#Viktor x f!reader

[hivemuthur]

Hello!

Soo how would you feel about a oneshot in which the reader and Viktor are university friends, text regularly and one night things get a little personal, and from personal to steamy, like sexting and sending pics.

Maybe only a few risky and dirty texts on the first night, things get a little awkward between them when they see each other again the next day, but they go all out once they start texting again.

Hi Anon, sorry it took so long.

Control Group

viktorxfem!reader explicit! Modern uni AU, sexting, phone sex, mutual masturbation, dirty talk.

word count: 4,4K

author’s note: sorry, it went into a little bit of a different direction. Not proof read because I don't have the will to do it.

—

You shoulder past clusters of half-awake students, trainers scuffing linoleum, hoodie flapping open like a sail that’s lost its wind. Last night’s revision still rattles in your skull; lids feel stapled to your brow, vision tunnelling as you swear the strip-lights flicker in Morse. Dress-to-impress? Irrelevant. The victory is not leaving the flat naked—no one here knows there’s a pyjama top skulking beneath the sweatshirt, buttons misaligned.

The queue at the campus café crawls. You bounce on your heels, counting breaths in fours the way Viktor once suggested for panic attacks. When the cardboard cup finally hits your hand the contents look like sump oil. You pay anyway.

Phone buzzes.

09:04 – Viktor: Today’s proof: time is real, and you are late. [photo: blackboard cluttered with equations, wall-clock caught in frame reading 09:05]

You hammer a reply with your thumb while the barista pours the black slur into the next unfortunate student’s mug.

09:05 – You: Got stuck in a queue for life-force. Coffee’s abysmal in the quad today—avoid. [photo: your fist, cardboard cup, liquid blacker than Anish Kapoor’s nonsense]

Ping.

09:06 – Viktor: Try diluting the tar with some sweetness and milk.

09:06 – You: Abomination. Black coffee or death. I’ll be right there, provide distraction. [photo: lecture-hall door from afar, brass handle smudged by generations of latecomers]

Mug clenched tight, you half-jog the final corridor. Heart drums loud with exertion. As you crack the door an inch, you catch Viktor already rising from his seat, cane hooked over one wrist, other hand waving a sheaf of notes at the professor.

“Sir, could you clarify this term here?” he asks, scratching the back of his neck like a puzzled schoolboy. His accent thickens—the performance version he keeps for emergencies. The professor, flattered, bends in close; Viktor angles his body just so, blocking most of the room from view.

You slip through the gap, slide along the far row, breath tucked tight in your throat. Desk creaks as you drop into the seat beside him. He doesn’t look, only shifts the sheaf of papers one notch higher, still baffling the professor with questions he solved last night.

Safe. Coffee sloshes as you set it down. Viktor returns, his knee nudges yours under the table as he sits, a silent you’re welcome. You nudge back: owe you one. The clock ticks to 09:07. Proof complete—time is real, and you’ve outrun it by a whisker.

A taut wire between you and Viktor is always alive—sometimes light as static, sometimes sparking hard enough to blind. If he’s hunched in the materials lab and you’re exiled to the library stacks, the chat thread fills with rapid-fire photographs: his scribbled derivations, your highlighted passages, the odd espresso cup sacrificed as scale bar. When revision drives you both feral he switches to voice notes so you can hear the scrape of his pen and the soft Czech curses that follow a mis-stroke; you reply with a sigh that rattles the mic and the rustle of pages turning.

The channel exists because, in Week One, Jayce Talis sloshed cheap red over your T-shirt at an underground orientation party. While Jayce shouted apologies, Viktor—cane, accent, faint smirk—recited the chemical recipe for neutralising tannins on cotton and typed it into your phone before you could memorise it. “Use cold water, two teaspoons sodium percarbonate, and agitation—complaints to this number if it fails.” It worked. The number stayed.

Since then mornings begin with snapshots:

06:43 – You: Need caffeine before human interaction. [photo: campus café sign “HOT BEAN JUICE”]

06:45 – Viktor: Premedicated. Lecture E2-203 in six. [photo: dark hall, fluorescent tube flickering]

Mid-afternoons carry jokes:

14:17 – Viktor: Your future husband built this. [photo: prosthetic arm prototype, wiring an ungodly tangle]

14:18 – You: Your opinion on my taste in men is atrocious. Also... didn’t you make that with Jayce last week?

14:19 – Viktor: Not confirming, not denying. The joke stands.

Nights close on softer notes, one of you too tired to type full sentences:

00:08 – You: brain mush.

00:09 – Viktor: sleep. equations unchanged by dawn.

The thread never quite veers past the border of friendly flirt: his “those glasses suit the curve of your cheek” defanged by your “don’t charm me while I’m holding solder”; your “bring your voice, I need background grumbling” shrugged off with his exaggerated eye-roll emoji. Exams loom now—tents of students litter the quad, blankets like bright islands—and the messages grow denser, almost hourly, but the bubble holds. Pure academic kinship, you insist. Just two bright sparks keeping each other lit.

Except for that one time. Second-year, end-of-term blow-out, everyone slick with cheap lager and relief. You remember backing into the courtyard wall, brick still warm from sun, plastic cup spilling over your trainers. Viktor followed, shoulders stiff with nerves he pretended weren’t there. Then his mouth was on yours—open, needy, tasting of bitter beer cut with mint cigarette—and the world pitched sideways.

His hands roamed without map, palms dragging from ribs to hips, thumbs hooking the waistband of your jeans as if checking the strength of the seam. He kissed like he’d been gagged for months: tongue eager, hungry, sliding against yours, retreating only to bite at your lower lip. Between each lick and nip a small, surprised moan slipped out—sweet, almost puzzled at its own volume—fell down the length of your body and pooled low, heat sparking behind your knees.

He pressed closer, cane abandoned somewhere in the grass, hips fitting between yours. Sloppy, clumsy, glorious; the grind of denim on denim made you gasp, made him chase the sound deeper into your mouth. Fingertips skated up your spine, counting vertebrae, then fanned wide across your shoulder blades as though to keep you pinned. Breath mingled, rough and fast, until the floodlights clicked on and someone laughed too loud nearby. Reality sluiced over both of you. You broke apart, pupils blown, lips stinging, and Viktor stepped back with a half-strangled apology neither of you accepted nor refused.

You told yourself later that romance is a luxury, that staying top of the class leaves no time for anything as messy as wanting. But on nights when revision melts your brain and the library lights blur, that single memory cracks the surface. You feel again the tremor in his fingers, the reckless tug of hips, and you wonder—just for a moment—how Viktor’s hands might travel elsewhere if given permission and an empty room.

Stop. Now it’s good. It’s civil; you’re friends for life and that’s worth more than any fleeting connection. You’ll holiday with your spouses, and maybe your imaginary children will become best friends and marry, so it all stays in the family.

You sigh and survey your surroundings: coffee pot nearly empty, notes scattered across the bed. Your dorm-mate’s blissful snore seeps through the paper-thin walls—lucky twat doesn’t have to run their body dry or sell their soul to scrape through finals. The clock shows 00:48. Phone in hand, thumb typing.

00:48 – You: Kinetics has devoured my brain. Distract me. Please.

00:49 – Viktor: Happy to assist. Evidence first. Present current condition.

00:50 – You: Brace yourself. Corpse-like imagery, not safe for work. [photo: selfie—hood up, textbook for pillow, cheeks smudged with graphite]

He opens it, snorts softly—because you look more mischievous than dead—and zooms in on the charcoal streak under your eye.

00:51 – Viktor: Corpse rating: 4/10. Pulse likely extant. Lower angle, better light? (this is very safe for work by my standards)

You raise a brow at the gall, but the request plucks an ache of curiosity.

00:52 – You: Am I being baited into something here?

00:52 – Viktor: It is merely a request for more data, no trickery. A drive purely scientific. Without proper data, I’m afraid I cannot assist you.

Sighing, and shaking your head, you tug the hoodie wider, let one shoulder show.

00:54 – You: Scientific obsession noted. [photo: hoodie sliding, neckline loose, collarbone catching bed-lamp glow] Control variable: dignity = 0.

Back in his bedroom, Viktor sucks in a wet gasp. He turns the phone sideways, studies the sharp line of your collarbone, imagines tracing it with a thumb. The heel of his hand is pressed over his chest; he feels the truth of the number.

00:56 – Viktor: Heart rate approximated at 87 bpm—mine, not yours.

00:57 – You: Peer review says prove it.

00:58 – Viktor: [video: six-second clip—two fingers pressed to the pulse point at his neck; the vein jumps hard under skin, rhythm rapid and undeniable] Evidence attached. Beats per minute trending north of ninety.

00:59 – You: Viewing thrice for statistical confidence. Conclusion: subject’s variables wildly skewed by unaccounted stimuli. Recommend further sampling.

01:00 – Viktor: Your methodology intrigues me. Suggest reciprocal data—perhaps respiratory rate?

01:01 – You: Fine. Observe the control losing composure. [photo: lips parted around the rim of the coffee cup, steam curling; focus tight on the base of your throat] Baseline: visibly accelerated.

01:03 – Viktor: Noted. Steam interference minimal; signal very clear. Correlation between my bpm and that throat confirmed.

01:04 – You: Bold to assume causation. Might be the tar masquerading as coffee.

01:05 – Viktor: Then we’ll isolate variables later: remove coffee, keep throat. Pure science.

01:06 – You: Dangerous hypothesis. But consider the request approved. [photo: finger pressed to mouth forming a pout, throat exposed, neckline of the hoodie pulled low, revealing top of the sternum] Diagnosis, Doctor?

Viktor gasps softly, surprised with himself how warm his cheeks feel. He runs his thumb on the screen where the pool between your collar bones glistens in the night light.

01:07 – Viktor: Diagnosis: Control deprived of rest and sensible company. Treatment: insulation and terribly clever jokes.

01:08 – You: Patient requests second opinion. Also: intensely bored.

01:08 – Viktor: Boredom fatal in forty minutes. Suggest stimulus level two: unplanned confession.

You raise a brow, type while nibbling the cap of your hoodie lace.

01:08 – You: Your field, Doctor. Confess.

01:09 – Viktor: Confession: still haven’t watched the film you recommended. Secondary confession:—

typing... deleting...

01:10 – Viktor: —kept the biro-bite photo from the library you sent on my phone, because I like the way you look when you’re trying not to laugh.

You stare, teeth sinking into lower lip.

01:11 – You: Unexpected variable. I keep screenshots of your lab doodles. They’re chaotic. Feels like seeing your thoughts naked.

He swallows. Has the window just opened? Fingers hover over camera. He is in his T-shirt, hem riding up. He decides on half-measure.

01:13 – Viktor: Speaking of naked thoughts—one more sample. No judgement. [photo: clavicle to mid-torso; thin shirt hitched, a strip of stomach, shadowed hip dip just visible] Heart rate still elevated.

Send. Instant regret. Instant thrill. He braces for reply.

You drop the phone, exhale through your nose. Heat pricks at ears. Hands tremble; you lift the sweatshirt, angle lens. Pause. Too much? Too much. You try again—nothing that would doom you, had the photo been leaked and someone recognized you. Not that you would ever suspect Viktor sharing such a detail with anyone, but better safe than sorry.

01:14 – You: Need to recalibrate breathing. Not bored anymore. [photo: cropped torso with hoodie ridden up, visible waistband of sleeping shorts stretched over hips, underside of breasts, nipples covered by sweatshirt’s hem] Level two. No judgement.

Viktor’s lungs stutter. He feels blood tugging south.

01:15 – Viktor: Judgement: unfit for polite society. [photo: hand, blotched with ink, resting on lower abdomen, bare. Thumb hooked over waistband. Sputter of hair leading beneath it visible.]

Heart banging, you type one line before you think better. Hit send anyway.

01:16 – You: Wonder how those ink-stained fingers feel.

He stares. Everything inside him locks. A full minute passes.

01:17 – Viktor: Feel where?

You swallow hard. Type. Delete. Press your palm to your forehead. Madness, surely—but boredom has mutated into something hungrier, and now the only scientific question that matters is how those ink-stained fingers would actually feel. The short-circuit lasts a full four minutes; Viktor does nothing but stare at his screen, breathing through his mouth until your reply finally lands.

01:21 – You: Here. [photo: middle and index fingers slipping between your lips; eyes half-closed, lashes low, a string of saliva catching the warm lamplight] Variable: texture.

Viktor’s pulse spikes; he watches the glisten, feels the echo of that string snapping deep in his thighs. Silence stretches on his side. He shoves his shorts down, cock hard and leaking; fist tight at the base, he smears pearly drops over the slit. Brain fogged enough to snap a photo he’ll regret at dawn—yet you beat him to it.

01:24 – You: Or here. [photo: two fingers curled inside slick, legs spread, cotton shorts rucked down mid-thigh]

01:25 – Viktor: You are killing me. [photo: ink-smudged fingers wrapped around the head of his cock; fist shiny with pre-come] Provisionally modelling pressure here.

You hiss, circling faster, pulse impossible.

01:26 – You: Model accepted. My surface currently highly conductive. How is your breathing now?

He exhales, a fractured “Fuck,” thumb shaking above the microphone icon. Decision made; he taps record.

01:26 – Viktor: [audio note, 0:04] “Keep showing me… fuck, I’m so close.”

The audio note crackles to life in your earbud: first a rough inhale, then the slick, unmistakable rhythm of skin on skin. His breathing staggers, each exhale catching on your name—half-spoken, half-groaned—while somewhere in the background the bedsprings creak a helpless counterpoint. A wet sound, sharper than the rest, tells you he’s being honest; the little hitch that follows shoots heat straight to your belly. Your pulse trips, thighs tightening all on their own.

01:27 – You: close too. Finish together?

You drag the camera lower, thumb trembling as you hit record. The lens fills with the slow clutch of your muscles around your fingers, breathy whimpers leaking past your bitten lip. Ten seconds, just enough for him to see everything tense and flutter.

01:27 – Viktor: Synchronise. Send evidence.

He props the camera, thumbs record, and lets the moment overtake him—body jolting, a loud groan torn open by your name, breath ragged as his release shudders through him. Thick ropes of cum spurt over his fist and stomach. He taps send without even watching the clip. The instant your phone lights with his file, your own proof is already on its way back to him.

01:27 – You: [video: a short clip, frame cropped from navel to mid-thigh. “Viktor, fu-huck—” you gasp as hips lift, inner muscles clenching around your own fingers. The camera shakes when your legs snap together, a final tremor racing through you before the image cuts.]

He breathes heavily and texts your back.

01:28 – Viktor: Post-trial observation: catastrophic success × 2. Motor skills questionable. Report from control group?

01:28 – You: Brain offline. Initiate regret in the morning.

01:29 – Viktor: We’ll analyse regret variables later. Sleep—if possible.

01:29 – You: We will see. Good night.

01:30 – Viktor: Good night, control group.

You stare at the screen a long while after his final text fades to grey. Thumb hovers, tempted to scroll back—frames of skin and breath and reckless honesty lined up like evidence—but each swipe pricks harder than the last. Post-climax clarity hits like a cold rinse: last time you crossed a line there was beer and exam panic to blame. Tonight the exits kept flashing—sleep, study, sheer prudence—and both of you walked past each one.

You drift into four hours of twitchy half-sleep, wake hollow-eyed and already braced for impact. No dawn ping from Viktor. No where are you? when you queue for nuclear coffee. The silence weighs a ton.

When you slip into the lab twelve minutes late, apology on your tongue, Viktor is already hunched over a bench, circles dark as bruises under his eyes. He hasn’t slept either.

“Morning,” you manage, neutral.

“Morning,” he echoes. “Did you sleep well?”

You snort into your sleeve. “What do you think?”

His shoulders lift, fall. “Look, I—I’m sorry if I went too far. It… just happened.” He toys with a pipette tip, gaze fixed on the plastic. “We don’t have to talk about it again, if you’d rather not.”

Disappointment bites surprisingly sharp; you taste metal at the back of your throat. Wetness pricks your eyes—exhaustion, you tell yourself—and you smooth your expression into something polite.

“Of course,” you say, voice steady. “Happens between long-time friends. Consider it forgotten. Never happened.”

Viktor nods once, a mechanical jerk, before turning back to the assay plates. The clatter of glassware fills the gap where last night’s confession used to be. You swallow around the echo, settle at your station, and pretend the silence is just another part of the experiment.

The rest of the day drags—lectures blur, and Viktor speaks to you only when strictly necessary. You resist sending him the funny things you spot on your feed, thumb hovering before you pocket the phone. Exhausted by stress and four hours’ sleep, you slump into your dorm room, nodding vaguely at your leaving flat-mate before burying your face in the pillow.

You’re on the brink of a restorative nap—one that will ruin any chance of proper sleep tonight—when your phone starts buzzing, and keeps buzzing. No text: a call. From no one else but Viktor.

“Hey, what’s up?” you answer, aiming for casual.

“I can’t forget yesterday,” he blurts in a single breath. “But I don’t want it to be strange. Please tell me we’re not going to be weird about it—I couldn’t stand another day like this.”

“Oh God,” you sigh. “Easy, Viktor. Slow down—I was nearly asleep.”

“Forgive me.” A pause. “I’m sorry for crossing the line.”

“It’s not as if you pushed when I was reluctant,” you remind him. “We crossed that line together.”

“I suppose.” He gives a shaky laugh. “Still—can’t believe I, of all people, sent you an unsolicited dick pic.”

“It wasn’t entirely unsolicited,” you blurt. “It wasn’t planned, but it wasn’t unwelcome either.” Silence. Either he’s stunned or you’ve just short-circuited his brain. “You have a very nice dick, Viktor,” you whisper into the stillness of your room.

He curses softly, murmurs your name. “What are you saying here, hm?”

“I’m saying—” you draw a steadying breath “—I can’t really forget yesterday either.”

Viktor sucks in air on the other end of the line. “All right—what do we do with this… data?”

A shy pulse of laughter slips out of you. “I don’t know, Doctor. What’s your prescription?”

He huffs, half-embarrassed. “I should warn you—I’m shyer on the phone.”

“Oh no,” you murmur, smiling into the darkness, all fondness, no bite. “I’m corrupting an innocent creature.”

“Innocent is debatable,” he answers, voice warm. Then, almost solemn: “You still don’t know how those fingers of mine feel on you.”

You lie back, free palm curling over the duvet. “Guide me.”

“Take your hand,” he says, tone dropping to a hush, “and pretend it’s mine. I’d start by brushing my thumb across your lower lip—soft, just enough to feel the give.”

You follow; skin tingles under the imagined touch. “Done, Doctor.”

“Good,” he murmurs. “Next, I’d press that thumb inside, just a little, watch your cheeks hollow when you close around it—once, then I’d let go.”

Your breath catches as you follow, the pad of your thumb slipping past your teeth. “That’s… done.”

“Then,” Viktor continues, voice turning almost dreamy, “I’d lean in and kiss you. Slowly,” he prompts, gentle.

“With tongue?” you ask, hand running down your neck.

“With tongue.” He sounds as though he’s smiling. “I still remember how you taste.”

You close your eyes, imag­ining the heat of his mouth, the careful sweep of his tongue meeting yours. The phone is silent except for your mingled breathing—steady, exploratory, each exhale a quiet permission to go a fraction further.

“Tell me what you feel,” he whispers.

Your thumb drifts around throat, tracing the pulse that leaps there. “Warm. A little light-headed. Like the room just tilted towards you.”

“Same here,” he admits. Paper rustles softly—perhaps his hand shifting on the duvet. “If we were face-to-face I’d cup your jaw next, hold you steady so you could lean as hard as you like.”

You follow the instruction, palm curling against your own cheek. Pressure, imagined and real, meets in the centre of your chest. Your breath slips out on a shaky laugh. “Steadier already.”

“Good.” His voice has gone hoarse, velvet over gravel. “Let’s stay there a minute. Just the kiss, no hurry.”

So you do—two mouths separated by miles of antenna cables but pressed together in perfect fiction, breathing shared across the wire, learning again the weight of restraint. Outside your window the campus settles into night; inside, the only sound is your pulse echoing his, two steady beats waiting for the next choice.

“I like your voice,” you breathe—small, embarrassed, as though the admission might crack the line.

Viktor laughs, soft and astonished. “Is that why you always text me and never call?”

“Maybe,” you tease, heat blooming in your cheeks. “Too late to hide it now.” A pause filled by breathing. “Tell me what you’d do with me, Viktor.” The words leave you as a whisper.

He answers with a low groan. “I don’t know what you like.”

“Well,” you murmur, pulse thrumming, “I like you.”

A shaky exhale rushes through the speaker. “All right. Using existing data, then.” His voice firms, though every breath sounds torn around the edges. “First, I’d kiss that spot just below your ear—slow—then lower, tracing the line of your neck.”

You tip your head against the pillow, fingertips ghosting the path he lays out. “Go on.”

“Down to your collarbones,” he continues, tone slipping deeper. “I’d lick there—test how sensitive you are. Maybe bite, just a little, to leave proof.”

Your fingers follow, brushing the dip at your throat. The air feels suddenly warmer. Viktor hears your soft inhale and presses on: “Then I’d kiss the middle of your sternum, right where your heart beats.” You imagine his mouth there, gentle weight grounding you. “I’d keep moving—imagine slow tongue across your stomach, right above the waistband.”

He pauses; when he speaks again the words hitch. “Tell me,” he murmurs, “how wet you are.”

You swallow, lips parting. “Enough that my shorts feel wrong,” you confess, voice barely a thread. “Enough I don’t need much imagination.” Fingers drift lower, gathering proof you don’t name aloud.

Viktor’s breath shudders. “Good. Stay there—just feel. Let me… catch up.” His own breathing scrapes the mic, rough with distance and want. “Tell me the next thing you need, and we’ll move together.”

You close your eyes, body humming at the edge of something vast, and try to find the words. Clearing your throat, your still the hand. “Are you…touching yourself?”

A quiet inhale over the line. “Yes,” Viktor admits shakily.

You bite your lip. “Are you imagining it’s my hand?”

“I’m imagining it’s your mouth, you innocent girl,” he answers, voice rough, and you gasp. “Close your eyes,” he adds, steadier. “Tell me what you want.”

You swallow, every nerve sparking. “I want you inside me,” you whisper. “Your pretty cock, I want it.”

Viktor curses softly; even over the phone you catch the hitch in his breathing. “I’d have to prepare you first. Tell me—would you want my tongue or my fingers?”

“Both,” you admit, cheeks burning.

He huffs a breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “Greedy,” he chides, fond. “But I’d give you anything. I’d start with kissing between your legs—enough that your scent stays on me all next day. Then I’d ease my fingers in, slow, holding you still when you try to wiggle.”

“How do you know I’d wiggle?” you ask, breathless.

“Because you’re impatient,” he says, warmth threading the words. “And I like that. I’d make you wait, take my time with you.”

“Viktor,” you say, pressure coiling tight as you try to mimic his instructions with your fingers.

“Say it again,” he whispers. “Say my name.”

“Viktor. Viktor,” you repeat, each syllable a pulse, and on the other end he groans, the sound rolling through you like thunder.

“I’d fuck you so slowly,” he murmurs, voice lilting higher, tangy. “Feel your thighs tighten around me—ah—” The line catches a ragged sound, half-moan, half-curse. “You’re dangerously sweet when you pout, you know that?”

“Oh, fuck,” you hiss, hips rolling into your hand as imagination fills the gaps: Viktor between your legs, his muscles trembling, sweat dripping off his nose into your mouth. His lovely fuck-face hung above you, lips swollen from kissing you breathless and parted as he fills you up.

“You sent me that picture of your belly yesterday,” he says, voice thick. “Oh God, it nearly killed me. It would look so pretty with my cum on it, I can’t even begin to imagine.” Breaths turn laboured and loud in your speaker. “Are you close?”

“Yes—so close,” you admit on a gasp. “Talk to me, please.”

“Oh, my clever girl,” he slurs, wet sounds faint in the background. “Whatever you’ve put inside yourself now, know that it’s nothing compared to how my cock will fill you up.”

Your answer dissolves into a shaky sigh, pressure winding tight as his voice sinks deeper, coaxing you closer to the edge with every promise. It’s nearly enough to hear Viktor breathing, but it’s when he starts moaning openly your eyes roll back in your skull—downright your favourite sound. He makes a ragged groan of relief announcing his climax, pulling you with him. Your neck tenses and muscles seize around your fingers you wish were his cock. Both of you fall apart into a salve of uneven inhales and exhales.

Silence stretches for a beat. Then—“Talk to me. How are you?” Viktor’s voice is wrecked.

“Amazing,” you sigh. “How are you?”

“You’ve made a complete mess of me,” he mutters, warmth shaping every vowel. Softer, he adds: “I really want to kiss you again. Please don’t go radio-silent on me.”

“You could come here. My flatmate’s out,” you offer. When Viktor hesitates, you ramble on, “Or… we could meet tomorrow after class. Or you can come now—ugh, Viktor, help me out here?”

A clatter sounds down the line. “Yes—sorry—cleaning myself up. I’ll be right there. Just don’t hang up.”

You laugh, still trembling. “All right. Just don’t break your leg.”

“Don’t complain,” he says, breathless, “I’m only rushing to see you, my control group.”

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

academic rivals request! viktor x fem!reader, nsfw

request: @4-leafed pls... if u have time pls write a viktor x reader that r both geniuses at the academy but very much toe the line of rivalry and sexual tension...i love competitive smart people that fall in love when the rivalry becomes respect ... and they FREAK IT!!! possibly in a lab ! up to you : 3c

i liked this request so much that i ended up writing a decent-ish one-shot….

update: i wrote a part 2 because it was highly requested! you can read it here :)

rating: explicit

word count: 3,5k

warnings: academic rivals. LOTS of dialogue and bickering. dubious science because i skipped it in school, had to do some basic chemistry revision to write this pornographic catastrophe, so please pat me on the back. rough sex? rough… foreplay, that’s for sure. dirty talk, if you can call bickering that. penetration. reader tries to slap viktor, spits in his mouth and he cums in his pants. normally, i only write vanilla stuff, so i have no idea how it turned out THIS kinky (at least for me okay). not proofread (yet). nsfw under the cut:

—

“How do you take your coffee?”

His voice betrays the feeble intention of civility, fusing that polite inquiry into a hiss—a phonetic torture you didn’t even know could occur before. So much for killing you with kindness. Outstaging quips by desecrating courtesies. 

“I don’t care,” you mutter on autopilot. Can’t let him in on any personal preferences, no matter how insignificant. “Just don’t put arsenic in it.” 

Viktor scoffs. Puts the kettle away and peers at you over his shoulder, all wretchedly complacent. 

“So the rest of the periodic table is welcome, I presume?” 

Viktor. The local Nikola Tesla knock-off. Never a moment of peace with him; and the fierce taste of competition grows coppery in your mouth whenever he’s in your sight—the most handsome trigger of your cheek-biting reflex.

His name is an insult on your lips and you want to taste it. Chew it, crush it with your teeth and spit right out, preferably aiming for those poignant eyes seeking you in every classroom—so eager to light up with objection the second your opinion differs from his. 

Always the first prick to disparage your input. A never-resting generator of all the meticulous ways to denounce your projects. 

“If I may.” 

Sickeningly polite, too. With that lithe finger pointing in the air— so irritatingly comical. He may not, but there isn’t a chance he’ll shut up, now, is there?

And so he’d clear his throat, straightening his tie in that ridiculously solemn fashion. As if stepping on a pedestal to deliver a life-changing speech—not some shallow nitpicking regarding your circuit breakers. All eyes on him while his kept staring only into your soul. Special treatment, if you will. 

You will not.

“Using magnetic frames is careless,” he’d state. With his hand imposingly pointing to the blueprint on your slide. “Copper coils may oxidize. Not to mention the overheating. I would use thermoplastics. They’re significantly more efficient. And heat-resistant.”

Oh please. Like someone here gives a shit about what you’d use. 

But you can’t say that. Not in a room full of professors. And, judging from the countless nods of approval, the shits were, in fact, being given. 

“Too risky,” you oppose. “Thermoplastics often degrade at high temperatures. Electric insulation is not worth the damage of releasing hydrocarbons. I assumed that you’d be aware of that, Viktor. But I suppose that was an omission on my part.” 

More nods of approval, now in your favour. Here it goes again—the ever-lasting spectacle of hatred. Elegant, when entertaining the audience. Anything but discreet, in private. A perpetually drawn game of chess. By repetition, not agreement. Both of you refuse to retreat until checkmate. 

Oh yes, the sentiment was mutual. You and Viktor were notorious for tearing at each other's throats. The things you’d sacrifice to make that more than a mere metaphor, though. To pull him by that neat tie to sweet asphyxiation and hear him rasp for mercy with eyes full of pathetic condemnation. And he dreamed of that, too. His cane was itching to give you a smack—to paint your behind a plum so deep you’ll have troubles sitting without wincing. When it came to making metaphors literal, he’d pick being the pain in your ass.

However, your mentors couldn’t care less about the rivalry. The Collegiate Inventors Competition was coming up. And who could possibly make better candidates than two greatest minds of the engineering department, with academic excellence so accurately neck and neck that both of your names now occupy the honorary first place in every ranking table? 

That’s how you ended up with your sentence—three weeks of after-hours cooperation in the lab with the incorrigible bastard himself, a quarter of which you’ve already wasted on pointless bickering. Well, not without achieving some common grounds. The choice of prototype landed on one of your personal ambitions—a wearable exoskeleton for post-surgery rehabilitation, with plenty of robotics involved. Endorsed by Viktor, for once. The greater good must have swallowed even his dispute. Off to a nice start, if someone were to ask you.

However, the first issues struck early: on the very stage of development. Viktor volunteered for modelling: meaning, the framework would be custom, to accommodate his spine specifically. An object lesson for everyone involved, it would seem—but only in an ideal world. Which, considering what you had at hand (acrimony, bitterness, an entire picky bit of gall), was filtered out by default.

Now, five gruesome days and who’s-even-counting-anymore restarts later, you’re nowhere near close to at least a draft, yet borderline keen on murdering each other. And you’re certain the latter is approaching. He did just contemplate putting arsenic in your cup, after all. 

Viktor stirs the coffee. Watches his reflection smudge in the dark, whirly water, shooting you an askance glance from beneath thick brows when you start stirring yours—the spoon clanking a tad too loud, as if you were doing it on purpose. Which, you undoubtedly were. 

“Stop that,” he groans, almost leaping out of his chair. His heavy, disturbed gaze meets your cheeky simper. “You don’t have to stir it so thoroughly. It’s not like you take it with sugar anyway.”

“Of course.” You shrug. “I don’t drink slop.”

“Oh, I figured. There’s nothing sweet about you, so why would your coffee be any different?”

“There’s plenty of sweetness about me. I simply don’t squander it on entitled pricks.” 

That finally grounds him. And you’re giddy for the way his sturdy hand grips the cup so hard that it almost shatters into his palm, knuckles growing pale enough to match the porcelain. More so when you take a loud, languid sip, feigning innocence. Fully wallowing in his darling, defeated speechlessness. 

“Excuse you,” he mutters. “Entitled?!” 

“So you agree with the ‘prick’ part?” 

“Yes, and I take great pride in it. You may mark me flustered.” 

“Don’t forget to bust in your pants.”

Viktor sneers: chapped lip twitching, scowl growing defensive. Lanky legs untangle as he rises to his feet, towering above you in an angry lean on his cane—long frame transforming into your personal, scrawny menace, pissed exhale sharp and nasal above your head. And you admit to looking small beneath him—all hunched shoulders, weak smile finally tumbling lopsided. 

“Don’t you dare call me entitled,” he demands—and means it. It’s palpable in the way he twists the handle of his cane, the squeaky sound violently scratching your brain. “I sweated blood to achieve my privileges in this establishment.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. “So did I, and yet you keep ordering me around as if I’m some braindead apprentice. We’re counterparts, Viktor. You’re supposed to be mindful of my perspective.”

“I never see you being mindful of mine,” he counters.

And, well. You can’t argue with that. 

Your coffee break continued in avoidant silence, but the ambience simply reeked of hostility—stifling enough to make you leave the lab feet first. The deadline’s chokehold besieging your neck wasn’t of any help, either—you had to submit the draft for approval by Sunday. And, so far, you haven’t even agreed on the design plan. 

You shoot Viktor a reluctant glance. Pensive, he sat slouched over his parchment, emitting pure peril. Like his shoulder blades might stab you if you attempt a single tap, belligerently peeking through the thin shirt. You tucked your lip under your teeth, chewing hard, tongue running over every small, neurotic wound inside your mouth. Fruitless negotiations held a special spot amongst your least favourite endeavours, but this conundrum called for a desperate measure.

“Viktor.” You winced at how chocked up it came out. He noticed that, too—because of course he did—turning in his chair to nod at you, ever so shit-eatingly. Lancing eyes scrutinised their way up to your face. What an affront. 

