Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Viktor is no stranger to pain.

Never has been. From his bum leg to his weak back, frequent migraines and joint pains, he’s always felt some sort of ache and discomfort. It would get bad enough, at times, for him to ask Jayce of all people for help. Jayce. His wonderful, smart yet so very stupid, always ready to help partner. The one person he would rather die than act weak around.

Pain makes him stupid, or so he always thought.

And yet, this new form of pain targets everything but his mind.

He feels it in his core - each sharp movement makes his back bend, his lungs constrict, his heart lose its rhythm. He feels each jab, each punch, each thrust, as if the tip of the giant member could reach up to his sternum.

Vander, or whatever creature is controlling the beastly body, is heard grunting and snarling behind him.

Viktor’s mind is clear. He makes barely any sounds, too shocked and numb to do much except for the quiet grunts punched out of his lungs with each grind of the beast’s hips. His arms have long since given up on holding his body up, his front pressed limply against the ground. His hips are up high, despite his weak and trembling legs, impaled on the thick wolfish cock.

Maybe if the situation was different, if the beast hadn’t mounted him with no preparation, no warning except for a sudden snarl and launch… maybe he would have been able to enjoy himself, even.

As it stands, however, despite the overwhelming fullness, the wetness of blood running down his thighs and the quiet gasps accompanying his wide, teary eyes, Viktor feels overwhelmingly empty.

The beast growls and speeds up, and Viktor reaches weakly forward, his body desperate to escape the agony regardless of the numbness in his mind. His rectum clenches faintly on the massive length and he lets out an involuntary whimper as the pain spikes. The beast grunts loudly and thrusts deeper, spurred on by the sudden tightening of its chosen toy.

When the beast digs its claws deeper into Viktor’s hips, the numbness breaks and he’s suddenly thrust back into his body.

A wail builds up at the back of his throat, starting out as a long, shaky moan, tears finally spilling down his cheeks after many long minutes of quietly staining his vision. He shakes, hands reaching further out, longing to grab onto something, to hoist his body out of the torturous hold, yet finding no purchase. He digs his fingers into the ground, managing to move just a couple of centimeters, but the beast simply pulls him back onto its cock and he gags as it slams into his stomach.

His legs shake as more blood spills from his already damaged insides.

A choked sob escapes his lips. He can feel his Hexcore frantically trying to repair the damaged tissue; he never thought It could panic, before. He pays It little mind, however, as the next thing he knows, the beast is wrapping its big hands around his chest and lifting him off the ground as it pounds into him at a new, much easier angle. It slams its strong hips against his frail ones, the pace fast and erratic as it grows closer and closer to release.

“Ack- ngh- s-st-agh” Viktor chokes, his body convulsing, “pl-uh- V-Vand-ah! F-fuh- st-oh” his eyes grow wider, tears flowing freely down his cheeks, as the massive cock brushes against his prostate, sending an unwelcome drop of pleasure into the sea of agony.

Finally, the beast’s hips stutter and it spills into him in thick, shuddering bursts.

Viktor chokes and gags as the fluid runs past his ruined stomach, and coughs up a bit of the pink-tinged cum.

He mewls pathetically as the beast drops him, his body folding onto itself. He keeps gagging, his stomach constricting with loud retches, and he ends up vomiting a fair amount of the hot spend. The rest drips down his trembling thighs, pooling under him and mixing with the blood into a baby-pink coloured mess.

He barely registers a groan and a thud behind him, as the beast settles on the ground, sated and exhausted.

Viktor lays in the puddle of his own blood and tissue, panting and whimpering as the shock slowly dissipates. His heart throbs painfully and he barely registers the pain his whole body seems lost in. The greenhouse around him spins, various trees and hedges he’s so lovingly planted now mockingly swaying as they tower above his crumpled form. A small, befuddled sob leaves his open mouth.

He flinches as the beast behind him snorts in its sleep. He chokes on a silent scream as he turns his head slightly in the direction of his rapist - rape? I’ve been raped? that’s- no - his stomach protesting at the painful motion, and he ends up puking up a little bit more blood and semen. He coughs weakly, trying to dislodge the fluid that entered his heaving lungs, but to no avail. He swallows, gagging at the taste and the sheer horror of it.

Minutes pass while the Hexcore works to undo the fatal damage. After only ten, his heart slows down from its frantic beating, another twenty and he finds himself taking fuller breaths. The beast keeps grunting and snoring where it lays, and each shift of its giant body sends terrified shivers down Viktor’s bruised spine.

