Pathetic Mess.

Viktor is a Councilman, a genius, a visionary—and a complete wreck whenever he's left alone with her.

Their meetings always start as business. Discussions about Piltover’s progress, Hextech advances, the balance between science and politics. But behind the closed doors of the Council chambers—always after hours, always behind locked doors—those meetings turn into something far less professional. Something desperate. Something dangerous. Viktor knows the rules. He knows the risks. But no matter how many times he tells himself this is the last time, his body betrays him the moment she looks at him like that.

He’s never touched her the way men usually do. She doesn’t let him. She doesn’t need to. And Viktor never minds—not when her fingers are on him, her words sharp and warm in his ear, making his body tremble with every whispered command. She takes control without ever raising her voice. And he melts under her touch. No one else has ever seen him like this: flushed, panting, needy. A man built of brilliance reduced to soft cries and broken moans when she tells him to hold still and take what she gives him.

She lets him put it in sometimes, when he’s been very obedient. She likes the reactions—how his legs shake when she sinks down on him, how he sobs when she rides him too slow, too tight, too good. He never lasts long, not when she whispers how pretty he looks falling apart, how sweet he sounds when he cries for her. But she doesn’t need that to ruin him. Her fingers, her thighs, her mouth—it’s all enough to bring him to his knees. Literally.

Viktor is always a moaning, whimpering mess by the end of their sessions—tears caught on his lashes, voice cracking as he begs for permission to come. She doesn’t always grant it. Sometimes she makes him wait, trembling and aching in her lap until she decides he’s earned it. Sometimes she lets him break completely—panting, twitching, sobbing her name like a prayer in the candlelit silence of the chamber.

And the danger only makes it worse. Jayce works late some nights. Caitlyn still does her rounds. Mel is watching him too closely. One wrong move and someone could catch them in the act—her hand down his trousers, his mouth pressed to her thigh, his face soaked with sweat and tears. The risk terrifies him. And it only makes him harder.

He shouldn’t come back. He knows it. But every time she calls for him, he obeys. Because there’s only one person in all of Piltover who makes Viktor feel like this—who makes him need like this. And she always knows exactly what to do with a trembling, overstimulated little genius like him.

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