin as the lighter sparked to life.
I scoffed, shaking my head as I watched him take a languorous drag. His head tipped back, eyes fluttering closed as he exhaled, fighting the tug at the corners of his mouth. Show off.
He held it up, level with his eyes, perched carefully between his fingers, “it was worth the effort.”
Right. He’s insisted on that foolish fucking run for a crate of these the week prior. I let out another exasperated laugh. “You’re an idiot.”
His answering snicker was low and treacherous, “unfortunate for us, seeing as I’m the brains of this little operation.”
“We’re doomed,” I held my hand aloft, “give me a hit.”
“You don’t smoke.”
I cast a quick glance over my shoulder, rolling my eyes, “life’s short, isn’t it?”
I heard the crunch of boots on gravel as he hopped down from the crate, a saunter in his step. As always. I keep my eyes forward, smirking towards the alley entrance as he approached.
“Close your eyes.”
My breath hitched; that I didn’t expect. Still, I wasn’t one for giving him what we wanted. Not easily, at least.
I glared his way instead, “we’re working.”
“Oh, I’m well aware,” his eyes sparked as he closed the remaining distance, dashing the ashes with a dramatic flick.
I stared back, eyes narrowed.
“Let me give you what you want,” his eyes landed on my mouth as he drawled.
Fine. I’ll bite.
My world went dark, save for the remnants of that Zaun green that made its way into every crack and crevice of our city, stamped to the back of my eyelids. A constant reminder of where, and who, we were. Another crunch of gravel alerted me to his movement, followed by the warmth of his body, inches from my own.
“Head back,” he murmurs, “just a little.”
I hesitated. His laugh was rumbling, amused. My fingers gripped at the crate beneath me as I felt his fingers on my chin, tilting my back. I let him guide me.
The warmth of the cigarette hovered over my cheek, setting my nerves alight, followed by his lips ghosting over mine. His fingers pull at my lower lip, an instant little tug. Them smoke, warm and acrid and intoxicating, streamed from his lips into my mouth. I took in all the air he was willing to offer, greedy fingers threatening to make their way into his hair. My lungs burned as he retreated, just barely.
My eyes fluttered open, and I swallowed back the urge to cough.
“Good?” His mouth quirked up, eyes dark, roaming down my body.
Divine. But he didn’t need to know that.
I nodded.
“More?”
My own eyes betrayed me—fixed on that little scar on his upper lip. Another nod.
“Good girl,” he purred, shifting closer. His eyes burned into mine as dropped the cigarette to the ground, stamping it out. “Too bad.”
My legs parted automatically, making a space he eagerly filled. “Silco,” I warned, my words cut off in a gasp as his fingers tangled in my hair with a sharp tug.
His lips brushed from my ear to my jaw as he murmured, “Corvin’s a haggler. That wordy little shit will keep Vander busy for time enough.”
He punctuated his sentence with another tug, muffling my sharp cry with his lips. My hands found the lapel of his jacket, tugging him closer as he rolled his hips against me.
He was all tongue and teeth as he pressed me against the crate, mouth trailing down my neck. Fingers dipped beneath my collar, shifting the material to expose more skin.
He smelled of cedar, smoke, and sin.
Another treacherous whine escaped my lips and he let out one of his trademarked wicked, rumbling laughs. He held my hips against him, pressing against the divots with enough force to bruise. I try to buck out of his grip, desperate for more.
His hand found its way to the front of my pants, sliding beneath the waistband with practiced ease. I let out a ragged gasp as he found my core.
“Silco,” I gasp.
He smirk, “shh, I’m working.”
“Fucker,” I said between gasps.
He laughed, “yes, you know I think you’re right.”
He brought his fingers up, glistening with my slick, to pop them into his mouth. I pant as I watch.
“Open,” he instructed, pressed my lips apart and slid those very same fingers inside, they’re firm against my tongue.
He purred, “you always taste so good.”
With another sharp tug I was pulled of the crate entirely, feet hitting the ground. My legs unsteady as he turned me around, bending me over the crates until I felt wood kiss my cheek.
“You want more?” He teased, pressing himself against me. My back arched automatically, grinding my ass against the unmistakable hardness pressed against me.
