#IFABM

[cheeriecherrymain]

Incorrigible Flirts And Besweatered Men [Chapter 1]

Pairing: TA!Viktor x Fem!Reader Warning: reader being an incorrigible flirt, Viktor being shy as hell Rating: T (so far) Summary: Your Professor’s assistant is cute as hell, which sucks for him, because you’re going to eat him alive (in a good way).

You’re out of breath and confused, and anxiety is beginning to bubble up in your chest. You’ve been walking around the area for more than half an hour - darting between buildings and scrutinizing your surroundings - to no avail. You’d left twenty minutes early in preparation of needing to locate the building your class would be held in, but you were still going to be late.

You’d printed out the map and directions provided by the school, and you had google open on your phone! And you were still lost - though not according to any of your resources.

According to the school map, there should be a building in front of you, and not inconsequential in size: made of dusty brown brick, with industrial windows lining the exterior. But you see no such thing. It’s even more baffling, because according to google, you were right where you were meant to be.

You glance around again, and scoff. You’re standing in the middle of a bricked crossroads, in the center of the campus’ older quad - the vintage sector, as some liked to call it. You’d been running willy nilly around the same area for the last four years, both attending classes and sneaking around after parties, and never, in your entire time of being there, had such a building existed.

“Pardon me?”

A quiet voice behind you startles you out of your thoughts. So badly, in fact, that your phone flies out of your hand and lands face-down on the concrete with a sad thunk.

Immediately, the man behind you starts to apologize, but you just stare at your phone for a second before reaching down to grab it.

“It’s fine,” you say, blowing a little bit of dust off the screen. “I’ve repaired and upgraded this stupid thing like eleven times now. If it’s not bulletproof, then I clearly need to keep working on it.” You glance up at him with a reassuring smile, showing him the unharmed device while you get a good look at him.

He’s cute, you decide. Tall, slender, with soft-looking hair and the kind of warm, brown eyes that you’d always been a sucker for.

“You didn’t get my attention for nothing, though.” you continue, “Was there something I could help you with?”

The man seems to come out of his own thoughts, and takes a couple steps closer to you.

“The opposite, actually,” he says, his gaze darting down to the map in your hands. “You seem lost. I thought I might be able to offer directions, if you need?”

Your shoulder sag in relief, and you’re quick to show the somewhat-crinkled, blurry image to the kind stranger, who regards it with a miffed expression.

“Ah, I’ve been saying for years that the maps of the science quadrant need to be updated. You’re one of Professor Heimerdinger’s students, no?”

Your smile further widens, and you nod.

“If you’ll follow me, then. I can take you there,” he says, and starts off in a direction that you’d walked several times before.

You debate going after him, since surely it would be of no consequence to you…but a tiny voice in the back of your mind encourages you to wait.

The man pauses about ten feet from you, and turns back when he isn’t able to hear your footsteps. You fidget a little bit under his gaze, even though you don’t feel particularly judged or scrutinized. You’re even about to offer an explanation, when a look of realization suddenly dawns across the man’s face.

He immediately comes back to you, digging around in his pockets along the way. By the time he comes to a stop at your side, he’s already producing his student identification card, as well as his teachers aide ID.

“My name is Viktor,” he explains, as you study the cards he’s given you. “I’m Professor Heimerdinger’s assistant, and one of his teaching aides.”

You nod, pleased with not only the information you’ve garnered, but also his willingness to give it to you.

“Sorry,” you tell him, handing his items back to him. “It’s not that you seem untrustworthy or anything like that. You just… can’t be too careful, y’know?”

When Viktor starts walking again, you’re quick to follow.

“There is nothing to forgive,” he promises. “Our campus is safer than most, but I have… heard horror stories. As you said, one cannot be too careful.”

Your heart warms a little at his understanding, and you keep pace at his side instead of trailing just behind him.

