#au!claggor

And once you noticed it, you couldn't unnotice it.

It was when he murmured to himself in the lab, lips barely moving as he worked through equations, deep in thought. It was when he spoke in that authoritative, commanding tone, making decisions for the future of Piltover with absolute confidence. And it was most definitely when he let his voice soften just for you—leaning in close, murmuring your name like a secret only he was allowed to know.

You were doomed.

=

Tonight was no different.

The two of you had been working late in his private workshop, going over blueprints and schematics. Well—he was. You were mostly trying not to let your thoughts drift to dangerous places.

The room was warm, illuminated by the soft golden glow of hexlights. The smell of parchment and metal filled the air, mixing with something unmistakably Jayce—cologne and the faintest trace of sweat from a long day. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the toned muscles of his forearms, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a teasing glimpse of his collarbone.

He was a distraction. A beautiful, terrible distraction.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Jayce noted, glancing up from his work. “Everything okay?”

You swallowed. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“About?” He smirked, leaning back against the workbench, arms crossing over his chest. His voice had that casual, teasing lilt—the kind that always made your stomach flutter.

Your voice, you thought. I want to hear you say my name again. Want to hear what you sound like when you—

Nope. Nope. Not going there.

Jayce tilted his head, watching you with curiosity, and you cursed his stupidly perceptive nature.

“You sure?” His voice dipped lower now, smoother, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

You bit your lip. “It’s… it’s stupid.”

His grin widened. “Now I have to know.”

You inhaled sharply, debating whether or not you could actually say it. But Jayce was nothing if not patient, and damn it, you trusted him.

“I just…” You hesitated, then finally admitted, “I really like your voice.”

Jayce blinked. “My… voice?”

Oh god. Abort. Abort.

“Forget it,” you rushed, heat creeping up your neck. “It’s nothing, really—”

But then he chuckled.

A deep, rich, amused sound that sent shivers down your spine.

“You like my voice,” he mused, like he was testing the weight of the words. Then, in a tone so sinfully low it practically vibrated through you, he murmured, “You like when I talk to you, sweetheart?”

Oh. Oh, hell.

Your breath hitched. Your entire body felt like it was made of molten want, tingling from your fingertips to the base of your spine.

You clenched your hands into fists, trying not to visibly tremble. “Jayce—”

“Say my name again,” he said, stepping closer. His voice was pure velvet now, smooth and teasing, wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

Your lips parted, but you hesitated. That only made his smirk deepen.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxed, his voice dipping even lower, almost hypnotic. “If you like my voice so much… let me use it for you.”

You exhaled sharply, pulse thrumming in your ears.

He was enjoying this. The realization sent another sharp thrill through you—Jayce was smart, he was confident, and he wasn’t above using every weapon at his disposal. And right now? That weapon was you, unraveling in front of him.

“Jayce,” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

And god, the way he reacted.

His pupils darkened, his fingers flexed at his sides, and that smirk turned into something dangerous.

“There it is,” he murmured. He was close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating off of him, the faint scent of cologne mixed with something deeper.

Your thighs squeezed together involuntarily, and his eyes flickered downward for the barest second—enough to see. Enough to know.

His voice dropped to a devastating whisper.

“You really do like it, don’t you?”

You bit your lip so hard you nearly drew blood.

He reached out, tracing his fingers along your wrist, barely touching, but enough to make you shiver. His lips tilted into something more intimate, more possessive.

“What if I keep talking?” he mused.

You nearly whimpered.

“I could say anything.” His thumb brushed your pulse point, feeling how fast it raced. “Talk about Hextech. About politics. About you, sitting here, looking at me like you want to hear something very specific.”

Your breathing was shallow now, your skin burning under his touch.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he continued, his voice dropping to something wickedly deep, his lips hovering just inches from your ear. “If I just… kept talking to you. Told you exactly what I want to do to you.”

Oh. Oh.

You were completely ruined. Jayce grinned, watching the way you melted, the way your body responded to nothing but his voice. Then, with the cruellest, most devastating smirk you’d ever seen, he murmured—

“Say my name again.”

VIKTOR

Viktor had always been an enigma to you, a man of sharp intellect and sharper wit, with a voice that could command a room or whisper secrets into the dim glow of the Hexcore. You had spent countless evenings watching him work, enthralled by the way his lips formed words, by the careful cadence of his speech.

But tonight… tonight was different.

You were seated on the edge of his cluttered worktable, swinging your legs lightly as he moved around the lab, his cane tapping a steady rhythm against the floor. The sound was familiar, grounding, just like everything else about him.

But then—his voice.

“Pass me the spanner, would you?” His accent curled around the words, the softness of his tone almost affectionate despite the request being so mundane.

You swallowed, fingers gripping the tool tightly before handing it to him.

“Thank you,” he murmured, glancing up at you through tousled auburn hair. The way his voice dropped ever so slightly on the last syllable made heat curl in your stomach.

Gods, he had no idea what he was doing to you.

Or maybe he did.

Viktor cocked his head, observant as ever, his sharp gaze flicking from your face to the way you shifted against the table. A slow smirk tugged at his lips, and he set the spanner down, leaning on his cane as he moved closer.

“Something wrong, milý?” The pet name rolled off his tongue like silk. (Dear)

Your breath hitched.

He caught it—of course he did.

Viktor was nothing if not brilliant, and as soon as realization dawned on him, his expression shifted. Amusement. Interest. And something darker, something that sent a delicious shiver racing down your spine.

“My voice,” he mused, tilting his head. “You like it, don’t you?”

You averted your gaze, but that only made him chuckle.

“Fascinating,” he purred, dragging out the word, letting the syllables sink into your skin. “And here I thought you only indulged me for my mind.”

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, but the way your thighs pressed together betrayed you.

Viktor exhaled a quiet laugh, moving impossibly closer, his warmth wrapping around you like a second skin.

“Ah, but if I am insufferable, then why are you trembling?”

Your breath hitched again, and he smirked, slow and knowing.

His cane thudded against the floor as he lifted his hand, fingers brushing against your jaw, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“Tell me,” he murmured, voice dipping into something velvet and sinful, “what is it that you love so much? The way I speak your name? The way my voice—” he dragged out the last word, savouring it, “—sounds when I’m thinking? Or is it… something else?”

You shivered, nails digging into the edge of the table. “Viktor—” He hummed. A simple sound, but it sent a wave of heat straight through you.

“Mm. I see.” He traced his thumb along your lower lip, his own lips curling into a grin. “You truly are something else.” His voice alone had you unravelling, and he was clearly enjoying every second of it.

And, judging by the glint in his eyes, he was far from finished.

=

The air in the lab had changed.

It was charged, humming with something electric, something that made the fine hairs on your skin prickle in anticipation. Or maybe that was just him. Viktor, standing so close, his cane pressing lightly against your knee as he studied you, as if unraveling some great scientific discovery.

Except this wasn’t an experiment.

This was you. And the way his voice made your pulse stutter.

"Ah," he mused, voice low and knowing, "so this is what makes you tremble."

You opened your mouth to deny it, to say something, anything, but words failed you. How could they not, when he was watching you like that, with sharp, burning curiosity?

His fingers, dexterous from years of precise work, trailed from your jaw down the side of your neck, pausing just over your pulse. It was racing, and he exhaled a quiet laugh.

"I wonder," he murmured, his voice a mere thread of sound, "how far this goes?"

The rasp of his accent, the deliberate way he spoke—it sent another shiver coursing through you, heat pooling low in your stomach. He noticed, of course. Viktor noticed everything.

His smirk deepened.

"Would you like a demonstration, Y/N?"

Your breath caught. He was teasing you, testing you. And yet, beneath the amusement, there was something else. A hunger.

"Viktor," you started, voice unsteady.

"Yes?" He drew out the syllable, savouring it. His thumb grazed your chin, tilting your head up further. "Do you like the way I say your name, milý?"

You bit your lip.

That was all the confirmation he needed.

Viktor chuckled, the sound rumbling low in his chest, before leaning in, his breath ghosting over your lips. "Perhaps," he purred, "I should keep speaking, then?"

His voice dipped into something even more intoxicating, a deliberate whisper of sin against your skin. He wasn’t just speaking anymore—he was using his voice. A weapon, a lure, pulling you in, unravelling you piece by piece.

"Would you like that?" His lips brushed the shell of your ear, sending a shudder down your spine. "For me to talk you through all the ways I could ruin you?"

You let out a shaky breath, thighs pressing together involuntarily.

He laughed. Soft and knowing.

His cane shifted as he moved between your legs, his free hand finding your waist. His grip was firm, grounding, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"I could tell you, step by step," he murmured, his fingers tracing absentminded circles against your hip. "How I would take my time, how I would make you fall apart with just my words."

He leaned in, lips grazing your jaw—so close, so deliberate. "Would you like that, můj drahý?" (My Dear)

Your fingers dug into his shirt, desperate, needing something to hold onto as his words set you alight.

"I—"

His lips ghosted over your pulse, and you gasped.

"You do like it," he mused, wicked amusement dripping from every syllable.

He tilted his head, dragging the bridge of his nose along the line of your throat, inhaling as if memorizing the way you smelled, the way you reacted. His fingers tightened on your waist, his cane shifting as he steadied himself.

"Then," he whispered, voice dark, velvet-soft, "perhaps I should see just how much you can take?"

And with the way your body responded to just his voice, to just the promise of his words—

You knew you were completely, utterly doomed.

JAYVIK

Piltover at night was something of a wonder. The city of progress never truly slept, its golden lights reflecting against the rivers and illuminating the towering spires of Hextech advancement. But inside a candle-lit penthouse, away from the hum of the bustling streets, you were being tormented in a very particular way.

By them.

Viktor and Jayce had long since figured out your little… proclivity. You weren’t sure exactly when or how—perhaps it was the way your thighs had pressed together the first time Viktor murmured something low and slow while working on an invention, or the way your breath hitched whenever Jayce let his voice drop into that rich baritone during council meetings.

Whatever the case, they knew. And they were merciless.

Wrapped up in one of their oversized hoodies—Jayce’s, judging by the scent of metal, parchment, and the faint hint of cologne—you were curled up on the couch, trying desperately to appear unaffected. But it was a losing battle.

Jayce had been reading out loud from one of his research papers, voice slow, deliberate. Each word was carefully spoken, the deep timbre vibrating through his chest as he sat back in the chair across from you. You knew damn well he was exaggerating it, just to make you squirm.

“…The integration of Hextech stabilizers has resulted in a remarkable increase in mana conductivity,” Jayce mused, flipping a page, his voice dropping an octave as he let the sentence roll off his tongue. “Perhaps we should conduct… further tests.”

Viktor, lounging beside you, tapped his cane idly against the floor—a slow, methodical rhythm, as if measuring the seconds between your breathing. He wasn’t reading, nor was he pretending to be occupied. No, Viktor was simply watching you. Observing, calculating, taking in every little twitch of your fingers against the hoodie’s sleeves.

“Oh, I agree, Jayce. Further testing is always important,” Viktor mused, his accent curling around the words like silk, wrapping them into something intoxicating. His golden eyes flickered with amusement, his lips curling in a knowing smirk. “Wouldn’t you say so, darling?”

Your fingers twitched, gripping at the hoodie’s fabric as your throat went dry. “I—I mean, research is important, obviously.”

Jayce chuckled, finally setting the papers aside. He stretched with a dramatic sigh, letting his shirt ride up just enough to reveal a glimpse of his toned stomach. You hated that they were both so effortlessly attractive.

“You’re cute when you try to pretend,” Jayce murmured, voice heavy with amusement. His gaze darkened as he leaned in, resting his chin on one broad hand. “But let’s be honest, sweetheart… you’ve been real quiet ever since I started reading. Why is that?”

You stiffened, your stomach twisting with a familiar warmth.

Viktor shifted beside you, his cane sliding along the floor before resting against the couch. His voice dipped lower, softer—lethal.

“She’s always so reactive to sound, Jayce,” he mused, drawing out each syllable in that dangerous slow cadence. “It’s quite… fascinating.”

A shiver ran down your spine, your thighs pressing together on instinct.

Jayce caught it immediately. His grin widened. “Oh, what’s this?” His hand, warm and too confident, found your knee, squeezing lightly—just enough to send heat flooding through your body. “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

You clenched your fists. “I hate you both.”

Jayce laughed, shaking his head as he ran his thumb in slow, idle circles over your knee. “Oh, do you?” His voice was all velvet and amusement, all taunting warmth.

Viktor hummed, leaning in. His voice was barely above a whisper, golden eyes locked onto yours as if he could see straight through you. “It’s endearing, really,” he murmured, his words slow, drawn-out, teasing. Torturous. “How just a few words can make you so—hmm, what is the word?”

He tilted his head, eyes glinting in the dim light. You knew he already had the answer. He just wanted to hear you squirm.

Then he smirked.

“Flustered.”

Your breath hitched, and you hated how much they noticed it.

You yanked the hoodie’s collar up over your face, your entire body curling inward. “You two are insufferable.”

Jayce chuckled, leaning down to press a slow, lingering kiss to your temple. “And yet…” His lips lingered for a moment, warm against your skin before he finally pulled away. “…you’re still here.”

Viktor exhaled a soft laugh, reaching out with his fingers—light, barely-there, ghosting along your wrist, teasing. The kind of touch that made heat coil in your stomach. His golden gaze softened just enough, but the teasing edge in his tone remained.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, lips dangerously close to your ear, “you secretly enjoy being teased, hmm?”

The shudder that wracked your body was humiliating.

You clenched your thighs together, burying your face deeper into the hoodie’s collar, desperate to escape their knowing gazes.

Damn them both.

VANDER

The Last Drop was quieter than usual tonight. The usual rowdy patrons had filtered out, leaving only a few stragglers nursing the dregs of their drinks. You leaned against the bar, fingers lazily tracing the rim of your glass as Vander wiped down the counter. His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, revealing the strength in his scarred muscles as he worked.

“Long night?” he rumbled, voice thick with the gravel of exhaustion.

You hummed, tilting your head to look up at him. “Could say the same to you.”

A chuckle rolled through his chest, deep and warm, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. You tried to ignore the way it made heat coil in your stomach, but you weren’t very good at hiding things from Vander.

He gave you a knowing smirk, resting his weight against the counter. “What’s got you smilin’ like that?”

You hesitated for a moment, swirling the liquid in your glass before deciding that, screw it, maybe it was the whiskey, maybe it was just Vander looking too damn good under the low lantern light, but you felt bold.

“I like your voice.” The words came out softer than you intended, a confession tucked between the hum of the empty bar.

Vander raised a brow, but the smirk never left his face. “That so?”

Your cheeks burned, but you held his gaze, something challenging in your eyes. “Mhm. Deep, rich… kinda feels like it wraps around you.” You shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant, but the way his expression darkened ever so slightly made your breath hitch.

He leaned in, just close enough that his scent—whiskey, leather, and the faintest trace of smoke—clouded your senses. “Didn’t know I had that kind of effect on you,” he murmured, voice dipping into something even deeper, raspier, like he was testing you.

You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to squirm under his gaze. “You do.”

That was all the invitation he needed. Vander smirked, slow and lazy, before brushing his knuckles along your jaw, tilting your chin just enough so you had no choice but to look up at him.

“Hmm… what is it, then?” His voice was nothing short of sinful, dragging out the words, teasing you. “The way I talk to you? Or the way I say your name?”

You exhaled, pulse thrumming in your throat. “Both.”

Vander chuckled again, but this time, it was deliberate—low, intimate. His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he whispered, “That’s a dangerous thing to tell me, sweetheart.”

His words sent a shiver racing down your spine, and he felt it, the way your body reacted to just his voice alone. He pulled back just enough to watch you, eyes dark with amusement and something else—something possessive.

“Gonna be real hard not to take advantage of that,” he mused, tracing a slow line down your arm, his rough fingertips setting your nerves alight.

You bit your lip, breath uneven. “Who says I don’t want you to?”

Vander let out a quiet groan, his hand sliding to your waist as he pulled you flush against him. His mouth hovered just over yours, his breath warm and whiskey-sweet. “Then you best be ready, love,” he whispered, voice thick and dripping with promise.

Before you knew what was happening, he was gripping your wrist and pulling you toward the back room, his steps purposeful. He didn’t rush, didn’t say a word—just led you through the dimly lit hallway with the kind of confidence that sent heat pooling in your core.

The door shut behind you with a quiet click, the hum of the bar fading into the background. Vander turned to face you, arms folding across his broad chest as he leaned against the wooden desk, watching you. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with something hungry.

“So,” he drawled, his voice dipping even lower. “You like the way I sound, huh?”

You nodded, breath hitching. “Yeah.”

His tongue flicked across his bottom lip, a quiet tsk leaving him. “Gonna need more than that, sweetheart.”

Your throat went dry, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I love your voice,” you admitted, your own voice softer now, almost breathless. “It’s deep, rough—makes my whole body feel like it’s burning up.”

That earned you a dark chuckle, low and rumbling. “That so?” His head tilted slightly. “Could’ve fooled me. You seem real shy about it now.”

You swallowed hard, heat creeping up your neck. “I—”

“Shh.” He brought a finger up, barely grazing your chin. “I think I like this little confession of yours, love. And I think I wanna see just how much you really like it.”

His voice alone had your thighs pressing together, your breath uneven as he traced slow circles over your hip. He leaned in, lips just brushing the shell of your ear.

“Bet I could have you falling apart just from my voice,” he murmured, each word slow, deliberate. “Bet I could make you squirm just whisperin’ in your ear.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, breath coming in shallow pants. “Vander—”

“There it is,” he praised, voice nothing but gravel and heat. “Knew you’d sound real pretty sayin’ my name like that.”

A quiet whimper left you, and Vander groaned, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your hips. “You really are dangerous, sweetheart,” he muttered. “Damn near impossible to say no to.”

His lips barely ghosted over yours before he pulled back, his expression shifting into something dark, something unreadable.

“But you ain’t getting everything you want just yet.”

You blinked up at him, dazed, your mind fogged with desire. “What—”

Vander smirked, reaching down to give your backside a firm, playful tap—not enough to hurt, but enough to send a spark of heat up your spine. “Upstairs. Now,” he ordered, his voice dropping into something dangerously low.

Your breath caught, your thighs pressing together at the sheer authority in his tone.

“Gonna finish closing up,” he continued, stepping back and eyeing you like he was already imagining what he was gonna do once he followed. “By the time I get up there, you better be waitin’ for me.”

His fingers traced one last slow path down your arm before he turned toward the door, leaving you standing there, still trying to catch your breath.

“Don’t keep me waitin’, love,” he called over his shoulder.

And just like that, Vander strode back out into the bar, his voice carrying through the walls as he barked at the last stragglers to clear out.

You barely had the strength to move, your body humming with anticipation. But you knew one thing for certain—

You weren’t about to disobey that voice.

SILCO

Zaun’s underbelly was no place for soft things, no place for delicate affections or whispered promises. But somehow, you had carved out a place for yourself in his world—woven into the very fabric of his life like the slow burn of a cigar, curling around him, lingering.

No one would ever know.

Silco was a man who kept his power close and his weaknesses closer. He didn't parade you through The Last Drop or allow idle hands to pry into what was his. You were a secret. A well-guarded one.

And yet, even in the quiet, he ruined you.

=

Tonight, you were in his office—again.

The dim glow of lanterns cast long shadows across the room, flickering against the mahogany desk he had pinned you against. His body was close—too close—yet still, he hadn’t truly touched you.

That was always the game.

His patience was infuriating. He knew exactly how to play you, how to leave you wanting, how to drive you to madness without so much as lifting a finger.

"Tell me," his voice came low, a purr of dark amusement as he leaned in, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. "Do you enjoy being kept in the dark like this, my darling?"

Your breath hitched. Gods, you hated him. Not because of what he was saying—but because of what it did to you.

His voice slithered under your skin like silk, threading into every nerve ending, sending heat coiling deep in your stomach. It was the way he spoke—so precise, so controlled, every syllable laced with dark promise.

"Silco—" You tried to turn your head, to get even the slightest bit of control, but his gloved fingers caught your chin, forcing you to face forward.

Not yet.

He let his lips hover just beside your pulse, never quite touching, just letting his breath tease the sensitive skin.

"Shhh." The whisper was soft, almost intimate—but the effect was devastating. You shivered, the warmth of his breath sending a sharp pulse of heat between your thighs. "We wouldn’t want someone overhearing us, would we?"

Your fingers curled into the edge of his desk, knuckles white. He was such an ass—deliberate, cruel in his attentions. Always testing your restraint.

"You’re the one whispering in my ear like you want me to lose my mind," you bit out. A chuckle—dark, rich, sinful—slipped from his lips, and you felt it in your bones.

"Am I?" His voice dropped, becoming rougher, raspier—worse.

You barely had time to brace yourself before he let his lips graze the delicate skin beneath your jaw, his breath leaving a searing trail.

"I think you’re the one who likes being talked to like this."

You sucked in a sharp breath.

His fingers skated down your waist, slow, teasing. Too slow. The way he dragged out every single movement was torture.

"You always respond so beautifully," he murmured, words rolling off his tongue like velvet, deep and indulgent. "A little breathless. A little desperate."

Your thighs clenched together before you could stop yourself, and he felt it. Of course, he did.

Silco was far too perceptive, and even in the dim candlelight, you knew he was watching you with that sharp, knowing gaze—taking you apart, piece by piece, with nothing but his voice.

His gloved hand slid lower, curling possessively around your hip as his other pressed into the desk beside you, trapping you against him.

And still—still—he hadn’t touched you properly.

"Tell me," he drawled, his lips brushing your ear, "how much do you want me right now?"

The heat between your legs had turned to an ache—one that his voice alone had created.

Your fingers dug into the wood. "You already know."

"Mmm." His hum of approval sent a shiver down your spine. "But I do love hearing you say it."

He shifted, pressing his knee between your thighs, adding just the faintest pressure. Not enough. Never enough.

Your breath hitched, your body betraying you, arching closer without thinking. Silco hummed in satisfaction. He had you.

"You drive me insane," you admitted, voice hushed, breathless.

His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his mismatched gaze—blue and ember, sharp as a knife.

"And yet," he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours, "you keep coming back for more."

His kiss was slow, deliberate—a calculated torment. Lips firm but patient, moving against yours with a control that had you shaking. His voice had already undone you, but this? This was the final blow.

And he knew it.

His whispers continued between kisses, words melting into your skin like poison and honey all at once.

"You’re mine." His lips drifted down, pressing against your jaw, your throat. "And I do so love making you weak."

His voice alone was ruining you. And the worst part?

You wanted him to.

CLAGGOR

The flickering candlelight cast long, shifting shadows along the stone walls of your shared hideout. The others had long since retired for the night, leaving only you and Claggor lingering in the quiet, the remnants of your latest heist strewn across the worn wooden table between you. The air smelled faintly of oil and dust, mingling with the lingering scent of sweat and adrenaline from a long day’s work.

You let out a slow breath, fingers idly toying with a small trinket from the pile, but your focus was elsewhere—entirely on the man across from you.

“Alright,” Claggor murmured, leaning forward, his large hands sifting through the items. His voice was rich and low, the kind of sound that settled in your chest and refused to leave. “Looks like we got some decent supplies this time. Food, parts, and—oh, check this out.”

He lifted a small, well-worn book, its spine cracked from age and use. He flipped it open, his thick fingers carefully turning the delicate pages, his eyes scanning over the text with quiet curiosity. But you barely registered what he was saying.

Gods, his voice.

It wasn’t just deep—it was steady. Assured. The kind of voice that made you feel safe, even when the world outside was anything but. And the way he spoke? Each word deliberate, unhurried, carrying a weight that made even the simplest statements feel important.

You swallowed hard, warmth curling low in your stomach, creeping up your neck. You shouldn’t be thinking about this right now. Not here. Not with him so close.

Claggor’s voice softened slightly. “Y/N?”

You blinked, caught off guard, realizing too late that you had been staring.

“Hmm?” you managed, shifting in your seat.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression amused but not unkind. “You listening?”

“Uh—yeah. Totally.” You forced yourself to focus, nodding toward the book. “Food, parts, and… a book?”

Claggor chuckled, a warm, rumbling sound that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Yeah,” he said, thumbing over the edge of the pages. “Figured Powder might like it. Or maybe you. You still like bedtime stories?”

There was a teasing lilt to his words, but the joke barely registered over the sheer effect of hearing him speak. You shifted, pressing your thighs together as subtly as possible, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way your breath had hitched.

Depends, you wanted to say. Depends on who’s reading.

Instead, you tilted your head, smirking to cover your nerves. “Depends. Who’s reading?”

Claggor huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “What, you want me to read to you?”

Your heartbeat stuttered.

Yes.

You shrugged, forcing nonchalance, but your pulse betrayed you, thrumming in your ears. “Maybe. I just like the sound of your voice.”

The words left your lips before you could think better of them.

For a moment, Claggor said nothing, his dark eyes studying you with quiet curiosity. Then, he set the book down on the table with slow deliberation, his movements easy, unhurried.

“You like my voice?” His words came slower this time, more thoughtful. Testing.

Your breath caught.

He was too perceptive. He always had been. Claggor wasn’t just brawn—he noticed things, even when you tried to be subtle. And right now? You were not being subtle.

You nodded, heat creeping up your neck. “Yeah. I do.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, a rare sight. Claggor wasn’t usually one for teasing, but there was something different in his expression now—something amused. Interested.

“That so?” he murmured, leaning back slightly. He let the silence stretch between you, as if weighing his next words. Then, deliberately, he let his voice drop even lower, his tone thick with quiet amusement. “What if I talked to you like this all the time?”

A shiver ran through you, sharp and electric.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice even. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

Claggor exhaled a quiet laugh, but there was something else beneath it now—a quiet satisfaction. He leaned forward again, resting his forearms on the table, his presence filling the space between you with an undeniable weight.

Then, as if testing you further, he reached for the book, flipping it open once more.

“Alright,” he mused, voice slow, deliberate. “Let’s see… ‘Once upon a time…’”

The words were meaningless. What mattered was how he said them. Each syllable rolled from his lips like honey, smooth and unhurried, carrying a warmth that settled deep in your chest. His voice wrapped around the words, made them something more than just ink on paper.

You barely noticed the story. You barely noticed anything except him.

Claggor glanced up, watching you. His voice remained steady, unshaken, but there was something in his gaze—something knowing.

You didn’t even realize you’d been leaning in until he paused, raising an eyebrow.

“Enjoying yourself?”

You swallowed, pulse quickening. “Maybe,” you murmured, voice slightly uneven.

His smirk widened, his expression both amused and intrigued. He turned the page slowly, dragging out the moment, letting the silence settle before speaking again.

“…Should I keep going?”

You hated how easily he was getting to you, but you also loved it.