“Please, Sil,” I whispered. “‘S not enough time.”
One hand tugged my pants down my thigh, his other hand at the small of my back, holding me in place. His cock, hard and teasing, slid between my folds.
I let out a cry as he buried himself inside me – the stretch making my head spin. I relished it.
“Sweetheart,” he shushed me, fingers sliding over my mouth as he pulled me up.
He wasn’t soft. No, he fucked me viscously. Bottomed out with each thrust, pressed against me until the wood bit the skin of my hips. Each snap sending indecent sounds ricocheting through the alley. Fire began to pool low in my core.
He mouthed at my ear, whispering while he fucked into me, “always so good for me.”
I whine, back arching against him.
He started to ramble, as he always did when he was close. Voice rough, gravely, “gods. When we get back, fuck, I’m going to take my time with you. Fuck you until you forget everything but my name—“
There’s a noise at the end of the alley, a crunch of gravel that freezed my blood over. Followed with the click of a gun. I whip my head in its direction, blinking past the haze.
A man stood frozen at the mouth of the alley, equal parts afraid and intrigued. Some poor idiot who stumbled down the wrong alley.
I pant against Silco’s hand, his other held the gun aloft—towards the stranger.
No one moves for a moment. Silco is the first to break, thrusting into me. He lets me fall forward, and my eyes snap closed with a needy moan.
“Hear that?” He sneered at the stranger, voice a low growl, “she’s occupied. Find another alley.”
I turn my head, wood scratching against the skin of my cheek. “Piss off,” I grit out at the stranger, eyes sliding closed one more.
And he must have listened—I hear the clatter of the gun against the crate, feel Silco double forward, chest pressed to my back. His teeth sink int my shoulder with growl, hips snapping against mine at a renewed pace.
His breath peppered my skin as he husked, “such a perfect little cunt.”
My legs shook, “Silco I’m—I need to—“
“Not yet,” he hissed, though his fingers found their way to my clit.
I blinked back tears as I whined, “I can’t—“
“Wait,” he barked, voice growing huskier.
I clawed at the crate, the wood collecting beneath my nails.
“Do you know? How. Fucking. Hard. It is?” he grit out, each word punctuated with a hard thrust, “to pretend I’m not thinking of your perfect fucking cunt every moment we work together.”
I moaned, babbling incessantly—his name, pleas, apologies, anything. Whatever would let him stop fucking torturing me.
“You were made for me,” he panted, grinding his fingers against me, “you understand?”
“Yes,” I cried out, “only you. Silco, please—“
“Good girl,” he gasped, thrusts growing uneven and breath growing ragged, “come for me, darling.”
I fell apart at his command, vision going blurry at the edges, each grind of his hips sending me further past the edge. Gods. Fuck. He let out a low groan, hips stuttering as he growled my name. He rocked against me until my legs ceased their quaking and my moans quieted. Until the world around us started to resume. Back to reality. He pressed a kiss to my cheek as he slid out, murmuring, “divine.”
I panted, propping myself up to turn around. I needed to face him, as the cold chill of the undercity air suddenly sinked into my skin.
He knew. He received me with open arms, pulled me into a deep kiss, and fingers finally, finally found their way into his soft hair. Long hair freshly fallen free from its usual bindings, dusting against his neck. He smiled against my mouth as he pulled back, blue eyes warm and full of light.
“Sap,” I laughed, batting at his chest.
He pressed a soft kiss to my neck with a quiet hum.
The door to the building cracked open, revealing Vander who quickly cycles from surprise, confusion, to an all too knowing smirk.
One last word to Corvin and we were on our way. Silco looped a lazy arm around my shoulder, a freshly-lit cigarette perched between his fingers as we walked. Vander kept quiet until we had a few blocks distance, looking down at his partner to tease, “On the merchandise? Animals.”
Viktor x AFAB!Reader; Word count: 4948 Words; Rating 18+ MDNI
AO3 | Prev
The smut is here, the smut is here! Content warnings below:
CW: A smidge of soft dom!Viktor/switch!Viktor if you squint, Vaginal sex, Vaginal fingering, praise kink
Chapter also contains canon-typical (implied) violence, and mentions of injury/blood.