“Yes?” Always chiding in that condescending tone of his. Hissy ‘s’ echoed in the lab, gnawing at your nerves. 

“We have to submit something by the end of this week. Let’s at least decide on the blueprint.” 

“Fine.” He shrugged, returning to his sketch. “We’re going with mine.” 

“No!” You snapped. “We’re coming up with a new one. Together.” 

Viktor hummed in mock consideration. The strand of hair he’s been twirling unraveled, claiming more attention than you deemed him worthy of. Sighing, he lazily reached for your graph, frowning as his eyes started skimming over the scribbles. You made your way to the desk, claiming a spot behind his shoulder. That required a tacit truce. 

“You really want to wield… hydraulic actuators?” He winced, looking up at you. Had your breath hitching at that respectful attempt, the effort prominent in the very way he uttered those words—as if struggling to filter out swear ones. 

“Yes,” you mustered. “For high power.” 

“But they’re so heavy.”  

“Well, what would you use?” 

He chuckled—rich and malicious. Flipped the page and finally averted those curious eyes, arching a bushy brow. 

“I thought no one gave a… crap about what I’d use.” 

Oh, well. It felt nice while it lasted. 

“How did you even—“

“You ought to be more discreet with your vitriol,” he retorted. “I’ll let you know that I’m a decent lip-reader.” 

“Then don’t stare at my mouth next time. What would you use, Viktor?” 

Now that left you both startled. His fingers stilled above the diagram, flexing in disbelief, hollow cheeks hued a puzzled rouge as you almost chomped your tongue off, showing an embarrassed curse back into the depth of your throat. 

“Ahem. Electric motors,” he chanted, pretending to overlook the slip-up. And for once, you were grateful for his tact. 

“I see. Well, er… put that down, please.” 

He instantly complied, fetching a pen. Left you to reflect on your misery to the rhythmic sound of his scrawling, pressing a sweaty palm to his forehead. 

“Right.” He sighed. “What about the power supply?”

“Rechargeable batteries?” You suggested weakly. “Lithium-ion.”

“Very well. Frame?”

“Something durable. Titanium?” 

“Absolutely not,” he scoffed, pushing the notes away. “Why must you always insist on using the heaviest equipment?”

“I don’t know, corrosion resistance?” You muttered back, hovering over him. “Biocompatibility?”

“That’s perfectly manageable with carbon fiber!”

“So it shatters after the tiniest bump? Bravo, Viktor, how ingenious.” 

He lurches forward—rigid breath quivering over yours. Close enough to crush that thick skull with your forehead—if only you ventured, that is. But, alas, you’re not as brave just yet. Some brief eye-stabbing is about all you’re good for. 

“Fine,” he agrees, pulling away. “We’ll use aluminium alloys. Corrosion resistant and easy to machine. No one wins. Does that suffice?” 

“Yes. Now will you finally let me take your measurements for the sketch?”

He doesn’t answer—at least not verbally. Merely stands up and nods to the measuring tape, face still heavily contorted with displeasure. But you don’t oblige just yet. How can you, when Viktor’s fingers suddenly reach for his collar, fumbling with the button? And—oh no—now they’re sliding lower, reiterating once, twice, thrice, until his chest (flushed, but that might just be wishful thinking) is fully peeking out, teasing the smooth scrap of ivory skin. 

“What… are you doing?” You mumble, utterly startled. 

“…Undressing?” He says matter-of-factly, looking up at you so askance as if you’d just asked him if the sky is blue. One more ministration and the shirt is neatly folded next to the parchment—waiting for you to be through with the measurements to be slid back on his bony shoulders. 

“That, I can tell,” you mumble. “Why did you undress?”

Viktor’s gaze daggers into you again. “Don’t tell me you were actually intending to measure me clothed? Can you not comprehend precision?”

“Precision?”

“The prototype is expected to cling to me. I don’t see how that’s achievable with my shirt on— I assumed that was rather obvious.”

“Shut the fuck up.” 

“Ah, sweet civility. I even started worrying that other entitled pricks must’ve depleted your decorum, but it seems like you saved some up for me after all. I’m flattered, really—“ 

You don’t even register when it happens.

Next thing you see is Viktor seizing your wrist—sternly yanking your slap off his face before it gets the chance to land there in a flared handprint. Nothing but pure rage and prickliness—right where his short nails are lancing your skin, engraving an ugly bracelet you’ll wear for hours.

Well, maybe there is something else. Something inexplicable, and tremendous—deep in the way your eyes keep drifting south—where his pants sling low on defined hips, and the pretty trail of dark hair runs from navel to waistband—no doubt circling exactly what you manage to make out in the convex slope of his crotch. And you want to slap him for that, too—sonorous, and frenetic. Going in again with full force, but his force always turns out to be fuller—and in an instance he firmly twists your arm, pinning it behind your back—pale face barely five inches away from your flushed one. 

What happens next is beyond any explanations. Later, he’ll blame it on inertia—that stupid urge to maintain the speed, to stay in motion with your messy antics until some external force stops him—a simple need to claim you before the inevitable collision.

But there’s no inertia in escalation. In the way his free hand grabs you by the nape and clashes agape mouths together, teeth bumping hard enough to make you consider booking a dentist appointment later. Not a sign of inertia when you grab him, either—a little clumsy through the sharp pain in your twisted arm—bold fingers raking his scalp in a vengeful tug on his hair. 

And it’s more than a kiss. If anything, it looks like you’re trying to eat him—tongue out and thrusting into his throat so fiercely that he gags on it, almost tearing up. Now you know what sheer desperation sounds like, and it’s grunting against your mouth, suddenly pitching to a pathetic moan when you grab a handful of chestnut hair and pull so hard that his eyes roll back, lean frame shaking under your violent approach. You use that startled momentum to try and pry your arm free, but he still keeps it in place. 

“You’re hurting me!” You hiss, attacking his neck—the very one you always shamefully admitted to finding the sexiest any man can possess, and your teeth roughly pinch at his voice box, coaxing another whine. 

“Good.” He groans with spite. “I hope I am.” 

And yet, he releases your aching arm, trading it for a calculated squeeze of your waist. But the audacity overshadows his little mercy. You instantly use the unrestrained privileges to force a finger into his mouth—astounded at the way he instantly opens up, almost mockingly pliant. More so when you spit on his tongue, sparing no shame—as if trying to rile him up beyond recognition. Grinning, when your saliva dribbles down his chin. 

“Ah.” He huffs, instantly licking up the remnants. “Thank you. Ever so disrespectful.”

“You haven’t earned my respect,” you lie, nudging him towards the chair. Not even bothering to wait until he lands, impatient hands already messing with his belt—so treacherously earnest as you shake, unfastening the buckle, and the bastard chuckles at that, looking down at your eager work. 

“That’s a new low, then,” murmurs coyly, helping you into his lap, heavy head leisurely thrown back. “Sleeping with someone you don’t respect.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Oh yes. You’re about to.” 

You glare at him from under heavy lids, but the anger refuses to linger—not when he stares back full of indignant awe, so clearly basking in your attention. With his cock half-springing out of undone pants, shamelessly twitching against your palm. And not a single breath was hitched to conceal his excitement. 

“Must you always be so insufferable?” You reproach, pushing his hair back—too domestic for your own liking, and yet it doesn’t feel unfitting. Especially when he leans into your hand, welcoming your touch on his sweaty forehead—like he wanted you to feel it fever up with want.

“No.” He shakes his head. “But if it can grant me this, I’ll triple the effort.” 

“What happened to new lows? You don’t have a fraction of respect for me, either.”

“You’re right.” He shrugs. “Fractions could never encapsulate my tribute to you.”

And his hand slipped under your skirt, shakily crawling home—precisely where you’d never confess to needing him a mere minute ago. But the sentiment did a decent job at diluting your rancour. There came no protest when he introduced two long fingers into your underwear, openly gasping at the evident dampness. And you allowed him that with no regrets. Moreover, you helpfully sank yourself knuckle deep, wincing at the brief burn, arms wrapping around his neck as he sweetly looked up, seeking your  permission. Which was instantly found in the pretty moan you spilled into his mouth, slick tongues back at their futile attempts to strangle each other. 

However, your patience was running thin. As much as you wanted to indulge in proper foreplay, whatever masochistic dance he exposed you to had you in agony ever since it started—and it was getting unbearable to ignore the ache, no matter how bad Viktor  craved to postpone the main course. 

Your thighs clenched hard as you crouched above him, fingers wrapping around the hilt to awkwardly line the tip up with your cunt—the slick sound of it slowly sliding down suddenly igniting some tender bashfulness. Like you didn’t just spit in his mouth with a vile smirk. Like he never had to confine you from slapping him in the face. 

That stretch felt different from the one after his fingers. Significantly richer, it made you whine—a pitiful sound reverberating against his skin as you held on tighter and allowed him to bottom out, savouring every little crevice inside you. Raw, yet neither of you seemed to care—that concern was pushed alongside your underwear, then forgotten altogether when your walls clenched him, offering tight bliss. 

“Move,” you demanded, grabbing him by the chin. Viktor rasped something back, but you didn’t catch it—already too busy tongue-fucking his pretty neck, turning your teeth into sharp tools ready to stain it mauve with bites. 

And he complied again. One hand trembled on your hip while the other crawled between your legs—first missing your clit in the chaotic pace of thrusts, then finding it again as it grazed his fingertips. So cheeky when he dared to pinch it, avenging every pull on his hair. Though, he couldn’t gloat in your wince. Not when it clearly was one of the pleasured kind. 

But you didn’t feel like letting him regain composure. You already missed his husky groans—ached to test what else fucking you could make him mutter. Fogy gaze found his face again, softening at the sight—all wet forehead full of concentrated creases and thin lips bitten to bloodless paleness. 

You took over. Let him lean back and rest as you roughly rode him into the chair—and for that he gave you a grateful moan, the insistent thumb toying with your clit never stopping even for an instant. Good with his hands, and he knew it—proudly grinned when you struggled to keep going, taut legs treacherously giving up astride him. 

That didn’t please you in the slightest. You wanted him to be close, too: slid a hand up his chest and angrily tugged at one nipple—chortling when his mouth dropped in a stunned gasp. Bewildered, but he didn’t mind it—amber eyes squeezed shut when his head lolled, and you finally got his lovely moans back—raspier than before, ravenous enough to make your head spin. 

You could already feel it, pulsing somewhere deep within. Blurry vision couldn’t make him out anymore, the lab smudging into a mess of weird shapes—you were about to cum, hard, and Viktor threatened to follow suit any second—his thumb failing to hold steady, and yet the pressure was still there, courtlesly helping you chase that sweet relief. Such a gentleman. 

“Close,” you chanted. “So, so close.” 

“I know,” he answered, choking on a groan. “Me too.” 

And you melted, almost crushing him with your weight. Quivering in a spasm so intense that it had him struggling to keep moving, and yet he was mindful of the risk—used the last fractions of his brain capacity to gently nudge you off his cock and pump it fast and hectic. Cumming in one endlessly thick rope, with a moan so vocal that it reached you even through the layers of foggy, ear-buzzing aftermath. Had you shuddering when you clung off his shoulder, glassy eyes wide with trembling astonishment. You stared at him through the approaching wave of disbelief. 

No signs of regret so far, or maybe it was simply still forming—for now, you silently admired not a snarky bastard, but a pretty, fucked out boy beneath you. 

“Oh, would you look at that.” Viktor chuckled, sheepishly looking down. “I didn’t forget.”

“What?” You mumbled in confusion, following his gaze.

And when it finally caught your attention—sticky and relentlessly staining his pants—you slammed a hand over your mouth, muffling the hysterical laughter. 

“And here I thought I finally fucked your remarkable memory out.”

“Oh, by no means. As, eh… intense as that was, that misery of mine is not going anywhere. However,” he trailed off, his hand skittishly moving towards yours, “sex clearly proved beneficial for our… dynamic.”

You smile, sliding your palm into his warm grasp. 

“Can it ensure us enough civility to win the competition?”

And Viktor scoffs, coyly looking you in the eye. 

“Why should we limit it to just that?” 

[whoreforsexymen]

Hidden In Plain Sight | Viktor

Pairings: Viktor x GN!Reader

Pronouns: None used for reader 🤍

Rating: NSFW, 18+, MDNI !! You WILL be blocked!

Word Count: 2.5k

Tags: Blowjob, Unknown/Unintentional Voyeurism

Summary: You aren’t going to let a conversation stop you from relieving your lover of his frustrations.

Notes: Heyyy!! So. I’m working on requests. But this idea popped into my head when I was rewatching S1 to prepare for S2!!

This is based on S1 E5, the conversation Viktor has with Sky Young. I loved the idea that, since Viktor was so clearly uninterested in her, I should make the reason for the uninterest be you. 🥵🤍 Enjoy, my loves.

I SWEAR PT. 2 of The Cuck Fic is COMING SOON!!!!

Viktor threw his hands to his sides in a sharp, exaggerated motion, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head back against the top of it as he tried to counteract the heaviness that had settled over him. The weight of his thoughts was more palpable than any tangible burden. His eyes drifted briefly to the clutter of papers scattered on the desk, but nothing held his focus for long.

Viktor’s mind drifted, momentarily pulling him away from the weight of his work. He wondered where you were, why you weren’t here with him now. In moments like this, when the pressure of it all became too much, he often needed you to hold him, to ground him in a way only you could. He could almost feel the comfort of your presence, the warmth of your touch, and it left a deep ache in him. It wasn’t just the physical relief he craved—it was the calm, the quiet reassurance that you always provided. Without you there, the room felt colder, emptier.

He exhaled sharply, a deep sigh that seemed to carry more than just exhaustion. The silence of the room hung in the air, thick and unyielding, until it was broken by a soft, almost hesitant voice from behind him.

“It’s beautiful.”

Viktor tensed up at the sudden intrusive voice.

The words felt distant, like they belonged to another world entirely, one that wasn’t caught in the weight of Viktor’s own spiraling thoughts. He didn’t need to look to know who it was—he could picture her there, standing a little too close, her voice trembling at the edges.

Sky. Always Sky.

Viktor didn’t turn. There was no need to. She had said enough with those few words. He inhaled again, slower this time, trying to keep his “irritation” from surfacing.

He sighed, the sound low and heavy.

“I can’t figure out why it’s not working…” Viktor muttered, his voice flat, as he rubbed his hands over his face, trying to maintain a simple composure. It wasn’t just “frustration”—there was something else lurking beneath it. Something quieter that gnawed at the edges of his mind.

“You will…” Sky’s voice was soft, almost soothing, as though she had said those words a thousand times before, to herself or to him, or perhaps to both. Viktor didn’t acknowledge the comment, his gaze still fixed on “nothing” as he looked down into his lap.

Sky shifted, an anxious movement that Viktor could feel even without seeing it. He imagined her wringing her hands, pushing her glasses up her nose, trying to find the right thing to say.

“Are you… headed home soon?” Her voice was tinged with hope, though it faltered as she continued, as if she already knew the answer.

“I thought we could walk together…”

Her words hung there, like a delicate thread pulling at the edge of his attention. But Viktor wasn’t interested. He didn’t hate her, but his mind was somewhere else—too far away to grasp her meaning.

He almost rolled his eyes, but he stifled it. Instead, he answered with an aloofness that was more instinct than deliberate cruelty.

“I’m, uh… probably going to sleep here tonight,” he said, his voice distant, distracted. The words were a gentle deflection, but the disinterest was clear. His fingers tapped absently on the desk, the motion more automatic than purposeful.

Sky’s voice softened, like a fading echo.

“Again? You know there’s always tomorrow, right?” The words stung, though she tried to mask it with a forced cheer. Viktor didn’t respond right away, but he knew what she was trying to do.

“Goodnight, Miss Young,” he said, his tone a little more clipped now, though he didn’t intend for it to sound harsh. He didn’t need to look at her to know she was still there, standing in the doorway, hoping for something—anything—that would make him look at her the way she looked at him. But he didn’t.

She hesitated for a moment, her presence lingering in the room like a shadow, before she stepped back. The silence stretched on in her absence, but Viktor remained frozen in place, his thoughts elsewhere, far away from the quiet, expectant gaze he knew she had been offering.

With a soft exhale, Sky left. And the room was quiet once more.

As the door clicked shut behind her, replacing the silence, Viktor let out a long breath, as though he had been holding every one of the previous ones far too long.

The room fell into an uneasy stillness, broken only by the mechanical hum of surrounding equipment, his own steady breathing, and the faint sound of wet, sloppy, suckling.

He looks down into his lap once more, where you were, your head bobbing between his legs like a buoy in water.

Viktor felt his stomach churn at the sight of it, a wave of pleasure pooling inside him. A low, involuntary groan slipped from his lips, the sound escaping after he’d spent too long stifling it.

It was deep, slow, and rich, a reflex of the sensation that tightened in his chest and spread through his body. His breath hitched slightly as the pleasure took control, a warmth spreading through him as he fought to stay composed in case anyone else were to pop into the room.

Your lips were wrapped tightly around his needy cock, maintaining a seal around it as you sucked and licked at it.

Viktor, truthfully, hadn’t been frustrated at all during his exchange with his assistant.

In fact, he had been struggling to conceal the pleasure slowly building within him—pleasure he had worked hard to keep hidden from Sky.

Earlier, you had offered to help ease his tensions, but Viktor had turned you down, citing the risk of someone walking by at any moment. You couldn’t deny he had a point—-which felt ironic, now. But you weren’t one to be easily deterred.

You couldn’t help but pity Viktor, watching him struggle with the frustration that clung to him like a second skin. The weight of his work seemed to suffocate him—trying to stabilize and control the intricate combinations of runes for the new version of Hextech he and Jayce had launched. The constant pressure, the endless tinkering and problem-solving, had a way of wearing him down.

No matter how often you reminded him how brilliant, how capable, how wonderful he was, it never seemed to quiet that relentless inner voice of doubt. He always carried that burden, that self-imposed expectation of perfection, even when he had already accomplished so much.

You knew there was only one real way to relieve his aggravation apart from the simpler comforts you’d provide.

And so, as Viktor bent over his work, eyes fixed on the sprawling notes before him, you slipped under his desk. He didn’t notice at first, too lost in his thoughts, as you moved quietly and carefully, prowling and crawling to him like a tiger stalking a gazelle.

What you didn’t realize, though, was that Sky had arrived and was now looming behind Viktor in the annoyingly often way she did. The chair Viktor occupied, wide and heavy, combined with you on your knees, faithfully hid you from her eyes. Leaving Sky unaware of your proximity, just as Viktor remained blissfully unaware of her presence.

Your hands were beyond eager as they worked to unbutton his clothes, the fabric of his pants slipping easily beneath your fingers. You could feel him tense, stiff as a statue as you pulled his cock out right after she had said her first sentence.

You knew Viktor was stunned, and it amused you to imagine the expression on his face as he tried to conceal what was happening outside of Sky’s awareness.

You only had to wait, feeling the tension in him shift, his body responding to your touch in ways he was trying hard to ignore, while also trying desperately hard to maintain an unsuspecting tone as he talked.

You had begun lapping, sucking, and hollowing out your cheeks to accommodate his size and length. You greedily slid down until his cock reached the back of your throat, almost laughing at the sound of the sharp inhale that garnered from him.

A part of you almost wished Sky could see you—see how easily you could reduce this man to a babbling mess, unlike anyone else. It wasn’t as if you and he were some secret, hidden item, but maybe if she knew, really knew, what you often did to him, and how he crumbled, she’d finally back off.

Maybe then, and only then, would she relinquish her pathetic attempts to encroach on what was yours. The thought of her realizing that she’d never compare, never measure up to the desire Viktor had for you, gave you a twisted air of satisfaction.

You heavily considered the idea.

Your amusement remained bold, even as Viktor’s attention finally drifted down to where you were hidden beneath his desk. It was almost as if he had sensed your devious train of thought.

He shot you a look, one that said more than words ever could. There was a trace of minor disappointment in the way his brow furrowed, confusion flickering in his eyes as he tried to reconcile what was happening beneath the table with the ongoing conversation. But beneath it all, you saw the unmistakably familiar glimmer of pleasure, one he couldn’t quite suppress, despite his attempt to maintain control.

It was a mix of surprise and something deeper, something he didn’t always allow himself to acknowledge. His eyes lingered just long enough for you to sense it, the tension between his desire to focus on his work and the undeniable pull of the moment.

Several painstakingly long moments passed before Viktor finally managed to rid the room of the unwanted third presence. As Sky exited, Viktor released a deep, almost aching sigh—one that resonated with a relief so intense, it sent a shiver of arousal down your spine. The tension that had been weighing on him seemed to melt away in an instant, and the air between you thickened with the shift in his attitude.

Without hesitation, his hand slipped into your hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as he gently tugged you closer. His gaze met yours, dark and heavy, as though he had been waiting for this moment, for the silence to settle between you both. The way he looked at you now was unmistakable, that mix of pleasure and need, the kind of intensity that made your pulse quicken.

“You really need to learn patience, my love.” He breathes, his other hand coming up to caress your cheek as he uses his grip on your hair to help guide your movement.

He hisses as he pushes your head down far enough to lightly rut his cock into the very back of your throat.

“What if she had seen you?” He asks, not really expecting a reply considering your current state.

You hum lightly as he slowly but surely flicks his hips up into your mouth, gagging around him as he did so. Viktor’s string of moans in response to your gags were filthy, needy, and whiny. You always drove him crazy, and this was no exception.

“Mmf…” he groans, biting his lip as a last ditch effort to keep himself from moaning too loud—-quickening the pace with which he began bobbing your head to meet his tiny thrusts.

“Mmm.. like that, my love.” He instructs softly—reassuring that the new way you had started licking up and down the length of his cock was simply divine.

Viktor was cursing himself inside due to the speed at which his orgasm was approaching. You’d barely been down there six minutes when he recognized the familiar tightening in his stomach nearing the edge of snapping.

“My love, I— I’m going to—“ he tried to warn you before his hot cum began spewing onto the inner walls of your mouth. It shot directly into the back of your throat, splattering off the tissues and trickling down your esophagus. The tepid, viscous substance slid further and further down as you swallowed around his twitching cock.

Viktor had cum with the unholiest of moans leaping out of his throat to invade your ears. It sent an unforgiving wave of arousal through you, singeing your skin and shocking your bones. He had gripped your face with an automatic force, pushing you down as far as you could possibly go, his eyes clamping shut as the thick strings of cum practically drowned you on land.

You gagged against the mindless way he jerked his hips into your mouth as he chased his orgasm seemingly halfway to your stomach.

Viktor practically whimpered at the sensation of you mercilessly swallowing around him—-now sensitive beyond measure from the sheer might of his climax. You had been correct—-he really needed that—arguably more than anything else.

When the pressure in your throat became unbearable, you squeezed his leg, silently pleading for him to loosen his grip.

Viktor’s eyes snapped open, the clarity that followed his release allowing him to regain his focus. He immediately uncoupled his hands from your head.

“I—I’m sorry, my love… I guess I got carried away,” he muttered, his voice tinged with sheepish regret.

You gasped as you pulled away, strands of saliva trailing down your chin in a delicate cascade—-like a miniature waterfall against your skin.

You hum softly in response to his apology, the hum dancing along the edge of a gentle laugh.

“Guess I did, too,” you murmur, wiping your mouth clean as you meet his gaze with silent affection.

Viktor gently cups your face once more, his thumb sweeping over the apple of your cheek as a soft smile tugs at his lips.

“Thank you…” he whispers, his voice rich with adoration, gratitude, and love for you. He tilts his head, aligning it with yours as his intent becomes clear.

He presses his lips to yours in a tender, silent show of his affection. Viktor shudders as a result of tasting himself all over your lips and tongue. The fact that you had eagerly swallowed every last drop sent a jolt through him, making his hair stand on end—-as it always did. He was downright obsessed with your greedy thirst for his cock and his seed.

The passion and tenderness with which Viktor kisses you never fail to set your heart racing, the gentle yet intense pressure of his lips stirring a swarm of butterflies in your stomach.

After several tender, passionate moments, your lips still lingering in a dance of their own, Viktor pulls away, his mind swirling with the renewed flames of longing sparked by what just transpired.

“My love… Why don’t we move… on top of the table?” he suggests, a playful gleam lighting up his eyes as he gazes into yours once more.

At his suggestion, you feel the butterflies in your stomach morph into something far more intense—fighter jets soaring through the cavern of your core. You meet his playful gaze with one of eager anticipation.

You nod, shifting to rise from your knees.

“I’ll lock the door,” you mutter softly.

[thatwishfulthinking]

a wretched flower

my last one shot skipped viktor giving head… rest assured that is not something i plan to let happen often… and here, neither do you

wc: 3.5k

summary: after years of avoiding his feelings for you, viktor has finally turned a corner— though you’re still unsure if he’ll stumble back into the bear trap of all-consuming work. not too keen on neglect, you decide to make sure he’s sticking to the right track. newly established relationship. f!reader

warnings: smut, desperation, dirty talk, choking

btw— i kind of have no idea what’s going on here. dom!vik, sub!vik, then angst, then metaphors, then clichés, then more sub!vik, and straight smut, and a little fluff? idk this has been making me insane for like a month

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Clothes are left in a trail, leading from the living room into the bedroom. You're both on the bed, limbs tangled as you cling to each other. He's whispering sweet nothings into your ear. Things, of course, you’d have appreciated to hear scattered across the day instead of sewn together and adhered to one single moment.

It was a reality that you hoped for at the beginning of your relationship, only to soon declaw each finger from, one at a time, until you let it go. After yet another dinner at your kitchen island alone, accompanied by the somber tap of an expectant fork, heating up the remenants for a stony soul when he finally decided to cross through the front door. Things had been better; you basked in his attention for some time. It was only recently that he had backslid into the same depths that pooled at the most tormented part of your mind. 

Improvement wasn’t linear, of course, but god, could the ebbs and flows of it all be nothing less than excruciating. A garden, tended to and watered, would not continue to flourish if suddenly neglected. And oh, were you in trouble if came winter’s first frost. 

He moans softly, his hips thrusting upwards to meet yours, nipping at your earlobe. "I could do this with you for the rest of my life, and it would never be enough." His kiss is stinging with the sweet affection you’ve sought for fruitlessly for days now.

You grab his hips and needily move them faster for him. You knew he wouldn’t last this way, and the dichotomy of not wanting it to be over and desperately needing to take what you could, in the fleeting moments you had it, festered low in your abdomen. 

Another moan is blooming on his lips, and you register it in blissful slow motion. "You're so impatient, my sweet girl.” It’s a breathless, low sound, reverberating light into that dark place in your brain. He relents, his hips snapping with intensity. "Like this?" he groans, the bulb in his throat tremoring deliciously as it his voice travels up his esophagus in offering.

“My sweet boy” you whine back insistently at the use of the name: The very phrase he had decided to comandeer, your favorite endearment for him. Shame on you for sharing it with him, because the cheeky thing loved it so much that he was compelled to make it yours instead. You wrench his hand off of your waist, placing it on your neck. 

The sly smirk that plays on his face is one of prideful understanding at your nonverbal prompt. He grips your throat gently, his hand wrapping around the eloquent column as he applies a slight pressure. His gaze is one of communication, searching, silently asking, Is this what you wanted?

“Harder, love,” you declare, because after ample days of not enough, too much was more than welcome.

A tightening feeling at your trachea. The intentional shift of his position. The subsequent heightening the speed of his movements, it all hits you like three successive strikes. “This okay?" he asks, his breathing ragged but his voice weighted by feathers as he monitors your reaction. 

He leans in, hand brushing over your cheek as he were thumbing layers of dust off a forgotten bookshelf. "Look me in the eyes," he commands gently, and you realize that as your face twisted and contorted under his, he had been absorbing the tiny details that spoke to something else battering at you. A somber note between syllables of your words, the very corner of your mouth, where your lips discolored at the transition to skin, curling downwards ever so slightly. Subtle, but there all the same.

When you meet his eyes, he settles at a conclusion to the very research he had been conducting from aereal view. He presents a hopeful, apologetic solution— it pains him to think of all the time you’ve spent utterly hollowed by his absense. 

"No matter how busy I might be, you're always on my mind.”

The reassurance swaths across your collarbones, fizzling out delightfully somewhere at the peaks of your shoulders. A sharp grin appears across your face. “I know it’s worse now.” A calculatedly vague statement, of course, baiting him. 

He furrows his brow, slightly concerned by the change in your demeanor, and oh, the poor thing falls into your trap. "What are you talking about, love? What do you mean it’s worse now?" he asks softly, releasing your neck and letting tentative fingers pass across your brow, pinky pressed to your temple.

You laugh mischievously— he was completely correct in his sentiment, and for this you were well aware. 

“You couldn’t stop thinking of me… compromised, before,” you grab his neck instead, causing his jaw to jerk forwards. “But now that you’ve had me, you need me. You need this, love, and now it’s even harder to wander from because you know exactly what it’s like.”

His eyes widen, mystefying golden caches that you’d love to curl up inside of. His bleached clavicle warms with something that resembles sun kisses, washed with a soft flush. 

He swallows hard, his gaze locked with yours. “That is something I cannot deny,” he admits, almost solemnly, eyes pacing back and forth pensively to find the subtext. "You're right. It's harder now. The lab, the separation, it is… challenging.”

You purse your lips, still holding a bit of teasing bregrudgement. “Tell me you love it then, Viktor. Speak to me, for god’s sake, forget all the pleasant—“

"Your pussy is divine," he cuts you off, the words rolling off his tongue, and it’s almost without second thought. Someone so pretty uttering such filthy words like a confession is a sight to behold, and your breath catches abruptly.

You bring a hand to his face, and he closes his eyes, his exhales growing stronger at the thought, offering more. “I dream of it, fantasize about it, obsess over it. I stare at the chalkboard and try to conjure up the taste of it in my mouth." 

“You must be parched,” and you sigh passively, as if isn’t the most seductive statement his eardrums could manage with currently.

His eyes fly open and he groans loudly, heat coursing through his body. You can feel the boiling froth in his stomach seeping through his skin into yours where you lie against one another. How enjoyable it is to peer at him now, avoiding eye contact, staring up at the cieling and squeezing his eyes closed in heavy blinks.

“You’ve been rude, baby.” You tut.

His chest swells with a large inhale before slowly looking down at you once again, raising an eyebrow. You can’t miss the immistakeble hint of a grin playing on his lips. "Have I? And what did I do exactly?”

He leans in closer, his hand trailing up the side of your leg, pressing a thumb into the dip below the jut of your hipbone. "I'd hate to think I've offended you, love."

”I’ve just noticed,” you lift your chin and angle it upwards towards him. “You skipped what you claim to crave.”

“Sounds like a terrible oversight on my part." He tilts his head, his eyes gleaming with playful corruption. 

He leans in, lips ghosting against yours, amber irises bleeding into one another centimeters from your eyes. A painting set to still, knocked sideways by the soft underbelly of your spite, just before it could dry. 

"Allow me to rectify that," he whispers, before gently placing a kiss on your collarbone, starting his descent.

You’re shaking your head as you watch him move towards your legs. ”I don’t know, I can’t help but think you don’t appreciate it.” Appreciate me. “Is that it?” You tease, feigning mock sadness, the real version holding real space in the real lonely moments you’ve endured without him lately.

He looks up at you in an emotion so passionate it may be offense. “Love,” he murmers, his voice low, now swinging his head back and forth as well. "You know that simply isn’t true. Don't make the mistake of doubting that." He’s nudging your legs apart, and the sick, scorned thing in your mind jumps at the opportunity to interject.

“Maybe I shouldn’t let you.” You grab his chin, pulling it away from where his face has become situated between your thighs so he looks up at you. “Maybe I shouldn’t let you discover what it tastes like after the fact. You think you deserve that, hmm?”

He stills, and his brows furrow in dismay. You swear you see his lips beginning to tremble. "No, please," he gasps, his voice barely above a whisper. He sucks his cheeks in and bites, creating a pronouced hollow on either side of his slim face.

You scan his expression, completely enthralled in the fact that you’ve never seen him do that before, but he’s still trying his best at persuasion. “Please, I want to taste us, together. I do.”

You nod, acknowledging his plea, your grip on him firming slightly, fingertips pinching and propping him up by the jaw, snared like a spider’s catch. “You forgot all about it, my sweet boy. I can’t help but think you’ve been negligent, and just started fucking me. That doesn’t seem fair,” you tut once again.

He whimpers, his body trembling without inhibition now. "I'm sorry," he chokes, his voice ragged, spitting out fragments, as if otherwise he would be forced to swallow splinters chipped from feeble teeth. “Never that. I couldn’t forget. I simply lost track of my thoughts. I got carried away, I got distracted, I’m sorry." 