“Depends,” you said, your voice lower this time. “You gonna make a habit of this?”

Claggor chuckled, deep and warm, shaking his head. “Oh, I definitely am now.”

He closed the book with a quiet thump, resting his palm on the cover as he regarded you. His expression was unreadable for a long moment—then, with deliberate slowness, he leaned in just enough for his voice to drop to a near whisper.

“Didn’t know you had a thing for voices,” he murmured. “But I think I just found my new favourite way to get a reaction out of you.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Claggor wasn’t usually one to tease, but the way he was looking at you now? Like he’d just uncovered a secret he fully intended to use against you?

Yeah. You were so in trouble.

Powder and Ekko had left The Last Drop a while ago. Something about visiting Vi. You had wanted to tag along, but something screamed 'Private Moment!' and you didn't want to intrude. From what you had gathered, this dimension's Ekko and Powder were a couple. You'd just have to visit Vi another time.

You pushed your way out the front doors of The Last Drop, smiling and waving goodbye to Vandor when he called out to you. The sun was starting to set, a golden glow over taking Zaun. You looked around the street, vendors were starting to turn on lights and musicians were packing up instruments to head home.

A pompous laugh to your left made you swivel your head. About ten feet away, Claggor leaned against the wall of The Last Drop. Mylo was bent at the waist and clapping his hand against his knee like he'd just heard the best joke ever. You raised an eyebrow, unamused, but made your way over to them anyway.

"How's it going?" You figured starting off with an open ended question would be the safest bet. Claggor crossed his arms, but didn't answer. Mylo straightened up, still smiling and wiped his eyes.

"Ohh, pretty good. We're just about ready to head home. How about you?" He clapped his brother on the shoulder, giving him the side eye, before looking back at you, waiting for an answer.

"Oh, yeah. You know, just walking home. Figured I'd say goodnight," you rub the back of your neck, it still feels a bit weird to talk to them after all this time. An awkward silence passes. Mylo keeps 'stealthily' looking between you and Claggor. You don't really know what else to say. You put on a forced smile, let out a hollow laugh, and decide that's enough interaction with the dead for one day. "Okay... Bye-bye!" And you walk in the direction you think your apartment is.

"Is she being weirder than usual?" Mylo watches you practically jog away from them. Then looks back at Claggor. He's watching you run away too, he looks dumbfounded and shakes his head, sighing.

"I don't know Mylo, she's always been a bit off," he pushes off the wall and starts to walk back to their shared apartment. Mylo quickly catches up with his brother's long strides.

"She hugged you today," Mylo says matter-a-factly. Claggor rolls his eyes.

"Good point Captain Obvious," Claggor quipped back. Of course he had noticed your weird behavior. He usually only gets a hug during the holidays. When you get extra sentimental and teary eyed. Maybe even a little tipsy and you squeeze Powder in the biggest bear hug you can manage, sniveling about family bonds and how much Violet's friendship meant to you. He wished to be close with you, like he had been in childhood, but Violet's death put a wedge between you and Claggor that hadn't rotted away yet. You were both stubborn and frankly stupid.

He catches his mind wandering and glances back at Mylo. Who now has a stupid grin plastered on his face. Mylo flashes his eyebrows at him, and Claggor pushes his head away with a big palm straight to the face.

Finally, after a bit of wanding, you had made it back to your apartment. You didn't have your keys, so with as much agility as you could muster, you climbed through your window. You dusted yourself off and made sure to put your wallet back in the dish by the door. And made a mental note to grab the keys next time too.

You find the bedroom, it's quite a small apartment so it doesn't take you long. You snag an extra blanket from the armchair and cuddle up for the night.

You wake up to banging at your door. Light filters through your window, casting a beautiful shimmer over your quilted blanket and onto the nightstand where several books sit. Oh, you're still in the dream dimension. The banging starts up again and you quickly wrap a blanket around your shoulders and rush to answer. Hardened by years of living in Zaun, you look through the peephole before opening. Standing there is a disheveled Ekko. You swing the door open.

"What the hell are you doing banging on my door like that?!" You yell at him, but he pushes past you. You roll your eyes and close the door behind him. He paces around your small apartment while you stare, waiting for him to say something.

"Hextech never happened here," Ekko had stopped pacing and now stood facing you, slightly panting. "During the job I sent them on, Violet was killed by the crystal's explosion. Which caused this whole other outcome!" He waves his arms around. Ekko continues to prattle on about hextech and how there's no way to get back home right now, but it feels like time has stopped for you.

"Violet's dead?" Ekko goes silent and nods. "Oh," it's all you can manage, you don't really want to think about it. Ekko tries to be reassuring and pats your back.

"Don't worry, I think there's a way to get us back home," he goes on about his plan, but honestly you've never been one for sci-fi magic. Can't really wrap your head around it. Instead, you chose to tinker with mechanical devices that base their inner workings in logic and engineering. His pacing knocks over a few pencils on your table and you're brought back to the conversation.

"I have to find the crystals. Want to come with?" Ekko offers, but if you're gonna have to leave eventually, you'd rather spend this the day in the new Zaun.

Moving was hell. Every step sent sharp pulses of pain up your spine, and the nausea that accompanied it made you grit your teeth. You barely managed to get dressed before heading to the kitchen, determined to make some tea before leaving for the Academy.

You had just put the kettle on when you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back against a warm, bare chest.

“You’re up early,” Jayce murmured, his voice thick with sleep. He pressed a slow kiss to the side of your head, his lips lingering. “Didn’t even wake me up. That’s cruel.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning into him slightly. “Didn’t think you’d appreciate being woken up before sunrise.”

Jayce hummed, his grip tightening as he buried his face in your neck. “I always appreciate you.”

Despite the warmth of his embrace, you tensed when another cramp rolled through your body. You bit your lip to keep from making a sound, but Jayce didn’t miss the way you stiffened.

His brows furrowed, and he pulled back enough to look at you. “Y/N?” His hands found your hips, steadying you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lied. “Just a little sore.”

Jayce didn’t buy it. His eyes searched yours, taking in the exhaustion lining your face, the way you were holding yourself, the way you had barely touched your tea. Then, understanding dawned on him.

“Is it—?”

You exhaled sharply. “It’s fine, Jayce.”

He scoffed. “That’s not what your body is saying.” Before you could argue, he turned you around to face him fully. “How bad?”

“Not bad enough to skip work,” you said automatically.

Jayce shot you a look. “That’s not an answer.”

You sighed. “It’s... uncomfortable. But I can handle it.”

Jayce stared at you for a long moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. Then, without warning, he bent down and swept you off your feet, cradling you against his chest.

“Jayce!” you gasped, arms flying around his neck. “Put me down!”

“Nope.” He carried you with ease, moving straight back toward the bedroom. “You are not going to the Academy today.”

You huffed. “I have work to do—”

“It can wait.” Jayce nudged the door open with his foot, walking over to the bed before gently setting you down. He pulled the covers over you, tucking you in before sitting on the edge of the bed. “You always do this. You push through it, act like it’s nothing, and then you crash. Not today.”

You crossed your arms. “I’m fine.”

Jayce raised an eyebrow. “Would a heating pad and some tea make you more fine?”

You hesitated.

He smirked, already standing up. “That’s what I thought.”

You watched as he left the room, hearing him rummage through the cabinets and drawers. A few minutes later, he returned with a heating pad and a fresh cup of tea. He placed the heating pad gently against your abdomen before handing you the tea, then slid into bed beside you.

You raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to the Academy?”

He shrugged, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you against his chest. “I think my girlfriend needs me more than work does.”

You exhaled slowly, relaxing against him despite yourself. His body was warm, his presence grounding. You hadn’t realized just how much you needed this until now.

Jayce pressed a kiss to your forehead, his fingers tracing soothing circles on your back. “Just rest, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

VIKTOR

The familiar ache curled deep in Y/N’s abdomen, sharp and relentless. It radiated through her lower back and thighs, an unyielding force she had long since learned to endure. She clenched her jaw as she adjusted the lens on her microscope, determined to ignore it. Work at the Academy didn’t stop just because her body decided to wage war against her.

She exhaled slowly, trying to focus on the samples before her, but the pain flared again, making her fingers tighten around the microscope’s knobs. Her stomach churned, and a thin layer of sweat clung to the back of her neck. But she refused to stop. She couldn’t stop.

"Miláčku." (Darling)

Viktor’s voice broke through her concentration, the familiar, gentle lilt carrying an unmistakable thread of concern.

She glanced up briefly, offering him a tight-lipped smile that she hoped would be reassuring, but she knew he wasn’t fooled. He was never fooled.

Viktor sighed, his golden eyes flicking over her with quiet scrutiny. He had been watching her all morning—how she tensed when she thought no one was looking, how her hands trembled ever so slightly when she reached for her pen, how she bit the inside of her cheek as another wave of pain hit. She was stubborn, as always. Too stubborn.

Slowly, he stood, his cane tapping softly against the floor as he crossed the lab toward her. She heard the familiar rhythm—step, tap, step, tap—until he was close enough to rest a hand on the edge of her workstation. He leaned against it with an easy familiarity, but his gaze was sharp, searching.

"You are in pain," he stated simply.

"I'm fine," Y/N dismissed, though the slight waver in her voice betrayed her.

Viktor hummed, unconvinced. "I have seen you work through headaches, exhaustion, and even a minor injury, but this?" He gestured vaguely toward her. "This is different. You are clearly miserable."

She exhaled sharply through her nose, gripping the edge of the table as another cramp twisted through her, worse than the last. It felt like her body was wringing itself out from the inside, and for a moment, the world blurred at the edges.

Viktor frowned. His grip tightened on his cane, frustration flickering across his face—not at her, but at the fact that she was pushing herself through something she shouldn’t have to endure alone.

"Come," he said softly, reaching for her free hand. His fingers curled around hers, warm and steady. "You need to rest."

"I need to finish this first—"

"No, you do not," Viktor cut her off, voice gentle but firm. "The research will be here tomorrow. You, however, will feel worse if you continue like this."

She hesitated. She hated stopping. Hated feeling weak. Hated the idea of something as trivial as her own body dictating what she could and couldn’t do. But when Viktor squeezed her hand and gave her that look—the one filled with unwavering devotion, the one that made her feel seen and cared for—she finally caved.

"Fine," she mumbled, allowing him to help her up.

"Good," Viktor murmured, a small, satisfied smile playing at his lips.

He guided her toward the worn leather couch in the corner of the lab, moving carefully to accommodate his own limp. He walked with measured steps, his cane tapping softly against the stone floor, never letting go of her hand.

When she sat down, Viktor disappeared for a moment before returning with a warm cup of tea, the steam curling in the cool air. He pressed it into her hands, his fingers lingering just a little longer than necessary, as if to reassure himself that she was here, that she was okay.

Y/N sighed, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. The scent of chamomile and honey wafted up, soothing in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.

Viktor settled beside her, careful and deliberate in his movements, resting his cane against the armrest before wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She didn’t resist when he pulled her against his side, the slow rise and fall of his breath steadying her own.

"You are too stubborn for your own good," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

She huffed, but there was no real fight left in her. Instead, she let herself melt into him, feeling the steady warmth of his body against hers.

"You love me anyway," she muttered, her voice muffled against the fabric of his vest.

"That, I do," Viktor chuckled, his fingers tracing soothing circles on her arm. "But I would love you even more if you took care of yourself."

She let out a small hum, closing her eyes. Maybe just for a moment. Maybe just until the pain dulled.

JAYVIK

It was one of those days where everything felt harder than usual. Y/N had been pushing through the pain for hours, the familiar dull ache turning into sharp, persistent cramps that made her want to curl up and hide from the world. But that wasn’t her style. She gritted her teeth, trying to focus on the task at hand, but her mind kept wandering back to the discomfort. She knew she wasn’t fooling anyone, though.

Viktor and Jayce had been noticing for a while now. Viktor, ever the observant one, had been keeping a quiet eye on her, watching her fight through each wave of pain. Jayce, with his usual energy and protective nature, had started to notice her movements becoming more sluggish, her posture stiffening, her face pinched with discomfort. Neither of them said anything at first, but as time passed, they both knew something needed to be done.

The tipping point came when Y/N tried to stand after a long meeting at the Academy. She had been sitting through lectures, her mind clouded with the increasing discomfort in her abdomen. She had hoped the pain would subside, but it only seemed to grow worse. The moment she stood, the sharp cramp hit her hard, and for a moment, her vision blurred. She swayed slightly on her feet, barely managing to steady herself before Viktor’s steady hand was at her elbow, guiding her back down into her seat.

“Y/N,” Viktor said gently, his voice laced with concern. “You need to rest.”

“I’m fine,” Y/N tried to dismiss, but the words came out a little weaker than she intended. She wasn’t fine, not by a long shot. Her head spun, her body trembling from the intense pain.

“No, you’re not,” Jayce said, his tone firm but caring. He stepped closer, his gaze softening as he observed her. His big hands hovered over her stomach, a silent understanding passing between them. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard again.”

Y/N opened her mouth to protest, to insist that she could push through just like she always did, but before she could speak, Jayce was already kneeling beside her. His warm hands gently pressed against her lower abdomen, rubbing slow, soothing circles over the cramping muscles. The warmth of his touch instantly calmed her, if only just for a moment. She felt herself soften into him, the deep ache lessening with each movement of his hands.

“You don’t have to keep going like this,” Jayce murmured, his voice low and full of affection. “Let us help.”

Viktor, never one to be left out of such tender moments, moved to the other side of her. His cane tapped the floor gently as he settled beside her. With a soft sigh, he rested a hand on her shoulder, his fingers light yet firm against her skin. “You’re important to us, lásko,” he said, his voice quiet but steady, filled with the kind of care that only Viktor could express so effortlessly. “And we want you to take care of yourself—not just for us, but for you as well.” (Love)

Y/N felt the tension in her chest loosen at his words. She wanted to fight it, to push through the pain and pretend like she could handle it alone, but as their voices wrapped around her like a gentle cocoon, she allowed herself to relax. For the first time in a long time, she let herself stop. The weight of the day, the pain, the constant push to do more and be more—it all seemed so much lighter with them there. She closed her eyes, letting the exhaustion wash over her, finally allowing herself to just… be.

Jayce’s hands never stopped their gentle motion on her stomach, each caress sending a wave of relief through her body. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken such tender care of her like this. Viktor leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, his lips warm and comforting against her skin. Their closeness, their presence, wrapped around her like a blanket, making her feel safe in a way she hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever.

“You don’t have to do everything alone,” Viktor murmured, his voice soft and reassuring. His fingers moved through her hair, gently tucking a strand behind her ear. “Let us help you. Let us take care of you”

Y/N smiled weakly, resting her head against Viktor’s chest. The familiar sound of his heartbeat was a soothing lullaby against her ear. She felt the tension in her body slip away as she leaned into them both. “I’m lucky to have you both,” she whispered, her voice thick with gratitude. She had never felt so cared for, so truly seen.

Jayce kissed the top of her head, his hands still working their soothing magic on her stomach. His voice was warm and filled with affection when he spoke again. “We’re lucky to have you, too.” His words wrapped around her like a promise, a vow of unwavering support.

And there, in the quiet comfort of their embrace, Y/N felt the world outside fade into nothingness. The pain was still there, but it no longer felt like an insurmountable force. With Viktor and Jayce by her side, she knew she didn’t have to face anything alone.

VANDER

It was another cold, gloomy morning in Zaun, the kind that seemed to press down on everything. The dim, gray light filtered through the cracks of the old wooden walls, barely enough to see by. The sounds of the city’s lifeblood—clanking metal, creaking pipes, and distant machinery—echoed throughout their small, humble home. Y/N lay curled in bed, her body tangled in blankets, but she barely felt their warmth. The sharp, familiar ache in her abdomen throbbed with a fierce intensity, a relentless reminder of her body’s monthly battle. It pulsed through her like an undercurrent, making it hard to breathe without feeling it shift and twist inside her.

She had been awake for hours, trapped in the haze of pain, but she stubbornly refused to admit how bad it had become. There were things to do today—people to help, problems to solve, and a million things that still demanded her attention. She wasn’t going to let a little pain hold her back. She never did.

With a soft groan, she attempted to sit up. But the moment she moved, the dizziness hit her. Her vision blurred, the edges of everything softening as the pain intensified. She winced, clutching her stomach as if that would somehow make it stop. Her body felt heavy, like it was made of stone, and the simple act of sitting upright felt like a monumental task.

“I can’t…” she whispered to herself, but before she could even get her bearings, she tried to stand. Her legs, weak from exhaustion and the painful cramps, buckled beneath her, sending her crashing back down onto the mattress.

The sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway interrupted her self-inflicted struggle. The door creaked open, and there stood Vander, his tall frame filling the doorway. His face, roughened by years of struggle, softened as his eyes quickly scanned the room and landed on her.

"Y/N?" His voice, gravelly and low, was filled with concern. “What are you doing?”

Her stubborn streak kicked in, and she quickly wiped away the pained expression on her face, trying to act as if everything were normal. “I’m fine,” she muttered, forcing herself to sit up once more, even though her body screamed in protest. “I’ve got things to do.”

Vander’s gaze never left her, and he crossed the room in two long strides. He was close enough now that she could feel the warmth radiating off of him, a welcome contrast to the chill of the room. He didn’t even ask; his massive hand gently settled on her shoulder, grounding her in place.

“You don’t look fine,” he said, his voice low but firm. His eyes searched hers, refusing to let her hide from him.

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, to insist she was okay, but before she could, Vander was already scooping her into his arms, his strong hands lifting her effortlessly. Her breath caught as he cradled her against his chest, and for a moment, all she could do was close her eyes and allow herself to be held.

“You’re not going anywhere like this,” he murmured, his voice a soothing rumble beneath her ear. She couldn’t fight him—not when the weight of her stubbornness started to lift with the warmth of his embrace.

She huffed, irritated at how easily he could overpower her when she was in this state, but the pain in her body made it impossible to argue. With a soft sigh, she let herself relax against him, her body trembling—not from fear, but from the overwhelming relief of simply being held.

Vander’s giant hand moved, resting gently on her stomach. He began rubbing slow, deliberate circles, the warmth of his touch seeping through her clothes and into her very skin. She let out a breath, the pain dulling slightly under his careful touch. His presence, his strength, was a balm to her aching body, and the rhythmic motion of his hand calmed her in a way nothing else could.

“Vander…” she whispered, the words barely escaping her lips. She didn’t want to admit how badly she needed this, how much the pain had worn her down. “I’m not…”

“Shh,” he interrupted softly, his hand continuing its motion. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. I know you’re strong, but sometimes… sometimes, you need to let someone take care of you.”

Her heart squeezed at his words. He wasn’t just concerned about the pain—he was worried about her. The ache in her stomach wasn’t going away, but the warmth of his embrace, the steadiness of his touch, began to soothe the sharpest edges of it. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself lean into him, allowing herself to be taken care of in a way she hadn’t allowed anyone to do for a long time.

“I’m used to doing everything myself,” she whispered, the quiet vulnerability in her voice a rare thing. She had always been the one to keep going, no matter what. But this… this was different. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

Vander’s response was soft, but it carried the weight of years of love and understanding. “You’re never a burden to me, Y/N. I want to take care of you. Let me do this for once.”

She could feel the sincerity in his words, and something in her heart softened. There was no room for pride, no room for stubbornness in this moment. Just the two of them, wrapped in the quiet of their little home, as the world of Zaun continued to hum and groan outside.

His hand continued its soothing motion, and for the first time that morning, Y/N felt herself relax. The tightness in her chest loosened, and the pain in her stomach, while still present, seemed more manageable under his careful care. She breathed in deeply, and the ache in her body became a distant hum instead of an overwhelming force.

“You’re not alone, Y/N,” Vander said softly, his lips brushing against her forehead as he held her closer. “I’ve got you. Always.”

The tenderness in his voice, the security of his embrace, allowed her to finally surrender to the exhaustion. She let herself drift, her body finally giving in to the comfort he provided, the pain fading into something bearable.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N allowed herself to close her eyes, trusting Vander completely. She wasn’t alone. And for now, that was enough.

SILCO

The dimly lit office was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of papers as Y/N sorted through the endless stacks on Silco's desk. The hum of the dim lights above was the only other sound, though it hardly did anything to distract from the gnawing pain in her abdomen. She had been at this for hours, working on paperwork for Silco, as usual. Every once in a while, she would shift in her seat, trying to ease the pain that only seemed to worsen as time went on. But she couldn’t stop—not when there was still work to do. Not when Silco depended on her.

The throbbing in her lower belly was becoming unbearable, the cramps tightening like a vice, and she couldn’t even remember the last time she had felt truly comfortable. But she had learned long ago to push through, to endure. She had always been this way—stubborn, determined. She wasn’t going to let something like pain get in the way of her responsibilities.

Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for the next set of documents, but she quickly steadied it, forcing herself to focus. She tried not to make a noise, to keep her breathing even, but the pain was starting to show on her face. She caught a glimpse of Silco out of the corner of her eye, watching her intently from his seat. His eyes were sharp, calculating, but for a brief moment, they softened, the tiniest flicker of concern passing through his gaze. He didn’t say anything yet, but she could feel his eyes on her as she continued to sort through the papers.

It wasn’t long before Silco stood, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the room. His presence was commanding, unwavering, and he moved toward her with purpose. Y/N could feel his gaze on her, and she quickly straightened up, trying to hide her discomfort. But it was no use.

"Y/N," he said, his voice calm, but there was an edge to it, something that made her heart skip a beat. It was more than just a question—it was an order.

She looked up at him, a weak smile on her lips, though it barely reached her eyes. "I’m fine, just a little…" Her voice trailed off, but Silco didn’t need any more explanation.

"No," he said, his tone brokering no argument. "You’re not fine." He was already crossing the room toward her, his eyes locked on hers with a gaze that left no room for defiance. "Give me your hand."

Before she could protest, his fingers were wrapped around her wrist, strong and steady, pulling her from the chair with little effort. His grip was firm, unyielding, and Y/N found herself rising to her feet, her body moving almost involuntarily. She opened her mouth to argue, but Silco silenced her with a look, his expression dark and unreadable.

"But I still need to finish these," Y/N tried to explain, though she was already feeling light-headed from the pain.

"Enough," he commanded, his voice cold but not unkind. "Rest."

Y/N’s heart skipped in her chest at his tone, but she didn’t have the strength to resist. Silco gently but firmly guided her to the couch in his office, his hand never leaving her wrist. She collapsed onto the plush cushions with a sigh, feeling the weight of the pain in her stomach and the exhaustion she had been ignoring for so long. The relief of lying down was immediate, though the cramping still made it hard to relax.

Silco stood over her for a moment, his gaze unwavering as he assessed the situation. His sharp eyes softened just slightly, but there was still that edge to his expression, something that made it clear he wasn’t going to allow her to suffer.

"Stay here," he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Don’t move."

Y/N managed a weak smile, trying to brush it off. "I’ll be fine. Really."

But Silco was already turning to leave the room, his mind clearly elsewhere as he walked toward the door. Y/N watched him go, a strange pang of guilt gnawing at her. She wasn’t used to being taken care of in such a way, and a part of her resisted it, even though another part of her desperately needed it.

=

A few minutes later, Silco returned. In his hand, he carried a warm cloth, and there was something about the way he moved—almost protective—that made her heart skip a beat. His eyes softened, just slightly, as he knelt beside her. Without a word, he carefully placed the heated cloth over her stomach, the warmth seeping into her skin and easing some of the tension there. Y/N closed her eyes at the sensation, her breath slowing as the pain began to dull, the heat from the cloth soothing her aching muscles.

Silco watched her for a moment, ensuring she was comfortable before speaking again, his voice softer than before but still with an undercurrent of command. "Rest," he repeated, tucking a thick blanket around her shoulders. His movements were gentle, but there was a firmness to them, as though he was making sure she understood that he wasn’t going to let her go through this alone.

Y/N opened her eyes, meeting his gaze, and for a brief moment, she saw something different in him—something she hadn’t noticed before. There was care, yes, but also a certain protectiveness, a tenderness that he rarely showed.

"I’m sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I didn’t mean to worry you."

Silco’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second, and he exhaled slowly, the sharp edge to his presence softening just enough to show that he was concerned, that he cared. "You don’t need to apologize for this," he said quietly. "Not for this, Y/N." His eyes darkened slightly, a glint of something more protective in them. "I don’t want you pushing yourself when you’re clearly in pain."

Y/N hesitated, letting his words settle in her mind. She wasn’t used to being cared for like this. She had always been the one to take care of others, to push through, to keep going no matter the cost. But here she was, vulnerable, and for once, she let herself lean into the care he was offering.

For the first time that night, she didn’t argue, didn’t insist that she was fine. She just closed her eyes, sinking into the comfort of the warmth surrounding her, the blanket tucking her in like a safe cocoon.

Silco moved toward his desk, but his gaze never left her. He watched her for a moment, ensuring she was still resting, before returning to his work. Yet, even in his focus, his eyes would drift back to her, checking on her every so often, as if he couldn’t quite bear the thought of her being uncomfortable or in pain.

"You’re mine to care for, Y/N," he said after a while, his voice low, almost a whisper, but it carried weight, like a promise. "Don’t forget that."

His words sank deep into her chest, a warmth blooming there as she allowed herself to believe it. She wasn’t used to this—this attention, this care. But somehow, it felt right, felt like something she had been needing without realizing it.

And for once, she let herself believe that she was worthy of it.

The pain didn’t vanish entirely, but the comfort of his presence, his care, made it bearable. And in that moment, she knew that Silco wasn’t just her lover. He was her protector too.

As the minutes passed, Y/N allowed herself to drift off into a peaceful, restful sleep, safe in the knowledge that Silco was watching over her—ensuring she was cared for, no matter what.

CLAGGOR (AU)

It was another long day in their shared workshop, the kind where the hours blurred into one another as they worked tirelessly. Surrounded by mechanical parts, intricate blueprints, and the glowing soft light of the workbench lamps, Claggor and Y/N had been dedicated to their latest project. The hybrid flower—an innovative creation Y/N had been perfecting—was finally starting to show promise. It was meant to have a healing property unlike anything they had seen before, one that could possibly help in the toughest of battles.

Claggor, ever meticulous, was hunched over his work, adjusting the tiny petals they had successfully crossbred to be more resilient. His brow furrowed in concentration as he made careful tweaks to the delicate work of nature and science intertwined. Meanwhile, Y/N sat beside him, her hands moving more slowly than usual, though she tried to keep pace.

The pain had started earlier that morning, sharp cramps that gnawed at her body in waves, but Y/N had pushed it aside, determined to finish their task. She wasn’t the type to admit when she was struggling—not when there was so much left to do, not when they were so close.