You chat idly with him as you walk past buildings you’d seen dozens of times, asking him about his school life and what he found enjoyable about teaching. Eventually you start to pass buildings you’d never seen before, but he walks with purpose and familiarity; even when the little voice in the back of your head springs up again, you’re quick to quiet it down and continue following.

The pair of you round the corner of an old lecture hall, and you pause. There, nestled in amongst shrubs and ivy, is the building you’ve been searching for.

“What the hell is it doing all the way over here?” you ask, not of anyone in particular. “Did they just- pick it up and move it???”

Viktor answers with a quiet huff that you’re pretty sure is a laugh, and says, “Yes, actually.” Leaving you to flounder for a couple seconds in surprise before darting to catch up to him.

“You know,” he says again, “I am surprised you haven’t asked me about Heimerdinger’s teaching methods yet.”

The two of you come to a stop outside a heavy metal door, with a keypad and card reader set up beside it.

“You are aware of his reputation amongst the student body, no?”

You watch as he pulls out one of the cards he’d shown you earlier, and swipes it through the reader to unlock the door.

“I’ve heard everything by now,” you reply, helping him tug the door open enough for the two of you to slip inside. “The stories get more convoluted every year - like failing entire classes on multiple occasions, and having the highest dropout rates among the entire faculty.”

“And yet, you do not seem to have any worries?”

The hallway Viktor leads you down is one of the most nauseating spaces you’ve ever been. Worn linoleum flooring, and faded yellowish walls with a multitude of cracks, water stains, and the occasional cobweb. With a crinkle of your nose, you ask, “Do you meet many fifth-year physics students who are willing to believe information without checking the facts first?”

“You would be surprised.”

“It’s a miracle they haven’t been weeded out by now,” you sigh, realizing that you’re definitely going to have to cope with annoying classmates. “Since you asked, though, I don’t like to leave my decision-making up to other people - I’d rather try something first, and discover for myself that it’s not working out.”

As you and Viktor near a modern, out-of-place-looking door at the end of the hall, he asks, “What if everyone around you says that your tribulations would end in failure? Would you still try?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately, and honestly.

Viktor seems pleased with your answer, though he doesn’t voice his thoughts; a quirk of an eyebrow and the barest hint of a smile is all he gives you.

“Plus,” you say, amplifying the mischief in your tone as you push open the door to the small lecture hall. “I had Heimerdinger in my second year. I’m well aware that he can be a hardass at times, but he’s a good teacher, and I learned a lot from him.”

You gently trail your hand over Viktor’s arm as you pass him - a friendly gesture to anyone who might be watching - and give him your cheekiest smirk. You manage to catch the slight widening of his eyes, as well as the near-immediate pink that dusts his cheeks, and you’ve definitely decided: he’s cute as hell.

—

The rest of the class goes off without a hitch, and is about what you expected it would be: it’s a three-hour class, and you’re more than grateful that you don’t have any other sessions scheduled on the same days. The syllabus seems hefty - although still doable - and you know for a fact that your stress levels are going to be through the roof throughout the semester.

You know that the workload is only to discourage students who aren’t serious about learning the material, but it still seems an ineffective way to rule out unmotivated individuals. You were still there, after all, and you were five years in.

At one point, Heimerdinger steps out of the room to make a phonecall, and leaves Viktor to continue speaking on his behalf. Explaining expectations that everyone will have implemented on them, as well as writing down and iterating office hours and contact information.

At one point, when Viktor’s gaze falls on you for the umpteenth time, you shoot him a coy smile, and delight in the way his face lights up pink again. 

Such a sight keeps your spirits up as the professor returns to the lecture hall, and announces your first assignment.

—

You stand up in your seat after everything is finished for the day, stretching with a pleased squeak, until your spine cracks and you’re able to breathe again. It doesn’t take long to pack up your things, as they currently only consist of a notebook, a binder, and a bunch pf pretty-coloured pens, but by the time you’re heading towards the door, most of your classmates are already gone.

“Ah, Y/N?”