It may be a bit deranged, but you see yourself frolicking around, victorious, in your mind’s eye. There, you are clutching his reassurance— though product of an entirely different conversation— in a tight, delighted fist. Despite it all, your expression remains stoic.

"Please, just one taste. Just let me have one." There’s a low urgency in his voice that you haven’t heard before.

You spread your legs wider, immediately yanking his chin back up away from you as he tries to drive for a lick. His neck is now rendered taught again, poised back up towards you from your own manipulation. “I think that’s disingenuous, love. I think you know that one taste isn’t enough for either of us.”

He moans in frustration that somehow he’s saying all the wrong things, scrambling for any words that will earn clemecy. You can see the gears turning, conjuring up a response— another of which, you know, and perhaps he does too, that you will easily meet with the tortourous fortress of your acidity. “You're right," he gasps hopelessly, giving in, and he makes sure to echo himself over and over. 

“Repetition doesn’t denote sincerity.” You patronize, to which you can nearly see beads of sweat born above his brow. He buries his face into your inner thigh, shameful, disheartened. 

“I want you to look,” you say, your grip loosening, allowing his neck to relax, throwing a leg over his shoulder, a coaxing heel following the path of his spine up and down.

Arousal spattered across your thighs, parted and reddened from him fucking you. Swelling like a flower at daybreak. He desperately wants to put his tongue where his cock had just been and—

You cut his thoughts off. “Why did you sabotage yourself, my love?”

He looks up at you, his eyes wide and bewildered. "Sabotage myself, darling?" he murmurs, his voice dragging with grief. "I don’t understand. What do you mean I sabotaged myself?"

You give him a stern look, heel settling against vertebrae for a moment while you readjust your expression. “Is it not my responsibility to make sure you take care of yourself? That you don’t starve yourself of your wants, of your needs? I forbid that. Though your actions suggest that this isn’t something you need.” You draw a jagged inhale.

“Or rather, that I am not.” 

And the bitter words finally find soil to take root here, stretching upwards and outwards, a wretched flower themselves.

He shakes his head vehemently, his eyes clouding with the pain of finally understanding. “No, please, don’t say that.”

You break, reverting back to the discouraged version of yourself that you’ve had to be for weeks, and you’re gazing at one another, palms stretched outwards, showing your hand, each card a compliment to the other’s misfortune.

“Do you doubt what I feel for you?” And he says it as if he fears the letters that comprise the words themselves. 

“No,” you say meekly, and his nose wrinkles slightly, not entirely convinced.

“It—“ he sucks in a sharp breath. “Consumes me while I’m away. You. I’m never without you in thought, you need to know that. Please, I can’t have you thinking otherwise. You don’t understand, I used to sleep in the lab, because that was what would consume me, but now, every night, I come back. I come back to you. I know it isn’t much, but come back.” His eyes search yours with a wildness to be heard. 

You swallow at the guilty knot of bile in your throat, tear ducts miraculously stirring awake for duty.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “You’re right,” There it is again. “It has been worse lately— thinking of you, in all regards. Just as my absence has worse. It’s ignorant for me to think that simply picturing you is enough. I know it isn’t. I need to be present, I need to just be with you.”

Here he is, Viktor, taking a sledgehammer to those walls, the ones you didn’t use mortar to build because you hoped that he would knock through them in the first place. Here he is, Viktor, crushing that wretched flower under the sole of a worn dress shoe, hurrying it into a paper bag which he takes to the lab and promptly incinerates so that its pollen is to never spread again. 

His gaze softens, thankful, when he observes that the downwards draw of your lips, where they discolor at the transition to skin, have pulled back to equilibrium. Subtle, but still there all the same. He takes another breath, now slow, much more assured. 

“And I will be, just, please.” 

You give him a weak nod, you find no skepticism for what he’s saying, and so, you take him up on his offer, you do not speak, you just be.

You sigh softly as he presses his chin to your mound, looking back up at you with adoration in his eyes, rubbing your thighs and sides and pulling your legs apart, before pressing a soft kiss to your clit. His eyes shine with desperation, one that lusters with the earnest need to convince. “Now, may I?”

A bashful smile is what he gets, a hand cupping his face, which is the most you can give while all of the solitude-driven uncertainty dissipates from your soul.

He pushes your legs apart, settling between them, his mouth hovering over your folds, bathing it in warm, billowing breaths. He plants soft kisses against your clit.

You grab desperately for a fistful of his hair. 

He gasps, his mouth already parted, tongue lolling, desperation turning into something much deeper. His tongue is hot, the suction of his mouth nearly unbearable, he’s being sloppy, abandoning his practiced nature simply for this.

He pauses and looks at you, his eyes locking with yours, his breaths coming in sharp pants against you. "I need you," he shudders, his voice ragged, bearing the weight of deeper meaning. 

There’s something so endearing about stopping what he’s doing to ask for more when he could just continue and take it for himself, but god, he’s worked himself up now, your foot twitching against his back. 

“Look at me,” you murmur, and he stops abruptly mid stroke, tongue out and glued to you, massive needy eyes, hazy with both sickening lust and pleading awe. You stroke his temple with your knuckle, murmuring his name breathlessly, and letting out a strangled cry as he cages his arms around your legs and pulls you up to his face, the back of your thighs locked against his collarbones, simultaneously held up and pinned down under his lips. The sensation of fabric tugging under your spine catches your attention, your gaze moving to angular shoulders, down his back, decorated with quaint little moles. You jump from one point to the next, where you rediscover the dimples at the base of his spine, just above where he’s moving his hips in slow, uncoordinated circles against the sheets. Hands, satisfied with how your thighs have found balance on his shoulders, shift, thumbs coming to massage where your skin meets your core, pulling it apart softly so he can lick his own whimpers into you, nose nudging at the underside of your clit.

Utterly helpless, the two of you, as you tug and chocolate tendrils and every muscle, every tendon, every capillary goes stiff. 

He moans, his hands grabbing at your thighs and pulling you even closer, giving you no escape. He's panting and sweaty, hair stuck to his brow, ears slightly flushed. It’s just about the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. "Please love," he whines, his voice ragged and urgent, “Please, love, please come. I need it. I need to.”

His face nods rapidly as he speaks into our flesh, and you cry out, his tongue lapping now with a preciseness to cultivate your orgasm and care for it like it’s precious. And your body feels like it’s accelerating, through all the seasons, the biting of winter in the jolts of adrenaline coursing in between your thighs, the mugginess of summer in his hot tastebuds. His dark eyelashes flutter like birds migrating, and his noises are like the groan of an old tree’s branches resisting torrential rain. His eyes are as captivating as golden hour, the sun begging you to follow it down the edge of the earth so that it can illuminate you all over again at the next hemisphere, pleading that you come with him. So you do. Hard, and he follows suit, straight into the duvet.

You’re stretching for him, reaching out and staring until your hands wrap around his shoulders and you inadvertently dig your fingers into his armpits, pulling him up on top of you and holding his waist with your thighs. He nuzzles into your neck, bracing a few moments too late for the shockwave. Your stroke his hair and tell him it’s okay, and you nearly want to sob, trembling against one another, willing your nervous system to still. And he nods into your throat, soothing you back, clutching at you tightly, whispering it’s okay back to you softly.

He grounds you without thinking or trying, just being, adorning your neck with tender kisses. You kiss his temple back, tilting your chin down against your throat to look at him as he draws his head to the side to peer back up at you. And you’re faintly aware that the angle of your face is abysmal, probably, but you don’t care.

“Are you okay?” You both ask, simultaneously, and your arms tighten around him affectionately.

You both chuckle when you speak at the same time, and it’s such a silly, wonderful thing, a small, soft smile budding on his lips. He’s so still, simply watching you, like you’ve just watered his soul. 

“Love…?”

“Yes, my sweet?” You whisper quietly, pecking his nose.

He shushes you softly, presses a finger against your lips. “Let me. Let me tell you…” 

You laugh at whatever strange force has corralled you two into pleasant delirium.

“Tell me.. what?” You murmur.

He whispers, slowly bringing himself up onto his elbows, his breath warm against your cheek, “Everything.. just...” he trails off and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You rub his temples gently with your thumbs, fingers stretching over his ears and playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I know, love. You know that I know,” you coo. You let out a bashful, affectionate giggle as he rolls to the side, bringing you, your legs, still twined around him, with you. You kiss his mouth softly, then the spot between his eyebrows. “Do you know? That I also feel.. everything?”

“Yes… I do,” he sighs, and his eyes close, grazing the tip of his nose up and down the bridge of yours. It’s all so nonsensical, but the mutual understanding prevails.

“Then maybe we shouldn’t even attempt to find the words” You whisper, feeling some gravitational force pull your face right into his neck.

He nods, his hand coming up to swipe your hair out of the way, exposing the flesh of your shoulder, and he kisses you there, trailing kisses across your collarbone.

“You’re right,” he murmurs, just one last time.

You copy him, kissing his collarbone back, then his shoulder. He kisses your pulse point, so you do the same. When his lips land on your nose, it only takes a few seconds after they retract for yours to find his. And you continue this little exchange, the only language you need, back and forth, until drowsiness retires the two of you for the night. In your dreams, you weed out vines and thorny stems with gloveless fingers, vowing to only let the good things to grow.

[lokidjarin-7567]

The Prophecy

Viktor x You When the friend of your youth, Viktor, sees you still living in the Undercity, and working in a strip club at that, he is determined to reconnect, and rekindle a childhood friendship that was rooted in something more. Contents: fem!reader, fluff, angst and smut all in one folks, 18+ MDNI, a few physical features described but still reader insert I think (hair colour and freckles), both Viktor and you POVs, long-ass one shot 8.1k words Taglist: @night-fall-moon @zsuzsu321 @sh1zhu @circeinspace @casualjagodek @retrokatz @am-3-thyst @xlittlemissydjx @sseleniaa @thefandomsfervent Hi guys, thanks for bearing with my while I've been working on this one!! I have been absolutely obsessed with this man ever since I finished Arcane, so I just had to write something about him! I also think a lot of people mischaracterise him, so I tried really hard to get his personality right - let me know if I actually have lol. Anyone who knows my works knows how slutty my smut can get lol, but this is actually quite tender so a new one for me too. Anyway, I'll stop waffling now, I hope you enjoy. TTPD Contents | General Masterlist | AO3

DISCLAIMER: while this, in my opinion, is still classified as an ‘x you’ fic, a few physical features are described, namely ‘you’ having burgundy red hair that is, at one point, described as curly and having freckles, alongside a handful of super vague descriptors (eg. fluttering eyelashes, slope of her nose AKA things that can be applied to any and all faces) - basically everyone in the Arcane show has cool hair so I thought this would be a cute detail. It’s possible to ignore if you don’t want to think about have a different hair colour, but if you don’t want to, don’t read it! Almost every comment on this fic has been relating to this which, when I put hours of hard work and effort into something that I was proud of, is insanely demoralising. There has always been a disclaimer in the contents above, but I’m adding it here as well so it’s as clear as possible. Dead dove do not eat and all that. And I’m always open to constructive criticism, but there’s a way to go about it, and a way that will put someone in a slump for months, so please think before you comment! Anyway, not to put a downer before the work, thank you for the reposts and loves so far ❤️

Viktor was lost in thought as he made his way back to Piltover, small tube of Shimmer tucked away in his satchel. He didn’t know what to do. Using it might stabilise the Hexcore, allowing it to keep the plants alive and accomplish everything he and Jayce had been working towards for years, maybe even curing this sickness that had taken over him, or…

Or it could end horribly.

The undercity was as dark and unpleasant as he remembered it. He had never fit in here in his youth - too scrawny, too bookish, and with his leg, he stood no chance. And now was no different.

The neon store signs stood out against the blackened buildings and muddy streets. This part of the city, deep in the underbelly of Zaun, seemed busier than the rest, roads bustling with call girls and salesmen and tourists from Topside taking their pick of unruly establishments. Hundreds of voices layered atop each other in a cacophony of harsh laughter, garish music and argumentative tones. There was barely space to walk, especially with his cane, and he was starting to wonder if this journey was even worth it.

Then something caught his eye. A flash of red, deep and vibrant, moving towards him on the far side of the lane. It was hair, bouncy and curly and his subconscious told him it was shorter than it should’ve been, but it was a colour he knew. Her face wasn’t one he could place at first, but as she got closer, he saw the freckles that smattered across her nose like a constellation, her pink lips that were perpetually curled into a soft frown, her eyes that she always accentuated with brown liner. It was her.

The only friend of his youth. A young girl who used to sit behind the foliage near the water where he tested his inventions. She was shy, even shyer than he used to be, too scared to ask him anything about what he was making for a long time, just watching with curious eyes. But he would never forget the day she moved closer. The way her long, burgundy locks flowed around her, almost touching the floor, the way she was trying her best to be confident, but there was a soft shake in her hand, and a slight stutter as she said hello. Then she produced a small invention of her own - a submarine, the same colour as her hair, designed to float perfectly so the periscope was the only thing that peeked out from the surface.

For years, they were inseparable. She was more artistic than him, always adding a flair to her designs that he didn’t have, so he’d let her ‘improve’ his too. They would play together, and then as they got older, build together, each creation more daring and experimental. And then they started to drift apart. They were in their mid teens when her mother got sick, and she couldn’t make it out as much. Viktor always offered to help, but she refused, not even allowing him to see where she lived. And so, when Professor Heimerdinger found him and offered him an opportunity to be his assistant, he couldn’t even tell her. He left a note, delicately placed under a rock where they would build together, telling her where to find him and how to get in touch, but he never heard anything.

And now here she was. He called out her name softly, not wanting to alarm her in this hostile city, but she didn’t hear. She’d walked past him now, so he turned, following but she was walking fast, faster than he could manage. He called out again, but it wasn’t until then that he noticed the headphones over her ears. She couldn’t hear a thing. He carried on, hoping she would stop but she didn’t. If it was anyone else, he would’ve gone home, given up, but now he’d caught a glimpse of her, he had to see her. To talk to her. To find out why she never got in touch. To apologise for leaving her behind.

She disappeared from view for a moment, and he panicked, thinking he’d lost her again, but he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, entering an alley beside a row of bars and clubs. He grimaced, following her to see the red locks just moving out of sight again, and a bouncer closing the door behind her. He tried to follow her into the building, but the man stopped him.

“Please…” he asked, out of breath, “it’s an old friend, I need to see her…”

“Staff entrance only, pal. You’ll have to go ‘round the front like everyone else.”

“But… she’s right there… I only need one moment, if she just saw me…” The words died on his lips. Would she even recognise you?

“Don’t make me ask you twice.”

It was dark inside the club, the lights low apart from on the stage and around the bar. It was only mid afternoon, but the place was near full of lowlifes just starting their evenings, sloshing their drinks and talking loudly. The neon from outside carried into this space too, strip lights around the platforms accentuating their presence. There were dancers atop each of them, but he averted his eyes. He shouldn’t have come here. This was so far from his comfort zone, loud and unruly, a long way away from his lab, but he had to see her. He couldn’t let her go again.

He found a stool by the bar, ordering a soda and waiting for her to start her shift. There was no way he could miss her again if he was right here when she started.

And then he saw her at the very edge of his vision, as though his eyes were programmed to search her out in any crowd. She was on stage, cherry red hair glowing in the soft lights, combined with the neon from below making her look like a ghost, ethereal. What was she doing up there?

***

“Afternoon, Joey.” You muttered to the bouncer, and he opened the door for you wordlessly as you slipped off your headphones, replacing your perfectly selected playlist with the sleazy music of the club. Just one of the many reasons you hated working here. You were running late, as per, throwing your things in your locker and quickly changing. Lacing up your shoes always took the longest time, and you barely even had a chance to check yourself in the mirror when you were finished. Your hair looked perfect at least, the naturally burgundy curls sitting at shoulder length. You missed the long hair of your youth, but it become impractical very quickly, and the memories it held… you ended up cutting it all off soon after your mum died. That was when you started working here too. You’d had dreams, of course you did, but growing up in the Undercity made it almost impossible to follow them. There were worse places to work though - for the most part, the patrons were respectful, and everyone who you worked with was kind, but it was still a strip club. At the end of the day, no little girl wanted to be an exotic dancer when they grew up. At least it just about paid the bills.

You had been put on a long shift today - late afternoon until the early hours. You didn’t mind though; it was exhausting, but more time meant more tips. And you needed the money. You were saving, slowly but surely. One day, it would be enough.

These shifts always started slow. Not many tips this early in the day. Not enough drunks - they were all too willing to part with their money, an exploit you knew how to use. After a while on stage, it was your turn to make your way into the crowd. You started away from the bar, smiling at a few, a couple of words of flirtation thrown around, but no one was loose enough for anything else yet. There was something different about the energy today though. You felt… exposed, on display, more than usual. Self conscious in a way you hadn’t been since your first week. By the time you got to the bar, you were already feeling frustrated at the lack of interest. But your favourite coworker was pouring the drinks tonight, and she had one ready for you already.

“Thanks, Katie” You crooned, knocking back the shot quickly and she immediately offered to refill - something you gratefully accepted.

“Thought you might need it. Slow start?”

“Yeah, not the best day so far.” You took your second, thanking her again, when you heard a voice call out your name. Your real name. It made you start, whipping your head around to find the source. You didn’t use that name here. You were expecting to see an ex, or an old boss, but instead you were met with a face you hadn’t seen in years.

His eyes hadn’t changed. Kind but tired, amber in colour and glowing like whiskey in sunlight. The curve of his nose was the same, the curl of his lips, the small moles like points on a map - one beneath his right eye and the other to the left of his lip. There was a cane tucked beside his stool, and he was dressed well. Too well to be in this part of town. A uniform of some sort, something a Topsider would wear: blue shirt accented with a cream ascot and waistcoat. It suited him.

As soon as you saw him, every fond memory of your childhood rushed back to you like a river. The gentleness when he explained his creations to you. His willingness when you asked if you could paint them pretty colours, or add cute designs. The way he held you as you cried about your mum falling ill. How quickly he offered you support, and how quickly you turned him down. You didn’t want to be a burden, but you regretted that choice as soon as he stopped showing up to your usual spot. You kept going for months before you gave up, still trying to find him. The last time you visited was to scatter your mum’s ashes - your stories of Viktor’s designs and the beautiful creek where you tested them out together being one of the last things that brought her comfort.

And now, he was here.

He’d made it out. He’d made it Topside. And you’d only fallen further down.

If there was one person you never wanted to see you like this, it was him. He was the only slither of your youth and innocence left, the only soul in the whole of Runeterra who knew the true version of yourself, the first version of yourself. The version you actually liked. And now, he had to see this. You couldn’t tell what you were feeling. Every emotion was vying for attention: joy, nostalgia, anger, envy…

He repeated your name in a questioning tone, and you realised you’d been staring at him, the rollercoaster of emotions you just went on likely visible on your face.

“Do you know him, darling? Or shall I grab Joe?” Katie asked from behind the bar, staring him down with a protective look. Viktor opened his mouth to speak, indignant look on his face, but you answered for him, never once being able to tear your eyes from him.

“Yeah I… cover for me? If anyone asks, he got a dance.”

“Of course.” Viktor’s gaze had returned you, confused, and you just muttered a ‘come on’, signalling him to follow you, and you lead him across the floor to one of the private rooms. They weren’t exactly the nicest places to talk, the whole room painted a hideous deep purple, a weirdly-shaped black velvet sofa the only thing to sit on. As soon as you closed the door, turning around to see the soft look on his face, every drop of anger seeped from you, replaced with relief. Relief that he was alive. Relief that he had done something with his life. Relief that you hadn’t lost him forever.

You couldn’t help it but let the tears fall as you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him tight.

***

He was surprised by her warm welcome. After all these years, he had always imagined she would resent him, but here she was, face pressed to his chest as she hugged him, tears falling onto his shirt. He didn’t even have to think about it, one arm naturally surrounding her as she cried, keeping her close, while the other held firm to his cane, ensuring it was stable for the both of them. He never wanted to let her go again.

She eventually pulled away though, wiping her tears with the shy smile he remembered so well.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to.. on your fancy Topside shirt too.” She laughed nervously, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I… um, I imagined bumping into you one day, finding you again, but I never thought I would be dressed like this.” He finally let himself glance down at her when he said that, to take her in completely, safe in the knowledge that she wasn’t meeting his eyes. She looked beautiful - a black two-peice set, solid silk on the areas that counted, but the frills and accents were a sheer lace, stockings too, glittering beads woven into the delicate material. Even if the environment didn’t suit her, somehow the clothes still did, the same style he’d seen her develop in her teenage years. Simple in colour, beautiful in design - the cunning of her inventor’s mind applied to her other passion.

“What are you doing here, Viktor?” She sat down on the awkward sofa, curling her legs up onto it, and he followed suit, resting his cane against the arm.

“I could ask you the same thing.” It fell from his lips before he could stop it, and he winced, expecting her to be offended, but she just smiled sadly.

“You got out.” She stated as a shrouded question, ignoring his quip, and he nodded. He could explain, he should, but not yet.

“And you never wrote me.” He responded.

“Write you? Viktor, I didn’t know where you were.” She never got your letter.

“I left you a note by the creek. You never got it?” She shook her head. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve found you somehow, or…”

“It’s ok, Vik.” She shuffled closer on the loveseat, grabbing his hand and squeezing tight. Hearing the name she used to call him sent a pang of pain to his heart. This is what he had been missing out on all these years, all because of a stupid letter. “If I was in your shoes, I’d have done the same. Besides, I never let you see where I lived, or anything else about me. And when mum… I fell off the face of the earth. I wouldn’t have let you in no matter how hard you tried.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“I know.”

***

You spent a long time asking about his life now. He was working in the academy, partners with Piltover’s favourite researcher, helping to create the HexTech that kept the whole city afloat… he had changed the fucking world. And you were… here. Still.

He said your name softly, as though trying to broach a subject carefully and you knew what was coming. You had seen the query floating in his eyes since the moment he saw you.

“What are you doing working here? I mean, you’re brilliant, more so than me, and yet…”

“I’m still stuck in the Lanes?” You sighed.

“Well, yes.” You’d never once thought of him as ignorant. Maybe he’d been living Topside for too long.

“I never got my break. You deserved what you got, of course you did, and you’re the smartest person I know, Viktor, but that doesn’t change the fact that you got lucky. And it’s not the same here as when we were kids. Sure, things weren’t great then, but now… There are no jobs, no money, housing is insanely competitive even though most of it is disgusting.. it’s a vicious cycle meant to keep you in the shitter. This is what I could get. It pays my bills and lets me save a little, the other girls are nice, it’s close to my apartment…”

“But…” You knew from the look on his face what he was going to say - a long speech about how much potential you have, and how much better you could have it. You dropped his hand.

“But what?” You couldn’t help but snap, defensive over the very job that you cursed daily. “But I’m better than selling myself to sleazy drunks? You think I don’t fucking know that? You think I want to be losing my sense of self every day just so I can keep the lights on? You think it’s my dream to feel like I’m a lesser human being because I will let someone pay me to take them into this room and…” You stood up then, starting to pace as silent tears fell. You never let yourself think about any part of your life longer than you had to. Not pondering on it was the only thing keeping you alive.

“You know I wasn’t saying that…”

“I know I’m sorry… I just…”

“I know… I know…” He stood up then too, wrapping you in his arms and letting you cry. Again. You felt so stupid. “I missed you.” He whispered, face nestled into your hair, barely audible.

“I missed you too.” The tender moment didn’t last for long though, as a sharp knock on the door startled you, jumping away from him and wiping your eyes.

“Vikki?” Joey’s voice called out, and you breathed a sigh of relief. “You ok in there?” You put on your smiley voice, cooing back to him.

“Yeah, all good Joe, got a paying customer in here...”

“You got it, doll.” You heard him walk away, and turned back to see Viktor looking at you, head cocked, small smirk playing across his features.

“What?” You asked with a shy smile, wiping away the last of your tears.

“Vikki?” Oh.

“Well I couldn’t exactly use my real name.” He laughed at that, and you couldn’t help but giggle too. “That does mean we’ve been in here too long though, I should…”

“Yeah, no of course…” he moved to open the door, grabbing his cane, but you stopped him quickly, pressing your hand against the door frame.

“One second…” He frowned as you reached towards him, but he didn’t move, just watched curiously as you took your time unknotting his ascot. Once it was off, you unbuttoned a few of his buttons, trying to ruffle his shirt a little, make it look like you had actually been doing your job rather than talking to an old friend. “There…” you muttered quietly, realising he’d shuffled a little closer to you as you worked, and now his lips were only a breath away. He was looking at you so intently, as though there was something he wanted to say, but he never spoke, just gazed at you in a way that made your heart swell. Your hands lingered on his chest, comforted by the warmth and solidness of him. A reassurance that he was real and here. You didn’t want to move.

“Please, don’t go anywhere just yet…” you muttered, the words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

***

She had been backstage for a while now, muttering something about trying to move her shifts around. She came back beaming, and it was infectious, a smile he was trying to fight taking over his own face just at the sight of her.

“Ok, if you’re busy tonight, or you have plans, you can tell me to piss off…”

“Never.” She blushed in response, her wide smile spreading further as she spoke, and he was helplessly drawn to her, eyes scanning her face intently.

“Well, someone came in early for their shift, but someone else is running late… anyway, our schedule is a mess, but good news is I only have to stay for another hour and then I’m free so… I was thinking, maybe you’d want to grab some food and catch up? Unless you have somewhere else to be…” She still sounded so shy, so unsure - the same habit she had when she was young, babbling when she was nervous. He was finding it hard to connect the dots in his mind: the timid person before him now, the girl he used to know, and the dancer on that stage, full of bravado and confidence.

“That sounds wonderful.” The joy in her face was intoxicating, and he watched as relief visibly washed over her body.

“Ok, brilliant.” She spun away for just a moment, trying to track down the bartender she seemed to know well. “Katie, he’s with me, ok? Send him back in like an hour, and his drinks are on my tab.” He tried to protest, but she rested a hand on his shoulder, quickly silencing him. “I insist. It’s the least I can do, considering how long you have to wait around.” Again, he tried to tell her didn’t mind, that he’d wait as long as she needed, anything for her, but she was gone already, slipping into the crowd, his shoulder cold where her hand had been. He sighed, turning back towards the bar on his stool, taking another sip of his soda.

“That’s our Vikki…” Katie mused, slicing a few garnishes behind the bar. “Never accepting that somebody else would want to do something for her.” He let out a dry laugh, half at the name, half in agreement.

“That sounds like her.” A beat of silence passed between them. The club was starting to fill up, but it wasn’t too rowdy yet, and nobody else was at the bar, all relying on bottle service and shot girls instead.

“Drink?” He shook his head politely. “How do you know her?” Katie asked, staying busy but obviously trying to snoop. He didn’t mind. She was a topic he didn’t mind talking about.

“Childhood friend. I haven’t seen her in… a very long time.” Her eyebrow shot up at that.

“What was your name, by the way?”

“Viktor.” A look of surprise flitted across her face.

“Ohh.” She drawled knowingly, smiling at herself as she continued to wedge limes.

“What?”

“I’ve heard of you, that’s all. Her childhood love who disappeared on her while her mother was dying…”

“You don’t know the whole story…” He snapped back quickly. He might hate himself for what happened, but he felt the need to defend his choices. It had turned out well for him, he just wished he could’ve found her. Taken her with him. Their life could’ve been so different. Katie chuckled, continuing her tasks.

“Oh trust me, I do. She’s very quick to defend you, you know. You can do no wrong in her eyes…”

“Not so sure about that…” As he muttered to himself, something she’d said suddenly hit him. Her childhood love…“Actually, on second thought, I will grab a drink please, whatever she usually has. But don’t put it on her tab…”

“I wasn’t planning on it, Topsider.” She saluted mockingly with a smile.

Two down and that was all he was having, just needing something to take the edge off after Katie’s admission. All those years wasted, because you thought childhood love was stupid and pointless. And now, seeing her again, you still love her as much as you did back then…

Katie was on her break, so he twisted in his seat, trying to find her in the crowd. She had never been difficult for him to spot, everything about her so familiar to him, and this time, she was centre stage, which made it even easier. Every part of him was screaming to turn away, to not taint his view of her, but he was instantly transfixed. She danced so fluidly, so gracefully. Every movement she made was purposeful and poised. However much she hated her job, she took pride in it. He was a scientist, sure, but she was a creator, through and through.

***

You were finally finished, and you were exhausted. Even though it wasn’t even half a usual shift, seeing Viktor, all the memories it brought back, it had been so emotionally draining.

You were grateful that the changing area was empty. It wasn’t the usual shift time, and no one ever came here on their break, so at least Viktor wouldn’t have to deal with that. You almost laughed at the thought.

There was a gentle knock, and his voice sent a flutter straight to your heart.

“Vikki?” He called out mockingly, and you laughed at the way he’d latched on to your new name. It was inspired by him, after all. “Are you decent?”

“Yes, you can come in.” You were looking good, if you said so yourself. The fashion and the opportunity you were afforded to express yourself in that way was one of the few things you did like about this place. You’d tried to incorporate the shapes and designs of your ‘work attire’ into a more Lanes-friendly outfit, layering a black organza shirt over the lacy bodice, beading shining through the sheer fabric, pairing it with a bubble skirt and knee high boots, just the right height to allow your stockings to peek from the top. There was only one item that wasn’t black; his neckerchief that you had taken earlier was now around your own collar, tied in a dainty bow. He grinned as soon as he laid his eyes on it, striding towards you and gently holding the hemmed edge between his fingers.

“I guess I’m not getting this back, huh.”

“Never.” He shrugged.

“I’m ok with that.” God, the way he looked at you. It made you melt without fail, warm flush spreading across your cheeks.

“Are you ready to go?” You muttered, eyes still glued to his, honey tones making you feel as though you were stuck in them. A fly trapped in amber, resigned to its fate.

“I’m ready when you are.”

You’d decided you were going to cook for him tonight instead of taking him out. The places near you either weren’t nice enough, or they knew you for the wrong reasons. Besides, you wanted to show him your place. To show him that, even though you were still here, you had done everything you could to make the best of it, to continue learning and inventing and developing yourself.

That did mean you had to stop by the store, though. Which meant bumping into Angel. He and Viktor would not get on.

You had grabbed Viktor’s arm as soon as you left the club, a habit from the times Joey had walked you home, knowing that you were safer beside a man than by yourself. Even though the Undercity was bustling tonight, there was something so soothing about being here with him. A nostalgia warming you from the inside out. He let you guide him into the shop below your apartment, chatting absentmindedly about nothing and everything, when a smooth voice stopped yoou in your tracks.

“Not so fast, Vikki…” You groaned, turning back the few steps you had made into the entrance.

“Hey Angel.” You cooed, although it felt wrong falling into your usual flirtatious routine when Viktor was right behind you. He was working behind the counter today, thumbing through the till. His long dreadlocks were down, grey peeking through his beard, wide grin as his eyes traced over you, following your arm to where it joined the man next to you.

“Is that a nickname, or…” Viktor muttered, and you couldn’t help but laugh as you responded.

“No, Vik, this is my landlord Angel…”

“Landlord, huh? Thought I was more than that, sugar…” He leaned across the counter, shit-eating smile on his face, clearing noticing and enjoying the fact he was winding up your new companion. Viktor scowled, moving a step closer to you.

“Yeah, yeah, keep dreaming, old man…” You sent him a wink, and he laughed, the booming noise of it always making you smile. “What have you got in that’s fresh? I’m actually cooking tonight…”

You chatted a little longer, grabbing what Angel recommended and some wine, before heading upstairs via the back of the shop. Viktor was still scowling slightly as you were unlocking your door, and you laughed lightly, nudging him with the bag of shopping.

“What?” He huffed.

“I don’t like that guy.” He grumbled, feeling smug that you had called it.

“He���s my landlord, Vik, and a friend. He’s a good guy, don’t worry.” He just shrugged as you finally got the door open, and you thanked the stars that you had remembered to tidy last night, or else it would be a complete tip. There were still remnants from your busy morning scattered all around the studio: scrap pieces of fabric and thread strewn across the kitchen table, the half-finished neglige you were constructing laid over the back of one of the chairs, the cogs and pieces of machinery lie abandoned next to your sewing machine in the wake of the modifications you were trying to make so it could handle more delicate material. The space itself was dark in colour, olive and navy washing the walls, brown leather sofa and black countertops marking their territory in the small apartment, the stain-glass screen in front of your bed the only splash of jewel toned colour. You could feel Viktor’s curiosity at the place, and as he stepped further into it, a smile settled onto his lips.

“It’s so very… you.” He said, and in any other intonation, it would’ve sounded like a bad thing, but when he said it, full of adoration.. it was a compliment of the highest order.