Yet Claggor, as always, knew her too well. His eyes darted up from the flower hybrid when he noticed her wince slightly, a quiet flicker of discomfort crossing her face. Then, her hand subtly pressed against her stomach, as though she could will the pain away. It wasn’t the first time he had seen her like this, but this time, there was something in the way she held herself—a tightness, a reluctance to show weakness—that tugged at his heart.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice low and concerned. He didn’t lift his gaze from the project, but his tone told her he wasn’t buying her act. “You good?”

Y/N gave him a strained smile, pushing herself a little straighter, her voice pretending lightness. “Yeah, just… focused. A little tired, that’s all.”

Claggor was quiet for a beat, his fingers tapping restlessly against the workbench. He could tell it was more than tiredness. He knew that look too well, the one she wore when she was trying to keep it all together even though the weight of her body was starting to betray her. With a quiet sigh, he set the hybrid down, gently lowering the delicate petals back into their protective case, before standing up and walking toward her.

“I know that look,” he murmured, his tone a mixture of concern and something softer. He reached for her hand, his touch gentle but insistent, guiding her to sit down on a nearby chair. “Y/N… You’re not fooling me. You’re hurting.”

Her hand trembled slightly as she tried to pull back. “Claggor, I’m fine,” she insisted, though the slight hitch in her voice betrayed her. “We’re almost there. Just need a few more adjustments.”

“No,” Claggor said firmly, his voice holding a quiet strength that made it impossible to argue. “You’re not fine.” He stepped closer, his fingers brushing against her cheek in a soft but tender motion. “You’re in pain. I can see it.”

She shook her head, still not wanting to admit it, still trying to push through. “I don’t want to slow you down, Claggor. You’ve been working so hard on this, and we’re so close to finishing.”

Claggor sighed, a mix of frustration and something deeper—care and love for her. He could tell she was putting on a brave face, trying to act like everything was fine, but he had seen this too many times. She was always the one who fought through the pain, always the one who kept going, even when her body screamed for rest.

He wasn’t going to let her push herself too far today.

With a quiet determination, he moved behind her, his hands settling on her shoulders as he gently urged her to sit back down. “Y/N, listen to me. It’s not about the project right now. It’s about you. You’re not going to get anything done if you’re not feeling well.”

She hesitated, her eyes flicking to their half-finished work, but the pain was getting harder to ignore. Her body swayed as she stood, trying to push through, but it was too much. The sharpness of her cramps made her stagger, and Claggor was quick to step forward, his strong arms catching her before she could fall.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low, filled with quiet reassurance. “I’ve got you. Let me take care of you.”

He carefully led her to the couch, easing her down into the cushions. His eyes were filled with nothing but concern, and it made her heart ache. Claggor always knew when to take charge, when to step in, and when she needed to give herself a break.

“I don’t like resting,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she tried to fight the fatigue creeping over her. “I feel like I’m letting everything slip away if I stop.”

Claggor knelt beside her, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead. His touch was warm, soothing, and gentle, as though he were handling something precious. “You’re not letting anything slip, love. You’re just taking care of yourself so you can be strong later. You deserve to rest. Please, don’t push yourself any longer.”

She looked up at him, her eyes softening as the vulnerability he always saw in her began to emerge. She nodded reluctantly, the exhaustion finally catching up to her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“No apologies, Y/N,” he said, his voice firm but full of affection. “You don’t need to apologize for taking care of yourself.”

Without another word, Claggor moved behind her, his arms coming around her to hold her close. He shifted until they were both lying down together on the couch, his body curling protectively around hers. He placed a warm hand gently on her stomach, his touch grounding, steadying.

“I’m here,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. “Let me hold you.”

Y/N melted against him, the pain in her body slowly fading as his presence and warmth enveloped her. She could feel his steady heartbeat against her back, the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. The pressure on her stomach from his hand was soothing, almost therapeutic.

She let out a soft sigh, feeling the tension leave her body as she relaxed into his embrace. It was the first time all day that she allowed herself to fully give in—to the pain, to the exhaustion, and to the comfort Claggor offered.

His arms tightened around her, pulling her even closer, his hand never leaving her stomach, a steady reassurance that he was there. "You’re not alone in this, Y/N," he murmured. "I’ve got you. I’ll always be here for you."

Jayce, of course, had no idea. She had kept it hidden, a mere nuisance in her life that she didn’t want to burden anyone with, especially not him. He had enough on his plate already, juggling inventions and his role in the council. So, she kept her quiet little secret, smiling and nodding as they walked.

But today was different.

As Jayce animatedly explained a new energy source he’d been working on, Y/N’s vision blurred. She felt lightheaded, the familiar dizziness creeping up on her. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to steady herself. She could push through this, she told herself, but the feeling only grew worse. Her knees buckled.

Before she knew it, the ground was rushing up to meet her.

Jayce’s voice stopped mid-sentence, and the last thing Y/N felt was his strong hands catching her as she collapsed, her body falling limp against him. Her world went dark.

=

When Y/N came to, the first thing she noticed was the cool air against her skin. She blinked rapidly, trying to focus, and then realized she was lying on the ground, cradled in Jayce’s arms. His face was a mask of concern, his large hands hovering over her as if he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Y/N?” His voice was shaky, and she could hear the panic beneath it. “Y/N, can you hear me? Please… Please wake up.”

Y/N groaned softly, slowly pushing herself up. Her vision swam as she tried to sit up, but her head was spinning. She put a hand to her forehead, trying to steady herself, but she could feel Jayce’s hands supporting her shoulders, his grip gentle but firm.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice tight with worry. “You just... you just fell, and I couldn’t—”

“I’m fine,” Y/N murmured, her voice weak but reassuring. She didn’t want him to panic any more than he already was. “I... I just fainted. It’s nothing.”

Jayce’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he didn’t speak. He stared at her, as if trying to process what she had just said.

“You fainted?” He repeated the words as if he couldn’t believe them. “How long has this been happening? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Y/N bit her lip, looking away. She didn’t want to make it a big deal, didn’t want him to think she was fragile or weak. “I didn’t want to worry you,” she whispered. “It’s... it’s just something that happens. I didn’t want to make a fuss.”

Jayce’s expression softened, but there was still a trace of worry etched into his features. He gently cupped her face with his hand, making her look at him. “Y/N, you’re not a burden. You’re not weak. If you’re feeling like this, you need to tell me. I don’t care how small it seems. I’m here for you.”

The sincerity in his eyes made Y/N’s chest tighten. She nodded, her heart fluttering at the care he was showing her. She hadn’t expected that.

“I’ll... I’ll be more careful,” she murmured, feeling a little embarrassed.

Jayce gave a soft, frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “No, I mean it. You’re not going to hide this from me anymore, okay? If you feel faint, you tell me. No excuses.”

Y/N smiled, her face flushing slightly. “Okay, Jayce. I promise.”

Jayce’s expression softened into a small smile, but there was still a lingering concern in his eyes. “Good. Now let’s get you back to my workshop. I think you need a bit of rest, don’t you?”

Y/N nodded, and Jayce helped her up, keeping a careful hand on her back as they walked back towards his lab. She was still a little shaky, but with him by her side, she felt like maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.

=

From that day forward, Jayce kept a watchful eye on her. He never let her walk too far ahead, always making sure she was feeling okay. He would ask her how she was doing in the quiet moments, his voice gentle, not wanting to make her feel like a burden, but also wanting to make sure she was safe.

And Y/N? She learned that it wasn’t weakness to ask for help, especially from someone who truly cared. Jayce had shown her that much, in his own way.

No more secrets. Not with him.

VIKTOR

Viktor’s workshop was always filled with the soft hum of machinery and the occasional buzz of electrical currents. It was his sanctuary, a place where his mind could wander and his inventions could take form. Yet, amidst the steady rhythm of his work, there was a constant presence—Y/N.

You were often there, in the background, moving about with a quiet grace, watching him work or helping when you could. Sometimes, you’d hand him tools or assist in adjusting the flow of energy to one of his creations. But there was one thing Viktor had grown accustomed to: your tendency to faint. It wasn’t that you didn’t try to push through, but something about the energy of his lab seemed to weigh on you. Maybe it was the air, the heat, or simply the weight of the world on your shoulders, but it happened. You fainted, often, and Viktor always knew when it was coming.

It had become a routine, of sorts. The moment you started to sway or your breathing hitched, Viktor’s sharp gaze would flicker to you. His leg brace, though supportive, slowed him down somewhat. But over time he had perfected his response. He kept a cushion near at all times, just under the desk or against a wall. And with that cushion, he was always ready to catch you.

=

This time was no different. You had been standing nearby as Viktor adjusted some of his machinery, your eyes scanning over the intricate designs on his desk. The workshop was quiet, save for the occasional clinking of metal and the soft whirring of devices. You smiled at him occasionally as he worked, your mind a million miles away, lost in thought. But suddenly, a wave of dizziness swept over you, your vision blurring slightly. It wasn’t anything new—just the familiar sensation of the world tilting, your body readying itself for another faint.

Then, it happened. You staggered for just a second, a slight hitch in your breath, before your knees buckled, and you collapsed to the floor.

Viktor was already there, his cane tapping against the floor as he swiftly moved toward you. He caught you effortlessly, his arms steady and practiced as they moved to cradle you. It was as if he had expected it, always anticipating when your body would give out. He eased you gently onto the cushion he’d already placed, his movements slow and deliberate. He didn’t rush—no, he’d done this too many times to be frantic.

With careful precision, Viktor pulled the cushion closer to his workbench, ensuring you were fully supported before draping a soft blanket over your form. His eyes softened as he watched you, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear. His fingers lingered at the touch, as if memorizing the feel of you—always there, always dependable.

His golden eyes never left you, though the sharp edge of his usual focus softened when it came to you. Viktor had long since learned that the moments you were unconscious were not moments for his machines to take precedence. No, he would always wait for you to wake, to return to him, no matter how long it took.

He let his hands rest at his sides for a moment, though his gaze stayed vigilant, monitoring your every breath. The rhythmic sound of the machines seemed to fade into the background as he shifted his attention fully to you, feeling a strange sense of peace in this quiet, shared moment. It was during these times that Viktor felt the weight of his humanity most—when his machines, his inventions, took a backseat, and he was simply… Viktor. The man who cared for you.

And so, Viktor remained by your side, his cane resting nearby, his eyes never straying far from you. The warmth of the blanket seemed to calm him as well, offering him a sense of reassurance that he hadn’t known he needed. He knew you would wake soon—your feints never lasted long—but until then, he would stay with you, quietly watching over you, as he had so many times before.

=

Time passed, and as expected, your eyelids fluttered. The soft stirrings of consciousness returned to you, the world around you gradually coming back into focus. When your eyes finally opened, the first thing you saw was Viktor’s face, his familiar form bending over you. His expression was soft, yet there was a hint of concern that he couldn’t quite mask. His golden eyes seemed brighter, more attentive, as they locked onto yours.

“Again, Y/N,” he said, his voice low and comforting, though there was a faint edge of teasing in his tone. “You really must stop doing this to me.”

You blinked, still slightly disoriented, before you managed a weak smile. The blanket still curled around your body, its warmth bringing a sense of comfort to your frail state. There was something soothing about being near him—his quiet vigilance, the steady presence he gave. Viktor’s care was something you had come to rely on, even if it was a reminder of how often you found yourself on the floor of his workshop.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Viktor let out a quiet sigh, his hand reaching for your face. He brushed the hair from your forehead again, his touch gentle but deliberate. “You need to take better care of yourself,” he said, his gaze softening as he looked down at you. There was no anger in his voice—only an unspoken sense of protectiveness. "You push yourself too hard.”

You sighed, your body still weak from the sudden collapse. “I know... I’ll try to take it easy.”

Viktor helped you sit up a little, adjusting the cushion beneath you for support. His eyes never left you, watching you as though his every thought was focused on making sure you were okay. You could feel the weight of his attention, but there was no discomfort in it. In fact, it was oddly comforting, as though you were the only thing in the world that mattered to him at that moment.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice hoarse as you met his gaze.

Viktor smiled faintly, brushing a few more strands of hair behind your ear as his golden eyes softened further. “Always, Y/N,” he said with quiet certainty, the words almost a vow. “Always.”

JAYVIK

Viktor, his cane tapping rhythmically against the cobblestone streets of Piltover, walked with Jayce beside him, deep in conversation. The evening air was cool, and the flickering lamplights cast long shadows down the path they were taking, reflecting the bustle of the city. The towering buildings, once grand symbols of innovation, now seemed to fade into the backdrop of Viktor’s thoughts. His mind was often occupied with ideas and plans, but today, something felt different, something just beyond reach.

Y/N, walking slightly ahead of them, felt the familiar wave of dizziness sweep over her. She had been struggling with her health for a while now, and though she usually kept it hidden, it was becoming harder to manage. It wasn't as though she liked to worry anyone—it was just easier to keep it to herself. But as the symptoms persisted, it was becoming more difficult to ignore. Today was one of those days when everything felt heavier, when every step seemed like an effort. She could feel the weight of the world pressing against her, her heart pounding in her chest. Yet, she didn’t want to admit that she couldn’t handle it.

Her vision blurred as the world around her shifted in and out of focus. She reached out instinctively, her fingers grazing Viktor’s coat, hoping for something to latch onto. His figure, though reassuring in its steady presence, seemed distant now. Before she could steady herself, the darkness overcame her. Her knees buckled completely, and her body went limp.

Jayce, ever the alert one, reacted immediately, but his usual calmness faltered. His strong arm shot out, catching her just in time before she could collapse to the ground. “Y/N?” he called, his voice filled with panic. His breath quickened as he looked down at her limp form, his heart racing. The confidence that usually defined him was replaced by something entirely unfamiliar—anxiety.

He carefully cradled her in his arms, shaking her lightly, hoping for some sign that she was okay. His hand grazed her cheek, but she didn’t respond. She was completely unresponsive, her face unnaturally pale, and her breath shallow.

Viktor, sensing the shift in the air, stopped mid-step. His cane clicked against the cobblestone as he turned, his sharp gaze immediately assessing the situation. He wasn’t surprised by the sight of Y/N unconscious, but the sudden urgency in Jayce’s movements caught his attention. Viktor took a few calm steps toward the pair, his usual composed self in stark contrast to Jayce's nervous energy.

“What happened?” Viktor asked, his voice steady, betraying no sense of panic as his gaze flickered from Jayce to Y/N.

Jayce, clearly flustered, looked up at Viktor, his face drawn tight with worry. “She fainted!” he exclaimed, his words hurried. “She didn’t even warn us she was feeling unwell… She—she didn’t wake up when I shook her, Viktor!”

Viktor’s eyes narrowed as he observed the situation with precision. He noted Y/N’s shallow breathing, her cold skin, the absence of any movement. “Calm down, Jayce,” he said, his voice low but firm. “She’s unconscious, not dead. We need to take her somewhere safe, immediately.”

Jayce's chest rose and fell rapidly with each breath, his panic not yet abated. “I know, I know! But I don’t—she’s burning up. What if—”

“Jayce,” Viktor interjected, cutting through the rising panic in his friend’s voice. “We need to move her. She’ll be fine. We need to get her to her apartment, get her lying down, and keep her comfortable. There’s no need for further panic.”

Jayce swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly as he adjusted his hold on Y/N. He was still worried, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios, but Viktor’s calm voice seemed to anchor him, if only a little. “I just—she never told us about this. Why didn’t she say something?”

Viktor’s gaze softened as he watched Jayce, understanding his concern, but his expression remained measured. “She didn’t want to worry us,” Viktor said quietly. “It’s not the first time this has happened, I suspect. She’s been hiding it from us for some time.”

Jayce’s frustration was evident in his tight jaw and the way his brow furrowed. “I should’ve noticed sooner,” he muttered, more to himself than to Viktor. “She never should have felt like she had to hide it.”

Viktor placed a steadying hand on Jayce’s shoulder. “You can’t blame yourself for something she chose to keep hidden. What matters now is that we get her the help she needs.”

With a deep breath, Jayce nodded, trying to push aside his panic. He carefully scooped Y/N into his arms, holding her close. Despite his unease, there was a tenderness in the way he carried her—an urgency to get her somewhere safe, but also a softness in his touch.

Viktor moved forward, his pace calm and deliberate. “We’ll get her home,” he said, his voice steady, “and we’ll figure this out. Just focus on getting her comfortable, Jayce.”

Jayce nodded, grateful for Viktor’s level-headedness. As they walked through the streets of Piltover, neither of them spoke much. Viktor remained the calm, guiding presence, while Jayce, though quieter now, couldn’t shake the worry gnawing at him.

=

They finally arrived at Y/N’s apartment, and Jayce was careful not to jostle her too much as he laid her down on the couch. Viktor moved with purpose, grabbing a damp cloth to lay across Y/N’s forehead, while Jayce hovered near her, keeping a watchful eye.

As they worked to make her comfortable, the weight of the situation slowly began to settle in. Viktor, though outwardly calm, was already thinking through every possibility for her recovery. Jayce, still on edge, could only focus on making sure she woke up.

Even as the minutes ticked by, Jayce’s mind continued to race, but Viktor’s steady presence—his calm assurance that everything would be alright—slowly began to quell the panic that had taken root in his chest. It was, perhaps, a reminder that not everything needed to be fixed immediately. Sometimes, the most important thing was simply being there.

=

When Y/N finally began to stir, she felt warmth and comfort, but her surroundings felt unfamiliar. The soft fabric beneath her suggested she wasn’t outside anymore. Her eyes fluttered open to find herself in her apartment. The air smelled faintly of lavender and freshly brewed tea. Her head felt heavy, and a faint headache pulsed behind her eyes.

She blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the dim lighting. Her gaze fell first to the wet towel placed gently on her forehead, the cool fabric soothing her burning skin. The memory of what happened—fainting, the dizziness—flashed in fragments through her mind, but it was hard to piece it all together.

When she tried to sit up, a gentle hand stopped her. Jayce’s voice, low and comforting, cut through the haze. “Don’t sit up too quickly,” he warned. “You passed out. We brought you back here to rest.”

Y/N turned her head to find Jayce sitting beside her on the couch, his expression a mix of relief and lingering concern. Viktor stood by the window, watching over them with his usual stoic demeanour, but even he couldn’t hide the worry in his eyes.

“Jayce?” Y/N’s voice was raspy, barely a whisper, and she winced as she tried to speak louder. “What happened?”

“You fainted,” Jayce explained softly, his thumb brushing over her hand. “You didn’t tell us you were feeling unwell, and then you collapsed. We rushed you back here to rest.”

Viktor, his cane tapping lightly against the floor as he walked over to join them, studied her closely. “This has been happening for some time, hasn’t it, Y/N?” he asked, his voice gentle yet firm. “You can’t keep hiding it from us.”

Y/N’s gaze flickered between the two men. She wanted to apologize, to explain, but the words seemed to catch in her throat. She hadn’t meant for them to see, for them to worry about her. But as she looked at them now—standing side by side, their faces showing both concern and a silent promise to help—she realized that she didn’t have to carry this alone anymore.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “I didn’t want to worry you both.”

Jayce gave her a reassuring smile, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Don’t apologize. We’re here for you, Y/N. You’re not alone in this.”

Viktor nodded in agreement, his gaze steady but warm. “We’ll find a solution, Y/N. You’re safe now. We’ll make sure this doesn’t go unnoticed again.”

Y/N closed her eyes, feeling the weight of their words settle in her heart. Maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to face the darkness alone.

VANDER

The kids were bustling around the small apartment above the Last Drop, the usual mix of laughter, bickering, and the occasional loud noise filling the space. Vi was practicing some moves in the corner, her fists quick and sharp, while Powder was busy playing with her assortment of trinkets, trying to build something from scrap metal. Mylo was sprawled out on the couch, half-heartedly watching the others, while Claggor sat by the window, lost in thought.

Y/N was in the kitchen, making dinner for the kids. She was focused on the task at hand, chopping vegetables and stirring pots with practiced ease. She had grown accustomed to the chaos in the apartment, even if it often made her head spin. She tried to ignore the faint dizziness she had been feeling all day, pushing through it for the sake of the kids and Vander. But today, her body wasn’t cooperating.

A sudden wave of lightheadedness hit her, and her legs buckled beneath her. She reached out for the counter to steady herself, but the world was spinning too quickly. Before she could even react, she collapsed, knocking several pans off the stove in a loud crash. The clattering noise was enough to get the attention of the kids, who immediately stopped what they were doing and rushed toward the kitchen.

"Y/N?" Vi called out, her voice filled with concern as she quickly ran to the kitchen. Claggor was right behind her, his face etched with worry.

"Y/N!" Mylo shouted, but his voice held a strange mix of worry and confusion as he stood frozen in place, staring at the woman who had always been strong and composed.

Powder, who had been quietly playing with a little stuffed animal, dropped it and sprinted into the kitchen. Her wide eyes filled with panic. “Y/N?!” she cried, her voice trembling as she crouched beside the unconscious woman.

Y/N’s face was pale, her body limp, and the sound of her breath was faint. The kids gathered around her, unsure of what to do. Claggor immediately dropped to his knees, gently lifting Y/N’s head to check for any sign of life.

“She’s breathing,” Claggor muttered, though his voice was shaky. He looked at Vi, panic in his eyes. “What do we do?”

Vi crouched down beside him, her usual tough exterior replaced with genuine worry. “She’s fine, right? She’s just… fainted?” She swallowed hard, glancing over at Powder, who had tears in her eyes, her lip quivering in fear.

“Is she going to be alright?” Powder whispered, clutching her stuffed animal tightly. “I don’t like seeing her like this.”

Vi gently placed a hand on Powder’s shoulder, trying to offer reassurance, though she wasn’t sure if she believed it herself.

Just then, Claggor glanced up, his face going pale. “We need to get Vander. Now.”

Vi nodded, her expression serious. “I’ll go.”

=

While Claggor stayed by Y/N’s side, trying to keep her comfortable, Vi rushed down the stairs toward the bar. She burst through the door, her eyes scanning the room for Vander, who was talking with a couple of customers. When he noticed her sudden appearance, his face went hard with concern.

“What happened?” Vander asked, his voice low but full of urgency.

“It’s Y/N,” Vi said quickly, her breath coming in short bursts. “She fainted. It’s bad, Vander. We need you.”

Vander’s face darkened. Without another word, he turned and followed Vi back up the stairs, his worry increasing with every step. By the time they reached the apartment, the kids were standing around Y/N, who still hadn’t regained consciousness.

Vander rushed to her side, kneeling next to Claggor. He gently lifted Y/N’s head, brushing the hair from her face with tenderness. His brow furrowed as he checked her pulse, his hand steady despite the rising panic in his chest.

“She just fainted,” Vander muttered, his voice calming but firm as he glanced up at the kids. He didn’t want to alarm them, but they could see the concern in his eyes. “It happens sometimes. She just gets weak. It’ll pass.”

Claggor’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Is this… normal?”

Vander sighed, his gaze softening as he stroked Y/N’s hair. “It happens. She doesn’t like to talk about it, but it’s been going on for a while. Sometimes her body just gives out. It’s nothing to be scared of, but we need to make sure she rests.”

“But… why doesn’t she tell us?” Mylo asked quietly, his usual playful attitude gone. His face was full of concern, and his voice trembled slightly.

Vander glanced at the kids, his expression softening. “She doesn’t want to worry you all. She’s tough, but sometimes her body can’t keep up with her. You’re all important to her, and she doesn’t want you to see her like this.”

Powder sniffled, wiping her tears away. “I don’t want her to get hurt.”

“I know, kiddo,” Vander said, his voice gentle as he stood up. He turned to Vi, Claggor, and Mylo, giving them a small, reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Y/N’s going to be okay. Just make sure she stays calm. We’ll help her through this, just like we always do.”

Claggor nodded, the concern still evident on his face, but a hint of relief started to seep in as Vander spoke. Vi moved to stand beside Vander, her arms crossed, but her stance relaxed. She wasn’t sure how to help, but she knew one thing for certain: they were a family, and they would take care of Y/N.

=

As Vander gently helped Y/N sit up, her eyes fluttered open. She blinked up at him, a soft groan escaping her lips. “Did I… did I faint again?” she asked, her voice weak but laced with embarrassment.

Vander smiled down at her, brushing her hair back. “You did, but it’s okay. We’ve got you. Just rest now.”

The kids watched, some of them still a little nervous, but they were relieved to see Y/N was slowly coming back to herself. Even Mylo, who was always quick to crack a joke, didn’t say a word. He just stood quietly, taking in the moment.

“Let us help, Y/N,” Vi said softly, stepping forward. “You don’t have to do everything alone.”

Y/N smiled faintly, her heart swelling with gratitude. “Thanks, Vi.”

The kids didn’t hesitate to offer their help. Claggor began cleaning up the mess in the kitchen, and Mylo handed Y/N a glass of water. Powder, still holding her stuffed animal, climbed into a chair next to her and held her hand.

Vander remained close, standing guard, as he always did. They were a family, bound together not just by blood, but by the quiet moments of care and understanding.

And as the night continued, Vander made sure to keep a closer eye on Y/N, but there was no need to worry. The kids were there for her now, just as she had always been there for them. Family meant taking care of each other, through the good and the bad. And they would always be there for Y/N—no matter what.

SILCO

Silco sat at his desk, his eyes scanning the documents laid out in front of him, the weight of his thoughts and the city ever-present in the back of his mind. The sounds of the bustling underground seemed distant as he focused on the task at hand. There was something soothing about the quiet of his office, the dim light casting long shadows against the stone walls. The space, cold and imposing to most, felt like a sanctuary for him—if only for brief moments.

The sudden sound of a faint thud broke the silence, a soft but distinct noise that caused Silco to look up, his sharp gaze sweeping the room. His eyes narrowed slightly as he listened for any other sounds, but there was only silence in the air—heavy and still.

And then he saw her.

Y/N lay crumpled on the floor, her body slack and lifeless as though the weight of the world had suddenly become too much for her. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, the only indicator that she was still alive, but the rest of her was a lifeless heap of pale limbs. She had fainted again.

Silco let out a deep, tired sigh, his lips pulling into a frown. This wasn’t the first time. No, not by far. He’d lost count of the number of times she’d collapsed like this, her condition causing her to faint when she pushed herself too hard. He knew the cause well—some fragile weakness in her system, a condition she had never fully explained, only that it was something she had learned to live with. But he didn’t need to know the details. What mattered was that she never seemed to heed his warnings. No matter how many times he told her to rest, to take it easy, she continued to push herself too far.

His frustration flared momentarily, but it was immediately tempered by a deep, almost protective concern. He had always admired her determination, her fire, her unyielding will to keep moving forward, no matter the toll it took on her body. But with that came the inevitable consequences—the times when she would push beyond her limits and fall prey to her body’s refusal to cooperate.