In the cramped confines of Heimerdinger’s carriage, I avoid Viktor’s eyes at all costs. I ignore how his finger traces his lower lip as he stares absently out the window. Realistically, I should be grateful for ride home, but right now I’m half-convinced it was some contrived torture method.
Gods, help me.
Heimerdinger fills the air, ensuring there are no pregnant pauses throughout the journey, rattling off plans for the remainder of the month. Meetings, meetings, meetings.
One such meeting, uncharitably, is apparently taking place at 8 the following morning. Perfect. A board meeting, Heimerdinger informs me, so not one I can skip. Naturally. He’s practically immortal, I remind myself. I doubt he’s ever experienced a hangover, or even needed to sleep in a day in his too-long life.
“Thank you for the notice,” I clip, though it’s a struggle to come across neutral. I paste on a weak smile for good measure. From the edge of my vision, I catch Viktor’s shoulders silently shaking with laughter, shifting to face the window fully. The little shit.
It isn’t until Heimerdinger exits, hopping out with a bright ‘see you in the morning,’ that Viktor looks at me. His hand sliding from his lips as he turns my way.
Lidded eyelids and a lazy smirk. My heart lurches. And there’s something about the way he fixates on my mouth has me following that tug—stumbling across the distance to scramble into his lap. His hands meet my hips, holding me steady as he looks up at me, his head tilting back with a soft exhale. Whisky. Another taste wouldn’t hurt, would it? My hands float up to hold his face between them, thumb swiping across the mole on his cheek.
“I don’t live far,” he warns.
I dip down, pulling his lips to mine, watching as his eyes flutter closed. Strong hands pull me tight against him, one shifting to splay out flat against the small of my back. I trace the seam of his lips with my tongue. He gives me access with a groan, tongue running along mine.
The hand on my hip roams up, tracing along the side of my body, into the dip of my clavicle, before coming to rest on the nape of my neck. I breath in, deep, smiling against his lips as our teeth click. One of those little snags when things are still new. He laughs in turn as he pulls back, hand in my hair holding me in place.
My eyes fluttered open to find his earlier bravado replaced by a shy curve of his lips. “Almost there,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Would you like to come up?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
He cranes up once more, pulling me into another kiss—slow and soft and heady. He sucks on my bottom lip and it sends my head spinning, whining softly into his mouth.
The motorcarriage jostles as it comes to a stop. I’m hesitant to break away. Greedy. My fingers clutch at his lapels, pulling closer.
“Up,” he smiles against me, guiding me off of his lap.
It’s an awkward scramble out of the carriage. Viktor’s the first to step out, leaning to the driver to shake his hand with a quick thanks. I’m fairly certain he slipped some coin his way as well. Good. I follow without decorum, stumbling out, taking Viktor’s hand as he offers it.
Its quiet. And something electric hums through the air as he leads me to his front door. The feeling thickens when we reach it. With a swallow, his eyes glance my way for a split second before he unlocks the door, propping it open.
Black currant tea, warm leather, and wood envelope me. It smells completely, utterly, like Viktor. Comforting, complex.
His apartment is messy; not health-risk messy, but certainly cluttered. Half-finished projects and knick knacks line the shelves, a discarded mug left on just about every surface. A daunting little pile of coats sits atop the chair at his writing desk. Clearly, he doesn’t pen many letters. I can’t help but laugh as I take a look around.
He regards me with a quizzical brow.
“I thought Jayce was the messy one,” I tease.
Color dusts his cheeks as he continues in, leaning down to set his keys on the table, haphazardly tidying what he could within reach. “He is,” he insisted, “in all fairness, I didn’t anticipate company tonight.”
I smirk, walking behind him, hands sliding around his waist as I press my mouth against his shoulder. His hands still, and his tense shoulders melt under my touch. His fingers intertwine through mine, and he peels them away, turning in my arms.
“So impatient,” he smirks, voice growing low and rough. I raise my eyebrow in a challenge he gladly takes.
The kiss he pulls me into is searing, bruising, as he ushers me backwards. He leads me blind through his apartment, my steps falter, stumbling, until the back of my knees hit something soft. A push, and I’m seated, his bedding a silken whisper against the palm of my hand. He’s out of breath already.