***

She was mesmerising as she cooked, twirling in the kitchen to her carefully selected vinyl, a wide smile on her face as she tested what she was making. He wanted to help but she wouldn’t let him, batting him away and telling him to sit down, and for now, he had obliged. But, as much as he wanted to help her always, right now, he just wanted to be close.

“At least let me pour the wine?” He said, already standing to help, and she huffed, but didn't object. Instead, she handed him the corkscrew and the bottle wordlessly. He smiled, leaning against the counter and continuing to watch her as she stirred. She was always so chaotic when she was creating, something evidenced by the near bomb-site on her kitchen table. It was just so… her. Everything about her apartment was as well, such a perfect and beautiful representation of everything she was, every tiny detail of her life and personality reflected in the space she lived in. The colours, the soft furnishings, the bookshelves lining the wall behind her bed. Then, he noticed something about the stain glass screen that separated the room, soft light from her bedside lamp washing through it and creating a blue ripple across the floor like a stream. It was of their place, their creek. It was abstract, sure, but he would recognise it anywhere. The way certain rocks jutted out, the colours of it all, the small boat floating in the still glass water.

“Did you make that?” He asked earnestly, and she briefly glanced up from the stove to see what he was looking at.

“Yeah, I've been trying out a lot of different hobbies actually, things to keep me busy when I’m not working. That was one of my favourites…”

“It’s beautiful.” She smiled sadly, focusing her attention back to the pan.

“It reminds me of you.”

He poured them both a glass, and she gratefully accepted.

“It’s nearly finished, just a few more… oh I meant to ask earlier…” Her mind was such a beautiful thing, the speed at which it moved so captivating, not even time to finish her own thought before starting another, “why were you even here today? In the Undercity, in my club… I just never thought I’d see you back here by choice.”

“I was visiting an old friend, a quandary about a new gadget Jayce and I are working on, but…” He was going to say something about it, ask her opinion on whether he should follow Doctor Reveck’s advice, what he should do next, but he decided against it. “He didn’t have any insights.”

“Maybe I can help?”

“No, I…” She looked hurt at the speed the word left his mouth, almost recoiling and turning back to her cooking with a frown. “I mean that you probably could, but I don’t want to taint tonight by talking about a project that has been frustrating me for weeks. Another time though, of course I would appreciate your insight.” She sighed in relief, smile flitting back across her face. She grabbed a spoon from the drawer, humming as she did, a flurry of breathtaking movement as she dipped it into the sauce, spinning back around and holding it up to him.

“Taste?” She asked, the look on her face so hopeful it melted him, her joy infectious. But underneath all of it, he couldn't help but notice the cracks: the bags under her eyes, the tiredness set into them, the subtle shake of her hand. But he just smiled, enveloping her hand in his and bringing the spoon to his lips.

“It’s perfect.”

“I’m not sure I’d go that far.” She looked proud nonetheless, spinning back away from him and he was left to watch again, heart swelling. He wanted this. Cooking with her, drinking wine in the kitchen to her favourite record, letting her order him around. He wanted the… intimacy of it. The domesticity. The realisation of it ached. You could’ve had this. All these years without her, all these years wasted. Precious time that you no longer have to spare. If you’d have just waited, just taken more time to find her, insisted on helping her even…

“It’s ready!” She exclaimed, presenting a plate with a wide grin, and every stress, every regret simultaneously melted away and intensified, a pit forming in his stomach.

“It looks wonderful.”

***

You had eaten, and you were both now on your second glass of wine. You felt closer to him with every single second, drawn to every word he said like moth to a flame. At some point in the evening, you’d moved to the floor, backs to the sofa, as you looked through some of your old sketches you had found. The conversation lulled momentarily, a faraway look in his eyes, and you realised how close you had gotten. Your elbow was leaning on the sofa, supporting your head with your body twisted to face him, knee pressing against his thigh. You moved your head forwards to glance at the sketchbook, and your hand fell, resting on his shoulder. A stillness fell over him at the touch, and he smiled sadly to himself.

“I think you should come back with me.” He stated with finality, and you froze.

“What do you…”

“I think you should come back to Piltover.” He closed the book, placing it gently on the low coffee table. He was serious. “Help Jayce and I with our projects. Let me teach you about HexTech.”

“Vik, I don’t exactly have any actual experience. I don’t have an education. I can’t afford to live Topside…”

“You can live with me.” He said it so simply, like it was so obvious. Of course you would love that. Now you’d seen him again, you didn’t want to be apart from him but… “Professor Heimerdinger can give you lessons, but you have the mind already. There are certain things that can’t be taught. You have the passion, the skill, the creativity…”

“But…” You weren’t trying to pick apart his plan, but it felt terrifying. Even though it was everything you had ever wanted, it felt so far fetched. Like a fever dream. It didn’t feel like your life, your future.

“No, I… I lost you once, I can’t do it again.”

“Vik…” He grabbed your hand that was resting by his shoulder, and you felt yourself relax into his touch. He turned head to meet your eyes, sadness creeping into them.

“I don’t have much time left.” The finality of his statement shocked you, and you couldn’t tell what he was talking about. Did he have somewhere else to be? Oh god, you’d already kept him here too long…

“What do you mean, time left?”

“I’m dying.” It felt like somebody had punched you in the gut, all the air in your lungs gone.

“You’re…”

“Dying.” He repeated factually, and your heart sank further into your stomach. “And if we don’t… Jayce and I are working on something that might help, but if it doesn’t, I need someone I trust to take over from me.”

“Viktor, hold on, I need to think…” Your mind was racing, and you still couldn’t quite wrap your head around everything, hands running through your hair. He was dying. He wanted you to move Topside. He wanted you to work with him. To take over his life’s work. “It’s been years. I haven’t seen you in years and now you want me to… now you trust me to…”

“Of course.” He muttered, speaking your name softly to get your attention, hand gently wiping your face where tears had fallen without you noticing. “You’re everything to me, you always have been. There’s nothing I wouldn’t trust you with.” His hand was still resting on your face, and as you searched his eyes, you saw something else. Something pleading, something that echoed the feeling bouncing around in your heart. It would be hard. It would take a long time to settle in, to learn the ropes, to feel like you belonged. But it was your dream. To help change the world. And if he didn't have long, there was no chance you were wasting any of your time left with him.

“Ok.” You answered nodding, and you watched a smile take over his face, heart swelling at the sight.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah… Vik, you’re offering me my dreams on a silver platter, and on top of it all, I get to be…” You nearly slipped, about to say be with you but you knew that was a lot. That you had only just reunited and to spring the whole I’ve loved you since I was 10 and I’ve never loved a soul since thing on him might ruin the dream that he’s just given you. But, fuck, you wanted to kiss him right now. “I get to work with you again.. there would have to be one hell of a catch for me to say no to that.”

“The whole dying thing isn’t too much of a problem then?” He asked with a slight smile, trying to hide a genuine fear beneath a joke.

“Oh, honey, knowing that we don’t have another decade of time to lose… I’m not letting you slip through my fingers this time.” His hand felt so natural resting against your cheek you’d forgotten it was there until it moved to cup the base of your neck, thumb drawing gentle lines across your jaw. His amber eyes were searching your features, looking for anything to indicate that you were unsure, but your resolve shone through, and you could see the moment he realised this was going to work, relief flooding through them.

Then, before you could process what was happening, his hand gently guided you forward until your lips brushed against his—light as a feather. For a moment, you couldn't believe he had just kissed you, that it was real. But as you met those pleading honey eyes, everything else faded away. Every doubt, every regret, every sliver of worry vanished, replaced by such overwhelming care and love that you felt you might burst. Your body gave in without conscious thought, melting into his arms as you kissed him. His hands drifted to the back of your head, tangling in your hair and pulling you closer. You couldn't get close enough, your hands gripping the front of his shirt. His fingers traced down your body until they reached your hips, pulling you over him. A soft giggle escaped into his mouth as you swung your leg over his, settling onto his lap. When he finally broke for breath, you found yourself chasing his lips, panting into the space between you with a wide smile.

His lips found yours again, this time with more urgency, more need. Your hands slid up his chest to his shoulders, steadying yourself as his grip on your hips tightened. The feeling of his fingers pressing into your skin sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but let out a soft moan into his mouth. He smiled against your lips, one hand moving to cup your face while the other remained firmly at your waist.

"I've wanted this for so long," he whispered against your mouth, voice rough with emotion. You could only nod in response, too overwhelmed by the feeling of finally being in his arms after all these years.

The record had long since stopped playing, leaving only the sound of your shared breaths and racing hearts in the quiet apartment. His thumb traced gentle circles on your cheek as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, full of warmth and something deeper, something that had been there all along. Something that you had been too blinded by insecurity to notice earlier. Something that you knew all too well, reflected in your own heart. You pressed your lips to the mole on his cheek, and the one beside his mouth, a small smirk playing across his features as you did.

“I still can’t quite believe this is happening.” You muttered softly against his cheek, and he sighed, thumb dancing across your lips.

You eventually found yourselves entwined on your bed, limbs tangled in soft cotton sheets, his back pressed firmly against your sturdy wooden headboard as you rocked onto him with gentle, deliberate movements. Each subtle shift of your hips sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, making your breath catch. You panted softly into his mouth as his strong, careful hands helped guide your every motion, his touch both grounding and electrifying. The overwhelming need to be closer drove you to pull him tighter against you, your arms wrapping securely around his shoulders until there wasn't even a whisper of space between your bodies. Your chest pressed firmly to his, feeling his rapid heartbeat matching yours, as your head naturally found its place in the crook of his neck. You pressed feather-light kisses against the sensitive skin, tasting the salt and breathing in his familiar scent. The intimacy of the moment was almost overwhelming - so intense, so raw, so perfectly natural - and you found yourself climbing toward your peak faster than you ever had before, your body responding to his every touch as if it had been waiting for this moment forever. You whined softly into his skin as pleasure built within you, each movement bliss, and he responded with a groan as he pressed his lips tenderly to your temple.

"That feels so good, sweetheart," he drawled, his voice coarse with desire, and your hips instinctively bucked harder against him, drawing a sharp gasp from both of you. His meticulous fingers traced teasing patterns across your hipbones before finding their way between your bodies, circling your sensitive clit with perfectly measured pressure that made your toes curl. His other hand gently cupped your chin, drawing you back until your eyes met his, gilded with desire but still so full of tenderness. His lips ghosted across yours before he pressed his forehead to your own, releasing your face and returning his hand to your hip, guiding you once more. You could feel yourself fluttering around him as your pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak, and his eyes rolled back, a broken groan escaping his lips and filling the charged space between you. The coil of pleasure wound tighter and tighter as you approached your climax, desperately seeking more of him, claiming his mouth in a deep, passionate kiss that swallowed the stream of desperate moans spilling from both your lips. When your release finally crashed over you, it was like nothing you'd ever experienced - all the pressure, all the built-up desperation exploded like a supernova and pure, white-hot ecstasy consumed every nerve ending, every thought, every sensation except the feeling of him inside you and against you. He followed shortly after, gasping your name like a prayer against your skin as his own pleasure overtook him, his lips finding purchase on your neck as he shuddered through his release. In that moment, it was perfection, hearing him, feeling him, everything you had ever dreamed of and more. But as you came down from your shared bliss, you couldn't quite silence the intruding thought lurking at the edges of your consciousness - that you wouldn’t have him for long.

***

She looked so peaceful curled against him, her head nestled perfectly in the crook of his chest as if she belonged there, her beautiful red hair fanning out like a fiery halo in the dim light. Her beauty was staggering - the gentle slope of her nose, the delicate arch of her brows, the soft curve of her lips - and he couldn't help but trace each feature with his fingertips, mapping the geography of her face with tender precision. She sighed contentedly in her sleep at his touch, unconsciously pressing closer to him, one hand curling loosely in the fabric of his sheets that lay across them. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this complete, this profoundly at peace, as if all the jagged pieces of his life had suddenly aligned. His fingers continued their gentle exploration, committing every detail to memory - the light dusting of freckles across her nose, the subtle flutter of her eyelashes, the way her lips curved slightly downwards even in sleep. He wanted to capture this moment, to carry it with him always like a talisman, a protection. A reminder that he would do anything to preserve her peace of mind. To make her happy.

The soft amber from the bedside lamp caught in her hair and painted her skin in warm honey tones, making her look almost otherworldly in her beauty, an ethereal being who had chosen, inexplicably, to be with him. He pressed his lips to her forehead in a feather-light kiss, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair, before letting his own eyes drift closed. Despite everything - the illness creeping through his veins, the uncertainty that clouded their future like a torrential storm on the horizon - right now, everything felt exactly as it should be.

[imthataliensuperstar]

Even though I hated seeing Viktor having a terminal illness and being in pain :( BUT….

He looked so pretty and hot as fuck while doing it!!!

UGH I WISH HE KEPT WEARING THE GLOVES TOO!!!

[discomxcabre]

i wish i was rich so i could buy a big house from the xix century that has an observatory with a decorative copper frame that i would turn into a big lab for viktor, then i would buy him all the equipment he needs, also make the house very accessible for him. and maybe it would have a big art nouveau elevator with stained glass of pink tulips, also a lot of places to sit, like velvet sofas embroidered in roses or a bay window with flowery curtains.

and it could have a glass ceiling of windows i could let the sun into after i carry him sweetmilk with honey, the presence of which fills the morning's scent. and i would kiss his forehead before i head to work, while the sun would create shining lines on his chocolate hair, pretending its golden like his eyes. and I would scold him for not washing it...

and after i come back i would cook us pasta with spinach for dinner, then the succulent scent fills the air while i take him to the kitchen decorated with pastel-colored tiles that are ornamented with plant motifs, older than both of us. and when we are both eating i would tell him about my day, then make us green tea to convince him to take a break, during which i would sit on the olive-coloured upholstery of the bay window to listen to him talk about his experiments as he lays his head on my lap, then falls asleep on it. and i would admire him, as I stroke his soft hair, also his bony back, at the same time as he's napping peacefully on my thigh, while his fists lay close to his gentle face, alternately with looking through the glass wall into the greenness of our blossoming english-style garden, that we spend summer middays in.

and when he wakes up i would go with him to the heaven of his laboratory where he sits on my lap like if it was a feather-filled pillow, as he conducts his experiments, i would admire my precious genius, calling him my smart boy as i kiss the pale skin of his collarbone. and he would explain his experiments to me, whispering, as i nod and listen carefully, peeking at papers he spills blue ink on. and the sun creates a white, shining, blinding luminescence on the gears in addition to everything else gleaming in the afternoon lab.

and when the sun sets, i would sit on the laboratory's floor, with him between my thighs, his shoulder under my chin, my hands around his waist, while we would both watch as the blue of the sky turns into goldenness decorated with pink clouds, then turns into darkness decorated with the stars.

nsfw under the cut

and as the voyeurish sun is not there anymore, we're in the privacy of the night, our clothes transport to the cold floor beside us. and he will be laying on the floor, on pillows to give himself comforting warmth, in the perfect position to look at the stars. and i would be on top of him, so i can look at the beauty of the only star that matters. dark moles on the paleness of his petite body are a negative of the stars glistening in the dark absolute. and I photograph him in my mind as i make him see twice as many stars as there are in the sky. and the photography shows him shaking, holding tight onto me so he won’t fly away, his eyes coated in haze similar to the clouds on the firmament. and his whole pretty face is shining like clean night from wetness, sweat, tears, everything that i squeezed out of him like out of a luscious fruit.

and after a time of lying to recover i put some of my clothes back on, just to take them off as i carry him to the shower in the bathroom that's lavender tiles wrap around us. and i stand in water, including steam that softens the skin of both of us, as he sits on the shower bench, letting water drip down to the shiny ceramics, while my foam-filled fingers brush his hair, and the water dyes it black for a moment. and when he is clean, the air is filled with the lavender fragrance of the natural soap, then i give my back to his hardworking fingers to rub, to bathe my skin.

and after we both come out naked into coldness outside the shower, i would dry us both then clothe in matching sleepwear sewn out of indigo silk, then carry him to our bedroom, to our royalty-sized bed, covered in pillows embroidered with nebulas, while we would both sink in the blue sheets on the mattress. and he falls asleep with all his boniness, tininess, all his lightness laying on my chest, as i guard him, then fall asleep myself so i can be alive alongside him when i am waking up entwined to him the next day.

okay that was just a drabble and a lil play with words and colors, hope you guys enjoyed

i just want to spoil this man like he deserves, okay?

dividers by @strangergraphics

[highlandhour]

(Trans!viktor)

Viktor not caring about the wet patch you both have left on his bed. You’re squirming as he lays down with you, his thighs dripping with the both of you mixed together.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” He presses his hands to your face, pulling you close to him before pressing heavy kisses to your lips.

“Vik please, we need to wash up.”

He pulls back with knitted brows, a pout resting firmly across his face.

“Why don’t you just enjoy the feeling of us, yeah?” His legs latch around yours, elevating his hip and pressing his warm body against you.

“Vik..-”

“Shhh.” He leans his face into the column of your neck, dropping his hips lightly until his core meets your thigh. “Enjoy the feeling.” His hips buck and you can feel his clit rub against your skin.

“Won’t you love?”

[hivemuthur]

The Ugly Thing

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! smut, love confessions, D/S dynamics (if you squint or if you know what I'm talking about), pining, dom!viktor (but also not, if you squint, something something), Viktor-centric, AU college/university + modern era (again, you have to do some squinting for it to be relevant)

word count: 4,9K

summary: Yet another self-indulgent one-shot of Viktor and Reader. It's just an exploration. I want to believe this is erotica, but you tell me. Subspace/Domspace if you squint. Just squint, alright?

Cross-posted on AO3

—

Viktor was, at the very least, difficult. That was what he had called himself, and he relished the label, as it allowed him to be all things at once—sweet, shy, bold, cruel, smart, oblivious, observant. He walked through life making observations and turning his conclusions into actions, placing people exactly where he needed them, ensuring they couldn’t place him somewhere he didn’t want to be.

His relationships were fleeting moments of leniency—sometimes even kindness—offered only when he felt inclined. Occasionally, the kindness transpired twice, or three times, but never more, as the risk of forming a one- or double-sided attachment was undesirable. Viktor’s desires lay elsewhere, and in his pursuits, he indulged the weakness of the flesh while keeping his ultimate goal—recognition of his brilliant mind—crystal clear.

Always polite, so that nothing could hurt him. His armour of politeness and astute behaviour shielded him from the lingering hands that sought to cradle him through the night, from the tender offerings of morning coffee, and from the quiet intimacy of shared silences. Viktor didn’t crave these things. He made sure his politeness was cold, detached, and practised—a skill perfected to keep others at bay. There was no warmth in it, no invitation to linger.

From time to time, he indulged in fleeting encounters, moments where he allowed himself to surrender to the pull of human connection—physical, but never emotional. Emotional, but not lasting. It was a necessary recharge, a way to quiet the body’s demands, but he was always one step ahead. He ensured his partners understood that whatever fragile universe they built together in the night would dissolve with the first light of morning, leaving no trace beyond the cooling embers of his skin.

All that was left was being polite—a polite smile in the hallway, a pencil lent during a lecture, an elevator held for his perishable lover rushing to class. Their names never forgotten, but their warmth never wanted again.

Until you. Until you invaded his orbit and refused to be erased. Until you befriended Jayce, making it easy to keep meeting him, keep looking at him, keep exchanging amusements and something more than politeness—exchanging kindness. Until it turned out you were smart and driven and managed to scare him once or twice by pinning him with your joke.

Until he had slept with you, giving you his mediocre self—not the calculated, observant one, but the needy, touch-starved, pathetic one that moaned your name and groped you with begging hands. All during a completely unorchestrated evening in your dorm room, still half-clothed, just lustful and impatient. Just really fucking hungry in your mutual understanding, though you understood absolutely nothing. Oblivious to the ugly thing in him. Oblivious to the concept of boundaries. Oblivious to the need to protect yourself from prying eyes that might see the truth of what they were.

And the way you stared at him afterwards, gave your body a long stretch, and your limbs flopped back onto the mattress. And the way you said, “It’s ok if you want to go,” an understanding smile cracking across your face—yet you understood absolutely, utterly nothing. A way out he craved, but he wanted to carve it out for himself with his politeness, not with this—this knowing, wise look in your eyes that came from nowhere, because you knew nothing. He almost wanted to stay, just to spite you, but found himself only nodding, scrambling to his feet to fetch his brace and cane, and bidding you goodnight with a polite nod.

And the way you remained friendly. Not friendly—the way you two remained friends. The long nights spent in study groups, pulling straws to determine who was doomed to coffee duty, your head slumped in sleep on Jayce’s shoulder, his head resting on Mel’s. Your bare, cold feet stretched out, toes brushing against Viktor’s thigh, sending ice through his veins—and the way he didn’t mind. The way he contemplated cradling your feet in his palm, warming them against his better judgement.

The way your touch lingered on his arm when you grabbed him in the corridor to show him something funny on your phone. And the way the thing on your phone actually was funny—a picture of Jayce passed out in the library under a mountain of plastic cups balanced on his shoulders. The way his own laugh startled him, made his chest shake and his face lean in close to yours.

The way you would fall asleep in the common room, watching old horror films, your throat vulnerably exposed on his lap. And he just wanted to grab it, squeeze it tight, choke the confession out of you—that you lingered because you wanted more, because this friendship was unthinkable.

The way you got upset when he was mean, and the way he went out of his way to apologise with a childish, shit-eating grin. His arms reaching out for you, your palm pressing his face away in that same friendly gesture.

When he flushed his system with alcohol, all he could think about was fucking you senseless. And when your gaze lingered on him, burning all the way down into his ugly thing, you would ask what was on his mind, and he would say, “Physics.” And you would laugh his lie out.

The way, once, he gave you a lingering kiss on your doorstep and stopped himself. But seeing the question poised on the tip of your tongue, he sunk back in, turning the kiss into a sloppy, drunken mess, so you would be the one to push him away. A gentle pat on the shoulder, sending him off with the unspoken instruction to come back sober. And how he never came back for that.

All of this made him so fucking angry. His carefully mended self, constructed from sweetness, shyness, boldness, cruelty, wisdom, and oblivion, was crumbling under your pensive eyes—and the way you floated atop the pissed-off ocean of his mind.

And oh, he loathed himself on that evening, loathed the way his feet carried him to your room because he was feeling vaguely sad and distracted. He loathed his feet for doing so, loathed his finger for pressing the elevator button, loathed his knuckles for placing a quiet knock on your door. It was all so gross, so out of character, and he loathed it all.

And there you were, opening the door, your face full of dinner, hair messy, cheeks puffed out as you curled them into a closed-mouth grin and gave him a wave to come inside. A quiet “hi,” followed by a chuckle as you tried to swallow before chewing—and a cough when the gulp was too massive for your throat.

“Are you busy?” Viktor found himself blurting out, scanning the room. Your flatmate was gone for the weekend—her bed made, her shoes and coat missing. Observed, concluded. His eyes flicked over to the other bed: messy but cozy, notes scattered across it, a steaming cup on the bedside table, and a laptop propped in the leg area playing background noise. Studying, of course.

“I am always busy,” you grinned at him, your teeth bare and beautiful like the rest of you, as you dropped your dishes into the sink and put the kettle on. “Watching Dexter and studying. Do you want tea?”

“Maybe,” Viktor mused, biting his lip. He negotiated silently with himself, wondering what it was he hoped to find in this room that might sweeten his sour mood—and why his mood was sour in the first place. His hand wobbled on his cane, the traitorous thing, and he leaned against the doorframe to deflect, refusing to decide whether to step fully in or out.

“Okay, what’s gotten into you today?” you huffed, picking a mug you deemed suitable for him. Good Vibes Only, with a middle finger printed on the bottom of it, seemed fitting.

“Meaning?” Viktor cocked an innocent eyebrow, feeling the burn of your inquisitive gaze. Oh, to yank that lovely head by the neck and shove it between his legs, to ease the torment in his mind.

“This is the third time you’ve bothered me today. It’s the weekend. You usually work on the weekends. You’re being vague but resistant to probing. Did something happen?” The countdown of his sins, and it was only the count of one day. Nothing had happened, and that was the issue.

“I suppose I’m feeling… down?” He shrugged, the movement worn down, defeated. His brain ached, and he felt lonely. It had started to feel indecent to pursue others—and for that, you deserved a whack as well.

“Do you need a hug?” A mocking snort reached his ears. A long pause as the scales tipped between a ‘no’ and a ‘yes.’

“Yes.”

Another long pause, as you blinked and scanned him for any signs of a sham, your expression still uncertain. You had to make sure again. “Do you need a hug now?”

“No, in fifteen fucking minutes.” His undignified huff earned him a pair of raised eyebrows from you, and a remark already rolling off your tongue—but he cut it short. “Yes, now. Come here.” His head hung low, and only his hand made a beckoning gesture.

You smiled, disarmed by the black cat of Viktor, finally trying to scramble into your lap after months of teasing and playing around—head bumping and blinking at each other from afar. You walked up to him, your hands hesitant, as if this open display of need was unthinkable.

Before you could settle, Viktor snaked himself around you, his cane propped by the door, his frame bent and draped over you, leaning his body weight forward. It was the grabbiest, the neediest hug he had ever given—or that anyone had let him have. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, smashing his nose against your skin, and inhaled you deeply, through both mouth and nose.

His palms, open and wide, raked as much of your body in one go as they could. They slipped under your clothes, seeking the taut skin stretched across your back and shoulders. He wanted to go lower but could only squeeze.

You weren’t hugging him; he was hugging you. Caging you in his grip, controlling when the hug would end—and as far as he was concerned, not ever. You stilled under his touch, your hands resting obediently on his chest as he rubbed his face on yours, purring like a cat.

“Viktor?” Your voice was barely a whisper, bouncing off his mouth, an inch away from yours. “Would you like me to kiss you?” He sang his swan song in that moment, almost asking permission, granting you the illusion of control, the illusion of choice—when in truth, it was him silently begging for the kiss to happen.

“Would you like to kiss me?” Of course. A deflection. Nothing he wasn’t prepared for.

“I asked you first.” A cruel blow, almost childish. He pulled his face back a few inches to watch you wrestle with the indignity of the situation. The whine you tried to suppress at the loss of contact didn’t go unnoticed, and the snake in Viktor’s belly coiled its head up, smug and poised.

But then you did the thing he didn’t expect—twisting the serpent’s head off and tossing it aside with quiet defiance. You moved closer, nudging his chin with your cheek, your wide eyes pleading for his plea. His resolve shattered instantly.

He held you in place, his lips hovering just above yours. His whisper was longing, desperate. “Can I kiss you?”

A silent ‘yes.’ He only knew it was a ‘yes’ because he felt the movement of your lips on his—but he didn’t let you finish. He sank into your mouth with a disturbing, possessive urgency, pressing his tongue inside, licking your beautiful teeth, biting your beautiful skin.

He kept you locked in, pressing you down under the weight of his kiss. His mouth drooled into yours obscenely as he breathed heavily through his nose. It was the ugliest kiss he had ever given anyone—the ugliest anyone had ever taken from him. And yet, it was taken with such grace, such gratitude, that he wanted to give you everything else.

With inhuman strength, he pulled you both apart and placed his thumb on your lower lip, still glistening with his saliva. He traced it lazily, transfixed by the shimmering reflections on your skin. His heart swelled as he observed the redness blooming around the spots he had bitten. He wanted you bruised by his love—for everyone to see.

“What are you doing tonight?” Another plea, another promise, fell between you. Viktor cursed himself for being so open, so exposed. Because even though you knew nothing, you would understand this question.

“Watching Dexter and studying,” you said in an absent voice, your eyes following his, following the path of his thumb. The silence stretched between you, taut, until you felt the need to fill it. “Do you want to watch Dexter and study with me?”

“No.” The word escaped him in a croak, sung low and jagged, as if he had only just realised this wasn’t what he wanted at all. “Are you wet?” was all he wanted to know.

“What?” The word escaped you, surprised, almost appalled. Viktor braced himself for you to pull away, so he tightened his grip—but you didn’t. You just stared at him with those beautiful eyes on your beautiful face, your pupils dilating at the vulgar perversion of his question.

“I think you heard me. Are you wet right now?” He leaned in to whisper the filth into your ear, feeling his snake grow out a new head at the full-body shudder that went through you.

“What if I said no?” you asked shyly, your eyelashes brushing against his cheek.

“I would demand proof,” he murmured, holding the sides of your face as he poured his poison straight into your ear, his voice so quiet and rude that your eyes fluttered closed.

“What if I said yes?” You found some bravery in yourself, tracing your fingers along Viktor’s neck, just under the line of his hair. You smiled at the feeling of goosebumps rising under your fingertips. He couldn’t have this, of course.

“I would demand proof regardless,” he responded, his lips grazing the shell of your ear before licking it, slow and deliberate. He craned his head back to look at you. You appeared frightened and excited all at once, and if Viktor had no restraint, he would have run his fingers through your hair to soothe you. Instead, he placed a flat palm on your stomach, fingers pointing down, waiting for your permission.

He received a timid nod, but it wasn’t enough.

“Use your words.”

“You can check.” You closed your eyes and exhaled, as though allowing yourself to be judged for your crime. And as the crime was that of lust, Viktor, somewhere deep down, knew he didn’t really need proof, and that your punishment would be light. Because he didn’t truly want to punish you. He wanted to love you in an ugly way.

He slid his hand down, down beyond the waistband of your pants, down your lower belly straight to your womb, palming your cunt through the underwear and gasped, “Oh lásko, look at you.” His chest fluttered at the first touch, with joy and accomplishment, but also because he was right, when he slid the fabric to the side and ran his finger through your slit. Warmth dripped onto his fingertips, and he felt himself grow hard beneath the restraint of his own clothes.

“Do you really like me this much?” he cooed, so pleased that just one ugly kiss had managed to drench your knickers and make you feel so ashamed you nearly flinched away.

“Viktor—” You looked at the floor, your brows furrowed, your face burning from being so exposed, so naked. And you looked so, so beautiful.

“I am not mocking you,” he murmured, placing a reassuring hand on your cheek and caressing it gently. It was almost a praise, though he dared not say it yet. “What makes you want a cripple so much? Is it your heart that longs for me, your mind that thinks you can change me, or just your body?” he mused, revealing too much merely by asking.

You looked almost offended by how blunt he was about knowing what you wanted, just not knowing why. His fingers now parting you, playing at your entrance, teased you but you wouldn’t flinch. You just searched his face hesitantly and as Viktor grew tired of waiting, he pushed two fingers inside you, curling them, mercilessly bumping your wall, forcing you to flinch. He really wanted to see your eyes roll back into your skull, and he really wanted to hear his name distorted by a breathy moan.

“Which… would be the worst?” Your breath fanned his face as you steadied yourself on his shoulders. Truly, you weren’t ready for any of the options to be soured.

Viktor thought for a moment, his fingers slowly retreating, almost absent-mindedly. When his answer was found, he pushed back in, smiling innocently, his face moving close to yours. “The first. The second,” he mused, another slow, unbearably so, thrust. “I could fuck out of you. The third, well…” A gentle kiss on your lips, almost loving. “I see no fault in the third.”

“Of course, you don’t,” you scoffed, your grip on his shoulders tightening with each minute. “And what brings you back to me over, and ah,” a gasp escaped your mouth when Viktor brushed his thumb over your clit. You closed your eyes and evened your breath. “Back to me. Heart, mind or… body?” you asked, your brow furrowed in concentration against Viktor’s efforts to throw you off course.

“Which would be the worst?” He quirked his lips against yours and chuckled at another concentrated huff. He could feel your unrelenting grip on his shoulders, was convinced that it would leave a mark, and it made his cock twitch in his pants. To be marked by this gentle creature, a dream.

“Any of them, without the others,” you quipped, your eyes shut. Viktor’s movements stilled at that. You had managed to surprise him. Again. Of course, you would want to devour him as much as he wanted to devour you. Eat you whole, spit out the bones and build a shrine out of them. Ugly.

He retreated his hand and chuckled at the muffled whine that followed. He licked his fingers clean once your eyelids fluttered open, making sure you were watching. Rude. But he was going to kiss you with this mouth.

His hands snaked back up your spine, your body pliant against his, providing him with warmth. His teeth and lips got back to work on the swell of yours, and you fell right into it, mouth open, when his tongue pushed itself down your throat as Viktor began his meal. “I will die if I don’t fuck you,” he rasped. So fucking dramatic over nothing, over just a kiss and some unfinished fingering, and a clipped conversation about what he wanted.

He could abandon it here. He could walk out; he could sit on your bed and just study and watch Dexter. He could drink his tea, already cold, he could make you blush all evening, bid you goodbye and go back to his grimy room to jerk off and fuck off. But he couldn’t stop.