It takes a little over an hour for him to finally lift himself onto his knees. He heaves and gasps as every little movement pulls at his tender wounds, but the relief of finally climbing out of the bloody mess is immense. He fully intends to limp out of the greenhouse and possibly out of the Commune - never to return, never to see that monster again - but an odd pulling sensation makes him turn around halfway, and his breath catches.

There is something about the beast that captures his attention now. The previous ever-present fury was gone, replaced by a calm, satisfied look. It breathes deeply as it sleeps, its chest rises and falls at an almost soothing pace, and the way it remains unbothered by Viktor’s little sounds as he cowers mere paces away from it, dulls the overwhelming terror in his chest.

He hates that he’s even considering it. But something is compelling him to move, and he finds himself giving into the sensation, despite the soft warnings of his overworked Hexcore. He cannot see Sky anywhere, but that doesn’t bother him much as he carefully shuffles on his hands and knees towards the beast.

The first touch doesn’t land; he immediately yanks his hand away as it brushes against the beast’s shaggy fur. It doesn’t stir, and he swallows down his panicked heaving, forcefully calming his racing heart to try and reach out again. He blinks several times in a quick succession, swallowing back the sobs as new tears mark his cheeks, and extends his hand.

And so in that moment, when he touches the sleeping beast - Vander, his mind supplies - when he finally reaches the man inside Warwick’s gnarly form after weeks of no results, when he realises he has to keep doing it, to satiate the beast so he can find the girls’ father and bring him home, to do this one good deed after a decade of fucking failures -

In that very moment, something inside him breaks.

Chapter Text

It takes him another hour to clean up.

Despite his… unexpected contact with Vander inside the beast’s mind, the shivers do not subside. The giant leaves he uses to pick up the bits of blood and tissue fall from his grasp and he has to swallow down the nausea that arises everytime he bends down. Everything still hurts , and so he moves slowly and carefully as he wipes the mess into the dirt and collects the damaged pieces of his hexcorized organs; he can feel his body slowly regrowing the damaged flesh, yet the fragments littering the ground make it impossible to ignore the brutal butchering of his body. He throws the soiled leaves into the thickest part of the foliage around him. 

At least Vander doesn’t seem to know what happened.

He leaves the beast alone; for as much as he’d like to get rid of any and all traces of his assault, he is not enough of a fool to come close to the wolf’s groin. Besides, his blood and dark-purple tissue blend well enough with Warwick’s dirty black fur. Except for the slight iridescent tinge of his organs - and isn’t that a revelation he wishes he never had come to - the aftermath of Viktor’s torture is barely noticeable. 

He reclaims the blanket he’d brought alongside various food items he thought the beast would enjoy. The way the blanket envelops his broken frame, hiding his damaged robe, reminds him of the last time he saw Jayce, and he quickly wipes the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. No use crying over his bad - not bad, never bad, he needs to do this - decisions. He leaves the rest of the supplies with Warwick. The wolf needs to eat.

He decides to leave the greenhouse while the beast rests.

He tries to go back to his hut, to fall onto his cot and sleep on the hard mattress, to let his Hexcore repair whatever parts of his anatomy are still mangled. He walks slowly, carefully, leaning his whole weight on his staff while still appearing as stoic as ever. He smiles gently at his people, accepts pieces of fruit from the children, even chuckles at a passing comment from the newest arrivals - Can’t remember the last time I had a peach, mate, you’ve gotta try it - and, as far as he’s concerned, he seems perfectly fin-

“You good?”

Viktor stops, blinks a few times and looks to his left. The black in Vi’s hair has faded somewhat over the weeks in the commune, and her pink roots have started to show, but the gloomy atmosphere still follows her wherever she goes. Although, she appears more concerned than contemptuous, and for the life of him, Viktor cannot figure out why .

“I am fine” he tries to smile, “Is there anything you need?”

Steps away from my house, can’t I please catch a break?

Vi seems utterly unconvinced, but shakes her head with a huff.

“Uh, yeah, actually” she says, looking at the ground, “How’s.. how’s Vander?”

Viktor chokes on an involuntary squeak, masking it with a cough. Vi’s eyes snap to him, filled with suspicion. Well done, you fucking idiot, great fucking job.

“ G-good ” his voice breaks and he clears his throat, “He’s, uh.. He’s good. Better, I think. I… made some progress today.”

Her brows shoot up and she jumps off the bench she was sitting on.

“Wait, for real?” 

Viktor coughs, looks away, ‘mhm’s and doesn’t elaborate.

Vi studies him carefully for a while, long enough for him to feel cold sweat on the back of his neck. Her eyes narrow.

“Mhm..?”

“…mhm”

Viktor swallows, his throat suddenly dry.

“…mhm what?”

“I… I’ll have to keep- keep trying. To reach him. Y-yes.”