Silco stood up from his desk with a quiet, measured movement, his boots clicking lightly against the stone floor. His gaze softened as he approached her. He crouched down next to Y/N, his eyes tracing her features for any sign of distress, his hand reaching out to brush a few strands of hair from her forehead. His fingers lingered for a moment longer than necessary, a brief touch that he would never allow anyone to notice.

"Y/N," he muttered in a voice thick with both exhaustion and tenderness. "How many times do I have to tell you to slow down?"

He knew she would never listen. She never did. But it didn’t stop him from wishing, just for a second, that she would take care of herself the way he did.

He gently slid his arms under her, cradling her against him. She was lighter than he expected, as though her body had given up on fighting, leaving her fragile and small in his arms. His jacket, a dark, tailored piece of clothing, draped over her shoulders like a blanket, offering her some small comfort as he carried her across the room.

Laying her down on the couch, he adjusted the jacket so that it covered her completely, his fingers smoothing the fabric down. He gazed at her for a moment, watching the faint rise and fall of her chest, the only sign that she was still with him. His expression softened, a rare flicker of something tender crossing his features.

Silco wasn’t someone who allowed much softness in his life. In fact, most of the time, he preferred to keep his emotions tightly controlled, hidden beneath layers of authority and calculation. But with Y/N, it was different. With her, it was as if a small piece of his heart—long buried under the weight of ambition and rage—had somehow found a place to rest.

He lingered for just a moment, brushing a hand over her forehead, a soft sigh escaping him. The condition was one of the few things he couldn’t control. He could command armies, manipulate those around him, and even bend the very city to his will. But Y/N’s body? That was something beyond his reach. And for reasons he couldn’t fully articulate, it bothered him more than he cared to admit.

=

After a moment, he straightened and returned to his desk, the familiar weight of responsibility tugging at him. The paperwork awaited, as did the demands of his position. But even as he picked up the nearest document, his thoughts were constantly on her. Every so often, his gaze drifted toward the couch, ensuring that she remained resting, that she was still safe.

He couldn’t help but wonder if she even knew how much she mattered to him. How often he found himself watching her from the corner of his eye, how often his thoughts wandered back to her, to her well-being, to the quiet moments when he let his guard down, even just a little. But he would never say such things aloud. He couldn’t. There was too much at stake, too much riding on the image he had carefully crafted.

Still, the quiet, rhythmic sound of her breathing in the corner of his office was all the reassurance he needed. For a moment, just a brief moment, Silco allowed himself the luxury of caring about nothing else but her.

And in the stillness of the room, as the hours passed and the papers piled higher, he made a silent promise to himself: He would always be there, in the shadows, watching over her—whether she liked it or not.

CLAGGOR (AU)

Claggor had always been protective of Y/N, though he wasn’t always the most observant. His heart raced whenever she smiled, the way she looked at him with those bright eyes making everything seem a little less chaotic. They spent countless hours together, often in the quieter corners of Piltover, away from the hustle and bustle of their daily lives. There, it was just the two of them, and everything felt perfect.

Y/N, on the other hand, always tried to keep her little secret hidden from Claggor. She had a tendency to faint—sometimes when she was overwhelmed, sometimes when she stood up too quickly, and other times, it just seemed to happen for no reason at all. She’d always felt embarrassed by it, and Claggor was the last person she wanted to worry.

Today was no different. She had been feeling a little lightheaded, but she brushed it off. Claggor had been telling her all about some new invention he'd stumbled upon, his voice a soothing, melodic hum as he gestured excitedly. His passion was always contagious, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. She knew he cared for her, and it made her heart flutter in ways she couldn’t quite explain.

But then, as he got closer to her, she suddenly felt the room spin. It had been happening a lot more frequently lately. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping the dizziness would pass, but it didn’t. She was fighting to stay conscious when Claggor, noticing her sudden stillness and the subtle paleness to her face, looked up from his rambling. His brow furrowed in concern.

“Y/N?” His voice was soft, full of worry. “Are you okay?”

Y/N tried to smile, but everything around her felt so far away. She reached out to steady herself on the nearby table, but it was too late. The world tilted once more, and her vision blurred. Then, just as she tried to speak, her knees gave out beneath her.

Claggor's eyes widened in panic as she crumpled to the floor. His body moved on instinct, rushing to her side. His hands, though slightly trembling, carefully cradled her in his arms. His usually calm demeanor faltered, but his mind was quick, piecing everything together in an instant.

“Y/N!” His voice was a mix of panic and urgency. “Please, stay with me.” His fingers pressed gently to her pulse, feeling the faint thrum beneath his fingertips. He’d seen this before in others—weakness, dizziness. He'd just never expected it to happen to her.

He tilted her head back slightly, eyes scanning her face. His mind raced as he remembered snippets from the many medical journals he'd read over the years. This wasn’t an emergency—he knew that much—but it was still serious.

"Y/N?" he repeated softly, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "Can you hear me?"

Y/N's eyelids fluttered open slowly, the world returning in hazy flashes. For a moment, everything felt like a blur, but then she heard his voice, full of concern. She blinked, trying to focus, and slowly realized what had happened.

“I—I’m sorry,” she stammered, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I didn’t want you to see…”

Claggor's face softened, but his gaze was intense. He could feel the heat rising from her skin, and he quickly checked her temperature, gently placing his hand on her forehead. “You’re fine,” he murmured, though his voice was laced with relief. “You’re just faint. I’ve got you.”

Y/N’s breath hitched as she began to sit up, but Claggor gently guided her back down, keeping his hand on her shoulder. His presence was steady, reassuring. He wasn’t frantic, and that calmed her more than anything.

“You should’ve told me, Y/N,” he said quietly, his fingers running through her hair as he adjusted her position to make her more comfortable. “I’m not going to let this happen again without knowing what's going on.”

Y/N bit her lip, the dizziness still lingering, though she was trying to brush it off. “It’s… It’s nothing, really,” she whispered. “I don’t want to burden you with it…”

Claggor shook his head firmly, his expression softening into something that resembled both understanding and frustration. “It’s not a burden, Y/N. You’re not a burden. If this happens often, you should tell me. I care about you, and I want to take care of you. We can figure out what’s going on, together.”

Y/N met his gaze, her chest tightening as the weight of his words settled over her. She felt guilty for not being open with him earlier, but in the end, his calm and rational presence made her feel safe.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, her voice small, barely audible. “I didn’t want you to worry about me…”

Claggor’s hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing over her cheeks with an expression that showed no hint of frustration, only softness. “Y/N,” he murmured gently, his forehead resting against hers. “You never need to apologize to me for being yourself. Just… let me help. Let me be there for you, okay?”

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes as she nodded, her heart swelling with a quiet relief. She wasn’t alone in this, and she realized how much that meant. “I promise I’ll tell you next time,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Claggor smiled, his eyes softening as he pulled her close, pressing his chest against hers. “I’m always here, Y/N,” he said, his voice warm, filled with conviction. “I’m not going anywhere.”

They sat there for a moment in silence, Claggor holding her close, carefully monitoring her breathing and temperature, all while offering her a steady presence. He wasn’t going to let her go through this alone again. Not ever.

Y/N swatted his hand away, eyes fierce and determined. “I can’t stop now. There’s too much at stake. If I rest, even for a moment, everything we’ve built here falls apart.”

Jayce’s jaw tightened. He knew their drive was born of hope — hope to save, to build a better Zaun, to protect the people they cared for. But hope without rest was a flame burning too close to the wick.

“Alright,” he said, voice low but firm, “if you won’t rest willingly, then I’m going to have to help you.”

Before Y/N could protest, Jayce reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a length of sturdy ribbon — soft silk, but strong enough to hold firm. In a matter of moments, Y/N’s hands were gently but securely tied to the armrests of their chair. The ribbon wasn’t tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to prevent them from reaching the workbench.

“Jayce!” Y/N blinked, cheeks flushed with surprise and a touch of embarrassment. “This is ridiculous!”

Jayce smiled softly, thumb brushing over their knuckles in a tender, grounding touch. “Ridiculous or not, you’re going to sit here and rest. No more work tonight. I promise.”

Y/N struggled playfully against the ribbon, lips twitching into a reluctant smile despite themselves. There was no anger in their eyes — only a quiet surrender born from exhaustion and trust.

Jayce moved to a nearby shelf and pulled down a thick, worn blanket. He draped it over Y/N’s shoulders and tucked it gently beneath their chin. “You’ve saved enough people today. Now let me save you.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, eyes softening. A flicker of something tender — gratitude, maybe even love — passed between them.

“I don’t like being powerless,” Y/N whispered, voice barely audible.

Jayce leaned in closer, his breath warm against their ear. “You’re not powerless. You just need to recharge. Even the brightest inventions need downtime to shine.”

The hum of arcane energy dimmed, replaced by the quiet rhythm of steady breaths and the soft rustle of the blanket. Slowly, Y/N’s muscles relaxed against the chair, finally allowing themselves to rest. Tethered, yes — but safe. Loved. And for the first time that night, still.

Jayce stayed by their side, brushing stray hairs from their forehead and murmuring soft reassurances until the weight of exhaustion pulled Y/N into peaceful sleep. And in that quiet moment, Jayce promised himself he’d protect this fierce, brilliant soul — even if it meant tying them down to keep them safe.

VIKTOR

The dim glow of Piltover’s evening light filtered weakly through the laboratory’s grimy windows, casting long, stretching shadows over scattered tools and humming machines. The air was thick with the scent of oil, metal, and burnt wires—a familiar smell that Y/N had come to associate with late nights of invention and near-obsession.

Y/N sat hunched over the workbench, their brow furrowed, eyes sharp and unyielding as they delicately adjusted the intricate mechanism before them. Their fingers moved with relentless precision, but every so often, a slight tremor betrayed the exhaustion they refused to acknowledge. Their breathing was shallow, shallow enough that if someone else had been watching, they might have called it holding their breath.

Viktor limped into the room, the steady tap-tap of his cane breaking the quiet hum of machinery. His gaze softened as it landed on Y/N—so utterly absorbed, so focused, but undeniably worn down. There was a thin sheen of sweat on their forehead, and the shadows beneath their eyes were deeper than they’d admit.

“Y/N,” Viktor’s voice was soft, a quiet plea as he stepped closer, careful not to startle them. But beneath the gentleness, there was an unyielding edge — an iron determination born of concern. “You need to stop.”

Without sparing him a glance, Y/N shook their head slowly, lips pressed in a tight line. “Not yet, Viktor. Just a little longer. I’m almost done.” Their voice was steady but faintly strained.

Viktor’s sigh was low, his shoulders sagging slightly as he leaned on his cane. It pained him to see them like this — driven, brilliant, but teetering dangerously close to breaking. “You’re pushing yourself too hard,” he said carefully, reaching out to rest a hand on their shoulder. The touch was gentle but firm, a reminder that they weren’t alone. “You need rest. You’re not a machine.”

A flicker of frustration passed over Y/N’s face, eyes flickering with a mix of defiance and weariness. They swallowed hard, jaw clenched. “If I don’t finish this now,” they whispered, voice cracking just a little, “the whole project could fail. You know how important this is.”

Viktor’s gaze softened, filled with a tenderness that only deepened the more he watched them suffer in silence. “And if you collapse from exhaustion, what then?” His hand squeezed their shoulder lightly, grounding. “You’re brilliant, Y/N. But even the brightest minds need a pause. You need to breathe.”

Y/N finally looked up, meeting his eyes — tired, stubborn, and utterly human. “I can’t stop, Viktor. Not when there’s so much left to do.” Their voice was a fragile mix of hope and desperation.

For a moment, Viktor said nothing. Then his expression softened even more, a quiet resolve settling over him. “Then I’ll make you.” His tone left no room for argument.

Before Y/N could respond, Viktor carefully closed the distance, taking their hands gently in his own. His cane tapped lightly against the floor as he used one hand to steady himself, the other to guide them away from the workbench, away from the dangerous pull of the unfinished invention.

“You’re coming with me,” he said softly, the warmth in his voice wrapping around them like a protective cloak.

Y/N opened their mouth to protest, but the heaviness of fatigue was catching up, and Viktor’s steady presence was impossible to resist. Their shoulders sagged as they allowed themselves to be led away from the bright chaos of their work.

Viktor settled them down on a worn leather couch nestled in the corner of the lab, away from the buzzing machinery and the sharp scent of solder. He brushed a stray lock of hair from their damp forehead and murmured, “Rest.”

His fingers traced gentle patterns on their temple, calming the restless energy that had bound Y/N for hours. “I won’t let you work yourself to ruin.”

Y/N let out a long breath and finally relaxed into his arms, their body melting against his. The tight tension in their shoulders began to unwind, the sharp edge of their exhaustion softening with every heartbeat.

“I suppose even geniuses need a break,” Y/N whispered, voice barely audible.

Viktor smiled, the sound of his cane tapping softly on the floor beneath them. “Especially geniuses,” he replied, voice low and full of promise. “And I’m not losing you.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to their temple, anchoring them to the moment, to the quiet peace Viktor was determined to give them—if only for a little while.

JAYVIK

The workshop light was still on.

Jayce sighed when he saw it spilling out under the door, casting a sliver of gold across the darkened hallway. The rest of the apartment was still and quiet, save for the hum of the old radiator and the occasional creak of wooden floorboards settling. It was nearly two in the morning.

He’d already gone to bed once, curled protectively around Viktor, who had dozed off with a book resting open on his chest. The blanket had risen and fallen with the slow cadence of his breath, and Jayce had thought for a moment that maybe, maybe you'd join them soon.

But the space beside them had remained cold, undisturbed.

Jayce had waited. He always did. And he always knew when to stop waiting.

He ran a hand through his sleep-mussed hair and padded barefoot down the hall, pausing in front of the door. His knuckles rapped gently against it.

“Y/N… come to bed.” No answer.

Just the soft whirr of a tool, the occasional scrape of metal, and the faint scribble of a pen moving across paper. That blend of industry and brilliance had a signature rhythm, one he could recognize even half-asleep.

He opened the door.

There you were. Exactly as he expected—elbows braced on the workbench, hair slightly mussed from running your hands through it a hundred times, eyes wide and shimmering with focus. The lamplight illuminated the smudges on your face, the faint grease stains on your shirt, and the soft bags under your eyes.

A half-finished prototype sat in front of you, wires still twitching with residual heat. It was surrounded by a fortress of scattered blueprints, toolkits, bolts, and discarded mugs long gone cold.

Jayce crossed his arms. “You’ve been at this since dinner.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, barely glancing up. “I just want to finish this calibration. It’s almost there, I can feel it.”

“You said that three hours ago.”

“And I meant it then, too.”

He exhaled through his nose, stepping inside and letting the door swing shut behind him with a soft click. The dimness of the hallway vanished behind him, replaced by the warm, quiet chaos of your workspace.

“Sweetheart…” he said again, softer now, more worn. His eyes trailed over your slumped posture, the tension in your shoulders, the way your hand trembled slightly when you reached for another tool. “You look like you’re running on fumes.”

Still scribbling. Still mumbling calculations to yourself. Still working. And still completely, utterly, and heartbreakingly unaware of how exhausted you looked.

That was it.

Jayce stalked forward with sudden purpose, brushing aside a rolling stool with a squeak. You gave him a warning look, eyes narrowing.

“Don’t you dare,” you said, pointing a tiny screwdriver at him like a dagger. “Jayce, no, don’t you dare—”

But it was far too late.

With practiced ease, Jayce bent down and scooped you up around the waist, lifting you clean off your stool. You let out a startled yelp as he tossed you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing at all.

“Jayce!” you shouted, fists thumping against his back. “Put me down right now, or so help me—”

“Nope,” he said, utterly unfazed. “You’ve been sentenced to mandatory bed rest by your incredibly patient and extremely worried boyfriends. No appeals, no parole.”

“You caveman! I will invent something that shocks you in your sleep!”

He chuckled, carrying you easily down the hallway like a squirming sack of very angry potatoes. “You’d have to sleep first. Which, last I checked, you don’t.”

“Put me down!”

“Later. Once you’ve been sufficiently cuddled.” You were still wriggling like a defiant cat when a dry, amused voice floated out from the bedroom.

“Finally,” Viktor said, voice warm but weary. “I was going to come get them myself, but stairs and canes make for poor dramatic rescues.”

Jayce nudged the door open with his foot. “Don’t worry. I got this part covered.”

Viktor sat propped up in bed, surrounded by a small mountain of pillows. His book was now closed on the nightstand, his cane resting within reach. A faint, knowing smile played at his lips as he patted the empty space beside him.

“Bring them here.”

Jayce dropped you onto the mattress with zero ceremony. You gave one last squirm, preparing to bolt—but Viktor reached out with graceful precision, catching your wrist and guiding you down beside him.

You landed with a soft oof, breath catching in your throat as Viktor’s arms looped around your shoulders, tugging you close with surprising strength.

“You’re both ganging up on me,” you grumbled, pouting even as your body began to relax into the sheets. “This is a coup.”

“Undeniably,” Viktor murmured, already brushing a lock of hair from your face. “But a compassionate one.”

Jayce climbed in behind you, large hands settling firmly around your waist, anchoring you between them. “We’re not mad, Y/N. Just worried.”

“You’ve been working nonstop,” Viktor added, voice quieter now, like the soft rustle of silk. “You never pause. Not even to eat properly.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to us,” Jayce said, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. “You already give so much. You’re allowed to stop. To rest. To just be.”

You let out a long, unsteady breath—like a tension spring slowly unwinding. Viktor’s hand threaded with yours, grounding and tender. Jayce’s warmth at your back was steady, like a hearth fire, always there, always burning for you.

“You can pick up the soldering iron again tomorrow,” Viktor murmured. “But tonight… just be here. With us.”

And with the weight of them—Jayce curled behind you, Viktor warm and patient in front—you finally felt your body surrender. Your muscles ached in the best way. Your eyelids drooped despite yourself.

“…I still have one more adjustment to—” Jayce groaned. Viktor pinched your side.

“Sleep,” they said in unison. And wrapped in the warmth of the people who loved you most, you finally did.

VANDER

The warm light from your desk lamp cast long, flickering shadows across the cluttered walls of your workshop. The steady hum of Zaun’s undercity buzzed faintly through the floorboards beneath your feet — the distant hiss of pipes, the occasional clatter of boots against metal. But all of it faded behind the rhythmic scratch of your pencil across old parchment, the hiss of a half-heated soldering iron cooling in its stand.

Blueprints were spread out in a messy array, curling at the edges from use and age. Gears, wires, copper coils, and loose screws littered the table like confetti after a long festival. You’d been working for… how long now? Hours, definitely. Maybe since breakfast. Or was it before that? You couldn’t remember if you’d eaten today.

But the ticking in your brain refused to stop.

Just a little more, you told yourself again. It was a mantra now. Just finish this one repair, maybe sketch out that hinge design for Huck. Then I’ll rest. I swear.

You blinked slowly, head bobbing forward before snapping up again. Your fingers twitched around the pencil in your grasp, stubbornly trying to keep scribbling despite the fatigue dragging on your shoulders like iron chains. Your back ached. Your neck was stiff. You were barely upright.

A soft creak came from the hallway.

Vi peered in through the cracked workshop door first, her small hands gripping the edge of the frame, brow furrowed in that determined little way she always wore when she thought something wasn’t right.

“She’s falling asleep,” she whispered, voice barely audible.

Behind her, Claggor leaned in, peeking over her shoulder. “Should we wake her up?” he asked, worry colouring his usually easy tone.

“She never listens,” Mylo grumbled, flopping his arms across his chest in dramatic fashion. “Last time I tried, she handed me a wrench and said, ‘Make yourself useful.’” He pitched his voice higher in a poor imitation of yours and earned a snort from Vi. “I did, by the way. I tightened, like, three bolts.”

“She’s gonna fall over,” Powder whispered, her eyes huge, clutching her threadbare stuffed bunny to her chest. She took a cautious step into the room, her gaze bouncing from the scattered tools to the way your shoulders drooped dangerously forward. “What if she hits her head?”

Vi stood straighter, her decision made. “We’re telling Vander.”

=

You didn’t hear the pounding of small feet against the stairwell or the worried whispers tumbling over each other as the kids explained what they’d seen. You didn’t hear the door creak open a second time, this time with purpose, or the heavy, sure footsteps that followed.

What you did hear — cutting through the hazy exhaustion clouding your mind like a blade through smoke — was that voice.

“Alright, love.” Low. Steady. Firm enough to make your body react before your brain could catch up. “That’s enough.”

You jolted awake with a sharp inhale, eyes flying open as you straightened too fast in your chair. Your pencil clattered to the floor.

“M’fine,” you croaked out before even looking up. “Just resting my eyes…”

“You said that yesterday.”

The voice came closer — gravel and warmth wrapped in familiarity. You blinked sluggishly as Vander stepped into your peripheral vision. He crouched beside you, his brows drawn with quiet concern, his broad hand already reaching to pluck the tools from your loose fingers.

“You’ve been pushing yourself too hard,” he said, gently but not without weight. “Again.”

“I’m just—” you started, but his expression shifted. He raised that brow — the one he only used when he was pulling rank. Not as the boss of the Last Drop. Not even as the Hound of the Underground. No, this was personal. This was the you promised me you’d rest and I’ve had enough kind of brow.

“The kids came to me,” he said, voice softening. “Vi said you’re about to pass out right here. Powder’s scared you’ll fall asleep with a soldering iron in your hand. Again.”

The fight in you fizzled like a spent fuse. Your chest sank. You hadn’t realized how tightly your muscles were wound until shame made them unclench.

“I just have things to finish—”

“You always do.”

His tone wasn’t scolding. If anything, it was heartbreakingly understanding. That unbearable tenderness he reserved for moments like this — moments when he saw through you too easily.

“But if you burn yourself out,” he murmured, reaching up to brush a stray piece of hair from your face, “there won’t be anyone left to finish them. We need you here, Y/N. They need you. Whole. Alive. Rested.”

Your eyes stung. It was silly — you weren’t that tired, were you? Or maybe you were. Maybe it had been days since you let yourself stop moving. Maybe the adrenaline that had kept you upright was finally starting to fade.

“I didn’t mean to scare them…” you whispered, throat tight.

“I know.” He stood slowly, his hands moving with care as he offered you one of them. “You’d never hurt them. But you’ve got to stop hurting yourself trying to protect us all. You don’t have to carry everything alone.”

“I’m not—” you began again, then stopped. He didn’t look convinced. You weren’t convinced, either.

He gave a faint smile and wiggled his fingers. “Come on. I ran a bath. Hot water, bubbles, the whole shebang. Told the kids you’d read ’em a story afterward once you’re settled. I’m not above emotional blackmail.”

Despite yourself, you let out a sleepy laugh. “That’s cruel.”

“I prefer ‘effective.’” He pulled you up gently, his arms wrapping around your waist as you leaned into him. “Besides, you’ve got five pairs of eyes watching to make sure you follow through.”

Sure enough, when he guided you toward the doorway, four heads ducked away from the doorframe with terribly timed subtlety. A chorus of soft footsteps thundered back down the hall.

“I guess I’m outnumbered,” you murmured, burying your face in Vander’s chest as his hand rubbed soothing circles into your lower back.

“You always are.” He chuckled, his voice rumbling against your ear. “But lucky for you… I’ve got strong arms.”

=

As he led you toward the small washroom, the scent of lavender and warm steam met you before you even stepped inside. The water shimmered in the claw-foot tub, the edge of your favorite towel folded neatly on a chair nearby.

He kissed your forehead before letting go. “Take your time. I’ll wrangle the monsters.”

“And my tools?” you teased, half-hearted.

“Locked the door already.”

“You what—”

“Y/N.” He leaned back in, kissed your temple again. “Let me take care of you. Just this once.”

You nodded, too tired to argue. “Okay. Just this once.”

But in your heart, as the door shut behind him and you sank into the bath with a content sigh, you knew the truth.

He always took care of you.

You just finally let him.

SILCO

The office was dimly lit, shadows pooling in the corners like secrets no one dared speak aloud. The only light came from the green shimmer of bubbling vials lined along the back wall and the weakening flicker of your desk lamp, its bulb on the verge of dying, much like the fraying thread of your own stamina.

Your back ached with the stiffness of hours spent hunched forward, the kind of ache that went ignored when adrenaline did the thinking. Your eyes stung from focusing too long on the small, sharp details — hand-written reports, tactical maps marked in red ink, the ticking internals of a smoke bomb prototype you’d taken apart and rebuilt twice over.

The chair creaked under your weight as you leaned in again, fingers smudged with soot and oil, mind a storm that wouldn’t calm. Zaun didn’t rest. So neither could you.

“You’ve eaten?”

The voice came like smoke, low and smooth and deceptively soft, curling through the room from the doorway behind you. It was a voice that never announced itself too loudly — Silco’s version of mercy.

You didn’t look up. “I had something earlier.” It was a lie. And you both knew it.

His footsteps echoed against the metal floor, steady and deliberate. He didn’t rush — he never did — but his presence pressed in like a tide.

“That’s not what I asked,” he said. There was weight in that voice now.

“I’m fine, Silco,” you replied quickly, too quickly, eyes locked on the paper you’d just smudged. “Just a bit more to do, and I’ll—”

“—Drop.”

The word sliced through your sentence like a razor. His interruption was quiet, but carried the same power as a pistol cocked behind your head. Your hand stilled. The tension in the room thickened, heavy as oil smoke.

“You’ll collapse,” he said, voice calm but tight with something dangerous, “because that’s where you’re heading. Again.”

You finally looked up. Slowly.

He stood at the edge of your desk, his eye a blazing copper beneath the mop of black hair that always fell just slightly out of place. The scars that split his face looked deeper in this light. He wasn’t angry — not exactly.

No. Worse than that. He was worried.

“You’re pushing too hard.”

“I have to,” you said, louder than intended. You hated the desperation in your tone, but it was true. “You said yourself — we’re low on resources. The East Quarter’s getting more volatile. And Sevika’s report from Piltover needs—”

“Is already on my desk,” he growled. “I’ve read it. Dealt with it. That is no longer your burden.”

You clenched your jaw, your fists curling as you stood up. “It is my burden. This entire city is. You think I can just shut it all off? Walk away while people starve and fight and die?”

“No one’s asking you to walk away,” he said, his voice calm but frosted with warning. “I’m telling you to stop before you break.”

“I can’t.” The words left you in a rush, as raw as an open wound. “If I stop, everything falls apart. It always does.”

Something in him changed. You saw it. A flicker of something unspoken pass through that one visible eye. The kind of shift that only happened when someone you loved said something that terrified you.

In three strides, he was in front of you. He grabbed your notebook — the one you always carried, the one filled with months of planning and damage control — and slammed it shut with a finality that made you flinch.