I reach up, tugging at the collar of his shirt; greedy hands fussing with the buttons, exposing more and more to my touch as his legs slot between mine. His hands traces along my thigh, knee nudging against my core and a white hot need curls in my stomach.
“So perfect,” he whispers against my skin, shifting his weight fully onto his knee. Another push, and I’m on my back. A vague clatter goes ignored as it rings through the room. My mouth parts.
He watches me, drinking in each hitch and gasp as his fingers trace up my bare thighs, pushing the hem of my dress up with the movement. His lips part. My heart skitters at the look in his eyes—focused, gentle.
His hand skates to my inner thigh. Tracing up, up, up; parting them with each inch. There’s a hitch, so soft, almost imperceptible, in his breath when he catches the first glimpse of the lace that lies beneath.
Dipping between, he presses his fingers against my still-clothed sex. I arch into his touch. More. He’s slack-jawed and sly, mouth quirking up as he watches his fingers slip beneath the side of my underwear.
“Gods,” he rasps, “you’re soaked.”
I keen. He’s going to be the death of me. I grind against his hand, shameless and desperate for friction. Any foolish hope of maintaining any demure air now cast to the wind as I reach forward, tugging at the button of his slacks, “off.”
He peels my hands away, pressing them down against the sheets; fingers twining through mine as he presses wet, hot kisses down my neck.
I gasp, “fuck.”
“Patience,” he chides.
He takes his time with me—languidly pushing my dress up as his own mouth works its way down. Dizzying. I can feel his smirk with every strangled noise I make. When the hem of my dress pushes past my ribs, he pauses, pressing a kiss to my shoulder, pulling me to sit up before peeling it up past my head.
“Lay down,” he says softly, gesturing towards the headboard.
I slide my underwear off, and quickly resist the urge to cover myself, feeling suddenly bare at his hungry eyes roaming my form as I scoot back. My head hits the pillow. His own tilts to the side as he pushes his shirt down his arms, shrugging it off. His lips quirk at the face I make—pinched brows, lips parted—while I watch him make short work of his pants. He’s lithe, lean, with an elegant cut of muscle. As I drink him in, I spot the metal brace lining his leg. I wasn’t even aware he wore one. He smiles, a little shyly; color dusting his cheeks. Still, he doesn’t shrink away.
“I wanted to do that,” I pout. Which is true. I’d undress him with my teeth if he let me.
He laughs, half-crawling onto the bed, “another time.”
He collapses onto his side beside me, bed doing a little shake before his fingers are curling around my knee to part my legs. His unbraced leg hitches forward, holding mine open as his nails rake up my inner thigh. It’s torture.
“Viktor,” I gasp, a warning.
He hums, craning forward to watch his own hand intently as it slides higher. So close. I turn to look at his face, and I’m struck by just how long his eyelashes are, kissing his cheek with contented blink. When his fingers hit the juncture of my thigh, I whimper. He relents, thank the gods, amber eyes lifting to mine while his fingers brush against my core.
“Good?” He asks. He knows the answer.
My hips buck against his hand, “yes, please.”
His eyes widen, blown-black as his fingers sink inside. I keen, writhing at the delicious curl. Well-practiced. My own fingers find his hair, searching for purchase as he dips down, lips pressing against my ear. I can feel the heat of his gaze, watching my hips stutter and grind against his palm.
“That’s it,” a ragged groan tears from his throat as he whispers into my ear, “so perfect.”
I cry out, that familiar heat building in my core as a litany of praises fall from his lips. So fast. Teeth scrape at the skin beneath my ear, fingers curling within me in time with the roll of my hips.
“Fuck,” he gasps.
My hips stutter with another whine, “Viktor, please.”
He hums, but is cut short as my hand snakes down to his underwear, palming him. “Gods,” he chokes.
My fingers wrap around him through the fabric, thick and weighty in my hand. I let out a strangled noise. Gods. I tug at the waistband, a quick yank and his cock springs free. Gorgeous. I’ve never found a cock gorgeous before. I trace up the underside with a light touch, wringing a sharp breath from him.
“Need you,” I swallow, throat suddenly dry.
Another groan, and he’s falling onto his back, bringing me with him, tugging me forward until I straddle him. My legs quivering, I prop myself up with my palms flat against his chest.