You pause mid-step when you hear the soft lilt, and turn towards Viktor.

“Yes?” you wonder sweetly, and move a little closer to him.

It’s as if your very presence is flustering him, with the way he starts and stops his sentences several times. “That’s technically the staff entrance,” he finally manages, “It was closer than walking around the rest of the building, earlier, since there’s a fence blocking the shorter route to the main exits, and class was about to start-”

You wait patiently while he collects himself.

“All this to say; you would get in trouble, if you were to be caught in the wrong place.”

Your eyes quickly flick towards the Professor, who is thankfully in the middle of an animated conversation with a pair of other students.

“I don’t mind a little bit of trouble,” you say cheekily, slinking closer to him until you’re nearly touching. “It’s always more exciting to be somewhere off-limits, isn’t it?”

Viktor looks like he might combust if you take your flirtations any further, so you continue, “Besides, I don’t actually know where the proper entrance is.”

You note the way his shoulders droop slightly - though you’re not able to tell if it’s from relief or disappointment - as he begins to rattle off directions.

“You’ve seen how terrible I am with directions, Viktor.” You’re unable to help yourself, entirely enticed by his sweet reactions to your instigations. “Maybe you could show me? If it’s not too much trouble?”

—

Once the two of you are outside again, you take a deep breath of fresh air. The lecture hall itself wasn’t terrible, even if it was old, but the hallways were vile in everything that they were - from the colour of the walls, down to the distant stench of stale lysol.

“Thank you, Viktor,” you tell him, “I’d still be wandering around in there if not for you. Like some weird variation of the Backrooms.”

He looks puzzled for a moment, before shaking his head. “It’s nothing. It’s my job as one of your teachers to make sure you’re learning as much as you can.”

“That includes the layout of the building?”

“Yes,” he confirms, and the smile he gives you makes the butterflies in your stomach start fluttering.

You stand there for a couple moments, neither of you really sure how to say goodbye for the day, unsure if you even want to go your separate ways yet.

“Hey, do you have a phone?” you ask suddenly, and Viktor nods.

“I do,” he says, pulling the little device from his pocket to show you. “Why?”

You make grabby hands towards it. “Unlock it, so I can add my contact information.”

If you thought he’d been blushing earlier in the day, you’d have been sorely mistaken. His face erupts in red the moment he comprehends your request, and he looks as though he’s become acutely aware of the fact that he has hands.

Adorable, you think to yourself.

“I’m in off-campus housing, and most days, the internet is pretty spotty,” you explain, taking pity on his slightly-panicked state. “I…don’t really want to have to walk twenty minutes to the nearest starbucks to send an email saying I won’t be attending class. Or to ask a tiny question that doesn’t warrant an office-visit.”

Viktor nods quickly, as if you hadn’t just pulled your reasoning out of your butt - your internet was, in fact, fantastic - and hands you his phone.

You, in return, hand him yours, and the two of you quickly punch in your info. You decide to keep yours professional, despite how you’ve been teasing him throughout the day, and make sure to add your class details in the event that he forgets who you are.

You still put a smiley face at the end of your name, though.

When you hand your phones back to each other, Viktor finally bids you a good afternoon, and disappears back into the building. Your heart flutters again, and you find yourself suppressing a childish, giddy smile. You knew for a fact that it was against the rules for teaching assistants to have relationships with students from the classes they were teaching, not to mention it was a social taboo.

But then, you were both adults, and he seemed to at least find you attractive. There was no harm in flirting, and if anything more came from it? You were both aware of the rules, and if Viktor chose to escalate things, then who were you to stop him?

[cheeriecherrymain]

Incorrigible Flirts And Besweatered Men [Extras #1]

Pairing: Viktor x fem!Reader Rating: 18+ MDNI!  Warnings: accidental finger-knife wounds, enthusiastic blowjobs Proofread: no beta we die like men Summary: You go over to Viktor’s house for dinner, meet his roommate, and accidentally hurt yourself. But Viktor is the best boyfriend, so you reward him for it. tysm to @trfanglophile for requesting more of the story this was so fun to write <3

Do not click the Read More if you are under 18. All content is consumed with viewer discretion and consent.