“You’re falling apart,” he said. “Can’t you see that?” You recoiled, words caught in your throat. “I watch you skip meals. You work through injuries like they’re inconveniences. You sleep, what? Three hours a night if you’re lucky?” He stepped closer, lowering his voice into something razor-sharp. “You think Zaun needs your corpse to lead it?”

You stood up straighter, stubborn. Always stubborn. “I’m not fragile, Silco. You of all people should know that.”

His hand moved before you could step back — not harsh, not angry. He cupped your face, thumb brushing the hollow beneath your eye where exhaustion had carved its mark.

“You’re not fragile,” he echoed softly, “but you are human. And I will not stand by while you grind yourself into dust for a city that would burn you just as quickly as it praised you.”

Your throat tightened. Something warm stung at the back of your eyes.

“I don’t know how to stop,” you whispered. A pause. A beat of silence between you, heavy as lead.

“Then I’ll make you.”

He pulled you in — arms tight, commanding, like a wall that rose up around you. You gasped, struggling at first, your palms pressed flat against his chest. He didn’t yield. Not even an inch.

“Let go,” you said, but there was no bite to it.

“No.” His voice vibrated against your cheek. “Fight me all you want. You’re still taking the night off. You’ll rest. You’ll eat. And if I have to drug you like one of Sevika’s rowdiest thugs, so help me—”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would,” he growled. “Because I love you. And I won’t lose you to your own damn stubbornness.”

Your strength — what little you had left — finally broke. Your arms fell. Your weight leaned into him. “I’m trying,” you murmured. “I’m trying to hold it all together.”

“I know,” he breathed, softer now, his hand cradling the back of your head. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”

Silence fell over the office like snowfall — soft, solemn, still.

“…Fine,” you whispered.

“Say it like you mean it.”

You exhaled, your cheek pressed against the lapel of his coat. He smelled like ink and smoke and the faintest trace of Shimmer — dangerous and familiar.

“I’ll stop,” you said, quieter. “Just for tonight.”

His arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer.

“Good.” Another beat.

“…Will you stay with me?” you asked, voice cracking like brittle glass.

His lips pressed to your temple, reverent. “Always.”

And for the first time in weeks — in months — your hands finally stopped moving. Your shoulders dropped. Your breathing slowed. And in Silco’s arms, you finally let yourself rest.

Not because the work was done. But because you finally believed someone else could carry it, too.

CLAGGOR

The static hum of welding filled the dim, makeshift workshop buried two levels beneath Zaun’s surface, where pipes rattled above and the neon glow from the street level didn’t reach. Sparks leapt from your workbench like rebellious stars, catching in the folds of your sleeves, reflecting in the curve of your safety goggles. Each flare was born from the heated kiss of metal on metal—controlled, precise, relentless. Just like you.

Your shoulders were stiff, neck angled painfully over a spread of blueprints, half-sketched schematics, and wiring diagrams. The glow stone lamp above you flickered intermittently, and still, you didn’t pause. Your hands moved with mechanical certainty, steady despite the ache in your wrists and the tremble of exhaustion creeping up your arms.

The truth was— You hadn’t left that chair in hours. Possibly since yesterday morning.

Not to drink. Not to eat. Certainly not to sleep.

At the door to the workshop, Claggor stood silently. He didn’t knock. He didn’t call your name again just yet. His arms crossed over his broad chest as he leaned against the doorframe, watching you through the low haze of smoke and the golden arcs of light blooming from your tools.

The air was thick. Not just with solder and oil and scorched metal—but with something more human. More personal. The kind of worry that coils low in the stomach and doesn't leave, no matter how many times you tell yourself they're just "working late."

He had seen you like this before. Too many times. Driven. Obsessive. Stubborn.

Too much like him, once.

“You’re still at it, huh?” Claggor’s voice was quiet, rough like sandpaper softened by concern.

You didn’t turn around. Didn’t look up. Didn’t even twitch.

You were in it now—completely consumed.

“Just a bit more,” you muttered, though it didn’t sound like it was meant for him. It was something you’d been saying all day. All week. Over and over again, like a promise to yourself you knew you wouldn’t keep.

Claggor sighed. A long, patient, loved-you-too-long-to-be-surprised kind of sigh. He pushed off the doorframe and stepped into the room. One boot after another echoed against the floor, soft but certain.

Your jacket was still thrown over the stool behind you. A cold, untouched mug of tea sat on the edge of the bench, forgotten amid bolts, crystal cores, and scribbled notes in your frantic handwriting. Claggor spotted at least three missed meals—half a protein bar, a bowl of soup crusted over, and an unopened packet of those candy drops you liked to chew while thinking.

He came to a stop just behind you, taking in the slight tremble of your fingers as they gripped the welding torch. Your shoulders had tensed, your back hunched slightly forward. You probably didn’t even realize how much you were shaking.

“Y/N,” he said gently, that dusk-warm tone he reserved only for you. “It’s two in the morning.”

“I know,” you said without missing a beat, the words clipped and efficient. “I’m almost done with the stabilizer core. Ekko needs it for the hoverboard upgrade.”

“He said if you had time,” Claggor countered. “Not if it breaks you.”

You waved a hand without looking, brushing him off like static. “I’m fine.”

But your hand shook. More than it had before. You tried to clamp it still, to flex your fingers like it would pass—but the strain of pushing past your limits was catching up to you, and fast. When you reached to adjust the capacitor coil, your knuckles scraped against the jagged edge of the bench and you flinched hard, sucking in a breath between your teeth.

Claggor was beside you in a heartbeat.

His big, calloused hands wrapped gently around your wrist before you could pull away. “That’s it,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “That’s enough.”

You tugged your arm back, stubborn. “I said I’m—”

“Don’t,” Claggor interrupted, not unkindly. He didn’t shout. He never did. But his voice was a brick wall. “Don’t say you’re fine when you’re shaking like that.”

You turned toward him slowly, goggles still over your eyes, breathing shallow. He reached up and carefully slid them off, revealing the dull ache behind your gaze. Your eyes were red-rimmed, your expression stretched too thin.

“You’re burning yourself out,” he said, softer now. “You haven’t eaten anything real in two days unless I handed it to you. You sleep like someone’s going to steal the time from you. This thing you’re building? It won’t work if you’re too tired to see straight.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words tangled in your throat.

“I know you want to help,” Claggor went on, eyes searching yours. “I know Ekko needs the tech. I know you think you’re the only one who can get it right. But I’m telling you the truth, okay?”

He knelt in front of you then, carefully, like he always did when he needed you to really hear him. One knee against the cold floor, his hands resting gently on your thighs—not to hold you down, but to anchor you.

“I want you. Not your work. Not what you build. Not what you give everyone else. You.”

You swallowed thickly, throat suddenly dry.

“I can’t lose you to your own damn stubbornness,” he whispered, the last part falling between you like a plea.

His hand reached up, brushing a smudge of grease from your cheek with his thumb. You leaned into the touch without realizing it. Your body was betraying you now—letting go in pieces. And Claggor saw it all.

“Just come to bed,” he whispered, eyes still locked on yours. “Please. Just for a little while.”

You hesitated.

It felt like if you stopped now, the momentum would collapse. The drive, the rhythm, the adrenaline—it would all dissolve, and you’d be left with nothing but the weight of how tired you truly were.

“Claggor…”

“I’ve got you,” he whispered again, voice like a promise.

And he meant it.

He eased you out of your seat, slowly, cautiously, like you might break if he moved too fast. Your legs wobbled, knees weak from disuse. Your arms wrapped instinctively around his waist, and he caught you, strong and steady.

He kissed your temple, long and grounding. And when your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt—clinging more than holding—he wrapped his arms around you tighter.

Then, with a grunt of quiet effort, he scooped you up.

You protested, weakly.

“I can walk,” you mumbled.

“Uh-huh,” he said, already carrying you out of the workshop. “And I believe you. Just not right now.”

He took you through the narrow corridor connecting the workspace to your shared quarters. The hallway light buzzed overhead as he carried you past it, your cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.

Inside the room, he set you down gently onto the mattress. The sheets were still warm—he must’ve tried to wait up for you again. He pulled the blanket up around you and slid in beside you without a word.

Strong arms wrapped around your waist, one hand finding yours beneath the covers.

“You’re allowed to rest,” he whispered into your hair. “You don’t have to earn it.”

You didn’t answer. But your body melted against his like it had been waiting for permission.

You stirred from your spot on the hospital bed, drawing his gaze. You were pale, visibly exhausted, your body still healing from the ordeal just a few days prior. A limp remained in your walk, and every movement seemed to take twice the effort it should have. Jayce’s chest tightened with a mix of helplessness and admiration. You were the strongest person he knew. You had brought this little miracle into the world, and somehow, even now, you still managed a soft smile just for him.

He shifted Amara carefully into the crook of one arm and reached out with his free hand, offering it to you wordlessly. His large, calloused fingers wrapped around yours the second you reached out, steady and reassuring.

"Come here," he murmured, keeping his voice low so as not to wake the baby. His hand moved to your waist, bracing you as you pushed off the bed with a quiet grunt of effort. "Lean on me. We'll take it slow, sweetheart."

You nodded, though your face twisted briefly in a wince as your feet touched the floor. Jayce didn’t rush you. He didn’t even think about moving until you were steady. Then, carefully, slowly, the two of you began making your way toward the door.

=

The journey was painstakingly slow. Every few steps, Jayce would glance down at you, checking your face for any sign of pain you tried to hide. You clung to his jacket with one hand, your knuckles white from the effort of staying upright, and with your other hand, you reached out every now and then to brush your fingers over Amara's tiny head. As if you needed to reassure yourself that she was real.

Jayce’s heart twisted at the sight, at the tenderness in your every movement. He tightened his arm around your waist protectively, silently promising that from this moment on, you would never be alone. Neither of you would.

The hospital discharge process dragged on longer than either of you wanted, full of paperwork and last-minute instructions from nurses. Jayce barely heard any of it. His focus remained singular—on you, on Amara, on getting you both home.

When they finally stepped out into the sunlight, the world felt too bright, too loud compared to the hushed sanctuary of the hospital. Jayce blinked against the sudden light and instinctively bent his head lower over Amara, shielding her as best he could.

He helped you into the passenger seat first, being careful of your limp, waiting until you were settled with a soft blanket tucked over your lap. Only then did he turn his attention to Amara’s carrier, securing it with slow, deliberate movements. Even after he was certain it was locked in perfectly, he lingered, one broad hand resting protectively on the handle, reluctant to let her out of his sight even for a moment.

=

The drive home was quiet, filled only with the soft breathing of the sleeping new-born and the occasional rasp of your tired sighs. Jayce drove one-handed most of the way, his free hand always reaching over to brush the back of your hand or stroke your thigh comfortingly.

And when they finally pulled up to their house—their home—Jayce killed the engine and just sat there for a moment, overwhelmed.

He turned to you, his brown eyes shining with emotion. "Ready?" he asked, his voice thick, rough with unshed tears.

You nodded, blinking rapidly. "More than ready."

Jayce smiled and climbed out. He moved to your side first, helping you out slowly, one arm steadying you as you leaned heavily against him. Once he was sure you could stand, he ducked into the back seat and carefully unbuckled Amara, lifting her against his chest with infinite care.

One strong arm cradled her close, and he kept the other firmly wrapped around your waist, guiding you carefully up the familiar path to the door. When they reached it, Jayce hesitated for just a moment—then, without letting go of you for long, he shifted his hold on Amara slightly, quickly reaching out to open the door.

The moment the latch clicked, he immediately wrapped his arm back around you, pulling you close once again. With a gentle kick, he nudged the door the rest of the way open, and together, the three of you stepped inside.

=

The house was warm, cozy, filled with the scent of fresh laundry and the faint lingering smell of your favourite candles. It smelled like home.

Jayce stood in the doorway for a long moment, breathing it all in. He leaned down, pressing a long, lingering kiss to the top of your head.

"Welcome home, Amara," he whispered, his voice trembling with the weight of everything he felt.

You leaned into him, your hand resting lightly over his heart, feeling it hammer against your palm. Tears blurred your vision, but you didn’t look away. You didn’t want to miss a second of this moment.

Slowly, and gently, Jayce helped you over to the living room couch. He waited until you were settled, making sure you were comfortable, tucking a pillow behind your back even as you protested that you were fine. Only once you were safely resting did he sit down beside you, still cradling Amara in his arms like the most precious treasure in the world.

Together, you stared down at her, marvelling at the tiny sounds she made in her sleep—the soft sighs, the little hitches of her breath. Jayce rocked her gently, his big hands almost swallowing her tiny body.

"I don't know how it’s possible to love someone this much," he said after a while, his voice barely a whisper.

You reached out and brushed Amara’s downy hair with your fingertips. "You get used to it," you murmured, smiling tiredly. "It only grows."

Jayce glanced at you, his heart swelling painfully. He leaned over and kissed you—soft, reverent, lingering.

"I love you," he said. "Both of you. So much it hurts."

You smiled against his lips. "We love you too."

Jayce sat back, tucking you both close against him, cradling his family in his arms like he never wanted to let go.

And for the first time in his life, Jayce Talis felt whole.

VIKTOR

The hospital room smelled faintly of antiseptic and fresh linens, but Viktor barely noticed. All he could hear — all he could feel — was the tiny, soft whimpering coming from the bundled form in your arms.

He hovered for a moment at the doorway, cane gripped tightly in one hand, shoulders tense like a man standing at the edge of a cliff. He had faced council halls filled with critics, machines poised on the brink of disaster, and scientific debates that could tear reputations apart. Yet nothing — nothing — had ever made his heart pound like this.

You looked exhausted — hair mussed, cheeks flushed with effort and heat, your eyelids heavy with fatigue — but Viktor had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. You looked like the sun breaking over the horizon after a storm. Fragile and strong all at once, cradling the tiny, miraculous life the two of you had created together.

His cane clicked softly against the floor as he made his way to your bedside, moving slowly, carefully. His gait was unsteady, but it wasn’t just the old weakness in his leg — it was awe, sheer awe, weighing him down. His golden eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, were wide and uncertain as he peered over your shoulder.

"You can hold him," you said, your voice worn thin but warm, like silk that's been loved too much. You smiled up at him — that familiar smile that had once lit up lab benches and late-night research sessions, the same smile that now lit up this tiny, sacred space you shared. Your arms lifted slightly in offering. "He's yours too, Vik."

For a long, aching heartbeat, Viktor just stood there, frozen like a man turned to stone. His heart squeezed painfully in his chest, a thousand fears and hopes crashing into each other behind his ribs.

He forced himself to move. Setting his cane carefully against the wall, Viktor eased down onto the edge of the bed beside you. His hand trembled slightly — not from weakness, but from something deeper, something he could not quantify or analyze away.

You shifted carefully, guiding the small bundle into his arms. Viktor held his breath, terrified to hurt him, terrified to fail before he'd even begun.

Nikolai. Their son. His son.

He was so impossibly small — smaller even than the instruments Viktor had once crafted with meticulous precision. His skin was flushed a tender pink, his fists curled into tiny knots against his chest, his mouth opening in a soft, silent yawn. His nose scrunched up, and Viktor thought absurdly, He is already so expressive.

A rough, broken sound escaped Viktor's throat before he could stop it.

"I… he is perfect," Viktor whispered, his voice cracking audibly on the last word.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, your hand slipping over his, steadying him, grounding him. "He looks like you," you murmured, a tired, teasing smile tugging at your lips. "Same nose. Same scowl."

Viktor let out a watery laugh, one hand cradling the back of Nikolai’s delicate head while the other supported his tiny body. "Poor boy, to inherit such unfortunate features," he murmured with feigned solemnity, though his eyes shone with wonder.

He shifted his hand slightly, tracing a knuckle ever so gently along Nikolai’s cheek.

"But he is lucky," Viktor added, voice softening even more. His gaze flicked up to meet yours, something unspoken and heavy passing between you. "He has your eyes. He will see the world with the same kindness."

The room fell into a thick, warm silence. You just sat there together, soaking it all in — the tiny sounds Nikolai made in his sleep, the weight of him in Viktor’s arms, the overwhelming, profound rightness of it all.

Viktor bent low, brushing an impossibly gentle kiss across Nikolai’s forehead, his breath catching painfully in his chest.

"My little invention," Viktor whispered against his son's soft skin, his voice cracking again despite himself. "My greatest achievement."

=

The cab ride home was a blur. You leaned heavily against Viktor's side, your body still sore and slow from labour, your head resting against his shoulder. The hospital bag sat slumped at your feet, and Nikolai slept bundled tightly against your chest, nestled beneath a thick blanket that Viktor had insisted on bringing himself — one he had sewn with tiny, uneven stitches after countless frustrated hours, but that he was fiercely proud of nonetheless.

When the car finally pulled up outside your building, Viktor fumbled for his coin pouch with stiff fingers, over-tipping the driver without a second thought. His mind was far away, focused entirely on the tiny, fragile treasure in your arms.

The cold air nipped at your cheeks as you stepped outside. Viktor steadied you with one hand while his cane thunked softly against the pavement. Every few steps, he would glance over anxiously, checking to make sure you and Nikolai were all right.

At the door, Viktor shifted awkwardly — his cane in one hand, the key trembling in the other. You reached up, your fingers brushing over his, helping him guide the key into the lock. Together, you pushed it open.

=

The apartment smelled like home — a warm blend of coffee beans, old books, and metal shavings. Familiar and safe.

"Welcome home, Nikolai," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion as you stepped over the threshold.

Viktor just stood there for a moment, as if rooted to the spot, his eyes sweeping over everything he'd prepared.

The bassinet was tucked neatly beside the bed, the mobile of planets and stars Viktor had painstakingly crafted spinning slowly above it. Soft, handmade blankets were folded neatly over the armchair. Books about parenting and child development were stacked precariously high on the side table, alongside scribbled notes Viktor had written — a scientist to the last, trying to learn everything he could.

His cane tapped once against the floor, breaking the silence, and then Viktor smiled — a soft, disbelieving thing.

"This… this is real," he murmured, voice nearly breaking. His golden eyes flicked between you and the baby you carried, as if struggling to absorb the sight. "He is really here."

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes. "He's ours."

Viktor limped closer, his movements slow and careful, and brushed the blanket back from Nikolai's face. The baby stirred a little, his nose wrinkling in sleepy protest, but he soon settled again.

Viktor's hand — scarred, calloused from years of invention — smoothed gently over his son's downy hair. His touch was so reverent, so painfully tender that it made your heart ache.

"He is going to be brilliant," Viktor said quietly, his voice thick with pride and wonder. "Just like his mother."

You smiled, a tired, tearful thing, and nudged him lightly with your shoulder. "And stubborn, just like his father."

Viktor huffed out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh. He leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, his hand never leaving Nikolai.

=

That night, after a long, slow evening filled with whispered conversations and tentative smiles, you lay together in bed.

The room was dim, lit only by the soft golden glow of a small lamp. Nikolai slept soundly in his little bassinet beside your bed, his tiny chest rising and falling in a rhythm that Viktor found utterly mesmerizing.

Beneath the blanket, Viktor’s hand found yours. He laced his fingers through yours slowly, tenderly, and his thumb brushed slow, steady circles over your knuckles.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to. The silence was full — full of everything that words could never quite capture.

For the first time in Viktor’s life, he felt no pressing need to fix the world outside. No blueprints waiting to be drawn, no research demanding his attention, no council members to impress or battle.

This — this — was his world now.

You. Nikolai. This tiny, breathing miracle. And Viktor had never known such peace.

JAYVIK

The room still smelled of antiseptic and warmth, the kind of scent that clung to memories you knew would never leave you. Outside the window, Piltover's sun was just beginning to dip toward the horizon, staining the sky a gentle peach.

You could hear the faint murmur of nurses down the hall, the quiet clink of glass and metal from carts being pushed past. Life went on, busy and clinical beyond these four walls — but inside this room, it had paused.

Everything had shifted.

And in Viktor's arms — awkward and careful, his cane propped against the bedside where he'd all but thrown it down in his hurry to reach you — was something more miraculous than any Hextech invention he and Jayce had ever crafted.

Eliana.

Your baby.

Only a few hours old, still blinking against the strange, wide world she had been brought into. She was wrapped tight in a soft, pale yellow blanket, her tiny face scrunched up like she was puzzling through the sheer audacity of existence itself.

Viktor stared down at her, the faintest tremble in his hands betraying the overwhelming tide of emotions he fought to keep in check. His thumb brushed over one of Eliana's impossibly small fists — so small she could barely close it fully — and he let out a breathless, reverent laugh. Barely a sound. More wonder than humour.

"They are so small," he whispered, voice hoarse as though he'd run a marathon, when all he'd done was fall completely, helplessly in love.

"They’ll get bigger," Jayce said from beside him, his voice soft and full of pride. His hand found the small of your back, a steadying warmth that anchored you against the nest of pillows you were tucked into. You were exhausted — every muscle sore and heavy, your body still trembling faintly with aftershocks — but your heart was so full it physically ached.

Jayce leaned closer, his face illuminated by the low sunlight, smiling as though he might never stop.

"Not too fast though," he added, chuckling low. "I want to keep them like this for a little while."

You smiled sleepily, your fingers stretching out, desperate to touch. To confirm she was real. You grazed a fingertip over Eliana’s cheek, and marvelled at the softness of her skin — more delicate than spun silk, more precious than anything the three of you had ever built or dreamed of.

"They already look like you two," you murmured, your heart swelling impossibly bigger in your chest. You glanced between Viktor and Jayce, feeling that strange, stunned awe again. Viktor’s messy, wavy hair, Jayce’s strong, kind nose — and somewhere in the mix, something wholly new. A perfect little miracle stitched together by all the love you'd built over the years.

Viktor, moving carefully, lowered himself into the chair beside your bed, relying on his cane for support as he eased down with a soft grunt of effort. He cradled Eliana closer to his chest, protective, reverent. His hand rested along her back, the smallest of shields.

"They are perfect," Viktor said, the words nearly a prayer. His accent thickened the vowels, and something about it made tears burn behind your eyes.

Jayce leaned over then, brushing a kiss to your temple, then another to Viktor’s shoulder, before reaching down to ruffle the soft down of Eliana’s hair.

"Welcome to the family, Eliana," Jayce murmured, his voice cracking slightly.

The three of you stayed like that for what felt like hours — the world narrowed to a single, bright point. You spoke in hushed tones, laughed softly when Eliana yawned, her tiny mouth forming a perfect little 'O'. You each marveled at every small, silly thing she did — every frown, every hiccup, every twitch of her tiny hands.

Eventually, Eliana drifted off, her tiny body going slack and warm against Viktor's chest. Viktor leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers for a long, silent moment. A promise you didn't have to hear to understand.

You are loved. You are safe. We are yours.

=

The apartment was different now.

It still smelled like home — like warm linen and Viktor’s tea and Jayce’s cologne — but underneath it all was something new. Something sweeter. Fresh laundry, baby powder, a hint of formula. The windows were open, letting in the golden afternoon light, and the whole place seemed... softer, somehow.

Jayce pushed the front door open with his hip, juggling the diaper bag and a few of the gifts they'd been given at the hospital. He looked tired — exhausted, really — dark circles under his eyes and his hair a rumpled mess. But his grin was as bright as the sun.

"Home, sweet home," he said with a breathless laugh, dropping the bag onto the floor with a thud.

Behind him, Viktor stepped inside carefully, his cane tapping softly against the hardwood. Eliana was bundled securely against his chest in a soft pink blanket, only the top of her dark hair visible.

You followed, one hand braced against the wall, moving slowly. Healing. But lighter. So much lighter now.

Eliana stirred in Viktor’s arms, letting out a soft whimper. Instinctively, Viktor rocked on his heels — a subtle rhythm, back and forth, the quiet clink of his cane marking time.

"Shh, little one," Viktor whispered, cradling her closer. His voice, low and soothing, seemed to wrap the room itself in a gentle hush.

Jayce kicked his shoes off and practically bounded back to Viktor’s side, peeling back a little corner of the blanket to uncover one of Eliana’s tiny hands. He grinned when she immediately grabbed at his finger, her tiny grip impossibly strong.

"I can't believe they’re real," Jayce said, sounding dazed. He crouched down slightly, getting eye-level with Eliana. "We made this. We made her."

You sank down onto the couch, sighing with a mixture of pain and bliss. Viktor followed carefully, settling onto the cushion beside you with Eliana cradled between you both.

You leaned your head against Viktor’s shoulder, soaking in his familiar scent — old books, metal, clean cotton — and the steady, soothing beat of his heart.

Eliana gave a little sigh, nuzzling into Viktor's chest, and you smiled through the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

Viktor smiled too — that rare, private smile he saved for the quietest, most sacred moments.

"Our greatest invention yet," Viktor said softly, almost reverently.

Jayce chuckled wetly, reaching to brush his fingers through your hair, then Viktor’s. He tilted forward to kiss Eliana’s forehead, lingering there for a moment as if willing all his love into her tiny, perfect body.

The three of you stayed there for what felt like forever — surrounded by soft light, the faint creak of the floors, and the little snuffling noises Eliana made as she dreamed.

The world outside could have crumbled away. None of you would have noticed.

VANDER

The dimly lit room above the Last Drop was filled with the soft sound of newborn cries, the scent of old wood mingling with the sterile yet comforting smell of herbs that Felicia had insisted on for the healing process. Y/N lay on a worn mattress, their body sore but buzzing with the aftershock of bringing two beautiful lives into the world. The pain of labor was still fresh in their body, but it was soon overshadowed by the overwhelming emotion of holding their newborn daughters in their arms.

Felicia had been there, her hands steady and firm, guiding Y/N through the rough, exhausting labor. She’d been a pillar of strength, speaking soft reassurances and offering support in every way possible. But it was Vander’s presence that Y/N had needed most in the end. His calm, steady demeanor had been a quiet anchor, his large hand gripping Y/N’s tightly through the hardest moments. He had been their rock.

Now, Vander stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at his newborn daughters, his large hands trembling slightly as he took them both in. The girls were small—fragile—just like their mother had been when he'd first met her, a life born out of the chaos of Zaun. Their tiny, squinted faces, the soft curls of hair on their heads, and the gentle grip of their hands wrapped around his fingers made his heart ache with a love he hadn’t known was possible.

“Welcome to the world, my little ones,” Vander whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He brushed his thumb tenderly over the forehead of the first baby, a girl with dark hair like her mother.

Her name was Amara. Her features already carried the promise of strength, the same fierce fire that burned within her mother. The second girl, with lighter hair, was named Lyra. She had a peaceful air about her, her deep, soulful eyes wide open as if already taking in the world around her. Vander had promised Y/N they’d choose names together, but in this moment, Amara and Lyra felt like fate’s choice, as if their names had been written in the stars long before their birth.