“Please, I’ll be so good to you,” he prayed to you, your hands so warm on his waist as he kissed you till he was out of breath. “You don’t know what you are doing to me.” Pathetic, moronic wail escaped him. And he knew you only grew wetter and wetter, your lips getting hotter on him. Panting, you pulled him by the belt and walked the two of you over to the bed, leaving Viktor with no other support than yourself.

He had never rid himself of his clothes so fast. Everything he had on, tossed and crumpled by the bed, next to your own little pile. All the layers of the second, the third skin abandoned, his brace, his pants, his boxers, embarrassingly soaked with sweat and precum, when he crawled on top of you just to keep kissing you and biting your neck, leaving nasty marks everywhere. He panted, his own breath betraying him as your skin came in contact and Viktor whined simply at his cock rubbing against your thigh and he wanted more.

“If you want to stop, tell me.” Another raspy, absolutely dishonest, but a proper plea, asking for the complete opposite. Please, never ask me to stop. “Do you understand?” You nodded, again—not good enough. Your eyes so wide, he could barely see the colour. When you were splayed flat below him, he could see your heart twitching, your chest contracting. A minuscule movement, but he could see it.

“Words, I need to hear your words, lásko,” he growled, stunned by his own impatience.

“I understand.” A kindness in your voice enveloped him. He slid you down the mattress by the ankles, his cock rested against your slit. With clumsy hands he put on a condom, stole a pillow from under your head to support his bum leg and adjusted his crooked crouch. You had the audacity to chuckle at the commonality of his movements and he bit your calf in response.

Absolutely unhinged, you hooked your foot behind his neck, and he immediately loved the weight that pulled him down, steadied him, as he teased your entrance. You held a breath; he had forsaken the privilege of air long time ago.

The first thrust was just blissful. He could feel the crease on his forehead relaxing, his mouth opening, his jaw hanging heavily, just joy and warmth, him awash in it. He felt so full, so complete, yet it was you who was full of him as your bodies slotted together easily, differently to the last time, which left him feeling awkward and ashamed and unfinished.

You rested your hands on his hips, gripping the sharp angle of his bones, your fingernails leaving crescent marks that he would run his fingers over in the morning. “You are doing so well,” he whispered in awe, and it was honest, and you loved it, he felt it in his cock getting squeezed in a silent gratitude.

He felt his ugliness leaving him with each pump of his hips, each sloppy sound of your bodies bumping against each other, his cock twitching inside you, and he needed one more thing to make this even less ugly.

He brushed his thumb over your clit, stretching it, teasing you and taking in all your huffs and puffs, your contorting stomach muscles, your tightening walls. A longing look and an echoing question followed. “Do you love me?”

“Viktor, don’t be cruel,” you answered so fast, he almost retreated. How could you think so? A childlike curiosity creeped onto his face.

“I am not. I really ought to know. Just say yes or no,” Please, just say yes. He felt you twitch at the question, and it made him think he was right. But he could have also been completely deranged. Brain burnt by lust and all the ugly things.

“Viktor—” you pleaded at the loss of his thumb on you.

“I can feel you. Yes or no?” A hard thrust, right up your guts. You yelped, and he could see the tears forming in the corners of your eyes, and the sight was something to behold, keep in the palace of his mind forever.

“Then, why are you asking?” You were ready for filth. For his erotic weirdness, for his awkwardness, for all the want he would suppress every time you interacted. You felt it all in his fleeting touch, in the warmth of his thigh when your naked toes rested against it idly, unintentionally, though very intentionally. But this was how you coax a cat. And this was not how cats responded.

“You will see,” he promised, more to himself. “Do you love me, now, in this moment, when I’m fucking you? Yes or no?” Another twitch of your cunt at ‘love’. He left himself unguarded, shielded only by the mould of your womb.

“Yes.” A tiny, shy ‘yes’. But it fell right into Viktor’s heart and there it grew into a big promise, and he would keep it and take care of it and cherish it.

His body bent in half, his mouth seeking yours. A sloppy kiss, painful, with teeth at your tender lip. Another, earnest, slow and careful. Another, quick and fleeting, before he found your ear. Between them, “I love you,” whispered back like a secret, like a prize for your struggle.

Your breaths grew frantic, you wanted to keep him close. You tangled your fingers into his hair, tugging him in, so you could lick the sweat from his neck, bite it and claim it. Your leg slipped onto his hip, and you curled it around him, his bone digging into your thigh.

“Do you see? How it feels?” he rasped into your ear, gripping you tight. “To be loved while being fucked? Tell me how it feels.” Viktor moaned with each of his thrusts, holding back getting harder and harder. His cock getting more swollen. Your walls getting tighter.

“Amazing,” you whispered, pulling his mouth back to yours. “I love you.”

Viktor’s eyes rolled back into his skull. He slumped onto you, his hands snaking behind your waist, and he could feel your sweat merging with his as your chests pressed together. “I love you,” he cooed weakly. “You can come now, lásko.”

He felt your thighs clutch on his hips, a long spasm twisting your spine underneath him. You came with an orgasm wrenching breath out of your lungs, leg bending, blinding. The ‘I love you’ falling from your lips over and over again, and Viktor could finally let go and spill all his ugliness out. He came with a loud moan seconds after, his brain fucked out, his heart swollen, as he came loved for what he was.

He held you tight through it, chests heaving, when he felt a quiver and wetness on his cheek. “Are you hurt?” he whispered.

You sobbed onto his chest, hands caged in his arms as you tried to release them and wipe the tears away. “No, no,” you shook your head. “What is this… feeling?” It had no name. For Viktor, it was a dumbing bliss. He could cry too if he wasn’t so warm.

“How do you feel?” He wanted to know what it was like on the other side. No one ever told him, no one ever shared this with him.

“Hollow. Ah… fuck. Empty,” you struggled to find the words, trying them out on your tongue, but they felt wrong. “I feel like you took something… bad from me. And now I don’t know what to do with the space left—” you gasped between sobs as Viktor rolled you to the side and pulled your hair to expose your neck.

You buried your face in the curve of his shoulder. Tears fell on their own, and Viktor wanted to drink them and cry them out himself. When the sobs transformed into clipped breaths, and clipped breaths transformed into one long exhale, you asked carefully, “Viktor, you don’t really love me, do you?”

“Well, do you really love me?” His chest was swollen, his head heavy. He was triumphant. He was so invincible he had it in him to love you.

Silence, for a while. Viktor nudged you gently with his chin and whispered a soft command, “Go to the bathroom, I’ll be here.”

You looked at him, the practicality of it spreading a strange warmth in your belly. Wordlessly, you got up and disappeared, still naked as day, and Viktor watched your feet shuffle in the creak of the bathroom door. He got up, put on his underwear, and drank his cold tea in one go.

When you got out, a relief glimpsed through your face, as if you were expecting him to be gone. He waited for you with a cup of tea and a clean sweatshirt, beckoning you to slide into it. Once you both had a singular piece of clothing on, he pulled you back into bed and cuddled sweetly into you. “How do you feel now?” he asked, running his fingers through your hair.

“I feel… like I really need you to love me right now,” you let it slide out. Even though your sweatshirt shielded you from the chill of the room, your soul was still completely bare and shivering. And Viktor loved this nudity, the weirdness of it, the feeling of belonging it gave him.

He found that is was his hands that were lingering now, that the tender thought of the morning coffee was no longer distorted by fear, the quiet and the silence became comfortable in a good way. He felt so wanted, so beautiful in your eyes. He felt all the right things and none of the wrong things. His ugly snake was skinned and turned into a beautiful object. In this beautiful space only beautiful words seemed fitting. “I really do love you right now.”

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

— i’m in love with a dying man

rating: mature. or explicit? i’m not sure. angsty study on grief in unconventional forms. (mild) smut purely for poetic reasons

word count: 4,1k

pairing: viktor x gn!reader

cw: terminal illness. several mentions of death. everyone is horny in a heartbroken way, so grab a napkin—but not for the reasons you think. and yes, you may dox me for making you even sadder after whatever happened in ep 6.

—

He licks a tear off your cheek, and it seeps in between the bumps on his tongue, all prickly salt running down your face in two glossy trails of sorrow. Stinging, when his calloused thumb swipes over a puffy eyelid, only to inevitably fall to your lip and tug, nudging your mouth agape. His desperate grip softens when you oblige and arch, letting him grunt over the slope of your throat; wheezier than you remember, raw, rhotic and ravenous. The hard shift of his lungs is palpable under your hand, ruckling heavily in his sternum. It almost breaks down to a cough when he cants his hips into you, slanting one last slow, weak slam. Spilling all his pent-up frustration deep inside you through that bitter orgasm, leaving a clumsy mess of stickiness to dry on your inner thigh. Stilling for you to hold him through that collapse, grateful for the shaky hand that you firmly fist into his hair. Not receding until at least a few kisses are strewn upon your shoulder. 

It’s always like this now. Viktor clings to you, and you cling to him, nails digging into handfuls of him hard enough to draw blood, each embrace so tight your ribs might just break if he doesn’t retreat in time. And god does he wish to let it linger, to drag it out until eternity tumbles in—even if his eternity is reduced to a question of mere months at best, even if he must crawl out of a casket to have your touch back. 

The night you almost lost him still has you in shambles. You remember it all too well—hell, it’s almost like that acute smell of hospitals and doom still coats his skin, more slimline than it ever was, its once ivory shade fading to chalk-like disaster. The utter horror of crushing verdicts, endless heaps of bloodied handkerchiefs and palms so cold that even the heat of your breath fails to make the feeling of him any less chilling. 

The dark humor of sneaky death: she’s right around the corner, the cruelest of all mistresses. Ready to snatch him away whenever your fingers ghost over his spine, stroking a languid count over each prominent vertebrae. And no matter how tight you curl up beside him, she will supplant you, and her proximity can’t be measured in miles, feet, or inches. Because death is a termite—she gnaws at his very heart. And blooms metastases everywhere you still have him. She’s inside him. She’s merged with him into one.

At first, you denied it. Knuckles drummed against the wall in a frustrated fistfight, painting that scabrous canvas bright with your frustration. White and crimson—the speckled pattern of your hysteria. You recall how bad it stung, and how shame creeped up your spine—frightening and so, so sticky. Throttling, when he tended to that self-inflicted disaster, bandaging your smashed hand in motions sick to the core with gentleness. 

And it felt so ugly. Like you’ve grown to loathe everything around you: the doctors, for their disgusting prognosis; life itself, for being hardly fair. And even Viktor. Especially him—for slowly slipping out of your pale-knuckled grip. Well, red-knuckled, more like. That angry stunt did cost you a decent injury. White and crimson, remember? 

Naturally, grief doesn’t always progress by the book. However, denial always comes first. It’s an axiom, an invariable component, and you’re sitting on Viktor’s hospital cot, hand in trembling hand, eyes snapped wide and ferocious. Wrapped up in fear while the silence rings in your ears. 

His doctor addresses the quandary. It doesn’t feel vicious—at least, not yet. Flimsy, more like. Deceptive, too. Like if you just blink it away hard enough everything will snap right in place, and you’ll find yourself at home again—where that aseptic smell of medication can’t reach either of you. 

Well, of course, there’s always a possibility of postponing the inevitable. Winning over a year or, even, two—if Viktor’s lucky enough, that is. But you both know that he’s lacking in that department.

And yet, you grab your little hope by the throat: to look into later, when your comprehension is intact again. Surely, it’s just not plausible: so what if Viktor’s cough pulls you out of sleep every night, so what if every shirt he owns has tiny blood stains on it? Yes, he spends more time in bed than he does at the lab. He’s simply tired. He needs the rest. Not in peace. 

The retraction doesn’t linger, though. It survives a few more blood tests and a lengthy, dreadful discussion of his calamity—most strikingly frightening when the doctor talks him through each option. And not a single one manages to appease you. To stop your fury from retching out and causing an ugly scene. 

So you fling the door to his room ajar and leap inside with a bitter scowl, teeth gritting hard enough to crumble into powder. Arms a tight crisscross over your chest, step wide and listless—punctuated with a muffled clack of heels. Viktor’s eyes follow your tremulous circles—a lazy, sheenless flick of pupils, each widened into a bleak void from the rancid dose of painkillers. He lays supine, with his hair ineptly slicked back, umber waves awry, loose and sweat-damp. He’s almost mellow, tongue barely a glide over his chapped bottom lip—a martyr-like stiffness, the carrion of a man. 

But you don’t look at him. You pace, and pace, and pace—in that same tiring route, all around his creaky cot. Viktor rasps something indistinct—a muffled plea that tickles the back of his throat, rupturing yet another coughing fit. You silently hand him the speckled handkerchief. 

He looks up, eyes the saddest shade of buckwheat honey—dark with remorse; seeking comfort. But you don’t have any to give. You stare past him, gnawing at your tongue hard enough to draw fleshy copper. Dodging the kiss he tries to press to your wrist—pulling yourself back and out of his loving grip, igniting a staring competition full of glassy eye-daggering. Blink slow and borderline drowsy. 

“Milackú,” he pleads. Pulls at the corner of his mouth to wipe the bloody evidence of his withering. 

Your tear catches in your bottom lashes. 

“Milackú,” he rasps again, kicking the blanket aside. Stepping one bare foot on the cool tiles and reaching for you: arms, legs, and heart—all yours for the taking. If only you consider crawling under his minty sheets again. 

You don’t. 

“Why?” It’s so meek you barely recognize it as your own. Taut throat tightens even more, and, suddenly, you’re choking on a gasp. “Why did you turn down the treatment?” 

“Please, if you could just—“ He husks, but you can’t hear him through the ringing in your ears; the room already smudged into wattery, astigmatic lumps, Viktor’s face but a bunch of fuzzy dots you’re struggling to make out. All missing jigsaws, blurry little fractions. 

“What did I ever do to you?” You yell, shielding your eyes. Turning away from the arm he extends, his weak fist clenching to grab thin air, then tumbling as he stares at his palm in sheer dubiety, upper lip trembling. 

He winces. Ceases you by the hand and tugs as hard as it gets—frail enough for you to easily nudge him away—but you don’t bother this time. Your knees ungainly bend into shaky arcs, drifting apart when he clasps around you and pulls until you finally land on the sheets next to him, your tears mingling with his cold sweat—a salty fusion of mutual suffering.

Then comes a sequence of guttural, squealing whines and you stay twined with him for a while. Lithe fingers run through your hair, spreading to untangle an occasional knotted strand—up, and down, and over your shoulder in a caress. His lips purse on your temple, sucking an indistinct kiss. His heartbeat trails off under your fingertips the second you rake them over his thin hospital gown, growing frenetic again when you tug at the fabric, demanding closure.

“Please. Please don’t do this to me.” You exhale your choked up entreaty into his neck and it pours over his skin in a rigid breath, aftertasting of stinging desperation. His hand seeks your face, taking a forcefully gentle hold of one puffy cheek, drinking in your unsightly, woebegone rebuke. Looking at you like a repentant devotee, his timid eyes meeting your fierce ones.

“This is not about you,” he wheezes, too stern for your liking. Presses his forehead against yours and holds you through yet another shudder—and there’s no avoiding his pleading stare. “I’m not trying to get away from you. I merely want to escape my conundrum.” 

“These aren’t mutually exclusive, Viktor,” you hiss, voice simmering with betrayal. 

“Unfortunately.” 

“Unfortunately?! Is that all you have for me right now?” 

“I’m afraid so.” 

He sighs like he means it. His words keep slipping away from him, drowned in coughs and ambiguous humms. You get it, though. Your semantics became sparse the minute Viktor almost died in your arms. 

You melt into one-another in a teary, sniffling twine—simply breathing, trading tense silences. His stately stance collapses into a lifeless hunch, straightening a bit only when your fingers billow over his shoulder-blades—chiseled like ones of a famished dog. There are plenty of dog-like things about him now—the pleas lodged in his glances, the newfound hunger for your touch. Especially for the way you’re holding him; every embrace like a loving headlock—and the pressure soothes him. 

“I’m tired of taking risks,” he finally whispers against your temple. “All these… labored efforts for mere fractions of peace. Decaying steadily. Constantly hurting. I’m spent.” 

“Exactly. Which is why you need the treatment.” 

His lashes shudder against your cheek in a prickly tickle. They keep fluttering when he recedes, shaking his head with a bitter frown.

“But its success is… highly improbable.” 

“Yes, but there’s still hope—“

“It’s running thin as we speak. I shouldn’t squander it on… the imminent.” 

Viktor’s irksome choice of words had you springing backwards in glossy-eyed delirium. Staring in disbelief as if he’d requested something inexorable: which he did, inherently so. 

He curses when tears slice your face again—tends to them with the softness of a man most contrite of his omission, shaky hands already catching holds of your waist, using your temporary pliancy to swiftly nudge you into his cot. Curling up close enough to have your weeps reverberate in his sternum. 

“I’m sorry,” he repents with a deep rasp. “Please, don’t cry.” 

He held you in reticence again: this time horizontally. Offered you every solace his body could provide: your fingers in his hair, fumbling mindlessly (he put them there himself). Tangled legs. Apologetic neck-kisses. His head heavy on your shoulder, its weight a welcome tranquility. And only when your last tear soaks his pillow does he commence with his explanation. 

“I don’t want to spend what little time I have left miserable,” he tells you, drawing a breath. “Yes, the treatment might win me a year—a year I would spend bedridden, nauseous, and weary. A travesty of life. An illusive salvation. I’ve had enough of those.” 

Your hand stills in his hair, nestled within unkempt strands. You’ve run out of tears, so this bitter truth is met with nothing but a piteous sigh—the only thing you can still master after crying your heart out into his skin. Now you can only stare at the ceiling, chewing on your cheek in cruel denial. 

He’s right. He always is. 

Viktor sees the shift in your face—knits his eyebrows together in tender pity, tucking himself firmly against your face. Wincing, when he feels the aching tension in your temple. 

“I know I’m asking a lot of you. Too much, even.” He’s sincere when he says that, and you can sense the gratitude in his voice—for even allowing him to utter this excruciating of a thing, for attempting to understand. 

You simply nod. Yes. It is a lot. But you want to hear everything he has to say. 

So Viktor continues.

“I would hate for your last memories of me to be tainted with despair and hospitals only for all the struggle to go to waste when I inevitably pass away. I have no desire to postpone this torture at the expense of growing indifferent towards everything that makes me feel alive.” 

“But what if we manage to cure you?!”

“That’s too much of a ‘what if’ to risk dying a grim death for. I want to die…content. I want to enjoy myself before I do. Please. Don’t take that choice away from me.”

His eyes brim at you with every ounce of guilt he possesses, big tears wallowing in his eyes like an earnest plea—tacit, weary, earnest. Yes, it’s not like you have a word in his terrific decision, but Viktor wants your blessing. It’s only right that he includes you. Even if he’s intending to refuse the treatment regardless. As absurd  a bid as that is. 

You clasp his face like it’s about to vanish. Like you won’t be able to make it out when he’s gone if you fail to remember it right this instant, your gaze frantically jumping from one feature to another, seeking to embroider the image into your very eyeballs. Roaming over the artifically-white hospital light hallowing every streak of his hair. Indulging in a bittersweet smile when you note how prettily it spills over the pillow. Lingering on the patterns in his ochre irises—almost fully swallowed by his void-like pupils. Observing how they match the insomniac, mauve shades under his bottom lashes. Tracing every convex little thing—two lovely moles, thick eyebrows, the pointy mouth. Everything you’ve grown to love so dearly. Everything his illness keeps taking away from you. 

You wince, cradling his cheeks, your thumbs dipping into the hollows of them gently. Urging him to scoot closer—eye to eye, lips on lips. Breath over shuddering breath. 

“Are you sure?” You mouth the question on his skin, barely even uttering it. Hot pressure meanders into your head like a prickly impulse. It’s timid like motion sickness—borderline nauseating, too—all murky splashes of trippy lights under your closed eyelids. And the unease is diluted only when he finally kisses you—an approbatory, guilt-ridden thing. 

He’s certain. And for that, he’s so, so sorry. 

You try not to think of it, focusing on the feeling. No tongue, no teeth: just sheer tremor and so much rawness. A soft, soothing exhalation straight into your mouth like the gentlest of placebos—and yet, it works for you, slaps your pulse out of its frantic antics, and the stiffness slowly leaves your limbs under his touch. 

When it’s over, he winces at you in that sleepy, adoring way of his. Attempts a wry, sad smile. The cold light besieges his head into an even clearer halo—a foreshadowing of what is to come, an inconspicuous little thing. But everything about him is conspicuous to you. Loving Viktor has made you wary, and you wanted to hold onto that attention to the detail before it eventually slips away alongside him. 

 “Are you sure?” You repeat, tightening the inadvertent chokehold around his neck. The grip weakens only when he pulls away to clumsily clear his throat. 

“Yes.” And you know he means it when his face turns just as solemn as when he confesses his love to you. 

“I’ve had a nice life with you,” he adds, hoarsely. “I want it to feel nice when my time comes, too—whenever that might be. Sooner than later, I presume.” 

The figurative knife in your stomach twists anticlockwise. 

“Will you stay with me?” He dares to inquire. Meek, shaky hope tingling in his throat. “For however many months I have left?” 

And when you look up at him with a hurt frown, he’s reminded not to ask you rhetorical questions. 

— 

A few days later, Viktor is discharged from the hospital and insists that you both go back to normal. Well, to the new, tainted definition of it—where one spoiled napkin less is considered an ephemeral improvement and grief is a fixed variable by your side. 

Your slow-paced, quiet life that keeps turning even more timid in a frail attempt to savor what’s left of it. Faux preservation, but he allows it—savors it just as earnestly as you do, and your weeks weave into a darling, familiar routine. With some minor, necessary changes, no less: rest comes before the lab now, all deadlines fashionably late to accommodate this newfound tempo. Mandatory hourly breaks. Weekly check-ups. Four days off for every three he spends bent over the parchment. But this time, he doesn’t protest. His body demands it, inconveniently so.

You don’t tell anyone about your horrific arrangement—not yet, at the very least. It’s all you can think about, and the words threaten to slide out every time you speak—but you’re forced to swallow them with a smile so lopsided that everyone around you can only suspect the worst. A mantra of countless ‘What’s wrong’s irritating your ears with pure sincerity. 

What is wrong with you, indeed? You’re a spectator to death—not just any death, but the one you dreaded most. And not only are you witnessing it in the making, but this decision was never forced—you handed Viktor the choice and accepted whatever he went with so obediently that it felt absurd, and it had your skin crawling every time someone vaguely mentioned anything even remotely related to his condition.

But they—whoever that refers to—could never get it. They wouldn’t know what it’s like: to be stripped of your selfishness for the sake of Viktor’s peace. Defying your needs. Forcing yourself to find relief in demise. You might’ve failed to intimidate her into allowing you to keep him, but you could still accompany him into her arms and make it glorious. Here it is. Your new, appalling reason. It’s all that you want now.

Or is it? 

There’s enough nobility in being his chaperone—welcoming him into bed every night, painfully aware that it can become his death one. Treating every new invention of his like a soon-to-be postmortem legacy. Mourning the living. Anticipating the inexplicable. Marking every shared kiss the last, just in case. 

But then it came—unabashed and sudden. That blurry line where mourning merges into something dubious, a confusing paradox that leaves you full of filthy carry-over somewhere within your gut. The scorch his lips engrave into the column of your neck. The way it ignites a swell you can almost convince yourself is actually tangible, running your fingers over it recursively like a tactile little prayer. The gaze he throws at you across the lab ever so sneakily—a figurative punch that feels surprisingly close to a kiss. And you never resist turning it into one. Escalating. Claiming. Indulging those ambiguous, yet-to-be-defined things and having them wash over the remnants of your decorum. 

You try to fight it when it first happens, but it doesn’t last. There’s no place for restraint in grief—not when it turns into a beautiful desire to be all over him, to take everything life has to offer before he runs out of it. And Viktor doesn’t judge you. He encourages it. He craves it, just as bad—if not more—than you do. How many more undoings can he claim before the final one absorbs him? You’ve already lost that count. So much for having your love bleed on every inch of his skin.

Tonight you let it bleed mouth to mouth—a sweaty, heartfelt thing that commemorates your hunger for him in a kiss so dizzying that he has to lean back with a silent, breathless plea for brief interlude—foggy eyes staring up at you so devotedly. Shuddering, when your arms wander over his chest to feel the rasp, pointed lips bruised full of spit-slick swell. He’s a beauty—exquisite, albeit worn-down, his lines and angles blurring together into one eager, contourless essence, and you cage him in a firm straddle—your bare thighs over his clothed ones—grinding in a whiny attempt to reach him through his pants. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, leaning back to let him breathe. He’s sprawled out beneath you, tortuous hands already busy with tugging his tie off—impatient, clumsily nervous. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” you say at last, averting your gaze almost shyly. His fingers lurch to your hip, locking it in a gentle cradle, stilling above your backside in hesitation—asking for a laze caress, pushing your flimsy limits. As if forgetting that you never set those for him. Or, perhaps, he simply likes hearing your excited ‘yes’ every time. You can’t quite figure out which it is. 

He grabs a handful of you with reverence, and yet there’s something resilient about that grip—like he dreads that you might slip through his fingers if he doesn’t hold on possessively enough, staring up at you with his head thrown back in a curious, admiring droop. Aiming to dispose of your shirt in a nimble pull. Plotting a sequence of kisses from neck to collarbone. 

You expect it when he rises on his elbows, then grips the bedframe to shift beneath you in a silly leap. Inelegant, but he couldn’t care less, releasing his hips from the hedge of your legs to make you slide up his crotch instead—a most welcome, brusque change that you adapt to in a squealing instant. Your moaning mouth agape under his grin. His hips thrusting through restraining fabric. Shaky. Erotic. With your arms tumbling astride his shoulders. 

“Don’t apologize,” Viktor insists in a lulling whisper, switching to a cautionary nip on your ear. “I’ve missed you, too,” he confesses somewhere into your hair, brushing through it with a tip of his nose—breathing you in through a tender whiff.  

Your words get lost in a deep fluster, rolling back into your throat and lingering there in a suffocating lump. They have you stiffening, heavy eyelids squeezing shut—a voluntarily blindfold to help you explore him through touch only. An invitation to feel you where he pleases. And, well—it just so happens that your whims align with his—a cohesive, welcome collateral. 

Viktor starts at the slope of your shoulder. Pulls the shirt down and traces that lovely curve—fingers first. Throws a brief, askance glance at your face to make sure that your eyes are closed, and, when met with the flutter of your lashes, gets back to his lovely tease. Tender, warm lips taste your skin with delicious, savoring sounds. Getting wetter when his tongue makes a fickle appearance—leaves a slick, capricious lick in the dip of your collarbone, fluffy hair tickling your face when he bends to tend to your chest, too—and you shiver as he sucks a plum love-stain that you’ll proudly wear under your shirts. 

“See,” he cooes. “Whatever gets into you must be contagious.” 

You give in to a half-lidded peek and find him begging for your assistance—a sweet request that you understand in half-nod. Arms up in the air and over your clouded head when he unleashes your skin from the thin garment—throws it on the floor for you to find later in the morning. 

“But it feels wrong.” You sigh. “Ever since we found out…”

“I’d rather you quit talking about that in bed, please,” Viktor reproaches, eyes heady with want. His fingers slide into your underwear, contemplating its fate—should he make it join your shirt or pull it to the side in hasty fashion? Either approach had him shivering at the thought. 

But the sudden sorrow stops the rush, rendering your urge for consolation. It wraps you around him all over again, legs locking in a tangle around his waist, drooping hands combing through his hair in a brusque, fervent tug. Seeking succor. Heart to heart and thumping an anxious march. 

“I’m afraid,” you admit, but it’s not a revelation. All shuddering shoulders under his idolatrous caress, and you pang with guilt at that, too—it’s you who should be fondling him this delicately, warm reassurance seeping into his ears—not yours. But Viktor wants to be your comfort. If anything, it’s the only thing on his mind.

“What are you afraid of, beloved?” A little shiver at the unforeign endearment—a rare occasion. His thick brows still drawn together in a concerned arc. They relax only when you rake your fingers down his body—counting ribs, toying anxiously. The hurry is gone, there’s only caution now: his enamored eyes, waiting for you to find your slippery words. 

“Of losing you before I get to show you how much I love you.” You whisper, suddenly tasting teary salt in your mouth. His thumb comes to the rescue, swiftly flicking the wet trails. So you chuckle at the affection in a silly stagger to bump sweaty foreheads together.

“Nonsense,” he insists. “You’re showing me right now.”

“Indeed.” You shrug. “But… Is this the right way?” 

And when he puts your palm over his eager heartbeat, you’re reminded not to ask him rhetorical questions. 

—

tags: @zaunitearchives @blissfulip @nausicaaandhermouth @thehistoriangirl @vyshnevska

[xetlynn]

an artists muse- a viktor fic.

two.

[one] [two] [three]

to strive, to fail, to re-begin.

Regret. That’s all you felt the next morning. Your head pounding, eyes sensitive to the sunlight and your body ached from the bruises you got from God knows what. Somehow you got yourself to get ready for the day, popping pain killers with freezing cold water before heading to this little cafe shop down the road. 

You used to go there frequently last year in your freshman year of college, this year will most likely be no different. Opening the door to hear the bells chime. Normally you loved the sound but at this moment you wanted to rip it down from its spot.  

You put in your order with the lady at the register, you still wore your sunglasses even indoors. Giving away the fact that you were hungover as shit. After she takes your name you sit down at the closest booth, slumping over immediately. Not even taking your phone out. 

You didn’t notice the boy from your class who was staring at you from across the building. Curious as to why your energy was not the same as yesterday. Were you bipolar or something? “Large iced coffee for [Name]!!” The girl's voice loudly rings in your ears and you almost let out an audible groan as you stood up. Lazily grabbing the cup from the counter, slumping back down on the plastic cushion. 

Hungover. Viktor thought to himself. You most definitely had a time last night. He almost smirks from how silly you looked. He didn’t know you like that though to find it too amusing. He goes back to jotting words down in a notebook. Every now and then he stole a few glances. Just making sure you didn’t pass out or something. 

Your phone buzzed in your hoodie pocket, letting you know it was time to get to your first class of the day. You thank your sober self from yesterday for doing that or else you would’ve sat in the cafe without a care in the world. 

As you leave you finally notices the boy from your Chemistry class. He glances up the same time you were looking at him. Your eyebrows were furrowed but no one could tell from the dark lenses of your glasses. You give him a meekly smile, waving curtly before exiting through the glass door. He didn’t have enough time to register to wave back to you. 

You were already out of eyesight. 

You feel like you know him from somewhere after you thought about it for a while. Your whole class period was you trying to remember his name or anything. Wondering why his face was stuck in your mind. 

It etched at you so harshly you decide to pull out your phone, hiding it under the desk as you text Powder. 

—-------------------------------------

You- Hey, do you know anyone with kind of shaggy brown hair, amberish eyes, slender face? Uhh uses a cane?

Powpow- uhhhhh no? why would I know who that is?

You: Just wondering. 

Powpow- got a new crush or soemthin?

You- Something**

Powpow- I’ll kill you. 

Powpow- but seriously why?

You- I sit next to him in chem, his face is bothering me.

Powpow- dang he that ugly?

You- no omg, his face didn’t look familiar yesterday but today it’s like I’m remembering something? I don’t know it’s weird. 

Powpow- you are pretty strange. 

You- bye. 

Powpow- love youuuu

—---------------------------------------

“How do I already have a pack of homework?” Jayce angrily asks his group of friends as they sit in the student lounge. “It’s the second day!” He exclaims dramatically, showing off his packet from mathematics. “Babe, it’s not that bad.” Mel doesn’t even attempt to show sympathy for her boyfriend. “Not that bad? This is horrible.” He wiggles the papers in her face. She pushes it down gently. “You’ll get it done, you’re smart enough.” She chuckles. 

Violet sits up suddenly, startling her girlfriend who was petting her hair. “Karaoke night on saturday.” She jabbers out, not asking but telling them. “Not going.” Viktor hums out, scrolling on his phone. “What? Why not?” Jayce furrows his eyebrows. 

“I don’t want to go.” Viktor glances up for a split second only to look back down at the screen. “You’re going.” Jayce states. “I’m really not.” 

“We’ll see.” 

“I’ll be there.” Mel smiles, “I don’t know if I’ll sing but it will be fun.” She declares to which Jayce pulls her into his arms. Muttering out a yay in her neck. “I don’t have a choice.” Caitlyn sighs, she’s had to hear about this from Vi the whole week after Vander had announced he was doing it at his bar. 

“Viktor, you have to come. Just one night.” Violet pleads with their friend who isn’t really giving them the time of day. He rolled his eyes. “If I go it’s only for an hour.” He says. 

“Okay! I’ll take it!” Vi saluts. 