You toss your shirt on the bed, pulling on a sweater instead. It’s yellow, and soft, and very flattering, and when you look in the mirror, you cringe.

It was also way too fancy.

Dinner at Viktor’s place was supposed to be casual, he’d said. Not to mention the two of you were going to actually be cooking it together - skinning and chopping a variety of vegetables, among other things. You wouldn’t want to get anything on such a nice-looking sweater.

Not to mention it would be too hot.

With a sigh, you pull it over your head and toss it into the growing pile with your previous shirt.

It takes a couple of tries, but eventually you manage to find a nice button-down. It’s navy and comfy, and you’re pretty sure it’s meant to be worn as a short dress, but it’s winter so you opt to ignore that. Your leggings look fine underneath it.

Or do they?

You pensively chew the inside of your cheek: you know you’re thinking way too hard about this. It was just dinner with your boyfriend - nothing you hadn’t done before! Except this time you were in his house, where he lived. And you were cooking, no less! 

What if you messed up? What if you spilled an entire thing of salt into the soupstock and ended up rendering the entire pot inedible?

And, god, hadn’t he said something about meeting his roommate?

“Don’t worry about it,” Viktor had said, “Jayce is probably the friendliest person I know - seriously, if you say hi to him and ask him about his work, he’ll put you on the list of people he’d die for.”

You stare at yourself in the mirror.

Viktor wouldn’t lead you wrong. He cared about you, and you cared about him - more than that, you trusted him. If he promised that dinner would be fine and lovely, then…

You take a deep breath and steel your nerves. It’ll be fine, you tell yourself, heading downstairs to finish getting ready.

—

The bus over to your boyfriend’s address isn’t particularly lengthy, though it’s also not particularly direct. You’re grateful that you don’t have to walk the entire way over, but you don’t mind the thirty minutes you have to spend outside. The sky has been grey all afternoon, and finally as the sun is setting, the fat snowflakes have begun to fall from the sky.

It’s chilly, even without any wind, but it’s blessedly quiet and offers you a couple moments of peace. You still have to pull out your phone every couple hundred feet, to make sure you haven’t missed a turn or taken a misstep, but it’s nice.

And when you finally stop in front of Viktor’s house? It’s also nice.

He’d sent you a picture of the outside earlier in the day, so you’d know exactly what you were to be on the lookout for - he knew how anxious you were about new places, and how you sometimes doubted yourself.

It’s a huge relief to find the place, and already know what to expect.

You shoot your boyfriend a quick text to tell him that you’re there, and then carefully make your way up the front walkway. You wonder for a second if you should ring the doorbell or not, or if you should just knock, but by the time you decide the door is already being pulled open.

You stare at Viktor for a half a second with wide eyes, and he retaliates with a bemused smile, as if he already knows what argument was going on inside your head.

“Sorry!” you squeak anyways, kicking the snow off your boots before stepping inside, “I didn’t know if ringing would be like…annoying or something.”

He shakes his head, the small smile never leaving.

“It’s no issue,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your chilly cheek, “You’re here, and that’s what matters. You didn’t have any issues getting over here, did you?”

You toe your boots off and nudge them out of the way, shrugging your coat off as you do. 

“No, it was okay,” you tell him, hanging it on one of the hooks behind the door. “There weren’t any buses that took me directly here, so I opted to walk the last third of the way.”

Once all your winter gear is tucked away, you’re able to get a better look around.

It’s a nice home, though the design is older. It’s done mostly in dark wood and neutral tones, though the decorations set around offer some nice pops of warm colour. It’s cozy and comfortable, and it…smells really good.

Like spices, and cooked meats, and-

You pause.

“Did you start cooking already?” you ask him, curious rather than accusatory.