Y/N smiled weakly, reaching out to gently touch Vander’s hand, still aching but full of pride. “They’re perfect, aren’t they?”

Vander looked at Y/N, his expression softening as his eyes filled with wonder. “Just like their mother,” he said, his voice a low, reverent murmur. His heart swelled with a love he never thought possible, not just for Y/N, but for these tiny beings that now depended on him. He had spent his life fighting, surviving in the dark streets of Zaun, but in this moment, he realized there was something even stronger than his will to survive—his love for his family.

Felicia, who had been busy cleaning up and ensuring that Y/N was comfortable, glanced over at the family. “You both did well. Now, rest. You’ve earned a moment of peace.”

Vander didn’t want to leave Y/N’s side, but he knew she needed rest. He carefully placed the twins into the soft blankets beside her, taking a deep breath as the weight of the moment fully settled on his shoulders. He had never imagined fatherhood would feel like this—overwhelming, powerful, and humbling all at once.

=

The door creaked open, and the sound of small feet rushing through the hallway followed. Vi, barely 5 years old but full of energy and a boundless curiosity, burst into the room, her bright eyes wide with excitement. She was followed closely by Connol, who carefully carried Powder in his arms. The tiny girl’s small fingers clung to her father’s shoulder as she watched the commotion unfold with sleepy curiosity.

Felicia had stayed behind to let the kids visit, knowing how important this moment would be for them all. Vi’s excitement was palpable as she bounded toward the bed, her face lighting up with awe when she saw the twins. She rushed over, her eyes wide with disbelief and joy. “Are they real? Are they mine to play with?” she asked, her voice breathless with excitement.

Y/N laughed softly, the sound tinged with exhaustion but full of warmth. “Yes, sweetheart, they’re yours to love. Their names are Amara and Lyra,” Y/N said, their voice tender but full of pride as they looked at their two girls.

Vi gently stroked Lyra’s cheek with the utmost care, her expression softening as she gazed at her new cousins. “I’ll be the best big cousin ever! I’ll teach them how to climb walls like me,” she said, her face lighting up with an infectious grin. She bounced excitedly on the spot, her little fists clenched as she looked between Amara and Lyra with uncontainable joy.

Vander, unable to hide his smile, couldn’t help but watch the interaction with a warm heart. Despite the rough, often violent world they lived in, this was a moment of pure love. His daughters would be raised in a city full of challenges, but they would never be without love or family. The bond between Vi and the twins was immediate, and for a brief moment, Vander allowed himself to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, there was hope for the future of their family.

Powder, still a few months old and nestled in Connol’s arms, cooed softly as she watched the scene unfold. Her tiny hands reached out, instinctively drawn to the new-borns as if sensing the connection they all shared. Connol gave them an apologetic look, his quiet gaze moving between the twins, Y/N, and Vander, as if unsure whether to step forward or hold back.

Felicia smiled warmly at the sight, her eyes soft with understanding as she observed how the family’s love for each other was growing. She gave Connol a quiet, knowing glance, signaling that it was time for them to step back and give Y/N and Vander some privacy.

“Why don’t we give them a little time together?” Felicia suggested gently. Connol nodded in agreement, though his eyes lingered on his new nieces for a moment longer before he carefully passed Powder to Felicia’s arms. Powder, still drowsy, barely stirred, her tiny fingers brushing against her mother’s hand.

Vi looked up from her cousins, her excitement momentarily replaced with concern. “But, I wanna stay and help!” she protested, her voice small as she looked at her parents.

Felicia knelt down beside Vi, her tone soft but firm. “Sweetheart, your aunt need some rest. Why don’t we let them sleep, and we’ll come back soon? You can help them when they’re awake,” she promised, her voice warm as she stroked Vi’s hair. The little girl hesitated but nodded, her bright eyes still full of excitement despite the quiet shift in the room.

Connol smiled gently at Vander and Y/N. “We’ll give you three some peace,” he assured them, before following Felicia and Vi out of the room, closing the door softly behind them.

=

The room grew quieter, the only sounds now the soft rustling of the blankets and the gentle, rhythmic breaths of the newborn twins. Vander, feeling the weight of the moment settle around him, turned his attention back to Y/N, his expression soft but filled with an overwhelming love.

Y/N, exhausted but full of contentment, reached out for Vander’s hand. “Thank you,” they whispered, their voice full of emotion. “Thank you for being here. For being with me.”

Vander squeezed their hand gently, his eyes meeting theirs with a mixture of tenderness and awe. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” he replied, his voice low and steady. He brushed a strand of hair from their face, his thumb tracing the line of their cheek. “These two little ones... they’re a part of us. And I’m going to do everything I can to make sure they’re safe. We’ll face whatever comes, together.”

Y/N smiled softly, their heart full. “Together,” they echoed, feeling a sense of peace settle in their chest. In that moment, surrounded by the soft weight of their daughters and the quiet hum of life in Zaun, they knew they could face anything.

The world outside might be chaotic and unpredictable, but here, in this small room above the Last Drop, in the warmth of family and love, there was hope. And for the first time in a long while, Vander allowed himself to believe that no matter what came next, they would be ready.

Together.

SILCO

The sun hung low over Piltover, casting a warm golden glow across the gleaming city, the reflection dancing off the sleek buildings and polished streets. The crisp morning air felt different today, still with the weight of something monumental. Silco’s sharp, calculating gaze moved from the horizon to the fragile bundle in his arms—a tiny new life wrapped tightly in a soft, white blanket. His daughter.

"Her name is Zora," Y/N murmured softly beside him, her voice trembling with a joy and tenderness that Silco had never quite heard from her before. Her hand rested gently on his arm, as she too looked at their daughter, still delicate and vulnerable, asleep in her father’s arms.

"Zora," Silco repeated the name, his voice rough yet warm, savouring the sound. There was something almost surreal about the moment—after everything they had been through. The years of fighting, of grappling with power, of bloodshed and endless ambition. They were here, in this fragile, quiet moment, a family. Their family. His family.

The birth had not been easy. Y/N had endured unimaginable pain, her body trembling with each contraction. But through it all, she had fought with a strength that surprised him. She had fought for Zora, fought to bring her into the world.

Piltover’s best medical care had been secured at his command—a decision he had overseen with his usual meticulousness. Money, influence, connections… none of that mattered compared to ensuring Y/N’s safety. He spared no effort in arranging everything, and when the time came for Zora to enter the world, everything went as smoothly as could be expected.

And now, here they were—Silco, Y/N, and their newborn daughter. The weight of it all settled heavily on his chest, but in a way he could not yet fully comprehend. The sharp edges of his usual cold demeanor softened as he gazed down at the sleeping infant. She was small, fragile, and utterly dependent on them. Silco had never known such tenderness.

Y/N, looking exhausted but content, leaned into him, the small weight of their daughter still in her arms. She smiled up at him with a look of quiet joy, the kind of smile he hadn’t seen in years.

The road ahead would be long, and the path fraught with danger, but it was theirs to walk together.

=

The first few days following Zora's birth had been a blur. After the initial shock of seeing his daughter, Silco became consumed with ensuring everything was in order. The medical staff had been dismissed after a day of check-ups, but Silco was still on edge, constantly questioning whether everything had been done right, if Y/N was truly alright, if Zora was thriving. He wasn’t used to being so… vulnerable.

But with Y/N’s soft assurance and their daughter’s steady breaths, Silco gradually allowed himself to relax, if only just a little. There had been a lot to discuss, to plan for, and the weight of fatherhood was a heavy thing, one that pulled at him in ways he had never expected. He had always been a man of control, of power, but Zora had taken something from him. She had shifted his perspective. His desire for control still burned fiercely, but there was now something else in the back of his mind—a need to protect, a need to nurture, to give his family everything he hadn’t had growing up.

Y/N had spent the first few nights in a quiet haze, her body recovering from the birth, while Silco had spent those nights pacing, watching over them both. Despite his best efforts, the quiet weight of responsibility gnawed at him, whispering doubts in the dark of the night. But every time he looked down at Zora, cradled carefully in his arms, those doubts ebbed away, replaced by something new—something he didn’t know how to name yet, but he recognized it. It was love.

=

On the fourth day after her birth, Silco’s patience finally gave way to something that almost resembled anticipation. They were finally leaving Piltover—heading back to Zaun, to their home. The roads had been cleared for their journey, and Silco had gone to great lengths to ensure everything was secure. His best men had been assigned to their convoy, his men stationed in strategic positions, keeping watch for anything that might threaten their safety. Even Sevika, ever loyal, trailed them from behind, her imposing figure a silent promise that no harm would come to them.

Piltover, for all its shining beauty, felt like a far-off place as they set foot back into the familiar, gritty streets of Zaun. The weight of the city, with its industrial hum and the haze of smoke that filled the air, wrapped around them, and Silco felt a sense of return, a sense of home. The Last Drop awaited them—where it had all begun. It wasn’t a palace, but it was theirs. It was where they would raise their daughter, and it would serve as a place of refuge, a sanctuary from the chaos of the world.

Silco had prepared for this moment. The rooms above the Last Drop had been fully renovated, outfitted with the finest comforts that Zaun had to offer. The cold metal that defined the city was softened with plush fabrics and warm lighting. Zora would have the best of everything. She would never go without. And Y/N—she would have everything she needed, and more.

As they approached the building, Silco’s heart skipped in an uncharacteristic way. His hands tightened their grip on Zora’s small form, and for the first time, he wondered what it would be like to hold her as she grew. Would she grow strong like Y/N? Fierce, like him? Or would she be something else entirely, her own person, shaping herself in ways he couldn’t predict? The thought made his heart swell.

"Ready?" Y/N asked softly, her eyes meeting his.

“Always.” Silco’s voice was low but steady as he handed Zora to her mother, the action feeling both natural and monumental.

Y/N held Zora close to her chest, the small, peaceful face of their daughter nestled against her. Silco stepped closer to her, resting a hand on her shoulder as they crossed the threshold together, into their home.

=

The doors opened with a soft groan, and the familiar smell of their home—a mix of worn wood, faintly sweet smoke, and the heavy scent of their own lives—welcomed them. The dim lighting cast long shadows, but it felt safe, like a soft embrace. Zora’s little breaths, the soft rise and fall of her chest, filled the space. This was home. This was their future.

“Everything is ready for her,” Silco murmured, though he wasn’t sure if Y/N could hear him over the overwhelming quiet of the moment. His voice, usually so firm and demanding, had taken on a softness that he barely recognized.

Y/N nodded, her tired smile never fading as she moved to the centre of their new living space. "She’s going to love it here."

As they settled into the rooms above the Last Drop, Silco could feel the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders. It wasn’t just about running Zaun anymore. It wasn’t just about his ambitions, his drive for power. Now, it was about Zora. It was about ensuring she had everything she needed, that she grew up safe and loved in a world that was anything but kind.

The air was thick with the weight of the future.

Sevika stepped into the doorway silently, her watchful eyes taking in the scene. Silco gave her a nod of acknowledgment, and she moved to take position outside the door, as she always did. Her presence, ever steadfast and loyal, brought a strange sense of peace, but the weight of the world still hung in the air.

It wasn’t until the house grew quiet, the only sounds the soft, steady breathing of Zora and the low hum of Zaun outside, that Silco allowed himself to release the tension he had carried for days. He stepped closer to Y/N, his gaze softening as he looked at their daughter, cradled carefully in her arms.

“She has no idea,” Silco whispered, his voice cracking slightly. “How much she means to me… to us.”

Y/N glanced up at him, her eyes full of unspoken affection, and there, in the quiet of their home, with the flickering shadows of the night outside, they knew. Everything was just beginning.

CLAGGOR

In the dimly lit room above the Last Drop, the faint smell of herbal medicine and warmth of fresh bedding filled the air. The room, simple and modest, was filled with the quiet energy of a new life. Y/N, still glowing with the exhaustion and joy of childbirth, sat in a makeshift bed, their newborn son nestled in their arms. His small face was scrunched up in that adorable newborn way, his skin soft and a little wrinkled from the journey into the world. His tiny fingers curled around Y/N's hand, gripping with a surprising strength that seemed almost too powerful for such a little one.

Claggor stood by the door, his broad shoulders leaning slightly against the frame as he took in the sight. His heart was pounding in his chest, an unfamiliar tightness twisting in his throat. This moment felt like a dream, but the weight of it was undeniable. The tiny baby in Y/N's arms was real, a tiny human that would grow, learn, and experience a life filled with the hopes and struggles of Zaun, just as he had. But this was different. This time, Claggor wasn’t alone in that fight. He had a family now. And it was all just beginning.

Y/N’s gaze met his, exhaustion written in the lines of their face, but also the unspoken joy of motherhood, of having created life with the person they loved. It was an emotion that transcended words, and as their eyes locked, Claggor could feel everything they had been through—the struggle, the pain, the uncertainty—meld into one moment of profound connection.

“Is it really him?” Claggor’s voice was soft, almost a whisper, as he took a hesitant step forward. His boots scuffed quietly on the floorboards as he moved closer to the bed, as though approaching something sacred, something precious. His rough hands trembled slightly as they reached out, unsure of how to touch, how to handle such fragility. He had been part of the Last Drop for years, but nothing in his life had ever felt so real, so important.

Y/N smiled at him, a soft, tired smile that held everything in it—the pain, the relief, and the overwhelming love that only a new mother could understand. There was exhaustion in their face, but also a calmness that came from knowing the hard part was over. For now, anyway.

“Yes.” Y/N whispered, their voice barely louder than a breath. “This is our son. His name is Arlo.”

Claggor’s chest tightened at the sound of the name. It was a simple name, but in that moment, it felt like a promise. A name filled with hope, a name that carried the weight of their future, their new life. He said it out loud, testing it on his lips like a prayer.

“Arlo…” He let the name roll over him, feeling the weight of it settle into his bones. The baby’s tiny features softened under his gaze, and he reached out with tentative hands, afraid to disturb the fragile perfection in Y/N’s arms. His fingers brushed lightly against the soft curls of the baby’s head, his touch gentle, as if afraid the little life would slip away if he wasn’t careful enough. The sensation of his son’s tiny body in his hands made him feel both powerful and vulnerable, a new kind of protector.

“He’s perfect,” Claggor whispered, his voice thick with emotion. The words felt inadequate for what he was feeling, but it was all he could manage as he took in the sight of Arlo, so small and so full of life. He never imagined a moment like this, never imagined being a father, especially in Zaun, where life was harsh and the future uncertain. But here it was, their future, right in front of him.

Y/N’s eyes softened, exhaustion still there but tempered by the tenderness in the moment. They could see the change in Claggor—his eyes were wide with awe, and there was a quiet strength in him now, the kind that could only come from holding something so precious. They smiled, feeling the weight of the moment settle in their heart.

“We’ll be alright,” Y/N said quietly, their voice barely more than a murmur, but there was a conviction there that made Claggor’s heart swell. He looked down at them, at Arlo, and knew, in the pit of his stomach, that they could face anything together.

Claggor lowered himself gently to sit beside Y/N on the bed. The mattress creaked under his weight, but Y/N didn’t flinch. They leaned back slightly, making room for him, their free hand reaching out to meet his. His broad, calloused hand slid into theirs with a tenderness that surprised him. His touch, normally so firm and commanding, now felt like a protective shield, a promise to care for and protect what was now their whole world.

The baby shifted slightly in Y/N's arms, making a soft sound, his little chest rising and falling with the rhythm of sleep. Claggor's heart melted further as he looked at the fragile little body, the small face so trusting, so vulnerable. Arlo was completely unaware of the weight of the world around him, of the struggles that would inevitably come, but Claggor would make sure that he wouldn’t have to bear those struggles alone.

He reached out once more, his hand hovering over Arlo, unsure of himself but also filled with love for the little one. Gently, he placed his hand over the baby’s chest, feeling the soft rise and fall of the tiny breaths. His son. Their son. The words rang through him, louder now, as though affirming the truth of it.

“We’ll make sure Arlo never has to see the struggles we did,” Claggor whispered. His voice was thick with emotion, and the words came out in a soft promise, a vow to protect their son from the harshness of Zaun’s underworld, from the pain that had shaped him and Y/N. He could give Arlo a better life, one that would be filled with love, even if it had to be in the heart of a broken city.

Y/N nodded, a quiet agreement in their eyes. They brushed a gentle hand over Arlo’s small head, their fingers lingering for a moment, as if to ground themselves in the precious reality of this new life. “We’ll give him a life filled with more than just survival,” Y/N whispered, their voice thick with hope.

=

The first time he walked in, it had been raining. The kind of relentless storm that turned Piltover’s golden streets into a gleaming reflection of its own decadence. He had stood at the entrance for a long moment, water dripping from his coat, eyes scanning the room as though he wasn’t sure what had brought him here.

She had seen it before—men hesitating on the threshold of sin, torn between duty and desire. But Jayce had looked different. He wasn’t a man searching for pleasure. He was a man searching for something he couldn’t name.

Even then, she had known he wouldn’t be like the others.

He never sought out the entertainment Babette’s was known for. He never took an escort to a private room, never let his hands wander over exposed skin. Instead, he sat at the bar, nursing a drink he barely touched, exchanging glances with her between sips.

He had been a curiosity at first—an anomaly in a place where men came to indulge. But as the nights stretched on, as he returned again and again, something about him unsettled her. Not in the way of danger, but in the way of familiarity. Like looking at someone who understood a part of you without ever needing to say it aloud.

She never asked why he kept coming back. She only knew that every time he did, he found her.

=

The moment he walked in, she felt the shift in the air.

Jayce Talis, golden boy of Piltover, carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, but tonight it seemed to be crushing him more than usual. His normally proud posture was slumped, his steps slower, as if exhaustion had seeped into his bones and hollowed him out. The usual fire in his eyes was dimmed, dulled by something she couldn’t quite name.

Y/N leaned against the bar, watching as he sank onto the stool beside her.

"Rough day, golden boy?" she teased, her voice carrying the same lightness it always did when she spoke to him. It was a carefully measured thing, meant to put him at ease without asking too much of him.

Jayce let out a breathy chuckle, raking a hand through his damp, tousled hair. "You have no idea."

He didn’t elaborate. He never did.

And she never pressed.

She had long since learned that silence often spoke louder than words.

The bartender set a glass in front of him, the amber liquid inside catching the dim, flickering glow of the chandelier above them. He traced the rim absentmindedly, his fingers tapping against the glass, restless. She watched the way his hands trembled slightly, a barely noticeable shake that betrayed just how deeply something was weighing on him.

Y/N reached out without thinking, curling her fingers around his wrist before he could take a sip.

Jayce stilled.

His skin was warm beneath her touch, the steady pulse beneath her fingers a quiet contradiction to the tension in his frame.

"You’re not really here for the drink, are you?"

He hesitated. Then, slowly, he shook his head, letting out a quiet, bitter laugh. "No. I guess I’m not."

She could have let the conversation end there. Could have let him sit in his silence, let him drown in whatever weight he carried. It would have been easier.

But Jayce wasn’t just another patron.

So she shifted closer, her voice softer now. "Then why are you here?"

For a long moment, he just looked at her.

Not in the way most men did when they set foot in Babette’s, with eyes that roamed and lips that whispered empty promises.

Jayce looked at her like he was searching for something.

Like maybe—just maybe—he had already found it.

"Because you’re here," he admitted, barely above a whisper.

Her breath hitched.

The walls she had spent years building suddenly felt paper-thin.

She should have laughed it off, should have brushed it away with a teasing remark. But the way he was looking at her—the raw sincerity in his voice—made it impossible to pretend.

"Jayce…" she started, unsure of what to say.

"I mean it," he murmured, his hand covering hers. His touch was warm, grounding. "I don’t know why, but when I talk to you, everything doesn’t feel so… heavy."

She had spent years convincing herself that what happened within these walls wasn’t real. That the stolen glances, the fleeting touches, the whispered confessions meant nothing in the morning light.

But this—this—felt real.

And she didn’t know what to do with that.

Her fingers curled around his, just a little tighter. Just enough to say, I hear you. I see you.

"Then stay a little longer," she whispered.

And he did.

=

The night stretched on, the world outside growing quieter as the hours bled together.

They didn’t speak much after that. They didn’t need to.

She simply sat beside him, her presence a quiet comfort against the storm brewing inside of him. Occasionally, their hands would brush—a lingering touch here, a fleeting moment there. Each one felt like something unspoken, something fragile.

At some point, Jayce exhaled deeply, as if letting go of something he had been holding onto for too long. His fingers ghosted over hers again, slower this time, deliberate. Not a request, not a demand—just an anchor.

She didn’t pull away.

And when he finally left that night, the tension in his shoulders seemed just a little lighter.

The next time he came back, he found her again.

And again.

And again.

Until one night, when the walls she had built no longer existed at all.

VIKTOR

The first time Viktor returned to Zaun after leaving for Piltover, he was taller, thinner, and carried the weight of a world that was not yet his to bear. His shoulders, once slouched with boyhood, were straighter now, though tension curled around his frame like an old habit. The cane he used wasn’t new, but it was more refined now—sleek, practical, and sturdier than the old makeshift one he’d used in his younger days. It was a steady, measured tap, tap against the grime-slicked pavement, cutting through the ever-present hum of the Undercity, marking his passage through the familiar chaos.

So was the gleam in his eyes—something sharp, something too bright, like a spark trying to catch in the damp air of Zaun. It was ambition, maybe. Or hope, worn thin from fighting against the current. Either way, it was fragile in a way Viktor would never admit.

You had watched him from the shadows of Babette’s, tucked between the neon glow of the entrance and the deep pools of darkness the city loved to swallow people whole in. You had learned to be both seen and unseen here, to slip through Zaun’s filth with a practiced grace, to exist where others only noticed you when you wanted them to.

But Viktor was never someone you could hide from.

His gaze swept the street once, twice—then landed on you with an unerring certainty.

“Y/N.”

Your name on his lips was both familiar and foreign, shaped by time and distance. His voice had changed, too—deeper, rougher around the edges, touched with something that hadn't been there before. Exhaustion? Experience?

You felt the corners of your lips twitch, though the smile you gave him was small. Soft. Tired.

“Viktor.”

And just like that, the years between you shrank into nothing.

=

That was years ago now. And still, he comes.

The bell above the door jingles, the soft, familiar sound marking his arrival. Viktor steps into Babette’s tonight, and as always, the dim light catches the sharp angles of his face, making him seem like a ghost from another life. His limp is more pronounced than the last time you saw him, and the cane he leans on now is a far cry from the crude, makeshift one he once used. The polished wood gleams with care, the dark brass of its handle catching the flickering candlelight as his fingers flex over it.

The scent of perfume and stale liquor clings to the air, but beneath it all, there’s something deeper, something familiar—like the warmth of an old fire that’s been left burning in the heart of a place that’s seen too much. Home, perhaps, though neither of you would ever admit it aloud.

You look up from where you’re wiping down a glass, your hands stilling for just a moment as you take him in. "Didn’t think you’d be back so soon, genius."

His lips curl at the nickname, and despite the distance, despite the years, there's still that little spark in his gaze—a flicker of the boy you once knew. His smile softens as it reaches his eyes, something unreadable passing between you. He sets a small pouch on the counter, its weight just enough to make a quiet sound as it settles.

“I had some spare coin,” he says, voice quieter than you expect, but steady. “Figured you could use it.”

Your throat tightens at the sight, and the urge to push it away is instinctive. You glance at the pouch, fingers still on the glass as you push it back toward him, trying to steady your breathing. “I don’t need your pity, Vik.”

His jaw tenses. The shift in his expression is subtle, but it’s there—something fleeting, just out of reach. “It is not pity,” he says firmly. He hesitates, just long enough for you to catch the vulnerability in his eyes. “It is care.”

You exhale, shaking your head slightly as you lean against the counter, arms crossing over your chest, the movement almost defensive. "You can’t keep doing this. Walking down here alone, wasting your money on me."

“It is not a waste.” His voice is firm, but there’s a quiet plea beneath it, a rawness that you rarely hear from him. “You were always taking care of me. Let me take care of you for once.”

The words land, deeper than you want them to. You want to argue, to tell him you’re fine, that you don’t need anyone’s help—that you’ve managed this long without it. You want to tell him Babette’s isn’t as bad as everyone thinks, that you’ve made your own choices. But you can’t, not when he’s looking at you like this, like you’re someone worth saving.

Viktor sees through you. Always has. He always will.

Your shoulders sag under the weight of everything you’ve kept buried, and before you can stop yourself, you reach for his hand, fingers brushing against his in a gesture that feels too fragile, too desperate. His skin is colder than you remember, but when his fingers tighten around yours, the warmth that follows is grounding. Familiar. Safe.

“I hate seeing you here,” he murmurs, the words soft, as if he’s afraid you’ll hear too much in them.

You swallow hard, the weight of your own feelings pressing on your chest. “And I hate seeing you up there, running yourself into the ground.”

Viktor huffs a quiet laugh, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction as he shakes his head. “Then we are quite the pair, are we not?”

You smirk, the corner of your mouth pulling up slightly as you meet his gaze. “Yeah. We are.”

And for a moment, everything else falls away—the noise of the bar, the heavy air of Zaun, the years that have passed between you. It’s just the two of you again, like it was when you were kids—two kids from the Lanes, scraped and battered but dreaming of something bigger, something better.

Maybe you never made it out, not in the way you imagined. But Viktor? He always comes back.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.

JAYVIK

The heavy sound of heels clicking against damp cobblestone echoed through the narrow hallway of Babette’s. The brothel, tucked deep in the tangled streets of Zaun, was a gilded cage—an opulent prison where the powerful sought escape from their miseries, indulging in pleasures they could never claim in daylight. The scent of perfume, smoke, and cheap liquor clung to every surface, mingling with the low hum of laughter and whispered promises.

Y/N had long since learned how to navigate this world, how to sell the illusion of intimacy without ever giving too much of herself away. She wasn’t ashamed of her work—it was survival, and she had carved out a life for herself, one where she still held on to a shred of dignity. It wasn’t much, but it was hers.

Viktor and Jayce had been an anomaly in that life, slipping through the cracks of carefully built walls.

Viktor, the sharp-witted scientist, had first stumbled into Babette’s with hesitation in his gait, cane tapping against the uneven floor as he observed the brothel’s excess with something between amusement and mild distaste. He had never been a customer in the traditional sense. He had come for conversation, for reprieve from the grueling demands of his research, and, eventually, for her.

Jayce, by contrast, had been a familiar face long before Viktor. He was fire where Viktor was ice, ambition and charm wrapped in a body sculpted by years of labor in Piltover’s forges. He, too, had never sought out Babette’s for what it was meant to offer—at least, not until Y/N.