For a beat, we catch our breath.
He looks so soft, wavy hair splayed out on the pillow beneath, staring up at me like a man starved. It’s nearly overwhelming.
So I break the spell; my fingers wrap around him.
His hips buck up into my hands as I give an experimental stroke, pausing to press my thumb against his cock to collect an errant bead of cum. I bring my thumb to my lips, bringing another lovely curse from his lips. He’s salty-sweet and intoxicating. My eyes flutter closed, making a show of it and—
Was that a growl? How interesting.
He grabs my hips, fingers bruising as he pulls me down against him, cock grinding against my clit. I fall forward, hips stuttering with a cry. How on earth does he keep pulling the rug out from under me?
“All this for me,” he rasps, rocking my hips against him, “and I haven’t even fucked you.”
I mewl his name, reaching down with unsteady fingers to line him up with my entrance. He slides into me with a rough, insistent thrust that makes me gasp. I clench around him, the unfamiliar stretch of him sending a dizzying wave of pleasure through my core.
“That’s it,” he gasps, guiding my hips to roll against him. His eyes burn into mine, rapt. There’s a flush to his cheeks, dusted pink as he pants up at me, fingers making their way up the length of my body.
It’s by the nape of my neck that he pulls me down into another crushing kiss, each thrust up into me stoking the flame. He’s all tongues and teeth as I cry against his mouth. A hand snakes between us, thumb circling my clit. With each motion I feel an aching pulse. Intoxicating. I could get drunk off the feel of his cock hitting that spot—that perfect fucking spot—alone.
“You take me so well,” he gasps, breath catching, “so perfect, so needy.”
Each word sends fire through my veins. Thumb brushing against the base of my ear, he presses my forehead against his, our broken breaths mixing in the air between. He gulps as I clench around him, “I’m not going to last if you keep doing that.”
“Don’t care,” I shake my head, thighs shaking as his thumb picks up the pace against me, “me neither, fuck, Viktor—“
“You going to come for me, hm?” He hisses, his own thrusts growing uneven.
I nod, a feeble little motion as I moan out. He chases the noise with his lips, pressing to mine, drinking in each little noise that slips out. Every rough thrust of his cock up into me bringing me closer to the edge, that heat building until I’m mewling, babbling against his lips—
“That’s it,” he groans, “good girl, just let go.”
My back arches as I cry, waves of pleasure coursing through me as I fall apart at his command. He’s close behind, a high-pitched strangled noise tearing from his throat as he fills me, hips jerking erratically. He chants my name, holding me against his chest as I slump forward.
“Gods,” I pant.
With a content hum his lips brush against my temple, hand tracing soothing shapes along my back. I cant my head towards him, pressing a kiss to his jaw as I slide off of him—eliciting one last hiss.
He turns to his side to face me, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards. Though his eyes hold something else—keen and alert, looking into mine like equations were written on a blackboard within. My eyes widen.
Too bare.
I stretch, retreat; eyes sliding shut. A chaste kiss to his cheek and I’m slipping out of the bed with a quick, “be right back.”
When I return he’s half-awake, heavy lidded eyes and a lopsided smile as I tuck myself beneath the sheets. His arms slide around me, tugging close to his chest, enveloping me fully. I sink into the feeling; safe.
As the clutches of sleep find me, I hear him mumble, “I am.. glad you decided to stay.”
- - -
I’m the first to wake. Surprisingly.
The rising light peaks through the windows of his apartment, setting those brown locks aglow—a halo of orange and gold. His mouth was slack, lips softly parted. I leaned in, admiring the way his long lashes kissed his cheek. He sleeps like the dead, which is, honestly, rather unexpected.
Birdsong—a loud, twittering call—rings through the room, as if on cue. Time to get up.
I have that blasted meeting a 8. And the academy was a twenty minute walk away. And I needed a change of clothes. And a shower. Shit.
I really needed to leave.
I pressed a kiss to Viktor’s cheek, murmuring, “gotta get up.”
He groaned, eyelids heavy as they fluttered open. His mouth tucked into a pout as I slipped from his arms. He mumbled, “mh, leaving?”
I nod, rifling through his closet. “Meeting,” I explain, shrugging on one of his shirts.