He takes your hand, and leads you further into the house, down the main hallway and into the kitchen.

“The recipe calls for fresh soupstock,” he explains, “and that can take a couple of hours. We could have used bouillon cubes I suppose, but in my experience, it doesn’t taste as good.”

You nod, accepting his response. He was right in that it didn’t taste quite the same - you’d had fancy soups and such in your youth, when you’d still been under the thumb of your wealthy parents. 

You probably would have continued to use fresh stock, too, had you not learned how it was made.

“You’ve also saved me from having to touch bones,” you tell him, and gently tug him down into a chaste kiss. “I’ll have to reward you for that. Later, though.”

You revel in the way his cheeks dust with pink, and turn towards the bowl of vegetables set out on the counter. “Is this everything we have to cut up?

—

The two of you chatter aimlessly as you work through the basket, diligently chopping every leek and potato and onion before tossing it into the pot of boiling broth. Viktor had thankfully already filtered the bones and flesh out, so you didn’t have to risk your stomach flipping over before the night even began.

“You don’t know of anywhere nearby that allows pets, do you?” you ask him, as you carefully slice an onion. 

Viktor empties his chopping board into the pot, and grabs another root vegetable.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” he says, “Not anywhere that’s affordable, at least. There are a few places open in the apartment across the main street, but they’re…”

“Expensive?” you suggest.

“About three thousand a month.”

You wince.

“I know I won’t get much for what I’m able to pay,” you sigh, scooping up your onion cubes to plop them into the broth. “But I really don’t mind having a small space. I only worry about getting noise complaints - even if I have headphones on, piano keys banging can be kind of loud. I wouldn’t want to be a nuisance to my neighbors.”

The tap-tapping of Viktor’s knife on the cutting board pauses, and from the corner of your eyes you can see him turn partially to you.

“About that - there was something I wanted to talk to you about,” he begins.

Only to be cut off by the sound of the front door bursting open.

“Whatever you’re making, it smells incredible!” a voice calls from down the hallway, followed by the sound of boots being kicked off and a coat getting tossed up somewhere.

Eventually the maker of all the sound bustles into the kitchen, following his nose. The way his eyes widen when he sees the pot bubbling on the stove is almost comical, and you fight to hold back a grin.

“It’s potato stew!” you tell him, as he makes a beeline to your side.

“Vik’s recipe?” he asks, tacking on, “I’m Jayce, by the way. I assume you’re the amazing, wonderful girlfriend he’s been talking about?”

“I hope so,” you tease, earning a snicker.

You watch as Jayce grabs the biggest spoon he can find, and moves to dip it in the pot. “I know it’s not finished cooking,” he starts to say. But right before the tip of his utensil touches the broth, a loud, hollow clonk echoes through the kitchen.

You stare slack-jawed at Jayce, who dons an expression of pure shock and disbelief.

And behind him, Viktor, wielding a wooden spoon.

You have to turn away to hide your laughter, though you’re certain you do a poor job of it. You’re silent, but the shaking of your shoulders definitely gives away what’s happening.

“What was that for!” Jayce complains, though there’s no malice in his tone.

“You’re a bottomless pit,” your boyfriend retorts. “If I let you have a sip, you’ll eat the whole pot.”

“I won’t!”

“Two years ago, new years’ eve-”

“That was one time and I was drunk!”

“No soup until we’re finished.”

“But-”

You finally turn back around, giving up with keeping the amusement off your face. “The one with the recipe makes the rules,” you say, patting him on the shoulder.

Jayce looks so earnestly downtrodden that you almost feel bad for banishing him from the kitchen. “I’ll make sure to save you at least a couple bowls,” you promise him, winning a hopeful smile from him as he wanders into another room.

“Never mind asking him about work to earn his trust,” Viktor says, his voice dripping with fondness, “You’ve just promised him food. You’ll never get rid of him now.”