“Are the boys coming?” Powder asks as she drives the both of you to this store you’ve been wanting to go to. “They said they were.” You shrug your shoulders, reopening the groupchat with the guys. They all had dry responses but it was also all yeses from them. That’s all you and Powder needed. 

“You want to drink on Saturday or be the DD?” She turns into the small parking lot abruptly, your body going up against the car door. You were unphased nonetheless, being used to your best friends driving. “I don’t think I can touch even a sip of alcohol after yesterday.” You cover your mouth, almost dry-heaving at the thought of the burning sensation sliding down your throat. 

“You say that every time. I guarantee you you’re going to be blackout next week.” Powder snorts, her car coming to a full stop and she pushes the gear into park. The both of you unbuckle and get out. 

“Probably but this weekend is a little too soon.” You place your sunglasses on, using your middle finger to bump them up your nose. 

You enter the clothing store, the smell of cleaning supplies and polished wood wafts into your face. You scrunch your nose but continue inside, lacing your fingers with your best friend’s. 

“Smells weird in here.” Powder whispers, you snicker, agreeing with her. It was quiet in the store, only a faint sound of the radio and overhearing the only worker’s phone call conversation. You hear the front door open. Being nosy you poke your head up from one of the racks, you saw a girl you went to high school with. 

You frown, clinging onto Powder. “Hey, the smell’s getting to me. Can we leave?” She notices the fear(?) in your eyes. She wants to question it but instead she nods her head letting you lead the way out of the store.

 “[Name]!?” You mentally curse hearing your name come out of the one mouth you never wanted to hear for the rest of your life. Your shoulders slump, plastering a fake smile as you turn to her. “Maddie.” You politely say, Powder’s face drops. You’ve briefly spoken about this girl. Not good things either. 

Supposedly she had a fling with Vi’s girlfriend, Caitlyn as well. 

“How have you been? It’s been forever!” She walks closer, not even noticing the defensive stance you were in. Ready to leave. 

Unfortunately Powder and you went to different high schools for a year. So Powder never met this girl. “I’m alright, how are you?” Your hand still gripped tightly onto your best friend. Not daring to let go. Your body was tense, almost shaking. 

“Oh, you know! Life!” She giggles and your nostrils flared at the noise. “Mm, yeah.” You raspily let out. “We were just leaving, it was nice seeing you again.” You dryly tell her, hand on the door to push it. “Wait! We so need to catch up. Here, give me your phone!” She goes to hand you her phone. You kiss your teeth before speaking. “Sorry, I don’t give out my phone number.” 

“Instagram then.” She pulls up the app, practically shoving the device in your hand. You blink down at it. You have her follow your spam account. “My phone’s dead. I’ll follow you back later.” Giving the phone back and hurriedly leaving before she can say anything else. 

Powder unlocks the door, not saying anything as you seem pissed off. “Can we go home?” Your voice wavered as you stared out the window. “Of course, I’m sorry [Name].” She speeds out of the parking lot after you buckled up.

“Why are you sorry?” You raise a brow, having a small smile gracing your face. It relieves the girl a tad. Not much though, she can’t stand when you're upset because it’s so rare that it happens. “That girl must’ve done some fucked up shit for you to act like this.” She responds, kneading the steering with. 

“Ah, right. It was just this high school thing. I had an online friend I shared my art with. He helped me stay motivated. Was pretty much my muse!” You giggle remembering the many conversations the both of you had over Discord. As embarrassing as it was, you heavily used that app as a middle schooler. 

“She texted him pretending to be me. Ruined the friendship.” You scrunch your nose, the texts coming back to you. How harsh he was when he ended the friendship. Blocking you on everything. 

“What was his name? Maybe I could talk to him, clear things up? Why didn’t you tell me about him in high school?” She interrogates you, repeatedly glancing at you with her side peripheral. “I was embarrassed about having an online friend. She only found out because I left my phone open when I went to the bathroom.” 

“And no, I don’t want you to talk to him. What she sent… I don’t even want him to forgive me. I told her things I should’ve never said.” Your chest was beginning to hurt, recollecting the mistakes you made. 

You didn’t end the friendship with Maddie, you didn’t know what to do. You didn’t talk to her much after but there’s a reason she thinks you guys were on good terms. 

“I’m sorry for keeping this conversation going, let’s talk about the karaoke night!” Powder strives to change the subject, it was too late. You were now going to be in your head for the rest of the night. Being hungover doesn’t help either. 

-----------------------------------

I don't like maddie so I made her a bad guy in my story. Because I can.

Also the first two chapters are the shortest, the next ones will be a lot longer. If you want to be added to the taglist let me know!

[main page]

[zevrra]

thinking about jerking Vik off till he cries and can't think he's such a smart man with so much on his mind all the time he deserves a break where he doesn't have to think AND IM WILLING TO GIVE IT TO HIM..- ram-anon

includes: giving viktor a ‘helping hand’ [mdni, smüt, händjob, öral (m receiving)]

ft. bottom!viktor x gn!reader

extra: RAAA!! thank you for this juicy request i loved writing it so much like breathless, whiney viktor AAA SAVE MEEE!! anyway thank you for the thought i loved this so much kshdkh

you could tell how frustrated viktor had been recently. from the countless nights of sleeping at the lab to the several crumpled up pieces of paper spread along his desk; he was struggling with his latest project. but unfortunately that came with him not sleeping for days— which left you just as frustrated as he was. but when you finally managed to rip viktor away from his work, just long enough to go home and change, possibly eat something, you were reluctant to let him go back to the lab. and the only way you could get him to relax and turn that big brain of his off was to force him to think about only you.

so, after his shower you force him to sit down in a chair in your shared home, planting kisses along his body while you adjust his legs to lay more comfortably for what you had planned.

“my love, what are you doing?” viktor sighs, running a hand across his face as he melts into the chair even though he really shouldn’t. “i need to get back to the lab.”

“nuh uh, you’re going to sit there and relax.” you order with a slight smile. your hands running down the front of his chest and down his thighs, making a slow descent in between his parted legs.

vik lifts an eyebrow at you as you speak, not really understanding what you mean by ‘relax’. you’re unraveling his towel from his thin waist while vik watches on with a tired gaze. and it must have been the several sleepless nights stuck at the lab to cause him to process this so slowly because it takes you fully wrapping a hand around his soft shaft before he even reacts to what you’re doing. his droopy, exhausted eyes fly open wide as your fingers softly grasp around him.

he is definitely awake now. good.

“no more work. no more lab. you need to take a break, v. think of me and only me. right here, right now.” you instruct the man, effortlessly cutting him off before he could protest you, while slowly stroking up towards his head. in response vik sucks a tight breath in through his clenched teeth, amber eyes settling on you in a look of slight irritation. not to worry though, his gaze would quickly soften as time went on for you two; soon he’d look upon you with pleasure in those pretty eyes of his.

unsurprisingly it only takes a few strokes to make vik fully hard. it was all but a simple thumb press against the slit of his head, sliding your fingers across his sensitive tip, before stroking down his shaft to turn him into putty in the palm of your hand; while his own fingers grip the arms of the chair. he groans, eyes fluttering as you press your thumb against his sensitive tip again. soaking in every moan that slips past his lips as your hand jerks him off. stroking him from base to tip, slow and steady, planting kisses along his left knee and thigh.

you move your hand faster at vik‘s sweet moans. taking a second to glance up at his pretty face as he turns bright red, even to the tips of his ears, as he tries his best to look at you through the pleasure.

“you’re so pretty viktor.” you praise against his knee as your hand moves faster. sliding your free hand to grab the base of his cock while your other hand moves faster against his sensitive head, smearing precum every which way.

vik whimpers at your touch and your words. his body tensens as you use both hands along his shaft. his breath hitches in his throat with another whimper, tears clinging to his pretty eyelashes as your hand rubs over his sensitive tip again and again. god, he looked so good like this. under your work, head tilted back, fingers trembling, struggling to sit still, slipping in his chair, and whimpering your name like a prayer.

you needed to get him out of that damn lab more often.

your mouth waters at the sight of the man before you. you lean forward, spit rolling off your tongue and dripping onto the slit of his head before you follow its path and slip him into your mouth.

“d-darling!” vik cries, thrusting his hips upwards and forcing more of himself into your mouth. you take him with ease as he practically fucks himself into your mouth now.

he’s rapidly coming undone now. his fingers manage to tangle into your hair while his hips move erratically. you suck harshly when his cock hits the back of your throat, spit slipping down your chin, causing vik to moan your name.

oh he’s so pathetic and sweet like this. rutting helplessly into your mouth, slipping in the chair he sits in because he’s so eager to come; mind blank with only the thought of how good your mouth feels.

“mmph! i can’t, please!” viktor sobs. his mouth falling open with sinful moans and whimpers. his pretty eyes fall close as he whines your name again and again, chest heaving with every breath he semi-struggles to take as his orgasm burns through his entire being. “coming!” the words slip off his lips with little warning as his climax surges through him. his back arches slightly, forcing the rest of his cock into your throat as he comes.

you keep your mouth wrapped around him until he finally stops moving and his hips do not falter or stop until he’s entirely spent. you take every drop he spills before he begins to whine from overstimulation; so you slip your lips from his cöck but keep your hand slowly stroking along his shaft.

“do you still want to go back to the lab or should we just keep going?” you ask devilishly, smiling up at viktor’s blushing face.

he blinks in his dazed, post-orgasm state but manages to shyly nod in response. “i want to keep going.” he mutters.

good thing you had already planned to keep going. nothing would stop you from pleasing him so he could forget all of his worries.

[bon-mimi]

what if i can’t forget you?

slowburn viktor x fem!reader - eight chapters ( all are included in this post )

word count : approx. 14.4k

summary : you work at a bar in piltover , doing your best to make it as a zaunite in an unfriendly environment. through your best friend , you meet viktor , a gorgeous academy student , and you are dying to get his attention. ( in this fic , f/n means “friend’s name” - f/n is referred to with she/her ! )

warnings : eventual nsfw ( masturbation , grinding ) , mild angst , mention of blood / injury , reader deals with a creepy old dude , not proofread

writer’s note : hello , i’m mimi ! this is my first time posting fanfiction online , but i was heavily encouraged by my bestie to share this with the world. i hope at least one of you will enjoy it ! apologies for any errors - this was written in my free time with little to no revision . this is also my first time using tumblr !! if the fic is well received , perhaps i will remain active ?

we’ll see ~

I - Introduction

-

You stared nervously at the large doors in front of you. Piltover’s Academy was not a place where you wanted to be, but your best friend was a student there and practically begged that you stop by today. It was her birthday, but she was stuck in the lab completing an assignment for one of her many, many classes.

“Are you sure I can even come in? Wouldn’t they have tight security on the place?”

“It’s fine!! You’re allowed to walk in the halls, and as long as I open the lab door and give you permission you should be fine. Pleaaaasseee come by?”

Reluctantly, you agreed. The fancy halls and pretentious students roaming around intimidated you, but you were willing to put up with it for her. You even baked a cake. It wasn’t your best work, but the design was still pretty cute, and you knew your friend would love it anyway, no matter what you thought of it.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the doors open and began to look for the correct laboratory. Your feet moved quickly across the floor, trying to avoid running into any students. If they even caught a glimpse of you, they would know you don’t belong there. You donned the nicest thing you could- a plain t-shirt and some slacks, but the citizens of Piltover knew what you were with just one look. Luckily, none of them got the chance to eye you, as you had just made it to the correct door. You barely even knocked before the door flung open.

“Y/N!!!! Come in!”, your friend said, nearly shoving you into the lab. You giggled, her infectious joy seeping into you.

“Okay, okay, I-“ You froze. Two men who you had never met before were sitting at the workbench, giving you an odd look.

“Who are they?”

“Oh! Sorry, I forgot to tell you. These are my group members for my lab assignment. I know they look scary, but I don’t think either of them could hurt a fly.”

“Scary? Us? I’ll have you know I’m offended,” one of them said playfully. He got up and extended a hand towards you.

“I’m Jayce, and the man over there is Viktor. Sorry if we startled you. We actually didn’t know you were coming either.”

You eased up a little, feeling better that they were just as surprised as you were. As you got ready to shake his hand, you realized the cake was still in your grasp.

“Sorry- let me set this down,” you said. After setting it next to your friend, you turned back to shake Jayce’s hand. He had quite a grip; you weren’t expecting that.

“Nice to meet you, Jayce. I’m Y/N. F/N’s friend, if you hadn’t figured that out yet.” He laughed a little, and once your handshake finished, your eyes fell on the other man- Viktor.

Viktor… you quite liked that name, and you were drawn to his appearance as well. As inconspicuously as you could, you slowly looked over his features. Dark, soft brown hair, pale skin, a tall and thin frame, a couple of moles on his face, and… his eyes. The amber color was gorgeous, and you bet if he gazed at you, your knees would probably go weak.

Your theory was proven correct when he made eye contact with you. He slowly got up, grabbing onto a cane and moving over towards you.

“Jayce already introduced me, so I supposed I didn’t need to come over, but it would have been rude to ignore you. Viktor,” he said, and it took you a second to snap out of it.

“Oh- yeah! Um, nice to meet you.” You shook his hand, praying he couldn’t tell that your skin was on fire because of him. Before you could think of anything else to say, your friend squealed.

“Oh. My. GOD!!! This is SO CUTE!!!!”

She had opened the box the cake was in, staring at it excitedly. You walked over, smiling.

“Like what you see?”

“I LOVE it. How do you always make such masterpieces?” She wrapped her arms around you, hardly giving you room to breathe.

The cake was a light lilac color with detailed white bordering on the edge. You had messed up in quite a few areas, but just covered it up with some more icing and hoped it wasn’t obvious.

“I get it, I’m incredible. You wanna let me go so you can eat a piece? Or- wait. Are you even allowed to eat in here?”

“As long as we don’t make a mess, it should be fine. You made this? It looks great,” Jayce said, somehow sneaking up behind the two of you. Viktor was right beside him, seemingly analyzing the cake, eyes sweeping over each and every part.

“I- I did,” you stuttered, becoming flustered all of a sudden.

“Do you work at a bakery? Seriously, this looks awesome,” he continued, eyes meeting yours.

“Oh, no, I-“ you paused. Your real job was less.. gentle. Would these Piltovans judge you? They seemed nice, but you knew how quickly people could switch up. Before you could give any more thought to your response, your friend interjected.

“No, her job is way cooler than that. She works at Eclipse!” Your friend beamed with pride, but you looked down and shuffled your feet awkwardly.

Eclipse was a bar on the outskirts of Piltover. It paid well, and was fairly popular, but not with this kind of crowd. Despite being part of Piltover, it was often frequented by Zaunites who wanted a taste of the better life. Zauntines like you, who wanted to know what it was like to not inhale polluted air with each breath. To know what it was like to live in luxury. To be free of the hell they lived in every single day.

“What do you… do there?” Viktor inquired, his accent thick.

Not wanting this conversation to last long, you quickly rambled out a list of your duties.

“Oh, y’know, normal bar stuff. Taking orders, making drinks, breaking up the occasional fight… there’s not much to it. Anyway- should we get into the cake now? I’m sure F/N would be happy to share with you two.”

Viktor nodded, not planning to push the conversation further. However, while your friend was setting out some utensils and napkins that were tucked into the box, Jayce couldn’t help but continue talking.

“Wow… I’ve heard of that bar before, but haven’t ever been. You said you have to break up fights- does it ever get nasty? Especially with-“ he stopped himself, and Viktor shot him a glare.

“Especially with what, Jayce?”

“I- I was just going to say that I’ve heard that Zaunites frequent that place, and people from the Undercity can be…”

Ah. There it was. The judgement you feared from this place. Before you could shoot back a reply, your friend stopped her cake-cutting and stepped into the conversation.

“Jayce. I will have you know that you are in the presence of three Zaunites, and none of us are violent unless in a self-defense situation. You shouldn’t be saying stuff like that.”

Wait… three? Did that mean…

Viktor. Was he really from the same place as you? A warm feeling of kinship bubbled up, only increasing your interest in him.

Jayce’s eyes widened, realizing what he had implied.

“Oh- Oh my God, I’m so sorry I- I wasn’t thinking.” He looked at everyone, but his eyes chose to settle on yours.

“Y/N, I am so, so sorry. That was a really stupid thing of me to say, whether you were from the Undercity or not.”

With his puppy-dog eyes, you couldn’t help but want to forgive him, but the comment still stung.

“I get it. I’m sure the education you receive up here isn’t… favorable when it comes to the Undercity. Just… don’t say anything like that again. Ever.”

He nodded frantically, desperate to get back in your good graces despite having only met you moments ago.

“I have to start heading back now. I’ve got a shift in a couple hours I need to get ready for,” you said, not too disappointed to be leaving. Admittedly, you wanted to talk to Viktor more, but the tension left by Jayce was too thick for any of that at the moment.

“Aww… okay. I’ll swing by this weekend and tell you how the cake was? I’m sure it’ll be divine,” your friend smiled at you, knowing that wasn’t your only reason for leaving. She gave you one more hug, letting you go after a short moment.

“Happy birthday, F/N. I hope you all enjoy the cake.” Smiling, you left the room, rushing out of the academy. The air was choking you as if you were back in Zaun. When you made it outside, you slid onto a nearby bench, trembling, carefully trying to unpack the series of events you just experienced.

You just hoped you could get any excess thoughts out of your head before your shift began.

-

“Jayce, you are an idiot.” F/N handed him a piece of cake while glaring at him. She knew he really was just being ignorant and not intentionally wanting to cause harm; otherwise, she would have chewed him out.

“I know. Those words shouldn’t have left my mouth. Do you… do you think she’s mad at me?”

“I think we’re all mad at you. Right, Viktor?”

“Mm.” He agreed, only half-heartedly paying attention to what was being said. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, and he didn’t know why. Sure, you were gorgeous, but he had seen many gorgeous women before. So why would you be any different? There was… something else about you, something that intrigued him and made him wonder what you were really like. How you really felt about your job, what you acted like when you were comfortable with someone, what you did in your free time… all of it; he wanted to learn all of it about you.

“Viktor? Earth to Viktor?”

His head snapped up, realizing the daze he was in.

“Ah. Sorry, I was.. pondering our assignment. We should get back to work on it, yes? The professor does want it done by tomorrow.”

“No worries, we’re almost done anyway. Just have to complete some final testing and documentation. But first, we’re eating this cake and shaming Jayce for his poor choice of words.”

Viktor chuckled, taking a piece of cake that your friend held out for him. She looked at him, trying to figure out what he was thinking. She had a hard time believing he was distracted over the assignment, and he clearly didn’t seem to be too concerned with Jayce.

“Guys, I know I already said it, but seriously. I’m really, really sorry. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? And… do you think Y/N will let me make it up to her somehow?”

“It was a stupid comment, but I’m willing to let it slide on my part. Viktor?”

“I do not mind. I am used to Jayce being careless.”

“Hey-“ Jayce was about to defend himself, but F/N cut him off.

“But, I think Y/N deserves a proper apology. How about you come with me this weekend when I see her, and you bring some sort of gift? I can help you come up with ideas.”

He agreed, hoping to prove to you that he really was a good person. Admittedly, mostly for his own ego, but he did think you were nice and hoped to become your friend in the future.

Viktor was tempted to ask if he could join too, wanting to see you again, but he feared that too many people would overwhelm you. Especially when one of them had made such a careless remark. He let out a soft sigh that went unnoticed by the other two.

The three each ate their pieces of cake, the air still heavy with the weight of Jayce’s words. Slowly, they returned to their assignment, working until it was done. F/N only hoped that the weekend visit would smooth out the tension instead of making it worse.

II - Apologies

-

The weekend came all too soon. You received a letter from your friend a couple of days ago that explained her plan to see you today. She also mentioned the fact that Jayce would be visiting as well, as he wanted to give a proper apology.

You were excited to see her, but still had mixed feelings about Jayce. Perhaps his apology would change your mind, but you knew it would be uncomfortable to face him.

It was 11, and you were seated on your plush black couch in your apartment, awaiting your friend’s arrival. You held a cushion to your chest while you looked around, taking the time to appreciate your decoration skills. Eclipse paid fairly well, so you were able to afford some nice things here and there.

The walls were a cream color, but you couldn’t see much of them; there were various items in the way. A few plants hung from the ceiling in lilac-colored pots, beaming from the sun coming in through the window. Several paintings rested in black frames of various shapes and sizes, each depicting a different scene. Most were your own, but a couple were purchased at markets you had visited. All of them were landscapes of places throughout Runeterra. The ones you made had been sights you had seen, and the others were sights foreign to you. Sights that you hoped to see one day.

In the small kitchenette, you had some pots and pans hung up near a rack of spices. Most of the time, you just snitched some leftovers from Eclipse, but you made your own meals every once in a while. All of your additional equipment and ingredients were neatly stored away in your oak cabinets and drawers.

Generally, you tried to keep the place tidy, but sometimes the mess would accumulate. Luckily, it would never take long to fix.

You were trying to remember how messy you had left the bedroom, and were about to get up and check when you heard a knock at the door. The bedroom would just have to stay closed, you thought.

Of course, there shouldn’t have been any reason to go in anyway, since Jayce would be here as well.

Opening the door, you were met with the sight of your friend smiling brightly, Jayce behind her with a sheepish smile of his own, and a gift bag in his hand.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” you said, moving out of the entrance so they could get out of the hallway.

“Wow… your apartment is a lot more… inviting than the one Vik and I share,” Jayce noted, eyes wandering over the paintings covering your walls.

“Well, that’s not a surprise to anyone. You two are the most practical people I know. Don’t know if I’ve ever seen either of you do something for sheer enjoyment,” your friend commented, coming over to you.

You giggled, and Jayce visibly let his shoulders relax.

“Oh, right! Here- this is for you. I wasn’t sure what to get that would say ‘I’m sorry’, but F/N was a big help. Again, I hope you don’t take my comment to heart. I shouldn’t have said it, and I promise I’ll think more before I speak in the future. I’ve been told I can be careless, but I should have never been careless like- like that.” Jayce grimaced, remembering his words. You took the bag he extended towards you, and peered inside. Slowly, you took out a bottle of wine.

“I was told this is your favorite. Is it okay?”

“Okay? Jayce, this is expensive! I’ve never owned a bottle- I’ve only had it on a few outings to some upscale restaurants.”

“Don’t worry about the cost. I just- I really wanted to make it up to you. Are we… good?”

You looked at him, still trying to recover from your initial shock.

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re good now. …Thanks. For apologizing and for getting me such a nice gift. You really didn’t have to, even if you were being stupid,” you said, a playful tone hitting the end of your remark.

“Yeah, I really was.” Jayce let a small smile dance across his lips.

“So now that we’re all good, let’s go out and do something!!” F/N wrapped her arms around you, giving you a big hug.

“Okay, okay, we can go out. I think there’s some sort of market going on today that we can go visit? It’s mostly artwork and trinkets, if you’re interested in that, Jayce.” Your friend let go, and you both looked at Jayce expectantly.

“Oh- you want me to come along? I- absolutely, if you want me to. Maybe I can find something to finally brighten up my apartment.”

Smiling, you set down the wine on your kitchen counter before grabbing your favorite black purse and exiting, F/N and Jayce right behind you.

-

It didn’t take much traversing of the city streets before you found the market space. Stalls were packed together on each side of the narrow street, each selling their own unique items. Luckily, you must have come at a less popular hour- instead of it being completely packed, there were only a few people here and there stopped at stalls. Still, it was loud. Vendors trying to get any passerby to stop and stare at their goods, shouting things like “You’ve never seen a piece so beautiful before!” and “The perfect gifts for your loved ones, right here!”

Despite your usual quiet demeanor, you loved it here. The smell of street food filled the air, and the bright colors of awnings above each stall felt inviting.

“Jayce, have you ever been to an outdoor market like this before?” You asked, realizing how overwhelming it could be to someone who hasn’t experienced one before.

“I haven’t, but looking at all of this… I’m wondering why I’ve never been. I bet there’s all sorts of fascinating things here!”

You laughed, nodding.

“I’ve found my fair share of treasures in markets like this. It’s truly amazing. But… since you’ve never been, it would probably be best for us to stick together instead of splitting up. Does anyone have a preference on which stall to go to?”

“Nope! Lead the way, Y/N! You seem to have a sense for where the best stuff is.” F/N hooked her arm together with yours as a measure to prevent the two of you from getting separated. Jayce was much larger, so he could probably follow without any hand-holding. He looked to you, ready to follow along.

You glanced at the nearest stalls, but slowly began drifting towards one a little further away that seemed to primarily sell jewelry. A tray in the front held various bracelets, and off to the side were racks of earrings and necklaces. Your eyes skimmed over the bracelets, none of the shapes or colors standing out to you. You repeated the process for the necklaces, stopping when you saw a teardrop-shaped amber pendant latched onto a golden chain.

“See something you like?” The stall owner appeared in front of you, leaning over her table to get a better look at the pendant you were enamored with.

“Ah, you have a good eye! This pendant is one of a kind. When I was looking through my scrap bin in my workshop, I came across a small chunk of amber. I don’t know where it came from- oddly enough, I don’t ever recall buying any for my works. It turned out gorgeous, though.”

“Yeah, it’s beautiful…” you said quietly, Jayce and F/N still busy looking at the bracelets.

“I’ll tell you what. Since you seem to like it so much, how about I also give you the pair of earrings that go with it? I’ll throw them in for free. Good deal, yes?”

You nodded, quickly taking out your wallet to pay. Something about the pendant was incredibly alluring, and you knew you had to have it.

After you made the purchase, the stall owner pulled out a hand mirror and offered it to you.

“Would you like to try them on?”

“Hmm… I think I will.”

You took out your silver hoops, replacing them with the dangling amber earrings.

“F/N, could you help me put on this necklace?”

She looked over and raised her eyebrows on surprise.

“I’ve never known you to prefer gold jewelry! It looks good, though! Here, I got it.”

She carefully took the thin golden chain, clasping it at the back of your neck. Picking up the mirror, you admired the jewelry. You felt pretty.

“I think I’ll keep these on.” You placed your original earrings in your bag, and then turned to look at Jayce studying the bracelets like his life depended on it.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to wear jewelry,” you said, sliding up next to him.

“Oh- no, no, it’s not for me. It’s for… my girlfriend.”

“You sure? You seem awfully hesitant,” you joked, looking down to the bracelets.

“Jayce, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend! Who is she?” F/N asked, picking up one of the bracelets and peering at the gemstones laid within it.

“Well, we’ve been trying to keep it secret for… reasons. So I can’t really tell you who she is, but she most definitely exists. And I’ve been meaning to get her something since our one month anniversary passed recently. Which bracelet looks better to you two?” Jayce picked up two golden bracelets; one was a thin gold band, and the other was slightly thicker, with engraved swirls.

“Well, since I have no idea who she is, I can’t say what would look good on her or what her style is, but personally, I prefer the second one.” You pointed to the thicker band, and your friend nodded.

“I was going to pick that one, but I just wanted another opinion. Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.”

You smiled warmly at him, thinking it was sweet of him to get something so pretty for his girlfriend.

After he made his purchase, and your friend made a purchase of her own, the three of you spent the next couple of hours wandering through the market, stopping every so often at a stall that interested you. You didn’t end up buying anything else except for a snack, feeling completely satisfied with your new jewelry.

Checking your watch, you saw that it was nearly 4. You didn’t have a shift today, but you did want to give yourself enough time to attempt making dinner.

“Hey, you guys, I’m gonna have to get back to my apartment soon to make dinner for this evening.” Before you could say goodbye, Jayce spoke up.

“Um- if it’s alright, would you be able to come over to my apartment for dinner? Vik’s making pasta tonight, and I know we’re going to have way too much for the two of us. So.. if you two were okay with it, we’d love to have you.”

“Is that alright? Viktor’s usually more of a lone wolf. I don’t want to intrude,” F/N said, still obviously excited at the prospect of getting to see their apartment.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine with it. He’s already used to you, and I can’t imagine him possibly being upset with seeing Y/N again.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” You asked, genuinely confused. Had Viktor said something about you?

“Well, nothing, really. I guess- I don’t know, I just think he might actually like you. I mean, he did actually take the time to introduce himself to you. That may be common decency for most, but Viktor hardly ever pays attention to anything but his work. When he’s working, it feels like I can’t get him to stop for anything, not even to eat or sleep sometimes.”

“Well, let’s hope you’re right. I’d hate to give him an unwelcome surprise. Shall we get going?”

You tried to hide how giddy you were at the fact that you might be special in some way to Viktor, hoping that the smile on your face wasn’t as big as you thought it was. Despite barely knowing anything about him, you could feel yourself developing a crush.

Jayce led the three of you out of the market, carefully squeezing between the crowd of people that had gathered over time. As you walked to his apartment, you fiddled with your new jewelry a few times, checking to make sure it hadn’t somehow fallen off.

-

It wasn’t long before you were standing in front of the door to Jayce’s apartment. Jayce pulled a key out of his pocket, but before inserting it, he paused.

“Wait.” He ushered you and F/N to the end of the hall, much further away from the door.

“I thought we were going to have dinner together? Did you change your mind?” F/N asked, you and her both visibly confused.

“No, but I have an idea. Y/N, I’ll stay over here with F/N, and you can walk up and knock on the door. If Viktor is starting on dinner like he said he would around this time, he should be close enough to hear the door and open it.”

“Huh? Why?” You looked at Jayce, wondering where he could have possibly been going with this.

“I wanna see how Viktor reacts! C’mon, don’t you think it’d be interesting?“

You had to admit, you were curious to see what Viktor would do. However, you were still reluctant.

“Jayce, I just met him- and you, actually- a few days ago, and I hardly even talked to him when we met. Don’t you think he’d be creeped out? Like, what if he thinks I stalked him?”

“If he seems uncomfortable, I’ll come over right away and explain that it was just a bad joke that I came up with. All the blame will go on me, and if anything, he’ll think you felt pressured to go along with it and feel bad for you. If you really don’t want to, then you don’t have to, but I don’t think it could hurt.”

After hesitating for a moment, you turned and walked back to the door. You glanced at Jayce, who gave you a thumbs-up. F/N silently pointed to Jayce and gave you an expression that seemed to say “You’re really going along with what this idiot wants?”. You shrugged, lifting your hand to rap on the door.

Quiet. It was silent for a moment except for the sound of your thundering heartbeat.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps accompanied by a soft tap.

Slowly, the door opened to reveal Viktor, and as your eyes met his, you realized something.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, now much more nervous than you were to begin with.

Your new jewelry that you bought was the color of Viktor’s eyes. That was the reason you were so drawn to it.

“…Y/N? That is your name, yes?” His eyes were wide, an emotion that you couldn’t quite recognize filling his gaze.

“Y-yeah,” Suddenly, you were trying to look at anything but his face.

“Can I ask what you’re doing here?”

“I…” you stopped. What were you supposed to say now?

“Jayce wanted me to come over..?” You tried, uncertainty laced in your voice.

“Okay… but where is he? How did you know to come here?”

You felt yourself shrinking. Viktor was interrogating you, and rightfully so, but the lack of warmth in his tone made you feel like you had made a mistake. The last thing you had wanted to do was make him uncomfortable.

“He, um-“

“Because I brought her here! And F/N as well. I invited them over for dinner.” Jayce’s hand was now on your shoulder, which snapped you out of the cold headspace you were slipping into.

“I take it your apology went well, then. But why make Y/N knock by herself?”

“Jayce thought it would be funny to see how you reacted. One of his odd whims, as per usual.” F/N said, gently elbowing Jayce in the ribs.

“Ah, I see. Can’t say I’m surprised. Come in,” Viktor said, his voice now less tense.

“Why, thank you for letting me in to my own apartment,” Jayce bowed to Viktor as if he were a king, which elicited an eye roll from Viktor.

“I was just trying to be inviting to the guests you brought with you. The notion that I would ever tell you to ‘come in’ to your own apartment is ridiculous.”

You giggled, which caused a small smile to appear on Viktor’s face that did not go unnoticed by F/N. She kept her mouth shut, wanting to see for herself how this would play out.

“Dinner won’t take long. Jayce, could you set the table?”

III - Dinner

-

Looking around, you realized just how right Jayce was. He and Viktor made no effort to make their apartment inviting. The beige walls lay barren, not a single decoration in sight. No paintings, no plants, not even a simple rug on the floor. Just the bare apartment and the furniture it came with. No signs of life, either- no jackets on chairs, no dirty dishes in the sink, no unfolded blankets on the couch. Just the dishes that Jayce was currently placing on the round dining room table, and the pots on the stove that were currently being used to make dinner. F/N, just like you, was also staring at the near-empty room.

“All of this space, and truly not a single decoration. You two are…”

“Practical.” Viktor finished, carefully straining the pasta before mixing it with sauce.

“Well, I was going to say boring, but I suppose that works too.” F/N looked at you, noticing your slightly flushed cheeks.