He’s all limbs, taught and elongated, stretching out. He takes it a hair too far, apparently, as his face pinches into a brief wince. I frown, fingers faltering on the buttons. There’s another muffled groan as he shifts to his side, hand slipping beneath his pillow to stare back at me.
I fish a pair of pants from the closet, slipping them on.
“Little thief,” his teasing voice is rough, warm and gravely.
“You’ll get them back,” I laugh, “walking home in a gown at 7 am feels a bit indecent.”
He hums, “eh, a convenient excuse.”
“Careful, I may pilfer more on my way out,” I pad over towards the bed, leaning down to pull him into a kiss. Soft and slow and sweet. He hums as I retreat once more. “See you, Viktor.”
- - -
The board meeting turns out to be, as always, entirely unnecessary. Bloviation and repetition. I continuously find my mind floating back to Viktor’s apartment: to soft brown hair and fleeting touches and gentle lips. I float through the rest of the day this way; half-present, swept up in the whirlwind that inevitably comes after Progress day.
I manage to carve out a moment for myself to pen a message to Cassandra, taking it alongside the veritable mountain of pending correspondence that’s grown throughout the day. It’s only a quick jog to the pneumatic tubes, thankfully. I’m half-surprised he didn’t have one installed in his office. A suggestion for later, perhaps.
When I return, I’m surprised to find Viktor and Jayce loitering in the office. The events of last night come flooding back at the sight, a fire licks through my veins, curling in my stomach. Low, needy. My face heats as my eyes meet Viktor’s, judging by the tug at his lips his thoughts are the same.
“Afternoon,” Jayce smiles.
He seems… unexpectedly oblivious. Nonplussed, at the very least. I raise a brow to Viktor before I turn Jayce’s way, “good afternoon, Jayce. Meeting with the councilor?”
At his nod, I smile, pivoting on my heels. “One moment, I’ll see if he’s available.”
For his star mentees? Of course he is.
Heimerdinger insists I sit in on their discussion—on next steps, which was, apparently, loosely scheduled the night previous—to take meeting minutes. From the spare seat in the corner of the room, I keep my eyes glued to the page, doing my best to ignore the fleeting glances Viktor keeps casting my way.
“We anticipate, mh, twelve months to complete construction on the Hexgate,” Viktor says, coolly crossing his ankle over his knee as he shifts in his seat.
Hm, interesting.
Heimerdinger’s eyes practically bulge out of his head, exclaiming, “that’s quite an aggressive timeline!”
It really isn’t. Still, I hold my tongue; I’ve learned long ago that it’s better to nudge Heimerdinger in the right direction from the sidelines, rather than advocate in public.
There’s a pause as Viktor’s tired eyes meet Jayce’s, a wordless little exchange that seems to say ‘you deal with it.’
“We’ve worked on these plans for years,” Jayce leans forward, eyes bright and full of promise as he speaks, “you have my word, sir, that we will continue to take every precaution.”
Heimerdinger narrows his eyes before sliding them closed in an animated little nod. “Fine, fine. It’ll have to be discussed with the council, of course. But, you’ll have my vote.”
Viktor is quick to stand, reaching forward to shake his mentor’s hand, “your support is.. appreciated, sir.”
His smile is pleased, peaceful, as he turns towards the door. I go to follow him and Jayce out, steps halting as the councilor calls my name.
“A moment,” he says.
- - -
Cassandra Kiramman is quick to respond, and a date is set for one week later.
Cassandra Kiramman’s estate smelled of freshly-cut lilac mixed with sandalwood and vanilla. Buttery and altogether intoxicating. I bring the tea provided—white with honey and some secret, delectable third taste layered within—to my mouth, savoring each sip. I very much doubt I’ll taste something so fine for a long time.
Her office is bright, ornate. Filled to the absolute brim with flowers and plants of every kind. All quite rare. All exceedingly difficult to keep alive in Piltover’s climate. This room, however, is warm, hospitable, and teeming with life.
Cassandra Kirraman, however, is quite cold. Not unfeeling. But, proper. A woman of process and propriety. Currently, her shrewd eyes are on mine, watching me take in the room.
“You’ve a lovely home,” I say, and I’m sure my smile comes out more grimace-like than I intend.