He presses a quick kiss to your temple, and the two of you turn back to your tasks. Though it only takes a moment before you’re curious.

“Hey, Vik?” you ask, “What were you saying earlier?”

“Mm?”

“Before Jayce came in,” you clarify. “You said you wanted to talk to me about something.”

A few seconds of silence follow your question, before, “Ah! Yes, you were saying that you were having a hard time finding an affordable living situation which also allows pets.”

You dump the onion cubes into the pot, and grab a potato from the basket.

“And Jayce, he- well, he didn’t mention it just now, but I don’t see why he would, since it had nothing to do with the conversation, and he’s no the type to just blurt out random things-”

You purse your lips, trying to keep away a bemused smirk.

“What I mean is…Jayce is moving in with his partner at the end of the week - romantic partner, that is. And I wanted to, you know, extend the invitation. To you. Paying part of a mortgage is far less expensive than paying rent, and you would have more space, as well as privacy.”

The question surprises you so much that your hand slips on the knife, sending it hard through the vegetable…and through the meat of your pinky.

“Fuck!” you hiss, immediately pulling your hand away to assess the damage.

“I know it’s a bit unorthodox,” Viktor says, his attention remaining on his own task, “We haven’t been together very long, after all-”

“No, that’s not-” you pause with a sigh, and turn towards him, cupping your other hand beneath your wounded one to avoid bleeding all over the floor. “Vik, I cut my finger. And I’ve got vegetable juice in it.”

His posture immediately tenses, and he’s turned around to be at your side in an instant. His eyes widen when he sees all the blood you’ve been collecting, so he grabs for the first thing he thinks of - the thin kitchen towel that hangs over the oven handle.

“Paper towels,” you say, trying in vain to remind him. But he soaks up the mess with the soft fabric towel instead, wiping away all that you had gathered in your palm, and up the side of your hand, until he’s able to wrap the sullied scrap around your wound.

“Keep pressure on it,” he very sweetly orders you, laying a kiss on your cheek. “It doesn’t look deep, so the bleeding should stop soon. I’ll be right back.”

You assume he’s off to go and find some kind of bandaid or first aid kit, but even a few moments alone is enough time for you to grow curious, and morbidly so.

You carefully remove the towel from around your hand, and locate the little burning slice by the base of your finger. It really feels worse than it looks, you think, because even with red slowly welling up from the cut, it’s…not very big. 

You dab away the blood to get a better look, carefully pulling apart the two flaps of skin to see how deep it really runs. You can’t see any fat, thankfully, so it won’t need a stitch, but you can see sinuous tissues pulling at each other, and- oh.

You quickly replace the towel over the cut as the world starts spinning, hoping that your lightheadedness will pass if you don’t stare directly at the cause of it. But it’s too late.

The sound around you starts to fade, and you know the feeling better than most - like a panic attack without the panic. You’re dizzy, and everything is too bright, and you’re more than a little nauseous all of a sudden.

You quickly plop down to the floor, letting your head fall back against the cupboards while you shut your eyes and try to measure your breathing.

In.

Out.

You can only hear your heart pounding in your ears.

In.

Out.

Someone says something, but you’re not sure what.

In.

Out.

A cool, tender hand on your forehead, lingering for a couple seconds before stroking down your cheek.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

It takes a minute or two for the world to fade back in - for your nausea to pass and your tremors to fade - for you to feel well enough to open your eyes.

Unsurprisingly, Viktor has managed to maneuver himself onto the ground near you, watching you with concern while he simultaneously sorts through a little medical pouch that he’s brought from…somewhere. Less expected is Jayce, observing with the same amount of worry, but standing a couple feet away.

“Feeling a little better?” your boyfriend asks, gesturing for your hand.

“I maybe looked a little too close at it,” you admit sheepishly, offering him your wound to fix.

“At least you made it to the floor without falling,” Jayce chimes in, and instead of sighing, Viktor simply nods in agreement.