“You alright, Y/N? You look a little unwell.”

“Oh, I’m fine! I was just lost in thought. This place really is quite empty.”

F/N smiled, continuing to poke fun and Jayce and Viktor for their bare-bones apartment. You, however, were back in your thoughts, unable to chime in. You weren’t lying when you said you were lost in thought- you just hadn’t specified exactly what you were lost in thought about.

Currently, you were thinking about your interaction at the door with Viktor. You wished you hadn’t went along with Jayce’s idea of “surprising” Viktor. He was clearly confused and uncomfortable. You noticed how his voice relaxed once Jayce approached, how his body visibly became less stiff.

And you knew it made sense. He hardly even knew you, had only spoken to you once, had awkwardly seen you flee the lab after Jayce’s words. You would also be confused if someone who was basically a stranger showed up at your door without explanation of what they were doing or how they got there.

Despite all of this, you felt disappointed that you hadn’t received a warmer reaction from Viktor. Some small part of your brain told you that he was being stiff because he liked you and was nervous; the rest of your brain knew better.

You also couldn’t stop thinking about your new jewelry and how well it matched Viktor’s eyes. You began fiddling with the chain of the pendant as you wondered if anyone would make the connection.

“Jayce, could you help me with this?”

Jayce, who was playfully bickering with F/N, got up and picked up the pot of pasta for Viktor, carefully bringing it over and setting it on a trivet in the middle of the table.

“I’m just saying, if you ever want to have your girlfriend over, I think she’d feel more comfortable if it didn’t look like as dead as this.”

“And I’m saying that I don’t think it’s that big of a deal.” Jayce grabbed a large spoon and began to scoop some pasta out onto his plate while Viktor made his way over to the table. He rested his cane on a nearby wall, carefully placing himself in a chair.

“Y/N, wouldn’t you want a man with a space that looked lived in?” F/N asked, hoping you would help her prove her point. All eyes turned to you, and you felt very conscious of the fact that Viktor was seated right next to you.

“I… I think I’d definitely prefer someone with a decorated space. If I got led into a nearly empty apartment, I’d think they were gonna kill me and leave my body there.” Viktor let out a small laugh at your words, which made your heart soar.

“See?? Y/N understands. Anyways…” the voices around you began to mix together as everyone got their share of pasta and began to eat between chatter. For a while, they discussed the lab assignment from earlier in the week, so you stayed silent and listened, paying special attention whenever Viktor spoke.

After a while, F/N, ever so perceptive, noticed you weren’t talking due to the conversation topic being foreign to you.

“Hey, how about after we finish eating, we play a game? Something like never have I ever, maybe?”

“I would not be opposed.” Surprised, you looked at Viktor.

“Wow, you must be in a good mood, Vik! I’m in too,” Jayce said.

“Sure, why not? It could be fun,” you added on, taking another bite of your pasta. It was much more delicious than whatever concoction you would have made, you’re sure.

“Alright, it’s settled!”

-

After everyone finished eating, Jayce cleared the table and set a glass of wine in front of each person.

“Ooh, how fancy,” you said, swirling the glass and looking at the deep red liquid.

“Yeah, well I’m sure it’s nothing compared to what you can make at the bar,” Jayce replied, taking his seat once more.

“True. You’ll have to swing by sometime. I bet I can make the most delicious cocktail you’ve ever had.”

“I don’t know, I’ve had some pretty good drinks at galas…”

“Yeah, right. You rich Pilties don’t know what’s good.” A grin spread across your face. Jayce feigned hurt, putting a hand on his chest like you had wounded him. He was about to reply, but Viktor interjected by clearing his throat.

“Shall we begin the game now?”

“Oh! Yes. Sorry about that. I’ll start.” Jayce was quiet for a brief moment, pondering what his “Never have I ever” should be.

“Got it! Never have I ever… cheated on an exam.”

No one took a sip, and Jayce shrugged.

“Guess I should’ve known. Still, I was curious.”

You knew your reason for not drinking was far different from the other two. You had never even had the opportunity to take an exam, let alone cheat. There was a lack of formal education in Zaun, and when you finally clawed your way up to Piltover, you had no desire to try and make it into any school. You were smart, but not smart enough for your birthplace to be ignored. The same could not be said for F/N, and assumingly Viktor as well. While your talents laid in the artistic field, those two were far more academically inclined.

“Jayce, you know how important academic integrity is to the Academy. If there’s even a suspicion of someone cheating, they’re thoroughly examined and often booted.” Your friend held her glass in one hand, using the other to push a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Yeah, yeah. Didn’t hurt to ask, though. Anyways- Viktor, it’s your turn. What do you have for us?”

Each person took their turn around the circle several times, glasses slowly emptying. If someone took a sip on a particularly interesting statement, they would be forced to stop and explain. You learned that Jayce once owned a pet fish, Viktor once called his professor “mother”, and various other tidbits of information that you began cataloguing in your mind.

Before long, it was your turn again, and you asked a question that had been gnawing at your mind.

“Never have I ever… kissed a girl.”

“Oh come on, this has to be targeted!” Your friend whined, taking the last sip of her wine. Jayce took his last sip as well, knocking them both out of the game. You stared at Viktor, who also only had one sip left in his glass.

He lifted the glass to his lips before smiling and putting it back down, a small pool of red still remaining at the bottom of the glass.

“Never?” You asked, admittedly feeling pleased at the result.

“Never. I do not have the time to pursue such… frivolous things.”

Oh.

“I’ve been trying to get him to meet someone for ages, but he just won’t budge on the topic.” Jayce sighed dramatically, and Viktor scoffed.

“I do not see why it is so important to you that I indulge in romance. Anyways, my turn.” Viktor looked you directly in the eyes, making you shift uncomfortably and fidget with your jewelry.

“Never have I ever kissed a man.”

Defeated, you took the last sip of your drink.

“Ooh, do you have a boyfriend, Y/N?” Jayce prodded.

“No, just a couple of bad exes.” You set your glass down, nearly shuddering at the thought of your most recent ex.

“Got any good stories to share?”

“Hm…” you searched your memories for any experiences that were funny in retrospect.

“A couple of years ago, I dated this guy who took me out to some fancy restaurant for dinner. Apparently, I cut my steak the wrong way, and he spent the rest of the evening lecturing me about it. I knew right there that it wasn’t meant to be.”

“I remember you telling me that when it happened,” F/N laughed.

“He looked like he was in agony, like I was committing a heinous offense against him. I couldn’t do it,” you laughed along, Jayce joining in soon after. Much quieter, Viktor chuckled.

“Well, it looks like you won, Viktor. Congrats,” you looked at him, grinning.

“Thank you.” His heart squeezed in his chest, which confused him.

“It’s getting late- I should probably leave before it’s pitch black outside.” You got up, and F/N joined you.

“I’ll head out too. Thanks for inviting us over, Jayce, and thanks for sharing the dinner you made, Viktor. It was delicious,” F/N smiled, but Viktor’s heart did not repeat the same action that occurred a moment ago.

“Hey, so…” you spoke up, causing everyone to look to you.

“I have a shift tomorrow evening at Eclipse, if you guys would like to stop by…? I can get you a pretty decent discount on drinks.”

“Sure! Viktor and I don’t have any plans.”

“And I was already going to stop by anyway, so you know I’ll be there. You still owe me a cocktail for my birthday.”

“Alright, then I’ll see you all there. Looking forward to it!”

You exited the apartment with F/N, the two of you chatting about the evening before parting ways to get to your respective apartments.

-

“They were nice. We should hang out with them more often.” Jayce stood at the sink washing dishes while Viktor sat at the counter, trying to figure out what his heart was doing earlier.

“Hey, Vik,” Jayce continued, which got his attention.

“What do you think of Y/N?”

“What do you mean?”

“Was she fun to be around?”

Viktor thought about the way you looked at him when he opened the door. He thought about how, for a split second, he wanted to take you into the apartment, no questions asked, and spend the evening talking to you alone. How your face lit up when you took the first bite of pasta, and you quickly took another. How your lips pouted slightly each time you had to take a sip of wine. How you had smiled at him when you congratulated him on his win, and the way it made him feel.

“…yes, I suppose.”

Jayce turned around to get a good look at his friend’s face, instantly being met with the sight of a man absolutely smitten.

“…are you sure that romance is as frivolous as you say?”

“Jayce, what are you implying?”

“Well, Y/N doesn’t have a boyfriend, so…”

“Jayce. That is a ridiculous idea, even for you. I think… I think I will retire to my room for the night.”

“Alright, but you should seriously reconsider romance. Goodnight, Vik.”

Jayce didn’t miss the red flush on Viktor’s neck as he turned around and made his way to his bedroom. The gears in his head began turning, trying to figure out how to make Viktor admit he was interested in you.

IV - Eclipse

-

The next morning, Viktor had worse dark circles than normal. Thanks to Jayce’s comments about you, Viktor could not stop thinking about you, which led to a nearly complete and total lack of sleep.

He thought about your voice, your face, your smile, your body. What it would be like to actually date you- would he spend his time sitting at the bar, staring at you lovingly as you worked your shift? Would you stop by the Academy when you were free and watch him tinker away in the lab? Would you listen to one of his long-winded ramblings about his current studies, and what new discoveries he was making? Would your expression be full of love, your hand holding his?

What would it be like to kiss you? He had never kissed anyone before, but he bet he wouldn’t even dream about kissing anyone else after kissing you. Your lips would be so soft, feel so gentle against his, taste so good if he ran his tongue over them.

He thought of questions to ask you, topics that the two of you could discuss for hours. What was your life in Zaun like, and how had you made it here? Did you have a dream job you were working towards, or were you perfectly content being a bartender? What was your favorite hobby? What were your favorite things in general?

He wanted to study you inside and out like a beautiful machine. To know each and every part of your body and mind intimately. He felt disgusted for thinking this way about someone he hardly knew. What would you say if you knew the kind of thoughts he was having?

Viktor sipped on a mug of coffee, trying to make headway on a research paper he wished to present to his professor soon. You made his efforts futile.

Looking at the clock, he groaned. Only 10:00.

It was going to be a long, long day.

-

When it came time for your shift, you happily made your way to the bar. It was only a couple of minutes away from your apartment, making it quite convenient.

You slipped into the employee room, exchanging your sweatshirt and jeans for a sleek collared shirt and dress pants. You pinned back any stray hairs, gave yourself a quick look in the mirror, and then went out to stand behind the counter.

The shift was agonizingly slow as you waited for your friends to show up, but luckily for you, customers were behaving fairly well today. A few glares your way from Pilties, but you could handle that. If they wanted a Zaunite-free zone, they should have gone to one of their fancy lounges further away from the bridge instead of here.

As you took orders and served drinks, you thought about what to make for everyone. You had figured out something for F/N already, but you had no idea what preferences Jayce and Viktor had. You wished to dwell on it longer, but a patron had walked up to you.

“Excuse me,” he said, tapping on the table to further get your attention.

“Oh! My apologies, sir. What can I pour for you?”

“Whiskey. On the rocks. I don’t care what brand, just make it quick.”

You were a little irked, but unfortunately used to the impatience of others. A lot of people visited as a way to relieve stress, so if they weren’t buzzed yet, their remaining stress would be taken out on you. Most of the time, it was just a snide comment or a pushy tone, which was certainly manageable.

You set the glass in front of him, but before you could pull your hand away, he grabbed your wrist.

“You’re quite a pretty little thing. How come I’ve never seen you here before?”

The color began to drain from your face. You dealt with patrons like this every so often, and it was always such a treat.

“Must have missed my shifts. How would you like to pay for your drink, sir?”

“I’ll hand you the money, but first I’d like to talk.”

“Sir, as much as I appreciate your… attention, I have other patrons to serve.”

“Where?” He asked, and you realized he was right. The only people in the bar already had food or a drink in front of them, and none looked like they were ready to request anything else.

“…well, I’m sure they’ll need my assistance soon.”

He let go of your hand, which you jerked back to your side. Reaching into his pockets, he pulled out a notepad, pen, and his wallet.

“Tell you what, darling.”

You nearly retched at the name.

“You give me some way to contact you- preferably your address, and I pay you triple for the drink. I can take you out for a nice dinner sometime. What do you say?”

You looked this man up and down. He was at least twice your age, perhaps older, with thinning hair and beady eyes. His hand, which was holding his glass of whiskey, displayed a thin wedding band.

“Sir, I’m sure your wife wouldn’t appreciate that.” You heard the employee door open, and you looked over to see your boss who was doing a routine check-in on you. You stared at her while she walked over, eyes pleading for help.

Despite your boss being from Piltover, she had the appearance of a Zaunite. Tattoos filling her arms, a few small scars on her face, and a very intimidating aura encircled her. She was great at scaring away unwanted guests, which is exactly what you needed right now.

“Hello, sir. Is there anything I can help with?”

He faltered slightly, but was clearly determined to be as much of a creep as possible.

“No ma’am. I was just asking this lovely lady here if she would kindly escort me on a date sometime.”

Before you could react, he grabbed your hand once more and planted a kiss on it before letting it go. You felt bile rise in the back of your throat, fear freezing you in place.

“Sorry, but our employees aren’t permitted to indulge the whims of decrepit old men. You may leave. Oh, but please do pay first.”

His face flushed a violent red, and he slammed down a fistful of coins.

“I should have known that filth like you wasn’t worth it,” he spat.

Filth like you.

“I can’t believe you’re even allowed to work up here. Sewer trash. You know, I was doing you a favor by inviting you out. You could have experienced luxury. At least you know your place, I suppose.”

“That’s enough,” your boss growled, which was finally enough to make him scamper out of the bar. A few people had watched the scene go down, but one glare from your boss was enough to make them suddenly very interested in their plates and glasses.

You felt rage coil up inside of you. He had no right to say those things about you, to touch you, to press his slimy lips to your skin. If only you had this interaction on the street, you could have taken a swing at him, and-

“If you ask me, he’s the rat. Certainly looks the part.” You looked up to your boss, who gave you a worried expression.

“You okay, sweetheart? I know it never gets any easier dealing with that kind of nonsense.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I think- I just need a minute.”

“Sure thing. I’ll take over for a bit. You can hang out in the back- no one else has a shift for the next couple of hours, so it’ll be empty.”

“Thank you. I promise I won’t be long.”

“Take all the time you need, dear.”

You gave her a weak smile before escaping to the employee room. Stepping into the bathroom, you gripped the sink tightly, knuckles turning white. You felt dirty. You needed to purify yourself, get the man out of your mind, off of your body.

Turning on the sink, you pumped out an excessive amount of soap and began scrubbing your hands together. It wasn’t enough. You scrubbed harder, nails beginning to scrape the skin. A wave of nausea overcame you as you replayed the moment he grabbed your hand and kissed it. You continued to scrub, hoping your memories would wash away, but it wasn’t working.

A soft knock on the door startled you.

“Y/N? You’ve got some guests,” you boss called, waiting for you to respond.

Oh, right. They must be here.

You turned off the water, roughly drying your raw, scratched-up hands. You grabbed a pair of gloves from your pile of things, hoping they would disguise your actions. Normally, you only used the gloves when you were on dish duty, but this was a special case. Hopefully, your boss wouldn’t notice, and if she did, she wouldn’t say a word.

Opening the door, you were greeted with the sight of Jayce, F/N, and Viktor all seated at the counter.

“You ready to go back?” Your boss asked, still deeply concerned.

“I think so. If anything comes up, I’ll call for you. Thank you,” you replied, voice breaking ever so slightly. She retreated to the back, hoping your friends would be the perfect distraction.

“Hey guys! You all ready for the best drinks you’ve ever had?” you asked, trying to return to the bright mood you were in earlier. Clearly, you weren’t as convincing as you wanted to be, because F/N gave you an odd look.

“Yeah, definitely. What would you recommend? I’m open to anything.” Jayce glanced at the various bottles of liquor behind you, admiring the decorative way they were set.

“I… would also be open to anything.” You turned to look at Viktor, who, for some reason, wasn’t looking you in the eye like he was yesterday. You didn’t really notice, thoughts still primarily elsewhere.

“Well, for me, I’d like something colorful and fun. Something that screams happy birthday, you know?”

Your friend’s comment brought you out of your discomfort, if only a little.

“I’ve already got something in mind for you. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. I just have to think of drinks for the guys.”

Your shifted your thoughts to different kinds of cocktails, and it didn’t take long to pick one out for each person.

“Just give me a few moments, and I’ll have some drinks whipped up for you.”

Viktor and Jayce began to chat about the bar while F/N watched you work. Something about you was off, but she had no idea why. Perhaps you had a bad night’s sleep, or some customer had been a jerk. Whatever it was, she wished to get your mind off of it as soon as possible.

You flitted around the bar- grabbing one thing here, another there, pouring something in one glass, shaking up something for another. Before you started on Viktor’s cocktail, you hesitated for a moment, thinking of the man from before. You shook your head. One vile man could not ruin an entire type of alcohol for you; you wouldn’t let it happen.

“Alright, here you are!”

In front of F/N, you placed a tequila sunrise, which she seemed delighted with. Jayce was given a piña colada, and Viktor received an old fashioned.

“I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this,” Jayce commented, twirling the little umbrella you had placed in his drink.

“Well, I figured you’d probably never had such a frilly drink at one of your fancy galas. It’s a classic,” you said, watching Jayce as he took a sip. His eyebrows raised, and he took a second.

“Wow. I don’t know how I haven’t had one of these before. It’s delicious.”

“Glad you like it.”

“You’re awesome, Y/N! If I ever become rich, I’m hiring you as a private bartender,” F/N said, already making good progress on her drink.

Once again, you could feel your previous discomfort slipping from your mind, the only reminder being your gloved, irritated hands.

Viktor picked up his glass, swirling it gently before taking a sip.

“Is it.. good?”

Out of everyone’s opinions, Viktor’s mattered the most to you.

“Yes, quite. I think I’d like to come by in the future.”

“I’d like that too,” you said, almost too quiet for Viktor to hear it.

“Y/N, how much longer is your shift?” F/N questioned, still happily sipping her drink.

“Ah, should be about an hour, I think?”

“Can we come over to your place after? Pleaaase please please? If you don’t want the boys over, at least have me over! I don’t have class until tomorrow afternoon, so I can stay up late and talk with you! Please?”

You were conflicted. You didn’t want to be alone after your horrendous experience earlier, but you still needed time to process it. F/N had seen you at some of your lowest lows, but you’d rather not expose her to that on purpose.

“How about I think about it, and I get back to you?”

“Okay! I’ll convince you, don’t worry!”

The next hour was spent switching between attending to customers and chatting with your friends. As time passed, your mood improved, and you were warming up to the idea of the three of them coming to your apartment.

“It’s time for you to get off your shift now, right? So, did I convince you? Can we come over?”

“Yeah, alright. Sure. You’ve convinced me. By the way, don’t worry about the drink cost. I’ve got it covered.” F/N cheered, urging you to hurry up and clock out. Viktor excused himself to the restroom while you were busy changing, which was the perfect opportunity for Jayce to suggest an idea to F/N.

“Okay, hear me out. Last night, Viktor seemed flustered when I talked about Y/N. I think there’s a real chance he likes her, and I need to prove it.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I’m listening…”

“You and I come up with excuses for why we can’t come, and Viktor spends the rest of the evening alone with Y/N. Something’s gotta happen, right?”

The idea sounded a little silly to her. Chances are, Viktor wouldn’t stay long, awkwardly leaving almost immediately after arriving. However, she was curious about what would happen if he did end up staying.

“…okay, I’ll go along with it. If something bad happens and they end up hating each other, this is your fault, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Let’s just be optimistic, okay?”

“If you say so…”

It wasn’t long before you returned, still wearing your gloves, and Viktor shortly after. Jayce cursed under his breath, and then gave you a very convincing apologetic look.

“I’m so sorry. I just remembered that my girlfriend wanted to see me tonight, and I said I’d stop by after checking out the bar. I hope the rest of you have fun, but I’ve gotta go.”

“Oh, okay. Have fun! I’m sure F/N will tell you about all the fun you missed out on,” you joked as he nearly ran out of the bar.

You, Viktor, and F/N left a moment later, and when you made it to the doors of the building, F/N let out an impossibly loud gasp.

“Oh my God, Y/N! My professor wanted to meet with me early in the morning to discuss one of my assignments- I can’t stay, I’m so, so sorry!”

Before you could even question her, she ran off. You looked at Viktor, silent for a moment before speaking.

“…so, do you have anywhere you need to dash off to? You can stay. I don’t mind.”

“I… I would like to stay, if you are comfortable with that.”

You nodded, shyly leading him to your room, unsure of how the night would unfold.

V - Drunken Decisions

-

“Ah… I can see why our apartment was such a shock. This is far more elegant,” Viktor said, looking around as you set your keys by the door. You stopped, looking at your gloves.

“Are your hands cold?”

“…no. I- I’m fine.” Nausea rushed to your core as you peeled off the gloves, revealing your skin which was still a hint red, various scratches covered with dried blood.

Viktor’s eyes widened.

“Are you okay? Were your hands like that all night?”

You wordlessly nodded, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it? I am eh.. not the best at consoling, but I can listen.”

You felt the memories come flooding back, and you knew you couldn’t keep it to yourself.

“Will you drink with me first?” Your voice was weak, wavering as tears threatened to spill.

“Of course.”

“You can sit on the couch. I’ll be over in a moment.”

You trudged over to the kitchen, carefully washing any remaining blood off of your hands. You grabbed the bottle of wine that you still hadn’t put away, taking out two glasses and filling them, admittedly filling yours far too full.

In one hand, you carefully balanced the glasses, while the other carried the bottle. Viktor had already sat himself down on the end of the couch, cane resting on the arm. Silently, you handed him a glass before sitting down and taking a long sip of your own.

It was quiet for a while before you spoke.

“There was this man.”

Viktor looked at you, cradling his wine glass.

“He… he was like any other bad customer at first. Impatient, rude, whatever. But then, he grabbed me. Called me a ‘pretty little thing’. Tried to get me to agree to go out with him. I tried refusing, and my… my boss showed up to help. But before I could react, he…”

You finished the rest of your glass, hot tears now running down your face.

“He kissed my hand. I felt so, so disgusting. My boss, she managed to scare him off, but before he left, he threw some insults at me. Called me filth for being from Zaun.” Your words were less than comprehensible, sobs and shaky breaths breaking them up.

“Right before you guys came, I was in the back washing my hands raw. I just- I couldn’t get him off of me. His lips wouldn’t go away,” you cried, now pouring yourself another too-full glass.

Viktor remained silent, unsure of how to react. He wanted to hold you close, but figured the last thing you wanted was the unexpected touch of a man.

“Vik, am I filthy?”

The shortened name came out naturally, perhaps with the influence of alcohol, but you weren’t in a state to stop and get embarrassed about it.

“No. No, no no. Of course not.” His heart broke a little when he looked into your eyes and saw how disgusted you were with yourself.

“His touch is still on my skin. I can still feel it, and it’s disgusting. I’m vile.” You tried wiping the tears from your eyes, but more took their place.

“Y/N, you are anything but vile. He’s the vile one for daring to touch you in such a way. I- cannot say I’ve ever experienced such a horrible thing, but you… you will recover. I know you will.”

“I can’t,” you said, continuously wiping tears with your sleeves.

“You can. I may not know you as well as- well, as well as I’d like to, but you’re strong. Much stronger than men like him.”

You sniffled, finishing your second overfilled glass of wine. You were quite a lightweight, so this was far too much for you, but you couldn’t care less right now. You just wanted something to make it all go away.

“Could you hold me?”

Viktor was shocked at the request, but certainly wouldn’t deny you.

“If that is what you want, then yes, I-“

You instantly fell into his arms, buried your face into his warm chest, and cried. Awkwardly, Viktor placed his hands on your back, beginning to rub soft circles.

The two of you stayed like that until your tears stopped, until alcohol’s influence began to take you over. Slowly, you peeled yourself off of him, eyes red and puffy. As you looked at the large damp spot on his chest, you began to laugh. A warm euphoria began to take place in your chest.

“This wasn’t how I imagined your first visit to my apartment.”

Curious, he looked at you.

“How did you imagine it?”

A sly smile came across your face.

“It would start out with drinks, like it did tonight. We’d talk for a while, getting into deep conversations and sharing secrets. But then…” You slid onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. You leaned in slightly, locking eyes with him.

“I’d tell you my biggest secret.”

“…and what would that be?”

“That I have a crush on you,” you giggled before continuing.

“That I’ve been thinking about you nonstop since we met. That when I went to the market with F/N and Jayce, I bought jewelry that matched the color of your eyes because subconsciously, I wanted some piece of you to be on my body. That I think you’re the most gorgeous man I’ve ever met.”

Viktor couldn’t believe what you were drunkenly confessing to him. He wanted to respond, to tell you he was going through something similar. To tell you he would love it if you wore that jewelry every day just for him.

Unfortunately, now was not the time.

“Vik, do you have any secrets?”

“I do.”

“Oh? Would you care to enlighten me?” You hiccuped, trying your best to keep your eyes on him. Sleepiness was taking you over, but you didn’t want to miss out on this moment with Viktor.

“How about I tell you another time? I promise that it will be worth it.”

You pouted.

“But Vik…” you whined, cupping his face in your hands.

“Why can’t you tell me now..? I wanna know..” your sentences began trailing off, heavy eyelids trying to shut.

“You need rest right now. I am sure there will be a better time for this conversation.”

Gently, he nudged you off his lap, your protests becoming weaker and weaker. He slid off the couch, kneeling on the floor for a moment. It hurt to do so, but being eye level with you and seeing you drift off to sleep was something he couldn’t give up. When he was sure you had fallen asleep, he leaned in to meet your ear and whispered, his accent much thicker than normal.

“Goodnight, miláčku.”

Carefully, he managed to get up, take his cane, and slip out of your apartment, bathed in moonlight as he walked home.

-

When Viktor made it back, the lights were on, and Jayce was sitting at the counter. He perked up, excitedly going over to greet Viktor.

“How was it?”

“Weren’t you… supposed to be with your girlfriend? Did she get tired of you?”

“Well… I never actually went to see her. I just wanted you and Y/N to have some alone time. So, how did it go? Did you guys have fun?”

“…It’s none of your business.”

Jayce was unable to interrogate further, as Viktor made it to his room and closed the door. He was unsure of how to interpret Viktor’s response, but hoped he was simply too embarrassed to give up any details. Sighing, he retired to his room as well, ready to let sleep take over.

VI - Aftermath

(This chapter includes nsfw content)

-

The next day, Viktor went to classes as usual, completing work and listening to lectures. On the outside, he seemed to be functioning perfectly well.

On the inside, he was a wreck.

The reality of last night hadn’t truly set in until the morning after, and when it did, a thousand questions clawed at the back of his mind.

Did you mean it when you said you had a crush on him? Should he have given you a better clue as to what he felt? What would have happened if you told him in better circumstances, when you weren’t under the influence? Would it be a good idea to stop by your apartment to have a longer talk with you? When would be a good time to see you? What would he say? When he began to think about what would happen if he stopped by your apartment, darker, lustful thoughts took over. They plagued him, making it possibly the most difficult day of classes Viktor had ever been through.

He went back to his apartment in the afternoon, tried to continue work on his research paper, but once again, you absolutely decimated his focus.

Jayce was out at an event with his girlfriend which would last until late into the night, making Viktor completely alone.

Naturally, this did not help stop his darker thoughts from taunting him. He recalled the way it felt when you were sitting on his lap, the gentle pressure against him being just right. Your voice as you confessed your crush was so beautiful, and he wondered how you would sound speaking dirty words to him.

Viktor shifted in his desk chair, his cock beginning to twitch in his trousers.

Your lips were so close to his last night when you told him he was gorgeous. He wanted nothing more than to crash his lips against yours hungrily and shove his tongue down your throat. He began palming himself through the fabric of his pants, letting out small groans. It had been a while since the last time he touched himself, so he was rather sensitive.

He moaned your name, jerking his hips up against his hand. The friction felt good, but he was sure you would feel far better. He thought about you straddling him, sliding him inside of you and bouncing on his cock. Frantically, he undid his belt and wrapped his hand around himself, beginning to pump quickly.

“Ah… Y/N…”

He wondered what kind of expressions you would make as he thrusted up into you, squeezing your hips tightly. God, he needed you. He had never felt such insatiable desire for someone before, and it was overwhelming his senses.

Viktor continued to jerk his hand up and down erratically, knowing it wouldn’t be long before he came undone. Oh, how he wished you were here. He longed to run his hands over every piece of your body, to learn every curve and exploit each and every sensitive spot. His moans grew louder, soft whines escaping when he made it to the tip of his cock only to drag his hand back down to the base.

“Y/N, please…”

As he thought about you coming, your insides clenching around him, his own release came, causing his strokes to slow before stopping entirely.

Coming down from his high, he looked at the sticky mess on his hand.

How was he supposed to face you after this?

-

Your day started much later than Viktor’s, your body refusing to even consider getting up until well past noon. When you finally could get up, you groaned, body cold and uncomfortable from the foreign sleeping location. Sitting up, you rubbed your eyes, hissing when you unintentionally touched one of your scratches.

Head pounding, you made your way to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water. Slowly, you drank it, memories of last night incredibly faint. When you set down the glass, it was as if it were a trigger to flood the memories back into your brain.

You cursed loudly, covering your face with your hands. Not only were you so incredibly vulnerable with Viktor, so weak and fragile- but you had also told him how you felt.

You knew he thought romance was frivolous. Why would you ever confess to him? His response was probably a polite way to escape the conversation. Not only did you confess, but you completely invaded his personal space, getting unbelievably touchy with him.

“God… what did I do?”

The apartment was completely silent in response, quietly taunting you and laughing at your distraught state.

Thankfully, you didn’t work on Mondays, so you weren’t in any rush to recover from your hangover. You desperately needed to freshen up, so you grabbed some clothes and entered your bathroom, twisting the shower handle to an exorbitantly hot temperature. The pain in your head was still present, but the water running over your body soothed you. Your mind wandered towards Viktor once more, his soothing presence and comforting words. It was embarrassing to have cried in front of him, but he was so gentle with you, and he said the exact things you had wanted to hear.

Stepping out of the shower, you dried off and changed into a t-shirt and a new pair of sweatpants. You took an ointment out of your cabinet, slathering it on your scratches. When you returned to the main living space, you were hyper-aware of how empty it was.

“…I miss you,” you muttered, glancing over to the empty couch.

You longed for Viktor’s presence, but feared seeking it out. Surely, next time he met you, he would tell you that he didn’t feel the same way. The blossoming friendship the two of you had felt as if it were withering away.

Desperate to shift your thoughts to something else, you made yourself a cup of tea and sat on the couch to drink it. The tea was relaxing, but not enough to stop your worrying about Viktor.

You hoped F/N would come over tonight. Sometimes, if she wasn’t too busy, she’d stop by on your day off to chat. At a time like this, you could use her advice.

While you waited to see if she would show up, you decided to bake some cookies. Your cooking skills left something to be desired, but your baking abilities were solid. It didn’t take long to mix up the dough, which you then proceeded to scoop into balls and place on a tray in the fridge. The late afternoon crept into evening, and before long, there was a knock at your door. You opened it, greeted with the exact face you wanted to see.

“Y/N!!! How are you? How was last night?” She made her way into the apartment, eyeing the oven, which was now turned on.

“Are you making something?”

“Yeah, I’m making cookies. Can we sit down and talk? There’s- so much has happened.”

F/N saw the serious look in your eyes, and she instantly moved over to sit on the couch, you following behind.

You recounted the events of last night, beginning with the creepy man you encountered, and ending with how you fell asleep on the couch.

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. I wish we had gotten to the bar earlier- I could have scared him away. No wonder you seemed off last night.” She pulled you into a hug, which you greatly appreciated. You pulled away after a moment, hoping to hear her thoughts on the latter half of your story.

“So- Viktor. Did I royally screw things up?”

F/N shook her head.

“No, there’s no way. I saw the way he looked at you when we were at his apartment. That man has it bad for you, he just hasn’t acknowledged it yet.”

“Even if that were true- which I don’t think it is- what do I do now? Do I just show up at his apartment and say ‘Hey, sorry for drunkenly confessing my feelings to you, but I wasn’t lying and you should make out with me now’?”

“I’m fairly confident that would work, but I have a better idea. You need to seduce him, make it impossible for him to not make a move. And I know the perfect way for you to do so.”

F/N laid out her plan for you, and you listened intently, only stopping her so you could take the cookies out of the oven before allowing her to continue explaining her plan.

You had a lot of work to do.

VII - The Art of Seduction

-

The plan you set forth was slow and deliberate. First, you stopped by the lab the next afternoon. F/N had assured you Viktor would be here, and she was right. When you knocked on the door, he was the one to open it.