They were lovers first, the golden boy and the outcast, bound together by the same relentless drive to change the world. Their relationship was an open one, unshackled by convention, but there had been something different about Y/N. She was not just another fleeting dalliance, not just a body to warm their bed.

She had become something else entirely.

Tonight, however, something was wrong.

=

The usual hum of the brothel felt off—more erratic, the energy shifting between forced revelry and something darker. The clients were crueler, drunker. Hands lingered too long, voices slurred with entitlement. Y/N had seen bad nights before, but tonight, the air felt suffocating.

And then it happened.

A man—wealthy, powerful, the type who thought coin could buy him anything—grabbed Y/N’s wrist hard enough to bruise. His smile was all sharp teeth and unchecked arrogance.

“You’re prettier up close,” he mused, fingers ghosting along her jaw. “What’s the price for something special?”

Her stomach turned. “You’ve had your time,” she said evenly, trying to pull away.

The man’s grip tightened. “I don’t recall saying I was done.”

A cold, creeping dread coiled around her spine. She had handled difficult clients before, but this man… there was something about the way he looked at her, something that sent alarms screaming through her body.

Before she could react, he shoved her back against the nearest wall, his weight pressing down on her. The impact sent a sharp burst of pain up Y/N’s side, a gasp tearing from her lips.

And then, everything moved too fast.

The cane hit the ground first, clattering against the floor as Viktor surged forward, his limp forgotten in the sheer force of his rage. His hands curled around the man's collar, dragging him away with a strength that was startling in someone so often hunched over his work.

"Enough," Viktor’s voice was quiet, but it carried a terrifying weight.

The client froze, startled by the venom in Viktor’s tone.

Jayce appeared moments later, his broad frame blocking the exit. His gaze swept over the scene—Y/N against the wall, Viktor standing between her and the bastard who had dared to touch her. His hands clenched into fists, barely containing the fury crackling beneath his skin.

“What the hell is going on?” Jayce’s voice was dark, controlled, but Y/N could see the way his muscles tensed, ready to snap.

She pressed a hand to her ribs, wincing as she pushed off the wall. “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” she murmured, but even to her own ears, the words sounded fragile.

The client scoffed, straightening his collar, trying to regain his composure. “I paid—”

Viktor’s fist met his jaw before he could finish. The impact sent the man stumbling back, blood smearing across his lips. Viktor winced slightly, shaking out his hand as if surprised by his own reaction.

“You paid,” Viktor repeated, voice low, “for what was offered. Not for what you think you are owed.”

The man’s arrogance wavered, fear flickering in his eyes as he looked between Viktor and Jayce, who had stepped forward with slow, measured steps.

“I suggest you leave,” Jayce said, his tone deceptively calm.

The client hesitated, but something in Jayce’s expression—something dangerous—made him think better of pressing his luck. With a sneer, he spat blood onto the floor and stormed out.

The silence he left behind was heavy.

Y/N exhaled shakily, the adrenaline fading, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

Viktor was the first to move, his hands gentle as he reached for her, his touch lingering at her wrist where bruises were already forming. “Are you alright?” His voice was softer now, laced with concern.

Y/N swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “I’m fine,” she lied.

Viktor’s frown deepened. “You’re not.”

Jayce stepped in, his warmth grounding, his eyes scanning her for further injury. “You need to get out of here,” he murmured. “Come with us.”

Y/N hesitated. This was her life, her reality. Could she just leave?

Viktor seemed to sense the conflict, his hand lifting to brush against her cheek, a rare moment of tenderness. “Please,” he whispered. “Just for tonight.”

Jayce offered a lopsided, tired smile. “We’ll figure it out later. Just let us take care of you.”

And for once, Y/N let herself be selfish.

She nodded.

Jayce exhaled, relieved, as he draped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her forward. Viktor retrieved his cane, his grip on it tighter than before, his free hand never straying too far from Y/N’s.

The three of them left together, stepping into the cold Zaun night.

Whatever came next, they would face it together.

VANDER

The usual mix of drunk regulars, men playing at being kings of the Undercity, and enforcers looking for trouble. It was loud, the air thick with smoke and sweat, and the floor sticky with spilled drinks. It was just what you needed.

You just wanted a drink. Something to take the edge off. Something to make you forget the ache in your back, the sting along your ribs, and the deep, throbbing bruise at your hip.

Babette never forced you to take the rougher clients. She didn’t have to. Coin was coin, and some men liked a girl who didn’t flinch when the belt came off. And you? You weren’t in a position to say no, not when they laid enough money on the table. It was part of the job. It was supposed to be just a job.

But tonight, you felt it more than usual.

Your fingers trembled as you wrapped them around your glass, whiskey burning as it slid down your throat. You weren’t even drinking for the taste—just the numbness that came after.

You didn’t notice Vander at first, too caught up in the heat of the alcohol and the dull throb of your bruises. But then, there he was—solid, steady, familiar.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just set down a fresh drink beside yours and leaned against the bar, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze flicked over you like he was taking inventory, like he could piece together what had happened just by looking.

"You alright, love?" His voice was gruff, edged with something that made your stomach twist.

You forced a smile, lifting your glass in a mock toast. "Never better."

His eyes narrowed. "That so?"

You tried to hold his gaze, but the concern in his expression made something in you splinter. You looked away, focusing on the chipped wood beneath your fingertips.

Vander didn’t push. He just stood there, waiting, until you exhaled a slow, shaky breath.

"Just got paid good is all," you admitted, voice low.

That was all you needed to say. Vander knew what that meant. Knew the rules of Babette’s house, the way things worked. The more money they paid, the more "willing" you’d be. It didn’t matter if you were actually willing or not.

His jaw tightened. His fingers flexed against the bar, like he was imagining wrapping them around someone’s throat. But when he spoke, his voice was controlled. Even. "You hurt?"

You hesitated, then shrugged off your coat, letting the fabric slip from your shoulders.

The bruises on your arms were fresh—dark smudges blooming across your skin, some shaped like fingers, others like something worse. A welt ran along your ribs, barely hidden beneath the thin straps of your dress.

Vander didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, staring at the marks with a look you’d never seen on him before.

Then, slowly, he reached for your arm, his touch careful. Gentle. Like he was afraid you might break if he wasn’t.

"Come with me," he said, voice quiet but firm.

You didn’t argue.

=

He led you past the bar, through a door that creaked on its hinges, into the backroom where the scent of old wood and whiskey lingered. It was quieter here, away from the crowd. Warmer, too.

Vander guided you to sit on the edge of an old couch, kneeling in front of you. He didn’t ask for permission, just reached for the hem of your dress, waiting for you to nod before he lifted it slightly, just enough to see the worst of it.

His breath left him in a slow exhale. His fingers hovered over your ribs, never quite touching.

"Fucking bastard," he muttered.

You almost laughed. "It’s part of the job."

His gaze snapped to yours, and you saw it then—the anger, the frustration, the helplessness of knowing that he couldn’t change the world you lived in, no matter how much he wanted to.

"This ain’t a job," he said, voice rough. "This is someone hurtin’ you."

You swallowed hard. Looked away. "I’ll be fine."

Vander exhaled, slow and steady. Then, carefully, he reached for a cloth, dipping it into a basin of water nearby. His touch was gentle as he pressed it to your skin, wiping away sweat and blood, his fingers lingering just a second too long.

"You don’t have to go back there tonight," he said after a while.

"Babette won’t like that."

"I don’t give a damn what Babette likes."

You smiled, just a little. "And what? You gonna keep me here?”

"If I have to," he murmured.

Something in his voice made your breath catch. You looked at him then, really looked, and saw the way his gaze softened when it met yours.

"You don’t gotta do this alone, love," he said. "Not while I’m around."

And for the first time in a long time, you believed him.

SILCO

Zaun’s air was thick with the stench of chemicals, the hum of machinery, and the perpetual sense of something festering. Y/N had known this city like the back of her hand, had learned to survive in its shadows and beneath its grime.

She had once belonged to something more.

She had once belonged to them.

Vander. Silco. Felicia. They had been her family, her anchor in a world that threatened to swallow them whole. They had shared drinks, dreams, and the quiet certainty that no matter what, they would stand together.

But that had been before.

Before Felicia died.

Before Silco disappeared.

Before the only thing left of that dream was Vander, broken and weary, clutching Vi and Powder as if holding onto them would somehow keep everything from unravelling.

Y/N had tried to stay. For a time. But every time she looked at Vi’s stubborn fire or Powder’s wide, wondering eyes, she saw Felicia. She heard the way they laughed like her, fought like her, wanted more like her. It was unbearable.

So she left.

Babette’s brothel had not been the first place she turned, but it was the place that stuck. A new kind of survival. A place where no one looked at her with pity or expectation, where she could drown in the haze of dim lights, perfume, and the touch of people who never asked about her past.

She made her choice, and she lived with it.

And Silco?

When he finally returned from the depths of whatever hell had swallowed him, he did not ask why she had chosen Babette’s.

He only looked at her—like he was cataloging every change, every scar she had earned in his absence. Taking her in with that sharp, knowing gaze, as if he could trace the years on her skin, the weight she now carried, the way she had hardened.

She didn’t ask where he had been.

And she didn’t ask about the changes in him—the gauntness in his face, the sharper edges, the way one eye burned red like an ember that would never die.

Because some things in Zaun were better left unspoken.

=

He still came by Babette’s on occasion, always watching her with that sharp, assessing gaze—never interfering, but never quite looking away. Not possessive, not exactly. But aware.

She could always feel it when he was there. A presence that settled over her like smoke, curling in the edges of her vision, a quiet reminder that someone from her past still saw her. That someone still cared, in his own distant, unreadable way.

He never told her to stop, never asked her to leave. Never judged. He simply made it known that he knew. Knew what she did, who she took into her bed, the life she had carved out for herself in the absence of the one they had all lost.

A silent understanding settled between them—one neither of them ever put into words.

She wasn’t his. And he wasn’t hers.

But sometimes, when the night stretched long and the air between them was thick with things unsaid, she wondered if he ever wished things had been different. If, in another life, another version of their story, she would not be here and he would not be standing in the shadows, watching.

=

She had a regular—a client she’d grown used to over time.

He was different from the others. Kind, in a way that never felt forced. Gentle. He never pushed, never asked for more than what she was willing to give. He paid well, never tried to haggle. Some nights, he didn’t even touch her at all, just spoke with her, filling the silence with easy conversation.

She let herself relax around him, just a little. Let herself believe that, if she had to do this kind of work, at least she had been lucky enough to find someone who treated her well.

It was easy. Simple.

Until it wasn’t.

=

It started like any other. A drink, a few whispered words, the usual routine.

She let him kiss her, let his hands trace familiar paths along her skin. Let him lead her up the narrow steps to her room, where the floorboards creaked beneath their slow, measured steps. The door clicked shut behind them. Routine. Predictable.

She knew what he liked. Knew how he would touch her, how he would sigh against her skin, how he would linger in the quiet moments before slipping a handful of coins onto the bedside table. He had never hurt her. Never given her a reason to be afraid.

But tonight, something was different.

Somewhere between the laughter and the undressing, the unbuttoning of his shirt and the soft murmur of meaningless words meant to fill the space between them, he pulled out a vial.

A glimmering, pulsing vial of Shimmer.

Her breath hitched. The sight of it—of the unnatural glow shifting in the low candlelight—sent something cold curling through her stomach.

"You’re gonna feel good, just like before," he murmured, voice warm, reassuring. But his hands trembled slightly as he held it between his fingers, and there was something in his eyes she had never seen before. Desperation. Hunger.

Y/N pulled back slightly, her brows knitting together. “I don’t take that shit,” she said, her voice steady despite the unease creeping up her spine.

He only smiled, a little too wide, his grip on her wrist tightening just enough to make her tense. “You won’t even remember any of this… but you’ll feel better.”

Her stomach dropped.

She moved to pull away, to shove him off, to yell, to do something—

But the sharp, hot sting of a needle pierced her skin before she could.

It was instant.

A fire, thick and consuming, roared through her veins, twisting its way up her arms, her chest, her throat. Her vision blurred, the room tilting and stretching in ways that didn’t make sense. Her breath hitched, caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat, and her body—her own body—felt like it no longer belonged to her.

Her limbs grew heavy, her fingers slack, her head lulled to the side. Panic clawed at the edges of her mind, but it was buried beneath the rush of something sickly sweet and all-consuming.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

Her thoughts—scattered, slipping through her fingers like water.

The last thing she saw before the darkness took her was his face, hazy at the edges, his hands reaching for another vial.

Then, nothing.

=

"She’s in a bad way, Silco."

Babette's voice was softer than usual, stripped of its usual sharpness, the playful edge missing. The usual teasing humor that accompanied her words was replaced with something grim. Seriousness. Worry.

Silco sat across from her in the dimly lit back office, the air thick with tension. His gloved fingers steepled beneath his chin, his mismatched eyes narrowing as he listened, focusing all his attention on her. He hadn't planned to come by tonight—too many matters demanded his presence in other corners of Zaun. But when Babette herself had sent for him, when she insisted it was urgent, there was no question in his mind.

Now, he understood why.

"Tell me what happened," he said, his voice as quiet and controlled as ever. Every syllable was deliberate, carrying a weight that made the room feel smaller, heavier.

Babette exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over her forehead, trying to compose herself. She wasn’t the type to show vulnerability, but there was no denying the tension in her voice. "It was one of her regulars," she said, her words slow, like they were hard to say. "The one who always treated her sweet. Always paid well. Never rough, always kind. But I guess he wasn’t so sweet after all."

A cold, tightening coil wound its way through Silco’s gut. He didn’t need to hear more to know where this was going. His fist clenched, but he kept his composure. He had learned long ago that showing any hint of emotion—especially anger—could be a dangerous thing.

"Go on," he urged, his voice low, like a warning.

Babette looked down, her expression darkening further. "They went up to her room, like usual. And when she didn’t come back down for a while, I sent one of the girls to check on her. They found her in bed—barely breathing. At first, I thought she’d passed out, but when they checked her pulse, it was shallow. Weak."

Silco’s jaw tightened, the muscles along his neck tightening as well. He didn't speak. He didn’t need to.

Babette continued, the words spilling out now in a rush. "There were vials of Shimmer everywhere. He’d just kept giving her more. And she was covered in injection sites. I don’t even know how many, Silco—like he was trying to see how much she could take before she just… broke."

His grip on the edge of the desk tightened until the wood groaned beneath his fingers. His pulse pounded in his ears. His mind raced. The sound of Babette’s voice faded as his thoughts narrowed down to a single point—the image of her, broken, slipping away, and the thought that it was someone else’s hands that had put her there.

He stood, cutting her off mid-sentence, his movements as fluid as ever, but with an urgency that was rare for him. "Where is she?" His voice was hard now, like steel—controlled, but tinged with something darker, something colder.

Babette gestured toward the stairs. "Upstairs," she said quietly. "We cleaned her up as best we could, but she’s still not waking up. She’s fighting it, but it’s still in her system. The Shimmer’s got its claws in her."

Silco didn’t hesitate. He was already moving, striding toward the door. "I’ll take care of it," he said over his shoulder, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Babette’s eyes followed him as he left the office, and for a brief moment, she looked like she might say something more. But she remained silent.

Silco didn’t need words. He needed action.

=

The narrow, dimly lit hall felt longer as he ascended the stairs, his boots echoing in the silence. When he reached her room, the door was already open, and he could see her—Y/N—lying on the bed, still, unmoving. She looked fragile, smaller than he remembered, her body limp beneath the thin sheets. The faint, sickly smell of Shimmer lingered in the air, thick and nauseating.

He moved quickly to her side, his hand gently brushing the hair from her face. She didn’t stir. Her skin was cold to the touch, her breathing shallow, ragged. Her eyes remained closed, but there was a flicker of movement beneath her eyelids—like she was fighting to wake up, fighting to break free of whatever hell the drug had dragged her into.

For a moment, Silco just stood there, watching her, his chest tight with something he couldn't quite name. A flicker of guilt, of regret, gnawed at him, but he quickly silenced it. This wasn’t the time for that. She didn’t need his weakness.

He scooped her up carefully, cradling her against his chest. Her body felt like dead weight, but he held her close, his movements careful yet decisive. He wasn’t going to lose her. Not like this. Not to some bastard who thought he could break her.

"This is done, Y/N," Silco murmured, his voice low, a promise in the silence. He glanced down at her, his fingers brushing against her cheek as he shifted her in his arms. "You’re done with this."

With a final, lingering look at the room, he turned and made his way out. His stride was firm, resolute—there was no going back.

He would take her somewhere safe. Somewhere where she wouldn’t have to fight to survive anymore. Somewhere where she wouldn’t have to rely on the kindness of strangers who would turn on her when she was most vulnerable.

He would keep her safe.

And he would make sure that nothing like this ever happened to her again.

Silco stepped into the night, carrying her with him, the weight of his promise hanging in the air as the cold Zaun winds swept around them. He knew that the road ahead would be dangerous, but he didn’t care.

As long as she was safe, nothing else mattered.

CLAGGOR (AU)

The neon-lit streets of Zaun hummed with life, the distant hum of machinery and the low chatter of the undercity's residents blending into the usual backdrop of the worn world. Y/N stood with her friends on a familiar corner, the dim light of the streetlamps casting long shadows around them. Powder’s laughter rang out, infectious and bright, while Ekko tossed a ball between his hands, the two of them clearly caught up in their own little world. Mylo, ever the chaotic one, was teasing Ekko about missing a pass, his sharp grin never faltering.

Claggor, with his towering figure, stood just by Y/N’s side. His big, boisterous personality always made the world feel a little less heavy, even in the heart of Zaun’s darkness. His booming voice often kept spirits high, a balance to the often-overwhelming pressure of living in the undercity.

But that comfort was shattered when a voice, shrill and dripping with malice, cut through the air like a blade.

“Oi, Y/N! You’re looking a little too cheerful for someone who spends all day in Babette’s.”

Y/N’s stomach lurched. She froze, her hand instinctively tightening around the strap of her bag as she turned toward the sound. The man standing before them was all too familiar. One of the regulars from Babette’s—always with that same arrogant smirk plastered on his face, always throwing lewd comments her way whenever he showed up. His words made her skin crawl, but she’d learned how to brush them off. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

His gaze flicked over the group, his smile widening into something that made her skin prickle with disgust. He looked each of them up and down, sizing them up before his eyes landed on Y/N once more, that smug grin never leaving his face. “Oh, is this your gang, darling?” he sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. “Looks like you’ve got quite the crew around you now. What, you don’t get enough at Babette’s, Y/N? Need a little extra from these boys? I’m sure they’d be more than happy to help out.”

Y/N’s stomach churned. She could feel her face flush with embarrassment, a wave of humiliation washing over her as his words cut deeper than they should have. He wasn’t just talking about her job—he was dehumanizing her. And in front of her friends, no less. The whole world seemed to shrink in that moment, the weight of his words pressing against her chest.

Powder’s energy faltered, her usual light-heartedness giving way to a concerned frown. Ekko paused mid-air, the ball he had been tossing falling to the ground, his eyes narrowed in growing tension. Mylo’s jaw clenched, and Y/N could feel the air shift as he took a step forward, clearly ready to do something about this.

“You really think you can just talk like that to her?” Mylo growled, his voice low and menacing as he stepped into the man’s space, his usual cynicism replaced by something darker.

Claggor’s presence behind Y/N was like a towering wall, his massive shoulders tense and his fists clenched at his sides. Y/N could feel the protective energy radiating from him, but a part of her didn’t want this. She didn’t want to be the weak one, the one everyone felt the need to defend. She’d learned how to fight her own battles, to carry the weight of her life without leaning on anyone. But the cruel words the man had thrown her way hit harder than she expected, breaking through her carefully constructed walls.

“Claggor, it’s fine,” she muttered, her voice steady but strained. “I can handle this.”

Claggor’s gaze flicked to her, his frown deepening, but he didn’t move. He was there, a silent sentinel, his mere presence a reminder that if it came to it, he’d be the one to step in. But Y/N didn’t want that—not now. Not this time.

“Claggor, please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she took a step forward, her hand reaching out to him, pleading silently with her eyes. “Let him go. I can deal with it.”

The man scoffed, his sneer deepening as he leveled his gaze at Y/N. “Yeah, I bet you can handle it. Probably used to men like me, huh? You’re nothing more than a whore, after all.” His words hit like a slap, but then he turned to Y/N’s friends, his voice oozing with condescension. “You all don’t mind sharing her, I guess? She’s used to it. Right, Y/N?”

That was it. The moment the man dared to make a mockery of her—dared to talk like that in front of her friends, calling her a whore—the protective instinct in Claggor snapped. Without another word, his massive hand shot out, grabbing the man by the collar and lifting him off the ground like he weighed nothing. The man’s confident expression faltered, his feet kicking helplessly in the air.

“You don’t talk about her like that,” Claggor growled, his voice a low, threatening rumble. His grip tightened, and the man’s face flushed with panic. “You think you can walk around here, degrading her like that, in front of me?”

Y/N could see the fury in Claggor’s eyes, the raw protectiveness that she hadn’t wanted but felt like she needed. She tried to step forward, but her heart was pounding too loudly in her chest.

“No, Claggor—let him go!” she called out, her voice sharp and pleading, but it was no use. Claggor wasn’t listening anymore.

The man’s eyes widened in fear, but he clung to his smug demeanor, even as he dangled helplessly in Claggor’s grip. “What, you gonna protect your whore now? You gonna fight for her too?” he sneered, his words laced with venom as he turned his mocking gaze toward Y/N. “Well, damn, I’m feeling generous. I’ll give you the first ride.”

The second the words left his mouth, something snapped inside Claggor. His face contorted into a savage snarl, a primal fury burning in his eyes. Without hesitation, he slammed the man back into the nearest wall, the sickening thud of impact echoing through the street. The man gasped, his smugness instantly replaced with panic as his body went limp from the force.

Claggor’s grip remained unyielding, his knuckles white as he held the man against the wall. “You don’t ever talk about her like that,” Claggor growled, his voice low and full of deadly intent. “Not while I'm standing here. Not while I’m breathing.”

The man’s face drained of colon, his bravado crumbling like brittle paper as he tried to squirm, but Claggor’s strength was unwavering. He tried to mumble something—some weak defence—but his words were nothing more than a stammering mess, drowned out by Claggor’s presence.

Claggor leaned in closer, his breath hot and heavy against the man’s face. “If you ever even think of looking at her again, I’ll make sure you never forget it.” He slammed him into the wall once more for emphasis, his eyes never leaving the man’s terrified gaze.

The man’s feet kicked uselessly, his body barely holding on as Claggor’s anger raged like a wildfire. But in the face of Claggor’s wrath, all the man could do was curse under his breath, too afraid to do anything more. He was broken, humiliated.

With one final shove, Claggor released him, watching as the man crumpled to the ground, gasping for air. The coward stumbled backward, casting one last hate-filled glance at Y/N before he turned and bolted into the shadows, his ego shattered, leaving nothing but the lingering echo of his retreating footsteps.

Claggor stood still, his fists trembling slightly as the fury that had burned through him slowly began to subside. His chest heaved with each breath, but his eyes softened when they found Y/N.

She stood there, her eyes wide, still processing what had just happened. The sting of the man’s words still lingered in the air, but it wasn’t as sharp now—not with Claggor’s protective stance in front of her.

Claggor stepped back, his eyes softer now as he looked down at her. “You okay?” he asked, his voice quieter, more concerned.

Y/N nodded, though her throat tightened with the words she didn’t know how to say. “Yeah. Just... okay”

Claggor’s hand landed on her shoulder, steady and comforting. “You don’t have to do this alone, Y/N. You don’t have to handle it all by yourself.”

Before she could respond, Powder stepped forward, her small frame bursting with indignation. “Yeah, no one talks to our friend like that!” she shouted, her fists clenched at her sides. “You’re better than him, Y/N! And we’re gonna make sure you know it!”

Ekko gave her a sympathetic look, stepping closer and offering a pat on the back. “You’ve got us. Always.”

Mylo, who had stood at the ready, relaxed his posture just a bit, his usual cynicism giving way to something else entirely. A quiet solidarity. “Don’t worry about him. He’s a coward who talks big because he knows we’re not gonna let him get away with it.”

Y/N felt a swell of emotion rise in her chest. These people—her friends—weren’t just standing by her. They were fighting alongside her, each in their own way. Powder’s fiery spirit, Ekko’s understanding, Mylo’s quiet loyalty, and Claggor’s unwavering strength—they were here, and for once, she didn’t feel alone.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice soft but filled with gratitude. “I... I don’t think I can do this without you.”

Claggor gave her a small smile, one that didn’t hide the concern in his eyes. “You don’t have to.”

Y/N’s smile grew wider. “Not quite. This one’s... extra special.”

With a flourish, Y/N grabbed a neatly wrapped box from the table. The ribbon was a soft gold, matching the candles lit around the room. Jayce raised his eyebrows again, his curiosity piqued. He gently peeled away the wrapping paper, his fingers brushing against the smooth, delicate material of the box. As he opened it, his eyes fell on the soft fabric inside.

He pulled out a shirt, simple but bold in its design. The shirt read:

"World’s Best Dad… In Training."

Jayce blinked, and then, after a beat, a low laugh bubbled up from his chest. His head tilted as he looked at Y/N, trying to make sense of it.

“This is... a joke, right?” he asked, the humour in his voice blending with confusion.

Y/N walked over to him, their hands hovering over their stomach, still warm with excitement. They leaned in a little, their gaze softening. “I’m serious, Jayce. You’re going to be a dad.”

For a moment, the words didn’t fully register. Jayce’s expression froze, and his hand instinctively found its way to Y/N’s waist. He stared at them, looking for some sign that this was a prank, a trick—some joke they’d been planning all along. But then, he saw it in their eyes. The warmth. The joy.

Slowly, Jayce’s gaze moved down to Y/N’s stomach, and it hit him. The subtle changes over the past few weeks, the way they’d been glowing, the way they’d been just a little more protective and affectionate. His breath caught in his throat.

“You—” he stammered, trying to wrap his mind around it. “You’re—”

Y/N nodded, their hands now gently resting on their stomach. They smiled warmly. “Yep. We’re having a baby.”

The words hung in the air, and then Jayce’s face broke into the most radiant smile Y/N had ever seen. His eyes shone with joy, and he pulled them into a tight embrace. The sound of his laughter filled the room, genuine and full of love.

“I... I can’t believe this,” he whispered, holding them so tightly as if to make sure this moment wasn’t some dream. “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely,” Y/N replied softly, their voice full of affection. “I can’t wait to see you as a dad, Jayce. I know you’re going to be amazing.”

Jayce paused for a moment, pulling back just enough to look them in the eye. His hand cupped their cheek as if trying to make sense of it all, and he gave a little laugh again, shaking his head. “I mean... wow. This is incredible. You—you’re going to make me a dad. I never thought I’d hear those words, but now that I have, I couldn’t be more excited.”