“…oh-kay” Vi doesn’t look away.

Viktor clears his throat.

“Y-yes, I’ll just- uhm, I’ll g-go now, take care, Violet” he says and rushes towards his house as fast as his trembling legs allow him, shutting the door behind him.

He tries to remain in control. He really does. And yet, as soon as the door locks and his cane clatters to the floor, he breaks into panicked heaving. He falls to his knees, covers his face, and, as quietly as he can manage, Viktor sobs.

He wakes up two hours later, in a heap in front of the door. His limbs ache from the awkward position he found himself napping in - knees bent and spread, back far too curled, chin on his chest; he’s sat like a broken puppet with its strings torn off. His face feels wet, his mouth dry, and his stomach aches from having stifled his sobs until it cramped.

He feels ugly. Inside and out.

He stands up carefully, reaching for his staff to keep himself steady. He walks on numb legs, gathers fresh clothes and steps into the small bathroom to wash off the memories of the past few hours.

One scalding shower later, and he’s almost disappointed at the clarity with which his mind can still recall every moment.

He leaves the house anyway, unable to stomach the stench of blood in the air - his Hexcore gently reminds him that no such smell lingers; he ignores it. The market is busy as usual, despite the late hour, people laughing and relaxing after the long day. Food and beverages are plentiful, and he quickly acquires a glass of sweetmilk - handed to him by a seven-year-old, Alice - broken clavicle, late-stage infection, his Hexcore recalls. His heart swells with appreciation and he smiles at the child as she grins and runs back to her friends.

He feels a little lighter now, sipping on warm sweetmilk, relishing in the easy atmosphere of his beloved Commune. Viktor soon joins Huck and Abbie, as she prefers to be called - a thirty-five-year-old mother of two, one of his newest. The children are off playing with Alice and Isha, he can see them run around holding sticks and using the giant greenhouse leaves as shields.

He’s pulled from his musings just as one of the children falls onto his shield, sliding forward, the leaf rubbing into the ground just like…

“-my Herald?”

“Mh, yes?” he asks quickly, having missed the entirety of the conversation.

“I asked if tomorrow you’d wish to join us at the Gardens? Abbie brought seeds with her, I don’t believe we have them yet,” Huck, his ever patient friend, replies with a gentle smile.

Abbie nods; Viktor frowns. He quickly schools his expression into something more neutral, but the damage is done; both followers look at him in concern. He wants to vomit.

“I- apologies, Huck, but I must decline. I have other… matters to attend to,” he tries on a smile, but it doesn’t quite fit, “I am glad to hear your children are settling down well, Abbie. It is truly wonderful you have decided to stay. You all will have a home here for as long as you wish,” his smile becomes much more natural, and his companions appear to somewhat relax.

“If you’ll excuse me, I should turn in for the night,” Viktor refuses to look into their eyes; if he sees any sign of pity, he will expel the sweetmilk whose warmth he so cherished just mere moments ago, “please, enjoy the rest of your evening.”

He sighs when he steps through the door. 

His pristine house, free from the horror of the day’s events, still reeks of blood .

Chapter Text

Before his mind can catch up, Viktor is already rushing to the bathroom. His throat spasms and tears spill down his cheeks from the violence of his body's reaction as he retches into the small toilet. Not much comes up; it's mostly a mix of sweetmilk and stomach acid burning his throat with each wave, his whole body jerking forward. 

The feelings come first; a spark of fear here, a ripple of depression there. He kneels in front of the toilet, gasping desperate breaths, reeling from the suddenness of his morning. He hasn't yet properly awoken from the uneasy slumber, barely able to register where he is. Something nudges his mind, his fear spikes, and he's once again bending forward, retching into the bowl.

Then there's the pain in his stomach, the disgusting aftertaste, and the wave of sorrow hitting his heart, and Viktor remembers .

He spends two hours on the floor in front of the toilet. 

His mind is blank, his thoughts scattered, his body stationary. Only his eyes, unaffected by his Hexcore - and therefore not impervious to permanent damage - blink periodically, though that does very little to make him appear less dead .

He stands up eventually; he never stays dead for long anyway . His Hexcore remains silent, able to help with physical damage, less so with psychological. Sky is still missing, but Viktor thinks he prefers it this way, for now. He wishes not to hear what she would likely say. He has chosen this path; he won't follow another.

He cleans up as he normally would, dressed in a lighter set of robes; a simple cotton, this time, instead of his regular blanket. He glances at the ruined cloth in the corner of the room and sighs. It might be for the better, he thinks. The last thing he'd like is to think of Jayce while he- while- 

Viktor groans, rubbing his temples. No time for distractions . He needs breakfast, first of all, and then.. then he'll- 

He'll decide later. Easy as that. Very simple. 