“Thank you,” she says, “and thank you for sending your materials in advance of our meeting.”
“Of course, I assume you have questions?”
Jayce, who was kind enough to help prep me for the meeting, warned me that she would be more hands on with her patronage. In recent years, at least. I can’t imagine why.
She nods once, curt and to the point, “yes. My primary point of concern lies in your ‘runoffmitigation’plans.”
Ah. As anticipated.
She continues, “You don’t have any sites determined yet, and I don’t expect you’ll find the industrialists of the undercity to be jumping at the opportunity to collaborate.”
“Of course,” I cross my legs as I speak, “but the benefits are great enough that I’d be remiss if I didn’t try.”
She nods, thumbing through the packet of papers.
The arduous pause that follows has me shifting in my seat, leaning forward to add, “nailing down where is my next step.”
She hums, “and your estimate on this? Will you have this determination made soon?”
“That,” I squirm, “is difficult to say.”
She tilts her head, “In that case. let’s aim for 3 weeks.”
Final answer, then.
- - -
It’s an aggressive timeline.
Perhaps it’s time to have a conversation with my boss—one thats been haunting the back of my mind these few months. On my return from my meeting, I march directly into his office; I’m fairly sure any delay would dry up the remaining dregs of my courage after my morning.
I clear my throat, propping the door open, “sir, may I speak to you for a moment?”
“Of course, my girl,” he straightens in his seat.
I reach down to pet his poro, who excitedly circles me, as I take my seat. I shift, throat suddenly dry—
“I’m fairly certain I can take an educated guess as to why you’re here,” he narrows his eyes.
I nod, a bit feebly. The words snag in my throat.
Charitably, he continues, eyeing me with his ever-shrewd gaze as he speaks, “time is about to become quite the premium for you.”
So he heard about my meeting, then. I swallow, “Yes, I expect so, sir.”
“Of course, it’s not lost on me that meeting minutes and correspondence are a waste of your talents—“
“Not at all, sir, I—“
He narrows his eyes at me, hushing me immediately. With a curt nod to himself, he continues, “I’m glad you came to me. I’ve been thinking it’d be prudent to adjust your role—let a student take over the mundane tasks for you to focus on your work. In exchange, however, I do have a request.”
I frown, tilting my head, “sir?”
“I’d like you to be a pair of extra eyes for me—primarily on any Hextech progress.”
Ah. I’ve had assignments like these as his assistant before, of course. I’ve never been a fan of them—hounding scientists to ensure they’re keeping to the ethos. Still, it’s a fair trade. I nod, “yes, of course sir.”
He fixes me with a neutral, if assessing, stare. I shift in place, finger carding through the edges of my notebook.
“Our boys have hit their fair share of snags,” he finally speaks, “I’m also aware you have grown quite close with Viktor, I expect you remain neutral.”
I nod, swallowing thickly. That was quite the emphasis. Did he mean that in a stay-away-from-my-star-pupil sort of way? Perhaps. Perhaps, I’m paranoid. Either way, I’m thrown. Something else scratches at the edge of my mind, and I ask, “Why, sir? Keep accommodating me, I mean.”
It’s a foolish question.
He blinks, mustache tucking into a frown as he considers my words. “It is the greatest importance, my girl, to focus on our future, to shape young innovators such as yourself.”
I’m not sure I enjoy the idea of being molded.
I chew on my lip, nodding. “Thank you, sir.”
- - -
The first two weeks pass far too quickly. I dive headfirst into my project, and visit the Hextech lab a few times. Okay, I’m fairly sure Heimer only meant for me to check in every so often. Call it an indulgence.
Viktor is keeping busy, as well. Relegating us to subsist on stolen glances and fleeting touches. The heat eats at me each time regardless, and I’m still a little unsure whether Heimer’s warning was purely about professionalism, or pursuit.
So, we’ve been careful.
It doesn’t stop the visits from being pure, blissful torture. It builds on it, really.
- - -
“Hello, boys,” I beam at the threshold of the Hextech lab.
Jayce’s greeting is warm, much warmer than Viktor’s—who opts for a soft ‘mmh’ with a wave of his hand, eyes glued to his notebook.