“Hey, what’s up?”

A blush slowly crept up Viktor’s face, but he attempted to seem nonchalant. You could not be tipped off about what he did last night.

“Eh… nothing. Are you looking for F/N? She’s in a lecture right now.”

“No, I was looking for you.”

Your cool, collected demeanor confused Viktor. Had you not just drunkenly confessed to him the other night? He was pleased you were seemingly in a better mood, but couldn’t figure out what caused the immediate change.

“Did you want to talk? About…” He trailed off, and you flinched.

“N-No. There’s no need. I just wanted to give you these.”

You held out a small box of cookies and smiled at him, leaning forward slightly. He saw a glint on your ears and neck and immediately recognized it as the amber jewelry you mentioned. If he wasn’t already nervous before, he certainly was now.

“Made them yesterday. Helped me clear my mind and relax.”

“You didn’t have to- eh, thank you, Y/N.”

As he quickly reached to grab the box, you deliberately let your fingers brush against his. He stopped, nearly dropping the box. Slowly, you dragged your fingers back, then returning your arms to your sides.

“That’s all. I have a long shift at the bar starting soon, so I’ll go. But Viktor?”

“Yes?”

“I meant what I said that night. Every word.”

Viktor wanted to stop you, ask you to clarify, but you were already fleeing the building, unable to keep yourself composed a moment later.

Once you finally made it out of the Academy, you stopped and looked back.

“Please let this plan work,” you muttered.

-

The next time Viktor saw you was Saturday evening. Jayce invited you and F/N over for dinner again, promising that he would be the chef this time. Overall, the evening was fairly similar to the last, the primary change being the meal, which Jayce had decided would be enchiladas.

While he was in the kitchen, you all talked about how things were going- their studies at the academy, your work at the bar. A few times, you gently grabbed Viktor’s arm to stabilize yourself as you laughed. Even worse, you decided to whisper into his ear to make side comments once or twice.

For a split second, he considered yanking you into his room, pinning you against the door and asking if you knew what you were doing to him, how you were driving him insane. His rationality and anxieties won over- first, he was sure that Jayce and F/N would not appreciate the interruption, and second, what if you weren’t doing this on purpose? If he misjudged, and you were just trying to be friendly?

Of course, you had literally told him the other day that you meant it when you said you liked him, but as a man who had never experienced romance before, his doubts were through the roof. Yeah, you had confirmed your feelings, but what if you wished to get into a relationship slowly? If you wished to start out as friends first, and then date later on? Viktor continued to ruminate throughout dinner, but was forced to snap out of it when Jayce suggested that they play a good old fashioned game of truth or dare.

The very first dare that happened was from F/N to you. Viktor had assumed you would play it safe and pick truth, but clearly he had underestimated your bravery.

“I dare you… to sit on Viktor’s lap for the rest of the game.”

What? Viktor couldn’t even process what was said before you climbed onto his lap, sitting with your legs splayed out to the side.

“Sorry, Vik. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Well, I suppose you had to honor the dare.”

The rest of the game was incredibly blurry for Viktor. He was busy fighting the urge to put his hands on your waist, to lift his head and press kisses to your neck. The few times you shifted your weight on him, it took all of his willpower to not let out a groan at the feeling. As soon as you and F/N left, Viktor was shut in his room, left alone with the feelings you were stirring within him.

-

You spent the next couple of weeks making occasional visits to the lab when you knew Viktor would be there. You dropped off several small gifts: baked goods, sketches and paintings, leftovers from the bar, anything you thought he might like.

One day, you arrived wearing a particularly tight crop top with a plain black skirt that went down to your mid-thighs. On the way in, a few Academy students scoffed or made comments like “I could never wear something like that”. It was hardly a risqué outfit, but you still swear you heard one of the students call you a “filthy Zaunite whore” under their breath. It was annoying, but you didn’t let it cut you too deep. Today, you were on a mission.

Today was the day that you were determined to force Viktor to finally make a move. You even wore your amber jewelry, hoping it would stir something in him.

As usual, you knocked on the door, but this time, you were met with a different face. Some Academy student you had never seen before stared down at you, his eyes flickering towards your chest before moving back up to your face.

“…can I help you?”

Suddenly, you felt much more exposed, much more nervous.

“Um, sorry. Is Viktor here?”

“He went to go fetch something. Some paper or equipment. I don’t really know.”

He kept staring at you, and you couldn’t tell if he was attracted to you or trying to figure out how to kick you out. You heard a gentle tapping sound across the floor and looked to your right, where you saw Viktor walking towards the two of you. He looked disgruntled, which you could only guess was because of whatever research he was in the middle of.

He clutched the papers in his hand aggressively, making his way towards the lab.

“Y/N. You did not mention you would be visiting today.”

Odd. Since when had he wanted you to announce your visits in advance?

“I wanted to surprise you, Vik. Are you super busy today? I can leave if that’s what you-“

“No, it is fine. Just unexpected.” His voice was awfully rigid, which concerned you.

“I’m done in the lab, so I’ll leave. See you, Viktor.” The student slung his bag over his shoulder and waved goodbye as he left, but Viktor didn’t even look at him.

“Hey, is everything okay?”

“You must truly be clueless.”

His remark felt like a slap to the face. As you spoke again, your voice began to rise in anger.

“Vik, did I do something to you? All I did was show up and you’re calling me clueless, and for what? I was going to-“

Viktor grabbed your hand, pulling you into the lab and locking the door behind him.

“What are you-“

He cut you off by pressing his lips to yours. It was at least a minute before he pulled away, and when he did, he looked furious.

“You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me.”

VIII - Conclusion

(This chapter includes nsfw content)

-

You looked at Viktor, waiting for him to continue. This wasn’t what you had expected when you showed up today. The kiss was absolutely welcome, but Viktor’s aggressive attitude was confusing.

His lips brushed against your ear as he spoke quietly, anger laced in his voice.

“Have you had fun driving me insane, miláčku? The way you touch me, look at me, the things that you wear- I cannot stand it. Especially not when others are clearly noticing you as well.”

You recalled the student who was eyeing you a mere moment ago.

“Is this about that guy just now?”

He went quiet for a moment.

“…I saw the way he was looking at you. He wanted you, and I cannot have that. No one should look at you like that, no one should be-“

“Vik, shut up.”

You crashed your lips against his, softly biting and sucking on his lips before slipping your tongue into his mouth. It took him a second, but he eagerly joined the kiss, groans escaping him each time you bit his lip.

When the two of you pulled apart, you gasped for air, realizing you had forgotten to breathe.

“I don’t care how anyone else looks at me. I want you,” you said breathily, running a hand through his hair.

“I wanted to drive you insane. I wanted to be the only thing you could think about until you couldn’t take it anymore and made a move on me.”

“I fear all of that effort was not necessary,” Viktor replied, hands now gently resting on your waist.

“I was already obsessed with you before you started all of this. Would you like me to tell you my secret?”

You nodded, whining when he squeezed your waist.

“I’m infatuated with you. I’ve been thinking about you nonstop since we met. You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever met. And,” he lowered his voice, thumbs tracing circles on your sides.

“The day after you confessed to me, I could not stop thinking about what would happen if we were to date. I imagined your body, how it would feel, how it would taste. I touched myself to the thought of you.”

“Oh,” you said, which came out as more of a moan than you had intended. You clenched your thighs together, heat growing in between them.

Viktor winced, looking down at his leg. It had been a while since he last sat down, and he desperately needed some relief.

“Let’s go over there.” He pointed to a couch in the far corner of the lab, and you followed as he made his way over.

Very soon after he sat down, you straddled him, pressing yourself as close as possible. His hands trailed over your body, eliciting soft whines from you when he found a particularly sensitive spot.

You felt Viktor’s cock twitch beneath you, and you began to rock your hips against him, which caused a moan to slip from his mouth.

“You like that?” You asked, pressing against him particularly hard.

“I.. mmh, yes… you feel so good, Y/N…”

“Bet it would feel even better like this,” you said before clumsily unbuckling his belt, moving off his lap for a second so you could remove his pants. He lifted his hips to allow them to slide off more easily. They didn’t fall very far, as his brace was in the way, but it was enough for his boxers to be completely visible. Climbing back on his lap, you continued to grind against him, your dripping core leaving a damp patch on his boxers.

He gripped your hips tightly, thrusting up into you desperately. Moans fell from your mouth, and you did your best to continue talking in spite of it.

“Nh.. Vik, I’ve thought about this so much… Hah… I’ve wanted you so badly…”

“I’ve wanted you too… you’re so perfect, Y/N… so, so perfect…”

His pace quickened, and you knew you wouldn’t last much longer.

“I’m- God, I’m so close…”

“I know, miláčku, me too,” he said, movements becoming more erratic by the second. A particularly hard thrust caused your orgasm to come down upon you, his name coming out of your mouth like a chant while you rode out your high.

Viktor came not long after, slowing down as your body twitched and the final whines of his name escaped your lips.

Silence came over the room, the only noises being breaths heaved from your lungs.

“I hope you know you owe me a date now.”

“Why, I would be happy to oblige, Miss,” Viktor said, pressing a kiss to your hand. You smiled at each other, deciding both of you would lay there for a while before even thinking about cleaning up or leaving.

The mess could wait.

-

Eventually, the two of you got up, Viktor fixing his pants while you wiped up any particularly… messy areas. By some miracle, nothing had gotten on the couch, and you let out a sigh of relief.

Knock, knock.

Startled, you fixed your hair, patted down your clothes, and went to open the lab door.

“Y/N, hey! I didn’t know you would still be here, I thought I had mentioned to stop by earlier.”

F/N looked at your flushed face and frizzy hair, raising an eyebrow.

“I was going to test something in the lab, but I think that can wait. Seems you have something to tell me.”

“Yeah, I think we need to go to my place and talk over some wine. But first, give me a second.”

You turned to face Viktor, who had made it to the door to see who the guest was. Leaning into his ear, you whispered.

“Come to my place on Sunday.”

He nodded, and you left with F/N, ready to spill the details of your eventful afternoon with Viktor.

Viktor gave a brief recounting to Jayce that evening, purposefully leaving out the more intimate details. All Jayce needed to know was that you and Viktor were going to start dating. Jayce wrapped Viktor into a bear hug, which he pulled himself away from as soon as Jayce loosened his grip.

-

That Sunday, you welcomed Viktor into your apartment, ready to experience your first date with him. Closing the door behind him, your voices and laughter filled the space, creating a warm atmosphere that you now didn’t think you’d be able to live without.

[thatwishfulthinking]

in the name of it

hi so i am posting this and then absconding back to my arsenal of viktor x reader pieces that i can’t seem to stop writing

art: gea-rth on pinterest

wc: 4.0k

summary: viktor tries to play IN YOUR FACE until you set him straight. kind of. literally just smut with the feisty reader trope (sorry), simpy viktor, fluff, and some banter. f!reader

warnings: smut, choking, warfare (?)

^ not sure what else to put but eager to learn so let me know if I should include anything else!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“No, no, no, no no no..” you plunder frantically, releasing his tie and grabbing his wrists to stop him from unbuttoning his vest. “Not that. Too slow,” you groan.

Your hands fly to his belt in tragic desperation, yanking hard as the buckle doesn’t unclasp. You’ve lost all understanding of the most trivial, age-old technology, unable to get the small metal bar to unhook as you fumble with it hopelessly. Viktor’s hips buck with every pull and he lets out a sharp gasp, staring down at you, you, a neurotic and hysterical mess, you, biting at the inside of your lip and looking like you could almost cry, you, an insect that he had just trapped under a glass, panicked, fluttering wings sending you ricocheting off the rounded edges as you tried to reach the world outside of it; too worked up to recognize your incompetence, that there was a translucent barrier between you and what you wanted. Desperately trying, over and over, to no avail.

Oh this wasn’t you, though you were never all that poised, and often hasty, but this, this, was far beyond what he had ever seen from you. But god, was it nourishing to his ego, and nearly fascinating to observe. He watches you with a sympathetic expression on his face, bringing his hand to your neck and pinning you, harder than he intended, to the mattress under you.

You let your hands fall, the impact surprising you, surrendering to his touch. You lay limp and helpless, staring up at him. His gaze is so intense, so entertained, his eyes sparkling, gold muddled with sick amusement.

“Help” you squeak, writhing out of his touch and rotating your body to the side, pulling yourself into a fetal position and burying your face into the pillow, yelping as your neck strained unexpectedly at the rapid shift in positioning.

“Mmm,” he’s studying you now, all contorted and pitiful like this. “Come back here, my love.”

You try to roll over further, so you could lay face down on the bed and just die, but he grabs your thigh and holds it in place. Once you still, he gingerly rubs your hip, after a moment letting his hand round down and under your ass, toying his finger at your slit, compressed between your legs, through your pants.

“Don’t poke at me, Viktor,” you snap, pulling your face out of the cotton sheets and resting your temple against it, staring, antagonized, at the wall. “I’m a girl, not a sea creature in a touch tank.”

Oh, it’s too easy. “What’s this then? Why are you wet?”

You jerk and strain and turn yourself again under him, letting your arms fall straight out to the sides. A modern case of crucifixion, right here, in Viktor’s bedroom.

“Why are you wet?” He repeats, his accent feigning innocence this time.

“What do you want me to do?” You stare up at the ceiling in defeat, past his unkempt locks, stray hairs shooting off in every direction as electrical currents do. “What do I have to do?”

To no response, you grab the pillow from behind you and push it into your face, protruding feathers poking unpleasantly at your nostrils. “I’m ordering an air strike to this apartment” you mumble into the cushioning.

“Who knew such fervent arousal could turn sadistic so quickly,” his voice mused from the other side.

You pull the pillow away from your face, and in one swift movement, send it swinging right into his. “I don’t know the first thing about sadism. But since you’ve appointed yourself to give me a lesson, I seem to be catching on very quick.”

He chuckles gently, the intensity in his eyes draining. “Okay, love,” he murmurs, taking the pillow and gingerly holding the bottom of your skull, cradling your occipital upwards so that he can place it back under your head.

You give his cheek a patronizing pat, two short motions. You would like to swing your arm back further, and… “Thank you. Now leave.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Out.”

“Of my own residence?”

“I quite like it here, actually,” you hiss. “Just be sure to let me know where you go so I can provide missile coordinates.”

He shakes his head, what the hell, and won’t stop shaking his head, the smile tugging at his lips is enraging, but he looks so sweet, a rouge growing under his cheeks. He finally lowers himself to you, the pressure of his weight on top of you so tantalizingly familiar. Your muscles relinquish any tension, and suddenly the exhaustion of your desires’s antics against your own body are dragging you down so low that you could nearly sleep right there.

“Just, take a second to breathe, please.” He murmurs, nose nuzzling your cheekbone, coaching you through the matter of your torment, that, you’re not sure who, between the two of you, is more responsible for.

You let your eyes dart to the peripheral, watching the mole above his lip move as he speaks. Your wildness, finally tranquilized. You imagine a prehistoric Viktor, ragged facial hair, in an animal pelt getup, chasing you with a spear. You stare at the wall again, glum and dead and unamused in the pupils.

Viktor nearly seems a bit concerned. “Are you alright?” And he’s propping himself up again, his face hovering centimeters over yours, his breath, hot tendrils fresh off of charred coals, undulating up the bridge of your nose. He looks almost guilty. No, Viktor wasn’t one to be this cruel, and maybe he had taken it a bit too far.

“Fine.” You say shortly, still not meeting his eyes.

He plants a firm kiss between your brows. “I— Did I ruin it, love?”

He did not. You wanted him so badly nestled tightly in the ditch right under your jaw, moans and whimpers and grunts and gasps working their way easily up to your ear, positioned perfectly for your listening pleasure. The sounds of sex, specifically, the sounds of sex with Viktor, were just as important to you as the involvement of body parts and sensation. You drank them in and wished you could etch them into your skin, commemorating each place they occurred, here against your temple where he whined, there into your collarbone where he huffed.

You grab him, kissing him softer than you want to. You tell yourself that you’ll keep it that way, refusing to let yourself get back to a place where he can exert this newfound audacity again.

“I’m sorry,” he offers into your mouth, the words slick with syrupy sincerity, wedging between your teeth and forming immediate cavities.

His hands are at your waistband, pulling your pants down gracefully, shuffling his body down as to give you your apology. And, as if no time had passed, no plans of homicide yet uttered, you grab desperately for his shoulders, whining in dismay.

His neck tilts slowly up at you, like an owl. His eyes are so warm and beautiful that you’ve sworn more than once you were able to see them glowing through the night.

But the look on his face is abysmal. You were never one to refuse tastebuds against your clit, which worked out quite nicely, because it was Viktor’s idea of a pleasant afternoon to sample you, particularly needy and devoted, when it came to chasing your orgasm, for however many hours you liked.

“Oh, my girl,” he exhales, his face flickering in shock to your uncharacteristic ambitiousness skip what you enjoyed so much and just get started. To be plainly, brazenly, fucked. He grabs your hand, pinning it into the bed to the right of your head, fixing to murmur sweet nothings into your ears.

“I don’t want romance.” You say seedily, it coming out fast and sharp and dripping with unfortunate distress, still irritated, your other fingers twisting in the sheets.

He pulls away, his eyebrows lowering and tangling together in a calm and intense reverence. “You don’t have a choice. You’re getting romance.”

You don’t protest, rather, just press your lips into a thin line. Shut up. Shut up.

“Let me romance you,” he murmurs, biting at your earlobe softly. “I’ll fuck you right, my love, hard, but not in the absence of romance. In the name of it.”

You respond by dragging nails down the side of his arm, not aggressively, but enough to leave five little red lines, snapping your head and meeting his lips, kissing hard, desperately seeking everything you could possibly get. His moan into your mouth has you absolutely back up to 10, god. You didn’t appreciate the typical conventions, being the only one expected to be vocal. You liked hearing what it all did to him, a detailed song, as making love was, a duet, after all.

This kiss is becoming more frantic, on your end, but he’s breaking now too, serving it right back. You’re pathetically grateful that the frenetic, longing energy has finally became contagious. You whine and groan and try for his belt again, and he grabs your wrists, to your protest, too hasty and caught up in need that you can’t wait a moment to figure out that he’s helping you out, taking it off himself. But when it does click for you, or unclick, you yank his pants down, just below the butt, because you’re feeling lazy. No. Because you’re feeling productive.

He lets out a short, low gasp and the lust gets caught in his throat, you can see it knotted up in the dip of where his neck met his collar, which you slide your tongue along, letting him know that you knew that it was exactly there. His tip brushes between the frame of your folds and you can’t help but yelp and flinch and clench your legs together to prevent an exorbitant amount of lubrication from spilling out. But as he pushes himself inside of you, slow and lingering to start, a gentleman like always, it all comes crashing, causing you both to moan and grasp for each other.

The heartbeat of his dick is quite easily the most tantalizing thing you’ve ever felt. He straightens his face in concentration, starting to buck into you, nails resisting not to puncture the skin on your hips, the flesh of your ass, not forgetting to take a moment to grind against you at the the height of every thrust while buried inside. You take his thumb in your mouth, sucking for good measure, content with the rumbling noise he elicits. It’s not enough, none of it’s enough, the sharp digging feeling of nails in your skin makes you nearly vomit as if it is injecting more unfulfilled hunger into your body.

“I need to ride you,” you pant, pushing him over.

You’re moving, coming down on him as hard as you can, your eyes squeezed shut and making uncontrollable noises, mounted at the altar of your desire. You have to fall forward and stabilize yourself over him, until you realize he’s giving you that intense, slightly amused gaze, and you yelp and push yourself upwards again. Nothing you can do is nearly enough to satisfy yourself.

The look on his face is quite pleasantly dirty, his eyes following you as you bounce up and down, inhaling sharply, mouth ajar. He’s so in awe of you, to the point that one may consider his expression amateur, if there wasn’t the overt presence of the look of a wonderful man deeply in love right along with it.

“Romance,” He says.

He brings himself up into a sitting position, because he loves to hold you and stare up at you while you work, nipples, though clothed this time, to his face. His eyes get all big with wonder as he watches you, switching to grinding now, and yet they’re dark and shadowed. “I love you. I love watching you use me to make yourself feel good. You’re extraordinary. I love you.”

‘Use me’ is the most arousing and filthy thing he could have ever said. No matter how commanding Viktor could hope to make himself seem, he simply saw you as something of another world, ‘divine power,’ if he was being sentimental, and your stimulation would forever be his muse.

You extort his promise from before. “What do you love about me?”

“Your hugs,” he teases, so you fuck him harder, reaching behind and under your ass and gently fondling his balls.

He groans and his thumb burrows into the seal created between your stomachs to rub your clit, causing you to whine happily. “Can’t you say something nice back?” He frowns and chides at the same instant.

“That wasn’t— fine. I love that you’d let me keep this apartment after you bewilderingly get struck by a rogue missile.” But you can’t even keep the act up, laughing softly, pausing and kissing him tenderly, running your fingertips up and down his spine.

“You are so undeniably mine,” he grins, but his eyes are genuine.

“I am so helplessly yours. Poor, unfortunate soul.” You tut, smiling.

“Unfortunate?” He’s teasing you with a suggestive undertone, but kissing you so caringly, slender fingers leaving your core to trace down your jaw. “Need I remind you just how fortunate you are?”

“Hmm?” You push, curious.

It’s almost like he’s pleading retroactively, lamenting the loss of time spent fruitfully, face between your legs. “This is what happens when you don’t let me lick you… You forget. C’mere.” He coaxes you off of him, sliding to the edge of the bed, propping pillows up against the headboard and leaning against them.

You can’t help but glance at the state of his dick, and it’s bashfully adorned with you. It makes you shiver gently. He looks so pretty there, so dashing, his arms stretched out for you, his expression tender. He takes off his shirt, for good measure. “Please?”

You crawl over, and his fingers rotates your hips, turning you around and pulling your back to his chest, in between his bent legs. You instinctively grab a spare pillow and slip it in between the knee-armpit of his bad leg for support.

“Thank you,” he hums warmly, meltingly appreciative of your attention to make sure he’s comfortable amidst such… demanding activities. He lifts your hips on top of him, sliding down against the headboard ever so slightly more, adjusting himself.

He wraps his arms around your waist, fingers splaying flat on your stomach, prepared, like a small militia standing at the head of a clearing, ready to thunder towards opposing forces. He nuzzles behind your ear, humming and moaning softly as he kisses down the tendon in your neck. “I adore you, you know. Help me out and put it in for me, love?”

You inhale sharply at the words, the simultaneous honeyed and dirtiness of the request, shaken out of basking in his affection. So you do, and it pops in, and you both sigh and settle against one another. He rocks his hips upwards slowly, and you reach over your shoulder and caress his cheek, hearing little flighty breaths of concentration, as you watch him sliding in and out, transfixed. You turn his chin towards you, leaning back, kissing and moaning in rhythm with his thrusts, growing increasingly aware of his fingers moving, beginning their pursuit of victory down your skin, and it’s nearly monumentous. He runs a fingertip over your clit in little circles, the other hand moving to caress one of your breasts under your shirt.

You whine, and he shoots you a knowing smile. You stare at him, letting him see you, see all of you, eyes locked on his as he looks down your body and then back at you. He gives your lips little kisses, ever the caretaker, ever the reassurer when you needed it, when you weren’t foraging for war.

“I’m very lucky,” and you don’t say it like you’re conceding or letting him win, you’re unabashedly surrendering. “I love you more than anything.” You’re cut off by your own sharp gasp and moan as his fingers find the perfect pace between your legs. “And I think I’m going to finish soon,” you add.

His hand leaves your breast, pinching the hem of your shirt folding it upon itself, back towards your face. You bite onto it, holding it in your mouth, exposing your breasts and abdomen, groaning through fabric and gritted teeth.

“How are you real,” he deliberates earnestly, breathlessly, his hand returning to your breast, unable to stifle his own groans and whimpers as he begins to fuck you with more rigor.

You protestingly move his hand from your nipple to your trachea, giving him something else to squeeze. You feel him staring down at what the two of your bodies are doing together, and you follow suit, moans and the smell of sex filling the air. The heat is rushing to your face, and now you’re completely held in place, as if natural disaster was on the horizon and you were rendered completely motionless to watch it all.

“Come for me, my love. Do it, if you’re going to, let me feel it.”

Those words are so atrociously sexy wearing his accent. You knot your eyebrows together, your nose involuntarily wrinkling, as your head falls back, trying to keep your eyes open, figuring he wants to look into them— You like looking into his when he comes for you. And it seems like it’ll be a full sweep of success for the two of you, because his “feel it” came out much more strained than the rest.

It’s too intense: the contact, the position, his hands, the one on your neck which has now returned to your stomach, adding slight pressure there, as his other fingers— and dick, works you feverishly a mere few inches south.

He pressed his forehead to yours, face scrunching, suddenly frantic and needy for your orgasm, as he always becomes. His breathes are hitching and his noises are becoming higher and more erratic as he nears his own edge, and that’s enough to send you tumbling off of your own.

“Viktor,” you despair, your lips inches away from his, to which he responds with a desperate whimper of your name, nodding his head rapidly against yours.

“I know, love. Just.. use me, please,” he repeats, nearly anguished, and you’ve finally broken his proud act for good, regressing back to the devotedly impoverished man that he always becomes when you undress for him.

The moment it happens, your eyes shoot open, drowning in the amber in front of you, you yelp and verbally tremble, your body suddenly straining away, but he holds you in place. The resistance of his dick, blocking the full range of motion of your pulsations, makes you gasp louder, and it takes approximately two pumps of him feeling this to go spiraling as well, gasping and groaning while your bodies exchanging kisses from the inside, so profound that it is devout.

Your fingertips rest against his neck, feeling his slowing pulse as you stare past your stilling thighs to the edge of the bed, completely dumbfounded and strewn out.

After a moment of regaining breaths, he wraps his arms around you with a loving tenderness, nuzzling your cheek. Your hand treks upwards, past the backside of his ear to offer his scalp reassuring scratches while pulling him closer, until you tilt your face and give him a million little pecks where ever you could reach, finally settling against his mouth, salty with sweat. He licks the beads of liquid settling in your cupid’s bow playfully, before leaving a trail of kisses down your nose.

“My world,” he murmurs, cupping your cheek.

“I’m yours, eternally,” you whisper back.

The redness of your little faces is adorable, and you’re just appreciating how it compliments his pale cheekbones as he lets out a wry chuckle.

“‘Natural disaster?’”

“What?” You’re wrenched out of the your flagrant daze of adoration.

“Your words, not mine. A bit of a peculiar selection, but I appreciate the broadcast warning,” he teases, and you grow increasingly aware of two things: Viktor has achieved the ability to fuck the balance of your internal and external dialogue into a permeable mess, and the mattress below the two of you is, well, soaked.

You writhe under his touch and spin around, facing him, as he falls out of you with a little satisfied gasp. He’s all splayed out before you, flushed and worn out and so beautiful that you wonder if he’s merely something your mind had just thought up. You, on the other hand, currently look like a disheveled feline, about to hiss and claw.

“It’s funny,” he coos with distinct entertainment.

You grow sheepish, wrestling with your overt defensiveness. “That was an inside thought. Or— it was supposed to be.”

He shakes his head, blinking slowly, all of the adoration swelling in his eyes. “You’re quite cute. And odd.”

You sigh, giving in, letting him pull you against him once more, kissing his neck loyally. Slender fingers rub your back, a sharp chin resting on the crown of your head, interrupted periodically to leave a kiss in your matted hair, and you feel yourself melt further into his chest, fingertips softly counting the little constellations of moles on his skin.

“We can’t sleep on this,” you say after awhile, referencing the incriminatingly expansive wet spot.

He grumbles in protest. “I’m wrecked, my love. I can’t be bothered to deal with wrestling a fitted sheet right now.”

No, he was absolutely correct, the task of a new fitted sheet was unimaginable in your current state.

You crane your neck up at him. “Couch?” You offer weakly.

“Couch.”

He reaches for his cane and swings himself off the bed, one limb at a time. You grab a lone towel draped over the back of an armchair, happy to be put to use after its abandonment as lovingly wipe down any perspiration off of him, and then yourself. It’s a sad, unbecoming attempt to clean yourselves up, but the exhaustion tugging at your eyelids seems to justify it. You scrub at his hair playfully, until his hands bat yours away with a chuckle, the terry cloth withdrawing and exposing a freshly perplexed mess of chocolate brown chaos.

You hold him close for a second, flush against his skin, staring up at him. He returns your gaze, intoxicatingly enamored with one another. The moment is objective perfection, other than—

“We’re gross right now,” you observe.

He twists his face. “You couldn’t ever dream to be gross.”

As he trudges out of the bedroom, supported by his cane, you stifle a empathetic giggle, swearing that his limp was slightly worse in the aftermath. You, yourself, were definitely walking wonky. You grab some pillows from the bed and find him in front of the green couch, unfolding a blanket for you, his movements drunkenly slow in the moonlight. You lean past him and prop the pillows up for optimal comfort. You stand side by side and admire your makeshift sleeping arrangement.

“Who’s taking the bottom?” He asks, looking enticed by the comfy set up.

“You can,” you smile softly.

So he lays down before you, handing you his cane to place on the coffee table for easy access. He half pretends to pull the blanket over him and seal himself away from you mockingly, greedily settling into the couch for himself, but is too weary to truly commit to the joke, abandoning it quickly, easily defeated by the energy it took to maintain such humor. He reaches out an arm for you, amber eyes entrancingly inviting, fingers wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer.

“Ridiculous,” you muse, lowering yourself onto his chest again, his arms pulling you tight against his skin once more, legs tangling together and feet caressing one another leisurely.

He ‘hmmphs’ contentedly in response.

“‘Natural disaster’ was precisely correct, you know,” you mumble pointedly through the pull of looming unconsciousness. “And by definition, we’ve been displaced.”

He pulls you closer, caressing careful, tentative fingers around the tangles in your hair. You can hear the surrendering smile in his voice, lilting drowsily through the dark.

“Better a flood than a projectile.”

[lokidjarin-7567]

Folks.. I am already 4k words into a Viktor x fem!reader smutty, angsty, fluffy one shot and ngl, I’m insanely proud of it. Trying to get the right balance of his character has been so enjoyable; I’ve seen so so many mischaracterisations of him so I really want to do him justice. Anyway, let me know if you’re also in love with this man and want to be on the tag list lol, I’m working on it tirelessly so it will be out in the next day or so I reckon. And it will be long oops - I simply don’t have the time to keep up more than one multi-chapter fic so I have to try and fit all my adoration of him into one shots 😭

[cr0wbrz]

Viktor X F!Reader smut

Warnings: NSFW, angst, hurt no comfort.

A/N: of course I decide to post something in a fandom I think is dying. Just a random WIP, excuse the poor writing.

Something changed in Viktor. She could see it; the moment where harsh lines turned into something intimately gentle. A look in his eyes that warmed the sticky, golden colour that threatened to blur.

How hands lingered a little longer on skin. Not on the erogenous zones she expected, revertant touches along points that didn't matter. Shouldn't matter in the heat of sexual depravity. When fingers brushed along her arms, lips ghosting the curve of her calf or maybe even the back of her knee with bittersweet affection.

Now —being the logical woman she was— she assumed it was envy. A longing for joins and bones and muscles that didn't ache with something horrid; a healthy body. Healthy enough. Yet she knew it was something more, they both did, neither breathing the question of it's existence. Lingering on tongues that never spoke.

Selfishly he'd indulge in the idea of it on the rare occasion, when movements became less of a science or routine and more... Fluid. No longer did he want to prove her wrong so much as he wanted to hear her. Breathy moan from swollen lips, the little furrow of her brow when something hit just right, muscles in her thighs that twitched when his it received the light affection of a caress.

It unravelled him.

The moment he sunk into her —warm and wet— his heart became a traitor. Beating faster than it should, not in the way it should. Not when her lips parted and she sighed out something barely audible. Sometimes a simple curse, other times it was just the sweet groan of an itch being scratched.

He had been cruel today in a way she couldn't describe. selfish. Spending his time to enjoy the taste of salty skin, devouring her one kiss at a time. Just to keep a part of her with him; a small part of her she couldn't get back like she had done to him.

Because even if he had that, she had already consumed him entirely. Misaligned bones and all. In ways his logical mind couldn't explain, when equations and science didn't justify and he was lost. Drowning and he hated it.

Rough palm pressed to her cheek, forcing her face away to greet the wall. Away from him because he couldn't handle the way her closeness made him feel. Breathing praises in his ear like he meant something to her, something more than he was.

But when all was said and done, bones dissolve and skin humming, he'd breath out a halfhearted "we can't keep doing this".

When despite it all, they would end up on the same routine. Maybe in a week, maybe in a few weeks, because they both know he didn't mean it. Even when he tried to convince himself to stop, and she did the same.