Breakfast, yes. He can do breakfast.

He commits a small act of thievery and walks through the market with an easy smile on his face - easy? has to be, Janna, he better be doing a good job of that - sipping on a glass of apple juice. He holds the custard bun he's been given with both reverence and apprehension; his stomach still feels sore, but the enticing smell of the sweet treat might eventually convince him to take a bite. For now, apple juice will do.

“Hey, Cookie! Wait up!”

He stops mid-step, stumbling slightly before he catches himself on the staff. The voice is unmistakable and he quickly closes his pocket and sighs, his smile turning a little less forced. 

Jinx is always a welcome distraction.

As he turns around, Viktor's heart swells slightly with affection. Isha, situated on Jinx's shoulders, is holding onto the girl's twin braids like reigns as the elder skips towards him. Sweet things.

“Right, good, stay here for a m-ah-moment,” she pants, bending forward with her hands on her knees as she stops in front him; Isha almost falls off her shoulders, “Listen, V, Vi told me- ha, V, Vi, V, that's funny- Vi told me you figured out shit with dear old dad?” She looks at him with wide eyes. 

Viktor takes a sip of his juice. He ignores the way his heart skips a beat.

“...perchance.”

Jinx straightens up quickly, almost throwing Isha off, “You can’t just say- ugh, come ahh-nh ” Isha glowers at her, gripping her braids a little tighter.

It's easy to ignore his struggles when these two are around.

“Why, hello to you too, Jinx… and Little Jinx,” he sounds just as amused as he wishes he felt.

“Little Jinx? Ha! Heard that, kid?” She tilts her head up to look at the girl who hits her lightly at the sudden movement, “hehe- sorry” she looks back at Viktor, “for real, though, you talked to him yet?” 

“A little” he hums, “Getting past the w- the wolf, is a little… Difficult. It's very… Territorial” he hesitates, “I think… I think it's best if you avoid the greenhouse when I’m- when I’m working with h-him.”

The words taste sour.

Jinx doesn't notice.

“Sure thing! So, how long till he's, you know, dad again?” She asks, “I mean, I don't expect him to suddenly up and start playing chess, he never knew how to anyway, that was Silco’s thing, but a little ‘Hi how's it doing? How's school’ or whatever would be nice, you know, so I'm just askin’ if you can, ehh, approximate it for me, like, are we talking days or weeks or-”

“Jinx”

“I sure hope it's not months- don't get me wrong, the place is nice and all if you ignore the cultish vibes - that dress? ain't doing much for the allegations, bud - but it'd be awesome to go home, maybe, since we're all together again, well.. except for Pops but they wouldn't get along anyway-”

“ Jinx ”

“Unless.. now that kid's here maybe they would , but like, we won't know anyway, cause, you know, Pops’ dead now- well, we thought dad was dead too but Silcos's dead dead, I saw the body and-

“ Jinx please!”

Jinx stops and gapes at him for a moment.

“...woah. Didn't know you could yell.”

Viktor sputters, “That-! That was hardly a yell ,” he scoffs, “I had to get your- ehh, attention is a strong word-”, “-hey!” “Regardless, I need you to keep your sisters from stepping inside the greenhouse, if you would. If the wolf or I are distracted it could.. Well, it might get, ehh.. bloody.” 

He winces, desperately hoping for no questions .

She asks one immediately,

“...sisters?” 

“Eh..” Viktor blinks, feeling a little lost, “uh, yes. Or is she your.. daughter? Ah, but you seem quite young…” He looks at Isha and back at Jinx again.

“Wh- huh? No, kid's a.. friend? Yeah?” She looks at Isha, who simply shrugs.

Viktor tilts his head, “There's no friends in Zaun,” he takes another sip of his juice, “there are only two kinds of relationships here,” he finally takes a bite of the custard bun, and continues after he swallows, “close-kept enemies, or family. You seem to be the latter, no?”

Jinx stays quiet; Isha nods.

“...anyway, can I count on you?” Viktor asks.

Jinx doesn't reply at first, looking off to the side with a distant gaze. Viktor frowns, concerned.

“...yeah, you- you would’ve liked him, huh..” she trails off, silent for a moment, before her whole body jerks and Isha yelps as she stumbles again.

“I like you, Cookie,” she grins, “sure, leave it to lil’ ol’ me - I'll keep my sisters outta your head” she turns around and hops off, Isha pulling on her braids as she struggles to stay upright, until they trip and fall to the ground. The fit of giggles that follows spreads through the Commune like a merry chime.

Viktor smiles and turns back toward his house.

The bottle of oil in his pocket feels heavier with each step he takes.