I scoff, teasing, “I’m doing fine, Viktor. Thanks for asking.”
His shoulders shake with silent laughter.
“So, any interesting progress?” I turn to Jayce.
He readily walks me through their latest developments—planning, materials they’re sourcing, the few more tests left before construction kicks off. They’re moving fast.
“Why the hurry?” I tilt my head, finger tracing it’s way down the schematics laid out before me. Jayce has returned to his project, welding what appears to be two small metal sheets together.
He hooks a thumb in Viktor’s direction, “ask this one.”
“I would like to move forward,” Viktor pipes in with a sigh, “the Hexgates are just the surface of Hextech, and will likely only impact Piltover’s elite.”
I hum, he had a point. I step away from the table, crossing the room.
“The undercity will feel the effects too, V,” Jayce says.
“Eh, do we know that, Jayce?” Viktor stands, watching me as I approach his desk, “better to quickly satisfy our benefactors and move on to measurable, tangible impacts.”
His amber eyes shine, hopeful. Up close, however, I can see the purple kiss of dark circles blooming beneath his eyes. He’s been working too hard again.
Jayce hums in reply, not bothering to look up from the soldering iron in his hands, “I know, V.”
This was a regular conversation, then.
It’s quiet for a moment, Viktor silently watching the back of his partner’s head. I shift from foot to foot, drawing idle shapes against the desk top. The soldering iron kicks on.
Viktor’s eyes slide to mine, and my lungs stop. A careful step forward and he’s caged me between his arms, back against the table, breath hitching as he whispers against my hair, “you are incredibly distracting.”
His hips press against mine, driving the point home. My hands find his waist as I struggle to steel myself. I swallow, “I’m going back to the undercity soon.”
He presses a kiss to the corner of my jaw, voice low and amused. “Is that so? And do you require an escort?”
He seals his sentence with a nip at my skin.
“No,” I say, voice airy as I try to maintain an even reply, “I should be fine.”
Jayce clears his throat, “V.”
Viktor backs away, utterly nonplussed as he sits beside me on the table. I take the opportunity to step back, to put some distance between us.
Viktor looks at me, suddenly earnest as he speaks, “you’ve been going to the undercity a lot recently.”
I nod, blinking. I still have yet to find a suitable factory in the Undercity, each visit turning up fruitless. I murmur, “I’m on a tight deadline.”
Viktor stares at me for a moment, lips forming a thin line, “Careful.”
I shrug, giving him a lopsided smile, “of course.”
- - -
One such factory sits conveniently in the higher levels of the undercity, not-so-far from the very spot I ran into that odd man at. It’s partially why I’ve been avoiding it. The sigil lining the exterior of the building, however, was not the same. I’m still not sure if that is a boon, or not. The sense of unease twists in my gut.
I round the exterior of the factory, nose pinching. Smoke plumes up from one of the stacks towards the center, cloying and thickening the very air around me. There’s just enough space between the factory itself and the river, jagged rock and cobble smattering the land between. The ideal location for my work.
I cross around the back of the building, sticking towards the river. The closer to the other end, the more cumbersome the earth becomes: Manageable boulders turn to smaller, frail jagged shards. It’s a scramble. The factory itself is surprisingly quiet—windowless, devoid of most signs of life—save for the guard posted on the other side of the building. A silhouette in the distance, lax posture.
One wrong step. That’s all it takes to send me cursing as I tumble onto the sharp rocks below. A pain tears through my hands. Then, blood. I struggle to my knees with a hiss, investigating the source—broken slivers of shale embedded in my palms. I cry out as I peel the first away.
Swallowing, I manage to muffle the worst of it. My heart leaps into my throat. I risked a glance at the guard, paranoia singing through my blood. Had he heard me?
He shuffles on his feet, leaning against the wall.
I exhale, looking down to tug out another; this one deeper. I glance at the door to the factory, still closed. The guard still leaning there, unmoving. My nostrils flaring, I stand up on wobbly legs. I can deal with the rest later, when I get home. Was that a noise? No, I’m being paranoid. I stagger forward—
There’s a crunch of feet against stone behind me, and I whip around just in time—a glimpse of metal, a resounding crack, the tilt of the horizon.
tangentwithtanner
stormborns