He works gently with you, cleaning away the drying blood with an alcohol pad, and soothing you with soft words when some of it inevitably gets into the damaged skin. The salve he smears on afterwards helps a great deal, though, calming the inflamed area with a subtle coolness.

By the time he wraps your finger with gauze and secures it with medical tape, you’re almost completely alert, watching him with the same morbid curiosity as earlier.

He presses a kiss to the back of your hand when he’s finished, and scoots back a bit to go through the motions of hoisting himself off the floor. It’s a little bit chaotic to watch, as he utilizes both the edge of the counter and Jayce’s arm, but he seems relatively fine after, straightening his sweater out and grabbing his cane from where he left it leaning.

You follow in suit, bringing yourself up slowly so the lightheadedness doesn’t return. Viktor keeps a comforting hand on your arm to steady you, and you’re grateful for the small touch.

“I’m okay,” you say, taking a deep breath.

Jayce wanders back into the other room once you’re all sure that you’re not about to keel over, and you turn back to the vegetables.

“Why don’t you go sit down, instead?” Viktor suggests, squeezing your shoulder ever so slightly. “There’s not much left to do besides the last two potatoes, anyways.”

You pout at the prospect of not being able to help anymore, but you know that you’ll be of no use when you’re unable to use an entire hand.

You sigh dramatically, but you do as he says, keeping him company by chattering his ear off from across the room.

—

Dinner ends up being incredible. The soup is perfect and creamy, and the potatoes and other vegetables in it are cooked to perfection. Jayce comes in to grab a bowl as soon as you tell him that it’s finished, and you and Viktor end up inviting him to watch a movie with you.

You don’t want to banish the man from his own living room, and it turns out that he has pretty good taste in films, picking something from a genre you might call science horror.

It’s nothing you would have thought of, and it keeps the three of you entertained for its entire duration.

Though by the time the credits roll, you’re starting to get sleepy, as a warm meal plus a warm boyfriend to curl up against ought to do.

Jayce seems to be of the same mind, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn. “I think I’m gonna head to bed,” he says, lazily pushing himself off the couch, “I gotta finish moving my stuff over to Mel’s tomorrow, so it’ll be an early day.”

The three of you bid your goodnights to each other, and go your separate ways for the night.

Rather, Jayce heads upstairs, and you and Viktor remain unmoving on the couch.

“Any suggestions?” your boyfriend asks, idly flipping through Netflix titles. 

You hum contently, and snuggle closer into his side. “I dunno,” you mumble, distorted by the way you squish your cheek against his chest. “Maybe that one docuseries about ancient aliens?”

“Aliens?”

You smile at his skepticism. “It’s all speculation, you know. But it’s got a lot of interesting stuff about ancient cultures and ways of building, old legends, stuff like that.”

Viktor finds the show after a little bit of direction, flipping it on, and letting his arm come to fall across the back of your shoulders to scoop you closer.

He gets into the show surprisingly quick, always interested by history and figuring out how things work.

But you?

You’re…distracted.

You let your good hand come to rest on his thigh, which he doesn’t even bat an eyelash at. It’s when you start kneading him, that he finally raises a brow.

“What are you up to?” he asks, as if he doesn’t already know.

“I dunno?” you reply innocently, walking your fingers slowly up his thigh. “What am I up to?”

You can see the flush beginning to dust his cheeks, and oh how you want to see more. How you want to see his expression darken with need, how you want to hear his breathless little sounds and cries.

You lean further into him, to press a kiss to his neck.

“I want to make you feel good,” you tell him coyly, biting and sucking little marks into his skin. You loved how prettily he turned colour under your touch, whether it be the red of his cheeks or the blooming purple beneath where you’ve decided to love him a little harder.

“I always feel good, when you’re around,” he tells you, on the cusp of breathless. If you were to let your hand wander a little higher, to apply pressure where he was growing needy, you knew he’d make the prettiest little gasp.

So you do.