Y/N smiled and gave him a small nod. “You’re already an amazing man, Jayce. A brilliant inventor, a loving husband… and soon, you’ll be a great father too.”

He looked down at the shirt again, still processing what had just happened. “Okay, okay, I have to wear this every day now,” he said with a grin, holding it up and admiring the print. “You’re really going to hold me to this ‘Dad’ thing, huh?”

Y/N chuckled and walked over to him, wrapping their arms around his neck. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. Now you get to add ‘Dad’ to your list of accomplishments, alongside ‘Inventor of the Hextech Capacitor’ and ‘Husband.’”

Jayce laughed again, his hands resting on their waist, pulling them closer. “You’re right,” he said, leaning in for a kiss. “This is the best birthday gift I’ve ever gotten. Thank you, Y/N.”

They shared a soft, tender kiss, the kind that spoke of a future full of promise. For the first time in a while, Jayce felt like he could breathe, like everything was falling into place. His mind raced with excitement for the baby—his baby—and for the family they were about to start.

As they pulled away from the kiss, Jayce’s eyes softened, and his hand instinctively moved to rest on Y/N’s stomach, his fingers gently brushing the fabric of their clothes. He smiled warmly, almost in awe.

“I can’t wait,” he murmured. “I can’t wait to meet this little one. You’re going to make a great mother, Y/N. I just... I feel like the luckiest guy in the world right now.”

Y/N smiled, pressing their forehead to his. “And I feel like the luckiest person on the planet to have you by my side. This is just the beginning, Jayce.”

They stood there in the quiet warmth of their home, the world outside fading into nothingness as they savoured the moment. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear—they were ready for whatever came next, together.

VIKTOR

Viktor had been in his lab for hours, hunched over a pile of blueprints, his mind deep in thought. His cane was propped against his desk, the only sound the soft clicking of his mechanical fingers on the metal surface. Despite his focus, his thoughts kept wandering—mostly to the growing warmth in his heart every time he thought of you, his wife.

You had always been the light in his world, even before you became his partner in life and love. There were still days where he couldn't quite believe that you were there, by his side, and you loved him for who he was, imperfections and all. Now, there was something new in the air, something he couldn’t quite place.

It was a certain softness in your smile when you looked at him, a secret in your eyes that you hadn’t shared yet. Viktor had no idea what it was, but he had his suspicions. You were a master of subtlety, after all. He wasn’t exactly blind to the tiny changes in your behaviour—how you kept your distance just enough to keep him curious, how your fingers hovered protectively over your stomach when you thought he wasn’t looking.

His heart fluttered at the thought. Could it be? Was it possible?

As he sifted through some papers, his fingers brushed against something soft. A small, folded piece of fabric caught his eye. Curious, he picked it up, his brow furrowing. It was a tiny onesie, soft and pastel yellow, with a little white bunny on it. Viktor’s heart skipped a beat. He blinked, staring at the clothes in his hand. Was this a…?

He glanced around the drawer, noticing more small clothes stacked neatly inside—socks, hats, and blankets. His stomach twisted with a mix of confusion and excitement. He set the onesie down, his breath catching in his chest as his mind raced. You had been acting strangely, and he wondered if... No, it couldn’t be. But then again, what else could it be?

He didn’t know how long he stood there, staring at the baby clothes, his hands trembling slightly. His mind whirled with a thousand questions, but there was one certainty that stood out among the confusion: you had been hiding something, and now he knew what it was.

Just then, the door to his lab creaked open, and you stepped in, smiling softly. Your eyes sparkled with a secret that only you seemed to understand.

“Viktor?” you asked, your voice warm and gentle, as always.

Viktor’s gaze lifted from the drawer, his eyes locking onto yours. His mouth opened, but no words came out for a moment. His mind was still reeling. You were standing in the doorway, looking at him with a playful, yet knowing expression, as if you could read every thought crossing his mind.

You raised an eyebrow, noting his stunned expression. “Is something wrong?” you asked, a playful note in your voice. But Viktor wasn’t fooled. There was a softness to your tone that made his heart race.

Slowly, Viktor stood, his cane clicking against the floor as he took a few cautious steps toward you. He held up the onesie, his voice barely above a whisper. “This... this was in the drawer.”

You watched his face closely, noting the way his expression shifted from surprise to realization to pure joy. His eyes softened, and his lips curled into a tender smile. You could feel your heart flutter in your chest as you took a deep breath.

“I was going to wait for the right moment to tell you,” you began, your voice slightly trembling with excitement, but also a hint of mischief. “But I suppose the cat’s out of the bag.”

Viktor’s eyes widened as he looked down at the onesie in his hands, then back at you. “Wait... are you saying...?” His voice cracked with emotion, his heart pounding in his chest. It felt surreal.

You nodded, a bright, loving smile spreading across your face. “Yes, Viktor. We’re going to be parents.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and beautiful. Viktor’s knees felt weak, but he steadied himself with his cane, his heart struggling to keep pace with the rush of emotions flooding him. His mind raced, but all he could hear was the soft thrum of his pulse in his ears. A baby. His baby. Your baby.

He stared at you, his eyes wide and full of wonder. His breath caught in his throat as tears began to form in the corners of his eyes. He blinked them away quickly, but the smile on his face betrayed the wave of joy and disbelief he felt.

“I…” Viktor started, his voice cracking with awe. “I don’t even know what to say. I—this is… this is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

You stepped closer to him, your hand gently resting over his, and he felt the warmth of your touch seep into him, calming the overwhelming rush of emotions. He was trembling now, but not with fear—rather with a deep, reverent happiness.

“I wanted to surprise you,” you said softly, “but I think you beat me to it.” Your voice was playful, but there was an underlying tenderness there.

Viktor chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving yours. He gently placed the onesie down on the desk and cupped your face with both hands. “I’ll never be able to surprise you again, will I?” He leaned in close, pressing his forehead gently against yours. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m so grateful, miláček.” (Darling)

The moment hung in the air like a dream—this was real. You were going to have a family. Together.

You rested your forehead against his, feeling the warmth of his embrace. “We’re in this together, Viktor,” you whispered, your voice filled with quiet certainty. “And I wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else.”

Viktor smiled, a tear slipping down his cheek as he pulled you closer. “Neither would I,” he whispered, his breath shaky with emotion.

The lab, filled with the faint hum of machinery, suddenly felt smaller, more intimate. All the noise of the outside world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in this perfect moment. The tiny clothes in the drawer, the onesie still in his hand, were more than just fabric—they were the symbols of a new chapter in your lives, one that Viktor couldn’t have imagined in his wildest dreams.

As he held you, feeling the gentle rise and fall of your breath, Viktor knew this was just the beginning of something beautiful. And, with you by his side, he would be ready for anything the future held—for both of you and for the little one who would soon join your world.

JAYVIK

The soft glow of the setting sun filtered through the windows of the shared apartment, casting a warm, golden light across the room. Y/N sat comfortably on the couch, a gentle smile on their lips as they cradled their growing belly. The apartment, filled with books, papers, and the faint hum of machinery from Viktor’s experiments, felt like home. She was in the midst of sorting through some papers when she heard the door open, followed by the familiar sound of Viktor’s cane tapping gently against the floor, and Jayce’s cheerful voice.

“Guess who’s home?” Jayce called out, his voice always carrying that infectious energy.

Y/N’s heart fluttered, and she looked up, meeting Viktor’s intense yet soft gaze as he stepped through the door, leaning on his cane for support. Jayce followed close behind, his face lighting up at the sight of her. Viktor’s eyes softened, and he smiled, his usual stoic expression replaced with one of gentle affection.

“Hey, láska,” Viktor greeted, his voice low and warm. He set his cane against the wall before walking over to the couch. He leaned down to give her a soft kiss on the cheek, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile, her hand resting on her stomach. (Love)

“Hi, you two. How was work?” Y/N asked, her tone light, almost teasing. She had been looking forward to seeing them both after a long day.

Jayce was already bustling around, his curiosity piqued by the smell coming from the kitchen. “Something smells amazing,” he said, grinning. “What’s for dinner?”

Y/N glanced at the oven and then back at Jayce, her smile growing a little more mischievous. “Oh, you’ll see,” she said, her voice filled with playful secrecy.

Jayce gave her a puzzled look, but Viktor, always the more observant one, tilted his head slightly as he noticed the little glint in her eyes. “What’s going on, Y/N?” Viktor asked, his voice steady but a touch of curiosity in his tone. “Is there something you’d like to tell us?”

Y/N grinned, gesturing toward the oven. “Actually, could you two do me a favour?” she asked, her eyes sparkling. “One of you grab the thing out of the oven, please.”

Jayce, ever eager to help, nodded enthusiastically. “Sure thing!” He quickly made his way over to the oven and opened it, expecting to find the usual meal she had been preparing. But when he pulled the door open, his eyes widened, and his hands froze mid-motion.

Inside, nestled on the middle rack of the oven, was a single golden-brown bun, resting on a baking sheet. But this was no ordinary bun. There was a small piece of parchment paper nestled inside it, folded with neat handwriting that read:

"We’re baking a little one!"

Jayce blinked, his eyes flitting between the bun and the paper, his mind slowly catching up with the situation. He turned to Y/N, mouth opening and closing in shock. “Wait… what? Are you saying—” His voice trembled, confusion and excitement mixing in a whirlwind on his face.

Y/N’s smile widened, and she gently placed a hand on her stomach, eyes sparkling with joy. “I’m pregnant,” she said softly, her voice filled with warmth and happiness.

The words hung in the air for a moment before Jayce let out a choked laugh, his eyes welling with sudden tears. He blinked rapidly, struggling to process the news, and without another word, he stepped forward, shaking his head in disbelief. “Oh my god,” he whispered, a sob breaking through as his hands moved to cover his face. “A baby? You’re having a baby? Oh my god…”

Viktor stood frozen in the doorway, his expression unreadable at first, and for a brief moment, Y/N wondered if he was overwhelmed by the same emotions that were clouding Jayce’s face. But then Viktor’s stoic mask cracked, his eyes growing soft with disbelief. He took a step forward, his breath catching in his throat as his gaze flickered from the bun to Y/N, his mind working through the revelation. He stepped closer, his cane clicking softly against the floor with each careful step, his gaze never leaving her.

“You’re… you’re serious?” Viktor asked, his voice hoarse, betraying the emotions he had kept buried under his usual calm demeanor.

Y/N nodded, her eyes never leaving him. “Yes, Viktor. We’re going to have a baby.”

Jayce, still crying softly, moved toward her, his arms wrapping around her in a tight embrace. “I'm going to be a dad,” he choked out between tears, his voice cracking. “Holy shit…We're going to be parents”

At those words, Viktor’s gaze shifted to Jayce, the two men locking eyes for a brief moment. They shared an unspoken understanding, the weight of the moment hanging between them. A realization passed over Viktor’s face as his emotions softened further, and he stepped closer, reaching out to take Y/N’s hand gently.

“This is… this is the greatest gift,” he murmured, his voice full of emotion. He squeezed her hand softly, the joy and disbelief still settling in his chest. “I… I can’t believe this.”

Y/N’s heart swelled with affection as she moved to wrap her arms around Viktor’s neck. She looked at Jayce, still standing with tears in his eyes, and smiled warmly at both of them. “I thought it would be a fun way to tell you both,” she said, her voice filled with a mix of happiness and affection.

Jayce sniffled and wiped his eyes, still grinning ear to ear. “It’s the best way. Honestly, I’m just so happy! We’re going to be parents!” He stepped closer, pulling them both into a group hug, the three of them standing together in a tight embrace.

Viktor’s hand gently cupped Y/N’s cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin in a tender, almost reverent gesture. His lips curled into a soft, loving smile. “This will be an adventure,” he said quietly. “But with you two by my side, I know we can face anything.”

Y/N squeezed both of them tighter, feeling the warmth and love radiating from the two men she adored. She knew, as they all stood together, that while only one of them was the biological father, their little family was already bound by something even stronger than blood—something built on love, care, and the shared joy of this new chapter. For a moment, there was nothing but the simple joy of being together—her family, her home, already complete and yet on the brink of something even more beautiful.

VANDER

The evening had settled quietly over the Lanes, casting a soft amber glow through the dusty windows of the upper level above the Last Drop. Down below, the bar had finally quieted after the usual bustle of patrons and noise, leaving only the faint scent of spilt ale and old wood behind. Vander rolled up his sleeves, humming lowly as he cleaned up the living space. The kids were already tucked away, and the air felt unusually calm — a rare, peaceful pocket in the chaos of the Undercity.

He glanced over at the armchair in the corner, the one Y/N always curled into with her latest knitting project. A soft, half-finished blanket draped over one armrest, and a small basket sat beside it, needles nestled inside like sleeping tools. Something small and soft caught his eye — a pair of tiny, knitted things sitting on top of the yarn.

He walked over, curious, and picked one up in his large hand, turning it over with a puzzled expression.

"Now what's this,?" he muttered to himself, brow furrowed. "New kind of hand warmer?"

As if summoned by the mystery, Powder peeked around the corner, rubbing her eyes. “Those don’t look like hand warmers. They look like… tiny shoes.”

Vander stilled.

Tiny shoes.

His gaze dropped back to the booties in his palm. Soft grey wool. A little wooden button on the side. Definitely not for anyone with grown fingers. His heart gave a strange little thump.

“Shoes,” he echoed, voice quieter now. He glanced back toward the bedroom door, where the light had been dimmed for Y/N’s evening nap.

A slow, almost disbelieving smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

No…

Could it be?

He set the booties back down carefully, almost reverently, and padded softly toward the bedroom. The door creaked slightly as he eased it open, revealing Y/N curled on her side under the quilt, the soft rise and fall of her breathing the only sound in the room.

Vander crossed to the bed and lowered himself gently beside her, mindful not to wake her too quickly. He brushed a strand of hair away from her face, heart hammering in his chest, and rested a broad, calloused hand over her stomach.

She stirred at the touch, brow scrunching slightly as she blinked herself into awareness. “Vander…? What is it?” she asked sleepily, her voice thick with drowsiness. “Something wrong?”

“No, no,” he whispered, smiling softly. “Nothing’s wrong.”

She shifted onto her back, still groggy, trying to read his face in the dim light. His eyes were wide and glassy, shining with something gentle and awestruck. Her confusion deepened.

“Then… why are you looking at me like that?”

He didn’t answer right away — just looked down at where his hand rested low on her stomach, thumb brushing slow, thoughtful circles against the fabric of her sleep shirt.

Y/N’s heart skipped.

And then it clicked.

Her eyes flicked down to his hand — then back up to his face — and she went utterly still. “You found them,” she breathed.

Vander gave a quiet laugh, half-broken, half-dazed. “Yeah. Powder helped, too. Called me out on thinking they were hand warmers.”

Y/N groaned softly and covered her face with both hands, laughing through her embarrassment. “It wasn’t supposed to be that easy! I was going to tell you properly. I had this whole idea—”

He gently tugged her hands down, cradling them in his. “Hey,” he murmured. “Doesn’t matter how I found out. What matters is what I found out.”

His eyes searched hers, brimming with unspoken emotion. “You’re really…?”

She nodded, eyes misty now too. “I’m really. Just a few weeks.”

Vander let out a breath, low and reverent, and leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. “A new little one,” he whispered against her skin. “Ours.”

She nodded again, blinking away tears as she smiled. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I’ve been waiting for the right moment… I just—”

“You gave me the perfect moment, sweetheart,” he said, curling his body around hers, one hand still resting protectively over her stomach. “I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”

She pressed her face into his chest, letting the warmth of him soak into her like sunlight.

“I don’t know what kind of world we’re bringing them into,” she murmured after a beat, her voice soft and uncertain.

Vander exhaled, his embrace tightening just a little. “Neither do I. But they’ll have us. That’s a damn good start.”

They lay like that in the quiet for a while, wrapped in quilt and candlelight, the promise of something small and beautiful growing between them. A new kind of future. A new kind of love.

And all of it started with a pair of tiny, perfect booties.

SILCO

It had been a long day. Silco had spent hours in his office, working through piles of paperwork, dealing with the ongoing struggles in Zaun, and trying to find a way to expand his influence. The usual tension was in the air, the hum of Zaun’s constant unrest making even the quietest moments feel charged. But Silco didn’t mind. He was used to it, and the noise of the city outside was a constant reminder that he was in control.

He was tired, but not tired enough to ignore the soft, comforting warmth of his wife’s presence in the house. Y/N had always been a grounding force in his life, a steady and unyielding presence in the chaos he’d cultivated around him. Her ability to move through their shared home with grace, her calm voice that always seemed to reassure him, and the quiet smile that never failed to make him feel seen—even when the world felt too overwhelming—had become his sanctuary.

But lately, something about her had changed, and it was impossible for him not to notice. Y/N had been quieter than usual, a soft glow about her that made him curious, yet he found himself hesitant to press. He didn’t want to pry—she would tell him when she was ready. But Silco had always been attuned to subtle shifts in the people around him. Maybe it was the way she moved, a little slower than usual, or the way her smile seemed to stretch a bit more when she looked at him. There was something in her eyes—something that made her seem like she was carrying a secret, a joyful one.

Still, he kept his focus on the task at hand, pushing his concerns to the back of his mind. There was no room for distractions in the world he had built. Or so he thought.

As the evening wore on, the thick silence of his office felt almost oppressive. Papers lay strewn across his desk in front of him—notes, plans, lists of names, contacts, and every other detail that came with being the leader of Zaun. Each piece of information was important in its own right, but none of it held the weight of what was coming.

The door creaked open, and the familiar sound of her presence filled the space. Y/N stepped inside, her silhouette framed by the soft, golden light spilling from the hallway. She held something small in her hand—a box wrapped in simple, soft paper. The kind of paper that looked fragile, yet carried a sense of significance, like it was something too precious to be in the hands of anyone else but him.

Silco looked up from his desk, raising an eyebrow at the sight of her. "What is this?" His voice was calm, though there was an undercurrent of curiosity in it.

Y/N’s soft smile widened slightly, the one she always wore when she had something special to share with him. "A gift," she said, her voice light but holding a certain weight to it, like she was trying to keep a secret, her excitement barely contained.

He looked at the box, then back at her, eyes narrowing slightly. "What’s in it?"

Y/N stepped closer, her eyes gleaming with warmth. "Something that’s going to change everything," she whispered softly, as if sharing the beginning of a new chapter in their lives.

Silco reached out, accepting the box from her with his usual calm demeanour, though a spark of curiosity flickered in his eyes. He carefully untied the string and unwrapped the paper, revealing a small wooden box. He opened it, expecting something insignificant—perhaps a trinket or a piece of jewellery—but instead, his gaze was met with something that made his heart skip a beat. It was a pregnancy test.

His gaze flickered up to Y/N’s face, trying to process what he was seeing. She was standing there before him, the soft curve of her belly unmistakable beneath her clothing. She had been glowing, but now that glow took on a new meaning. Her expression was tender, filled with a mixture of joy, excitement, and a hint of nervousness. It was clear what she was saying, yet he needed to hear it from her—needed to confirm what the test had already said.

"Darling…" His voice was softer than usual, cracking just a bit as he tried to make sense of the weight of the moment. His usually stoic demeanour faltered slightly, and for the first time in a long while, he was unsure of how to respond.

"I’m pregnant, Silco," she whispered, her words full of warmth and truth, yet she watched him intently, waiting for him to process the information, waiting for his reaction.

The room felt as though it had frozen around him. Silence hung in the air, thick and heavy with expectation. His heart began to beat faster, and his mind raced, not knowing what to do with the overwhelming rush of emotions flooding him. This was a new reality—a reality he hadn’t expected, not in the least.

Before he could find the words, something inside him snapped. It wasn’t just the surprise, the shock of it, or even the overwhelming joy he now felt—it was an instinct, deep and primal, a need to protect what was his, what they had created together. Without thinking, Silco stood from his desk, his hands shaking just slightly. His eyes never left hers, as if trying to anchor himself to her. When he reached her, he didn’t pause. He dropped to his knees in front of her, an action so foreign to him that even he was surprised.

It was the last thing anyone would ever expect from Silco, the man who had never knelt before anyone. But in that moment, with the weight of their future looming in the air, he pressed his forehead gently against her stomach, as though he were already trying to connect with the life growing inside her.

Y/N’s hand trembled as she placed it on his head, her fingers running through his hair, her heart swelling with tenderness. This man, the ruthless leader of Zaun, the one who had commanded fear and respect, was now kneeling before her. Before them.

His voice was barely above a whisper, thick with emotion. "I will protect you both. Always."

Those words, spoken with such conviction, held a power that none of his enemies would ever understand. In that simple vow, he was giving everything to her, to the life they were about to bring into the world. He wasn’t just the leader of a fractured city anymore. In that moment, he was a man with a family, a protector. And no one, not even the darkest corners of Zaun, could take that from him. "I’ll fight, I’ll bleed—whatever it takes, I’ll make sure you’re safe. Both of you."

Y/N felt her heart flutter in her chest as she looked down at him. His vulnerability, his devotion, and his promise struck her in ways words never could. The future was uncertain, yes. But for the first time, she didn’t fear it. She felt an overwhelming sense of peace. With Silco at her side, nothing could break them.

With trembling hands, she reached down and gently cupped his face, lifting his head to meet her eyes. "I know you will, my love."

Silco’s gaze softened, his eyes dark with affection and something more—something that had always been there but was now revealed in its fullest form. He leaned into her touch, feeling the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against his palm, and he realized that in this life, he had finally found what he had been searching for all along: a purpose greater than power, a love greater than anything he had ever known.

For a long moment, they simply held each other, the world outside forgotten. In the quiet of their shared space, surrounded by the weight of his promise, Silco finally understood what it meant to be truly vulnerable. And he knew, deep in his soul, that whatever came next—no matter the battles they would face or the enemies who would try to tear them apart—he would protect Y/N and their unborn child with every breath in his body.

In that still, quiet moment, surrounded by the weight of his vow, Silco found something that had eluded him for years: true peace.

AU!CLAGGOR

It started like any other morning in your little apartment above the workshop—quiet, cozy, with just the right amount of dust motes dancing in the golden sunlight pouring through the cracked window. The gentle hum of Zaun life rose from below: the distant rattle of tram cars, someone hawking warm meat buns down the block, and the rhythmic clink of tools from the neighbours.

You were already up, wrapped in one of Claggor’s well-worn work shirts, the fabric falling halfway down your thighs. The scent of roasted coffee beans filled the small kitchen—rich, nutty, comforting. You’d gotten good at making it just the way he liked: two sugars, no cream, just enough heat to warm his hands when he held the mug in the morning.

You were barefoot, pacing a little more than usual. Your nerves were fluttering in your belly—not the bad kind, though. The kind that came with secret joy and the knowledge that something life-changing was about to happen.

Today was the day.

You’d spent the last week planning it all out—debating between funny, sentimental, over-the-top, or subtle. But in the end, you chose something simple. Something that would speak to Claggor’s heart in the best way. It sat innocently now on the table next to his breakfast plate: a little wooden box with a ribbon tied in a messy bow that you’d redone four times already.

You heard his boots on the stairs before you saw him—slow, sleepy steps that got quicker once he caught the smell of breakfast. Claggor came in with his usual sleepy grin, goggles perched on his forehead and hair sticking up slightly in the back. He looked every bit like the boy you’d fallen in love with—now the man you’d married—and something in your chest swelled.

“Smells like a good day already,” he said, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. He pressed a warm kiss to your cheek, his stubble scratching lightly against your skin.

You leaned into him, heart thudding. “Sit down, I made you something.”

Claggor gave you a look like you’d just handed him a treasure. “You’re spoiling me,” he said as he slid into his seat at the table, eyeing the spread. Eggs, toast, those little sausage links he liked, and his favourite kind of jam—imported from Piltover when you could afford it.

“Damn,” he said, chuckling. “You really love me, huh?”

“You’re not wrong.”

As he reached for his mug, you held your breath. His eyes landed on the box before he could take a sip. His hand paused. “What’s this?”

“Open it,” you said, trying and failing to play it cool. Your voice was pitched just a little too high with nerves.

He raised a brow at you—then smiled like he already suspected it was something special.

Claggor untied the bow and popped open the box.

Inside, nestled on a soft bed of cotton, was a tiny pair of goggles—crafted with careful attention to every detail, down to the miniature straps and scratched lenses. You’d stayed up late making them in secret, working under the soft light of your desk lamp. Next to the goggles was a note, a little wrinkled from how often you'd unfolded and re-folded it:

Coming soon: our littlest adventure. ETA: 9 months. Hope they get your smile.

There was silence. The kind that felt charged and electric.

Claggor stared at the box, then the note. His eyes blinked once. Twice.

“Wait…” His voice was soft, almost afraid to hope. “You’re—? Are you serious?”

You nodded, eyes stinging with tears. “I’m really serious.”

He stood so fast his chair scraped back across the floor, nearly tipping over. His hands were on your cheeks in the next second, warm and trembling. “You’re pregnant? You’re pregnant?”

You laughed through your own tears. “Claggor, yes. I promise it’s real.”

He let out something between a breathless laugh and a strangled sob, wrapping his arms around you so tightly you were momentarily lifted off the floor. “I’m gonna be a dad,” he murmured against your neck. “I’m gonna be a dad.”

His voice cracked at the end.

“I didn’t even know I could be this happy,” he said when he finally pulled back. His hands cradled your face like you might disappear if he let go. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And now—gods, we’re gonna have a kid? Together?”

“Well, unless I’ve been carrying someone else’s baby this whole time,” you teased.

He laughed wetly and kissed you again, slower this time. Sweeter.

You felt him glance back toward the table, toward the tiny goggles. He stepped over, picking them up like they were made of crystal. “I didn’t even think baby goggles existed.”

“They don’t. I made them.”

Claggor looked at you like you’d just given him the moon. “Okay, now I’m definitely crying.”

You walked over and leaned against him, placing his hand gently on your belly—even though there was no real bump yet. Just a little swell, a promise of what was to come.

“I can’t wait to meet them,” he whispered. “I want to build them a toy box. And—oh, wait! What if I put little lights inside their crib so it glows like a star field? Oh, and we’ll need a bookshelf. I’ll read them all the old stories Vander used to tell. And I’ll teach them how to weld. But, like, only when they’re not a baby anymore. Safety first.”

You couldn’t stop laughing. “Claggor, they’re not even the size of your palm yet.”

“I know,” he grinned. “But I’m already obsessed.”

You smiled, heart full. “Same.”

Then he suddenly gasped. “Wait, what if they inherit my nose?”

You paused. “Then they’ll be adorable and unmissable in a crowd.”