“You know what I mean, sweetheart,” you chastise, finally bringing your hand to cup him, lazily stroking around the outline of his hardening cock. “Do you want me to make you come?”

You watch in elation as his head momentarily falls back against the couch, and his eyes flutter shut. Desperately you want to keep teasing him, keep whispering dirty little things to him to see how he reacts, shower him with praise and compliments of how lovely he looks to already be such a mess for you.

But you can’t. Not unless he asks you nicely.

With great strain, you still your movements, never removing your touch entirely, but putting a stop to the dull pleasure.

“So you want me to make you come?” you repeat, when his head falls against you, and he opens his eyes to stare with utter desire.

“Please,” he begs, so soft and so sweet.

At his word, you’re quick to give him what he wants. You’re quick to unbutton his trousers and shove them down with his underwear, far enough to pull his cock out from beneath.

He’s heavy and hard in your hand, and you waste no time in slicking him up. You keep your pace leisurely and slow, building up the pleasure and sensation, earning a cacophony of sharp gasps and little cries from him.

With his face pressed into the crook of your neck, you can so easily hear the delightful noises he makes. He’s lovely, beautiful, perfect - things you whisper to him as you squeeze your fingers around him. 

Especially when you swipe the pad of your thumb over the head of his cock. His wobbly moan is nothing short of sinful, and it shoots warmth through your body and straight to your core.

Your mind wanders back to the first night you’d spent together - how he’d brought you over the edge using just his tongue - how good you’d felt and how ruined you were by such an action.

It gives you an idea.

With a mischievous smirk, you pull away from him and settle him back against the couch. He whines a little bit at the loss of contact, and his obliviousness makes your plan all the sweeter.

Without a second thought, you pitch downwards and lick a broad stripe from the base of his cock to the tip.

The sound Viktor makes is loud, an earnest and uncontrolled moan, interrupted by his hand slapping over his mouth. You’re not sure if he’s ever done something like this before - the first time he’d fucked you, he’d done so with what felt like experience; the way his fingers had worked inside of you, the way he’d wrapped his perfect lips around your clit.

But the way he was shaking beneath you, a trembling hand coming to rest on the back of your head while you lave your tongue over the head of his cock? You wonder if he’s never experienced such a touch at all.

He doesn’t grip your hair, or try to encourage you to take more of him into your mouth - he simply lets his hand rest, idly stroking the soft hair by the base of your skull.

You can’t take all of him. Even with practice, you doubt you’d be able to perform such a feat. But whatever you can’t wrap your mouth around, you make up for with your hand, squeezing and pumping him in hopes of earning more delicious, pretty noises from him.

It doesn’t take an especially long time for him to start rolling his hips in time with your movements, seeking the pleasure out instead of just receiving it. He never takes too much, and is always careful of how deep you’re able to have him…

…you’ll have to tell him sometime that you want to choke on his cock.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he’s too far gone, uttering praises and swears in his native tongue, things you can’t understand but that are said with urgency and desperation.

“Close,” he whines, pulling slightly on your hair to encourage you to take your mouth off him. And use your hand to make him come, you wonder?

But you don’t listen. You hasten your pace instead, sucking harder on him. You wanted to taste his pleasure, you want to feel how he trembles in ecstasy.

You hear him slap his hand over his mouth again, preemptively muffling the beautiful cry he releases as he spills into your throat, while you stroke him to get out every last drop.

You swallow it all, not particularly bothered by the taste, but definitely too lazy to go and get a tissue.

You pull off him with a self-satisfied smirk, and carefully tuck him back into his pants while he catches his breath. Then, you lean back with him, pulling him to your side in a boneless, breathless lump.

“All good?” you ask softly, carding your fingers through his hair to scritch comfortingly at his scalp.

It takes a couple moments for him to gain some awareness and open his eyes, but when he does, he looks at you with some kind of intense, pure adoration, so much that it nearly knocks the air for your lungs.

“Very good,” he assures you, drawing you into a deep kiss.